Oh I love you ask games, let’s seeeeee⚡Atton Rand
Oh my god it's been so long... but this gave me such a good image.
"This had better be something if you're dragging me all the way down to the prisons," Revan warned, their voice a deadly whisper. They had hoped to have a few hours alone to meditate. Things had simply been advancing too quickly lately to find peace in their mind, to remember the code, to rest.
Malak had long grown used to their empty tantrums and let the threat roll off his shoulders, unheeded. "You said you needed firepower. If you talk to this Devaronian, convince him, he can get us contacts in the Exchange. Who deals with more firepower than them? We can--would you excuse us?" His words turned harsh as their duo procession was interrupted.
Two captains led a short chain of prisoners crossing the hallway before them. They stopped immediately to salute, prisoners and soldiers behind narrowly avoiding an embarrassing crash. The prisoners' hands were clasped behind their heads, arms shaking slightly from being forced into the position for so long. Revan's gaze roved over them, attention betrayed only by the slowly shifting angle of their mask.
"Don't just stand there," Malak cried, indignant, as if unused to the stupidity intimidation often caused.
"These prisoners, who are they?" Revan questioned coolly.
"Deserters, Master. A group and some loners besides tried to make a break for it during a refuel," the captain explained.
Revan hummed, the Force shifting around them like smoke exhaled from an opened flue. Only one of the prisoners had met their gaze, if only briefly. Now he was staring very hard at the durasteel floors. He was young, pale, with brown, sweaty hair pasted to his forehead. He'd been relieved of his uniform, a simple grey bodysuit meted out to match the rest of the captured traitors, but his bore more sweat, blood and black carbon stains than the rest.
"Kindly move out of our path," Revan suggested, "before Malak acts out in anger. He is very on edge today."
"I am perfectly serene," Malak snapped.
The captains hurried to obey, directing the prisoners onward. The suspicious character in the final row chanced another glance upward, unable to realize that Revan was looking back through the faceplate.
"Oh, and before you go, I would like that one sent to my meditation chamber," Revan added.
The captains exchanged glances. "Master Revan, that one is more trouble than he's worth. He's a former interrogations elite, Atton Rand. He's already escaped formation several times."
"And you have no means of controlling him?" Revan murmured, sounding bemused. Malak glanced at them, aware that this particular tone of voice tended to precede a much more fatal wrath.
The captain blinked nervously, then reached into her belt, approaching the man at the end of the line. Rand stayed still for a minute, then wrenched his neck back and his wrists high, cuffs glinting, the struggle obscured as the captain loomed close. There was a click, and seconds later the sound of flesh being punctured and the captain sprang back with an angry yelp. A thin metal collar had been clamped around Atton Rand's neck. Shaking her freshly bitten hand, she came to give Revan a small remote.
"He's yours," she said. "I'll drop him off after we've dealt with the rest. If he misbehaves, well." She depressed the largest button.
The prisoner dropped to the ground hard, teeth gritted as the current ran through him. Revan would have assumed it was overkill if not for his obvious, calculated defiance. They watched him suffer for several seconds before relieving him with another tap of the button. "Very good. Carry on."
With a final set of salutes, the two marched on, two soldiers dragging Atton up by his armpits and forcing him on with the rest.
Revan turned their full attention back to Malak. He was staring, his full curiosity on full display in the curve of his lip and rise of his brow. If only he had taken to the mask like they had.
"What was that for?" he asked, bewildered.
"A touch of the Force," Revan replied.
"A touch, sure, but no more than the average Togruta baby," he scoffed.
"I sensed something more in him. A potential. If it's nothing, then he goes back to the prisons," Revan said, shrugging. They'd been close long enough with Malak to know how to soothe his hackles, just as he knew how to tell their annoyance from true anger. "Now, you were telling me about the Exchange."
