#ghyslain

[louisvillenoms]

Ghyslain Chocolates | Louisville Kentucky | 2015

[ageofdragon]

I'm a new DA player who's creating a world state in the Keep and I'm trying to stick to "Paragon" choices, for the most part. Surprisingly, the choice that I've wrestled with the most so far is whether or not to tell Ghyslain the truth about his wife's death in DA2. I guess it's one of those things where I try to imagine what I would do in that situation. For the moment, I've decided to spare him the details, but do you have any advice? Just thought I'd ask. Thanks.

Personally, telling him would be the “Paragon” thing to do, because it is the most truthful and because of what happens if you do tell.

If you were to keep it from him, then he does take her ring and assume that she just left him. That she is still alive somewhere and that it was just a lost of passion in their relationship.

However, if you tell him. He’ll actually give the ring back to Hawke, because it is insinuated (though in no way actually true) that his wife’s family would blame him for the murder because he has her ring and thus try to charge him with the murder. He is more worried about him own fate then his wife’s at that point though.

Personally, I think Ghyslain is a bastard and deserves to be stuck with the unexplained death of his wife, since he cares so little for her to being with. I mean he asks for her to dragged back like a dog. Still the “Paragon” option is to tell, that way he knows the truth and won’t have any reason to worry about being blamed for her murder.

[scribblingbearcat]

SWTAW- Ghyslain: Herding Cats

TAP TAP TAP TAP.

Olly was up in the space between heartbeats, hair trigger alertness born of Nar Shadda diminished none here. For a moment, though, the lean cathar couldn't remember where she was. Then it came to her. 

Of course. Botched job, Imperial Intelligence, her first assignment... Ghyslain Rehgar. Dromund Kaas. 

And then, getting a ship of thier very own, worth more than she was for sure, all the bells and whistles included. That was yesterday. She'd immediately set out exploring the place. First rules of being a thief, know your mark and know the area. 

It also conveniently dodged paperwork, which she detested. Too many words, too much writing, too fuckin' hard by far. Hiding here, in the ship's air vents, ensured her privacy. A blanket and pillow were all she really needed to sleep well (many times she hadn't even had those on the Smuggler's Moon) and sleep she had, blessed and deep. Except for now.

Who th' everlivin'- 

She didn't have time to do more than sit up when the grate in the floor that led below got tossed aside... by a scowly black, white and grey Cathar. He was not pleased. 

"Aw fuck!"

"You," he growled, "have paperwork to do. And if you think you can hide from me, you are very much mistaken." 

"C'mon, Guv, can't y' do it, looks better that way anywho, y'know, I gots me shitty handwritins," Olly said, scrambling back. How had he found her?? Time for that later. "Bein' senior agent an' babysitter an' all, I mean, really, seems like y' oughta be gettin' on that right soonish-"

"Get. Over here. Now," he said. 

He looked at Olly. 

Olly looked at him.

Then, she glanced into the side passage to her right. 

"Don't you even-"

"Sorry Guv, not t'day!"

x-x-x-x-x

Two and a half hours, a bitten hand, three pairs of handcuffs, two lockpicks fashioned from household objects, five knives, one pack of cigarettes, at least nine bruises and innumerable swear words later, Olly bolted around the corner of the medical bay and straight into a punch. The snapping impact threw her feet out from under her and sent her crashing down. The world went a little grey as her head cracked on the tile. Ghyslain loomed over her, a specter of paperwork-induced doom.

He held up one bandaged hand. In it was a fourth pair of handcuffs. Dammit, thought I got 'em all, she thought dizzily. But...

Out of breath, endorphins singing.... Despite the rapidly swelling knot on her head, the chase had been FUN. Most fun she'd had in a while.

She grinned at him, wide and wicked and not sorry at all, even as he crossed his arms and glared. She was used to it, though, it was the default Ghys expression. Sometimes it strayed into 'contemptful' or 'smirking' but 'scowling and pissy' seemed to be the automatic setting.

"You walked into that one," Ghys said coldly. "If I had a knife, you'd be dead."

Olly coughed, sat up, winced when her head thundered and pounded protest. "Y' don' got no more knives, Guv, took th' last when y' tried t' handcuff me t' th' rail inna engine room. Nice punch, though. Dinna know y' 'ad it in y'..."

"There are many things you don't know," he said, still icy cool. Without further ado, he grabbed her arm tight and half lifted, half dragged her to her feet. With how he used his rifle all the time, she almost forgot the strength in his iron grip.

"Oy, easy, 'm up, 'm up."

"No. I'm not going to be 'easy'. You," Ghyslain told her with those snapping eyes of his, bluey-green (couldn't they make up thier mind?) hot as fire despite the color, locking with her own eerie crimson, "are going to do. your. own. paperwork. or I will send you back to prison myself."

"Alrigh', fine, now lemme go, y' crushin' me arm, Sparkles." 

The look he gave her said she was rather lucky he wasn't crushing her windpipe. He did not release her, marching her into the common room and sitting her down himself in front of a terminal. The forms were already up. 

Eugh.

"One hour," he said. Olly stared at him.

"S'not fair, I can't do this in one bloody hour-!"

"Next time think about that before you make me spend three chasing you around the ship. I'm going to go shower. DO NOT," he added, "touch my gun." The sniper rifle in the corner was his most precious thing. Having been told explicitly not to touch it, Olly was now filled with the desire to do just that. She smirked.

"Wot's s'matter, y' don' think I got practice at handlin'... 'big guns'?" Ghyslain looked at her, just looked at her, like he could not quite believe she just went there. "I'm sure yours is bigger'n most, course, takes a bit o' finesse-"

"I am leaving."

"-time, practice, y' gotta go slow an' careful, y' don' wanna set it off-"

"GOODBYE." 

"Enjoy yer shower, Guv!"

Still chuckling to herself, Olly looked at the console where the paperwork was and frowned a moment. How to get out of this? There was no way she could let him find out her borderline illiteracy, though she was learning fast. She just needed more time, really, that was all, and then she'd be fine, but it was so hard, letters and numbers and writing... 

She was still frowning when she saw the coffee cup and smiled. It was an accident, Guv, honest it was, just knocked it with me elbow an' it went all over errythin'! Tried t' save my work, but, well... 

"Tragedy. Real pity s'wot it is," she said to herself, and smiled as she poured the coffee onto the terminal, whistling a bit under her breath.

[scribblingbearcat]

Teamwork

Slaves. Poor rubes, Olly thought. Still, nice of 'em t' leave thier stuff lyin' 'round.... The slight cathar girl knelt by a desh junk pile and sifted through it with the ease of long practice, pocketing things for later. 

"Are you going to run off every time we encounter enemies?"

She turned. Ghyslain, behind her and scowling -then agian, that seemed to be the automatic setting of his face- crossed his arms. The large, lethal sniper rifle on his back was a slick jellysquid if she ever saw one. Olly grinned. 

"Wot, y' sayin' y' can't handle a buncha half starved rebs wit' garden tools?" His scowl deepened. "Sides, they leave this stuff lyin' 'round well, be a shame t' just let it all go t' waste. You'll thank me later, Guv."

He gave her that level glare of his and said nothing.

"Don' smile, occifer, y' might strain somethin'."

"Would it kill you to assist me? Or did they not teach you teamwork in your training?" he snarked. 

Olly smirked. 

"All y' had t' do was ask, Sparkles," she said with a cheerfully sarcastic two fingered salute- and then, Olly pressed the button on her belt's stealth generator, and vanished.

Ghyslain took a deep breath and drew his weapon. "You hit them first."

"Already on 'em, Guv'ner."

Silent as a shadow, she drew her knife and crept up on the nearest group of rebels. It was an art form, stealth. If you weren't quiet, it didn't matter that they couldn't see you- but for a former theif, well. How she moved so fast and soundlessly, without the training many other agents had, was a source of contention among the others they stuck her with before she went to Hutta. But it was habit, for her. Walking on slippery dangerous tiled roofs in driving rain, or trash littered alleys looking for a score, silence was golden. More importantly, so were the creds. 

Knife in her teeth, blaster rifle in her hands, Olly advanced on the enemy.They didn't see her until she slipped in between two of them and did several things in rapid sequence. First came her knife, stabbing down and ripping out the throat of the rebel to the left, severing some big thing that bled a lot, what was it, um- Oh! The jugular. That. With a flick of her wrist the knife whizzed through the air and embedded itself in the left eye of another. That freed her to bring her rifle to bear and unstealth as she kicked a man in the groin and shot him as he doubled over. 

It was another thing they'd been impressed with. Olly was scrappy, shockingly so for a little slight thing like her with no formal training to speak of when she came to Imperial Intelligence and even now, considerably less than the average agent. But agian, many forgot to factor in her life before. Gangs, hutts, murders, other theives.... enemies were everywhere. If you couldn't defend yourself you didn't last long. And there were things a littler person could do to fuck the hell up a bigger one, things Olly learned years ago and put to good use now.

A sudden PEW over her shoulder, and the rebel incoming toward her dropped with a third nostril between his eyes. Olly glanced back and laughed.

Nice.

Ghyslain was everything she wasn't. Calm, surgically precise, controlled almost to the point of a savage sharp edge in his movements as he reloaded and took aim and fired and fired and reloaded agian, smooth as clockwork. It was actually kinda impressive, if she were honest with herself. His aim was so good that, as she watched, he shot the knife from the hand of an oncoming assailant and the plasma continued on to nail a second right in the heart.

She blinked.

...He's good. Real good.

Huh.

Kinda hot, too. If only he weren't such a tightass.

A pause, and he drew something from his belt.

Olly ducked and rolled as the frag grenade came sailing down and exploded. Shards whipped past her face and heat threatened to scorch her ears, but the smoke provided her a perfect opportunity to ghost in and finish off the rest. When it cleared, Ghyslain was coming down the hill, and Olly lounged on top of a crate next to a pile of bodies.

"Ey, woulja lookit that, Guv, y' ain't 'alf bad," she said cheerfully. 

He looked at the devastation and arched one eyebrow minutely. Olly just grinned agian.

"You were right. Teamwork is fun!" 

[scribblingbearcat]

First Impressions

She sticks out like a sore thumb in Kaas City.... and not just because of her clothes. On Nar Shadda there was every species under the sun and some who'd never seen it- but here.... human, human, human, a few Sith Purebloods, and more humans. It wierded her out. Plus- it was so clean. Almost unnaturally so. Y' could eat dinner offa these streets. The sharp metal architecture and carefully planned city blocks were nothing like Nar Shadda, with it's hodgepodge of buildings stacked on, over, and side by side. The thief in her noted handholds and exits but still.... it was disturbingly open. 

How did he stand living here? 

The stray thought made her flick a keen glance to her handler slash partner slash babysitter. Ghyslain Rehgar seemed quite above the looks and petty whispers with an aloofness he wore like armor and cool ice eyes. He led the way; she followed behind. 

I am NOT nervous, she told herself stubbornly. City fulla folks like this, ain't never gonna see me comin'. Cloud'eads an' ivories always easy t' fleece. Just gotta keep sparky n spicy an' I'll 'ave 'em all wonderin' wot got thier teeth when they wasn't lookin'.

A small smile. An' hey, if all's else fails, I can hide behind ol' Sourpuss 'ere. He'll freeze 'em with them eyes of his an' we'll be aces an' eights.

So she put a bit of swagger in her step, kept her head high, something of a cocky dangerous grin on her face. Olly wasn't just a theif, now; she was a fucking Imperial Agent. She had every right to be here, as much as they did, and damn if she was going to let them see her cower. 

Olly did NOT cower. 

Not for the madam that tried to turn her into a dolly, not for the gangs that fought like dogs over a scrap of meat, not for the ones who hired her to steal, not even for the enraged Hutt that motioned for her to be held down and 'taught a lesson in respect'. 

Smile, bitches. Agents in th' cantina now. Bring it. I could use some fun.

[scribblingbearcat]

Olly's List of Nicknames for Ghyslain Rehgar [so far; includes mental ones]

Robot

Bag-o-rocks

Guv

Sourpuss

Guv’nor Adm’ral Cipher Handler Occifer SUH

any combination of the above

Sparkles

Mr. Ivory

[scribblingbearcat]

Rats and Cats: P1

Bare feet skritch-scratched on the dirty concrete, the only sign in the otherwise silent, dark alleyway. Night on Nar Shadda in the Slums was not for the faint of heart.

Then agian, she was many things. Faint of heart? Not one of them.

Large crimson eyes glittered in the gloom; from the shadows detached a pale wraith of a girl, far too skinny and lean and sharp. She stopped just short of the light, in front of the twilek leaning agianst the brick wall, smoking.

"S'wotcha got f' me, Neen?" 

"Job. In?"

"D'pens." 

"Do not be picky. Know you failed last. Owe." Neen's not from here, from the Slums. He's a cloudhead, works for the gangs, or for whoever hires him, and he hires them. The bratlings of the streets, the ones who really get things done, who can slip in and spy and sneak and steal, they peddled thier skills or died trying. 

Most did. Lifespan wasn't long in this business. Between the risks of the actual job and the employers.... Well. It was partly why she sported scars on her cheeks. That and the failure he mentioned.

But damn if Olly wasn't still the best in the biz. That's how the kit got her name, early on: the Nar Shadda slang word for 'steal'. 

"Fuckin' 'ell I do. Talk o' walk, airhead." She crossed her arms. Dressed in rags as she was, barefoot and grimy, only those red, red eyes glared at Neen from the dim.

"Job. As said. Risky. But profitable. Thirty. Details provided."

She gaped. Thirty? As in thirty THOUSAND credits?? That- that was enough to leave the planet. Hell, it was enough to buy a STARSHIP and leave the planet.... 

"...'Ow risky?"

Neen didn't respond, just blew smoke.

So that would be near suicidal, then.

Good thin' das me spe-ci-ality.

"A'ight. Thirty five, we solid. Catscratch," she said. Neen looked up and frowned. 

"....Cash is... difficult."

"Ain't me problem, bud, s'yers. Y' know I'm th' best, s'why y' came. Twenny-fo, Jack's, wif details. Walk or talk," Olly told him shortly. Then she turned, leaving Neen in the darkness behind her.

But she knew he'd meet her at Jack's cantina tomorrow. Last she heard, Neen quit smoking- bad for his lungs, which didn't work real well in the smog choked lower levels as it was. If he'd taken it up agian -and recent like, from the almost full pack she'd seen on his belt- there was a reason.

Thirty. Thirty's fuckin' solid. But cloudhead biz... 

Absently, she fingered the cars on her cheeks, still fresh enough to itch.

No screwups. Not this time. Y' do this, girlo, y' make nuff t' blow dis taco stand.  

Olly went back to the place she called home- like many here, it wasn't actually a house, no, that was far out of her reach, but instead it was an old air vent, one of many the city planet had running through it like veins. It took some work to stop the fan from turning, but once she had, she found a secluded tunnel nearly impossible to get to unless you knew the way. Scampering up buildings, down fences, and across wiring, she reached a particular manhole and, after looking around, dropped inside. 

Ten minutes of sloshing through bad things, then climbing up through some very small spaces, and she'd reached her humble abode. 

It was a big pipe, nearly ten feet in diameter. Covering the floor was various stolen cloth drapes, towels, sheets, old blankets, all ragged and torn. A hole cut in the side, jagged on the edges, revealed wiring she'd hooked up to what looked like a half-working computer terminal about twenty years old. Bags hanging from the ceiling held cans of food outside the reach of the city womp rats. The other end of the pipe opened up into a sheer wall face on the level below, and stretched out before her in a pantheon to excrement was the Slums. 

Olly flopped down on the old mattress and folded her hands behind her head, looking at the ceiling. 

Get off Nar Shadda... Mebbe go straight? Eh. Mebbe not. Wot else'm I s'posed t' do, anywho? Mebbe- mebbe school, though. 

Sure be nice t' read like cloudheads do.

Then rob th' bastards so blind Imma steal they eyeballs. 

On that thought, she rolled over and reached for a locked, battered metal trunk. Inside were a pile of old, actual flimsiplas books, pages ripped and missing, moldy, ink faded. She picked one up and squinted at it.

"...Th'... boy... took th'... sp-... spee.... speeder? speeder..... t' th'... house..."