1A/N Thank you Lux's Sister for your lovely lovely reviews! They make me really happy, honest. Anyways, to answer your question, Agnes is older in this version. There's about a three year age difference between the two now. I scrolled through my writing files for SCDC and it just didn't feel right for Agnes to be so young, especially since she acts a little like Akiane's older sister.
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"I can offer you triple the usual pay and I know you're searching for your brother. I have...say contacts in the Senate. Declining?"
"I...you'll have them by sunrise tomorrow. Pickoff point?" The girl took a step backwards.
"This bar. Give it to the bartender and hand him this." The figure pressed a small stack of currency into her hand. "I'll pick it up at oh five hundred hours. I don't expect any more Desert Queen." The girl arched her eyebrow at the figure. "But I don't expect any less."
"Excessiveness does not exist in my dictionary."
"Very well. Do not disappoint me Desert Queen."
"My reputation exceeds me."
...
Never think, never stall, never dream. Forget, forget, forget. Run.
What is there for her to fear? She is the Desert Queen, the most renowned thief in the galaxy, known in all the underworld systems, somehow an urban legend. Those that Rim world mothers whisper to their children when they refuse to put back their toys. Children, listen now, put back your toys, or the Desert Queen will come and take them in the night. After all, thievery, wars, dirty jobs, and slavery have no place in their pristine lives.
She ducks under the elaborate arches of the entrance, hurrying away under the dim light of the stars and the waning moon, she wears the night on her back and doesn't stop, not even when she hears the faint murmurs of dissent as she shoves past a few dawdling bystanders and she dashes back into the alleyways, heading towards the pub that she'd met her newest client at. A turn left, then a turn right, almost there.
Almost there, almost, a few more jobs and she'll be able to get a ship of her own. Perhaps then she'll find her brother, and they'll finally they'll become pilots and fly across the galaxy. Just as they dreamed when they were little, learning how to fly with a control panel salvaged from the junkyard.
Never think, never stall, never dream. Forget, forget, forget. Run.
She crushes the dream ruthlessly and runs. Dreams are after all, only for naive little children.
She skids into the bar, the heels of her shoes scudding on the ceramic tiles of the bar floor. In the dim light, the bartender accepts her money and stashes the memory disk into the cashier.
Her job is done.
...
"Someone's stolen a memory disk from the Archives!" He runs, the words faint murmurs in his ear as he passes through the large elaborate arches of the Temple entrance, his hand on his lightsaber, adrenaline giving him a rush.
Run, run, run.
A hand tugs his elbow, restraining him from barreling into the nearby street after the cloaked figure he had seen run away out of the corner of his eye. "Anakin, I'm taking the left, grab Ahsoka won't you? Just focus on the thief. The disk doesn't matter, Luminara and Barriss are on it." A pair of blue eyes stare at him intently. His nods gently, eager to catch the thief that has broken into his home. "Sure, Master."
"I'll meet up with you at-" He grins at the Jedi Master standing next to him for a brief second before dashing off into the smaller and more crooked alleyways of the Coruscant Underworld, eyes sharp for the slightest hint that the thief might have taken refuge in the small pubs and bars sprinkled along the alleyways.
Run, run, run.
He sees the cloaked figure again, this time behind a bar near a fork in the alleyway, skulking in the shadows and sticking to the walls, fearful. Without thinking clearly, he dashes forward, eager to catch the thief that has broken into his home, lightsaber at the ready. He leaps. The figure ducks and his feet meet the wall in a skidding motion. Ahsoka ducks aside, green lightsaber flashing.
The figure prepares to run, curling into a roll neatly to tumble gracelessly away from him, a retreat into the shadows. As soon as the tip of the figure's short heeled boots lick the shadows, he attacks once again, lashing out with his lightsaber, Ahsoka perfectly in sync, the glowing blue blade of his lightsaber glowing in the dull streetlights. Unexpectedly, the figure whips up a boot in retaliation, heel driving away the green blade, the dark hood slipping off the slightest bit to reveal a thin brown braid that trails down to the figure's collarbone. It seems hauntingly familiar, yet it dances tantalizingly out of reach. As he reaches to tear away the hood that cover's the figure's face, the figure's snatches away Ahsoka's lightsaber.
The figure lunges at him, trying to catch him off balance, aiming a roundhouse blow at the crown of his head, studded glove and all. And the figure almost succeeds, almost. He grabs the fist and goes with the momentum, driving the figure into the ground, wincing slightly at the impact, but nonetheless handing back the lightsaber to Ahsoka. As he prepares to cuff the figure that seemingly lies still on the ground, the figure's leg darts out to hook his lightsaber, trying to disarm him. The maneuver fails and the figure whips out a rifle from the black and orange sheath that hangs low on her, he thinks it's a her, waist.
He waves his hand and the gun skitters away, Ahsoka moving backwards, comm raised to her lips, preparing to call Obi-Wan. He grabs the figure who tries to twist away, only to fall right into the cuffs that he has unclipped from his belt. The two rings of metal click close and the cloak ripples uselessly as the figure struggles still, the cuffs restraining the figure from any further movement,
Never think, never stall, never dream. Forget, forget, forget. Run.
But she never forgot, she thought, stalled and dreamed. She didn't run, she stayed and fought. Reckless and stupid. A child would never be able to take on a Jedi. Unless you were a Jedi youngling, which she was not.
"Where's the memory disk?" The voice isn't threatening, no, it's got a lilting tone to it that's far too childish for the boy that stands before her, and somehow the lilt in the tone haunts her and tickles the back of her skull, itching at a memory drowning at the bottom of her mind.
"Too late." She keeps her head bowed, and her eyes trained dutifully on the floor.
"Care to explain what you mean by too late?" The lilting tone asks her again, syllables dancing around in the empty alley, ringing with uncomfortable familiarity. She reaches into the murky pool, hoping to dredge up some memory of a boy with unruly brown hair and blue eyes, but the memories only gets murkier the farther she reaches.
"No." She bites her lip hard but not hard enough to draw blood. And suddenly, her hood flips back and she averts her eyes to the sudden increase of light coming at her from every direction. A gentle finger tips her face up towards two amber eyes and suddenly everything clicks and her eyes grow large with recognition. Her eyebrows crinkle and she smacks the boy, her Anakin, across the face with cuffed hands.
His jaw is slack with surprise as her cuffed hands connect with his cheekbone. Recognition blooms slowly under blue depths as a purple bruise blooms rapidly across his face quickly where she struck him. As she draws back for another slap, his hands catch hers and their eyes meet, after eleven long years.
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A/N Once again thank you for the reviews, I loved reading them. As per usual reviews are loved and appreciated. Constructive criticism will contribute towards later chapters as usual.