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Thread: Worst Impressions

  1. #1

    Complete Worst Impressions

    Aww shit, buddy boy; you done screwed things up real good this time.

    He tried real hard, but he couldn't quite stop the grunt that tumbled from his lungs as the blaster rifle stock collided with the side of his jaw. He followed it up with muttered laugh, teasing at the fresh coppery-tasting chasm the impact had opened in his cheek, mustering up just enough blood and saliva to launch a satisfyingly crimson spitball out onto the motel carpet.

    Yeah, his mind muttered defiantly. You're gonna have to pay extra to get that cleaned, y' ungrateful bitch.

    He turned his attention to the bulky rancor of a man attached by beefy arms to the rifle that kept getting way too friendly with his face, and flashed a set of blood-tinted teeth in a broad grin. "Listen, ladies," he said, with a flirtatious twitch of his eyebrows towards what he was assuming was a male Klatooinian, but then who the fuck could tell with a face like that?

    His gaze shifted to the far prettier, and far more recognisably female occupant of the dull and dreary but surprisingly not grunge-infested motel room. On any other world, this would probably have seemed quite pleasant, were it not for the fact that one, this planet's atmosphere filtered out too much natural light for human eyes to register anything but dull and desaturated colours; and two, pretty much everything on this damned planet smelt vaguely of burned toast and ozone, which was really starting to get on his nerves.

    "You have this all wrong. How about we start over, get rid a' the ugly stepsisters, an' you and I reintroduce ourselves over room service an' body shots?"
    Last edited by Vittore Montegue; Feb 5th, 2014 at 04:16:14 PM.

  2. #2
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    Emelie liked her getaways from the arse end of no where that was the Hoth's Brand system. Liked them so much that whenever something inevitability went wrong it sapped basically any hope of fun right out of the equation. She could ignore the guards that were imposed on her, could ignore the fact the nearest planet that wasn't an entire mining colony was really just a piece of dren, could even ignore the fact that Xavier had - once again - chosen to stay behind to keep their company running. What she couldn't forgive, was the fact security had caught an armed man wandering around in her supposedly secured area when she was trying to relax.

    A soft sigh left her as she leaned against the table behind her, her hands gently drumming it's surface as a predatory smirk slowly formed. She had to admit that it had been fun to watch her two thugs drag the man in already bloody and throw him into the chair he now occupied. Not enough entertainment to really make up for the mishap, but amusing regardless.

    "No no, I'm afraid the stepsisters aren't allowed to leave me alone in rooms with strange men anymore." Emelie paused to eye the man, a small shake of head let her brush away any lingering nostalgic feelings that came with hearing a loud mouth guy making the best of a bad situation. "It's one of those bad for business type things, you understand."

    Her hands raised off the table's edge as one crossed over her chest, letting the other prop up so a fingertip could tap the side of her lips as she studied him. "So, how about you get to the introductions and explaining what the hell you were doing? Or, well really, going to do I guess would be the more helpful information at this point."

  3. #3
    That's one hell of a shame, he mused, allowing his inappropriate gaze to linger on Emelie plenty long enough for her to be aware of it. A whole swathe of inappropriate comments about the kind of business they could get up to together sprung readily to mind, but in a rare lapse into better judgement, he kept them at bay, for now.

    Instead he laughed; not the same dismissive laugh as earlier, but the kind of half-embarrassed laughter of a man caught in an awkward situation. Appropriate really, all things considered.

    "It's a funny story, actually," he assured, turning his attention to the second thug; equally ugly, though this time because of the bug eyes and the sucker face that belonged more on the critters he'd seen crawling on sewage heaps than on the head of a sentient being. He scrutinised it's features, trying to set aside his knee-jerk human interpretation to read the Rodian tells and facial ticks that his father had drilled into him as a child. Either it was sneering, or it was gassy; not quite what he was hoping to see.

    He sighed theatrically, and turned his gaze back to Emelie; his eyeballs thanked him profusely for doing so, and he mustered what he hoped would translate as a charming smile. Truth is, I'm a bounty hunter... pretty famous one, actually." His head cocked smugly. "Name's Montegue. Vittore Montegue."

    His eyes roamed the room again, searching for flickers of recognition. "No? Nothin'? You guys bin livin' under a rock or somethin'?"

    His face shrugged into a mix or mild disappointment and general disinterest. "Well anyway, I'm here on a job. There's someone on this planet that my employer is willin' to pay a lot of money to have me kill -"

    He trailed off, the mirth gone from his expression, stoic steel in his eyes instead. "- problem is, Miss Shadowstar, your goons here snagged me before I could work out who the hell it is. Which means you, especially, are royally screwed."

  4. #4
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    It wasn't quite a heh, not quite a humph, more just a short amused sound that left from behind closed lips that was offered in reply to the whole thing. Emelie had never been one to hold back whatever was in her mind and the forethought comment came tumbling out.

    "Wouldn't be the first time."

    Emelie had to admit the thought of a bounty hunter being around was less than desirable. Sure, she'd done her fair stint at one point with the gig but it always ended badly for someone and really at the end of the day smuggling had proven less hazardous to her health. All things considered it really had turned out for the best in the end. However, as fate would always have it, leaving the life didn't meant it left you. Vittore wasn't the first who had 'come a callin' over the years and Emelie was a damn fool if she believed he'd be the last. But really something with his explanation didn't make a bit of sense - sent on a job without knowing who you were there to collect with? Bad form...

    "So tell me, Mr. Montegue." A small laugh left her as she took a step towards him. "Is that supposed to frighten me?"

  5. #5
    "Aww, lady," Vittore countered, reacting to her laugh with a grin. "I don't give a womprat's ass if y'frightened or not. I do, however, give a damn about whether you end up dead or not, 'cause y'see -"

    He chuckled. The irony of this situation was beyond hilarious if you could manage to step back and appreciate it.

    "- the guy I'm after? He's a hunter too. Only, you're his target -" He offered a flirty flick of his eyebrows. "- and my employer wants me to off him before he offs you."

    He hesitated.

    "Well, would prefer. Pretty sure I get paid either way."

    He rolled his neck, cartilage popping and cracking in protest. Casually, he flexed the muscles in his forearms; tested the resilience of the restraints with which he'd been tied. Though ugly as all hell, Shadowstar's guards apparently knew what they were doing; odds were the chair would give out before the restraints did. O'course, that wasn't necessarily a problem; if the rest of the motel was anything to go by, the chair wouldn't need all that much punishment to smash his way out.

    "So how about it?" he asked, attention back on Emelie. "You gonna let me outta this chair so I can save your ass and be on my merry, or am I gonna have t' just sit here and wait until the other hunter makes his move, an' bust my way out while your sweet ass is gettin' dead?"
    Last edited by Vittore Montegue; Oct 21st, 2013 at 01:56:41 AM.

  6. #6
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    Always with the threats with these guys. If they weren't threatening to kill you they were threatening to fail to stop someone else from doing it. Not that she hadn't exactly been asking for it lately. You didn't get out of a casino job gone horribly wrong with your life and not expect someone to eventually come for repayment of some form - and that was only her most recent exploit. It wasn't exactly surprising to find out that someone had been hired to deal with the little problem that was Emelie Shadowstar, it was more of the kicker that Vittore was there to apparently stop it from happening. More to the point was the million credit question of Who The Frak Hired Him? That was what caught her most about the whole thing. If Xavier had known he would have just dealt with the problem himself, and really that was about the only guy Emelie could see giving any sort of care towards her well being. So what gives?

    "Right... And I guess you aint giving up who it is that's trying to make you my little guardian angel?"

    Emelie rolled her eyes as she took another step forward coming to a stop dangerously close to the self-proclaimed bounty hunter of the hunters. Well, dangerous if he hadn't been tied up.

    "They didn't tell you a lot of good, either." She bent down so her eyes were on level with his, hand on her hip, the other lingering in the air as if ready to either hit him or reach for something if he tried anything. "See, I take care of myself. Your employer should know that if they've been keeping tabs enough to know someone's after me in the first place. But I do have to admit... you've got me curious."

    She straightened up and took a step back once more, nodding to one of the guards to untie their guest.

  7. #7
    "Oh, they told me plenty," Vittore muttered, watching as the Klatooinian sawed clumsily through the bindings with a knife that didn't look all that hygienic. He shot him or her a tight-lipped smile, massaging at where the restraints had dug into his skin.

    Slowly he stood; rather than advancing he kicked the chair out from behind him and retreated a cautious step. The guards were still enough to hurt him if they set their minds to it, but at least they were in front of him now; all the potential dangers in one nice neat little field of vision. He rolled his shoulders; let his arms fall to his sides.

    "My employer told me exactly what I'm huntin'." A knowing look and knowing smile tugged at his expression. "Problem is, in my line a' work, what and who ain't always the same thing."

    Another two steps backwards brought him to the wall; a bad place to be if you were planning on escaping, but not all that much of a problem if all you were looking to do was casually lean against something. Besides, every extra inch of space he could get between him and the goons made him feel a whole hell of a lot more comfortable.

    "You must a' really pissed somebody off," he explained, with a tone that almost sounded impressed. "Hirin' a shapeshifter ain't exactly cheap."

  8. #8
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    "I do seem to have that effect on people. Well, some of them.Others, however..." She avoided the urge to make some sort of coquettish expression at the bounty hunter, for once deciding that it probably wasn't the best timing. It didn't stop her entirely, a wink escaped before she could reign back everything though.

    The wink did however serve as just about the only warning before her hands dropped to her sides and the almost-too-short a dress she wore actually showed there was a genuine purpose to it's lack of length. Okay, so Emelie would be the first to admit it was an excuse more than a reason, but there really were only so many ways one could conceal a pair of blasters, having them at arm's reach was certainly a reassuring thing and damned if having a pistol - never the less two of them - strapped to your thigh didn't just make you walk like you were a slightly bit more of a badass.

    Whatever the reasoning, their placement allowed Emelie easy access to the twin Relby-k23s that, while weren't nearly as pretty as her favored blasters, were definitely smaller and had that added fun of hurting like a son of a bitch when you got shot with one. All things considered the sane approach probably would have been to aim both barrels right at Vittore, him being the odd man out, but the word shapeshifter had gone and thrown a big wrench into the works. Which then left with one pointed squarely at the bounty hunter's chest while the other hovered somewhere between the two thugs. Times like this she almost wish she had a third arm.

    "You know, nothing is worse than that feeling of needing a vacation from your vacation."

  9. #9
    Vittore mustered a smirk. "I know the feeling."

    For a split second, Vittore remained propped up against the wall, casually disinterested at the fact that there was a gun aimed at him. If anything, he seemed to be contemplating the other things Emelie Shadowstar had lurking under her dress. And then everything changed.

    With a sudden snap movement of his arms, the two thugs hurtled across the room towards each other, slamming together with an unpleasant crunch. Big and burly, the impact wasn't enough to do any damage, but it bought the hunter the time he needed; by the time they staggered backwards from each other, Vittore's arm was already sweeping forward for an invisible strike, the Force swelling up around him like a tidal wave that stampeded through the room and smashed straight into Emelie.

    The hunter didn't hesitate for an instant; his hand grabbed the nearest thug's wrist, his other braced at the elbow, and with a precision wrench shattered the Klatooinian's forearm in half. The blaster rifle was ripped from his arm by pain, and the hunter caught it; a precision point-blank shot delivered into the skulls of Shadowstar's alleged protection.

    The bodies crumpled to the ground; behind them he stood calmly, blaster rifle levelled square at his target's head. He cracked his neck, his skin rippling a sickly shade of green.

    "Okay, so maybe I forgot to mention that the shapeshifter is also a Force user," he admitted, off hand. "And that he's me."

  10. #10
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    Okay...
    So...
    She hadn't been expecting that.

    Emelie silently cursed herself as she tried to at least marginally pick herself up from where the Force user had seen fit to fling her to. Gods above did she hate these fucking guys. You get some sort of fancy bugs in your system and suddenly you're a god while everyone else has to go about doing things the hard way. It didn't help that her last memories of these bastards involved a hand around her throat and a vibroblade. Of course, that had been before Xavier had seen fit to give the guy some new cranial ventilation. This time, however...?

    "You want some sort of award for that performance, I'm guessing?" Her eyes raised to see the blaster aimed at her and sure enough she glanced to the side to see that hers had been knocked in that realm of too damn far to do any good. "Oh sweetie, if you wanted me so bad you could have just said something. I'm afraid my days of giving in to the guy with the gun are long over."

  11. #11
    "Oh," the shifter replied, a predatory curl forming at the edges of his lips. "By all means -"

    He kept the blaster trained on his prey with, but it was with the kind of reckless disregard of someone who knew he really didn't need it. His other hand stretched towards her in a slow, strained motion as if forcing it's way through water; his fingers curled into a claw and the Force followed suit, wrapping itself around Emelie's body. A sudden surge of motion and the Force shoved her backwards, pinning her against the wall. There was almost a hunger in the shifter's eyes as his fingers slowly spread, his powers insisting that Emelie's arms do the same.

    "- struggle as much as you want."

    His eyes changed, no longer the deep green of the man he'd impersonated, but instead a sickly shade of yellow. His gaze roamed up and down Emelie, studying what her clothes did very little to conceal. His tongue snaked idly across his bottom lip.

    "It'll make things so much more fun."
    Last edited by Vittore Montegue; Oct 21st, 2013 at 01:55:42 AM.

  12. #12
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    If there was one thing Emelie had learned growing up it was the ability to hide when she was downright terrified of something. Not that she didn't have a tell, everyone who knew her well enough knew what a hand tangled around a stand of hair meant or that face she pulled when she was biting the inside of her lip, but the worst of all was that she never really had learned how to keep her mouth shut.

    "Been there, done that. Sorry hon but maybe if you hadn't decided to start showing your true colors." A soft sigh pass from her lips before they formed a pout. "I can't say I'm particularly looking forward to what you've currently got going being the last thing I'll ever see."

    While her brain was managing to spit out her usual defensive rhetoric it also was in the process of trying to figure out exactly how the hell she was going to get out of this one. A sharp tug to one side produced absolutely zero results and she did have to admit the rather vulnerable position she was in wasn't nearly as entertaining as she might have found it if she wasn't being held in place by unseen Force hoodoo. Panic hadn't quite set in, but it was starting to gently whisper warnings about how this was going to end. Which really only left the question of how long it was going to take and if the shapeshifter's boss cared what sort of shape she was in when the job was done. And to think, she'd left Coruscant's underworld to get away from this sort of dren.
    Last edited by Emelie Shadowstar; Oct 21st, 2013 at 01:50:52 AM.

  13. #13
    "Then I'm afraid you'll be going to the afterlife disappointed," he sneered, stalking forward half a pace.

    "Now," he continued; a flick of his wrist and the sound of a hem being slowly torn filled the motel room. "How about we get rid of that dr-"

    However that sentence ended, Emelie didn't get a chance to hear it: the crash of the door being blasted off it's tracks and thrown half-way across the room did a pretty good job of drowning that out. The shifter turned, his concentration disrupted just enough to allow Emelie to slide back down the wall and onto her feet, the blaster slowly sweeping around towards the door.

    His reaction was too slow though: haloed by smoke and dingy natural light, a figure strode through the door with a slugthrower in hand. His shot wasn't fancy, he didn't aim for a headshot, or for the gun, or anything wasteful like that: just three simple shots with a tight grouping, square in the shapeshifter's chest. It staggered, the twisted remnant of Vittore Montegue's face rippling and contorting in a sickening fashion as the neurotoxin in the custom rounds seeped into his bloodstream. Nerve endings fired, kicking off seizures; the blaster tumbled from his grip and, blue-green foam bubbling at the corner of his mouth, the shifter collapsed to the floor.

    Vittore curled his nose at the unsettling sight of watching his face melt off some monstrous freak creature; he allowed himself a brief moment to collect his wits before sweeping the room, noting the two dead guards and the -

    He hesitated. Blinked. Stunningly beautiful broad backed up against the wall, his brain finished helpfully. She seemed to be staring at him pretty intently, which under ordinary circumstances was something he more than welcomed form attractive women; but given the circumstances it probably wasn't the kind of signal he was hoping for.

    His brow furrowed into a frown. "Well, this is awkward," he muttered, stepping over towards the downed shifter to hoof the blaster clear, just in case.

    His frown deepened, the confusion more than evident. "I'm sorry... who are you?"
    Last edited by Vittore Montegue; Oct 21st, 2013 at 01:56:22 AM.

  14. #14
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    As with any time Emelie was faced with that particular question an entire dictionary's worth of aliases began springing to mind. What was different was the fact none of then wanted to stick with her long enough to force it's way to speech. It shouldn't have been a difficult thing, but the entire almost having all sorts of unpleasantness inflicted upon her by a damn face-stealing bounty hunter had rattled her enough that even the name she'd given to the hotel when she had checked in was now a complete loss to her.

    "Emelie." She knew it was bad when her actual name sounded funny to her, and so she found herself starting to instead come up with a rather creative and colorful list of expletives to assign to the guy on the floor.

    A hand absentmindedly ran along her other arm as she found herself torn between wanting to physically kick the shapeshifter or mentally kick herself for the complete frak up. Her instincts had told her to space the guy when he'd been in the chair but nooooo, she had to go and get all cocky about it. It wasn't that Emelie was really angry with herself, it was that other bit about the future decision she would have to make whether to omit this little story when she came back and was asked how her trip had been. It certainly was going to be a lot harder with her two guards having been turned into two corpses. Something about 'Oh yes dear, I had a wonderful time being assaulted by some Force-using piece of go-se that was hired to off me.' seemed like it would do little to ease the mind of her parter.

    There really was only one way to react to a situation this druked up. Emelie crossed the room, retrieved one of her blasters, stepped over the two dead bodies, kept an eye on the live one and the questionable one, and immediately went for the rather pricy bottle of Membrosia and poured herself a glass. It was half downed before she could even stand to reacknowledge the guy who seemingly saved her life.

    She gestured to the downed bounty hunter with the glass. "Don't suppose he was using your name as well as your likeness? Said he was Vittore Montegue or some dren. Let's get that squared away and then you can begin to enlighten me on what the frak is going on here?"

  15. #15
    "Yeah, that's m'name," Vittore muttered, his attention still mostly focused on the identity-stealing ass clown on the floor.

    This was the part of the job he hated. Saving people, hunting things? That stuff was all fine and dandy. Fun, even; therapeutic. There was something deeply satisfying about being able to wrap all your rage and anger around yourself and use it to club the life out of the kinds of unnatural freaks and monsters that shattered your comprehension of the universe.

    Take this guy, or girl, whatever; it was a Clawdite, some freaky-as-shit offshoot of the natives on Zolan. They'd been regular old reptile people back in antiquity, but something had gone screwy with their sun, and they'd experimented on themselves, tried to adapt to survive it. The result was lying on the floor in front of him: a race of people who could shift their faces to hide what they were. Most Clawdites weren't good enough to mimic anyone specific: most Clawdite crooks just used it to mask their race and throw off law enforcement during pursuits, to blend into crowds, and that sort of thing. With practice though, and maybe a few medical tweaks here and there, some of them could mimic real people with alarming accuracy.

    Vittore's skin crawled as he wondered just how intimate the Clawdite had needed to get to him in order to manage such an eerie recreation. He shuddered. Probably wouldn't be getting any more lap dances any time soon.

    He turned, attention returning to the girl. The wasn't always a girl, wasn't always a damsel in distress, but he usually enjoyed those jobs; particularly when the damsel had a decent set of perks. But something felt different about this one. The girl wasn't freaking out, screaming, clinging to him, or any of the usual stuff. Okay so sure, he looked like the guy that had just tried to... whatever. But even so, the door thing had been pretty badass, and chicks usually digged that stuff.

    He gave her a scrutinising glance; weighed up the evidence, alongside the two wasted thugs decorating the carpet. She looked tough, and threw off a kinda kickass smuggler vibe, but the guards suggested that she probably pulled in more creds than the average spacer. That meant she was either pulling in a decent amount of creds on her own, or was related to someone who was - that made her either a gunrunner, a spice runner, or some kinda interstellar mobster's wife or daughter. He hoped one of the former; last time he'd got entangled with the mob, the guy hadn't been all that happy with the stuff he'd wound up doing to his wife.

    Or to his daughter.

    He looked down at the slugthrower in his hands, and after a moment of contemplation flipped it around, gripping the barrel so that he could extend it non-threateningly in Emelie's direction. "This thing's loaded with special rounds," he explained. "You saw what it did to the guy; fries their motor neurons, and disrupts the stuff that lets his skin go all changey. Won't kill a shifter, unless you leave 'em to bleed out long enough, but it'll subdue one long enough for you to think of something else."

    He hesitated. "You ever get suspicious that I might be one, you pop a slug in me to prove I ain't." His brow tugged again, considering what he was suggesting now that he'd said it out loud. "Just... make sure it's in the leg, okay?"

  16. #16
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    An eyebrow raised as she reached out and slowly accepted the pistol, every nerve felt like it was ready to fire off some sort of retaliation just in case this one was conning her like the last and was just waiting for her to get close enough to make a play. It felt better to have at least something she supposedly saw work in one hand and the drink in the other. Another sip was taken from the glass before she let out a deep sigh and looked back at the two dead bodyguards.

    "Vos, now I gotta cough up the final check to someone else. So many forms to fill out, not even my gorram idea." She took another drink before she eyed the apparently real Vittore. "Corporate Business. It's murder."

    Emelie almost managed to keep the deadpan look but it cracked for one of those smiles that pretty much damned her to The Void, not that she hadn't done enough in her lifetime to earn herself a special place there already. There was no sense in dealing with the inevitable red tape now, though. There were far more pressing matters - Like the guy on the floor who wasn't dead for instance.

    "Let me get this straight, some thing that stole your appearance that you've been tracking just happened to get hired to kill me while looking like you and you knew nothing about it?" The glass of alcohol was brought once more to her lips before she held it out in offering. "Hell of a day. So what happens now, you collect on him while I thank my lucky stars?"
    Last edited by Emelie Shadowstar; Oct 21st, 2013 at 10:00:59 PM.

  17. #17
    It was an oversimplification on her part. Just happened translated to weeks of solid hunting, chasing this asshole across half a dozen worlds. There'd been close calls on two separate occasions; Vittore was damn sure the shifter knew it was being chased, and face-stealing was a pretty standard tactic for one of their kind on the run. After all, what better way to shake pursuit than to commit crimes wearing the face of your pursuer, and let the local authorities slow them down for you.

    The shifter got unlucky though; when your face flagged up as many fake aliases and criminal records as Vittore's did, you kinda got into the habit of ducking that kinda stuff as second nature.

    "More or less," he replied, deciding there was no point going into intimate detail with Miss Corporate Business. Which was actually kind of a surprise: he didn't realise that legitimate businesswomen dressed quite so comfortably, or - based on the glimpse of strap he'd caught when he probably shouldn't have been looking - stashed blasters underneath their wonderfully short and revealing dresses. He guessed it was probably a euphemism, but whatever. He was a bounty hunter, not a spy: no bonus credits for information gathering. At least, not for information gathered from her, anyway.

    A thought crossed his mind; a scrutinising look glimmered across his features. "He's not dead," he pointed out in case it wasn't already obvious, jerking his head in the shifter's direction. "Toxin shut him down, but as long as he don't dehydrate or starve, it ain't gonna kill him. Plan was to drag his ass back to my ship -" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder for emphasis. "- wake him up, cut on him a while, and see what he knows."

    A glimmer of a smile tugged at his lips. "Don't suppose you're curious about who wants you whacked, are ya?"

  18. #18
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    She wasn't a fan of torture, never really had a mind for it, the sight of blood generally did all manner of unnerving things to her. But there was a difference between being a fan, and appreciating the way somethings just worked sometimes. Normally she may have objected but she really did have a special little black place in her heart for people who threatened to take something fun and turn it against her - the whole planning to killing her thing didn't help the case any.

    "Oh you have no idea..." It wasn't often she was cruel, but damn if that venom in her voice didn't actually give her a chance to second guess herself on that factoid.

    Given that she still had the mostly empty glass of alcohol, Emelie shrugged at his loss and quickly emptied the rest. Membrosia was known to be ridiculously strong but it barely took the edge off of the really annoying feeling like everything had just been too convenient. Of course considering she still was trying to shrug off mental images of what could have happened if the real deal hadn't shown up... Emelie shook her head slightly, knocking both negative images and evil thoughts from her mind.

    "Sorry, been a rough day. Not normally that dark." A small laugh barely escaped as she avoided the urge to kick the guy on the ground again. Instead she placed the empty glass she was holding on a table and looked over the slugthrower she'd been handed again. "Thanks, by the way."

  19. #19
    If saving damsels was a perk of the job, this was it's downside: the awkward moment when they - or anyone else, for that matter - felt the need to get all sincere and thankful for what he'd done. Half the time he just wanted to grab them by the shoulders; shake sense into them until they shut up. This wasn't some great noble deed he was doing; this was a job, he was getting paid, and anyone who got saved along the way was all side effects and charity. It wasn't out of his way; it was just there, able to be done with minimal effort, and he wasn't enough of an asshole not to.

    The whole gratitude feelings thing just didn't compute; he didn't know how to deal with it, process it, or react to it; and it all made him deeply uncomfortable.

    The only reaction he could manage to muster was a shrug.

    "Just doing m' job."

    * * *

    Vittore had done many things to the Crimson Tide after he'd acquired it from some unsuspecting sucker on Nar Shaddaa. It had been an insurance scam; not the first one that he and his brother had pulled, but certainly the most ambitious. The tactic was simple: find a modest but decently insured little courier, disable the transponder, jack it, mod it, then sell it for cheap on the black market; let the Hutts or the Toydarians or Black Sun or whoever worry about the fancy side of things. Aside from a little frustration and anguish, it was a victimless crime: the owners got a hefty payout from the insurance company, and the Montegues got a little splash of cast to help keep all this stuff affordable.

    Sometimes though, a ship was just to beautiful to toss away like that, and for Vittore, ships didn't come much more beautiful than the Tide. She was a Baudo-class star yacht: a sleak, almost Mon Calamari looking little courier, designed mostly for flyboys who wanted speed and style more than they wanted function and practicality. She wasn't a freighter; couldn't haul the kind of cargo that most spacers and smugglers needed to remain solvent; at least, not straight off the shelf. As with most things in the galaxy though, enterprising individuals had come up with alternatives, and hen Vittore had decided to keep her rather than foist her off on their usual buyer, he'd made sure to cram every last little bit of function into her sleek, sexy, aquatic frame that he possibly could.

    Most of the cargo space had been stripped out, converted into what amounted to a glorified garage for the little vintage BTL-B that was Vittore's pride and joy. Supplies, weapons, and all that good stuff had been crammed into repurposed passenger cabins; the Baudo had eight, and the Montegues had never needed nearly that many. It wasn't the armory or the store room that was important right now, though; it was the third repurposed room that was the focus of Vittore's attention today.

    Ordinarily, a yacht like this focused on comfort; but this room didn't. It had been stripped down to the bulkheads, even the panelling on the walls removed in favour of cold, hard, durasteel. A force cage dominated the room, the most uncomfortable chair that money could buy bolted to the base plate in the centre. The cage was offline, but that didn't matter: the door was sealed, and not even a shifter could slip the chains and cuffs and other restraints that were holding him - it - so very secure. It's skin was a sickly pallid green under the room's intentionally dim and dingy lights.

    Emelie Shadowstar lurked - or rather, loitered seductively - in one of the shadowed corners, which seemed pretty apt, considering. Vittore's attention wasn't on her, however.

    The hypodermic jammed into the shifter's neck; it's eyes snapped open, pupils dilating from the cocktail of adrenaline and Force knows what else.

    Vittore flashed a grin. "Mornin' sunshine."
    Last edited by Vittore Montegue; Oct 13th, 2014 at 08:32:29 AM.

  20. #20
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    Emelie Shadowstar's Avatar
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    The day just kept getting weirder and weirder. Emelie was now thoroughly convinced this was the galaxy taking the piss out of her. First the guy and his shapeshifting doppelganger and now she was in the belly of her own ship's evil twin. She'd never gotten around to naming her star yacht, maybe this was some sort of cosmic payback for that? Either way it still made her feel entirely uncomfortable. Where was the lounge? The bar? The lighting that was just dim enough but bright enough so that you could feel comfortable and all the other completely unnecessarily and impractical items she'd insisted on her home-away-from-home be equipped with? Emelie had always wondered if one's ship was a strange reflection of the person who owned it and if that was the case she certainly had to wonder about the guy she was about to watch go to town on a person. She could understand her own gripes against the green skinned hunter but there must have been something personal here. Aside from the whole... wearing the guy's face thing.

    She stepped forward just slightly as the shifter starting coming to and get a sense of the situation it now found itself in. There was a rather enjoyable little moment of anticipation before it spotted her and she played it up all the more with a coy smirk and a small flirtatious wave.

    "Sorry, I'm afraid no happy endings this time."

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