Session export: Professional?
Katrila jumped awake. Her head ached, though not with the dull pain of a hangover; more like the insistent throb of having been struck. It hurt so badly her whole consciousness suffered. She could only get her bearings one corrupted frame at a time, sort of like a buffering holoprojection.
Cold durasteel against her cheek. Buffering. The faint hum of a hyperdrive. Buffering. The tug of restraints when she tried to stretch. Buffering. The stale smell of recycled air. Buffering.
She opened her eyes, and when her vision cleared she took in her makeshift prison cell. Generic crates. She looked down, at least as much as her stiffened neck would allow. She didn’t seem to be harmed. That meant she’d been taken in clean and put in a cargo hold. Professionally. That was an opportunity, at least; professionals could always be reasoned with. It was the amateurs who got people killed.
“Well,” she said aloud to the empty hold, struggling to sit up. Surely a professional would at least have a live video feed, if not remain with her themselves. “I do hope you’re planning to introduce yourself before this goes any further.”
The air within the Voidskipper‘s cargo hold was far colder than the rest of the ship, likely to keep the contents of the crates stacked along the far wall preserved during voyages. For captives, it was a means to make them more uncomfortable. Her statement went unanswered went unanswered at first, and the silence lingered there for minutes, seemingly confirming that she was alone.
And it wasn’t until the towering silhouette of her captor detached from the shadows lingering just beyond the dim lights that shone overhead. Two slits of orange widened into a pair of compound eyes that glowed ominously as Taro stepped forward into the light. He kept his right hand on his hip, lazily gripping the section of his belt nearest the blaster holstered there.
As he tilted his head, the sharpened edge of the Kyuzo war shield worn atop his head glinted in the ship’s yellow light. “Introductions? You think this some kinda date, lady? Lemme guess, you’re expectin’ me to tell you my hobbies, next?” he said, a sharp twang present in his voice.
Katrila let her head tip to one side—she’d been told it was a cute mannerism, which might endear her to her captor—so she could take him in properly.
Falleen, she thought at first. That impression didn’t last long, though. Towering height, long limbs, scales…it added up to Kyuzo. His braided, silken black hair and fiery, alien eyes gave him an allure that, in another circumstance, might make her approach him with impure thoughts. Too bad about that hat, though.
“Sweetheart,” she said, her sibilant accent drawing out the initial s, “if this were a date I’d already know your hobbies and we’d be having a lot more fun with these handcuffs.”
She rolled her shoulders mostly for the theatrical testing of the stuncuffs, but also for the benefits of stretching. The Togorian hadn’t slept outside the Katnip in ages, and she was getting too old to start again now. “I just like knowing who’s holding my leash before I guess who’s holding theirs. So, tell me, did they pay you good money? Or are you the kind who takes a job on a promise?”
An amused huff escaped the man’s lips in response to the Togorian’s quips. “Oh I like you,” he said while leaning against the nearest wall with his shoulder and crossing one foot in front of the other. “Darlin’, I’m too good at this to do it for free. But since you’ve been nothin’ but cordial despite the less-than-ideal circumstance you’re in, I’ll bite.
"Folks ‘round these parts call me 'Saint’, though I don’t expect that to mean much to you since I’ve been locked up for the last five rotations.”
With speed likely surprising for someone of his stature, he stepped off the wall and squatted low so he was eye level with her. He gripped her chin two of his four fingers, which were long enough to nearly touch the back of her head. “Been watchin’ you for a while, now. Imagine my surprise when I learned that you’ve got quite the network throughout the Rim, and with the Brotherhood. Now, what’s a pretty thing like you stand to gain by cozyin’ up to a bunch'a scoundrels like that?”
Katrila didn’t pull away from the man’s grip, unexpected though it was. She’d learned long ago the appearance of nonchalance mattered for everything in scenarios like this. Not that she felt the need to, either; on the contrary, she let her chin rest in his fingers, ears flicking then swiveling slightly toward him. Despite herself, she even began to purr slightly. A reflex she’d tried and failed to get under control.
“Saint,” she said, testing the name the same way she’d taste an exotic amuse-bouche. “I’ve heard that name before. People mention it like they do a tragedy: briefly, involuntarily, and always followed by a moment of silence.”
“An associate of the Tenixir Revenants, if I’m not mistaken,” she continued after letting a silence of her own hang for a moment. “Funny, I’d have figured a survivor of the Collective would come after me first, given my recent duties. Though I must confess, I do enjoy being watched.”
She let her eyes wander down from Taro’s eyes down to his hand, then slowly back up again. Was it more flirtation? Calculation? It wouldn’t be clear to Taro, because it wasn’t even clear to Katrila herself. To be certain, though, she sidestepped his question—at least for a moment.
Was that a purr? He’d thought he’d imagined it, at first, but that subtle rumble against his fingers and that look in her eyes confirmed it. It took him by surprise at first, as evidenced by the way his eyes widened just a hair. But as realization dawned on him, the grin that formed on his face was a clear message to her that he knew exactly what kind of woman she was. He’d seen it plenty.
Slender fingers released her face and briefly trailed across the patterned fur of her neck before dropping to her arm. He pulled her to her feet, careful to mind his strength. After all, he wasn’t the type to leave bruises on a mark unless they gave him good reason to.
“So you have heard of me,” he said while leading her out of the Voidskipper’s cargo hold. “That means you know what I’m capable of, and how many credits I can bring to the table given the proper … incentive.” At that last bit, he looked over his shoulder, letting his eyes linger on her for a moment before he continued onward.
The Star Courier’s interior was clean. Minimalistic. It didn’t have much going for it in terms of decoration, either because he wasn’t planning on keeping it for long or he simply wasn’t the type.
His personal quarters weren’t much different. There was a narrow bunk unfolded from the wall to their left, an empty weapons rack, a desk with shelving for a small collection of books and a pair of carved stones neatly arranged on their own shelf. The most notable thing there was the chest on the far side of the room.
As the door to his quarters closed behind them with a sharp hiss, Taro turned to face her, letting his hand rest on the stuncuffs that kept her hands bound in front of her. “Can I take these off without worryin’ about you tryin’ to take my eyes out with those claws of yours?”
Whatever Katrila might think about his fashion choices, Taro had definitely earned the spot as her favorite kidnapper. She’d made some miscalculations in her career that led to a handful of similar situations, but no one had ever led her out of whatever cell she’d been confined to, let alone offer to remove her restraints.
“That depends entirely on what you do after,” she said. Her tail curved coyly around one digitigrade ankle. It wasn’t lost on her that the man had taken her to his personal quarters. The Star Courier was a smaller ship, but there were certainly other locations he could have chosen. Maybe she could pounce her way out of this after all.
“Nothin’ you’ll come to regret,” he said, removing his hat so his hair could cascade down his shoulders and back like a waterfall of dark silk. He pressed the hat against the center of his chest and inclined his head. “I’m a man of my word.”
Taro pressed his thumb against the biometric scanner present on the band of metal connecting the two cuffs. It briefly glowed green to signify a match, and the cuffs unlocked with a soft click before hitting the floor.
After that, he fetched a bottle of Corellian whiskey and two shot glasses from the nearby shelf, handing her one. “You ‘gon answer my question, now? Why’re you workin’ with the Brotherhood?”
Katrila accepted the glass after cradling her wrists in the opposite hand for a moment. She didn’t drink just yet, instead holding the glass up to the light. She’s savor it after she finished savoring unrestricted movement.
“A man of your word,” she repeated. “I’ve collected a great many words from a great many men over the years, Saint. And I’ve found the value of a man’s word is almost always inversely proportional to how often he feels the need to mention having one.”
She finally tipped the glass back at her lips, exhaling as the whiskey burned pleasantly in her throat.
“Why the Brotherhood? Surely you’ve already heard something about that,” she said, casually padding over to the chest then sidling uninvited to the narrow bunk and sitting gingerly on the edge. “So why don’t you tell me what you think you know and I’ll tell you where it’s wrong. Or, you tell me first how you ended up a Revenant.”
Taro kept his eyes on her while raising the shot glass to his lips. She hadn’t shown herself to be a threat yet, but he knew from the gear he took off of her that she was more than capable of becoming one should things go south. He tilted his head back to finish the shot in one go, snf sucked his teeth when the burn spread down his throat and settled in his chest.
He couldn’t get a straight answer out of her. Normally, that would have been more irritating, but he was enjoying this game of cat (ha) and mouse they were playing. “People in our line of work don’t carry around lightsabers, so my guess is you joined them for trainin’,” he mused, “The Brotherhood may have kept itself a secret from the rest of the Galaxy, but those who’ve dealt with ‘em know they have a monopoly on Force users.
"As for me, well, let’s just say I found myself in the wrong place at the right time. Instead of killin’ me, one of the Revenants so how valuable I could be, and I made good on that bet.”
Katrila’s whiskers twitched, a subtle sign that betrayed a surprise and interest she’d rather conceal. “Close,” she conceded, allowing herself to express something almost like admiration. “Closer than most manage.”
She set the glass down, letting the soft click of the crystal punctuate her words as she folded one leg over the other. This was her usual manner: unhurried, deliberate, graceful. She acted as though her speech and movements would impose those qualities onto a situation she couldn’t control, a situation that could turn in any number of directions at any moment.
“It began, as these things so often do, as simple business. I found myself entangled with some financiers who had interests in the Aliso system—Brotherhood space, as you know. In the course of coming to terms with Clan Plagueis, certain parties discovered I had a talent they hadn’t anticipated, not to mention an appetite for instruction they found difficult to refuse.”
Katrila’s tail flicked to the side before resting neatly in her lap. The edges of her pursed lips curled into a suggestive grin. “I do so love when a simple transaction grows into something more interesting.” She paused, allowing her green eyes to settle on Taro’s burning orange gaze. “Perhaps in this transaction you’ll come to find some hidden talents of mine. And you might know a thing or two worth teaching me.”
Her story didn’t sound much different than his own. Just six years prior, Taro had found himself on the wrong end of a blaster pistol after attempting to break into a cargo stache owned by a man who he’d later learn was an established member of the Tenixir Revenants – a man astute enough to recognize a Force sensitive when he saw one.
He stepped forward, his long, saunter of stride carrying him across the paltry distance between them in no time at all. Squatting in front of her again, he drew a line up the side of her crossed leg with one finger. “Yeah, I think there’s plenty we can teach each other,” he said while looking up to find her gaze, letting his words hang in the air as his face drew closer to hers. And closer until their lips nearly touched.
But he stopped himself when he felt something scratch at the back of his mind, a warning from the Force. “Someone’s comin,” he said before pulling away despite how much his instincts told him to stay, to cross that narrow divide and claim what he wanted.
With a heavy sigh, he scooped his hat off the nearby desk before moving to unlock the chest sitting against the wall. “You’re ‘gon need these,” he said while gesturing toward the collection of items he’d taken off of her following her initial capture.
While she geared up, Taro did a quick check of his two MW-20 Bryar Pistols, Word and Deed to make sure they were in working order.
The proximity didn’t startle her—she’d successfully seduced enemies before—but the warmth of Taro’s almost-contact did. She blinked slowly as their lips almost touched, a bit of feline body language that would be the closest to a direct invitation she’d ever give.
Then, suddenly, the moment was over. The same sense of danger tingled at the base of Katrila’s skull.
“How inconvenient,” she sighed, uncrossing her legs and rising to her feat fluidly. Despite her (barely feigned) annoyance at the interruption, the return of her equipment did give her a measure of comfort. She’d felt naked without the familiar weight of a lightsaber hanging from her belt, and the knowledge she could poison someone with the ring once more adorning her finger or plunge a stiletto into their neck at a moment’s notice helped her feel in control once more. But for now, she simply held the night sniper pistol at the ready.
“Shall I send the spy droid ahead of us?” she asked Taro as a matte black sphere booted to life.
This had to be some of the worst timing he’d frakking seen. Whoever had chosen to interrupt him in the middle of his … negotiations was in for a painful lesson about the importance of minding one’s business. However, beneath the veneer of annoyance plastered across his face, his barely-contained excitement peeked through in the way the corner of his mouth twitched, wanting to stretch wide into a proper grin.
“Good idea,” he said, “I figured Bogano was remote enough where no one would disturb us durin’ our little chat, but clearly I was wrong.”
By the time the duo and her droid made it back to the Voidskipper’s cargo hold, the eddies of the Force had grown wild and turbid with malice. Having forsook training the enigmatic power in favor of honing other skills, Taro couldn’t discern much beyond the fact that their visitors, whoever they were, were chalk full of ill intent.
“Hope you’re as good with that blaster as you are with your words.”
He slapped his hand against the red button on the panel just beyond and to the right of the exit ramp. As the mechanical servos kicked in with a metallic creak and rumbling of gears, light began to spill into the dim cargo hold to reveal a stretch of wild grass and patches of rocky ground comprising the mesa upon which his ship sat.
Just as the probe droid floated forward to fulfill its master’s directive, he felt his stomach twist into a knot as a wave of familiar dread washed over him.
It meant they were in danger.
Without missing a beat, Taro turned and wrapped his long arms around the woman whose name he’d yet to ask, pulling her into a tight embrace.
The metal hat fastened to his back pinged loudly when four blaster bolts smashed into it in rapid succession. He stumbled forward a bit from the impact, and used that to push her down and out of the line of fire; then, he whipped around, snatching his war shield from his back and falling into a crouch in a single, fluid motion.
More blaster bolts screamed in their direction, casting the cargo hold in a furious red glow. Taro hissed through gritted teeth when one of the bolts grazed his calf as he advanced.
“Goin’ to give you an openin’,” he shouted before canting Deed from behind his shield and squeezing the trigger. Three shots burst from the pistol’s barrel, the trandoshan tripler modification ensuring that they’d hit harder than what their assailants were shooting.
The distant silhouettes of their attackers disappeared behind a large rock formation about one hundred yards ahead of them, providing her with an opening.
The embrace caught Katrila completely off guard, more so than the ambush of blaster fire. In the seconds before her training took over, she registered a warmth in the solid wall of the Kyuzo’s body. In fact, as he pushed her to the side, an inner traitorous part of her awakened, that part found it titillating to be manhandled by someone taller and larger.
But there was no time for that. Not now. Those sharp, metallic pings on that weird hat-cum-shield weren’t music, but blaster bolts.
At Taro’s signal, she hit the deck in a controlled roll. The easygoing woman who had traded quips over whiskey became someone considerably more dangerous as she rose to a crouch. Four shots. Multiple shooters. Defensible rock formation at a distance. Whoever these people were, they knew what they were doing.
That two attackers, even skilled ones, had gotten the jump on her twice in one day annoyed her. She’d use that. She focused on that smoldering ember of emotion, inhaling its heat and exhaling to fan its flame. I’m going to the right, she thought, projecting the declaration silently into Taro’s mind through the Force. And she stalked forward, raising the Night Stalker’s scope to her right eye.
Taro hadn’t expected to hear the woman’s voice in his mind. In his line of work, especially in the Outer Rim, the odds of encountering another Force sensitive let alone one who was trained were exceedingly rare. It felt intimate in a way that made him feel uncomfortable, exposed. But he didn’t have time to dwell on that now, so he shoved that discomfort down into the far shores of his consciousness.
The first shot of Katrila’s blaster rang out, and seconds later, the larger of the two silhouettes lurched backward when the shot landed cleanly on his shoulder. He disappeared behind the rock formation again, leaving his comrade-in-arms to continue firing shots toward the advancing Togorian and Kyuleen pair.
When Taro raised his shield to defend the shot, he was just a bit too late, and the superheated tibanna gas hit his shoulder with enough force to make him stumble. If it weren’t for the modifications to his armor, it likely would’ve burned all the way through. It’d certainly leave a bruise, though.