The Galaxy was a busier place than k'Vik remembered. There were more beings, more known systems, more ships, more trade goods. There were still political empires and clumps of people willing to subvert them for the promise of credits and goods. After her brief adventure with Korhal nearly a year prior, she had severed ties with him. She did not need him. She mused to herself on occasion: why did I not kill him? Her own answer was never very concrete. After turning over the newly created (and functional) duplicate of her previous saber to an Old Republic collector (who remarked how much of a resemblance she bore to it's original bearer), they were rewarded with a pile of credits. Why didn't she kill both of them? It would have made things... more complicated, she decided as she always did on revisits to the topic. It still felt like an opportunity lost, but that nagging grew more distant with time, yet it bothered her today.

Now she had a ship and a crew, both gained through her gift of the Force. It was easier when the owners were convinced to put them on the table. Thoughts at sabaac games were easy to glean, and greed was easier to push. In this case, a YV-330 and it's crew. Not content to leave an enemy at her back, she murdered the ship's former captain after pushing him into a rage.

Milivikal had smirked as she collected the ship's deed and title. “I think” she said, the smirk transforming into a malicious grin, “that I shall paint the ship pink.” Her words were laced with subtle cues, tones and commands. The pirate/smuggler pulled his blaster in rage, overturning the large gambling table to get at her. Mili dove to the side, the blaster bolt sailing wide. She rolled to her feet, and threw a vibrodagger through his throat.

With a little massaging, his crew turned out to be quite serviceable. Eight males of various species and three Twi-lek slaves were now at her bidding, and Milivikal devoured their collective knowledge with lust. They plied through the lanes of space, trading spice and disruptors to those of ill repute. With no Jedi to undermine, she might as well undermine the existing infrastructure. Siren's Kiss hummed through hyperspace with various illegal spices in the holds. They were somewhere near Thyferra. Risky, with great reward. Milivikal leaned on her intuition, and it had not steered her wrong. She sat crosslegged on her well appointed bed, reading one of the many great works of literature while listening to a Bith remix of the classic Verpine GrrzzKlznkink Orchestra. Her door was sealed and locked. She did not wish to be disturbed until the Siren arrived at it's destination, near Sullustan space.

The ship violently exited hyperspace and sent an engrossed k'Vik headfirst into her dresser.