I'm good at shooting people, cracking wise, and pretending to know how to fight.

"We are nearing the time where I must leave to see the others," Visas said quietly. "Are you certain you will not accompany me there?"

Atton dropped his head back against the bed and made sure it made some noise. "Oh, no, that still sounds like a great idea," he said. "Can't wait to hear what naive stoopa poodoo Mical and Brianna have come up with next. No, I'll pass."

Visas' hands laid together demurely in her lap. "Whereas staying in this hive, inebriated, furthers our causes considerably," she said. Mildly. Atton wasn't actually sure she'd quite figured out the tone element of sarcasm just yet.

He rolled his eyes. "There isn't a single person left alive in our group who has any damned clue what they're doing," he said. "None. If the rest of them are eager to pretend like they do, they can, but it's not going to go anywhere. This thing is dead in the water."

"Criticism is easy," Visas replied. "What suggestions would you pose?"

Atton squinted at her. "Oh, nice try," he said. "I don't have any suggestions, I've been telling you people this for the past month." He took a breath. "Anyway, I'm not planning to stick around here. I'm heading off."

Visas' head tilted.

"I'm going to see the only person I know who might have some kind of clue," he said. "Honestly, I think I've lost it, because this guy is the biggest sleemo I've ever met, but he also knows more about the Jedi than the whole sorry bunch of us combined."

He reached out and gripped the edge of the bed, so he could lift himself up. Truth be told, he still felt like absolute crap-- like he wanted to find a hole somewhere and curl up in it and disappear or cry or just start beating up on Nar Shaddaa residents until someone coughed up where Meetra had gone and what had happened to her (besides the dying part). But, well, that was the thing with Fandom-- it ran on a schedule.

So he'd go there, get set up, then vanish down a hole. That sounded like a great, constructive idea.

"Who is this expert?" Visas asked. She sounded honestly invested in this thought. "Could we perhaps invite him--"

"Oh, no, no, no," Atton said, waving his hand. "No, that would be a terrible idea. Nooooo."

Anakin Skywalker, hanging out with the likes of Mical and Mira and Brianna and Visas? Space, that was the worst idea he'd ever heard.

"Is it one of the Jedi from the island?"

"No comment."

[[ nfb, nfi, ooc-okay. ]]

Was it, strictly speaking, a good idea for Atton to come out here tonight?

Probably not.

She had once woken up a whole mess of emotions in his head - anger, fear, guilt, compassion, lust, pain, self-loathing, and more to go with it. They had never been exactly orderly or one-at-a-time for him since, but Fandom had done a great job at letting him polish up the top layer so the mess stayed where it was, not bothering anybody but him unless he needed it to.

The polish had finally worn off this morning.

And now he was sitting here, polishing off a pre-drink at the bar while waiting for Sparkle. Didn't even really want to be here. Couldn't deal with all of these people. He hadn't even really been able to look at another girl since he met M-- the Exile because of whatever stupid confused thing wouldn't leave his chest, but by now frustration was just another wonderful notch on his belt of damned messy-- whatever it was.

How dare she. How dare any of them. How--

He slammed back his drink.

He really needed Sparkle to show up right around now.

[[ for that guy, yes. ]]

Atton had to thank the investigator the Republic had sent for him - the guy had been thorough enough to take most of Atton's stuff with him. That made things easier, considering that he'd been stuck in a badly-fitting Sith Assassin outfit when they'd marched out of there and he hadn't exactly had a ton of credits on hand.

He picked his jacket up off the floor. "There's stains all over this thing," he muttered. "Ugh." He brushed as much of the dirt off it as he could, but it was still going to take a thorough cleaning. Space. Just what he needed.

He leaned down and slid the investigator's blaster out of his belt. Wasn't like the guy was going to need it anymore. "But thanks," he said. "I guess. I mean, I can't go back, but at least I can find the Trandoshan who sold me out." He heard skittering in the background. The smell of piss and Hutt-breath. Yep: same old refugee slum. Same old people.

Atton shook his head and stepped out of the alley, leaving the investigator's body to cool behind the garbage. Wasn't like he had anyone to impress anymore - wasn't like there was anyone who cared about his body count.

So why should he care?

---

Getting off Nar Shaddaa meant having to find some money, so Atton dragged himself to some run-down cantina at the edge of the refugee sector to play some pazaak. He spent his first earnings on a veritable pitcher of juma juice and slumped over the bar, determinedly not thinking about-- anything. He just had two more years to add to his long list of times in his life he didn't want to think about, that was nothing.

The drinking meant he could ignore the way the cantina had gone silent for at least a couple of minutes. Everyone else was staring at a vid screen, rapt. They weren't as loud as they would've been during a sports competition, so it couldn't be that.

Then they started cheering. Hugging. This wasn't as rough a crowd as you could find on other parts of Nar Shaddaa, so somewhere it wasn't that weird, and yet... it was weird. There was something in the air, something palpably different, something Atton wasn't sure he really liked.

"What's going on?" he asked the bartender.

"He's dead," the bartender said, beaming at him. "Darth Revan. They killed him. The Jedi finally put an end to their civil war!"

Tomorrow morning, they'd realize that didn't mean they could go home now. They'd probably find out next week that war wasn't so simple. Didn't matter. The hole in Atton's gut had just grown five sizes and he needed to get out of this bar.

He dropped some credits on the table.

"Have fun with that," he said.

He pulled up his jacket until it hid half of his face and slid back into the crowd. It closed behind him, swallowing him whole - just another guy on a planet of millions.

[[ 'stablishy. nfb, nfi. ]]