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Fromikeable
Keeper Of The Techxts
1,616 posts
628 likes
...and I'm comin'! *guitar riff*
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last online Jun 22, 2023 19:35:57 GMT -5
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May 10, 2015 21:36:51 GMT -5
Post by Fromikeable on May 10, 2015 21:36:51 GMT -5
Rase, meanwhile, had elected to wait just outside of the terminal, leaned against a wall, his hat pulled down low as he sipped a can from a brown paper bag, giving off the aura of a late-night booze-cruiser with nary a place to be (the beverage actually being a simple cola). He had elected to borrow a brown jacket from Novus’s wardrobe as he’d hoisted a scotch from her galley, the additional layer making him a bit harder to identify by covering his blood-colored arms. His revolvers and whip, meanwhile, hung snugly to his belt below the jacket, the buttons at that level done just enough to hide them, but just little enough for emergency access. His hands were otherwise hidden in his pockets or around the drink, and he’d mastered the art of walking with his head down far before he’d ever met Novus.
In short, he was laying low. Not exactly pristine performance straight from “How To Be A Spy For Dimwits”, but it had certainly worked well enough to keep him in good health all those years of gambling, and it would continue to do so now.
All that was left to do was wait for the Vahla, who would come his way minutes later. It was really too bad, in retrospect; she was a gorgeous woman, particularly those lavender eyes of hers. Rase did hope she wouldn’t value that holocron more than her own life, particularly if she didn’t know what it was. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but ignorance could fall a rancor.
And so he followed her, giving her a wide berth. Sharp green eyes tracked her with focus even as his hat stayed down and his step imitated someone who had clearly had just a bit too much to drink. He made sure all of the mannerisms were down; he wobbled ever so little, he let out the occasional, quiet hummed tune, and his cola endured many a fake sip.
In truth? She was the rabbit leading him to a very worrying, very dangerous hole; one that he hadn’t known of a few hours ago, and would stop at little to find out about.
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Squee
The Keeper
2,286 posts
95 likes
I am Deception, and I defy your holiest moralities.
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last online Oct 24, 2016 0:33:56 GMT -5
Master
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May 17, 2015 20:52:47 GMT -5
Post by Squee on May 17, 2015 20:52:47 GMT -5
The corner of Nezda's mouth lifted. "I suppose I expected that answer." She sighed lightly, and looked down at the dock master standing at the foot of the ramp. "We'll get dinner when I get back. Then we'll leave Agamar. Why don't... Why don't you go choose the next planet." Nezda shifted the box onto a hip and walked down the ramp. The ominous thing thudded and tugged the box as it rolled within, striking its confinement walls. She held out the credits to the dockmaster and waited as the small amaran registered the ship. "Ximo," Nezda said. She felt awkward, having said his name without fully thinking through whether to call him back or not. She owed him an apology, she knew that. She'd wronged him and embarrassed him and then stressed him out. Was it okay to apologize now? This was silliness. And difficult. Should she wait? Her mouth screwed briefly to one side and she glanced away uncertainly. The dockmaster confirmed their registry and skittered away, leaving Nezda quietly tinkering with the box with her fingers. "Uh... Ximo." Nezda looked up at him then. "I'm sorry." Studying his reaction, she shifted her feet uncomfortably. Her face flushed warmly with embarrassment. "I... Uh... I'm... Yeah. Sorry." That was going to have to be enough, to encompass everything. Presenting the box with both hands, she said, "Box. Bad thing inside. I'm... Going now." --- The box was once more propped beneath her arm as she swept a handkerchief down her neck. The day was warm, it was muggy, and she’d forgotten a hair tie. Stopping at another crossroads, she turned as she tucked her handkerchief away. Yep, he was still there. The broad rimmed hat. The paper bag. The stumbling walk. She’d noticed him a little while back and thought it was very strange for a drunk man to be following her. Following her, she knew, because the likelihood of someone walking this far, the same direction, especially drunk, was extremely improbable. Crossing the intersection, Nezda paused at a vendor. “Two waters, please.” Box under her arm, Nezda fetched within her pocket for her for some scrap of paper. She found a wrapper of some kind, and her pen. “There,” she said to the vendor, “is this poor gentlemen. I know him. He’s goin’ through a hard time, but I told him I won’t help him when he’s drunk. So I am going to… write him a little note of encouragement. You know… he’ll get through this, everything’s okay, his wife will come back because he’s a great guy…” By now, the vendor had the expression of someone who was being subjected to too much information he didn’t want to know. Nezda scribbled her note on the wrapper and then folded it up carefully. “When he comes by, please give him this note with this water bottle. You’ll see him, stumbling along. Here’s a… a little tip. You’ll give it to him? Thank you so much.” It wasn’t too far from the rendezvous point now. Hopefully, her message would be an encouragement to stop following her. She really didn’t want to explain a drunken man as her unwelcome companion with her employer.
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Meira
She don't mess around
2,830 posts
583 likes
Half awake in our fake empire
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last online May 11, 2023 23:01:34 GMT -5
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May 22, 2015 15:01:13 GMT -5
Post by Meira on May 22, 2015 15:01:13 GMT -5
"Yeah?" he asked at her suggestion, eyebrows arched as if to say me?. But Ximo smiled and bit his bottom lip as he considered the many places he'd like to go see. It was his understanding that this delivery Nezda was making would bring in a good dose of credits, making many things possible in the near future. He was still caught up in this thinking when he heard her call his name.
Ximo ambled down the ramp to stand beside her. She hesitated and he tilted his head slightly in silent question. It wasn't until after the dock master quit their company that she managed to speak again, even if a bit slow to start.
"Pah." he breathed in warm-hearted dismissal. The whole ordeal had been a comedy of anger, really. There was no substance behind what irked them. Moments like that burned hot, but were short lived. Ximo reached out an arm and pulled Nezda to his side in a lazy hug that said, as much as his words did, "Ja s'oblida".
Nezda detached, mumbling about the box and Ximo nodded, stepping aside to allow her departure. The ramp closed, locking up the ship and Ximo watched as Nezda disappeared around a corner. He knew it'd be some time before she returned and so set out himself to find a drink.
It was as he walked from the hangar, his steps much lighter than they had been on the ship, that he found himself face to face with a beauty that he wouldn't have thought to see again. It took a moment, after she spoke, for Ximo to make the connection in his memory. When he did, the modest smile that spread across his features belied the cocky thoughts he chose not to voice.
"Sí, que bona sort." he replied, not bothering to hide the fact that his eyes were appreciating her form. "Ximo Alcanas." he continued, placing his palm over his chest and giving her a slight bob of the head. "It is a pleasure, senyoreta. And it happens that, yes, I would love to be buying you a drink."
Ever the gentleman, Ximo held out his arm, should she deign to take it, and gestured toward what seemed to be just the kind of street that would house just the kind of cantina that would be just the place for getting to know such a lovely creature. Something at the back of Ximo's mind was shaking its head at how he was walking into the same sort of situation that had brought the jealousy out of Nezda earlier. But the louder of his thoughts reminded him that there was plenty of time to spare for a woman such as this, and what Nezda didn't know wouldn't hurt her.
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Neology
Damsel out of Distress
1,489 posts
711 likes
addicted to bad ideas and all the beauty in this world
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last online Apr 1, 2024 18:31:37 GMT -5
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Jun 14, 2015 16:07:30 GMT -5
Post by Neology on Jun 14, 2015 16:07:30 GMT -5
Kyla smiled prettily at the thief, the language he opened with and his accent quite lost on her. Humani. Rase had called him that. Better not to let on that she even knew that much. She clapped her hands together once, giggling with pleasure at the formal nod.
“Oh, my. No need for that, hon.” She took his arm, matching his pace at though it were the most natural thing in the world. “But I do know just the place.” A tiny lie, but the street he'd indicated seemed a good place to start. She lead him out into the afternoon sunshine, regretting very briefly that she hadn't grabbed a sunhat. Kyla Arlos was boisterous, larger than life. She needed a good hat.
About half a block down was a likely place, well situated to take advantage of travelers but mostly empty at this time of day. Novus ducked inside, briefly extricating herself from the Humani's arm.
“Pick out a nice booth, would ya? Now, you've got to try a Binka Sour …”
She flounced off to put in an order for their drinks, paying with a tap of Kyla Arlos's artfully weathered debit chit. Whoever had that job - making sure new and untouched cover materials looked appropriately used – she surely did not envy them. She carried the drinks into a small alcove, tapping her chit again to use the holoterminal there. The directory quickly offered up the nearest short stay motels. As she browsed, she opened her ring over the thief's drink, shaking out a small dose of powdered crystal snake venom. The granules dissolved over the course of several seconds. Enough to make him feel drunk sooner, she hoped, but not enough to knock him out. That was, of course, assuming she hadn't wildly misjudged his weight … Turning back to the terminal, she reserved a room for the rest of the evening, eating up more of the lady courier's savings.
Novus carried the drinks back out, searching very briefly for Ximo. Moving to the booth, she slid in across from him, setting his drink down. She gave a little dip of her glass, a conspiratorial grin setting her lips askew.
“Well! To coincidence, right?”
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Fromikeable
Keeper Of The Techxts
1,616 posts
628 likes
...and I'm comin'! *guitar riff*
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last online Jun 22, 2023 19:35:57 GMT -5
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Jun 14, 2015 23:12:44 GMT -5
Post by Fromikeable on Jun 14, 2015 23:12:44 GMT -5
Ruthenia. A city built on fruit farms and logging camps, beholden by bored college students for ample room to recklessly race about, and host to many locals who still very much practiced their trades as their forefathers had. The city had only ever gotten a starport to make exports easier; ships landing there that weren’t native to Agamar itself were rare sights.
Ergo he’d made sure that his team had landed in a village a few clicks east. He didn’t care for their adversity to the 3 hour walk; if they wanted what they were owed, they would, of course, have to work for it.
It was also why he was as far from the planet as possible.
Activating his communicator, slender fingers would dial up a passcode, follow it with a password, and follow it still with an encryption key. The line finally opened, and he would find his likeness flickering to life in the palm of the team leader; a rough-looking criminal clothed in city clothes who used entirely too much hair gel on his human head and looked entirely too smug for his own good. He, as well as many similarly hoodlum-appearing friends, were squatting in a retired binta wood logging factory, the workshops and massive machinery that once created material with which to build now dormant and awaiting their own deconstruction. They were nobodies nowhere with no one to know them.
In short, they were perfectly disposable.
“The time, if you’d please?”
Despite the look, the man spoke with an uncomplimentary discipline, more of soldier than an opportunist. That was, of course, why he had been hired. “5:33, sir.”
“And she has the nerve to be 3 minutes late.” A tisk of disapproval came from the holographic individual. “I’ve never known good thieves to be so careless.”
“Am I docking her pay like the informant, sir?” Barely in view of the communicator was a decidedly fresh corpse dressed in a university custodial outfit, blood spattered across his Togrutan mouth but nothing else. He had clearly died without struggle; clean, quick, and oh so neatly.
“If it suits you. She won’t be receiving it one way or the other. Particularly not with a tardy approach such as that.” The sound of a pocket watch being popped open and closed would give a moment’s silence, the moment an odd peace.
“... would you care to share whatever it is that has you glancing at your fingernails? Or shall I dock your pay as well?”
A shift, both of irritation and nerves. “The ship from the University landed after hers.”
"The yacht?"
A headshake. "The Imperial courier."
“Unbelievable.” The hologram sighed, pinching its nose. “Tardy and sloppy. Just for that, give her an empty case before she’s ended.”
“Yessir. Anything else?”
“No no, that will be all.” A waving hand tiredly dismissed the criminal, accompanied by a shaking head. “Just learn from this Vahla, hm? Or your case might be rather light as well…” A slender hand went to turn off the communicator, pausing on the button.
“Oh, and if the good doctor does drop by, give him my warmest salutations.” The communique ended, and the criminal sighed with relief, glad it was ended. He checked his gun. He checked his friend’s gun. He had the sniper check her gun.
He then proceeded to pull credit stack after credit stack out of a blank silver case. It would be more for his satisfaction than his proprietor’s.
She shifted her hair. She looked back. She crossed the street. Telltale signs that his detective skills were far from powerful. Rase uttered a light, choice curse under his hat as he gradually slowed a bit, upping the stumbling as she stopped at a small stand a bit up the road. In a paltry effort to salvage his performance, he upped his stumbling, very nearly falling to the ground as he went head-first into an alley off to the side. Recapturing his balance once out of view, he followed up the display with a rather loud strike to a nearby dumpster, going for a “drunkenly stumbled into a harsh solid object routine”.
With that, he knit his brow, trying to determine how much time to give her. Considering her newfound suspicions, he decided on about a half minute; a gamble, surely, but one he was willing to take.
To his credit, it payed off. She was walking down the street a bit more briskly, and the stand operator was left holding a small note. Walking briskly up to him, the Zeltron abandoned his drunken behavior. He was greeted by a grunt and a wave over, coming up the man’s counter.
“Yo, this is yours. Don’t puke on my stand.” He handed over the note and a bottle of water, which red hands accepted with a convincing look of confusion. The note made both her suspicions and her dislike of being followed far from nebulous, to which Rase couldn’t help but grin in response. “Ahhhhhhhh. She’s such a sweetheart, that one.” He grinned up at the standkeeper. “I’ll bet she spun a little web about being deep in the bottle, no?”
The keeper looked utterly disinterested, much to Rase’s fortune. “Didn’t listen. Don’t care. Buh-bye.” Alas, no counter webs needed to be spun quite then. The encounter did, however, leave the crimson Zeltron with a much slower, more reserved approach, hanging back in concealment until the Vahla turned this way or that, jogging up to said turn, and then observing again, trying to be far less conspicuous.
The chips were down, and he’d lost another hand. But he had reserves yet, and the game was still young.
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Squee
The Keeper
2,286 posts
95 likes
I am Deception, and I defy your holiest moralities.
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last online Oct 24, 2016 0:33:56 GMT -5
Master
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Jul 1, 2015 22:50:04 GMT -5
Post by Squee on Jul 1, 2015 22:50:04 GMT -5
An old factory. “Oh for the love of…” It was past quitting time for most workers, but even Nezda could tell by the roughened, unkempt exterior the building no longer served anyone. Balancing the box, she looked down at her chrono. 5:24. Breathing in deeply, Nezda thumbed the top off her water bottle.
A meeting in an old factory. Wasn’t this straight out of the old holomovies? The outcome of this evening was going to be one of several scenarios, and Nezda was pretty sure it was going to be one where her life was attempted. Nervousness leapt in her chest like a startled hare.
5:25.
She had just a little bit of water left. Capping the bottle, Nezda glanced to her persistent, peeping follower. Yep, still there. Whatever.
There had to be a side door. Nezda backtracked until she found the narrow alley between the factory and its neighboring building. There she found a side door, with which the former owners would careless deposit extraneous bits of old trash. Stepping on molding boxes and rotting wooden storage frames, Nezda approached the door. The handle stuck firm at her tug.
“Nerf herders.”
5:28.
With no outside lock to attempt picking, Nezda stumbled her way back out of the alley.
5:29.
She really wanted a cigarette. Setting the box at her feet, Nezda glared at the door, readjusting her gloves. Were they waiting on the other side or further in? Tugging gloves tight, Nezda undid the clasps of her pistols. She checked their cell packs and ensured their spares also rested on her belt. Her bigger knife was safely sheathed against her thigh. She loosened it slightly.
Bending to one knee, Nezda tightened her laces and brushed the spot where her spare tiny knife hid in her boot.
5:31. Standing, the vahla looked again toward her follower. Ensuring she hadn’t habitually closed her holster clasps, Nezda released a long, heavy breath. This is not what she wanted. For half a second, half a thought to leave the box on the doorstep occurred to her. However, that was forfeiting pay she was promised. Still. Abandoned factory. Nezda was nearly certain she wasn’t getting paid. Still. Maybe money. Hefting the box again, she swung open the factory’s door and strode in with planet sized confidence.
5:33.
She passed each piece of disused machinery with suspicious glances. An unease settled in the pit of her stomach.
Stepping around one rusted machine, Nezda saw the team sent to meet her. After a few heartbeat’s pause, Nezda angled herself toward them. There was an expanse of open space between her and them. Something tugged at her, deep within her bones, telling her not to cross that space.
So she stopped, just before walking beyond the large machinery surrounding her on either side. With practiced deliberateness, she opened the box. Then, stretching her gift forward, Nezda dropped it. The clank reverberated in the empty factory. Shifting her weight onto one foot and placing hands on her hips, Nezda lifted her eyes to what had to be Bluejay. He had way too much grease in his hair.
“So, here it be.” She gave the box a tiny nudge with her toe. “Come see for yourself. No need to send your buddy to follow me all the way here. Not to worry, I won’t charge extra for the annoyance. I just want what’s promised me.”
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Meira
She don't mess around
2,830 posts
583 likes
Half awake in our fake empire
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last online May 11, 2023 23:01:34 GMT -5
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Jul 3, 2015 11:05:06 GMT -5
Post by Meira on Jul 3, 2015 11:05:06 GMT -5
Ximo's grin widened at her giggle. His native language always worked. He wasn't exactly sure what it was about Humani that melted estrani women, but he imagined it had something to do with the way the mouth moved when speaking it; it hinted at other talents. So, to really pile it on, Ximo gav Kyla a wink as she took his arm, making sure that he held her close as they walked.
As they entered the cantina, Ximo loosened his hold on Kyla's arm so that he could hold open the door. She broke their contact entirely after entering and asked him to go find a booth. That tiny part of his mind still concerned with Nezda recalled that this was almost exactly how their first meeting had gone. Except that had been a business meeting, and Nezda was buying. It seemed Kyla was of a mind to do the same, as she walked toward the bar, saying something about Binka Sour.
"Ey, bella." he said in protest. He'd been to one offering to buy! But she seemed set on being the one to do the honors. Ximo sighed, not actually upset by this. He wasn't exactly rolling in credits, so if Kyla wanted to stand her round... he wouldn't stop her.
He found a small booth near the back of the cantina where the lighting was low and space ensured a good measure of proximity. He sat, ran a hand through his hair, and checked his breath against his hand. Then sniffed under his arms for good measure. Luckily, he hadn't been doing any significant work recently and seemed to smell just fine. A few moments later, Kyla approached with two glasses. Ximo stood and waited for her to situate herself before he sat back down.
He took up his glass, titling it to mirror her own movements and smiled back at her. Ximo liked girls like Kyla. He could see in the mischief that danced in her eyes that she was the kind of girl that just goes for what she wants. Girls like that made the best bedfellows.
"A la bona sort." he said, then took a drink. It did indeed have a sour kick to it that caught Ximo a bit by surprise, but the overall flavor of the liquid was pleasing. He took another drink, then set the glass down. "You will be spoiling a man by buying him drinks." he said, giving her another smile. "I hope you will let me return the favor?"
A round or two later, his hands were finding excuses to linger on her waist, her back, and her hair as they giddily stumbled from the bar. The details were fuzzy in his mind, but as Ximo understood it, they were making their way toward a small motel nearby where they might get to know each other a little better. As they arrived, the attendant greeted Kyla by name and Ximo couldn't stop a giggle at this. When the attendant looked at him quizzically, Ximo adopted a slight frown and shook his head to indicate it was no matter.
Kyla led him down a corridor to their room. As they stopped at the door, Ximo slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her close so that her back pressed into his chest. He dipped his head so that his lips were close to her ear as he purred. "Mi xica rica... I told you that you are spoiling me. I am-" he paused as a silent hiccup interrupted him, "-very susceptible to such things."
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Neology
Damsel out of Distress
1,489 posts
711 likes
addicted to bad ideas and all the beauty in this world
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last online Apr 1, 2024 18:31:37 GMT -5
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Jul 8, 2015 10:08:04 GMT -5
Post by Neology on Jul 8, 2015 10:08:04 GMT -5
This shouldn't be this easy. Novus thought to herself, spearing a rosy slice of binka fruit with a decorative toothpick. Could someone really be that vain, that guileless? Or was this thief playing her right back? She lifted the fruit out of her drink and to her mouth, chewing.
Well, if he was faking all this, the Humani was a remarkable actor. She sensed no deception.
“Of course, hon. I suppose you've got somethin' in mind?”
A little bit drunk, a little bit turned on, a little bit sugar high … Kyla's energy and pleasure were not so difficult to feign, now. She led the thief past the clerk at the reception desk and down a hallway, pleased to encounter no one else on the way. Later, she'd have to go back - make sure the attendant forgot all about them.
Novus paused in front of their door, keycard halfway to the scanner as his arm wrapped around her waist. She sighed and leaned back into his chest, a smile evident in the sound. Maybe if they returned the orb, she could find some excuse to show lenience. Doubtful... A Sith Lady could hardly let a pair of thieves just walk away.
“Is that so, honey?” She let her voice dip further into Kyla's affected drawl, following the words with a breathy laugh and full-body nuzzle. “I expect you'll return the favor, wont you?” She ran the key again. The door slid open with a slight hiss and the lights came up, bathing the sparse furnishings in yellow light. Novus led him inside by the wrist. Few hiding places, only one other point of ingress (a large window, shrouded in thick curtains,) and no one in the adjoining rooms, so far as she could tell. Well. That was as much privacy as one could reasonably expect for 60 credits, she supposed.
Novus sat on the corner of the bed and shrugged out of her jacket. The ankle boots came next, carefully unlaced and then carelessly abandoned. Her fingers lingered at her neck, toying with the black-and-gold silk scarf that she wore, watching the Humani. She flashed an impish smile, pulling the scarf loose.
“Indulge me?” She crawled across the bed and gently pushed him over. Novus tied his hands above his head, murmuring a quiet inquiry as to his comfort. Back on hands and knees, she leaned over him, as if for a kiss.
“This is nice and all, but I want my orb back.” She spoke softly, all trace of Kyla's accent gone. “Where is your friend taking it?”
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Squee
The Keeper
2,286 posts
95 likes
I am Deception, and I defy your holiest moralities.
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last online Oct 24, 2016 0:33:56 GMT -5
Master
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Aug 7, 2015 22:19:31 GMT -5
Post by Squee on Aug 7, 2015 22:19:31 GMT -5
((Copost, me and Fro!))
The greaser-esque mercenaries were awaiting Nezda with guns in hand, space ensured, and a small silver briefcase at the foot of their leader; the one with the hideously tacky jacket and hair that looked like it was a plastic mold. Despite their comical covers, their eyes were peeled sharp and their fingers millimeters from the triggers on their guns. The safety on each gun was, of course, turned off. “You’re late,” was all that the leader offered as he looked down at the sphere carelessly wobbling a bit after its fall. His face grimaced a bit as it finally settled; if he wasn’t on orders to just shoot her anyway, Bluejay definitely would like her dead now. “And a little bird told me that he was your buddy.” He shook his head at his accidental pun. “By the sound of it, you were pretty sloppy.” Nezda sniffed and shrugged a shoulder, showing disinterest. “Whatever. He’s your problem.” He sighed, annoyed. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve already got it handled.” With that, he stooped down and picked up the case. Quietly undoing the latches, he turned it toward her and flipped it open. Within sat a solid block of 1,000-piece credits. “2.7 million.” He quietly closed the case and handed it to the woman to his right, who set it down beside a few gun cases. He watched her face with squinted eyes as he was sure she was piecing together that she had been offered less than that. Why would she ever be paid more, particularly after such “sloppy” service?
Those credits were their payment for receiving the orb and terminating the giver. Her stomach turned with a small, queasy twist. That was a lot less than anticipated. She studied the shift in their step and the eager grips upon their guns. It was their bounty prize. Nezda swung her hand slightly behind her, fingers brushing her holster. This was about to go the way she didn’t want it to. The crack of a sniper rifle and the twang of a missed shot should have explained things pretty well. Nezda reeled slightly, surprised at her misjudgment (she knew there had to be a sniper somewhere, and why she hadn’t ventured beyond the machinery). But the pistol pulled easily from holster and she raised it with both hands. Automatically, a mental timer began in her head – three seconds.
The mercenaries quickly glanced at each other with confusion. “James! The hell do you call that?!” Nezda pulled the trigger on three. Her aim was swinging to align another target, knowing her first shot had hit its mark. Three. She pulled the trigger again. The plan had been for that bullet to be shot from the rafters above and land squarely between her eyes. Instead, even as they raised their guns to start finishing her off themselves, James’ flailing body came tumbling down from above before landing with a sickening crunch. She kicked the box with the ominous ball to one side, retreating to the cover provided by the shambled and dusty crisscrosses and pillars of decades old machinery. Checking where she’d kicked the box, she grimaced to realize it had tilted instead of scooting. The stupid ball rolling freely and lazily through sparks of bullets and sears of blaster bolts. Another mercenary came sprinting from the side. “That slippery bastard decked Li-” He would be interrupted by the successive, controlled burst from Nezda’s blaster. Three smoking holes burned anew on his torso area. A slippery bastard? The one who finished off the sniper she’d misjudged? The mercenaries were finally scattering, each diving for cover, though none quite sure of what to find cover from. There was surely their target, but loud cracks piercing their eardrums, some sharp and metallic a la gunpowder, some longer and with more flavor, a la…
“Maniac’s got a whip!” A sharp lash across the outcrier’s hands would be followed by the crack of a bullet zipping through his brain. Without so much as checking to see if he was dead, the crimson assailant was diving into cover of his own, switching revolvers and recoiling his whip as he caught his breath. His eyes darted, trying to keep track of it all… he could see at least three mercenaries, hear at least two, and…
There was the orb. He reached for it, only for a hail of blaster bolts to smack into it, the melting sounds of ancient metal mixing with the clanging of it ping-ponging away between the machines. He grimaced. That history was worth more than they’d ever be.
She’d be damned if it wasn’t her follow. He would not get the orb. Nezda peeked from her cover, pistol clasped between hands. There was a pause in the firing before a couple of runners burst from cover, intent on the orb. Surprised, Nezda took their respite to run for the ball, too.
Her foot connected with the orb, sending it sailing up and over the machinery. Turning, Nezda slammed her leg to the distracted mercenary who’d stopped to watch the orb fly. Grabbing him, she used his sideways momentum to smash his head into the machinery. He dropped hard.
Ducking beneath the swing of his companion, she followed through an upward swing, catching the mercenary on the chin. Nezda yanked free her second blaster as she grasped the mercenary’s collar and pulled toward her. Three successive blasts jolted in her opponent’s belly and torso.
Leaving the body to topple, Nezda slid beneath the machinery. Age old dust stirred around her, tickling her nose, as she paused momentarily. The gunfight had resumed with heated fervor. With a large breath, Nezda holstered her pistol and began climbing the rusty equipment..
Rase, meanwhile, was taking a final breath before dashing down the row of machines. The mercenaries were beginning to swarm now, their numbers thinned. One ducked out in front of him, raising his rifle. He would find his vision impaired as the Zeltron’s whip was faster, lashing a perfectly horizontal line across his face. A second lash would snap at his feet, causing him to stumble backward. The butt of an ancient Catharian revolver would end the meeting, including his skull in the equation.
But bullets flew overhead as the final mercenary, the leader with the slick hair, appeared further down the row with the orb, shooting and running. Rase’s heart raced as he acted on years of instinct, dashing down a row just to the side. Squeezing off a duo of shots to keep the man from shooting back, he sprinted, raising his whip as he ran, and striking it out, hoping that his luck tonight would improve.
As the leather wrapped around the man’s leg and his body came smashing down, it seemed that it would. A bullet would quickly land itself in the back of his skull before the greaser could respond, not willing to give him the opportunity to respond.
And finally, silence.
Quickly scooping up the dropped orb, Rase panted for breath, a small grin on his face souring into a concerned frown. The orb was mangled beyond recognition, parts of it melted, parts of it shot open. He hadn’t expected a puzzle cube to be great protection, but… As he turned it over worriedly in his hands, he couldn’t help but feel like the pieces were a little looser than they should have been.
Nezda dropped, soft-footed, behind her foolish, whip wielding stalker. With smooth transition, she pulled both knife and blaster from their holsters. She pressed the muzzle of the blaster to his head first. Then quickly slid close behind him with arm snaking over his shoulder, presenting the knife to his neck.
“All right, Red,” she said, her tone threatening. “You have twenty seconds to explain fully. Why you’re here, why you followed me. If you’re still talking, I slit your throat and then shoot you. If I don’t like your answer, I slit your throat and then shoot you. Go.”
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Meira
She don't mess around
2,830 posts
583 likes
Half awake in our fake empire
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last online May 11, 2023 23:01:34 GMT -5
Administrator
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Aug 10, 2015 19:35:58 GMT -5
Post by Meira on Aug 10, 2015 19:35:58 GMT -5
"Si." he practically purred as she opened the door.
He followed the gentle tug at his wrist, his eyes focused on something else just in front of him as they moved into the room. It was the sort of room he was used to, should he not have a ship. Too much space and not enough engine noise; but the price always seemed to be right in a pinch.
Kyla moved to the bed and Ximo followed, watching her as she settled her weight down. Content to watch for the moment, Ximo leaned himself against a wobbly old dresser. She took her time, and he was fine with that. He tilted his head to the side as she removed her boots and whistled appreciatively. When she paused, looking up at him, Ximo recognized his cue to come help out. He pushed away from the dresser which bumped against the wall and came to her side.
"Indulge me?" she asked, tugging her scarf free from around her neck.
"If I must." he replied, his smile giving away the that he did not, in fact, mind one bit.
She moved toward him and Ximo allowed her to gently push him down until he was reclined on the bed, slightly propped against the headboard. She moved over him, taking his hands and lifting them over his head. Ximo chuckled as he understood where this was going.
"Oh, I see. You want to be la capità... Si bella, is fine."
As she brought her face close to his, Ximo rose up slightly to meet her. His eyes had fallen, half closed. His lips were parted, ready to receive hers. And then she spoke.
For a moment, he didn't move. He was suspended there as his mind slowly processed what he'd just heard. The words themselves were not the first thing to hit him. It was the change in her voice. That lovely drawl was gone, replaced by a quiet coldness that struck him through. He opened his eyes and the woman before him seemed to have completely changed.
"Què?"
No, she hadn't changed. Not really. She was the same woman, with the same features. But the essence behind those features had changed entirely. Gone was the cool, confident messenger. She'd been replaced by some dangerous creature. On reflex, Ximo pulled his arms and tried to move away, but the scarf held him better than he could have expected.
"Who are you?" he asked, pressing himself backward and against the bed. One of his arms moved, twitching against his bindings as it instinctively tried to grasp the crystal that hung around his neck. He couldn't, of course, and somehow that unnerved him. "I don't know what you are talking about." he added, lamely.
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