DYNASTY ( sw.. ) ✔

o1. marks of pain..

"And then?" 

"And then there were only about three of the Sterries, the biggest and most violent of the lot," Lorna continued her tale. A bunch of usual catina visitors, truthful drunk locals of the bar, were listening to her intently. "The only light was purple and flickering, casting uncertain shadows and there was dirty and death at each step."

Her right hand balanced an empty cup that once held some good shining alcohol, now knly a means for her to gesticulate. But her left hand punched the table to fit the intensity of the tale, "A Sterrie picked me up and threw me into the furthest wall of the cavern, leaving behind a crater, proof of its strength-"

"Did you die?" One of those listening gasped in horror, obviously one too many drinks into that night.

Lorna immediately glared. "No, I didn't die, you idiot..."

"Because I came in and saved her," Luke carefully placed his elbow on her shoulder, lightly playing with her hair before settling to just standing next to her.

Lorna scoffed, barely resisting herself a smile, "As if. You were asleep for the most interesting parts of the fight. You wake up at end of it and suddenly think you can steal the glory?"

The men present didn't matter, they were only mere means of blending in, of seeming as two well dressed and clean strangers were actually not so out of the ordinary in the area. And the moment Luke appeared by the bold lady's side, they became truthfully uninterested and just returned to their drinks and card games that made credits be passed faster and easier than laughs.

Luke remembered only the shadow of how he used to think, a year ago, that Lorna should cut her hair to enhance her fighting techniques. Now, he was getting annoyed that she had to contain its beauty with that old piece of metal that started catching bits of rust as a result of their adventures.

He chuckled deeply at her comment, seeing the joke reflect in sparks in her greenest eyes. "Alright then. How shall I praise the mighty slayer of Sterries then?"

Lorna watched him place the glass she asked for in front of her, only to frown at the realization that he, unsurprisingly, bought her water, not an actual second drink. "Well, I could demand that you sit in my lap..."

"Hardly appropriate for the surroundings," Luke grinned down at her and turned her seat around so they could probably face each other. Lorna leant back, victory radiating off that upward curve of her lips. She rest her elbows on the bar behind her back and lifted her chin.

"I think seeing you flustered would be a fair tribute..." Without any sense of restrain, she reached out and twisted one finger around Luke's belt. Lorna pulled him closer.

"But..." With no remorse, she let go and leant back again, looking away. "I'd rather ask my consolation be that you finally tell me what your illusion was that you escaped it so late."

Luke groaned, maybe out of frustration or arousal, he was good at blending both when times required it. "It's been a month, can't we let this topic go?"

"Definitely not!" Lorna snapped back at him with curiosity in her eyes. Her illusion was him, always him; it was a painful thought, but she started thinking that he might not have dreamt of her in the Sterries nest. "Scars don't heal in one month, nor will my curiosity. I just wanna know, please..."

She pouted, something Luke could hardly resist these days. If someone were to tell him that he'd be able to resist the Dark Side in his lowest moments, but he'll find weakness in the plea of a woman he loves beyond his comprehension, he would have called that someone mad.

That pout made her look sad and that sadness played the chords of his emotions. Luke tilted his head in guilt, "How did you escape your illusion so fast though?"