Savran Has, known in less savory circles as Tekuani, drew their Synergy Particle Magnum from its thigh holster and aimed at the target down range. After taking a deep breath to steady themselves and then holding it, they squeezed the trigger. The blaster kicked back as a yellow bolt of excited tibanna gas leapt from the barrel; it zipped through the air and struck the target, causing the corresponding place on the digital display above Savi’s head to light up so they could reflect on their work.
It was a decent shot. Not the best they’d done, but more than enough to get the job done with their powerful blaster.
“Not bad, but you can do better,” they muttered to themselves before raising the magnum again to take another shot.
They became so immersed in the exercise that they barely noticed the sound of the door opening on the far side of the range.
<@315438760428961793>
As was routine, Emere Galo entered the range and took note of the present patrons. Only one. They occupied her preferred stall. It wasn’t as though her name was plastered on the particular location so there wasn’t a reason for them to become an object of their ire. Yet. Most people only became such whenever they opened their mouths.
Taking her stead in the stall to the right of her favorite, the loyalist adjusted her ear and eye protection before drawing her unloaded Enforcer Pistol. Just as any slugthrower, it packed a punch. The recoil alone would turn off most blaster users but it didn’t deter this weapons specialist.
As she loaded the pistol, a shot rang out, her sharp dark eyes catching the projectile as it hit the target. At least they aren’t being sacrilegious, Emere thought as she deftly popped the magazine into the pistol. The last thing she wanted to see some tenderfoot violating her space with bad aim.
After a short pause to make sure the stranger didn’t fire more shots, she took aim at her target, breathing controlled as she closed one eye, arms stiff and extended. She pulled the trigger, a powerful shot ringing out. The slug pierced the target in its lower abdomen. It wasn’t the heart but it hit. She seldom missed shots even if they didn’t go where she wanted them to.
The sound of the slugthrower was like music to Savi’s ears. In fact, they could even tell what type it was because they’d used it before in the past. They lifted their blaster again and fired three rounds in rapid succession, forming a cluster of marks in the center of the target’s torso. Once the room settled into silence, Savi spoke.
“Not a bad choice of weapon,” they said, “Most people prefer to use something a bit easier to handle. Something less powerful.”
The loyalist heard the words of the stranger and sneered. She wondered what use it was to waste their breath on pointing out the obvious. Normally, she was content to let the silence drone on but Morra… her little pain insisted that returning conversation was what separated the sentience from non-sentient beings.
“They’re weak,” Emere said dryly, positioning herself to shoot again. She pulled the trigger in rapid succession, dumping five rounds into the faux enemy’s chest.
The shani waited until the last of the slugthrower shots rang out, saying, “That’s one way to put it.”
A quick glance allowed them to notice the jacket she wore. Its design resembled those they’d seen active AAF personnel wear, but they didn’t see any patches designating her rank on it.
“You military?” they asked before averting their gaze and firing another three shots at the distant target.
Emere lowered her pistol, discarding the empty clip.
“Something like that,” she replied, loading in a fresh magazine. Following regulations was something she was adept at even if she thought they were useless at times. Orders were followed even if how she carried them out looked a little… different.
The Major studied the stranger’s target, quietly impressed with their prowess. Which was enough to motivate her to outdo them.
“You’re not a bad shot,” Emere commented as flatly as before. She lifted her pistol and let off a few more rounds, this time, ensuring impeccable accuracy in the target’s face.
Onyx lips pulled into a slight, yet no less self-satisfied smirk as the shani savored their human counterpart’s comment. “I would hope so,” they cooed, “I’ve had plenty of time to hone my aim, after all.”
They glanced to her target and nodded approvingly. “You’re not so bad yourself. Don’t see many people who can handle blasters that well, let alone slugthrowers. What did you say your name was?”
She hadn’t, of course.
“I didn’t,” Emere retorted, her brow furrowing. If it was bait to give up her name, the Shani would have to do better than that. There was a bout of silence before she remembered she should be more cordial whilst interacting with strangers.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said finally, “If you can out-do my shots, you can have my name.”
“Oh?” Savi took a slight step backward to get a full look at the woman with whom they spoke. And they liked what they saw. “How’d you know I enjoy wagers?” they smirked before turning to regard the target again. “That’s a bet. You can go first, then.”
The Major let out a light chuff, the first sign of expression from her since entering the range. Emere was always eager and up for a challenge.
Lifting her pistol to aim at the holo-dummy, she fired four rounds. Each one landed on the target, but somehow missed the vital organs she had been shooting for. Her expression remained unreadable as she nodded to her opponent to indicate that they were up.
Savi didn’t bother to look at her opponent’s shots — not yet, at least. Instead, they lined the barrel of their blaster up and squeezed the trigger, firing four shots in rapid succession. But when they saw the result, the shani sucked their teeth in displeasure. Two of the four shots formed a tight cluster, but the remaining two had missed their mark. Emere had one.
“Best two out of three?” they asked, their voice remaining calm despite their dissatisfaction.
Emere’s eyes studied her opponent. Their form and stance were good but it could most certainly be better. If she felt so inclined, she could help the stranger get better but now wasn’t the time to be an instructor.
When the two shots were missed, the major gave no indication of satisfaction. At the mention of another round or two, she nodded and simply prepared her gun to fire another set of rounds.
Lining up her sights, she fired once. The shot veered off to the side of the target. She sneered and fired again the shot ringing out and hitting the target, but this time something was amiss. The sound of the gun had changed.
Though the trigger was pulled a third time no shot rang out. It had jammed. The weapons specialist swiftly rectified the jam, an important component of her striker falling to the ground as she did so. The trigger.
These were well-made weapons so she had no idea whose gods she pissed off to make such a nearly impossible feat occur.
“You’re up,” she said, her frustration with her gun creeping to her stoic surface.
Savi wasted no time in lining up their shot and firing thrice. These shots were much more precise than their previous set, arranging in a tight cluster with minimal spread. After seeing their work, a sly grin spread across the shani’s face.
“It’s your turn,” they said confidently.
Emere was never without a backup. From her arsenal, the woman drew a scattergun. The major was confident she could out-do the stranger’s abilities. Perhaps to her own demise, she took a cocky approach and aimed the gun with one hand, firing two rounds. The recoil was well-controlled, and her shots hit but the shots only hit the target’s left arm and grazed its right leg.
She swore under her breath and looked at her opponent with a quiet nod to let them know they were up next.
After seeing Emere’s final round, Savi knew they had their little bet in the bag. Stepping forward, they aimed their blaster and fired two shots, causing two bright beams of superheated tibanna to streak through the air and strike the target in the chest and shoulder. And that was enough to settle their wager.
Turning to face the woman standing opposite them, Savi leaned against the wall with their arms crossed after holstering their blaster.
“I think that’s game, darling.”
Usually, Emere wasn’t a sore loser. What was bothersome to her was the fact that this wager should have been hers for the taking. Regardless, she lost and she was nothing if not a woman of her word.
“Galo. Emere Galo,” she said plainly as she stowed her weapons away. “Yours?”
“Galo, huh?” They searched their extensive memory but nothing with the name “Galo” came back, “Nice to meet you, Emere. I’m Savran Has, but most people call me Savi.
"You an Arconan?”
In response to their question Emere nodded. “Yeah. You?”
While she waited for a response, she made her way to the bench behind the range stalls, pulled out a small tool kit and her striker pistol. Quietly, the weapon specialist began fixing the erroneous piece of metal.
Savi shook their head. “Not really my thing, but you could consider me a …liaison, I suppose. I work with the clan from time-to-time. They pay well and pay often. Friends with a few of your clansmen, though.”
They watched her repair the weapon quietly.
“Is that right?” Emere asked as she cleared out the gunk from the striker’s trigger mechanism. Surprisingly, all the parts were present. Nothing was missing so it seemed whatever caused the fluke would forever remain a mystery.
“Right,” they replied, lifting a hand to brush their plumage out of their face, “but that’s not so interesting. What is are those tattoos,” Savi leaned forward a bit to take a closer look, “I haven’t seen traditional Ilohian ink in ages. Is that where you’re from?”
The human’s features remained unmoving even as she heard the stranger mention the origin of the tattoos that adorned her arms. It was uncommon that anyone knew about Iloh, let alone the style pattern of the tattoos. Not to mention, she hadn’t ever seen anyone quite like this person before. Or the fact that they said ‘in ages’ as though they were more than 30 galactic years. Emere knew she had to have them beat.
“Yeah,” she said in reply, gun nearly put back together. The ink was almost identical to the ones her father once had.
Feeling exposed by the stranger’s curiosity, she pulled away from the bench and stared at the Shani.
“I’m not here to make friends so you should stop wasting your time,” she said sternly, holstering her striker back in its place.
“Oh?” Savi replied, leaning forward with their arms crossed with an expression that feigned surprise, “And here I thought the whole brooding, laconic vibe you’ve got going on was your way of bonding.”
They rolled their eyes, then allowed both slitted pupils to settle on the Ilohian woman; the intensity of her gaze belied the otherwise nonthreatening, if not aloof, poise she maintained. “Whoever said I was trying to make friends?”
The major looked the Shani in their eyes, unbothered by their assessment of her.
“You could have fooled me,” Emere muttered, her lips forming a small sneer at the end. Why would anyone indulge a competition simply to earn their name and nothing else?
“What do I call you?”
They lifted their shoulders in a shrug. “Friends don’t come easy for me, and rarely willingly. I get the sense that you’re the same.
"And call me Savi.”
“Good thing you have good sense, Savi,” Emere said dry as ever as she moved past the Shani, heading toward the exit.
You should really try to make friends, mom. Morra’s words reverberated inside of the specialist’s skull. For a moment, she paused before she hit the door mechanism. “I’ll be in the sparring gym at 0400 tomorrow.”
The Shani’s ears perked up at that comment, prompting them to shift their position a bit. “Oh? That was unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome. See you then, sharpshooter.”
That was the last thing she said before slipping past her and sauntering toward the range’s exit. It appeared the Ilohian woman had changed her tune, at least a bit.
The Following Day
When Savi arrived at the sparring rooms, they weren’t surprised to see Emere already waiting there for them. “Miss me?” they asked with a grin, “You’re early.”
Dark irises traced their form of the Shani as they entered the facility. Although she made no indication, the weapon specialist liked what she saw.
“No,” Emere said in response to their question and as if rehearsed, “On time is late. I keep my word.”
“Yeah, I believe you,” replied Savi, who turned around to place their bag on a long bench behind them. They leaned forward slightly to open the duffel, which they started to rummage around in to fetch her things; though, it was really to provide the laconic woman with a better view.
To draw the interaction out even longer, they started to speak while lightly swaying as they looked through it. “So, what’ll it be? Weapons? Or mere hand-to-hand?”
“Hand to hand. Mandalorian core.”
Emere, once more, caught herself staring at their figure and swaying hips. It had been over a year since her previous amorous encounter. Her priorities were her daughter and work. Most people hardly approached her and she preferred it that way. For the most part.
The specialist adjusted her hand wraps as she continued to train her eyes on the Shani.
“Today would be preferable.”
“Apologies,” they said with a self-satisfied tone. They turned with their collapsed spear in hand, only to frown when Emere mentioned Mandalorian Core. “It’s been ages since I used that, but I guess I can play along … for now.”
After placing the spear aside, Savi stepped forward onto the square mat. “You’re free to make the first move.”
Ages? The Shani kept using that word that she found odd but she didn’t care enough to ask. Although Emere had no preference of going first or second, she was eager to spar.
The human rolled her neck in preperation, lifting her arms defensively, feet bouncing on the mat, eyes locked onto her target. She approached her opponent before leading with a swift kick to the Savi’s shin.
Savi’s eyes narrowed when Emere advanced to begin her attack. When the kick came, Savi performed a slight step forward on that same leg while turning their toes outward so Emere’s leg came crashing into the hard bone of their upper shin. As Savi’s inertia carried them toward her counterpart, they countered with a thrusting palm strike with their rear hand aimed at Emere’s nose.
By the time the human saw the shani’s palm reeling toward her face, it was too late to do anything about it. The hand hit her nose hard enough to elicit a grunt out the woman. Emere quickly created some distance between herself and her opponent as she lined up for another attack.
She was able to quickly learn Savi was a better fighter than she was a shooter. With that realization, it motivated the specialist more to perform.
Inching forward again, Emere threw a quick set of punches where she saw an opening in the Shani’s defenses.
Even in their friendly spar, Savi’s the speed and fluidity of Savi’s movements were dizzying. It was clear they’d spent a long time honing their skills, and their senses. The Force warned them of imminent danger far enough in advanced for them to slip, roll, and parry each punch Emere threw at them. They skipped backward to fall just outside the range of the final punch before whirling around to throw a spinning kick that sent their foot toward the side of Emere’s head.
Although Emere’s eyes were able to keep up with Savi’s water-like movement, her movements were lagging behind the prowess of the Shani. Each of her punches were countered with trained ease. Her opponent’s skill was head and shoulders above the rest.
When they returned with the spin kick to her head, Emere threw up her forearm. Then, as quickly as she could, snaked her arm around Savi’s leg, twisting her body away to take them down.
A slight smirk spread across Savi’s face when Emere successfully caught her leg and finished the takedown. “Good!” they exclaimed, “you were beginning to worry me, Emere.”
They instinctually locked their legs around her midsection, keeping their hands in a defensive posture in anticipation of ensuing punches.
The heat of anger gripped Emere as she heard Savi’s patronizing words. Her expression remained focused even as she was between the other woman’s legs.
Instead of punches, the specialist sought to liberate herself from the grip of Savi’s legs. She used the force of her weight and raw strength to lift out of the grapple, one hand helping to pry a leg free.
While they were so close, Savi could practically taste the anger roiling inside the Ilohian woman’s mind. Their lips pulled into a satisfied, nigh mocking smirk as Emere pressed against her to break free of their hold. No sense in resisting too much when the shani could let her walk herself into another trap.
Unlocking their legs, they threw them up and around Emere’s head and shoulders, trapping her head and arm (that she was pressing with) between their legs, which they figure-foured to lock her in a submission. Typically used to choke opponents until they fell unconscious, Savi used it as a way to control her, holding it tight so that if Emere tried to move or lift her head up, she’d be carrying the weight of Savi’s entire body on her neck and shoulders.
Savi was an expert at her craft, that much had been made clear to the Ilohan. It was the skill Emere coveted, yet the desire was void of envy—she knew she needed to work hard for the results she desired.
The sudden shift in position made Savi feel twice as heavy and the mats beneath them as stiff as duracrete. The more she struggled, the more difficult it seemed to become.
After a valiant struggle, Emere tapped Savi’s leg, indicating her proverbial white flag for their first round.
After feeling the tap, Savi relented, pulling away like a serpent coiling into its den. “You fought well, but I can tell that you’re out of practice,” they said, extending a hand to help Emere to her feet. Then, they moved over to the locker to fetch a canister of water, which they took a swig from before extending it to her. “When was the last time you were active duty?”
There was some hesitation from the Ilohan before she finally accepted the hand, springing back to her feet. There was barely a twitch on the corner of her mouth as she listened to Savi’s assessment. It was true. Her fitness was as good as it was ever going to be, but without a mentor and consistent practice her martial arts abilities did suffer.
“A year ago,” she said, thoughtlessly accepting the water. “You’re good at what you do. How long have you trained?”
Savi paused to ponder the question, touching a manicured nail to their onyx-colored lips. “Hmm. Formal training? For a few years. Everything else was a learn by doing kind of thing. Took up mercenary work early on and it stuck. Three-hundred years of on-the-job training can get you pretty far.”
For the first time since they met, Emere showed more emotion than ever, both her brows shooting up in surprise. Not much in the galaxy surprised her. She had even met a fair share of chimeras, even longer living species but none quite like this.
“Three-hundred? What are you?”
Savi’s lips pulled into a smirk at that comment. “Shani. There aren’t many of us around anymore. Many of us … well, moved on to greener pastures, you could say.” The saffron-skinned femme stepped backward a bit to lean against the table, watching Emere with a scrutinizing gaze. “For your species, my age would be the equivalent of being in my early twenties.”
Emere’s brow creased as she searched her memory for anything called ‘shani’. It was a fruitless pursuit but that didn’t matter.
“I see,” she finally said. “Not bad for three-hundred.”
Whether or not she was speaking on the Shani’s appearance or fighting ability, or both, was entirely up to them to decipher.
“Yeah? Would you like a closer look?” They replied without missing a beat. There was a natural coolness to their proposition, a clear enough indication that their composed demeanor extended to their endeavors off the battlefield, as well. The watched her with an unexpectant look.
Barring a few occasions on and off, Emere’s ventures off the battlefield were relatively dry. With a growing daughter, a shop to upkeep, work to do, and wolf to take care off, it wasn’t on her priority list to be on the lookout for ‘fun’. Savi’s unique appearance was alluring, on top of her ability to fight and shoot–it was the perfect recipe to get the Ilohan in some deep… deep water.
Frack.
Her expression was mostly unreadable, save for a slight curl of her lips on one side. “Another time.” As tempting as the prospect was, her priorities took over the forefront of her mind. “I have a tight schedule.”
“Ahh … there it is,” Savi said, stepping closer until they were close enough for Emere to feel the heat pulse from their skin in sync with their heartbeat. Their thick, forked tongue slipped from between a set of full lips to taste the air – a small act of self-indulgence meant to tease the woman more. “the taste of desire never gets old.
"And that’s fine with me. I hope you don’t mind me occasionally showing you what you can expect. I love a woman who stays busy, too.”
For a moment, it seemed Emere had tapped into the power of the gods to summon her willpower. While her exterior remained calm, her elevated heartbeat and dilated pupils certainly betrayed her. Savi’s closeness did little to quench the burning desire that was stirring beneath the surface.
“Show me?” Emere asked, a brow quirked as she kept her cool, loosely folding her arms over her chest.
A nod. They produced their handheld comlink, waving it side-to-side in front of Emere’s face as if they were playing keep-away. “The first, and frankly, boring, choice is to give me your comm code and wait to see if and what I decide to send you each day.” The paused to let the first choice sink in, their slitted pupils widening in tacit appreciation of the beautiful form standing before them. “The fun option is to skip the comlink entirely …” they raised a slender finger to tap it against their temple, “and let me show you exactly what you’ll get.
"What’ll it be, soldier?”
There was a pause, followed by one hand touching her chin. Emere took pride in being direct and to the point, but she found herself in a position where she wasn’t sure which idea she preferred more. During the deliberating process, her eyes never left the Shani, gaze as intense and near impossible to read as ever.
“Show me,” she said, finally, hand lowering from her chin to rest on the opposite elbow.
Fade to Black
It took but a brief moment for Emere to realize her senses had been hijacked, consumed. The instance was found in time but outside of time all at once, sending her reeling. Her mind was subjected to the Shani’s and she felt everything. The experience was unique in many ways. There were very rare instances, if any, of her time with a woman did she find herself on the receiving end of pleasure. Though Savi was… talented, the vulnerable position was enough to pull the Ilohan abruptly back to reality.
Emere, eyes wide, swore in her native tongue, putting some distance between herself and the Shani, her chest heaving as she pulled in air.
“Kriff. Forget it,” she said, terse, lip pulled into a sneer, a fist clenched. Though the front she put on was one of aggression and irritation, a new desire had stirred beneath the surface. Not only did she want the instance to become true, she wanted to turn the tide and get a taste of her own.
When they both came to, Savi exhaled softly to help temper the flames building within them a bit. A hand found their neckline, drawing small circles along the smooth, scalelike surface while watching Emere. “Too much?” they asked with a wink, a playfully sardonic timbre present in their voice. “I could go slower next time. Or … perhaps you’d like an opportunity to pay me back for the intrusion?”
“No.” The word was swift and stern. Emere, however, was certainly feeling the opposite. The Shani had invaded her thoughts and desires, making them come true in an instant.
Letting out a huff, she made her way to the door. The images of the instance flashed in her mind as she created distance between herself and Savi.