Bracca… Anselm had heard of the famous scrapyards in the Mid Rim Territories. The place where ships go to die. Scrappers in his father’s employ had brought back many ‘treasures’ from their dealings on this world. Engine parts, decommissioned droids, valuable electrical units, and system boards were among the reclamations made in his father’s name.
Anselm never cared for such things, much to Darrius's chagrin. He never had the mind for mechanical engineering and was more interested in other ways of getting his hands dirty. The innards of computers, ships, and droids just held no fascination for him, as they had for his father.
And now here he was, on a planet he never cared to visit, standing in the stripped and scrapped hangar bay of an antique Venator-class Star Destroyer. Scrappers had thoroughly ripped this once-important vessel of the Grand Army of the Republic to shreds. Bulkheads had been torn asunder, and rusted decking lay littered with scrap metal, leaving uneven, unstable sections of flooring. Honestly though, Anselm couldn’t care less for the state of this ship. He was only here on orders. This scrapyard was supposed to be the site of the next fight that Combat Master Vincent Brujah had picked for his little tournament.
If he was being honest with himself, this tournament had sounded fun at first. But every match and opponent he’d come across had done little to lessen the firestorm inside him. His rage—that inferno burning just beneath his surface—had overtaken him far too often of late. Worse still, Anselm feared that the years he'd spent under his uncle's guidance, learning to temper that fury, had all been for nothing. Alas, he wouldn’t stop. Not just yet. He had something to prove, mostly to himself, and that was enough to drive him forward. He wouldn’t allow his inner fire to dull and fade, becoming as cold as the metal wreckage beneath his feet. He wouldn't let it burn away his humanity, consuming everything he’d worked so hard to achieve.
“Hey, NIX, I’ve got a job for you, buddy.” Anselm’s ID10 Seeker Droid floated up to him, internal servos whirring as it listened with apparent reluctance. The droid's stark black chassis gleamed in the sunlight pouring into the Venator’s hangar bay opening. “Just fly about and keep watch, okay? I don’t wanna get snuck up on here. This place has too many places for someone to hide. And I definitely wanna stay away from that fracking Ibdis Maw. I didn’t come here to get swallowed by some massive hole in the ground with teeth.”
NIX responded with a series of indignant electronic chirps, apparently taking issue with its master's laziness and what it classified as his chicken-shit behavior. Anselm narrowed his eyes at it.
“Just shut up and do it, huh? Don’t make me fry those circuits of yours.” The droid flew off, calling its master a few choice names he didn’t wish to repeat in his head. “I gotta get a new droid.”
“Yeah, he didn’t seem too keen on keeping you safe, huh?”
Anselm’s head jerked around, amethyst eyes meeting dark purple ones. A woman stood near a shadowed maintenance corridor, leaning back against a mostly intact wall with her arms crossed. He took in her athletic build, black hair streaked with white, and dark grey skin mottled with lavender patches. She was clearly of Evereni descent, but there was something… more in there as well. Her clothing and apparent medical equipment suggested she was more accustomed to treating injuries than inflicting them.
Anselm just shook his head with a smirk before yelling out behind him, “Thanks for the heads-up, you worthless hunk of metal!”
From a short distance, he could still hear the incensed chirping and beeping as NIX admonished him. Apparently, if Anselm wasn't going to pay attention to his surroundings, NIX saw no reason to warn him about someone already standing there. He just groaned in annoyance and pressed his palm against his forehead.
“Stupid thing’s going straight to the incinerator when we get home.”
“Oh, don’t be like that. You just need to teach it some manners, is all. There are no bad droids, just bad droid owners.” As she spoke, he studied her, and she studied him right back. Anselm picked up on the subtle tells of someone who'd grown up rough, carrying herself with the guarded demeanor of a person slow to trust. He understood that, as he was much the same.
“I’m assuming you are who I’m here to fight?” he asked, ready for anything. “You don’t look like a Braccan scrapper. Or any kind of scrapper.”
“Quite the perceptive one, aren’t you?” she responded sarcastically, earning a faint grimace from Anselm. She didn’t seem particularly thrilled. “Look, I’m not normally a fighter. I’m a healer. But this is a fighting tournament, so let’s do this. Maybe with some ground rules?”
Anselm raised an eyebrow at that, then crossed his arms and gave her an intrigued smile. “What do you have in mind?”
“I can see that lightsaber. Gonna guess you’re a Force user. So how about no Force powers, no lightsabers, no blasters. Let’s make this as nonlethal as possible.”
He pondered her request, but the opportunity it presented was one he was actually happy to take—a chance to prove himself without risking losing control. To prove there was more to him than the fire burning beneath his skin. He didn’t want to seem too eager, though, so he scratched his chin in thought.
“Huh, so what, just hand-to-hand?” He raised an eyebrow. “What about blades?”
“I can heal blade wounds fairly easily, so that’s fine. Just no fatal attacks.” She remained stoic and seemingly disinterested, and Anselm couldn’t say he didn’t like it. Her demeanor reminded him of one of his sister's friends, May, a girl he'd harbored a rather embarrassing crush on as a teenager.
“I accept your terms.” Anselm pulled out his kyuzo petar daggers, slipping his fingers through the circular grips. “The name’s Anselm, by the way. Anselm Valreyes.”
The woman sighed when she saw his blades and drew a beskar kal dagger of her own.
“Maeva. Just Maeva. That’s all you get from me.”
“Fair enough. Shall we begin, Maeva?” Anselm couldn’t help the light, flirtatious inflection in his voice, but the woman either didn’t care or hadn’t caught it.
“Let’s just get this over with.”
With a feral grin, Anselm rushed forward, mindful of the hangar bay's uneven floor. He slashed one blade at Maeva, who tried to keep her distance from his attacks. Anselm’s movements were quick and disciplined, reflecting his extensive training. His bladework was fluid and grounded, but he was clearly holding back. He wasn’t trying to win quickly. Instead, he wanted to spend time with this woman and see how she moved and fought.
When she saw her opening, Maeva took it. She thrust and slashed her dagger, aiming for nonlethal targets with surgical precision. Unfortunately, her attacks didn't land. Her footwork was instinctive, her movements cautious and economical. While her combat training clearly wasn’t on Anselm’s level, she kept her eyes peeled for any obstacles to her positioning. The last thing she wanted was to slip and fall through a hole in the floor.
As Anselm slashed one of his blades near her shoulder, Maeva dropped down, dodging the sharp edge. As she did, she noticed his approaching foot too late. The dagger had been a feint, and she’d fallen for it. His rising boot slammed into her shoulder, knocking her off her feet. Rolling across the metal ground, she narrowly avoided a chunk of wreckage before stopping.
“Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to hit you so hard.” His voice was sincere, though a slight chuckle followed. “You’re not bad, and I appreciate you not aiming for anything too vital. But if you wanna win this fight, you’re gonna have to step it up, dear Maeva.”
Judging by Maeva’s expression, his shit-eating grin really pissed her off. Anselm liked that he was pushing her buttons. He loved a fiery nature in a woman, and he couldn’t lie; he was enjoying this fight with her.
Maeva snatched a piece of metal from the scrap pile she'd narrowly avoided and hurled it toward him as she rose. Anselm's eyes widened as he sidestepped the projectile, only to find Maeva rushing toward him with her dagger already drawn back. She lashed out with her blade, and only his reflexes stopped her from drawing blood. She did, however, manage to slice through the fabric of his jacket’s sleeve. The golden rings around Anselm’s pupils seemed to glow, and his grin broadened with genuine excitement. Now it was time to kick things up a notch.
As the two fought, NIX flew back towards the hangar bay. Its electronic cries rang out in alarm, clearly warning of approaching danger. Those cries grew increasingly indignant as Anselm kept ignoring it in favor of his fight. He failed to notice it calling him an obtuse and ridiculous human who never pays attention!
Anselm was engrossed in their spar and watched Maeva’s every movement. As he led her around in their dance, he saw her foot slip into an exposed groove in the hangar floor and she lost her balance. Releasing one dagger, Anselm let it clatter against the decking before seizing Maeva by her jacket collar. He hauled her off balance and threw her onto her back, her foot slipping free of the groove. He planted a knee lightly against her upper chest, pinning her in place as he brought his remaining dagger to her throat, grinning down at her.
“How perceptive of you. You should really mind your footwork.” The flirtatious dig only made her glare up at him.
For a moment, neither spoke. Then, a chorus of mechanical whirring and electronic chatter echoed through the ruined hangar. From the shadowed corridors emerged the unmistakable red optical sensors of several approaching Viper probe droids. Anselm withdrew his dagger and moved off of Maeva’s chest. He offered her his hand and helped her stand as the danger approached.
“NIX! I thought I asked you to warn me of incoming danger!”
The seeker droid pulled up beside its master and aggressively jabbed him with an electro-prod as it chittered furiously about his inability to listen just because a pretty girl is around!
