Counting Coup

[Fromikeable]

"Heave!"

The doors to the palace's main chamber shook like rattles, the bars strewn across them ringing in their sockets. Within the room, Hutt thugs scrambled to cover. Some dove for pieces of fallen rubble. Others took their chances behind pillars. All trained their guns straight ahead as the dust began to settle, waiting fo-

"Heave!"

The doors bowed inward this time, remaining open a crack as their bars bent. Just through the newfound crack, the closest thugs could see their opponents on the other side. One of them, a huge Mandalorian, was already loading a third rocket into his launcher. Hoisting it up onto his shoulder, he chuckled with mirth as he inhaled for one last shout.

"Heave!"

The rocket slammed into the main bar of the door, dispersing it in a scatter of shrapnel. The doors kicked inward, one collapsing off its hinges and kicking up a tsunami of dust. As the air filled with brownness and dirt, shouts in Huttese, Basic, and a variety of other languages rang out.

Then the tirade of shooting resumed. Through it all, Genthus redrew his blaster rifle, shouldering his rocket launcher and waving his comrades on with his newly-freed arm.

"For glory, my friends! Wepo the Hutt is ours!" As if on cue, the building continued to shake as shots from above landed just outside. Through the windows of the opulent palace, ships could be seen floating above the skyline of Colony One. They rained shots down unopposed, ground-based guns doing what they could to trade the shots back. Numerous mercenary flags flew from each ship, ranging among the Huddled Voiders, the Giants, the Forever Harrow, the Purple Skies, even the Bared. But above each flew the flag of a black and white tidal wave flapping in the breeze, giving the impression of actual aquatic motion.

The Thrakken Sea company had organized this raid with its mighty battlecruiser, the Rorsmand, and by the way the grand ship carved through the air high above the rest, all knew that they would be getting the first take.

Cue the palace, wherein the mission had been simple. Mercenaries from every group, as well as the independents, would take the front gate and get as far as the Hutt's throne room. There, they would hold the mighty slug, Wepo the Hutt, hostage at gunpoint until he surrendered control of the planet or they took everything of value. Whichever came first.

"<Today is a good day to die!>" As blaster bolts skinned his black beskar'gam covered head to toe with painted yellow lightning bolts, Genthus trained his rifle forward. Walking at a steady pace, he began to greedily shoot back, the sword scabbard on his back jostling with every step.

[Moonfire]

Kailani wasn’t one for Mando-tongue, no. Corellia, for all it’s fancy academies, never really offered that as an elective. That’d be a helluva thing to see! Fat nobles discussing the finer parts of Resol-whatever between teeny bites of teenier appetizers in it’s native language. The black armored shouty boy with the broadest voiddamn shoulders in the galaxy would fit right in at the prissiest Corellian ball, a tea cup pinched delicately between forefinger and thumb.

Less pushing and more following the stream of traffic into Wepo the Hutt’s once palatial estate Kailani Quix, small business owner and general opportunist took in the sights, blaster pistol in one hand as it’s partner sat patiently at her hip. Green eyes skimmed the war torn home, the flood of mercenaries of every creed and color shouting in uproarious victory as they stormed into the throne room.

The Big Ol’ Son of Bitch upfront seemed content leading the charge with others of the Thraken Sea Company as the frizzy haired blonde, wearing scrapped together armour-- the best pieces of a few less than ideal sets slapped together-- took her time ducking behind the large fellows and the more sizeable pieces of rubble. Cover was essential afterall.

Kailani wasn’t exactly in the mood to here after all, on some backwater loser planet on Hutt Space just on the fringes of what could only be called an extra-galactic invasion. It did, most definitely, seem like the kinda thing to make beaucoup creds. If at the minor risk of personal safety. But Kai has been in far more dangerous situations in her years of pirating and smuggling just for the sheer fun of it. This at least had a hefty paycheck at the end. Help keep the bar’s lights on for another couple of months.

“Oi! Don’t forget to save a’bittah blood for the rest of us!” Kailani taunted after Genthus, firing a few more shots at the Hutt’s own paid henchmen, skittering from one rocky haven to the next.

[Muffinzky]

There was something special about men with weapons that Refira always had liked. And something wonderful when they managed to hit a target – except if that target was her! Which was why Refira covered up for a bit behind the giant Mandalorian as soon as the heavy doors started to open and a pair of eyes stared back into her own. Her blaster was being held tightly in her grip, ready to fire at anything and anyone.
She looked at the woman that chose to do the same, studied her and the members of the group closely.

This wasn’t really her kind of style. The Hapan woman was hot headed by nature, and there were times where that could come in handy, but when storming a palace, this wasn’t one of them. Refira chose to be more tactical. When they walked into foreign territory, Refira preferred a more detailed plan than ‘kill everything on sight’.
What about a map of the palace? What about information regarding the individuals in the palace that could come in handy? Even though she had lived close to 10 years at Nar Shaddaa, her academic upbringing shouted with all it could.
…
The door exploded, leaving a cloud of debris behind.

I guess… that would be a no!
She raised an eyebrow.

Refira, or Filtz as she had presented her as, silently pointed out to herself why she was there, when she could be somewhere more pleasant.
Extra credits for her pocket – and a possibility of expanding the influence of the Exchange to new and fertile soil. Then she charged after them, making sure not to get too close to be an easy target and not too far behind to fall into any unexpected surprises. The young lady didn’t wear any armour besides the usual clothing she wore to smack down any uprising slaves. Which was also why she was being more cautious when she moved. She was a close-combat girl. Not a sniper.

As usual Refira didn’t do a lot of the work, she fired shots in defence, being unreasonably calm.
Like, why would she even try to make an effort to hurt people, when Tornado Tomson in the front and Dollie Doodle in the back cleared most of the way for her?
…
More shots fired, and she barely managed to dodge them, throwing herself down to the ground and getting quickly back on her feet. She breathed a sigh of relief, having survived another minute in this hostile merry-go-round…
That. Was until the smell of burnt hair hit her nose. She blinked in confusion.
Where did that come from?
Then she noticed it. That! Was her own unruly braid! Being fucking hit!

Refira didn’t take this lightly! No, instead she raised her arms in the air, roaring a piercing scream to the sky as if she was deadly wounded or had lost a long time beloved in battle.
Her hair! Her beautiful hair!

Her voice echoed between the palace walls and the fire that was being exchanged. Then the break was over.
“Who. Did. That?”
The icy blue eyes that were visible above the dark veil suddenly seemed as if possessed. Words of anger tried to escape her lips, but they ended up in an incomprehensible growl.

Behind the veil her lips slowly curled up in a vicious smile. Her head cocked to the side.
“Fooound yoou~”.
No longer did Refira care about personal safety. She withdrew the whip from her belt, and when the thug was distracted by others in the invading group, Refira dashed forward. With the whip electrified, she used it determined and moved it as if it was an extension of her own body, encircling her as both an offence and defence for anyone stupid enough to get within her range. Those unfortunate enough to do so were being grilled, swept aside, smashed into other thugs – OR the wall, if that was more to their liking.

When she got close enough to reach the puny man (or what she thought could have looked like it. He wasn’t close to anything she would declare sentient or human) that dared to burn the tips of her hair, she jumped. He had his back to her and turned around to shoot, but it was too late, as Refira took advantage of his lacking balance. She smothered her legs around his torso to push him further, and as he tripped, she plunged her stiletto knife into his eye socket and pushed it deep to scramble any brain pieces she could get in touch with.

As he fell to the ground, Refira rushed forward, running and swinging the whip to keep a momentum going, and she quickly managed to catch up with the Mandalorian in the front.
Why stop now? The game had finally whetted her appetite for more.

“I’m giving them a head start. They are going to need it – Also!”.
With the swift movement of her arm, her whip swung what seemed to be a large piece of something that once was a chair into an approaching Hutt thug.
“-You missed something over there, honey”.

[Fromikeable]

Genthus unloaded his blaster's powercell downrange, the automatic rifle slinging out bolts as fast as it could and plunking two goons in their centers. As he reloaded, shots continued to ding off his armor, one ringing the top of his helmet like a bell. Taking aim again, a thug rushed him from the side. A black gauntlet zipped from the rifle's underside to the man's head, smashing at his skull with ferocious strength as the other arm pulled the trigger anyway, more spraying than shooting. A trio of thugs tried to take advantage of the poor aim, surging forward. One fell before Genthus was out of ammo again, the other two swarming on him with guns drawn, hoping to get close enough to shoot straight into the beskar'gam's chinks.

The butt of the rifle came smashing down on one, making him yelp along with the sound of crushing bone. As the other aimed, Genthus shifted, placing his helmet directly in front of the man's pistol as his free hand went back for his sword. The metal blade rang as the trigger was pulled.

He roared as the slug rang the beskar, adding a scratch and a dent. The thug screamed as the curved beskad carved into his collar like a cleaver.

"There's plenty for the bold, bartender!" Rolling his shoulders, Genthus advanced, sword in one hand, rifle in the other, his rocket launcher snug against his back. Advancing further, their resistance began to melt as more and more of the Thrakken-allied mercenaries flooded the hallway. Losing ground and morale in equal measure, the Hutt thugs began to break, starting a measured-yet-panicked retreat toward the next set of doors.

Gazing up at them, Genthus grinned like a dog under his helmet. Pausing beside a pillar to sheathe his sword and shoulder his rifle, the Hapan woman came surging up beside him, her whip as active as her singed, dancing hair. Watching her work as he loaded another rocket, he laughed heartily at her chosen nickname for her. Shouldering the rocket launcher, he gazed quickly down its targeting scope.

"They'll need more than that!" The rocket burst from the launcher, a cloud of smoke exploding out the rear of the barrel. Hutt thugs went diving for cover as the explosive slammed into the next set of doors. They put up much less of a fight than the last, bowing open immediately. Beyond lay their objective; a high-ceiling, window-filled throne room, complete with long red carpeting and marble statues. Classical pillars lined the walls, precious antiques and items of gross taste seated atop extravagant pillars off to the sides. At the far wall, in the center, below a giant mural depicting a gracious Hutt radiating holy beams of light positioned above his subjects, sat a wide, lush golden throne. Appearing more like a sofa than a chair in shape and sporting gems aplenty, it was marred by its occupant, who even despite the situation was being fed fruit by an apathetic protocol droid.

Wepo the Hutt glared in outrage as the fighting spilled into his throne room. Striding in tall through the fire, rocket launcher still smoking atop his shoulder, Genthus leveled a finger at the Hutt as his thugs retreated even still.

"Surrender!"

"Roh na tina bahro!" The Hutt pointed back with a heavy pistol, his eyes narrowed in utter scorn, and started shooting.

[Moonfire]

“Owner!” Kailani countered, shouting over the splashes of viscera and the rallying cries of her fellows. “Though, in situations like this, I suppose small business entrepreneur s’ah tad clearer.” Very few bar-owners spent their limited free-time helping to storm Hutt planets in the amdist of a burgeoning galactic crisis. At least, the Republic News stations seemed intent on painting that way. Blanderson Vooper, the distinguished and embarrassingly handsome anchor, made Teth seem as lost as Taris.

Crouching quite contentedly behind her detris of choice the woman popped up, firing potshots at an easy pace. The others advanced, Wepo’s defenses crumbling with every zip of plasma, slash of vibrosword and, uh, crack of whip? An eyebrow raised at the Hapan’s choice of weapon-- But hey, whatever. Folks come in all sorts. Still better than the pugilist herglic she ran with in her golden misbegotten youth-- Did that guy ever wear a shirt?

With a heave of massive armoured shoulders the door burst into a thud of metal scream of rocket-propelled fury. Fuck, this was fun. The apathetic slug-ruler munching away disdainfully as Big Ol’ Boy made his grand entrance. It was all so delightfully fuckin’ dramatic.

Kailani lingered as the fight spilled into the throne room, firing the last of her shots from the sizeable chunk of wall into the last dopey Rodian guard. “Don’t ya’ll worry ‘bout me, I’m--uh, just gonna check the perimeter. Keep it secure an’ all.” The woman muttered, pistols still tight in hand as she worked her way methodically through the grand entrance room.

Much of the artifacts weren’t in terrible condition despite the intensity of the battle. A couple of finely painted portraits-- Wepo lounging lavishly with his choicest slaves and favorite bow-tie was decidedly Kailani’s favorite-- and a number of seemingly arbitrary ornamental items. Throwing open her pack Kailani worked her way across the room, looting whatever valuables she could find, head lifting up to check on the throne room scrum time to time.

They could handle that, right? She’d divvy up the spoilers later.

[Muffinzky]

”Who the hell taught a Hutt how to shoot!?” Refira shouted.
Were Hutts even supposed to be able to do that?

Then she let herself fall back behind – behind what? Most stuff was broken at this point, so she threw herself flat against the floor, behind a stack of corpses, as the Mandalorian seemed to be his main target.

The whip was useless in the middle of the chaos in this case, so she fetched the blaster back up and tried to return fire to the Hutts’ hands. Hopefully that could make him let go of the pistol. Cursed be that she couldn’t just blast his face open. Then it would be over and they could all go home!

She glanced back at the other woman with wonder as she seemingly retreated.
“Keeping it secure from what? Ghosts?! Nobody ain't got time for that” Refira shouted at her with great annoyance present in her voice.

Wepo had a very pompous taste. But with the mixture in styles like that of a 5-year old that had the choice to choose all the colour crayons in the box for the first time. There were expensive ornaments of almost every alien culture imaginable. Refira cringed a bit, but it wasn’t something she never had seen before. To her opportunity a large chandelier hung above the head of the Hutt, and that gave her an idea.

"No killing, right? But nobody said anything against only maiming or seriously injure" she noted to herself.
Aiming and shooting at the large chain that held the chandelier up, she tried to get it loose.

[Fromikeable]

The Hutt’s ire manifested in screaming bolts of plasma, a handful of which skittered off of Genthus’s beskar’gam with zeal. The Mandalorian, for his part, raised a forearm to block his face from assault. His other hand slipped over his shoulder and grasped at the handle of his falchion. Leaping it from its scabbard, he only waited long enough for the slug to empty his clip.

Set to charge, Genthus only got a foot into the run before he heard Refira shout. Looking, he watched as her last shot connected with the chains supporting the chandelier above them. Wepo’s gaze followed his, and as the remaining Hutt thugs in the room were gunned down by the still-surging mercenaries, the chandelier gave a mighty groan, dropping by a few centimeters in a perilous dangle.

There it swayed, bits of duracrete and paint falling from the ceiling, its bolts squeaking lightly with the weight. As other mercenaries began to surround the Hutt, he growled angrily, tossing his pistol forward at Refira. With his stubby arms, it clattered to her feet.

”Fir tah! Hedo goh tijah poota!”

Resting his falchion on his shoulder, Genthus couldn’t help but chuckle. ”Surrender it is then!”

Choom. The entire palace shook, the chandelier swaying more violently this time. Looking up, Genthus was quiet a moment, waiting to see if he needed to move. Taking a few steps backward just to be sure, he glanced about, being met only by confused looks.

Choom.

”They’re not seriously bombarding this place with us inside, are they?”

Choom.

”They’re gonna’ bury all of the Hutt’s stuff. Not to mention the-”

CHOOM.

”Brace? Hold your siege; Wepo is depo-” Genthus grimaced as the only sound that came from his radio was a violent scream. Before he could give it a moment’s consideration, the palace rumbled deeply. The roof of the throne room came crashing down, the chandelier with it, atop Wepo the Hutt. Genthus kicked backwards, narrowly avoiding a shuttle-sized chunk of duracrete as he dived. Landing on his stomach meters away, the sound of further destruction dominated as the center of the floor caved under sudden strain, a huge object crashing further into the palace.

Pushing himself up, Genthus forced himself to flip over. Settling before them all in the now demolished, dust-flooded throne room was the remains of one of the Thrakken Sea corvettes, its hull just as ruined as the building it had crashed into. Despites fires and warped metal, tree roots strangled the ship, crawling from the inside out through massive holes in the hull.

The ship in all of its destroyed, tree-infested glory had come crashing through the roof, destroyed Wepo, and continued through the floor. Only then had it stopped, buckling as it came to rest on its bow sticking straight up through the holes it made.

Glancing skyward through the new hole in the roof, Genthus squinted. As the dust started to clear, fires and cannon bolts became apparent in the sky above, the latter reducing as the former increased. Ships covered in trees not unlike the corvette before them charged downward at the assembled mercenary fleets, firing large ovular objects with reckless abandon. In the evening sun above it all, the rich red and yellow hues seemed tinted purple.

Shining bright was a huge, twinkling crystal, visible even from orbit. Before it was a massive, descending fleet of everything from fighters to cruisers. Their invasion of Ylesia was being invaded, and the sight of mercenary ships exploding and sinking to the ground under the advancing onslaught left no doubt about who was winning.

[Moonfire]

“S’ah pretty one here.” Kailani whistled, plucking up a rather decorative bit of Wepo’s tamer erotica collection. A statuette of two twi’leks, oddly winged, entwined in a gilded embrace. Extremely fucking weird, but who was she to dictate a Hutt’s tastes? It’d certainly look neat hanging up at Bennigan’s: The Corellian Legend. Tossing it easily into her oversized pack Kailani ignored the cries of her fellow mercenaries.

Thus far she’d made quite the haul. Some weapons, odds and ends from the dead henchmen, a small and pleasant painting of Wepo’s favorite flickercat-- Monsieur Ruffles, and even a rather decent sized runner-rug that she was positive was made of Naboo cotton and would fetch a pretty price in Imperial space. Or look fabulous in her bar. Honestly, this whole looting thing was turning more into a free interior design splurge than extra cash, but Kailani could at least pretend she was putting herself into mortal peril for fat stacks instead of a few new bobbles for her bar.

Big Ol’ Boy’s voice boomed pleasantly, announcing the fanciful slug’s possible surrender. A shout quickly stifled by the roof’s thunderous shake. Bits of duracrete and gaudy gold trim threatened to rain down as the woman swung the spoils back over her shoulder, brow knit in concern.

Working her way over to the closest window Kailani watched it in living color, the booms of Thrakken ships being blasted out of the sky by vivid organic vessels. Trees-- Branches and leaves and all grown into wild shapes-- snaked in and out of hutt vessels… Or the remnants of them. With a scream it arrived, massive and sparkling-- A massive jewel that left a purple cast across the planet, painting all of Ylesia in it’s threatening light.

“Aw, shit.” Kailani cursed as the duracrete ceiling exploded, the throne room all but collapsing in on itself to turn Wepo into a beautifully abstract splat. The entranceway was not saved from such impacts, the debris raining in smaller, but still terrifying bursts and shakes. Taking one glance over her shoulder the blonde grimaced, watching the scattered movements of the other mercenaries. Every man for himself, right? “Scorch my good heart.”

Bolting towards the throne room’s doorway, she hopped cleanly over pits in the marbled flooring and scattered bodies. “Ey, so--Uh, my contract kinda has an alien-invasion clause an--”

Another hearty boom shook the throne room, cutting off her words. “Fuck it, I’m out-- You two comin’ or what?”

[Muffinzky]

”Thank yooou! I’ll take that”. Refiras’ complacent attitude shined through when she grabbed the pistol and rose to her feet, brushing her attire slightly. However, it didn’t last long as the vibrating humm started to carve through the palace. Throwing the trophy to the ground and quickly grabbing ahold on her blaster again, she glanced nervously at the Mandalorian. Then to the chandelier and to the Hutt and back again. But everyone seemed as completely oblivious to the situation as she was.

“Either that, or the same freak that taught the wermo how to shoot, also taught a pack of rakghouls how to dance tango upstairs”. Refira shaked her head quickly as for to wake up and remove the chill that started to slide down her spine. To no avail.

CHOOOM

“-Very aggressively”.
Her eyes widened anxiously. All previous experience told the Hapan to back up, and her legs started to walk backwards without much thought behind the movement, as all her attention was centred around figuring out what was going on. Yet the blood-curdling scream over the radio stopped her in her tracks as she bumped into the wall behind her.

The next she knew the room trembled violently as a welter of dust, roof pieces and the roaring crash rained down all around her. And with the impact of the object, a fist-sized piece of concrete hit her head and knocked her over.

When the dust settled, Refira still couldn’t hear anything. Her ears were ringing, and she couldn’t focus. Everything in the room had suddenly gained a twin. She blinked. She blinked again, and slowly the blurry surroundings started to make sense. With a groan, Refira managed to push herself up.
Dizzy and with a throbbing pain in her head, she looked at her hand when she removed it from her temple. The palm was coloured red, as a small stream of blood ran down from her forehead and mixed into her hair.

“Am I alive?”
She looked down. Barely.
In front of her the centre floor was missing. And the missing part of the floor had sent cracks into the wall, causing a part of it to fall down down beside her.

“Was that me? Wow. I’m better at using a blaster than I remembered”.

Groaning and cursing, the Hapan woman managed to push herself up, spreading her arms to keep her balance, as everything from her point of view still was spinning around.

The sky was going crazy! And purple!
Stating the completely obvious, Refira raised her brow, placed her hand on her forehead again, smacked her lips twice and took note:
“Thaaat… Is not normal trees”.
…
“I need a drink for this”.

In an attempt to focus, she bit her lip and narrowed her eyes. The blonde woman from the team came running towards her and Genthus. As she spoke, Refira didn't reply, but the Hapan let her actions speak for her: Running towards the exit at the speed of whatever her condition allowed her to, cursing the whole situation, Refira muttered to herself.
“You could have been to Zeltros, Refira. On vacation! Getting a manicure and a massage! But no, no, no. You HAD to go to freaking Ylesia. Ending up with a Mandalorian and a bimbo! And some sort of nuclear spinach in neon”.

[Fromikeable]

Heaving himself to his feet, Genthus's gauntlets wiped at his visor, clearing it of a thick coating of dust. Regaining his full vision, his gaze started at the destroyed corvette before them all before following the ship's husk upward, turning to the hole in the roof. As additional crystals fell from the sky and impacted the palace, the entire building continued to shake on a semi-regular basis, the siege it was experiencing evident.

Spotting the giant purple light far in the sky above, Genthus whistled. "A bold entrance, you must give them that." Watching with a hand on his hips, he could almost admire their tenacity. Whoever these invaders were, these "Archeri" as the media had labeled them, they showed no fear. Was it arrogance? Confidence? Perhaps even apathy? Genthus intended to find out; he wasn't sure how to treat them until he did.

Grabbing up his sword and returning it to his sheathe, the Mandalorian checked his ammo as his companions assembled. Neither woman seemed keen on welcoming their new opponents, Kailani of Bennigan's flatout deciding on abandoning their task, Refira the Slaver demanding liquor. Genthus couldn't fault either of them, though he did have to watch his mouth. His tongue lurched with the urge to boast, to roar at the interlopers and accept their blatant challenge, but evidently he would stand alone.

For good reason. In the sky above, another three mercenary ships exploded with delayed explosions, their bodies tipping groundward. Even Genthus wasn't suicidal.

"Right then. Let's kill a few on our way out." Turning to the other remaining mercenaries, Genthus raised a hand, his voice raising to a holler. "Those of you who seek to live to fight another day, come. Those of you who wish to mark Ylesia as your grave, fight bravely." Ignoring whatever reactions he got, Genthus pointed at the door they'd come in and led the way. Following him came most of the mercenaries, the bulk muttering grievances similar to Kailani and Refira. The Mandalorian might have found some valiant purpose in battle, but most of them had been motivated purely by the draw of a credit chit. That payment was clearly off the table, so it was was every man, woman, and child for themselves.

Through their jogging pace, the temple still shook, crystals smashing through the ceiling to varying effect. Some shattered into a fine dust, the wiser of the group trying to avoid it. Others pierced from ceiling to floor, striking through the structure like bullets. One crystal shell came smashing down on a group of three Duro mercs, dragging them down with it. Another came at a Human man at an angle, exploding on contact and bathing the back quarter of the group with its gas after removing most of his torso.

By the time they returned to the front entrance, a warzone greeted them. The transport ships they had arrived on mostly burned, many sporting trees similar to the corvette that appeared to be actively, quickly growing. Others burned ferociously, damaged beyond all repair. A small handful remained in working order, banked on all sides by what seemed to be a flotilla of freighters, transports, and even small yachts, all sporting the tree-like structures and interiors. From them, bodies dropped to the ground, scuttling forward toward the palace.

The bodies were hideous. Lacking eyes, ears, and mouths of any kind, each scuttled on appendageless, pointed limbs. Sporting more than a few pairs each, each creature nevertheless charged forward, their white bodies raising a limb each. From the tip of these limbs opened pores, which began to spit out purple crystals the size of needles, immediately subjecting the mercenaries to a sea of projectiles. The unprepared were riddled with the crystals, dropping dead in bloody, spore-covered messes. The more astute dove to cover behind the palace's opulent outer decor, beginning to shoot back

Halt. Within the crowd of Archeri stood a man, a Twi'lek with pale skin and shortened montrails, dressed in disheveled clothing and crooked armor. Despite this, he walked with a serene peace, his hands held aloft and his voice calm as could be. You have already aided the Chorus in its song, my friends. Cease your resistance. Surrender now and join your voices to ours.

Genthus cocked his rifle, peeking out to unload a clip into the advancing horde. As the Archeri began to reach the top of the stairs, he shouted, a hand going back to the scabbard of his sword. "Surrender?!"

Yes, my friends. Surrende-

The first words that came to mind were those of a wise man. "Die in obscurity!" As the Archeri lunged at the mercenaries, Genthus's falchion lept from its home, slicing one in half as the blade began to crackle with electricity.

[Moonfire]

”A bold entrance, you must give them that.” Came a gravelly voice from the helm. Genthus of Drakeslaying Flayers or Whatever took a moment to awe, the purple light dappling through the crumbling ceiling into psychedelic swirls casting strange pockets of color across glossy black and yellow armour. He was a showy motherfucker, wasn’t he? Familiar looking even.

“I guess?” The woman shrugged, gazing through the hole at the glittering jewel shards. “Bit gaudy, dont’cha think?”. Kailani squinted briefly before the pounding of the building coming down around them and Refira’s swift exit reminded her of the urgency of the situation.

Taking off in her own run, hall-runner and other loot swung over her back, Kailani caught up quickly behind the hapan, Genthus, the beefy boy, held their collective clip after giving his more personally loyal bucks a rousing speech about killing spiders and making their mum’s proud in valiant death. “ ‘Ey, bud-- So, like, uh--” Another booming shudder cut off her words, swiftly dodging another crumbling bit of duracrete. “I fuckin’ swear I’ve seen you somewhere before. You, like, uh used to run with Ol’ Pale Face or somethin’ You know Yevor?”

Asyr, the charismatic creature that he was, had more than a couple different Mandalorians that owed him a favors or joined him for work here and there. It’d been more than a couple years since she’d last seen her old friend, but maybe Shouty Large Lad had been one of the rotating faces she’d encountered during their years working together.

A rain of gore, crystalline shards and duro pieces did little to sway the woman from her line of thought. It was a coping mechanism if anything. If you ramble about inane shit long enough, maybe you won’t notice the possibility of imminent death, leaving your bastard child an orphan because you wanted to make a little extra money. “Echani-- Muscley? Good with his hands? Fuck, like, that’s ev--”

The flow of jabber ended abruptly when they burst from the palace gates, confronted by the reality of the situation. Scuttling fungoid monstrosities tossed shards at fleeing mercenaries and citizens alike, while pointed legs and clawed hands moved the bodies, still dying, into neat and tidy rows.

Words failed her now. Lump caught in her throat as she reviewed every war scene and skirmish outcome she’d survived thus far. It was too stark. Too real, the savagery of what was done to Ylesia and her would-be-captors.

And it all settle in juxtaposition to The Chorus. It reverbated in her skull from the Twi’lek, sounding off like strings from every infected about her. The call of their voices, brilliant and beautiful in the Chorus, echoed in her very bones. In every lonely moment. In every finished drink in and empty bar. In the crush of anxiety at her own too real mortality. It’d be so easy. So peaceful to sing this same ballad. She’d never be alone again. She’d never suffer. Never hunger or hurt.

Soran. That was the difference between then and now. Soran needed her back on Corellia. Fuck this beautiful, damning song.

Genthus, for all his bravado, backed that shit right up. Diving hard behind a bit of rubble the blaster pistol’s hilt burned in her palm, aching in her grip as she fired. Hot plasma bolts burst against the interwoven tufts of fungus that made up the Archeri.

[Muffinzky]

Refira ran. She ran and ran, until she reached the once silent entrance. There she immediately hit on the brakes, not realising right away where the rest of the group was. She didn’t care about the pounding headache either. To her great horror, she watched as the ships they arrived in were eaten away by flames. The very image before her looking like hell. The many trees she noticed in the air before tore through the ships, as if they were made from butter.

And from them crept hostile beings she never had seen before. As they fired the needle-like structures from their – was that even an arm? A leg? Refira took several steps backwards.
“Yuck!”

She stiffened. The twi’lek that were before them seemed mauled and sick, and she couldn’t tell what she felt was the most disgusting. The needle shooting monsters, or him. Had someone chopped pieces of his lekku? The lekku was not the only thing that became cut off. So did her train of thought.

He spoke, but not with his mouth. He spoke in her head. It was a ghostlike whisper, yet loud and clear and his voice made it heard above her thoughts, almost as if he was shouting. And with him, she suddenly could hear the chorus. Thousands of voices, maybe more. They grew louder and louder. With no words they somehow managed to communicate. Luring her, calling her.
But to Refira it didn’t sound beautiful. It was painful. The sheer volume that poured into her head made it feel as if it was about to explode. She groaned in agony and pressed her hands against her temples, gritting her pearly white teeth. The pain was not only physical from the impact of the duracrete block. It was also on a weird metaphysical level, as if her very being slowly was drowning to the trance. A set of deep lines settled between her brows. She fell to her knees

It called, it felt her until it reached a point where she barely could feel herself and-

“QUIEEEEEET!”
Refiras’ dominating voice screamed in anger, as she finally managed to tear herself from the chorus. She grabbed the first and best rock within her reach of the ruin that once was the entrance and hurled it aggressively to the face of the male twi’lek.
“I sing solo”.

Coming to her senses, she supported herself and rose to her feet. Beside her the Mandalorian and the woman obviously felt somehow the same way. But the aliens started running up the stairs. In a panick Refira looked for somewhere to hide and decided to take advantage of the rubble and blonde woman. She squeezed herself against the wall behind them and watched with a mixture of horror and fascination. There were too many, and they kept coming.

No. No, no, no. No, this-
“This isn’t working”. There was a tone of determination in her voice. The ice blue eyes scanned her surroundings fast, seeking after some sort epiphany. They HAD to have some sort of weakness. Something that could reduce their speed and approach. She looked at the ships that burned. It was a mess. But there… on the ground was something that dripped from some of the vessels. It was, thick, sticky and liquid. And a good group of the approaching invaders had been stepping in it

“Is that… a model that runs on fuel?”
Sparks became visible in Refiras’ eyes. Then she turned on her heels and started running in towards the throne room. Over her shoulder she shouted to Kailani. It wasn’t even a question. It was a command.
“You’ll handle this!”

Refira remembered. Hutts were usual creatures that enjoyed life. And Wepo the Hutt was no exception. Before the main throne room fell apart, she noticed several bottles of alcohol. Not only near the Hutt, but many of the thugs were having their own party when the mercenaries decided to crash it.

The hallway echoed, now more empty than ever. Corpses were everywhere, and she had to jump and evade them with grace, if she weren’t to fall over them. Kneeling on one knee, she quickly pushed some rubble aside. Complacently she concluded that she was right. Three bottles of alcohol in varying size were on the ground. One of them was cracked, one was opened and some of the liquid had poured out. It was strong, she could smell it. It was disgusting! And cheap. – The best kind! One wasn’t touched.
She grabbed them tightly into her embrace before she proceeded to run towards the remnants of the throne room, but a thick fog of purple gas lingered in the air, and she decided not to continue any further.

Retreating, she searched the bodies of more corpses and found another two bottles. When she returned to the entrance, she ripped of her veil with one hand and started to tear it to pieces with her teeth.
“I said! I needed a drink for this. Care for some fun, doll?”
She kneeled behind Kailani, hugging the four bottles close as if they were precious children. With her face exposed, a big grin grew on her face.

“Now- all we need. Is some of that fire down there”.

[Fromikeable]

Obscurity, fame, infamy. These constructs of the lone voice melt away with our song.

Genthus was immediately beset as a handful of Archeri charged him, a few lingering and shooting while two jumped at him. Crystals bounced off of his armor as his falchion punished one of the jumpers, the other slamming into his shoulder.

Our actions seek no profit, benefit no individual. The Chorus sings to a deaf galaxy. A galaxy that will never hear the perfect harmonies it is capable of.

Genthus freed one hand from his sword to grab the Archeri stabbing at him by its throat. When choking it didn't seem to work, it responded by jabbing at his face, the spear-like tip of its limb bouncing off his visor and leaving a massive scratch. He responded by stabbing his sword forward as another hail of crystals rained at him, more Archeri charging forward.

This is what you rebel against. Your own harmonies. You deny yourself your own voice, deafen yourself to your own singin-

"By the gods, shut up and fight!" Plucking his knife from his belt, Genthus ignored the oncoming onslaught just long enough to line up his throw. A mighty arm hurled the knife through the air, the business end coming to bear as it smacked into the Twi'lek's abdomen. Despite the man's recoil, his voice didn't even hiccup, continuing with serene calmness. The Twi'lek didn't even bother to pull the knife out, as if it wasn't worth the trouble.

Genthus, meanwhile, was forced back as two Archeri body-slammed him at once.

"Was your Echani missing an eye?" Grunting over his comm as he smashed a fist into one of the Archeri, Genthus did his best to remember. "I reme- humph!" He was interrupted by another tackle, which he did his best to catch. Skewering that Archeri on his sword for support, he roared as he hefted the body and threw it forward into one of its companions.

"-remember fighting such a man on Prazhi!" Panting, he steeled himself, the next combatants already charging him.

Refira's voice returned as she did, her smile a notable contrast to the battle. The mercenaries were evaporating under the onslaught, half of the warriors they had emerged with dead or worse on the steps around them. Of the few remaining, it didn't take a psychic to tell that they were close to breaking. Few could blame them; the Archeri horde was only pressing harder with each passing second, that damned Twi'lek strolling calmly up each step toward them like a machine.

Genthus couldn't help but growl at the sight of him. "Work quickly. Bathe me in your flames, if you must." Stepping back as another Archeri took a stab at him, Genthus began his sprint with a slash at its head, knocking it aside. Coming to the edge of the palace's top step, the Mandalorian catapulted himself forward, sword crackling as his own fierce voice struck something between a war cry and a mad laugh. As gravity pulled him downward, he fell toward the Twi'lek, sword slashing.

The Twi'lek raised an arm in defense, catching the blade. The beskad failed to dig in much further than inch, betraying a secret hardness to the infected man. As Genthus's feet found the ground, the Twi'lek knocked the blade to one side, launching a punch that hit squarely on Genthus's ribs.

The Mandalorian was sent stumbling back, the Twi'lek's strength nowhere as low as one would expect the smaller man to have. As Genthus shook off the physical shock, the perfectly-attuned would-be converter launched a follow-up kick. It proved far more powerful, sending Genthus barreling down the stairs.

Accept the melodies of peace. Embrace the harmonies of communion. Cease your errant discord and know true symphony.

[Muffinzky]

The torn pieces of Refira’s veil were being rolled promptly and stuffed down the heads of the bottles, as she kept looking up to calculate the time she had left to act. Even though the Archeri kept approaching, the Mandalorian managed to keep them greatly at bay. Meanwhile, Refira was starting to get really tired of hearing the twi’lek talking, and she pushed the palm of her hand against one ear. Unfortunately, it didn’t do anything.

Cease your errant discord and know true symphony, his voice echoed through her mind.

Greatly offended, Refira scowled at the twi’lek. Blasphemy! Anyone that had seen Refira knew that she didn’t need to join anything – Obviously. (Besides possible therapy).
“How vulgar! I AM perfection, I don’t need any symphony”.

Also, I’m pretty sure a guy at the bar used that pick-up line once.
It doesn’t work!

First then the Hapan noticed how the knife was still planted in pale flesh of the twi’lek. And as Genthus pressed his sword against him – he evaded by using his own arm? This definitely confirmed her claim that twi’leks weren’t human. Especially that guy down there. Maybe more of a machine.
Barely moving and with no effort at all, he swept the Mandalorian down the stairs. Refira could only clench her grasp tighter, trying not to lose her jaw – or any of the bottles in her trembling hands. Her heart fastened its pace, even if it seemed impossible by now.
“Well, there went our backup”.

She side-eyed Kailani. “It looks like you are a better shooter than I am. I don’t think we’ll have much more time left. I’ll take a run for the fire. By the stars, cover me” she said, taking a deep breath to calm herself.
“Those flexibility exercises from the ballet classes better pay of now, if ever”.

While the stairs were still free after Genthus had rammed his way down, Refira grabbed two of the bottles and bolted the same way. Jumping over the edge at the side of the stairs, she proceeded towards the closest ship that was ablaze. The fuel had soaked a large area of the ground, and a sea of fire was engorging its long flames into the air, like glowing claws taking hold of anything within its reach.

When she reached the fire, the cloth pieces in the bottles lit up easily, but when she turned to run back towards the stairs, an Archeri had followed her. Lifting one of the needle-sharp legs to stab, Refira hugged the bottles in one arm and pulled out her whip with the other. Whirling it towards one of the Archeri’s supporting legs and pulling, it tumbled to its back into the oily substance from the ships. You didn’t have to ask twice for Refira to take advantage of the moment, and she started her escape. But the Archeri was quick to get back to its pursuit of the slaver. And she screamed in horror and utter realization.
“I broke a nail! Look what you have done! Don’t you dare touch me, you filthy beast”.

Smashing one of the burning bottles on the Archeri, the fuel on its body immediately lit on fire.
“I TOLD YOU NOT TO TOUCH ME!”

All she had to do was spreading the fire further. When she came closer to the stairs, she aimed and threw the large bottle of liquor and fire towards the twi’lek and a group of Archeri that ran towards Genthus and Kailani.

[Fromikeable]

The world spun in dizzying bounces as Genthus tumbled down the stairs, managing to catch himself when he hit a landing. Just as his vision began to stabilize, pain began to poke at his body as the jabbing arms of at least a half dozen Archeri stabbed at his beskar, thankfully too soft to pierce through. Scrambling beneath their assault, Genthus swiped his falchion methodically, each slice carving off the ends of limbs, the middles of torsos, and even into a throat.

But the Archeri just kept on going, ignorant of pain and injury.

It was only when fire flooded the stairs that Genthus made his push to stand, coming up swinging. Even ablaze and slashed, the fungal aliens refused to yield, moving every limb with equal ferocity. The only way to stop them was to rob them of their abilities entirely; a de-limbed Archeri could neither stab nor shoot nor run. Even as fire as coated his armor, its roar matching the volume of the electricity crackling across his falchion, Genthus began to aim for shoulders and elbows, eliciting much better results.

With a yell, he began to push through the crowd of burning beasts, stomping into a full sword-swinging, elbow-charging sprint. Bursting from their ranks still ablaze, he only offered a waved hand at his comrades, his instruction shouted loud and clear. "Run!" As the Archeri reached the palace, the spreading fires made their way down to the line of occupied ships. The moment a flame licked one of the fuel lines, the following explosion shook the air in front of the palace, the ship in question disappearing in a hail of shrapnel and blaze. Then the one beside it. Then the next.

As they ran into the city streets beyond, the palace disappeared behind a wall of smoke, the Archeri horde ignoring it as they marched into the palace.

Panting lightly as they ran, Genthus finally patted out the last of the flames still burning on his armor, sword in hand. He had no idea where they were going, but potential for glory aside, facing that entire battalion of monsters by themselves was their worst possible move. As such, they began to run down one of the city's main avenues.

In doing so, they had a first-hand view of the impending occupation. Small groups of Archeri burst into every building, the residents within screaming with fright and rage. Each was rained with crystals, an unfortunate few dying, the rest choking on the resultant purple fumes they burst into. Entire swaths of the city sat under a purple haze, the spores forming a thick cloud that they had to avoid. As they moved away from the city center, the Archeri could be seen dragging and carrying bodies, the flesh on them browning and decomposing. These carcasses were collected in large piles, which judging by the smell were less graves and more...

Well, Genthus didn't want to finish that thought.

Reaching the city outskirts, the Mandalorian finally stopped to catch his breath, checking on his companions. Overlooking the city, the extent of the invasion was apparent; not a single mercenary ship remained in the air, a fleet of root-infested ships hovering randomly above the streets below allowing their leaves to shake in the high-altitude winds. Fires raged, purple clouds of spores lingered, and smoke flew up into the sky. Above it all, a dim purple star could be seen even in the daytime light, flickering steadily as it held still.

Gazing up at it, Genthus finally sighed. "The mighty Archeri, swooping on an invaded planet. Vultures." Checking his rifle and rocket launcher, he took a quick inventory of his ammo as he continued.

"We need a way off of this planet before they spread."

[Muffinzky]

Run?
”You got the idea”.

The whole scene looked like a nightmare. As the fire swallowed the surroundings and the temple somewhere behind them, the smoke thickened the air and vegetation crackled in the rising heat. Without the veil, it scratched Refira’s lungs and made her cough desperately as she ran. Her eyes watered and hurt, and it was more a blurry question of will than luck, when she managed to keep track of the Mandalorian several meters in front of her.
Adrenaline pumped through her veins and clouded her senses. She could hear her own heartbeat louder than any of the screams that followed when the Archeri invaded the many houses within the streets. The strong smell of dead teared into her nose, and she tried to cover her face with her arm, fighting the urge to puke. Constantly glancing at any sound, any movement, her eyes ran around in her skull, like that of an epileptic, just to be at the forefront of any potential attack.

When the little group stopped again, the slaver bended over, supporting herself with her hands against her thighs and fighting to catch her breath. The dark locks had loosened from the braid, as the ribbon she used to control her hair with was lost somewhere when they ran. The soft waves pasted to the light skin of her face in a mixture of half-coagulated blood from her temples and sweat, and made the otherwise divine doll-like beauty the Hapans were known for look morbid and misplaced.
She almost looked angrily and snappish up at Genthus when he revealed his brilliant plan! (Or the lack of it), as if he had any saying in the matter.

“BEFORE they spread?!” Refira repeated. That was way too late. The pestilence of the Archeri was everywhere.

Clonk clonk clonk
Reaching up on her toes, she knocked on the Mandalorian’s helmet with her hand clenched.

“Hellooe! Anybody ho-ooome?
Of course we need to get of the planet, but the ships are BURNED” she snarled, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, I know. Maybe if we flap our arms fast enough we may be able to escape the planets gravitational pool. No! Any suggestions that actually may work?!”

[Fromikeable]

Genthus did his best to suppress the immediate urge to swat the Refira’s poking finger, settling for a growl of irritation under his breath. Nevertheless, he raised a hand to push hers down gently.

”Tantrum like a child if you want. I wasn’t being paid to babysit.” Glancing up at the sky, not a single mercenary ship remained. Only the tree-sporting, semi-wrecked corvettes and frigates of the Archeri fleet lingered, raining crystals down on the city below.

Forget what he was and wasn’t be paid for. Nobody was being paid anything other than blood by now.

Drawing his rifle and cocking it, Genthus rolled his shoulders before turning around, beginning to walk anew. ”If you’d rather live than die angry, follow me.” The neighborhood they found themselves in was still decidedly urban, but not quite the inner city. Buildings didn’t exceed more than a few stories in height, and the occasional normal home flanked brick apartments and small shops. It was very much an outer city, where a less Hutt-controlled planet might have turned into suburbs and smaller towns. Here, it was more industrial, spice factories and poor homes clustered together in the throes of industrialism.

It was a slave neighborhood, basically. A place for the planet’s mined spice to come, be refined, and be sent further into the city for shipment.

The streets, however, we abandoned. Crystals littered the neighborhood, and between the raging fires and eerie silence, it was clear that the Archeri fleet had come from this direction during their descent. Still, none of them walked the neighborhood. While every building hung in a purple haze, they clearly hadn’t come to collect on the bounty of flesh there.

That explained why everyone they saw was indoors, coughing and weezing, holding their heads or nigh comatose.

Making sure his helmet’s air filters were on, Genthus stopped in front of a spice factory’s gate, peering inside. A few speeders were parked haphazardly within, but up on the roof, a small freighter appeared to be parked half on a landing pad, a portion hanging off. Pointing up at it, he trained his rifle on the gate’s lock. ”That might work.” With a solitary blast, the chains holding the gate closed went limp, and after a bit of pulling, the iron doors swung open.

Off in the distance, sublight engines hummed. The fleet was advancing.

Clambering up a small ladder on the side of the building, Genthus hoisted himself up onto the platform. The ship appeared to be in one piece, though between a few dents, its off-center parking, and a slew of bodies and dropped crates of spice scattered below it, the crew had clearly tried to get off of it quick. One of them still groaned on the platform, the Mon Calamari man’s breathing raspy and loud.

"Pleaaaaaaaase..."

Kneeling beside him to take a look, Genthus turned his face over, one of the man's yellow eyes gazing upward without focus.

"I... I can't... no more..."

"Can you stand?"

"Head... the voices... can't listen any..."

Genthus grunted, putting his gun down. He pointed a thumb at the ship. ”See if it will start. I’ll be there in a moment.”

[Muffinzky]

“Oh HELL. No. No, you didn’t. How dare you speak like this to me?” Refira growled.

But Genthus didn’t react and walked away. Leaving the flabbergasted Hapan behind him. For some seconds she just stood there in the same demanding style.

“Boy. Boy! Don’t you dare ignore me, when I am speaking to you! Boy!”

When shouting didn’t work, Refira pouted her lips, looked back over her shoulder to see if there really was no other options. And by the sound of something that reminded her of the Archeris’ crawling footsteps, she ran after him faster than a bantha with its tail on fire.
Oh yes, she would follow the Mandalorian.
And she would envision and live for the very moment where she could peel that tin of him and whip his ass for disrespecting her like that!

As they closed in on the spice factory, Refira looked with great scepticism at the purple fog that inhabited most of the area.
“You are not going in there, are you?”
The Mandalorian blasted the lock open and entered the building.
…
“He is going in there” she concluded.

That man was coated in thick armour, but Refira didn’t have any. She debated if dying a horrible death here or dying a horrible death at home after inhaling the purple fog would be worse. Then remembered that she had bottles of wine she yet had to drink.
An decided to die at home.
At least she could die drunk.

When she stuck her head up over the top of the ladder, the very sight of the ship created little lights in her ice blue eyes. It was as if the angels were singing! With no regard to anything any more – or anyone, she marched towards the ship in a direct line, pushed the kneeling Mandalorian.

"I... I can't... no more..." the Mon Calamari wheezed.

“Then perish!”
-And delivered an elegant kick to the gut of the dying man for getting in her way.

On Refira’s way to the ship she noticed that some of the spice packages had suffered damage. And the contents ran out on the platform. It had a familiar structure and sand brown colour. She kneeled beside it, brushed her finger against the dust and licked it immodest.

“Is that giggle-dust?” she mumbled.
In the next second, she grabbed as many as the packages she could hold and entered the ship.

“It can’t be much more complicated than starting a speeder, can it?”
…

“This is one heck of a speeder!”.

[Fromikeable]

Genthus was looking away at his belt, a hand reaching for a small medkit, when the Mon Cal man sputtered horribly, the sickening sound of a cracking bone filling his ears. Head snapping up, he only saw Refira’s leg recoiling as she walked away toward the ship, the dying man beside him weakly curled into a ball. To say he was crying was an overstatement; he was too exhausted to react, too sick to cry, and too far gone to moan.

So he slowly curled into a ball, shivering as his breathing became even less stable.

Genthus’s hand shook as he finally found the medkit, plucking out a painkiller shot from the satchel. Tossing the rest to the side, he pressed the needle to the Mon Cal’s neck, his twitches and illformed sounds of pain giving way to less conscious, more disturbed grunts and whimpers. Within a minute or so, he stopped making sound altogether, only breathing with less and less regularity. Standing above him, Genthus drew his sword, closing his eyes as he muttered a quiet prayer.

”Spirits of battle carried on the winds of fortune, deliver this one from his struggle.”

The tip of the sword pressed against the Mon Cal’s chest, hovering above his heart.

”His battle today is ended, his mortal coil too strong to release this world. By right of his valor…”

With a gentle thrust, the tip of the sword sank down into the man’s heart with far too much ease, betraying how deteriorated his body had already become. Raising it out, Genthus heard the Mon Cal breathe his last.

”... bring him from this battlefield to the next.”

Wiping his sword clean with his gauntlet, Genthus sheathed it as he made for the ship. By the time he arrived, his footfall was heavy, each step a heavy clank up the ship’s gangplank. Fists shaking, he zeroed in on Refira, a hand zipping out to grab her. Beskar-clad fingers found purchase on elbow, and with a snarl, Genthus yanked her to face him, staring daggers at her through his helmet.

”How dare you.” Squeezing her arm in his grip, Genthus’s voice trembled with every word. ”I should break every rib in your soulless body and let you die on the roof out there beside him.” Reaching over to a door control, Genthus popped it open, revealing the ship’s bridge. Releasing her, he stepped through, turning on his heel and leveling a finger straight at her face.

”Say another word to me, and I swear on my own grave that you’ll wish that I had.” The door shut with a hydraulic hiss, locking from Genthus’s side.

Chewing his tongue, Genthus slid into the pilot’s seat, tapping a few controls harder than he needed to. The ship sputtered to life with protest, the landing ramp closing, the engines whining as they were throttled up. Pushing off the factory’s roof, one final view of Ylesia’s burning, hazed, bombarded skyline lingering in the distance.

With a frustrated grunt, Genthus zoomed them out of the atmosphere, the old freighter shuttering into hyperspace just as the Archeri ships began to take notice.

[Muffinzky]

Instant pain buried into Refira’s flesh along with Genthus’s fingers, and she immediately dropped the spice packages to the floor of the ship.
However, she didn’t struggle when he forced their gazes to lock, but she rather looked at the helmet with great surplice painted all over her bloodied face, her eyes open wide. As if the woman lived in a different reality from his own. Also, that was not how someone should treat a Hapan lady! Especially not one that was hurt.
“S-Soulless?!” she stuttered indignant.

When he finally decided to let go, her skin was red, leaving behind a mark of where he had touched her.
She bent backwards from the pointing finger. Almost as was it poisonous to the touch. Everything in her shouted to defend herself and her doing, but she feared of the consequences and remained mute, besides the groan caused by his mark. She was injured, and it was not the time and place to pick up on a fight.

The man was dying! He was already gone… He was weak… It was only doing him a favour.
There was no reason to waste any resources on him!

She collected the Giggledust and sank into the closest seat that she could find to be as far away from the Mandalorian as possible.
There, when she looked at the wall, her lips moved with no sound escaping them.

“Am I soulless?”
Refira closed her eyes and embraced the exhaustion that lulled her into slumber.