Here Comes the Pride

[Gradoona Pod-Floewander]

"Hmm?" Gradoona queried, the sound coming in half harmonics through her blowhole as she turned. The Herglic's eyes moved from the pair of Cizerack marines, down to the bundle carried by one of them, and then the dots started to connect.

"Oh! Penguins! Li??"

The engineer grimaced.

"Is there a praablem?"

[Li Ho Fook]

The moment a hand came down on the scruff of his neck, Li's mouth opened to deliver a sick burn and set this sucka straight, but immediately his mouth was slammed shut and held that way before he felt himself lifted from the ground. Were they trippin'? Didn't they know who the Grandmaster was? He'd only parted the velvet ropes because they hadn't parted themselves for him as they clearly should have - that's simply what velvet ropes do, after all.

A dozen thoughts ran through the Wah's mind in that moment, and the urge to unleash the five deady venoms on this sucka was mad strong, but the sight of blasters on other guards made him chill that notion. A mild struggle was put up, simply for show, as he was turned around and taken away from the Shatterstar, and its premium libations, VIP lounge, and strippers - all things his current side of the promenade lacked in the most whack of ways. Whatever the puff-tailed po-po's were talking about, he didn't know, but he could hear the laughter in their voices.

Back, back and back through the crowd he was pulled, skillfully balancing his drink in one paw while he ensured that his captor felt like he truly was overcoming the Wah's struggle for freedom, until at last he saw his moment. Gradoona, his starship savior and potential holovid hottie, was between himself and wherever the Cizerack were taking him, and yet they were also far enough away from the main concentration of guards that he could act.

Time slowed down, the Wah's sharp eyes calculating the correct angle and force with which to fling his cup, and its liquid contents glittered like the illest ice as its ariborne bling factor splashed directly into the face of the second guard, while gleaming black claws emerged from his fingertips to pierce and scratch at both hands holding him, fingers moving faster than the eye could follow as Fook became a blur of motion. He could feel those grasping hands release automatically, and smell the mild tinge of blood in the air from his shallow scratches.

He touched down on light feet, his sneakers finding immediate purchase before he spun and delivered a kick to his manhandler's left shin which felt like it should have come from a Wookie, not a 4'2", 78 lb Wah.

"Dag, yo!" Fook snapped. "Why you gots to be jackin' me, dawgs! Playa just wanted to cross the damn street, yo!"