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Thread: The Somnambulists Waltz

  1. #21
    It went unspoken, but she wasn't the only one in uncharted star-systems. The Rake scratched half-chewed fingernails against his shaved scalp.

    "I've a commission to take you to a buyer, by hook or crook. Either you can come willingly, or I can put you out cold whenever you come to and get wriggly."

    There was a whuff of breath, as Runt sank down onto the deck plates. The tiger's eyes shifted between the Rake and their cargo.

    "I'd prefer the former, but I'm willing and able to oblige with the later," the Rake went on. "Way I see, though, you've already slept plenty. I only need to get you to the buyer. You have your wits about you, I figure the whole exchange will go a lot better for you."

  2. #22
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    He was her only connection to whatever world she'd been awakened into, and she knew she needed to be on his good side. Lilaena nodded hesitantly, and said, "I will behave." To a point. She folded her arms over the seat restraints, hugging her body. She was trembling with cold, her clothing inadequate for anything but sleeping in, and the carbonite had sucked the warmth out of her. As her anger subsided there was nothing but a dark emptiness inside her.

    The buyer, whoever it turned out to be, would have to answer her questions - or she would kill them with her bare hands. For now, she would build up her strength.



    oh what a tangled web I weave


  3. #23
    Silence eased its way in-between them, an uninvited guest. The Rake puffed out his cheeks. When it came to dead or alive captures, dead was a lot easier. Dead didn't talk or look sullen or do any ill-advised thrashing about. Not most of the time, anyway.

    “I need to go out. You can stay here with Runt -”

    The feline made a sound half-purr, half-growl. What was that old saying, about leaving Hrosma tigers in hot starships? Likely the same applied to furious women, even if they were blind. The Rake eyed his 'cargo' and chewed at the inside of his cheek. Restrained as she was, frozen as she had been, there was a wiry steel in her limbs.

    “Or we can take a walk out together to the outpost. Find someone who can get this shit-bucket back in the air.”

  4. #24
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    She turned her face toward the male voice of her transporter, trying to picture what he might look like. The darkness all around her was unsettling, and being left here, alone in the darkness except for the creature making those growls... "I want to walk with you," Lilaena said, then after a moment, "Please. I will not cause trouble."

    She plucked at the hem of her shift. "I need something else to wear."

    He grunted, pushing himself up from his seat and walking to the back of the ship, leaving her restrained. Lilaena could hear him moving things around, and then steps coming back to the cockpit. A bundle of clothes were dropped on her lap, and he paused, his hand on the restraints. "Don't try anything." She shook her head, of course not, and he released them.

    Lilaena stood hesitantly as he backed off, his footsteps indicating he hadn't gone far at all. Whether he was watching or not made no difference, and she stripped off the damp nightgown, dropping it at her feet and carefully pulling on the pants he'd provided. A belt helped, but they were much too big and hung from her hips. She shrugged into the shirt, a tank top she tucked into the front of the pants. The bandeau she'd been wearing under the nightgown was showing through the armholes, but perhaps that was the style these days.

    Whenever now was. She put out her hands, reaching for obstacles as she turned to face the back of the ship. "What is your name?"

  5. #25
    He looked her up and down. His clothes hanging a little too large on her, she might just fit right in at the outpost market. It didn't much matter, anyway. As long as she had her dignity and wasn't attracting too much attention to the pair of them.

    "The name's The Rake." He went to offer a hand and stuck his palm out, then frowned at himself. He chanced a look at Runt, but the tiger's eyes were shut, though he could have sworn there was a look of contempt on the feline's face. She was reaching out, but to feel for her surroundings, not to take his hand.

    "And they call you Mallea," he added, half-question, half-knowing statement. That's what it had said on the box she'd come in, anyway. Mallea, Malleas? Something to that tune.

  6. #26
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    "Yes," she said quickly, her mind racing. "Mallea." Her hand found his before he could take it back, and instead of shaking hands she latched onto it, taking a step forward. Only a few people had ever called her Malleus, which narrowed down the cause of her extended stay in carbonite. Still...there was a large blank spot in her memory.

    Who would encase her in a living tomb, and then ask for a smuggler to ship her across the galaxy? Nothing made sense. She held the Rake's hand lightly, trying her best to trust him when every cell of her body was screaming for her to run away. She was blind and helpless for the time being, but it would not always be so. As long as she was alive, there was time. And hope.

    And revenge.

  7. #27
    Sand sluiced down the boarding ramp. Runt made a disgruntled mrow, one heavy paw swatting in irritation at the coarse grains. The Rake stepped up behind the tiger, looking out across the jumble of shacks and prefabs that made up the outpost. There were three-dozen beings loitering about the place, halfheartedly bartering one piece of desert salvage for another. What ships there were landed nearby had no berths in a star-port, but instead squatted around the outpost like desert nomad's around a fire by night. A few glances came in their direction, but for the most part their arrival seemed to be regarded with disinterest, maybe even distaste.

    The Rake glanced side-long at the blind Mallea, looking her up and down again. "Runt'll be with us the whole while," he said, his expression tight. The tiger slid past the pair, muscular flank bumping into the side of Mallea's legs as he prowled ahead. Runt's nose twitched, his implicit duty of watching the Rake's prisoner overwritten by the smoky smells of grilled snake-flesh and charred insects carried on the hot air.

    "Should be able to find a wrench for hire in the local watering hole," he went on, hoping somehow that by giving voice to the idea that it would become a reality. He gave Mallea's hand a squeeze, letting her know that he was about to start walking.

  8. #28
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    She wasn't quite sure what Runt was, but he was big. Lilaena squeezed the Rake's hand in response, and walked with him down and out of the ship. Ponemah's sun radiated down on her, warming her chilled limbs as she tried to remember anything about the desert planet. Hot, she decided, as the heat quickly raised sweat on her skin.

    "I could use a drink," she said, her feet sliding a bit inside the too big boots he'd given her as she navigated the sand blindly.

  9. #29
    “Mm,” the Rake grunted an agreement. Runt lead the way.

    Even on a planet like Ponemah, where the genetic melting pot was about as spicy as it could get, the sight of a Hrosma tiger was uncommon. The market-dwellers didn't gasp or staggered back – they were far too jaded for that – but the Rake noticed at least one eyebrow raised a fraction higher than normal. Perhaps they were wondering which cuts of meat a tiger could yield, or whether the creature would make a good deterent against thieves.

    At the hub of the outpost was the cantina. Sheets of metal in all sizes had been glommed together into something only vaguely resembling a building. The doorway sloped and the Rake couldn't help but lean to the side, expecting to see that the floor inside was also tilted as the deck-plates of his ship had been early that day.

    Beside the door, a Trandoshan lounged outside on a fold-up chair with his feet propped up on an empty box marked TaggePop. He was picking his teeth with what might have been someone's clavicle once. He looked at the three of them. “No...” His eyes lingered on Runt. “Pets allowed.”

    Runt hissed. The Rake shrugged. “I leave him out here, he's liable to get friendly. By which I mean, his claw's'll get friendly with your intestines.”

    “Like to see it try,” the Trando' snorted and again the Rake shrugged, guiding Mallea on through into the cantina.

    It was a single room, chairs and tables radiating out from the bar. Most of the furniture appeared to have been salvaged from starships. One drunk had buckled himself into his chair, a former pilots seat, and the belt was saving him from sliding down onto the ground as he languished in a boozy doze. All-in-all, the place was quiet. Mostly parties of one or two, nursing drinks and watching a grainy stream of swoop racing in the Core on a screen caked in dust and sand.

    It was exactly the kind of place that a competent mechanic would avoid. The Rake swore low under his breath and in Falleen: “Chert voz'mi.”

    The bartender stood watching the swoop race until something happened that made him hiss through his teeth, then he grudgingly waddled over to the counter. “What?”

    “A drink for my friend,” the Rake ordered. “And I'll take the name of whoever in here knows their way around a ship.”

    “You'll take a drink too,” the bartender, human or near enough, said. Outside, either the Trandoshan or Runt, or maybe both, were snarling.

    The Rake just nodded along. “So I will.”

  10. #30
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    Lilaena released the Rake's hand, and ran her fingers across the edge of the bar. Metal, probably durasteel, and something made her think of the cramped interior of an old freighter. An old memory seemed to dance just beyond the edge of recollection, and her nostrils flared slightly as she inhaled. The liquor she could smell, as well as sweat and stale ships oil. "Whiskey," she said, and a glass was placed on the bar in front of her. She could hear the liquid being poured, and hoped the glass was clean. Somehow, she doubted it.

    She tiptoed her fingers across the bar to the glass, and picked it up. It was definitely alcohol, possibly even whiskey. A sip burned her throat, and she coughed into the back of her hand, then took another sip.

  11. #31
    The whiskey sloshed half into the Rake's glass, half onto the bar itself. He eyed the glass, then the bartender. Both made his stomach twist a little.

    "Pay," the 'tender grunted.

    "Republic credits?" It was a long shot, but one he had to take. It wasn't unheard of, for traders outside of Republic space to accept credits as payment, but only if they were likely to do regular business with the worlds of the Republic. Ponemah wasn't far from the Republic border, but it was far enough. The bartender snorted. The Rake fished about in the inside of his flight jacket and uncovered a single, gold wupiupi coin, holding it up for inspection. The bartender snatched it out of his fingertips and stuffed it into his apron.

    "Know anyone who can patch up my ship?"

    Settling back onto a stool behind the bar, the tender smiled. "Not for one wupiupi."

    The Rake picked up his drink, venturing a sip. "For more?"

    A shrug. "Maybe. Have another drink or two and I'm sure someone will come by."

    They retreated to one of the empty tables, the Rake considering whether he felt brave and stupid enough to leave Ponemah's atmosphere with the ship in its current state. Maybe after another few drinks? He watched Mallea until she found herself a seat, then sat down opposite her.

    "Guess we got some time to kill."
    Last edited by The Rake; Sep 1st, 2018 at 12:07:03 PM.

  12. #32
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    She sat straight in her chair, her hand on her glass. The liquor was warming her up from the inside, and Lilaena considered that perhaps drinking on an empty stomach after being frozen in carbonite for gods knew how long was probably a bad idea. Her stomach chose that moment to growl, and she pressed her left hand to it, shifting uncomfortably.

    On the other hand... She picked up her drink and finished it off, placing the glass delicately back onto the table. The last time she'd sat in a bar drinking had been the day she'd heard of the death of Palpatine. Lilaena frowned, the memory crystal clear in her mind, her devastation at failing to fullfill her master's last wish, to make Palpatine pay for what he'd done to the Jedi.

    Luke Skywalker, hero of the Rebellion, was rumored to have landed the killing blow. He was dead, too.

    Perhaps everyone was dead.

    Lilaena tapped the edge of her glass. "What year is it?" She looked up, her growing connection to the Force allowing her to look eerily into the Rake's face, though she could see nothing but darkness. Her voice grew harder, intense, but still quiet. "What year is it?!"

  13. #33
    She was looking right at him, or at least right at his face. Their eyes didn't meet. She was still blind, probably still would be for – well, that depended on how long she'd been sealed away. Long enough to gulp down a tumbler of whiskey like it was ambrosia, while he sipped at his with a little less enthusiasm.

    “In this neck of space, 34 after Yavin.”

    Her stomach growled again, loud enough that he could've mistaken it for Runt.

    “I can see if they'll cook you something. I don't normally buy dinner for my marks,” he added, thinking aloud. “Suppose this isn't normal, though.”

    Maybe he could invoice the cost of the food and drinks to the client.

  14. #34
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    34 ABY... "Food would be good," Lilaena said quietly, her mind busy processing the new information. She remembered it being ...13 ABY.

    Twenty-one years? Her breath caught in her throat, but she closed her eyes for a moment and forced herself to be calm. To appear calm. Lilaena pressed her hand on her stomach again as it growled, and felt the unusual softness of it. Her abdomen in her memories had been muscular and toned, but something had changed.

    Something...

    She wanted to get up and run out of the room, but remained where she was, rooted to her seat. "Maybe a nerf burger," she heard herself say, as if it was another person in the room. The Force boiled around her, her rising anger and fear finally breaking through whatever barrier there had been between her and her power, but she resisted the urge to use it. She had to know more.

    Memories of her pregnancy flooded into her mind: the first flutter of movement deep within her, hands smoothing over her rounded belly, sleepless nights spent sitting up while the child slept lodged in her rib cage, the glorious agony of birth and the rush of relief as the baby slipped free...

    She had to find out what He had done to her baby.

  15. #35
    A serving droid caught the order and wheeled away to complete it. The Rake said nothing, letting the whiskey swirl about in the bottom of his glass as he looked at across the table at his... cargo.

    “You've been asleep for a while,” he said, lifting the glass to take a slow sip of whiskey. Considering Mallea over the top of the glass.
    Last edited by The Rake; Sep 1st, 2018 at 12:08:17 PM.

  16. #36
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    "Yes," she said. "A long time."

    Ensconced in darkness, Lilaena knocked back the rest of the alcohol, setting the glass down with a clunk. Could she escape this bounty hunter, or smuggler, or whoever he was? Most likely, even in her state of blindness, but what then? She had no ID, no credits... not even clothes that fit. Someone had paid Mr. The Rake to transport her carbonite coffin to... somewhere. He was going to take her there, to the person who knew who she was. Someone with answers.

    "It smells bad in here," she said, after a moment, wrinkling up her nose.

  17. #37
    "Yup. It's a shithole. If we were courting I wouldn't bring you within a starsystem of this place, but, well..."

    Casual as he could, the Rake took a quick look around the bar. People staring thousand-parsec stares into their glasses, some half-heartedly watching the sports cast and a handful peering with some interest at the Rake and his cargo. He eyed the empty tumbler in front of her, wondering just how whiskey would settle on a stomach that hadn't seen a scrap of food in stars knows how long.

    "You want another drink? A little more to take the edge off that carbonite hangover."
    Last edited by The Rake; Mar 3rd, 2019 at 03:24:07 PM.

  18. #38
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    Lilaena tapped her glass with her finger, and found it difficult to stop.

    tap tap tap tap

    “I think water would be better.”
    Muffled talk at the end of the bar drew her attention, along with the smell of engine grease. Footsteps approached them - perhaps the repair help that the Rake had been waiting for.

    tap tap tap tap

    She forced herself to stop, and tucked her hands together in her lap.
    Last edited by Lilaena De'Ville; Sep 4th, 2018 at 12:45:39 PM.

  19. #39
    Someone large sat down at the table with force enough to rattle Mallea's glass on the tabletop.

    "Dan ji bu bo ji ordeket?" the new voice said, a woman, in the throaty accent of a Ryloth native. You the two with the ship?

    "Ka, vashna," came the Rake's reply. Yes, ma'am. The newcomer grunted in approval.

    "Don't suppose you speak Twi'lek?" he said, his voice a little closer to Mallea. If he was lucky, the answer would be no.

  20. #40
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    “Twi’lek?” She considered that for a moment. “No.”

    Huttese on the other hand...

    Liaena stared straight forward as the Rake conversed with the Twi’lek. She could smell something cooking, hopefully her meal, and her stomach growled in response. The alcohol she’d downed was giving her a pleasantly fuzzy feeling, but she knew she needed her wits about her.

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