KotOR I: Orin Dakall

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They weren’t waiting for her outside. She milled around for a few minutes, but not only was the crowd beginning to hassle her, but some sort of acid rain had started falling.



Eventually, she thought, running back to the apartment, they’ll head back here. As soon as she got inside she began pulling off her armor. She leaned her back against the door to balance as she pulled her legs from it.



Then a female someone cleared her throat. Orin’s head snapped up. Well, I was right.



The other four had already returned. Mission and Zaalbar were politely looking away. Bastila had her arms crossed and eyebrows raised. Carth was leaning against the workbench, looking annoyingly amused.



“It’s, uh, raining,” Orin spluttered, inching toward her pack and spare clothes. “I have to get the corrosives rinsed off before they damage the armor.”



She peeled off the outer armor, leaving the the lower liner in place. Carth gave her a look of mock-disappointment as Mission held out her hands. Orin dropped the armor into them with a quick “thanks” as Mission spun and headed for the bathroom.



“Where were you?”



Orin glanced at Bastila, then rummaged through her things for fresh clothes.



“Around.”



Carth pushed himself up onto the workbench, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands.



“So,” he said, with a smirk in his voice, “where were you?”



“Got stopped in the cantina.” She pulled out her uniform from the Spire. It looked more threadbare than the jumpsuit liner she was already in.



“Avid fan?”



She tossed the uniform on top of her pack and jumped on her bed, stretching out spread-eagle. “Something like that.”



“Why did you answer him and not me?” Bastila demanded.



“Probably because I’m actually interested,” Carth offered, “and you were going to get on her back no matter what she said.”



“Now Carth,” Orin said, waving an admonishing finger, “Is that any way to address your commanding officer?”



They both stifled snickers as Bastila glared. Zaalbar watched, but with vacant disinterest.



“I would think, by your ages, that you two would have gained some small measure of maturity by now,” Bastila said haughtily.



“Well, pressures of the situation we’re in and all that,” Orin said with no trace of sincerity.



“What did this fan want?” Bastila asked, trying her best to sound curious.



“Hopefully not a lock of hair,” Carth said. “You don’t have much to give away.” The sweat accumulated during her duels was beginning to dry, but the jumpsuit still clung to the patch running down between her breasts and onto her ribcage. He could’ve helped watching, but he didn’t really want to.



She flipped him off. “High and tight keeps it out of your eyes when action’s going down, floppy-head.”



“Floppy-head? That’s really a step down from drooling Bomarr castoff.”



“It was Bendak Starkiller,” she said, ignoring him and replying to Bastila. “He’d been watching my matches, I guess, and wanted to challenge me to one last duel.”



“One last duel because he’d kill you,” Carth said. “He only does death matches.”



“True.”



“Who is he?” Bastila asked.



“A duel champion. Never lost a fight. Obviously.” Orin stretched lazily, yawning. “Government has a pretty sizable contract sitting right on his shiny helmet-head.”



“You didn’t.” Carth stared at her a moment, then leaned back with a sigh. “Damn it, you did.”



“Hey, it’s a two thousand credit bounty.”



“Good to know how much your life is worth.”



“We took out Selven easily enough.”



“Yes. We took her out. Two people. Not one.”



“You don’t think I can take him?”



“Exactly what I think. Couldn’t you have just shot him in the cantina when he turned his back?”



Mission exited the bathroom, her arms and front soaked through, and she hung Orin’s cleaned armor on the door to dry.



“Well, I would have, but there’s a security system in place. It would’ve fried me if I’d tried.”



Carth looked at her, then gave his head a quick shake. “Then why didn’t that one guy get fried when he blew up those three other guys with a thermal detonator?”



Orin felt a sinking “I’m a moron” feeling. “Well, yeah, but...” A flash of hope! “Wait, was that up here, or in Lower City?”



“Doesn’t matter,” Mission said, hopping onto the bed and sitting between Orin’s feet. “They both use state of the art surveillance equipment. If, you know, it was about a billion years ago. Those things aren’t even turned on. Didn’t you notice?”



Orin sank back, wallowing in her moron-ness. “I was distracted,” she muttered.



“By what?”



“By the guy offering to kill her,” Carth said, looking sour. “Call it off,” he told her.



“Have you forgotten how many people he’s killed? That the darling Republic wants him dead and no longer capable of doing the same to others?”



“I haven’t.” He said it quietly, knowing if he did, she’d actually listen. “Have you forgotten that he’s undefeated, you’re still in recovery, and that we’re trying to stay undetected while we follow our main objective of getting back into Republic-friendly territory?”



She heard. She saw every logical point he had, and every argument that could crush those she’d presented. She chose to ignore him.



Couldn’t I go back to the cantina now and kill him before the fight? ...Bastard’s too smart for that. He’s got to be hiding out by now. Assuming he thinks I’m not a total idiot.



“Let’s go get that droid,” she said briskly, bringing herself fluidly up to sitting. “Uh, Mission, you mind if I borrow your street clothes?”



Mission shook her head and Orin pulled them on over her liner.



“Hn. I don’t look particulary threatening in these.”



“Did you ever?” Bastila asked as she headed to the door. Orin stared after her.



Did she just make a joke?



Yes.



She blinked, shook her head, and looked wide-eyed at Bastila. Bastila looked back at her, blank-faced. Though as she continued to stare, her eyebrows raised in annoyance.



“Are you even going to reconsider?” Carth asked from behind Orin, making her jump. She put a hand to her fluttering heart and gave him a look of exasperation.



“Wear a bell or something, would you?”



He folded his arms and glowered at her. She felt her eye twitch, and she sighed.



“I’ll sleep on it,” she offered in semi-reconciliation.



He didn’t appear satisfied.