KotOR I: Orin Dakall

Orin walked down the guest corridor, arms piled with clean clothing.



Someone was knocking softly on their door. Someone blue.



“What’s up, Mish?”



Mission spun around with a squeak. “I thought you were still asleep.”



“I figured.”



“The race is in a few hours.”



“Yep.” She shifted the pile in her arms. “Wanna get the door?”



“Oh, yeah.”



They entered, Orin dumping the laundry on her side of the bed. Carth was still curled up on his own.



“Stupid Gadon!” Mission said, Orin looking over at her in surprise. “I told him you two weren’t together.” She shook her head apologetically. “Either he thinks it’s funny, or he’s trying to play matchmaker. Probably both.”



“Well, whatever his intentions, no harm, no foul,” Orin said, forcing her brain to focus on the race and not drift back to the previous night.



Mission looked at Carth’s bare torso doubtfully.



“He’s wearing pants,” Orin said, wry. “And he’s still alive. Help me fold this stuff.”



Mission picked up Orin’s clean armor and tossed it to her. The green rakghoul blood hadn’t washed out.



“Damn.” Orin pulled off Carth’s dressing gown.



Mission’s eyebrows raised at the initials on Orin’s top, but said nothing and kept folding.



Orin pulled off the top as well, grabbing clean underwear and putting it on.



“You sure he isn’t faking?” Mission asked with a nod at Carth. Orin shrugged.



“So what if he is? He can’t peep through the back of his head.” She finished fastening her armor and slid on the pink visor with a grimace of distaste. “How’s Big Z?”



“Good,” she said. “He’s saving me a seat at the track. Say, did you get any breakfast yet?”



Orin’s stomach lurched in protest and she shook her head. “I’m fine.”



“Well, she might be paranoid and pushy, but Zaerdra makes some awesome pancakes.”



“Pancakes?” asked a groggy voice. Carth rolled up to sitting as he yawned and scratched his head. “Don’t suppose you want to run and grab me some?”



Mission shrugged an affirmative. “You sure you don’t want any?” she asked Orin, who was now strapping on a shield. She nodded fervently and Mission left.



Carth turned, watching as Orin strapped on her stealth generator.



“How did you sleep?” he asked her quietly.



“I didn’t.” She ran her hands through her hair, ruffling it up. “Or if I’m wrong and I did, it at least wasn’t well.”



“Look, Dakall,” he said, “I, I can’t really apologize enough for last night. I pushed you. And I should’ve let you tell me in your own time.”



She looked up at him from a green stain she was scratching at. “I didn’t realize I’d told you more than that I was tortured.”



He blinked. “You... didn’t,” he said. “I just-- You seemed really upset, and I wish I’d let it go.”



She gave a half-shrug, going back to scratching at stains. “I deserved it after constantly pestering you.”



A knock came on the door, and Gadon opened it.



“Let’s get you down to the track.”



Orin picked up her weapon harness and vibroblades. Gadon’s ear bent toward the clanking sound.



“Think you’ll need those?”



“Yeah,” she said. “If I lose.”



He smiled slightly and gestured to the hallway. Orin went to follow him, but was stopped by Carth’s hand around her wrist.



She turned. “What?”



He stared at her hand below his. So small. So scarred.



“Just... don’t die.”



She raised an eyebrow at him and gave him a half-patronizing smile. “It’s not in my plan.” She paused a moment, then used her other hand to brush his hair back from his forehead. “You may change your mind, though. Once you see your eye.”



His hold on her wrist tightened, and her gaze went from his swollen bruise to his eyes, confused.



They looked at each other, Orin tilting her head in silent question. Carth shook his head and released her. “Gadon’s waiting.”



The two didn't speak as they walked through the base, but Gadon had an annoying little smile on his face the entire time.



Orin's shoulders sagged as they stepped outside and saw nothing but empty hallways.



“No transport?”



“It’s not a long walk. Particularly with the amount you’ve done the last few days.”



“Kinda why I wanted to be lazy now,” she admitted. He could hear the smile in her voice.



“You’re good for him.”



Orin looked around her. “Huh?”



“He could stand to loosen up a bit.”



“Oh. That him.” Her smile left her. “What I’m good for is lying, cheating, and killing. There’s a reason smugglers work alone. Anyone hanging around long enough is gonna feel the brunt of all three.”



“Then he’s good for you, too.”



“How’s that?”



“His conscience and morals might just jump start your own.”



“I’d prefer they didn’t. Mine have served me well.”



“Nothing’s stagnant. We all have to adapt to what we encounter. If he can grow and change to his betterment while under your influence, why can’t you do the same?”



"I already aced my class. Though being student and master gave me a slight advantage."



"Yes, how clever. What a shock that a former smuggler can twist words."



"Not former. Current."



"Yes? What's your cargo?"



"A sniveling Jedlet."



"A what?" he asked with sudden interest.



Damn it, shut up! He only thinks she's a Republic officer... Or he did until now, Stupid.



"And don't act all I'm-such-a-great-judge-of-character-and-see-right-through-your-façade," she spat. "'Cause one: this is no façade, and two: talk to Brejik lately? How kickass were you at judging character when you met him?"



Gadon stopped, pained.



Orin stopped, groaned, and went back to him.



"I didn't mean it like that--"



"Yes, you did," he said quietly.



"Well, yeah. Yes, I did. But we all misjudge from time to time. One black spot can't coat an entire canvas."



Gadon raised his head, thinking. Then his smile returned.



"Looks like he's influencing you already."



"What, Brej-- Aargh." He walked forward once more and she followed sullenly. "I hate you, old man."



“We're here,” Gadon said cheerfully, flowing easily into his change of topic. “They’ll fill you in on the inside.” He gave her shoulder a pat. “Do us proud.”