Maybe this was a mistake.
Foxen had seemed like the best bet when she was originally given this task by the Envoys. If they ran into any danger, she and Foxen could easily cover just about any situation. The Nautolan hybrid was also analytical, focused, calm— everything needed in a bodyguard.
With the two of them combined, they could tackle any obstacle.
Unfortunately, to Foxen those obstacles also included a Selenian woman pushing her baby in a stroller. The Quaestrix of Galeres watched in horror as the mountain of muscle, scars, and knives body checked the mother as as got too close to the path that the Torchbearer was running on.
The strangled noise that escaped Sivall was very reminiscent of a certain lock-wearing Mirialan. Channeling her inner Ruka, Siva reached out with the Force to stop the Selenian woman before she hit the ground. A soft manipulation of that energy control righted the woman, the stroller, and the baby.
“I’m so sorry!” She offered as she jogged past in her attempt to keep up with Foxen the Karking Steamroller Erinos.
She pulled out her comm link and typed a holomessage to Minnie as she hopped a curb.
Siva🫐: MINNOW YOUR BROTHER IS CRAZY. Siva🫐: WHY DIDNT YOU TALK ME OUT OF THIS .•.•.•.•.•. Siva🫐: Marick’s gonna murder me in my sleep. Please tell me none of this is visible on camera.
<@244244163002892288>
MaximumMinMin🐠: bby r u kidding me?.we juhst watched that LIvE LOOK UP MaximumMinMin🐠: & plz don’t blame.me u knew what u were signing up for MaximumMinMin🐠: omg unintentional pun brb scrnshtting that for jaxxie👌
Indeed, when the Chiss and long-time poster child and spokeswoman for the Envoy Corps looked up, she saw one of…the many…fleet of survey drones following along the route, streaming every second of coverage as the Torchbearer made their way from Clan system to system before finally terminating their ascension at the Dark Ascent on Arx.
The time in hyperspace between systems was conveniently filled with advertising breaks, which Minnow alleged were the real party.
But she couldn’t focus on that now.
“FOXEN!” the tiny medic hollered at the Nautolan-Chagrian hybrid of very literally epic proportions. “SLOW DOWN. CONFIRM!”
He didn’t even turn to look at her. He just full on stopped. She slammed into his mountainous, chiseled black granite back – damn, Flyndt – and probably felt like nothing to him as she bounced off. A quick hand like a vice around her infinity smaller hand caught arrested her fall though, and then was gone as fast.
What? Foxen asked, hands wagging with the question. Red eyes stayed trained on target as the runner, who’d done a double take at the stroller thing, jogger past in a manner striving to stay dignified when one was running, on camera, in the humidity, with shorts several inches up crevasses and sweat pouring down your body.
Sivall flailed, hands forgetting how to sign for a moment as purepanicandembarrassment flowed through her. The whole kriffing clan was watching this! Ruka, Zuza, Alex—
A ringing noise filled her ears for a minute, holy kist Alex was watching this. The Chiss medic’s already pale skin lightened a few shades.
A deep breath was forced into her lungs and the ringing stopped.
You can’t just bulldoze over children, Fox! There was- Her signing stopped as her brain tried to process the absolute karking cluster of her thoughts, Okay granted the baby could have had a bomb under it or someth—
She made an exasperated sound at herself, clearly flustered.
No tackling small children, expecting mothers, or old people. Confirm?
Foxen barely looked at her, though his demeanor conveyed mild annoyance at mission disruption. The fact it was conveyed at all belied his comfort with the woman.
Confirm. Updating mission parameters. Anything else? You said: ‘…have to get them to the finish line by any means necessary.’ Also, fraking speak. Inefficient communication already.
This exchange was followed without mercy nor hesitation by a sprint to keep abreast of the Torcherbearer, the Nautolan as much bulldozing through the crowds as beautifully navigating it like a shark through the shoals. Sivall’s spotless and pressed Envoy uniform did her no favors catching up.
A slew of exotic swears left her mouth, some in Mirialan, some in Cheunh, some in Basic. How was a mountain of a man so agile? How was she less agile than him? Of course Foxen didn’t understand why she had chosen to use sign language, so that she could try to lessen the amount of people who could understand that she was absolutely losing her kist. Of course he would take her words literally. Of course he would try to complete this mission with absolute peak efficiency.
The Chiss tried her best to keep up and to negate some of the damage in Foxen’s path, while trying to not hyperventilate while running.
Ruka was watching this.
She was going to disappoint him. On. Live. Galactic. Holo.
Kistkistkistkistkistkistkist.
Do something atty you absolute noodle
If any deities or higher powers or wills of the Force were watching like the crowds and viewers were, they might have had mercy for the Chiss’ pleas, because Foxen certainly didn’t. A few steps ahead, Foxen jogged on, right on the trail of the Torchbearer. They turned down a street, getting ever closer to the hiking trails that would take them around Doto Peak rather than on the tram through to Giletta spaceport. The roads were packed. People and merchants hawking candy, popped corn, and toys lined each side. The Torchbearer slowed, smiling and reaching to clap his empty hand against those of bystanders, including children, leaning out.
Foxen’s wrist flicked, metal flashed, and a knife embedded in the low dividing wall between the running track and the sidewalk. Skin probably got taken off of the man’s hand.
And then four more knives in succession pelted into the ground, getting closer and closer to the runner’s heels, one actually sticking in the toe. Siva only knew from experience that the Nautolan could manage the precision, angle, and force calculations of that throw to only make the blade go through the shoe, not the foot itself. Nonetheless, the athlete very ostensibly yelled and jumped back from his gladhanding, then kept jumping and started sprinting all over again, nearly dropping the torch itself.
The message was clear: move your ass and don’t stop.
“Foxen! No fracking knives!” She belted as she tried to keep up. Murmurs of apologies were offered to the bystanders, who were rightfully terrified. She swore to everything above that if Foxen didn’t stop she’d TK strike him into a damn river.
She could hear Minnie laughing, watching the live holofeed. Oh gods this was a disaster.
She pushed more energy into her screaming legs, trying to keep up with the Nautolan who was sprinting in front of her with ease.
Stamina was not her forte.
The Nautolan turned marginally sideways as he ran, which was almost insulting, really, given it didn’t make him slow, so that he could sign at her.
FINE, not confirm. Even his eye was twitching by now. What do you WANT me to do then? Shoot him?
“KIST NO!”
He scoffed at her, not even breathing hard, and resumed a direct trajectory.
“Foxen Erinos!” she gasped, and pushed the Force into her legs and lungs, putting on a boost of speed as her quick footwork and intensive stealth training, much like his, allowed her to weave around stray bystanders and obstacles. The glance those red eyes gave her screamed, the cameras can see your pores sweating now. She ignored it, lifting her chin and sending back a chilling look from three feet down. “No shooting. No knives. No tackles. No physical harm to the target or anyone else. No property damage. Confirm!”
Ugh. Confirm.
The rest of the parade run went as smoothly as possible once their Torchbearer picked the dagger out of his shoe mid-step, without cutting himself, because some god of the Force had decided to be good.
Perhaps if she was very lucky, Ruka and Cora had missed the first half of the broadcast. She knew that was a vain hope, though. Her vacmi and family had promised to be watching every second of her honored efforts, even recording the live footage so they could have a watch party later that Cora was planning. They were so proud of her.
Too bad it wouldn’t last.
-
Their little convoy made it all the way to the trains for Giletta spaceport, which would take them to a designated Envoy shuttle escort and carry on to Aliso for the next leg of the tour, without indecent. The ride itself was a different story. For some reason masked and nondescript attackers assaulted the train en route around the peaks, and Foxen ended up fighting them off, even climbing out a window half his size and having death-defying knife and hand to hand combat on top of the train, on live holocast. Siva stayed with their runner, healing the small amount of shrapnel damage he’d incurred when their assailants burst through the windows; one had been dragged back out by the parachute they’d used to deploy from a ship. She felt nothing for the splatter of him somewhere along the cliffs, nor the glass embedded in her own cheeks she picked out.
Eventually the Nautolan came back down, crossing from the front car all the way back to theirs, dishelved from the wind and a few cuts in his clothing but no blood.
Amateurs, he derided in obvious disgust, and stripped down, as apparently his Tactical Preparation included changes of clothes for both of them, which, of course it did. At least her gloves were fine.
By the time they arrived at the port, everything had been cleaned up, Foxen had turned her coifed bun into a twist and ruthless efficiency, and her lipstick was fresh. He shoved their increasingly skittish Torchbearer out the door and bulled on ahead as any professional bodyguard would, the visible weapons over his pristine attire sending messages of warning.
Also, the red painting half the tram on the outside.
Which was, again, on camera.
Chin up, she echoed Cora. She could cry in a scalding hot shower later and then curl up and die. Now was still going.
They got on the shuttle.
- As takeoff procedures commenced, Siva beheld Foxen withdrawing medical tubing from his infinitely packed Envoy bag, and outright stared when he rolled up one sleeve and tied a tourniquet with his shark teeth.
“Foxen,” her tone was light, “what are you doing now?”
Downtime on shuffle optimal time for a transfusion so this asshat runs more efficiently. We don’t need him after the ceremony. He didn’t bother to add that his blood type was a universal donor for iron-based Near-Humans, because Siva, as his doctor, already knew that.
She, however, bothered to add:
“Deny. We are not blood doping, are you–” the Chiss cut off before she could say insane because Foxen wasn’t. He was just him. Still her furious whisper of orders went on, trying not to be obvious to the Torchbearer, who had been increasingly fraying in nerves this entire time. He wasn’t hydrating enough even though they’d told him to, but rocking in his seat and muttering to himself what might have been prayers. “No. Deny, Foxen. That is a breach of medical and ethical conduct. None of that either.”
It’s like you want us to fail.
“I most certainly do not!”
You asked me: make this happen for you. I’m doing that.
“And I appreciate that you agreed, especially no–”
Do not.
Red met red, chasms of pain behind aloof masks.
“Sorry. I’m just. Frustrated.”
Confirm, also. Subject is a mess. Go give him some pep talk.
“Foxen, I can’t inspire anybody.”
Objective falsehood. His lip curled at her. He stood up and pulled off the tourniquet. Fine.
Then he went over to the Torchbearer.
Oh.
Oh no.
Kistkistkistkistkist–
Somehow, the mechanical voice of Foxen’s datapad reading out his words, a voice-text option he almost never used due to hating the sound, made it even worse.
“Listen, listen. You will never matter more than you do in this moment. This is the most worth your life will ever have. Get your shit together.”
The man started to cry.
Sivall covered her eyes with one hand.
At least the cameras weren’t live for this part. It was all commercials right now.
They had a long, long circuit ahead of them.
===