KotOR I: Orin Dakall

The first fight was the easiest 100 credits she’d ever made. One snipe shot, and Deadeye Duncan was down. That may have made her a little overconfident... She was immediately back at Ajuur, claiming her credits and begging to get back in the ring. Carth tried to interrupt, but she just shoved the money at him and ran to face her next opponent, Gerlon Two-Fingers.



If she hadn’t started off the fight by lobbing a grenade at him, she might’ve lost. Gerlon was quick with his blaster, if not hugely accurate. Despite her dodging, she left the ring panting heavily, with several burns on her arms and a particularly nasty one on the side of her stomach.



Still, as soon as she collected her credits from Ajuur, she was asking for the next match. She was interrupted, however, when Carth spun her around and informed Ajuur that she’d be taking a break.



“What do you think you’re doing?” he whispered to her as he led her to the quietest corner of the room. “We don’t have time for this. Besides, you’re barely upright, and you want to keep going?”



“Come on,” Orin said, rolling her eyes. He didn’t. “These people need entertainment of some kind. I’m just trying to help them wile the hours.”



Carth looked repulsed. “You just like fighting.”



“You’re a soldier, aren’t you? It’s your livelihood, and you’re going to act holier-than-thou about it towards me?”



“I do it to protect people, because it’s necessary. You said it yourself: you do it for entertainment. You really think these people, oppressed and near the breaking point, need violence painted as harmless fun?”



Orin felt guilt swelling in her, but shoved it aside. “Fine, I think it’s fun. I like the challenge. And right now, we need the credits. And if those people can’t figure out the difference between friendly competition and brutal murder, that’s not my fault.”



“You want to get off this hell-hole, right?” Carth snapped. Orin flinched at the edge in his voice. “The longer you play these stupid games, the more time the Sith have to get Bastila--”



“Oh shut up about fucking Bastila!” she shouted. Everyone in the room went silent, focusing on them. Carth growled, grabbing her arm and dragging her from the cantina back into the blinding daylight, to a deserted corner of pavement.



“It’d be easier if you just told the Sith that we’re Republic soldiers,” he hissed at her. “You need to get over yourself and your stupid jealousy.” His fingers tightened on her arm painfully. “Bastila is more important than any of us right now, even you. If your self-esteem can’t take it, then go ahead with your pissing contest. Go beat all the duelists on Taris. But don’t think for a second that she couldn’t do the same, and probably better.” He threw her arm from him and she stumbled back a step. “I’ll find her on my own.”



Orin rubbed her arm and glared angrily at the ground. She hated him. Hated that she was so transparent. Hated Bastila for being better than her. Hated the sting in her eyes and the lump swelling in her throat. Hated that he was watching her. Hated that she couldn’t just disappear. Her knees trembled and she dropped to the walkway, sitting heavily.



“I hate this place,” she whispered, her voice breaking. Carth hesitated, then knelt down next to her, but she turned her face away. She felt him hover for a moment, then heard him sit, and tensed when she felt his back leaning against hers. Neither spoke, and slowly, molecule by molecule, Orin relaxed.



It was... nice, feeling that warm, living wall against her. Feeling his ribcage expand and contract as he breathed. She let one tear escape each eye, then willed herself calm. This damn planet. It was like nothing good could ever happen here.



Minutes passed, and she finally wiped the drying tear trails from her cheeks and stood. Carth turned his head, looking up at her. She could only hold his gaze for a moment before looking away. He stood and brushed some dirt from him.



“Let’s find a doctor to look at those burns,” he said, and led the way to the main street.



-----



They found Zelka Forn’s medical facility quickly enough. Setting up shop near a cantina, especially one with a dueling ring, was just good business strategy. Zelka patched Orin up while complaining about rakghoul disease and its stolen cure. He even redressed her wounds from the Spire and talked Carth into getting looked over. There was a nasty scrape behind his ear going down to the back of his neck that Orin hadn’t noticed before. He must’ve gotten it in the crash. As Zelka put a bandage over it, a thought came to Orin.



“You wouldn’t know anything about the Republic escape pods that crashed in the Undercity, would you?”



Zelka’s posture shifted. He looked hunted and words spilled from his mouth faster than she could grasp. “Republic escape pods? Why would you ask me that? I don’t know, those crashed in the Undercity; I’m not involved in any way!”



His fear was obvious, and Orin crossed her arms, ready to capitalize on it. “If you know something, you better tell me--unless you want to talk to the Sith!”



Zelka straightened, looking at her imperiously. The Sith had been the wrong people to mention. “They were already here, asking these same questions,” he said icily. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told them: I don’t know anything about those pods. Now, is there something else you need?”



She shook her head, inwardly seething. First Ajuur and now this guy. Normally she could charm anyone, anywhere. It’s this planet, she thought to herself. This stupid, evil planet is throwing me off. Zelka returned to his inventory work and Carth turned to leave. But Orin, angry and stupid, walked to the storage room door and picked the lock. It whooshed open and she stood staring as Zelka ran over, Carth following.



“What are you doing?” he screeched. “Don’t go in there! That door is for employees only!” He stopped short, too late, as Orin walked in, placing her hand on one of the kolto tanks in which a soldier was floating. She turned to Zelka.



“What’s going on here?”