Gotta Get Away

[Tamera Beck]

CENTARES

* * *




Stepping off the transport, Tamera Beck wasted little time making her way inside to the terminal proper. The flight she'd caught was one of those lesser-known carriers that parked out on the tarmac, leaving the passengers to trek over hot durracrete and through a solid metal door in order to actually be a part of the 'normal' starport crowd.

Her carry-on slung over one shoulder, Tamera found herself a slave to delicious habit, and cradled her mostly empty bag of spicy, delightful Cizerack chips. Only, they were really more rolled up crisps liberally dusted with neon deliciousness. She'd heard rumors that the things - Anoaki's - ate up the lining of your stomach, but more than likely that was just the ravings of a few lunatic repulsor-moms that hated the notion of their precious Janek's and Arika's eating food that wasn't human in origin. Coming from Nar Shadaa and finding decent employment on Jovan Station kind of opened a person's eyes to things that were actually tasty.

Or at the very least, shameful delights.

Stepping through the doorway while crunching down on another chip-tube, Tamera gave a quick look around before starting off in the direction of baggage claim.

Coming to Centares hadn't been her first choice, but some things were just unavoidable; especially when relatives insisted. And so she'd capitulated, getting the time off and booking her flight. Didn't mean she had to be happy about it.

Starting off down the long corridor, Tamera continued to busy herself with concentrating on her snack.

Centares. Why Centares? It wasn't like anyone really came here, and the only thing she could remember about this dumb planet was that she had kin here. Far-flung kin that were salt-of the earth. People of the land. The common clay of the galaxy.

In other words?

Morons.

[Codename: Abaddon]

What kind of fucking spaceline doesn't serve alcohol? It was bad enough that there were no business class seats left, which meant being wedged into economy in head to toe full body combat armor. People kept complaining, too. What a bunch of assholes. Yeah, I didn't want this either, you fucknuts. Fuck Ghost Spacelines. I'll never fly with them again. And I shouldn't, because after this job I'll have enough credits to get my ship out of impound and fly my goddamn self around instead of relying on these money sucking, joy leaching douche bags.

The lack of alcohol was really starting to hurt. Damn, he needed a drink and fast. Not any of this overpriced spaceport garbage. Nah. He'd find something in the streets outside. Maybe a six-pack of Tatooine Best. The cheap stuff will do in a pinch. But damn if numerous bars and duty shops in the spaceport were not tempting him. The headache had grown so big it felt like it was going to vibrate his helmet right off his head. It was amazing people couldn't hear his skull throbbing in his tin can helmet. Ugh. Just need to fight his way through is labyrinth with his wheely-case and get to the freedom beyond.

As he walked along he noticed a brunette ahead of him. Part of his brain was trying to deduce, based solely in the information gathered from this angle, if the woman was attractive enough to merit the effort; but his brain was hurting an awful lot and the telemetry was simply not working out. Things looked good enough from here, but she could have a shite face. Hard to tell. Better get closer. Power walking closed the gap, and as he came up alongside he noticed that she had a familiar looking bag in her hand. This was the point where he usually pulled a tried and tested one-liner from his little black book of openers he stole from videos on the holonet, but his mind was coming up empty.

"Anoaki's? Have you tried the Sunset Barbecue? It's sold exclusively in the cluster, but some retailers take outside orders." His voice came out heavily recycled by the helmet's comm suite, arriving monotone and droll.

What the fuck, Abaddon? That was not a sweet pick up line. That was... small talk. You're losing your edge, my dude. Yeah, let her say something first so she doesn't think your rude, and then really lay into there. She kind of older. Maybe neg her glasses or something.

[Tamera Beck]

She gave the old-fashioned door leading to baggage claim a decent enough hip check.

"Mister."

Apparently he had no idea he was talking to Lady Munch-A-Lot, Supreme Snack Queen of the Cosmos.

"I've tried the Sunset BBQ's, the Spicy Pepper, the Garlic and Thalassian Lime, every different cheese flavor they've put out from Calan Cheddar to that weird flavor they did with the Fey'Dann cheese with the holes in it."

Her lips were a weird half-purse that went along with the rest of her incredulous expression. That he was wearing a mask didn't exactly phase her; he was probably horribly disfigured by some chemical accident or a tragic accident involving a repulsorlift disc fitter in some backworlds speeder shop. Maybe even an autochef had gotten a hold of him. Who knew? Most folks that flew the discount seats didn't have room to judge or make fun of their shipmates. They only had to deal with one another for a time before parting ways (hopefully forever).

"I mean, that's like asking if I like Alderaan by Ronto."

Snorting, Tamera rolled her eyes while twisting on her heel to move on into the baggage claim area and its' carousels that stretched on into oblivion.

I miss the skies over Alderaan...

That one line set her to humming the familiar tune, and now it was stuck in her head for the rest of the day.

Not a bad thing!

[Codename: Abaddon]

Abaddon was caught off guard. Typically his conversations with the female species went one of two ways immediately with no deviation. They either were totally into his intoxicating masculinity, or more often they were frigid bitches that immediately left. Hurtful insults optional from both parties as they parted. Where the prey should be dragging him to a secluded place for debauchery she instead had spoken back in kind to start a, what do you call it... a conversation? Not just that, but she was very matter of factly in her reply; a much stronger return that he would have expected from such a mousy looking woman. What does he say now? He had nothing planned. His little black book of ice breakers was lost behind the fog in his head. His physical black book was still in his luggage.

"Um, well, I like Dorrdongos. They don't make 'em anymore but they were really good."

Shit, getting too close to home there Abby. Don't reference a chip that hasn't been on the market in ten years. What are you even doing right now? Stop winging it and get back to the official programming. Compliment something. Maybe that fat booty, or neg her glasses. Anything. Your sinking!

"W-What about Sodas? Zzantos? Ssurrii? Codacona Cherry and Vanilla Flavored Explosion? Ponsii Crystal? Green Sturge?"

Oh fuck you, Abaddon. Cizerack soft drinks? Are you for real? I give up. You're on your own from here.

[Tamera Beck]

This boy was speaking her language, and as the two shambled onward to the carousel that belonged to their carrier, she gave a half-shrug.

"Those are ok. I'm more of a Thranta Orange gal, myself."

Her eyes shifted away then, to look at the holoscreens to check on the status of their baggage. Apparently they were being offloaded, so it would be a few more minutes yet. A long sigh, and she turned back to her apparent 'baggage buddy'.

"So. Then."

They both slowed as they approached the United Galaxy Lines Flight 39571 luggage carousel.

"A guy wears a bunch of armor and stuff, he's gonna get a little uncomfortable here, seeing as how it's the summer months in this area, you know. You ever thought of something a little more like... beach shirts and shorts?"

She gave him a secondary once-over. He could keep the helmet.

[Codename: Abaddon]

"I have climate control in here."

He gave his chest plate a hard double tap with his fist.

"Nice and cool. 'sides, I'm really a beach shirt and shorts kind of guy. More the sweatpants and tanktop sort."

The luggage was delayed. Typical when you fly budget. Hopefully they didn't lose his luggage this time. It'd be a bit difficult to do his job without the receipt to pick up his blaster. Speaking of which, he should probably check to make sure that had made it ahead of him. Pulling out his comm unit he started poking and prodding at the touch screen, a mite difficult with gloves on.

"If I was here on holiday I might go casual, but when your traveling for business it helps to look the part. First impressions and all that. Are, uh, you here on vacation Miss...?"

[Tamera Beck]

Her eyes seemed to roll directly to the back of her skull at the question posed, and Tamera couldn't help the expression of a put-upon, wayward family member forced to interact with her kin.

"Vacation, sadly."

She let out a sigh then, using the exasperated breath to blow aside an unruly lock of mouse-brown hair that'd decided to fall in her face.

Shifting her carry-on, she held out a hand in an offered shake.

"Beck. Well, Tamera Beck, but you can just call me Beck. Everyone else does."

Even my own mother.

"... and besides tall, dark, and armored, you are... ?"

[Codename: Abaddon]

"Abaddon. Just Abaddon. It's a mononym like... Rappertunie."

Really, dude? That Max Rebo Band phase was like ten years ago. I thought you left? I tried, but the chain is so short all I could do was peak out an ear. The view is shit.

Switching his comm from his dominant hand he took hers between hardened plastoid composite fingers and gingerly shook it, all the while looking down at the exchange like the spectacle it was. When had he ever shaken hands with anyone? It never happened back home, and he sure as hell didn't do it now. Shaking hands wasn't cool. Cold disinterest was more his formula; just like the heroes in holodramas. Blow 'em off, pretend you don't care. Make them beg. This... was way too personal. It only lasted as long as it had to and then he let go like a monk releasing a burning coal.

Like a guardian angel the terminal consoles all beeped to inform them their bags were coming. Likewise the comm in his hand vibrated, drawing his attention back to where he had gotten horribly off track. Instead of checking on his package he had started browsing local eats. A four and a half star rating burning brightly on the screen. A few foggy cogs started to turn, and a plan was starting to form. Well, more of an outline. A crude sketch maybe? Like 20% of a plan.

"All this talk of snack foods and I'm starving. There's a steakhouse just outside the station. Highly rated on Zelp. Wanna grab a bite?"

[Tamera Beck]

The beeping lasted for only a few instances before shifting more into a droning, buzzing sound. A light posted above their designated carousel began to flash, and the repulsor treads shuddered to life as though a giant sandsnake was the deliverer of their checked bags. A portal in the center opened up, and out tumbled the first wave of luggage.

Mindful to keep her eyes peeled for her raggedy old My Little Dewback hardcase (from the old classic series, not the newly released run), it didn't take a Jedi to see that the mention of getting food had gotten her interest.

"A steakhouse, eh?"

She hadn't had a good rare steak in ages, not to mention...

"... is it one of those steakhouses that also sells those huge deep-fried Ithorian onions? Cause those things are amazing."

Another wave of baggage popped up and out, the last of the bunch being her faded bit of Saturday morning nostalgia. Sidling closer to the carousel so that she could scoop it up when it came around, she stole a quick look back to Abaddon.

"It's not super expensive, is it?"

[Codename: Abaddon]

"Uhh... The menu mentions deep fried onions, but doesn't say if it's rings or Ithorian style or anything. Their net site is kind of janky and outdated. It looks like a message board from my childhood."

Scrolling through the menu was difficult enough with just it's poor layout and slow refresh rate, but it become even more cumbersome with gloves in the way. Everytime he looked away to check for his bag and looked back he had scrolled all the way to the top or bottom again. Eventually he had to put the comm away so he could grab his bag; which was big, black, and built like a tank. No design, no identification. He knew it was his because it was the only one that could bludgeon a child to death with ease. A shoulder strap was extended from an auxiliary compartment and the entire load was thrown over a shoulder.

Gotta look strong for the ladies. Especially if your aiming to crush that cave. Youknowwhatimean?

"Um... It's rated at three creds, so yeah. It's probably on the pricier side..."

Stupid. Stupid. STUPID! How could you overlook that? You can't blow your entire loan on steak. You need that money for thermal clips and more blasters. And lets me real for a moment, your going to need to pay off a backdoor surgeon to fix you up after this job goes down like all the others and you end up full of holes, missing a digit, or blind. You did all three last month. You remember, that Swoop Gang? Your entire payout went to medical and supplies, again. We need to start a saving account. Shut up, you're not my mom!

"There's a Noodle Bar down the street if credits are a problem. I'm surprised they even have one on this world. They're pretty good, if you haven't been. If not, I guess... I wouldn't mind... paying for your meal. It's no big deal. Pssh. It's been a pretty good year for me if you catch my drift."

Cold detachment achieved. Nice one, bro.

[Tamera Beck]

The thought of going to a noodle house was as enticing as a steak and Supernova Onion, and Tamera reached out, hand grabbing her luggage to pull it free. With a mighty heave she stepped back, her prize in tow, and letting it fall tot he tiled floor with a thud, her thumb pushed in the handle latch-release so that the telescoping pull bar slid up.

"Back on Nar Shadaa, I used to go to a Rodian noodle joint, had the best Dho ever."

She could already see the steaming bowl of noodles being set in front of her, and an empty jhegwood steamer plate that had once held a family-sized portion of pan-stickers being cleared away.

"A big bowl of noodles sounds great," her carry-on was hitched higher onto her shoulder as she bumped her way past Abaddon and his bag that she bet could be used to squash an unsuspecting Squib. Or a Chadra-Fan. Or a child. Anything small, really.

"Lead that way!"

[Codename: Abaddon]

"Nar Shaddaa?"

With the heavy bag on a rapidly weakening shoulder, Abaddon lead the way out the baggage claim to the sidewalk outside. Like with any spaceport, the outside was a buzz of activity. People flagging cabs, families exchanging disgusting tearful goodbyes, and all sorts of other craziness that was best to ignore or risk your sanity by peering too closely at the chaos. He was half tempted to hail a cab, even though the Noodle Bar was not far, but his armor was bulky and heavy, as was his bag. He didn't want to look like a pussy in front of the pretty lady, so he kept walking and assumed a stance that did not betray his already sore shoulder.

"What's a... soft? thing like you doing on a planet like Nar Shaddaa? That place is crazy. I've had a lot of really close calls there."

[Tamera Beck]

She gave a dismissive expression as they cleared the wide entrance doorway and started off down the pedi-walk. She almost snorted. Almost.

"Soft?"

Her free hand came up then to land a bizarre passing knuckle-brush to his upper arm. It was deflected easily by the hardened armor.

"Oof, armor," she let her fingers splay out then, giving her hand a shake.

"I used to work at a speeder shop," she gave her knuckles a last once-over... no damage. "... wasn't glorious, but hey it payed the bills, and we stayed outta trouble mostly."

Weaving through a crowd of rowdy-ish, knee-high Squibs, Tamera sent a crossways look to Abaddon.

"Sounds to me like you found all the wrong places to be while you were there."

[Codename: Abaddon]

Abaddon would be lying if he he said his first thought after being jokingly punched was NOT to check to make sure his armor wasn't scuffed. Something in the back of his head quickly reminded him that it wasn't important right now and if it was scuffed in any way he had plenty of polish in the bag to cover a little blemish, or a big scrape, or a few blaster holes, and he had the sonic brush for carbon build up; and don't forget the first aid kit and trauma kit. Come to think of it, most of his luggage was composed of materials to put himself and his armor back together.

"A speeder shop? No way. I wouldn't peg you for the mechanical type. That's so cool."

He had to look her over again in a whole new light, which was great because there was plenty good to look at. Mechanics were not really his type; although just about any woman was at one point or another. His type was usually bar floozies and hot junkies, because they were easily impressed, already compromised, and not likely to try to call you the next day. It was just as much a cycle for them as it was for him. That wasn't to say he had anything against mechanics; just a nagging thought that they could probably do better than the likes of him.

No. That's quitter talk. Abaddon is the very best, the best that ever was!

"Hunting bounties doesn't exactly take you through the scenic areas, you know? It's usually slums or broke ass apartments, abandoned warehouses and that sort of thing. Last time I was there I got tagged in the stomach..."

Looking down he had to decipher the numerous cuts, scores, and pits in his armor to find the correct one. Eventually his finger located the smooth texture of an epoxy patch where a blaster-wrought hole had been patched over to maintain the integrity of the suit.

"...Guy got real lucky. Armor took most of it. Didn't even go out the back. Not exactly a fun vacation."

Fuck yeah, girls love scars.

[Tamera Beck]

So he was a bounty hunter!

As if the armor and constant helmet-wearing weren't an indicator...

"Bounty hunting seems like such a dangerous job," she rolled her neck, eliciting a series of cracks, "... but I suppose a guy has to make a living somehow."

Her My Little Dewback luggage gave a my-little-bounce as they passed over a crack in the durracrete, kicking up to one wheel, then the other before she was able to stabilize it.

"About the only crazy thing I've ever done is the Turbolaser Run (https://theholo.net/forum/showthread.php?23327-Engine-Trouble) back home with an old friend. Had my souped up Sansin that we used."

It wasn't too often that guys said that what she did was cool.

[Reginald Buckley III]

He was in a hurry. Which only meant that his luggage was in the last group offloaded from the transport. His flight had been a few minutes after hers, but Reginald Buckley knew he would get his target. Her and that moppy-haired man of hers wouldn't escape the law, he was determined. So much so, that he'd left Nar Shaddaa and headed out into the space-lanes to bring her back for her scofflaw activities back home.

He bounced on the balls of his feet, watching as she disappeared out the doors with some armor-wearing gent. Didn't much matter. He looked back to the carousel in time to spot his bag before it was trundled on past him, and reaching forward through two others, thick fingers closed around the worn handle to wrench it up and off the repulsor belt.

Ain't no one could escape the long arm of the Nar Shaddaa law.

[Codename: Abaddon]

Abaddon had a practiced spiel about how cool being a bounty hunter is, and how dangerous it is, which makes him ever so daring and cool, but all that melted away to mush as a raging question came barreling through to the front;

"Turbolaser run?"

His imagination went running in seven different directions at once, each pursuing a different concept of what something called a Turbolaser Run could be. All of them were either too crazy and injury prone to be right, and the others were far too cool to be real. This was something he needed to get to the bottom of immediately, and with the Noodle Bar coming into view at the end of the block he was running out of time before food ordering caused the subject to change. You know, organically.

"What is that even? It sounds awesome."

[Tamera Beck]

Her grin went from ear to ear as she awkwardly shook her head to hopefully fling a misbehaving lock of hair out of her face.

"It's a race, without a designated track. You get to each waypoint the quickest you can, by any route you can."

Her gait sidestepped a little, so that she could toss the empty snack bag she still held into a refuse bin.

"There's a few obstacles that everyone has to go through though, like The Drop... "

Another skip to the side that brought her danger-close to Abaddon as she got out of the way of a particularly grumpy looking Ithorian, and she was back on track once more.

"... nothing but a vertical dive through the compacter cliffs."

Up ahead, she could see a placard jutting out from a storefront, Ruusan Noodle House, it showed in angular aurebesh. There was a low fence of what looked to be a large, shaped vine that'd been frozen in carbonite then polished to a silver sheen, and directly behind it a stuccoed facade that gave way to a small outdoor seating area that surrounded about five tables. The door inside was in the same polished, carbonite-covered vine motif, with glass panes, and Tamera paused her telling to slow her pace.

"Oh man!"

The earthy aromas coming from inside were heavenly; no doubt they were pumped outside through hidden vents to entice passers-by. And it worked amazingly on her; the scents alone practically lifted her up on her toes and dragged her closer.

"I sure hope they have pan-stickers and fryrolls."

[Codename: Abaddon]

"That sounds intense."

The talk of racing took him on a ride down memory lane to his first and only attempt at street racing. The streets back home were not a great setup for racing to begin with, with the whole new city built on top of the old city style going on. The only areas with long stretches of straight roads was the affluent sectors, and that was precisely why his racing career only lasted about five minutes before the authorities put a stop to it. That kind of shenanigan carried a strict sentence but mother got him out of it, like she always did. It would not be his last act of rebellion.

This close to the spaceport the foot traffic was still heavy, and Beck had to squeeze past a typically brain dead Ithorian; which brought her up close. There was a lot of things he wanted to do with that space lessened, oh baby yes, but he settled for making a show of shifting the weight of his bag on his shoulder and sticking out his elbow to bump against her arm. Start small, he told himself. The Rajah of Romance always says that intimate touch is the bait in the cage that will trap your prey.

"I mean, they better. It's not much of a noodle bar without pot stickers."

The place was nice enough looking, as in they actually put in an attempt to look shiny and welcoming. The same could not be said about most of the other businesses on this road. Even the blaster store on the corner had a look that insisted that all they had to sell was scattershots and tetanus. Hardly the sort of merchandise a bounty hunter living on the cutting edge desired. He finally tore his eyes away from it as they neared the Noodle shop, and instead brought his eyes around to look up at the menu as they stepped inside. The inside of the shop was on the smaller side and cramped with diners already.

The menu was extensive, and intimidating. To make things worse, everything looked good. The line was short and moving fast. He'd already pulled a cred chit out of a slot on his utility belt. A good Bounty Hunter is always prepared. Except, he really hadn't decided when he reached the front of the line. That was fine. He always had an option to fall back on.

"Get me whatever is your spiciest dish."

[Tamera Beck]

The wispy-thin, white-haired Arkanian woman at the ordering counter didn't look especially impressed, and her lower jaw made a show of sliding off-kilter from the rest of her head, her white gaze unblinking as she stared at this masked creeper who basically said to surprise him with at least a quarter of the menu. The spiciest? Did he even know where he was?

"Gonna have to be more specific, Mister Mystery."

Tamera took that as her cue, and while in the process of pulling her wallet out, she nudged in front of Abby. She hoped he'd let her call him Abby. She'd have to bring it up casually, like Oh, yeah I saw that whole Holoflix series in one night, Abby...

"Uh yeah, he'll have the Ruusan Spicy Mynock Gizzards and Wingtips with the hot chili oil dressing, and I'll have the Ruusan Style Crispy Fried Ronto Cheeks with a side of pan-stickers and four fryrolls."

She made sure to half-turn back so that she could offer a reassurance while their order was being rung up.

"Don't worry, I'll share the pan-stickers and we'll each get two fryrolls."

"You two want any drinks?"

"Just a big water for me," she knew how this worked. Nothing went with noodles like a big glass of water. Again she half-turned, sending a questioning look to Abaddon so he could order his own drink.

[Codename: Abaddon]

What the fuck!? You call this customer service? Perhaps it was the lady behind the counter who needed to know her goddamn menu better than the customer who was a complete stranger to their particular blend of noodles. His fists were already tightened into balls, his shoulders rising, as he prepared for the verbal explosion of a lifetime, and then a little voice pierced the cacophony of verbal violence that was brewing like a storm behind his teeth. The voice intervened, diffused the stalemate and placed an order that sounded agreeable. Abaddon let his shoulders relax and hands unwind, but he was still really angry. There was going to be a helluva one star Zelp review coming later on. Believe it!

A new question was posed, and it required him to switch off the half written review in his head and look up once more at the menu to see what they offered for drinks. As far as "Adult Beverages", as the menu put it, there were a few beers but no hard liquor. Hard pass. Beer was disgusting. So bitter. Gross. He would sooner drink a gallon of Vosh sober with no chaser. "Water too." That was probably a good idea considering his head was still pounding from the lack of the aforementioned liquor. Why am I making so many good decisions today? The fuck...

The white eyed bitch gave them an order number written on a flimsi, which took all the willpower he possessed to not snatched out of her hand. The rage was causing a whole new level of headache to brew up from underneath, and the sudden motion might make him feint. Yes, water was a good idea. Taking their beverage straight from the counter Abaddon looked about the crowded interior, trying to locate an empty table that didn't have a sweaty Neimoidian sitting too closely.

"Inside or out?"

[Tamera Beck]

"Oh, inside for sure."

She wasn't exactly the sort of gal to take her food outside. Being in the open air just encouraged bugs to zero-in on her food - her food - and she wasn't about to bring down the zipflie horde upon their heads. Not to mention it just didn't seem... hygienic? Eating outside opened up the whole experience to particulates, after all. And who knew if some snotty, sneezing Gamorrean was waiting to spray his germs all over her dish? She wasn't a germaphobe, she was just smart.

Scanning for an open table, she spied a two-top close to the door.

"There," she pointed with the hand that held her water, and without waiting for a confirmation, Tamera forded her way through the crowded tables. She was oblivious to everything except for the thought that she was going to be getting a mouthful of pan-stickers in the very near future.

Making it to the open table without too much fuss, she rocked her luggage up so that it rested vertically and waiting for that inevitable pull which would send it back into motion.

She practically flopped into the closest seat.

"Should probably find a place to stash that helmet," she gestured to Abby's face, not really looking at him.

"Unless you have some sort of plan for sucking pan-stickers and fryrolls through a straw."

[Codename: Abaddon]

Abaddon placed his massive bag carefully placed just so between his leg and the wall, to minimize potential theft. Hey, those two Rodians in the corner were looking pretty shady. It's not his fault that their weird gibberish language makes them sound like plotting criminals. That's just the facts. It's not racist. I have a Rodian friend. Well, acquaintance; but he agrees with that sentiment! I mean, I've never heard him say anything against it. Silently agreeing, that's what it is.

"It's not my first slime race with this face."

Reaching up to his neck he pulled the release and the helmet detached itself with a loud hiss as the seal between it and the rest of the armor was broken. However, instead of removing his mask entirely he merely tipped it upward just enough to reveal a soft chin with a fresh scrape still healing upon it's hairless structure. There were glimpses of a mouth but the tip of his helmet still obscured most of his face. Grabbing his cup of water like a magician performing sleight of hand he showed it off to Tamera, drew attention to the lack of strings or other devices, and then slipped the vessel beneath his chin and put the straw directly into his mouth. The noisy sucking that followed acted as the prestige to his trick.

"Ta-da!"

The speaker on his helmet was still grabbing his voice and mixing it together with what little of his actual voice escaped from around the reinforced transparisteel. The projected voice was so loud it drowned out the softer voice below, creating a very strange mix of vocals. One could almost make out an exotic accent in the mix. Almost.

[Tamera Beck]

Not exactly sure how to take this, Tamera simply opted for staring. It was the nicest thing she could do in the moment, frankly. Her expression was more of surprise than anything else. Was he like, some sort of superhero Mandalorian Death Squad member or something?! Didn't want his face on any holocams? Or maybe he was on some sort of wanted list for extra special badness, and his identity was closely guarded? The scar on his chin was enough to make her purse her lips though, and she reached up to scratch at her hairline.

"Well, that's a new one, Abby."

Not how she'd planned to introduce her nickname.

And did he have an accent? She hoped he did.

She watched him manipulate the straw, continuing to suck up the water from the cup.

"Trust issues. You have trust issues," she finally chirped, breaking herself out of the moment and focusing on her own drink, removing her own straw from its' wrapper. She dunked it into her water, took a long gulp, then pulled back for air.

"And hey, I can respect that."

[Codename: Abaddon]

Abby? ABBY!?

The pet name came so out of nowhere that it left him choking on his water. So many sharp and mean responses came to mind, defending his name as Abaddon. Full. End. Stop. However, the sputtering and coughing that follows inhaling water into your lungs put a damper on any kind of quick response and by the time he caught his breath the moment seemed to have passed, and she had already moved the conversation ahead. This was not over, you can believe that. He would have some strong words to say about it at a later date; most likely the inevitable moment that she throws her water at him and stomps out. That's how these things usually go.

Unless actually goes somewhere meaningful. Then she can call him "Abby" all she wants. Preferably at high volume during sexual Ecstasy.

"Nah. It's not like that." He finally coughed out, still trying to dry off his drowned lungs. "I do a dangerous job, see. I make a lot of enemies. Criminals don't like it so much when you track them down and drag 'em off to prison, for hard cash money no less. You never known when someone is gonna come gunning for me out of nowhere. Could be a guy I put away, or a friend or family member wanting revenge. Two seconds and my helmet is back on and I'm ready to go. That could be the difference between still having a head and not. But hey, maybe if we get somewhere a bit more private you can see what's under the dome."

Hopefully somewhere very dark.

[Tamera Beck]

'A bit more private'.

It made her roll her eyes, and Beck gave a rather unladylike snort as she slid her cup a half-tick away from her.

"I'm not the prying sort," she could help but let her gaze shift then, moving to cast across the rest of the patrons and toward the main counter.

"A gal learns to keep to herself, and there isn't any better teacher than Nar Shaddaa."

She couldn't help but notice how he kept his bag firmly guarded, and while her own wasn't exactly sitting out in the open, it wasn't watched over with as much zeal as he seemed to exhibit. Probably a quirk of his profession, if that really was what it was. There was no real reason to disbelieve him, but Beck wasn't about to take him completely for his word. Who knew; maybe he was some sort of murderer trying to hide his identity, and there were skinsuits made out of his victims in that bag? Then again, how did he know that she wasn't what she'd said she was? After all, they'd both flown economy. What were the odds?

"But, if you're the sort of guy that likes to wear women skinsuits, I'm probably going to pass on the private time. I'll share a lunch, but after that I gotta say... being a killer is a bit of a dealbreaker."

She turned her eyes back to him before he could answer.

"Keep in mind, saying you don't wear lady skinsuits doesn't automatically mean you don't."

[Codename: Abaddon]

Oh if you only knew how close you are, little bird.

"Lady skinsuits is way too formal, you know? Weddings and funerals kind of thing. Doesn't fit under my armor neither. Not a lot of room in this thing."

A quick rap on his chest plate emphasized his point; there wasn't a hallow echo but rather a very solid thud as metal gauntlet met reinforced durasteel plates and it's many protective underlayers of support webbing and energy absorbing mesh. While it was showing it's age and a lot of wear and tare, the armor had been top of the line when it was purchased a few years ago. Maybe it was time for an upgrade. Something with a jetpack and wrist mounted missile launcher. Hell. Yeah.

"I have killed people, though. But not for their skin. Nature of the biz. Bounties go sideways. Their friends come for revenge. It's a rough galaxy out there. I don't have to tell you that, coming from Nar Shaddaa. You still living out that way?"

Just when the small talk felt like it was going well, that he had something witty or interesting to say, then the topic would dry up and leave him searching for the next one. Damn, this stuff was so much easier with alcohol, loud music, and dim lights.

[Tamera Beck]

"Hells no," came the murmured answer as she took another sip from her water, idly wondering just how long it would be before some group decided to descend on Centares with the call to outlaw straws. It was one of those silly thoughts though, as she knew that most places recycled every bit of their plastic and paper waste. After all, why toss something out when you could send it to a reconstitution factory and actually turn a few credits of profit for the trouble? No, if anything the straw she was currently drinking from had once been a part of a food tray. And most likely it would be broken down and turned into wrapper or something else after she was done with it.

"I left that place behind without a second thought. Livin' on Jovan Station now. Got a decent gig doing purchasing work, so it's a lot better than things were on Nar Shaddaa."

A server approached then, a smallish plate in his hands that held their order of fry-rolls. It was set down gently between them, and with a nod of thanks, Beck reached to the condiment holder to pull out a packet of hot mustard paste. The rolls were still steaming, a good sign that this place knew better than to reheat their food. There really was nothing quite like a fry-roll fresh out of the frying pot.

"So you kill people, you wear a mask and armor, you have a bag that I'm pretty certain has an arsenal in it... "

She paused in the act of tearing the packet open, giving Abby a critical look.

"... Does it?"

[Codename: Abaddon]

"I mean, come on. We flew economy. They don't exactly let you take weapons in your carry on. You need a lot of special licenses for that sort of thing and unless you've dianogaed your way into the good graces of the Bounty Hunters Guild it can be a real pain in the ass to get the paper work accepted. There are fees like you wouldn't believe. It's easier to pick them up planet side; especially if you've got a guy. All of that wouldn't even be an issue if my ship wasn't imp- out for maintenance. I got, like, a hundred blasters on that thing. Yeah, arsenal is the right word for it. Nothin' in this bag but a lot of my armor kit and some spare clothes. You know, if'n I find a reason to relax."

Mentioning that your ship is impounded is not exactly the best way to impress the ladies. Besides, it wasn't like it was going to be impounded for much longer. If this job goes down without a hitch then he'll have the credits to get her free and then the next job will be that much easier. Of course, that's what he said about the last dozen jobs. A lot of them have gone tits up and the rest had unforeseen complications. Getting holes in your body and armor patched up can be quite expensive unless your willing to go to some alley way ripdoc. That's a good way to wake up with half as many organs as you went in with.

"Jovan is... interesting. It's a cool station, with some cock teasing untouchable bounties living there, but it's got a little too much Cizerack for my taste, you know?"

Reflexively he reached for a roll, and then stopped short when he remembered he was wearing armored gloves. They did not have the same dexterity of a naked hand, and the grease from the rolls would get all over the plates and be a pain to clean off. The last thing he needed was to lose his grip at a bad time. Instead he opted to grab a fork off the table and skew the roll; being extra careful to not let it fall off the fork as he navigated it back across the table to his waiting mouth. A tentative sniff was all the ceremony observed before a small bite was taken to get a taste for it. Beck had the right idea. It did need mustard.

As Abaddon reached for a mustard packet of his own, a suddenly realization bubbled through the murky waters of his brain about the implications of what he had just said.

"Oh shit, no. I didn't mean it like that. I don't have anything against Cizeracks. I'm not some cat person racist, or anything. Their culture can be very overwhelming is what I'm saying. Feeding pits, Sun goddesses, and that sullen superiority complex. It's not my scene, is all."

[Tamera Beck]

She watched him with not so much a critical eye, rather a healthy amount of amusement as he backpedaled to explain how what he'd said before was not 'cat racist'. It was a strange thing, to see a man who refused to remove his helmet, had a strangely odd accent, wore armor, had a bag full of apparently more armor, and apparently he was worried that he'd seem like a racist. Or speciesist? What was the term nowadays?

It was made all the more peculiar by the fry-roll held in one hand and the other clutching a mustard packet so tightly that she couldn't help but flinch in the worry that he'd simply squeeze the thing open to send a stream of hot mustard across the table. She knew the bullseye was right on her forehead. It usually was.

"No no, not cat racist," she blurted it out in a flurry, eyes still carefully watching those gloved fingers and hoping that they would ease up just a bit.

"They make great snacks though, you gotta admit."

[Codename: Abaddon]

"The snacks are good. The singing not so much. Saalla Sharraa is still top of the charts in the Cluster and I cannot stand that wailing. Have you heard any Cizerack music? It's awful."

Abaddon could feel a smile creeping up on his face, and was constantly reminded that part of his face was visible by that uncomfortable fresh air feeling. Smiling was not cool, but it was hard not to. Especially when a lady is being very accommodating and not throwing a glass of water in his face. It lacked that certain gravitas when it just splashes across your helmet, but it still hurts a little when it happens. On the inside.

The mustard packet was carefully disarmed by tearing the top open, and it's contents directly applied to the fry roll before a more generous bite was taken. Oh yeah, much better.

[Tamera Beck]

Even though less than half his face was covered by that silly helmet, it was easy to see that he'd found a heavenly level of enjoyment from the fry-roll.

With her mouth obviously full of her own delicious bit of fried gold, Tamera grinned wide. A bit of ground shaak could be seen, wedged between her two front teeth.

"The mustard makes it ten times better, doesn't it."

[Codename: Abaddon]

"Mmm. It's definitely the way to go. Uh, you got a little ssomething right here."

Shifting the condiment packet in his hand he tapped the relative mouth area of his helmet faceplate with his pinky finger. He thought nothing of it. Wasn't that uncommon to get stuff stuck in your teeth, especially where he was from.

"So." he began as he dabbed a giant glob of mustard on the tip of the roll. He dragged the act out as his mind raced to find some subject, some topic to keep this conversation going. His conversation skills were already drying up quickly and he did not want to fall back on yo momma jokes and derogatory, negging comments just yet. A real player doesn't use all his tricks up front. He saves them for later, or something. "What kind of work do you do on Jovan? You said purchasing work? Is that like ordering stuff?"

[Reginald Buckley III]

* * *

He'd casually followed the pair, making his way in a meandering fashion while still maintaining a proper distance. No one escaped the long arm of the law, even if he'd had to sacrifice his own vacation time to ensure one Tamera Beck didn't go unpunished for her hasty departure after winning the Turbolaser Run with the lanky fellow she'd raced with. The man she was with now was not the same, but that didn't matter too much; one at a time.

Buckley paused when they'd gone into a noodlehouse cafe, but it wasn't but a moment later that he cast his eyes about, looking first down the rest of the pedway, then across the speeder lanes before making a show of finally deciding to grace the noodlehouse with his patronage as well.

The attendant at the counter gave him a half-lidded stare as he trundled forward, and he gave the menu on the wall a once-over.

"Ehrm, I'll take a Sith Special Bowl, and a Dr. Polis, Ma'am."

"That all?"

"I think so, yeah."

A fleeting glance behind him, and he spotted Beck, along with an empty table that was close enough for his liking.

"Ok, seven credits."

Without a word he handed over a chit, keyed to the amount that she'd said, and as she handed him an empty cup, her head nodded in the direction of the fizzpop dispenser.

He gave her a nod, turned on his heel, and started off in the direction she'd gestured.

[Tamera Beck]

Abby's help in pointing out the bit of food stuck in her teeth was met with an 'oh!' face, before she reached up to scrape it out with a fingernail. His last question was met with a waved hand, and Beck gave a shrug in accompaniment.

"Oh it's nothing special. Just making sure that the engineering boys on Jovan have what they need."

Another happy bite, and another third of her fry-roll disappeared.

Her free hand came up to cover her mouth, as she spoke while chewing (an expert level talent that she'd developed over many years).

"It pays the bills, plus I get my own quarters on the station."

[Codename: Abaddon]

Boys, huh? I bet she swimming in them with a booty like that. All those Cizeracks around probably gets everyone on the station all horny and crazy. It's all that J'eeta. Probably won't even have any time for me once she's back on the station. She'll be lost in that dick forest. That's a bummer. Whatever. I'll just finish this meal and try to enjoy it. It's not like she's going to want my number or anything. Probably has a bunch of dudes blowing up her comm right now except she left it on starship mode. Just typical my luck. Don't do it Abaddon. Stay civil. It's like that Fook guy said. Gotta be a cool guy, not a jerk.

"Yeah? What's it like living on a space station all the time? I spend a lot of time on my ship and all, but it lands eventually and I get to stretch my legs and get some fresh air. Can't do that much when your stuck up in the big black. I guess trips like this must be nice, right? Getting off the station for a bit, feel real sunlight. Probably run into a lot of the same people every day on a Space Station. Out here you get to meet new people, like me."

[Tamera Beck]

"Oh it's nice," she started around the last mouthful of her fry-roll, having stuffed the remainder into her mouth in decidedly un-ladylike fashion.

"Much better than Nar Shaddaa. I don't get bothered, the neighbors are nice and quiet, and the food is a lot better than the usual greasy street vendor meat stalls I used to always go to."

She wasn't one to actually... you know, cook, and so she was often left to the mercies of whatever cafe or fast food establishment she went to.

"Not to mention, we get the best channels and I can tape all the shows I miss when I'm at work, like Archaic Astronauts and As the Galaxy Spins."

She was in her element, now. Completely oblivious to everything and anyone except Abby. After all, it wasn't often that people actually engaged her in conversation outside of work. Well, Gradoona did, but she was about the only one.

"No one really talks to me much there, though. Which it's ok, I don't mind." She minded, but only a small bit. There were always more interesting things to take up her time, like reading HoloWiki articles, where she often enough ended up reading about the history of the old Jedi and Sith wars no matter what page she originally started on.

"What about you?"

He was probably not going to give her the real story; men of mystery that wore masks and helmets usually didn't. But, it was what made them interesting, in a daytime trash holoprogram sort of way.

Still didn't stop her from using her imagination, though.

Abby was probably some rich heir, his family fortune tied up in planetary land stocks or... or maybe he even had Banking Clan ties?! Maybe his mother was an heiress or some high-profile business magnate, and he was pushing away the cushy lifestyle in favor of something more real and dangerous? Something to remind him that he was alive and a person just like every other working being in the galaxy? And maybe - just maybe - he was looking for not just adventure, but love? Some lucky gal that saw through his hard exterior, past the veneer of wealth, and through to his real heart? Maybe he was starved for love and someone to share a meaningful life with?

Either way, it was romantic.

[Codename: Abaddon]

What about me. What about me? What was there really to say about me that isn't part of this facade or incredibly boring. When she spoke she was so to the point and earnest. Nothing she said sounded like a lie or an embellished story. It was... refreshing, to say the least. In a profession dominated by machismo and big personalities, it was nice to run into one that was small. Not weak or anything. Just small. Tamera wasn't trying to prove anything and seemed more than happy with a line of work and lifestyle that Abaddon found quite dumb. Requisitions on a space station? No thanks. And yet there was a noble acceptance of that situation.

How? How could she be so satisfied with that existence? Drugs. It had to be drugs.

"I don't have a lot of free time, with all the Bounty Hunting. I'm not in the Guild, which means I have to work twice as hard for my bounties. No hand outs, no leg ups. Hell, half the time the Guild swoops in and steals my bounties right out from under me. When I don't have bounties I do some freelance work. You know, Private Military stuff; bodyguarding, or just plain guarding. Whatever pays the bills, kind of stuff. When I do have some time I like to watch Gunjhin animation. The industry has gone to shit but a lot of the old classics still hold up. Droidtech, Renegade Sun, Phantom Shield, Code Wexx, My Force Academy, and my favorite Mando'a. You have to get past the terrible translation, but it's a good story about a Mandalorian Bounty Hunter and his kickass journey through the stars. Good stuff."

Oh god, reign it in Abaddon! You are getting way too nerdy out there you stupid Jhiib. She doesn't want to hear about that stuff. Nothing cool about that. Quick, move on to something better before she notices.

"Uh... other than that I mostly just do regular stuff like exercising, like a lot, and tuning my weapons. Gotta be in tip top shape. Never know when a bounty is going to make a mess of things."

Having suddenly run out of things to say he stuffed another eggroll in his mouth with far too much hastily spread mustard to fill the awkward silence.

[Reginald Buckley III]

What a goofy sight; some masked weirdo trying to eat his fry-roll without fully giving away his identity, and Beck being her normal self. Her normal, unassuming self. She had always put on airs to seem as plain as possible, but he knew better. His second meeting with her had been what clued him to the fact that Tamera Beck was as devious as they came. Oh, she masked it well enough, but that girl was a menace. He could still remember her hand, coated with repulsor gearbox oil, as it made contact with his cheek. He'd not been able to get rid of the smell for two weeks. Nevermind the fact that he'd simply been asking her a standard question in regards to the burglary that her shop had experienced the night before. Her defensive reaction really only made her seem more guilty. Inside jobs on speeder shops weren't unheard of, after all.

Right before he made it to the fizzpop dispenser, he took a hard left, knifing through the tables until he was practically looming over the two. He'd tossed the cup into a trash bin, his hand now free to pull a pair of simple binders from the clip on the back of his belt. He might not've been in uniform, but that didn't mean he hadn't come unprepared.

Beck had her drink in hand, trying to find the straw with her lips when Buckley reached out. One cuff snapped shut on her wrist, and the other clicked closed on his own.

"Miss me, Ms. Beck?"

[Tamera Beck]

She had just found the straw when the binder clacked over her wrist.

A familiar voice, and blinking, Tamera turned a look up and to the side.

Expression twisting into a picture of disbelief, her mouth fell open.

"Reggie?!"

[Codename: Abaddon]

"Reggie?"

The question was directed at Beck rather than the man. As in, who is Reggie, and why are you on first name terms with this walking talking cuckold. Is this the kind of big and ugly man you find on a big and ugly space station? Is this the kind of dick she finds herself with on the reg? How dare she have this nice meal under false pretenses and have her cuck show up like this, and with his kinky bondage gear too. Hey wait, those aren't BDSM regulation binders. Those look... official. The fuck is all this?

Grabbing the air vents on the front of his helmet, he pulled it back down into place. Even without a blaster he had plenty of other methods of inflicting damage, the kind that shouldn't have made it through spaceport security but those brain dead Interplanetary Security Administration dweebs weren't exactly that great at their jobs. Alliance security is a joke. Standing up, Abaddon was about to give the guy six inches of new throat before he remembered where he was, and that thing Fook had said. Couldn't remember the exact words, but something about making less of a mess, or collateral damage, or was it wearing a condom? The point was something about safety.

"You might want to rethink that, Robbie."

[Reginald Buckley III]

In exactly the sort of way that all law enforcement officers acted, Buckley lifted a hand to give a splayed palm a whisper of a distance from the Mask's chest.

"Calm down, sir. Ms. Beck and I have some business that needs to be concluded... "

His eyes never left hers, the frown he wore slowly shifting into a thin-lipped straight line.

"... on Nar Shadaa."

Ah, there was that spark of anger beginning from behind those glasses she wore. Cuffed together, he grasped her hand with his in an effort to begin pulling her to her feet.

"Leaving the Vertical City doesn't mean you're exempt from the consequences of being in the Turbolaser Run."

She was on her feet now, but he maintained his iron grip while casting another look to the Mask.

"You change up your driver? Last one didn't seem so hell-bent on keeping his face hidden."

[Tamera Beck]

Dragged up to her feet, Tamera gave a pout as she tried to pry his grip off of her hand.

"Hey now, the Run was seven months ago... "

It was no use; he wasn't about to relent to her digging fingernails.

"Besides, you're out of your jurisdiction, you know?"

Exasperated, she could tell Abby was a little tense - ok a lot tense - and she pulled her free hand away to reach out, matching Reg's outstretched hand to Abby's chest with her own.

"It's ok, Abby. Just a little... misunderstanding."

[Codename: Abaddon]

One hand in my face, shame on you. Two hands in my face, shits about to explode. Ain't nobody in the 'verse got the right to put hands on Abaddon. Abaddon does not enjoy being touched. It either leaves scratches or grease marks on the armor. That Abaddon just polished before getting on that goddamn transport and flying his heavily armored, weapon concealing, blazing headache, bad ass all the way to this back ass planet on which he was now in a Rodian Standoff with a Coochy Mama with all that and some Puul Zborp food court cop. Both of them had their hands up, both of them were telling Abaddon to stand down. Abaddon did not want to stand down. Abaddon wanted a bucket of Vosh, the Coochy Mama on a platter, and new carpet for the Nemesis.

Standing down was none of those things. Abaddon wanted to smash. One way or another.

"You. Better. Start. Explaining. Den." Each word was forced through clenched teeth and punctuated by the sound of the soft and hard materials of his gauntlets scrunching together into tight fists.

[Tamera Beck]

'Den'?

Wait, what?

His accent had been bare at best before, but now it was unmistakable. And... well... it was a little... ok well it was attractive. And that was saying something considering she'd not even seen his face!

"It's ok, I promise," she tried to further smooth over those rough tones of his. Those rough, angry, and undeniably... hot tones. She bit her lip, sent a quick look to Reg, then back to Abby.

A 'henh', a weak smile (just like her weak knees right now), and a last look back to Reg.

"... Well?!"

She gave her cuffed wrist a shake for good measure.

[Reginald Buckley III]

The Mask was upset. Understandable. But Beck wasn't helping anything by being, well, herself.

Her prompt only made him let out an impatient sight.

"It's all procedural, Sir. Nothing to be concerned over. Ms. Beck here simply participated in a dangerous, unsanctioned race back on Nar Shadaa that she needs to make reparations for."

It was all cut and dry to him. Finally, he looked to the Mask. The creaking of the other man's wrist-wear as his arms tensed and hands balled itno fists was not lost on him, and his outstretched hand retracted a fraction of an inch before going back out to give a reassuring pat to Mask's shoulder.

"I'm sure that as an upstanding citizen you can understand the need for law and order in these sorts of situations."

[Codename: Abaddon]

Abaddon looked at the hand on his shoulder, and then back at the owner of said hand.

"First rule of working with Abaddon is; nobody touches the Abaddon."

The Abaddon. Just Abaddon. No The. Abaddon had enough. The first rule was broken. Abaddon only allowed beautiful dames to touch the armor. A seven at least. Porkins here was not a lady, nor a seven. Fingers had been broken and faces smashed for a whole lot less than the condescending shoulder tap that Abaddon had just received. It was go time. Blade stabbin', tooth crackin', ball tappin', fistpocalyse.

"You obviously do not know who I am; Abaddon. Bounty Hunterr. Merrcenary. I have so many confirmed kills I stopped keeping count. I have a reputation for extreme violence and messy success. This armor is a FutureTech limited release worth hundreds of thousands of credits. See the sealed holes, the carbon scoring? I've been shot so many times I look like Nubian cheese under here, and I'm still going. I'm a big ass, hard ass, bad ass. And the only reason I haven't fist fucked you into cuck soup is because the beautiful lady keeps saying it's okay. And if you think I'm afraid of doing it in front of all these people behind us, than you don't know jack shit about me. So tell me Bobby, is everything okay or am I going to have to remove those binders one broken finger at a time?"

Each word came out perfectly measured, like a prepared speech practiced in front of a mirror a thousand times. His voice never rose above conversation level, but that didn't stop him from stressing the appropriate words. Abaddon was unhappy. Abaddon was letting officer Bobert know it. No badge, no uniform. Out of jurisdiction whatever the fuck he actually. Oh, yes. Rob was about to get creamed.

[Tamera Beck]

'Beautiful lady'.

Beautiful lady.

Out of that entire word salad, only two struck home, and Tamera blinked in surprise as she felt her mouth fall open.

Still cuffed to Reg, she felt her knees finally give way and once more she plopped down into her seat, roughly pulling the Nar Shadaan away from Abby with a jerk.

[Reginald Buckley III]

The sudden shift of body weight was enough to pull him off-balance, and Buckley steadied himself once more, letting out a cough while pulling back his hand to swipe it down the front of his button-up shirt.

"Well, ehm... Abaddon."

Deciding it might be better to remove the link between himself and Beck, Reg unclasped the half that locked him to her, and instead snapped it over her free wrist. Now fully handled, she wouldn't be too terribly rowdy. She had that hidden side to her, after all. He'd seen it once before, and wasn't going to take any chances.

The Mask however, was another story.

"Seems we've gotten off to a rough start. But as a bounty hunter, I have to say, this is the sort of thing you should be taking my side on."

[Codename: Abaddon]

"Hold up, did you just suggest that the unlawful extradition of a person is the same as collecting a bounty? If the Guild found out that you're kidnapping ladies and calling it bounty hunting they would make things very messy for you, Billy."

Bring fists down on table. Knuckles first. Apply weight. Lean forward. Classic. Intimidation 101.

"Here's how this is going to play out Robert. If this is a bounty then I'm stealing it from you. If this is a kidnapping then I'm Ms. Beck's bodyguard and I will stop you. I may not be in the Guild but I am on good terms with House Benelex. They really like it when I drop those fat stacks on them. They specialize in kidnapping retrieval, not that you would know, and they would have a keen interest in all of this. You dig? You should scram before you get hurt, little Brrickhousse Bobby. You are way out of your league."

[Tamera Beck]

Still in a slight daze from Abby's words, she simply stared up into the air. Hands still cuffed together, Tamera sat like a statue.

She didn't even register Reg anymore; he was a background footnote at this point.

"I'm a 'beautiful lady'," she sighed out, stars in her bespectacled eyes.

[Reginald Buckley III]

The blustering did little to dissuade him, and Buckley stood his ground.

"Now look here," his voice grew hard.

"I don't care if you're the heir of some Hutt fortune, Ms. Beck is coming back to Nar Shadaa with me."

A finger extended, then jabbed into the Mask's chest.

"You can take it up with the Planetary Constabulary if you want, but throwing out names won't do you any good."

[Codename: Abaddon]

The finger had barely touched a repaired armor plate before Abaddon grabbed his wrist with one hand and twisted, and with the other grabbed his elbow and twisted more, forcing Officer Porkins to turn his body along with it or risk what certainly felt like several broken bones from his fingertips all the way to his shoulder. The moment he was turned Abaddon brought up a foot and kicked him square in the butt and released his arm, letting him stumble away...

...right into the server that was bringing a tray of food to their table. Both went down with a splash of second degree hot and spicy.

There was a still and unmoving moment as the entire restaurant watched the pair on the floor, and listening to a metal bowl spin to a slow stop. Then the room erupted into motion as serving staff rushed out to see what happened and the customer base either turned away and ignored it, or began chattering noisily between themselves about it. A few fixed rude stares at the black armored bounty hunter, and at least one lady with a very sharp haircut and sunglasses began whispering frantically into her comm unit while clutching the string of pearls wrapped around her neck.

"Time to go."

Grabbing Beck's hand he tugged her from her seat and around the table while also reaching for, and repeatedly failing, to grab the handle of his wheeled luggage tote until he finally found purchase and pulled the two together; which resulted on most of the chairs being knocked over all the way to the door. The door dinged again as he ran back inside to grab Beck's suitcase, and kick Porkins in the ribs while he was trying to get up. Once out on the street he looked frantically up and down the street while the HUD inside his helmet powered back up from sleep mode. A loading icon in the bottom left corner spun annoyingly until it finally reconnected to the local holonet and at his command brought up a map of the area; with a big red pin stuck into the seedy hotel he booked as his lodging.

Also several highly recommended Shi'taki places.

Adjusting his grip on her hand resulted in the alarming sound of metal chain rattling against itself. Oh right. The cuffs. That was a problem. He could probably smash them with the hard edges of his gloves; but that would probably break her hands too. Fuck. He needed a blaster. Badly. Dammit. Why was this the trip where he couldn't afford the weapon permits to bring his Hadron Destroyer along. That thing would have made short work of these cuffs, and Officer Porkins, and the wall behind them, and the building across the street. It was fucking sweet.

"Gotta get you out of these before Ricky gets up. Come on, let's get out of sight. Please tell me you have some sweet tools in that bag of yours that'll cut those off."

Ignoring traffic, he dragged her across the street, both of their suitcases bouncing off the duracrete, as speeders stopped to let them cross in a storm of cussing and threats.

[Tamera Beck]

Cuffs always made things more difficult, and being pulled along by Abby while trying to keep a hold of her My Little Dewback hardcase, Tamera at least didn't feel too awkward. It wasn't the worst thing to happen to her. No, that had been when her grandmother had randomly sent her a frilly lingerie set, and her old workmates back at the shop had opened it up thinking it was cookies. Because of course grandmothers sent cookies to their grandchildren! It was like some written rule! She'd told them to go ahead and tear it up to get at the sweet delicious treats held inside, and they'd come back up with a lacy black number and a handwritten letter that said she needed to find a man, and Grammy Beck was going to help her.

That was infinitely more weird and awkward than this right now - being dragged along a busy thoroughfare by a guy that refused to take off his mask, handcuffed, and doing her best to tote about a child's suitcase.

"Please tell me you have some sweet tools in that bag of yours that'll cut those off."

"Um, well," she was breathless, managing to stay on her feet.

In her suitcase were certainly no tools. Just clothes, her toiletries, a book of crosswords to pass the time, a pair of ratty house shoes, and...

... and...

Dodging a swoop, Tamera bit her lip as she hopped up onto the pedwalk on the other side of the street.

... and that very same lacy black number that Grammy Beck had sent her. She shifted her hands, trying to reposition her wrists just a bit.

"No tools, sorry."

[Codename: Abaddon]

Think, Abaddon, think! Keep your cool, you don't want her to think your as big a loser as your being right now. There's bound to be a locksmith around here. A shitty city like this probably has one next to every liquor store, and liquors stores have to be everywhere. But you don't have enough credits for that. Dammit. Okay, what do you have in your own bag? An armor bolter, collapsible armor stand, armor polish, Bigweld armor repair kit, change of clothes... yeah. That was about it. This was supposed to be a big wam, bam and done kind of trip. Not whatever this was turning into; some kind of spiraling out of control trainwreck.

Oh god. Beck probably already thinks I'm totally lame. A real dude would have figured this out already. Fook was right. I am a loser.

If only he had something hard. Really hard. And unattached to his body. Looking around there was no convenient poles, heavy trash, or duracrete chunk. Dragging her down the street as he searched but only causing more of a scene, and they were technically still in full view of the restaurant. A thin alley between two buildings opened up beside them, and Abaddon quickly pulled his hot date into it and out of sight. There was nothing here, just a dead end hallway with dumpsters and locked doors lining it. Fuck. Speaking of duracrete, there was a halfwall of the stuff alongside one doorway, but that was hardly helpful. He couldn't lift that. It'd make a good surface for breaking the chain of the cuffs over, if he had something to hit it with.

Then it dawned on him. A solution. An impossible one. No. Nope. Not going to do it. I'm not going to take my helmet off and use it as a hammer. I don't want Beck to see me. Not like this, or ever. God dammit. There has to be another. Sheeeeeeeeet.

"Uhh, come on over here. Put the chain over the top of this block. Yeah. Like that. Sweet. I'm going to smash it with my helmet. Close your eyes and, uh, look away. Got me? I don't want to getting hit in the eye with my flying bits. Hold tight."

One moment he was curling down, bringing his head down as hard as he could into the chain and hoping to god he didn't miss and hit one of her hands, and the next moment he was vaguely aware he was on the ground. Everything hurt, a klaxon and HUD warning was informing him on a dangerous impact. The edges of his vision were dark and blurry, and he wasn't quite sure where he was. There was a vague awareness that a woman was standing over him. Beck. He was having a hard time making out what she was saying. She had a pair of broken handcuffs around her wrists, and something inside told him that was a good thing. Oh damn, his visor had a crack in it. Fuuuuuuck!

[Tamera Beck]

"Are you brain-damaged?"

She kept coaxing him back to a state of... something, hoping that he wasn't too impaired from his show of muscle-headed - literally - force. And if he wasn't touched in the head before, he had to be now.

Her suitcase was all but forgotten as she bent over him, concern in her eyes as she hissed out her annoyance. Annoyance that he would be so stupid.

"Come on you meathead," she ground out, trying to pull him up, "... we gotta get away."

Gotta get away.

Ha.

She'd hoped that this little forced vacation to visit family would be a way to get away from the daily grind. Now, it had turned into something that was much the same, except so very different.

She didn't even register the wild eyes that were now exposed from behind the cracked and shattered helmet He was a blur in her frenzied state, and she tugged all the harder, trying to ooze him up to his feet.

"Come on!"

[Codename: Abaddon]

"I'm fine. I mean, it's no big deal. This armor is tough."

Andnowitsbrokenomgwhatthefuck!

Running a finger along the hairline crack he gave it a thorough poking to assess the level of damage. The HUD wasn't working properly and air was clearly getting through so it wasn't airtight anymore, but it was hardly the worst damage he'd sustained to a helmet. Heh. That time on Ord Mantell had been a really close call, hadn't it? Whatever happened to that shattered helmet? Who knows. He lived and the other guy went back to jail. That's what's important and not how many bacta tanks it took to stabilize your injuries.

"I'll seal up the crack when I get to my hotel and run a diagnostic. Usually fixes it up. No big deal. I got a lot of armor. A whole room. It's pretty cool. Speaking of hotel, you should probably lay low until Officer asshole loses your trail. If you don't have anywhere else to go, you could stay with me. You know, for a few hours or whatever. Until it's safe. No big deal or anything."

[Tamera Beck]

The offer was sweet. It really was.

She brushed him off though, as she pulled him out onto the main walkway, and got him actually moving. The more she thought about it though, the more it made sense, and Tamera gave a quick look over her shoulder.

Reg wasn't there yet, so they were good on that front.

"Your place?"

Another look. They were still good.

Didn't mean they would be in the near future.

"Ok yeah, that sounds good."

With one hand still holding on to the pull-handle of her luggage and the other grasping his arm, she led them further along.

"Where did you reserve a room?"

[Codename: Abaddon]

"Uh... the Sunset Lodge. It's around here somewhere. If I can just get my HUD to work...oww." he paused to smack himself in the side of the head, which made everything hurt more and caused his HUD to blink out entirely. Shit. Oh. I know.

Turning around and unzipping a front pocket on his luggage he pulled out a datapad. It was clearly the newest SheeTech model, but was already quite dirty around the edges and the screen had an ugly scrape in it's surface. It snapped to life and he scrolled through a few screens, with great difficultly as the tip of his glove was not registering very well, and eventually found his reservation, and a street address.

"14404 Bullivar Street. Okay... We're on Gallus, and if this city is like other's it's probably built on a numerical and alphabetical grid system. Just gotta follow it from G to B. Easy. Oh wait, I probably have a map on here... Oh. I was completely wrong. It's just a few blocks over. Let's go."

There wasn't much to say, so he let the clickety clack of wheels bouncing off cracks in the duracrete sidewalks fill the air while his head spun on a swivel keeping an eye out for Porkins. Other than a few long waits to cross at several intersections, it didn't take them all that long to make it the distance to the Sunset Lodge. From the moment he saw the half-illuminated sign with a missing G he knew this was not going to be a nice place. He had booked it based on price, which was cheap, because that's all he could afford these days. This was not the kind of cool dude place he wanted to take a lady back to. Damn. There was no way he was going to get a slice of that booty after this. Oh well, at least he could help her out. That was worth a warm fuzzy or something.

Check in was a breeze. The guy at the counter looked like a puddle of slime that had gotten up and taken the form of a man, and he looked so done with life that he barely even acknowledged them or said anything more than a grunt. Taking the keycard to the room of the matching number didn't get them anywhere, as the door wouldn't open. A few more tries with the card proved the same, and they were forced to go back to the office, get the card reissued, and this time it worked. Fuck! Could this get any more uncool?

"Make yourself at home. I'll be just a minute."

[Tamera Beck]

The room was like any other cheap motel room. Yellowing wallpaper that had probably started life as a delightful and chic patterned print, but was no nothing more than a visual tragedy of geometric shapes. The carpet was... well, it wasn't really carpet anymore, was it? It was just hard-packed and heavily compressed fabric fulff. The flimsy furniture of a half-desk, a chair that looked more rickety than Palpatine's cane, a dresser that probably still had a pair of old underoos shoved in the back of the top drawer, a nightstand with a lamp that had been bolted to it, and...

... and a single queen-sized bed.

Well, she wasn't staying the night here anyways, so the immediate worry of 'oh dammit where am I sleeping' was shunted off with a silly afterthought.

Of course she wasn't staying here the night! She had her own hotel room, with her own bed. She just needed to stay low and out of sight since apparently Reg was on the prowl.

That jerk.

"So!"

She grabbed the remote for the holo, and sitting heavily on the bed (oh gods, it didn't have bed bugs, did it?!), immediately jumped up once more. Tamera flicked the holo on in an effort to suppress that lovely thought. She cycled through a litany of channels, not finding anything worth while.

"You make a habit out of bashing your face on things?"

[Codename: Abaddon]

"Oh man, I never pass on giving some chump a solid headbutt. Helmet really wrecks their stupid faces, ya know? But no, I don't usually hit things with my head. Don't want to scratch the paint."

He moved as casually as he could as he slipped into the refresher, which was clearly too small for somebody in full body armor. Tucking the sliding door shut behind him, he immediately became a frenzy of movement and limbs as he got up close to the mirror to examine the crack in his helmet. A series of very scientific tests took place, as he rubbed a finger over the crack, tapped against the surrounding area for any hint of crumple, and when all the tests he could think of were exhausted on the outside, he went for the inside. As he fumbled for the gasket seal release on the neck, he couldn't help but think what a complete wash this whole day was becoming.

He had been so close. That shit in the diner had been badass as fuck. He had no idea where that had come from. He must have seen that in a holo or read it in a comic. Had to be. Abaddon the Black Hearted Badboy pretended he could say stuff like that on the regular, but it was always so fucking hard in the moment. The best comebacks always came to him when he was trying to sleep the next day, and no matter how many hypothetical conversations he had in the shower, those exact circumstances never came up just right. Fuck. Now he wished he could remember what he had said to that fat fuck. It was gold, and he knew it. Hopefully his comm recorder was going and picked up on it. Wait, was my helmet on or half off? Dammit! Oh fuck, double dammit. My helmet is stuck!

Pulling the level back and forth did nothing. The seal did not give out. He could feel it trying, but it was not making it past whatever small tooth at the edge of the mechanism that was barely holding it in place. Cool. So this was how he died. Starving to death while stuck in his armor and too fucking poor to pay somebody to open it up. He had to find a way. He was not going to call her for this. He would never live it down. There was only one other solution. Yeah. Maybe. It could work. If he did it just right he could pop the seal and then go back into the refresher to do the repairs. Beck would be none the wiser.

She wouldn't be impressed with what's under the helmet anyways. Not after how this day had gone. Fuuuuuck.

"Yo, speaking of hitting my head, looks like that hit broke the lock mechanism. Damn thing won't come off."

Slipping back into the "room", for lack of a better term for the rat hole, he tried to stand as nonchalantly as a guy in full body armor can in a small, dirty room. Grabbing his luggage he pulled it open to reveal a whole lot of armor care supplies. Cans of wax and polish, tools, and a lot of patch kits. All sitting on top of what looked like an unfolded pile of clothes underneath. He grabbed a small hydrospanner and a short pry bar.

"Think you could give me a hand? It's not a speeder, but I bet your better with a few tools than I am. I'll jam the spanner into the release if you stick the pry bar between the helmet and neck. Right here. That's where the main catch is. Should pull it free. Yeah?"

[Tamera Beck]

"Well actually," her voice trailed off as she scrunched her face up in thought. A brief second passed before she snapped her fingers.

"I've got a thing for that, I think."

Her own luggage was shuffled closer, and Tamera quickly unzipped and out pocket before stuffing a hand inside to root through the contents.

"I might've brought my old key-kit for... reasons... "

Reasons that had nothing to do with picking locks or doors or hotwiring speeders. It was a holdover from her days on Nar Shadaa, and she'd never felt super in need of getting rid of it.

"Ah!"

Success! Pulling the slender leather case free, she held it aloft only briefly before bringing it close and flipping it open. Arrayed inside was a line of delicate looking tools that were unmistakably picks for every different occasion, lock, and dataslot.

"C'mere," she beckoned, patting the spot on the bed beside her. "... I bet I can get it off this way."

[Codename: Abaddon]

"Lockpicks? You are a bad, baaaaad girl."

His initial excitement at seeing the lockpicks was immediately lost once he actually got a look at the little, thin shims and rakes. They looked far to flimsy for this big, hard armor. Setting the pry bar back in his luggage he rolled his shoulders a few times before finally sitting down on the edge of the bed as directed. The whole bed shifted forward, and the frame audibly groaned under the suddenly added weight of the armor.

"I don't know if you're gonna be able to get it released. F-Tech armor is famous for locking up and being pretty hard to get back open. Like, using a blowtorch and two mirrors level of hard. Go ahead, have a go. It's really loose. It's just that rear, main latch." He gave the helmet a jiggle to emphasis, it was lifting at the front and sides, but not enough to even clear the seal housing. Damn thing was one good wack away from falling off. Well, if she can finesse it open than it will be that much easier to fix the latch. He'd prefer to not get stuck in it again when he puts it back on.

[Tamera Beck]

She was already leaning forward as he talked, two of the picks in her hand as she ran a pinky finger over the locking mechanism. Then she made a face, leaned even further in, and blew on the lock.

"Just for good luck," she explained before pressing one of the picks into the whisper-thin seal of the secondary press plate. The other pick was carefully inserted into the actual lock itself. There was a buzz as the electrified tip activated, and she angled it this way and that, listening carefully for the frequency that would tell her she'd found the first electro-tumbler.

A ting, and a click, and she continued on. There would be either two or three more, depending on the level of strength the manufacturer had built in.

Another ting and click.

The helmet hadn't fully popped though, which meant there was still one more electro-tumbler to neutralize.

The last one took a little longer to find, and her tongue pushed out between her lips as she worked. The hum of her pick eventually found the frequency that she needed, and Tamera was rewarded with the final ting and click.

Except, the helmet didn't pop. A perturbed look glinted in her eyes as she pulled her tools away, and again she leaned in close. She pursed her lips, made a face, and finally reached up to give the locking mechanism a flick of her finger.

POP!

[Codename: Abaddon]

The loud clack resonated inside my helmet, clearly indicating the opening of the locking mechanism just milliseconds before my HUD informed me of the same. An almost unnoticeable icon in the very corner switching from red to green. That feature cost extra. When you were a super, extra cool guy like me you did not settle for the shelf model. Those little features were more often than not complete life savers. I mean, who wants to step out of the house with their helmet unsecured and unsealed? That was just asking for trouble, and after the first three times I sure learned that lesson.

Reaching up I gave the helmet an experimental tuck to make sure it was lifting off the locking plate and wasn't stuck in some kind of false set that would just give the impression of being unlocked. Yeah, that's a term used in lock picking. So what? I've watched videos on the holonet. Get off my back. I'm not any good at it but it sure is entertaining to watch some Cobalt-Grade lock get effortlessly opened up in like five seconds by the most basic raking attack by the Lockpicking Lawman. That guy was the shit.

"Awesome."

I exclaimed absently, almost forgetting about Beck entirely in that moment as I scrambled for my luggage. I suddenly remembered she was there as I started sifting through the layers of clothes as I searched for the visor repair kit I knew I had in here somewhere. I can play this cool, I told myself as I positioned my body subtly between my bag and the hot mama on the bed. My fingers dug through a few layers of clothes until they hit the hard shape of the kit. Didn't take long. Not like I packed a lot of clothes. Not like I planned on being out of my during this whole trip. Maybe just to sleep, if I remembered to take it off before I passed out. I think I sleep in my armor more often than not these days. Especially in a scuzzy place like this.

Excusing myself back to the refresher I made sure the door was completely closed. Not locked, mind you. That would be creepy. I don't want to completely scare off this woman. Probably wouldn't take much to do that at this point. Gotta be careful. This date had already been a near disaster. And it had been going so well too! It was so god. Damn. Frustrating! Between the fat cop, the stupid shit with the cuffs, and now this embarrassing hotel room. I'm so mad at myself. I want to be mad at everyone else. Fook's right. I'm the problem. And my problem is my goddamn helmet is broken! No way I can get a replacement on short notice. I don't even have enough credits for a rental much less a down payment. And I'm NOT going back to beg for credits just yet. I can take care of this on my own. It's not like it's the first time I've patched my armor back together.

Pulling the helmet free of the neck joint I was finally able to pull my face away from the problem and see the crack for what it was. Right down the middle of my visor. Greaaaat. Even worse, I could smell the hotel now. It wasn't stinky so much as an uncomfortable level of sterile smelling. Like it had been indiscriminately cleaned with military grade cleaners by a fed-up housekeeper. It was a smell that made me think the sheets are probably so starchy they could stand up by themselves. Hardly a hot makeout pad. No lady wants to get sandwiched between scratchy sheets and hard, cold armor. Even armor that's as fucking cool and hot as this.

Setting the helmet down I got to quick work opening up the visor kit and applying the visor sealant and patch. A quick pull and wipe and the crack should be sealed. I would have to reconnect the helmet and run a diagnostic to confirm. However, I was going to lose a whole lot of cool and style points for the blemish the patch job left on the visor. A blurry line of sealant right down the middle that marred the mirror reflection of the rest of the visor. Maybe the lighting in the room was poor enough that Beck wouldn't notice too much; and I can wait until nightfall to go after my mark. I don't want to look like idiot when I confront the guy.

I don't want to look like a nerd, either. I thought as I caught my reflection in the refresher mirror.

[Tamera Beck]

His quick escape to the fresher was only with indifferent silence as she set about putting her picks back into their kit. She leaned forward, one hand going back into her suitcase to shove aside a dingy undershirt that had certainly seen better days, and tucked the small case back inside.

She paused for a moment, then slapped her hardcase closed before zipping it shut with a flourish. A moment of silence, as she took stock of the room, and her hands came to rest on her legs.

She could hear him doing... something... in the fresher; no doubt trying to fix his helmet.

And in that moment she had a worried thought flash to the forefront. Was this really the smartest thing to do? Yeah, they'd tried to have a bit of lunch before being interrupted by Reg, and Abby had helped her out, but still - this was as seedy a hotel room if there ever was one, and the fact that a lot of the horror holos she'd seen growing up started in just this sort of way!

Licking her lips in that moment, Beck slowly got to her feet, and taking hold of the telescoping handle of her luggage, she shuffled her way towards the door, which was right next to the still-closet fresher door.

"Um, so I hope everything is ok in there," she stopped short of tapping a knuckle on the fresher door, and instead put her free hand on the touchpad of the entry door.

"I should probably be going, you know... "

Her voice seemed to trail off, as she took a deep breath, hoping that Abby wouldn't burst out of the fresher with some huge vibroknife.

[Codename: Abaddon]

"Everrjythjing jiss fjine. Hem, I mean, everything is fine. Almost done."

Shit! I can't believe I was so caught off guard by her question. I have my damn helmet in my hands for fuck sake and yet I'm still so damn used to having it on that I forgot to hide my accent, and deepen my soft voice. Hopefully she didn't hear it too well through the door that first time. Rule number one is never take off the helmet. I broke that one immediately. How can I be so stupid? Oh. Shit. Rule number two is never leave them alone with my stuff. She's probably going through my bag right now. I need to hurry up and finish up in here. I left the damn thing unlocked...

"I should probably be going, you know... "

No no no! This was all falling apart way faster than I thought it would! We should have at least made it a makeout and light petting before everything went to shit. Gotta get my helmet back on. Shit. The fumes from the adhesive are so strong, and probably toxic. Can't put it back on yet, but I can't let her leave. Shit. Gotta stall her. Somehow. Pretend to have a heart attack? No. Fake some kind of threat? Nah. Yell at her to stay put? That usually works but I need my helmet on for that. Shoot at her through the door? Don't have a blaster in here. Shit!

"Uh, if it's about the clothes, um, they're not mine? Yeah. Well, they are but I only use them for when I go undercover. You know, to hide my armor. Gotta sneak up on my marks sometimes. Ninja style. Floral shirt, athletic pants, halter top, cargo pants; I just grab whatever, you know?"

[Tamera Beck]

She blinked at his first words. His very... heavily accented words in a much different voice. It wasn't in the deeper notes she'd quickly become used to, but in the very next moment he sounded... normal?

Except, there was something strange about even that. Was his voice really that deep? Had his helmet only filtered out his real voice for something more regular?

He started talking about clothes, and being undercover, and marks... it was all so bizarre.

Still with a knot of worry in her gut, she furrowed her brow as her thoughts seemed to start to piece a few things together. The whole eating without taking off his helmet, the quick shuffle into the fresher after she'd unlocked it, the insistence that the door stay shut...

"Um, if you're worried about me recognizing you from somewhere, there's probably nothing to worry about. I mean, you could look like a wrinkled meiloorun had sex with an even older, wrinkled meiloorun for all I know."

[Codename: Abaddon]

"It's not that..."

Wrinkled meiloorun? Was that really what she thinks I look like? God. If she only knew. It's so, so much worse. She is trying to figure it out but she is going about it all wrong. Hell, she thinks I'm like super ugly or something; like I've got burns all over my face and I'm trying to hide my fucked up face. I wish that was my problem. A whole bunch of scars or burns would be cool, and a disfigured face would be a kickass tragic backstory. I could fake that. I really could. Tell her that's exactly what is going on, then put the helmet back on and pretend I'm just bashful about my crazy face. Yeah. That might work. That should work. I can do that, right?

No. I can't. This girl is really cool, and... if I did that then Fook would be right. I can't let that furry asshole be right. I swore I would be better than I used to be. Abaddon keeps his fucking word. Ain't nobody going to call him a liar.

I can do this. I can do this. Abaddon is big, badass, and brave.

Abaddon isn't real; and I'm really afraid...

Shit. What do I have to lose, right? Sounds like Beck is already halfway out the door. She might as well know the truth, give her some closure or some shit. Don't want her to think that there's some Darth Vader looking motherfucker hiding behind this visor. She deserves better than that. Right? I think so. Shit. I hate this being a better person shit. I want to go back to punking hot chicks to get in their pants. It didn't work, but it was easier. This is so, so much harder.

I can do this. Pull that head sock off, toss my hair a bit. Like it's somehow going to matter. Fuck, I look stupid. Craaap. Doesn't matter how hard I wipe I can't take off these dumb stripes or my stupid face. All I want is to put this damn hand through this mirror, through this sink, the wall... instead here I am, pushing the button for the door. Why does this feel so out of body? I'm not even high. Deep breath, step out, oh god the lighting in this shit room is going to make me look extra bad. Oh fuck. Look at her. She looks surprised as fuck. I can't blame her.

I know what I look like. Platinum blonde short undercut with the roots starting to show, stupid stripes all over my goddamn face, left ear looking like a Svoktl tore half of it off, dumb face, green eyes, weird chin, head looking too small for my armor because it is, soft features spotted with scars and nicks, and clearly a woman (https://imgur.com/sZjYbt2/).

I have no idea what to do, what to say, how do you explain this anyways? I've always avoided it, and whenever the truth came out made a quick beeline for the spaceport. Nobody wants this. Nobody wants me. They want Abaddon. The true hero of this story.

"Happjy?"

[Tamera Beck]

The face the stood there, staring at her, was not the sort of face that she'd in any way expected to see. Tamera Beck blinked in surprised silence as she felt her hand fall away from the door's keypad.

A woman?! Abby was... a woman??!!

Vaguely aware that her jaw had dropped a small bit, she snapped her mouth shut in short order, teeth clacking together with a swift snap.

"I... um... "

The question of whether she was happy was unexpected, and it took her a few more moments to parse any sort of answer. And when she did, it wasn't an answer at all. Instead, it was a silly-sounding statement to the obvious.

"... you're a woman... "

[Codename: Abaddon]

What do I say? This isn't how this usually goes when they find out. They usually yell at me for a bit then run out the door. I've never bothered to explain myself before. It never meant anything before. Before it was a numbers game to try as many times as possible in hopes that it works out a few of the times. That was old me. New me was trying to be a better person; and I have no idea what that even means.

"jYep. Thjiss jiss me. Borrjing. Rregularr. Me. Not ass excjitjing ass Abaddon, jI bet."

How could it be? Abaddon was such a cool dude. Badass bounty-hunter with the slick black armor and the really big blasters. Well, I have big blasters back on my ship. I'll get them back when I get it out of impound. Just a few more days. Then it's big gun o'clock again. Shit. Maybe if I had the big blasters we could have avoided this whole situation. She would have just been so panty-dropping swooned at the sight of those magnificent weapons. Shit. I really blew this. Oh crap, I'm doing it again. Be better than that, Ori!

[Tamera Beck]

"Um, well... "

Her hand had most cerainly fallen away from the doorpad, and Tamera bit her lower lip in thought.

"... I don't think boring is a good descriptor," she offered up lamely. Her voice had grown mostly quiet, as she continued to stare at the woman who stood in the fresher's doorway.

"I mean, well, you got most of an ear off," her hand, now free, weakly gestured to Abby's missing bodypart.

"Which I'm sure was a good story!"

Whew. Good save. Maybe. She hoped.

The fact that Abby was a Cizerack was her immediate second thought, and she couldn't help the instant desire for Seetai Ne Sajoi, her favorite Cizerack snack. A bog of those spicy pepper-dusted crisp snack suddenly ramped up, but she held back at the last moment.

"So then... "

She looked to the side.

"Is... is your name really Abby?"

[Codename: Abaddon]

Hell yeah it was a good story. I loved telling it. It had it all; a lost pizza, street justice, a near death experience, and the whole can of whoop ass. I also almost never tell that story. It's not an Abaddon story. That's an Ori story and those are just so weak in comparison. Abaddon fights his way through highhandedly through an entire Corpo goon squad and comes out the other end physically uninjured. Ori gets in a dumb street fight when getting pizza, almosts gets shot in the face, beats down the assholes and loses an ear in the process. Yeah, it's a cool story but it really takes the wind out of Abaddon's kickass sails.

"What, Abaddon? No. That'ss not mjy name. That'ss hjiss name."

I reached back and grabbed the helmet from the counter top and showed it to her before I flipped it around in my hand so that it was facing me. I tried to wipe a goober off the visor but just smeared whatever it was across the surface. God. Damn. It. Tossing it across the room it landed on the bed, rolled over and fell on to the floor on the far side. Shit.

"jIt'ss a rreally cool name. Ah-Bad-Don. Eassjy to ssajy wjith mjy accent. Mjy rreal name jiss..."

Do I really need to use my real name? I could create a new persona, a fake one for underneath the mask. I've done it before and Abaddon turned out great. It would be so easy, but I could hear it. Those words echoing in my mind.

dag yo that's wack

"Orrjianna. Mosst people call me Orrji."

Only mother calls me Orianna...

[Tamera Beck]

Ori.

"Soooo," she tried to fill the air between them with a bit on filler.

This was new territory, and she fell back on old habits.

"Ori."

Not Abby, but Ori. The woman she now stared at was a far cry from the armored bounty hunter that she'd become marginally used to.

And then her eyes went wide, as she made a wincing expression.

"Your head! Is it ok?"

[Codename: Abaddon]

"Mjy head?"

My eyes drifted over to bed, and the helmet that had fallen to the other side. God dammit, Ori! Not his head. YOUR HEAD! I had barely put a thought to my own face. I had been so busy with fixing the helmet and carrying on the facade. I hadn't even bothered to look at myself in the mirror. I hadn't wanted to look at myself then, and now here I was tucking my head back into the refresher like an idiot to see what my actual face looks like. I thought my face looked mostly okay. The bridge of my nose and my forehead were read and a bit puffy. I bet it'll swell up a lot more later. No big deal. I found it pretty hard to take injuries like this very seriously when I way more used to being shot and stabbed.

This was nothing.

"jI'm fjine. jIt'ss fjine. jI've had waaaaaajy worrsse. Thjiss jiss nothjing. jI've got wajy coolerr sscarrss jI could sshow jyou."

Looking down, I tapped a few of the more notable scars in my armor. Not all of them had penetrated into my body. There was a lot of close calls in that damage. I was going to need to replace whole pieces of the armor sooner than later. I've gotten really good at patching those holes up but it's never the same as the original. There's a loss of integrity, damage to the delicate underlayers. As soon as I had the credits that was going to be one of the first things I do. Most of the time, the armor was the only thing keeping me alive.

Without the armor, Abaddon doesn't exist.

[Tamera Beck]

"Oh."

She blinked, not exactly sure what to say to the possibility of a museum tour of Ori's scars.

Looking away then, Beck bit her lip in thought as she worked her way through the afterbits of... well... of everything.

A determination to push on sent her features into a more relaxed expression, and she blew out a long breath. Her hand, moving from the door panel and to her luggage, quickly unzipped a front compartment. A few seconds of searching, and she pulled a crinkling cellophane bag out, holding it up with an almost sheepish glint in her bespectacled eyes.

"So, we never got to finish lunch, but I've got some Aaitaka Flame Crisps I didn't finish on the flight, if you're still hungry. Also," another bit of digging, and a wrapped pack of Fiaasa cookies were pulled out.

She held both up.

It was a paltry peace offering of sorts, and she felt awkward even offering, but it was better than nothing. Then again, Cizerack snack foods were a weakness of hers, and it was the best she could do right now.

[Codename: Abaddon]

My ears perked up and I bit my lip at the sight of those familiar bags. I was starving again. Those rolls felt like a lifetime ago to me. So much had happened to us. So much running and stressing. All this drama. The very idea of the familiar taste of ho- No. Not home. I hate home. Taste of childhood. That's it. The taste of childhood would do a whole lot to calm these nerves of mine.

"Oh!"

I thought of something. Almost completely forgotten. I moved back over to where my bag laid, and began pulling things out as I dug down. Cans of polish, a brightly colored floral shirt large enough to fit an armored man, and a few articles of female clothing before I finally pulled out a container of Prrangaals in their telltale tube container. "jI got Nachossplossjion. jIt'll be a feasst."

I tried to smile but it came out awkwardly. I wasn't used to this sort of thing. Having to show my face and talk to people face to face like this. I usually had an inch of reinforced transparisteel buffering between me and others. I still felt naked and exposed with my helmet off but somehow it wasn't as bad as I felt it should be. Beck was being really nice, considering everything.

Dammit if that didn't make her so much hotter.

I tore open the lid and seal on the tube, which involved a lot of fumbling with all this armor on. Finally I got it open and popped one in my mouth, letting the slightly curved chip crunch between my teeth noisily. Not a very good place for a meal, even if it was just snack foods. No real furniture here and I was not going to trust it to hold my armor again. Last thing I needed was a bill for the damages. The floor it is. I plopped down with my back against the bed and gestured Beck over with the open tube.

[Tamera Beck]

Prangaals!!

Stars, she'd not had those in years. Feeling somewhat more at ease, Beck moved to sit beside Ori before reaching a hand in to pull out one of those glorious, curved crisps. Popping it into her mouth, she bit down. Eyes closed, and she let that wondrous taste crash over her tongue as she started to chew. Swallowing, she leaned back against the edge of the bed.

"Maaannnn," there was a long sigh that she let out.

"I haven't had Prangaals in ages."

The Aaitaka Flame Crisps and Fiaasa cookies were wedged between them in the next moment, and Beck licked her lips.

"You know, if this place has room service, we might be able to get them to deliver more snacks... ?"

[Codename: Abaddon]

"jIt's defjinjiteljy not that kjind of place."

Speaking around the half chewed chip, I made of show of glancing around the room, focusing in turn on scuffed floors, chipped plaster walls, and the stained drapes over the single window. There was a real good reason I was staying in this place; because it was cheap, and cheap places are a dump. There was no way they had room service, and if they did I wouldn't trust it.

"jIt's morre of a 'twelve channels of holonet included!' kjind of place. Therre's a sstrreet sshop arround the corrnerr. I can rrun out and grrab morre ssnackss."

Selecting a fiaasa cookie from her bag, I chomped down into it for emphasis.

[Tamera Beck]

The thought of more snack foods was always a welcome one, and Tamera nodded in agreement.

"That sounds good," she mumbled while hitching up one one hip and digging into her front pocket for a credit chit. Pulling it out, she checked the amount that had been keyed to it.

"I've got about... 35 credits here."

It wasn't a lot, but it was definitely enough for a feast of tasty snacks.

"I'll come with you."

[Codename: Abaddon]

I couldn't say much. It was probably more credits than I had left in my account. Oh wait, I never paid for that lunch. Yeah. I got a bit more then. Oh shit, those shop owners are probably looking for us too.

"That gujy mjight be out therre lookjing forr jyou. Prrobss besst jyou sstajy herre and lajy low. Jusst jin casse."

[Reginald Buckley III]

Beck and that armored thug had disappeared through the grungy double doors of a seedy motel, disappearing like wallbugs scattering in light. The Trandoshan at the front desk had only given a mild grunt, not even looking away from the holoviewer that - of course - had some trashy holonovela playing. And so he'd set off without a second thought, moving past the old vending units and ice makers, and into the hallways that branched off into rooms. The first floor was a bust. The second floor... well, he'd been to at least half of the rooms on it so far. For every lowlife that opened the door to his knock, he'd been repulsed, and grunted his dissatisfaction appropriately.

"Nevermind."

"Sorry, wrong room."

"My mistake, looking for someone else."

Each excuse was less than heartfelt, and he had no reason to keep the disdainful tone from seeping through.

With a sigh, Reginald stopped at yet another door. His hand reached up, and he pounded on the thin metal surface with a closed fist.

[Codename: Abaddon]

I could feel my ear twitching absently at the incessant knocking that was sounding off from the down the hall, slowly creeping closer this whole time without realizing it until it dawned on me just now. Turning my head I stared at the door. Listening. Another knock. The reverberation of speech. Somebody was talking. I couldn't understand it. The words were lost in the echo. I looked back at Beck and motioned my fingers to my lips and moved up against the door. I waited, listening for the sign. There, the knock. Classic three rap pattern. I opened the door on the second one, hoping it would mask the sound and carefully pulled the door open enough to squeeze my armored frame out and look down the hall toward the source of the noise.

I saw him. It was unmistakable. That chubba-lubba body, fizzy hair, and forever a virgin face. I pulled myself back inside and slipped the door shut again, stepping back like it had bitten me. I looked at Beck. "jIt'ss hjim, agajin."

This guy was determined. I know I told Beck to come over and lay low, but I didn't expect this guy to actually show up. I just wanted to get that sweet thing alone. Fuck this guy, stomping in here and ruining this great moment. I was so close, I could taste it. Taste her. Every fiber of my being wanted to grab my helmet, step out there, and beat the guy until he couldn't get back up again. But what would that do? It'd just get a lot of heat on my tail and make my life a lot harder. Last thing I needed was word to get around that Abaddon is in town. Every bond jumper in the sector will go hiding under their rocks and I'll never get the quick credits I need to get my ship back and get back in business.

I needed another solution, and quick. He was only a few doors down.

"jI have an jidea."

A playful wink was the only thing I could think to do. Maybe it would reassure her. Not as cool being said in my own voice. Abaddon's would sound a lot cooler. I stepped over to the bed and turned around, reaching a hand into the helmet joint of my armor as I did so. I fumbled for a second trying to find the release toggle but when I did I immediately felt the telltale rush of cold air as the invisible seem down the back of my armor split open. The temperature change sent chills up my spine and goosebumps across my skin. I'd been wearing the armor for a day and a half. You get used to the climate control. The real air was so much more unforgiving. The armor peeled and opened. There was not much clearance. Not in armor this size, but I'm quite a bit smaller than the armor, and there was just enough room to squeeze out the now open back.

I hit the ground, stumbling a bit as I did. Beck seemed to much taller without Abaddon's armor to prop me up. I shivered again. The tight, formfitting black body sock did little protect from the elements, or hide anything. I could feel my cheeks warming at the realization of just how much was on show, especially in this cold room.

"G-go hjide jin the bathrroom. jI'll trrjick hjim."

Another knock sounded off. Closer. Across the hall. I pulled the blanket off the bed and tipped Abaddon's armor over and on to the covers. It was a lot lighter without my skinny ass in it, but that didn't make it light. It shook the bed down to it's frame. Not exactly how I planned on breaking the bed today. I tossed the blanket over the top and made it look as best I could to look like a person sleeping. My hands shook as I grabbed my luggage and grabbed one of the long shirts I liked to sleep in. Black with a TRABK band logo printed on the front. It was enough to cover up my exposed body and make myself a little presentable.

I moved to the door, really wishing I had a blaster, just as the knock sounded out. Three raps. I tried to steady my hands, looked back at beck in the bathroom door, gave her a smile and motioned for her to hide, and then I opened the door to reveal that annoying face.

"What?"

[Reginald Buckley III]

The face that greeted him was... rough. Girl looked like she'd seen some things, and with that ear gone like it was, Reg figured that she'd probably had it chewed off by some alley anooba.

He cleared his throat, not even bothering to hide the fact that he was staring.

"Looking for a lady and some guy in a silly helmet," he got out, and finally pulling his eyes away from her features, he sent his gaze past her and into what he could see of the room.

"You seen anyone like that?"

[Codename: Abaddon]

He looked a lot bigger now, without my armor on. It took me a moment to find my words, to know that my voice would be steady. I needed to sell this. I hated feeling this way. Abaddon wouldn't put up with this shit. He'd punch this guy in the face and go on his way, or talk him into a corner and make him shit his pants. Ori wasn't as powerful or as intimidating. All I could do was try my best to look unafraid and disinterested.

Silly helmet!? SILLY HELMET! I could feel my jaw clenching.

"'frrajid not, forrda."

[Reginald Buckley III]

"You sure?"

His voice sounded distracted, as he let his gaze sweep around what small view of the room's interior that was available. It wasn't much, but he did catch site of the corner of a piece of luggage. A rather familiar piece, at that.

A hrmph, and he tracked his eyes back to the Queen of Scars.

Pulling out a slim flimsi-card, he held it out to her.

"You see them, give me a call."

[Codename: Abaddon]

Plucking the flimsi from his hand I couldn't count on my nerves to keep my hand from shaking, so I curled my fingers into a fist and turned the card awkwardly around and tried to read it, but the lighting was bad between the gloomy room and the lighting in the hallway that had the softest mood lighting ever. Still, I played the part, pretending to read, all the way trying to keep my hand from shaking. It felt like all the blood in my body was turning cold. I felt rigid and melted at the same time. I managed a few words from my rapidly drying mouth.

"Wjill do. Betterr be a rrewarrd."

I smiled. Kinda. Something I hoped was at least socially warm. It made me sick to even do it to him. I leaned my body back through the portal and hit the controls softly to close the door, keeping my movements paced when all I wanted to do was smash that panel as hard and fast as I could. I needed a barrier between us. Soon as the door slid shut I hit the locking mechanism and in that moment I could finally breath; only I couldn't find my breath. My hands were shaking so badly. All I could think to do was turn around and lean my back against the door and look at them, shaking in the gloom.

I curled them into fists, trying to banish the shakes, and when I finally felt like I could will the words out of my mouth I looked toward the Fresher door and said those two words; "He's gone."

And in this moment I have never felt like more of a wimp.

[Tamera Beck]

Carefully, the door cracked open to allow a sliver of a view, but a moment later the door opened fully, and Tamera let out a long, pent-up sigh.

"Woo," she breathed out. She hadn't realized how nerve-wracking the last minute or so had been, until she started to breathe once more.

"What's that," she looked at the flimsi-card in Ori's hand, "... he give you his card?"

Reg was so weird.

A little bit high on adrenaline still, she couldn't help the evil grin that tugged at her features.

"He never gives anyone his card," a bizarre slap of her hands together, and she waggled a finger at Ori, "... he must like yoouu."

[Codename: Abaddon]

"He'ss not mjy tjype. jI don't do men."

I wasn't sure a man like that was anyone's type. All I did know is that if Abaddon ever runs across officer piggy-pop again he was going to get it. For real. I wouldn't kill the fucker, but it would be wrong to not break both of his orbital sockets. That way he won't be able to look at me like that ever again.

Ugh, I'm being such a downer now. Nobody ever complains that Abaddon is a downer. They say he's annoying and chauvinistic but never depressing. I gotta turn this around. Say something funny, or cool, or witty! Come on Ori, you can do it. Here goes...

"jI prreferr moussjy brrunettess wjith cute glassssess..." Abort, abort! I feels too real! Turn it into a joke! "...and chjipss. Sstjill want morre ssnackss frrom the sstorre?"

[Tamera Beck]

A bright smile at the thought of snacks masked over the surprise at Ori's first words, and Tamera nodded enthusiastically.

"Of course I do," she continued to grin.

Sidestepping Ori, she made her way back to where she'd set the credits she'd fished from her pocket, and palming the chit whirled around to hand it over.

"And if they have any dewback jerky, you should get some of that, too. Oh! And some of those White Talon drinks; Namana flavored, if they have it."

[Codename: Abaddon]

Taking a mental list I tried my best to commit to memory everything Beck was asking for. Knowing my luck I would forget halfway there. Hey, it's hard to remember stuff when your constantly thinking about a million other and sometimes more important things. Like does a Deltech P77 shoot faster than a Excel-Arms Tactical Bolter Mk. II? I just don't know. Their specs are the same on the manufacturer netsites but when fired side by side they are simply not the same! There is something different and it haunts me that I cannot figure out what it is! Shit. Now I'm thinking about it again.

"Got jit."

I took the credits from her and stepped over to my luggage. The casual big shirt tossed over a skin tight body suit might have worked for answering the door but it was hardly the sort of thing I was prepared to wear in public. Abaddon had that kind of self assurance but I sure as fuck don't. I was already trying my best to not think about what Beck had already seen. The body suit didn't leave much to the imagination and I know what my body looks like. Compared to Beck's voluptuous bod I feel like a scrawny nuna chick. I didn't exactly pack to impress anything. What clothes I had were meant to be worn in my off-time, and in secrecy to hide, you know, who I am. There wasn't much choice, so I slipped on a pair of stretch pants and shoes. Black of course, and ran a hand through my messy hair again.

My face felt exposed, but it was just a quick trip to the store. Abaddon had more enemies than I did. I should be fine.

"I'll be right back. jIf fattjy comess back, therre'ss a rrealljy bjig knjife jin mjy bag."

I moved to the door and grabbed the controls with my hand and looked back at Beck, and tried my very best to toss her a wink and a kiss that felt more like I was having a stroke, and hurriedly ran out the door to hide the blush I could feel hitting my ear. Stupid, stupid! Why did I think that would work, I thought as the door whooshed shut behind me. Ugh. This day keeps getting worse. Things are so weird now. Totally blown my shot. I don't know why I am even still trying.

I tried to keep my mind occupied with other things. The trip was uneventful. The store had a full selection of snack foods and I quickly grabbed what I could with the pooled credits. Namana flavored White Talon. Guy behind the counter didn't even ask me for my ID. Guess the scars and the chewed up ear was enough for him. Sweet and Spicy Dewback Jerky. There was a serious lack of Cizerack snacks, but that shouldn't be that surprising this far from the cluster. I did find some adequate stand ins. Nibiskii Borios Twice Filled Creme Cookies, Tortillious Hot Cheese chips; and then I stumbled across a collection of chips I haven't seen before. They were definitely not Cizerack snacks. I couldn't find a Cluster signet on the packaging anywhere. They were definitely some kind of off-world ripoff. Sol Chips, it said boldly in front of the figure of an illuminated figure that was definitely not the Goddess of the Sun but strongly resembled all the same. The heresy was hilarious. I had to get these. I grabbed a few different bags of exciting sounding flavors.

Some beer would really go well with the snacks but I didn't have enough credits. Damn. Some other time, you sweet, delicious brew. Maybe after I finish a few local jobs I'll have the credits to get some proper booze. Maybe that's the secret to Beck's heart. Get her liquored up. Definitely worked on a lot of other women in my past. The sober morning was usually a nightmare but worth it, bro.

Loading all the snacks into a couple of bags I went right back to the motel room, with my eyes on a swivel for that weirdo with the tiny eyes. Pushing open the door I heaved the loot in ahead of me, shaking the bags for Beck to see.

[Tamera Beck]

It was as though Ori had returned with the Great Treasures of Morizanura, with those bulging bags hefted up with both of her hands like glittering trophies for the world to see. And right now, that was exactly what they were.

She'd been sitting on the bed, idly cycling through the basic holochannels on the screen, but was instantly on her feet at the sight of her new friend and the glorious crinkling of cellophane wrappings sounding from with those two plastic bags. How often was it that she'd been essentially saved from some silly extradition attempt, only to be showered with snacks and a place to hide out for the time being?! Maybe to some folks who led far more adventurous lives it was a common occurance, but for her this was completely new, and a little bit exciting, even!

Course, in the back of her mind were those words that Ori had spoken, bouncing around still, but for now her thoughts remained focused on their 'dinner'.

"That was quick!"

Reg hadn't come back, thankfully, and Beck decided that for now, it was best to simply enjoy the company, the food, and the fact that for now she was safely ensconced in a dingy hotel room that had become a saving grace, with another woman who it seemed was making sure that they were both undisturbed by a silly man trying to get her back for outrunning him during the Turbolaser Run. Talk about a sore loser.

Taking one of the bags so that Ori could finish shutting the door, Beck gave a quick smile as she set it on the bed.

"You made out like a bandit!"

[Codename: Abaddon]

"Fjind anjythjing good on the holo?"

I followed her in and set my bag down on the bed. The parts of it not occupied by the "sleeping" armor. I was going to have to move that armor at some point, which was going to be a real pain now that it was laying down and impossible to climb back into. That meant heaving it to the floor if I wanted to use the bed for sleep tonght; or other activities. Wishful thinking as it was. I shoved a hand into the bag and pulled free one of the bags of knock off snacks. There was no way to not look at the cover and chuckle. It was hilarious! I would have to mail a bag back home. That would put a right curl on her face.

"You've gotta check out thosse Ssol chjipss. What rrjip offss. Ssol Chjipss. Golden Harrvesst flavorr."

The bag ripped easily between my fingers as I pulled it's side apart. I didn't have the nails to tear it open. I kept those badboys filed down. They got in the way more often than they were useful. Male armor isn't exactly designed with long nails in mind. There were plenty of other applications in which short fingernails were ideal, but not the sort you run home and tell mother about. Grabbing one thick cut, wavy chip out of the bag I slipped it into my mouth and chomped down. Texture was a little stale, flavor a little mild, but it was definitely a cheese flavor. Hard to pinpoint the exact kind. Sorta tasted like a bunch of artificial cheese flavors mixed together. It was gross, but in a good way. Like, I could eat the whole bag but I know I would complain about the flavor the whole time.

[Tamera Beck]

Practically without thinking she reached out, digging out one of the chips from the bag that was held her way. Popping it into her mouth, Tamera gave a cautious, initial chomp, the after a moment to let the processed 'cheese' flavor to settle on her tongue, she resumed her chewing. A hasty swallow, and a smile was sent Ori's way.

"Not bad!"

In the next moment she scooped up the remote and switched to one of the few basic channels on the holoviewer.

"M*I*S*H is on, that old Imperial hospital sitcom."

'I don't even know why they're shooting at us." The image of a sharp-eyed surgeon was reclined on a cot, in a ramshackle permatent littered with all manner of dirty clothes and other odds and ends.

'All we're doing is trying to bring them order and fried ronto bologne sandwiches... '

Tamera hit the mute button, refocusing her attentions to the treasure trove of snacks that Ori had brought in. The pack of dewback jerky caught her eye, and she pulled it close, tearing at the pre-cut notch to open it up with a 'zniippp'! Two fingers went in, and came back out with a tasty chunk which was soon enough torn in two pieces by her teeth.

It was... it was good, and she chewed in near euphoria.

"Oh mannnn... "

[Codename: Abaddon]

"jI guessss Mando'a rrerrunss arre too much to assk forr."

It definitely would be a better show than whatever this was. I didn't even recognize what I was watching. Although, I had to admit, I was enjoying the witty, biting sarcasm of what I assume is the lead character. Really sticking it to the man with his social commentary, or something like that. I was only half paying attention, after all. I don't know what it was with these gross chips, but damn if I couldn't stop eating them. I walked over to the foot of the bed and looked down at the shape of the armor underneath the covers. Dammit. I really want to sit down, and I'm going to need to sleep at some point. I have a big day tomorrow after all. Shit.

Setting the bag down I pulled the covers off the top of the dented and scraped armor. It was so weird to see it there like that. Usually it was something I saw in the mirror, or in sick selfies I took for my Hologram page. No time to dwell on that. It was creeping me out too much already. I shoved my hands underneath the shoulder and lifted the damn thing, moving my knee on to the bed for more leverage until I finally tipped and pushed it off and on to the floor.

"Phew. Betterr."

I tossed the blanket back over the top and plopped at the foot of the bed. Much better than standing. Just needed more more thing to make it better.

"Come on, ssjit down."

[Tamera Beck]

It didn't take much convincing, since the bed was surprisingly comfortable... well, comfortable for a cheap hotel, at least.

Chewing on the last bit of her small chunk of jerky, Beck happily situated herself with remote in one hand and a fistful of crisps in the other.

"So," she swallowed the last of her jerky quickly while continuing to surf through the holochannels, "... tomorrow. You going to go out and do- " a general wave to the gear that Ori had both in and out of her bags, "- whatever you need to do here?"

It was a stupid question on its face more than likely, but Beck had hardly any idea of how these sorts of things worked, and what sorts of schedules were made and kept.

[Codename: Abaddon]

Bending down I ran my hands through the bags again until I found that familiar cold, cylinder shape and pulled one of the White Talons out and popped it open even as I settled back into the foot of the bed.

Beck asked me a question about work, and well, it felt really weird in the pit of my stomach to answer that question. It was an Abaddon question. The answer would definitely have sounded better coming from his helmet than my dumb mouth but I tried anyway.

"Uh, yeah. jI'm trrackjing a bajil jumperr. Hasshjin ssomethjing. jI have hjiss bountjy orrderr arround herre ssomewherre. He'ss verrjy late forr hjiss trrjial on Orrd Mantell, orr majybe jit wass one of the otherr Orrdss. Drrug possssessssjion and djisstrrjibutjion, ssecond degrree mansslaughterr, assssault wjith a deadljy weapon. He was sselljing tajinted ssaltljick to kjidss. Rreal asssshole."

I slipped another chip into my mouth real quick so I would stop talking and then washed it down with the White Talon. I wasn't the biggest Namana lover. Sure, the real stuff was okay but the flavored stuff often had an artificial flavor to it. Still, this was pretty good and the bubble texture gave me something to focus on instead of all the stupid stuff falling out of my mouth. It was better than focusing on how painfully close she was now. Just right there. I could scooch over just a bit and our hips would touch, maybe just a stretch and an arm fall. Yawn or no yawn? I don't think I can do it. No way I'm smooth enough for that, and she's so nice, and so pretty, and- oh god. I can feel my ear blushing. Cinnamon toast fuck, focus on the bubbles!

[Tamera Beck]

"Sounds like a real... piece of work."

It was all she could think of to say in the face of everything, and Beck focused on the holo for a few moments, only halfway paying attention to the show. Hawkbat, the lankier of the two in the permatent, was grumbling about something, then ambled up off of his cot and sauntered through the entry flap. Another few characters approached him in a hurry; she recognized this episode; she'd seen it often enough. Some young group of stormtroopers were all in the recovery tents after an ambush, and Hawkbat was just starting to question why it was that the Empire was always fighting against the Rebels.

Peeling her eyes from the current scene, Beck looked at the bedside comm unit.

"I should probably call my great-aunt," she finally mused in a low mumble. It was obvious that she could think of much more enjoyable things to do rather than call her long-distanced kin. Like sawing her foot off.

Her gaze suddenly went to Ori.

"You ever had to call family that you didn't want to call?"

[Codename: Abaddon]

I felt my ear drooping before I had even fully considered the question. The chip in my hand just sort of fell out from between fingers and back into the bag while I desperately tried to find somewhere else to put my eyes, trying to find something to change the subject. I didn't want to answer the question. I hated talking about myself, about Orianna. She's a real fuck up with a whole bunch of problems I don't want to even think about. I would much rather be Abaddon. His parents died when he was a child and he's a kickass orphan because of it. Trained by Juraiyan monks, even!

"jYeah. jI know that feel."

Like last year when I ran out of credits and I had to go crawling back to mom with my, well, stump between my legs I guess. She is always so eager to have me back. Thinks she's finally won and I'll behave and carry on the family name, but it's always a ruse. By the time she's gotten out her list of the richest, most powerful suitors with the strongest genes I'm already dropping out the window with her golden, diamond encrusted Saanjarra statue. She deserves it. She really does. I won't feel bad for her. I refuse. Not after all the shit she's pulled. I am not some key to a better social status. If she wants to be a Meorrrei so badly she can marry them herself.

"Ssometjimess jyou jusst gotta rrjip that patch off and get jit overr wjith. jyou know? Betterr ssoonerr than laterr."