𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣 𝙨𝙠𝙮𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨

• immoral p4 •

warning: this series includes dark, uncomfortable themes intended for a mature audience. you may not agree with the actions of the characters so proceed with caution.

smut, mentioned semi-detailed torture + gore

•

Remmin Bar is a good place to get some work done.

Drinks on tap, background hubbub, relative privacy. You can't stop the odd looks you get now and then, of course, but nobody bothers you because of your affiliation with the Jedi.

As you finish your third whiskey, your pen runs over the notepad. It takes an extensive amount of alcohol to get through Yoda's file, while simultaneously trying to collate methods for him to calm down. There's only so much that a few breathing exercises and repeated mantras can do- especially for a man with such a long trail of abominations lying in his wake.

As if you'll hear something new this time, you put on your earphones and listen once again to that clip from your last session with Yoda.

"And what did you do after that, Sir?" You ask him, trying to keep your nerves out of your voice.

"Took his hands," He replies, his tone jovial though his words are dark. "Until I saw bone, I twisted them backwards."

There's a short silence in the tape while you gather your thoughts. "Is that all?"

He takes in a deep breath. "Ah, rip off his hands, I did. Broke..." This is when he begins to laugh. At first, it's a low chuckle, easily mistaken for a cough. But it then develops into a hearty guffaw, and the sound of his hand slapping the arm of his seat brings a vivid image into your mind of the memory of that session. "Until the snapping sound stopped, broke every tiny bone in his legs. Kept him alive for it all. Satisfying, it was! Even more satisfying, the look on his son's face was."

You clear your throat, trying to hold back your vomit. "And why, exactly, did you do this?"

"Breathing too loud, he was," Yoda grumbles, before adding an almost inaudible, "Stupid fucking Ewok."

You turn the tape off and take out your earphones, vowing to never listen to it again before returning to your notes.

"Keep biting your cheek like that and you'll make a hole," A deep voice says from opposite you, a lightheartedness to his warning tone.

Looking up, you meet his eyes as your own narrow. It isn't often that someone speaks to you, let alone sits at your table. He must be new to Coruscant.

"You're either working so hard that your teeth are trying to keep up with your brain," He begins, raising his browbones. "Or you're hungry. In which case, allow me to buy you a snack."

You tilt your head, frowning. "Do I know you?"

"Not exactly," He answers cryptically. "My name is Maul."

Realization hits you, before you're baffled. Just how brave must a man be to be talking to the enemy in such a public place? "Ah," You say with a nod. "So you're the pretty one."

Maul smirks, resting his arm on the back of the seat. "Is that what Skywalker refers to me as? Why, I'm flattered."

He seems pleasant enough, but you let out a sigh. "No offence, but I work for the Jedi, so it's probably best if you leave." Nonchalantly, you glance around the bar. "I count three of them in here alone, not to mention the ones positioned outside."