Run Lupine Run (Vega)

Dripping entrails and ichor, the vornskyr looked up abruptly, yellow eyes meeting a pair of pale ones from the doorway. The beast blinked slowly, long tongue licking the slim muzzle clean.

Then it stumbled, heaving and vomiting up blood and flesh from its stomach. With a keening whine, the vornskyr turned and trotted down the alleyway, breaking into a slow run as it searched for a place to hide until it felt better.

The majesty of the beast was somewhat tarnished as it heaved up the contents of its stomach. For a moment Vega had thought that it might attack him, that he might have the chance to face it in battle, but that was not the case. It seemed that the stupor that had plagued Arya as a human had crossed over into her four-footed form. While she hadn't passed out yet, Van-Derveld was sure that it was only a matter of time before she collapsed somewhere. Though he had been sent to follow her, it was quite possible that he might have to protect her also, to ensure that she completed the task set to her by the Executor... and so Vega followed the swerving vornskyrs steps.

The vornskyr could not keep up the faster pace for long, her eyesight starting to get fuzzy around the edges. The myriad of scents from the different alleys she found herself in only seemed to turn the beast's stomach more.

She stopped two more times to empty her stomach, the third time only managing to bring up stomach acid. Coughing and whining, the vornskyr crawled behind a garbage dumpster, tucking her nose between her forelegs and curling up miserably. After a few minutes Arya had passed out cold - and the reversion to her human form came over her.

He found her lying cold and naked on the ground. Stood over the motionless body, Vega wondered what the Executor would have had him do in this situation. It was not his place to coddle her. He would not interfere unless it was entirely necessary. It would not do, however, to have her die from the cold. In the dumpster he found some scraps of material, the leftovers from a ship refit. They would serve as a fine makeshift blanket.

He crouched at Arya's side and paused a minute or so, simply watching her as she twitched now and then, perhaps already in some dream. Apparently satisfied, he draped the ragged cloth over her before retreating to a safe distance. Having served as a snowtrooper, Vega was no stranger to spending his time in such conditions. The cold did not bother him at all. If anything, his surroundings would only be of help – ensuring that he did not fall asleep throughout the night, his dead eyes watching always through the darkness.

Arya stirred, elbows scraping against hard ground, and then she abruptly sat up, knocking her head against a metal dumpster on the way up. She was naked. And according to the smell, she was not alone.

Whoever was in the alley with her would have been alerted to her presence when she banged her head on the dumpster. She shivered with cold, almost thankful for the long nights she'd spent in the care of Imperial Intelligence, being half frozen. Then again, not thankful at all. She pulled a bit of fabric around her shoulders as she remained hidden behind the trash recepticle, trying to remember how she'd gotten there.

Nothing. She had a headache, which meant... yeah she'd been drinking. More than usual, because she was usually exempt from hangovers. Well, I can't stay behind here forever. Her clothes were probably long gone from wherever it was she'd left them. Her weapons... still locked up at The Blind Bantha.

"Frelling dren," she cursed, dragging herself to her feet and looking around for whoever it was in the alley. Maybe she could get some clothes after all.

Crouched in the space between two buildings that backed onto the alley, between Van-Derveld did not move. Khendon had informed him that even as a human, the smuggler possessed a keen sense of smell. As she lingered in the alleyway, it seemed almost certain that she had caught his scent. He closed his eyes, so that the light would not reflect in them. He did not plan to reveal himself to her. He had been ordered to shadow her, without interfering unless it seemed she no longer intended to honor her promise to the Executor.

She couldn't pick out any movements, which was unfortunate, because that meant she was still without clothing. She wasn't a prude, but walking around in the buff on Nar Shaddaa, regardless of the level one was one, was not a good idea. Especially if you were female. The fabric she'd crawled underneath of while in her vornskyr form would have to do. For now.

Arya tied a scrap of what appeared to be old upholstery material around her waist, fashioning a short skirt. Another was tied around her breasts. She couldn't see her reflection, but she was pretty sure she looked like a hooker. Wetting her hands in a puddle, she slicked her hair back.

First things first - back to The Blind Bantha for her weapons. And hopefully her clothes, if they were still around. Then she'd return to the docks and see if there was any work to be had. Around here, someone always wanted something moved.

Walking barefoot down the alley, she stopped at the junction between two buildings, her nostrils flaring again. A bum, perhaps? Sleeping? Whoever it was smelled too clean to be a bum from Nar Shaddaa.

It seemed inevitable, now, that she would find him. Using the Force to hide himself was out of the question, as this would only trigger the involuntary change that Khendon described. As Arya neared, he leaned back – still crouching against one of the walls, and craned his neck to look up at her. He was barely visible in the darkness, little more than a pale, floating head.

“As flattering as that outfit is, you might want to reconsider. The streets of Nar Shaddaa aren't safe, especially at night.”

Arya glared at the pale face, even while a memory seemed to be triggered in her mind. She couldn't recall when she'd seen him. "No one asked you, laserbrains."

She paused in the middle of turning away. "Though, since you seem so concerned, maybe your jacket would help cover me up." She was fairly sure he was wearing a jacket. Most males did.

The smuggler stuck her index finger at him, almost as a child's approximation of a blaster. "So why don't you hand it over?"

Slowly, Vega got to his feet. “I'm sure we can find you something more suitable on one of the local streetwalkers,” he replied, with a smirk.

"That's it." She sized him up. With his pale and sinister features, the man seemed ominous enough, but he was only two inches taller than her, and didn't seem too muscular. Ready to give the first blow, Arya paused.

"Wait, off one of the local streetwalkers? How do you know I'm not one?" The normal assumption in this part of Nar Shaddaa would have been that she was a prostitute. She squinted at him. Something in the memory of the Beast stirred. "Wait, you were at The Blind Bantha, weren't you..."

Any ordinary Human wouldn't have been able to tell Vega apart from a death-stick machine, had they been in Arya's heavily inebriated state of mind. Apparently her species had perks that the Executor hadn't noticed.

“Yes. Small world, isn't it?”

"Too small." Her clothes were probably outside the bar. No, had probably been stolen outside the bar. Her eyes twitched from his face, and then she brushed past him, stalking up the crevice between the two buildings.

Mortie did not sleep. Not ever. He bounced and sproinged and morphed and made a general mess of things, but he didn't go to bed.

Mortie did, however, spend seven days a year in a completely relaxed and unresponsive state which enabled him to recharge his intense little self. During these refresh periods, his globular frame was rendered a mere pink puddle of goo incapable of anything but sitting goo-like on the ground--or, as in this last 'de-morphing' cycle, underneath Arya's bed in the smuggler's ship.

With a sluggish hover the tiny pink orb floated into the cockpit, blinking wearily; he was always groggy for a few minutes after reforming. Upon seeing no Arya in the cockpit, Mortie spiralled out and down the passage, into the 'fresher. He let out a warble before entering, just in case his favorite person in the whole wide universe wasn't decent and prepared to duck any towels that could possibly be hurtled at him; He was almost dissapointed wasn't smooshed by an airborne washcloth.

As it became clear that Arya wasn't aboard ship, Mortie became increasingly frantic. Screeching loudly the creature throttled himself from one end of the ship to the other, managing to smash and knock over many an item, before finally cycloning in a fit of pink bubbles. When the bubbles subsided, a perfect miniature of one Arya Ravenwing stood, tapping a boot impatiently. Hands on her hips the tiny smuggler shouted, "Where the frell are you?" Her tinny voice echoed in the vast, empty vessel.

There was only one thing to be done.

Across from The Wing of the Raven a passing mechanic watched as the hatch opened and a tiny, wolf-like creature with one pink paw trotted out, sniffed the ground intently and took off running down the street...

Van-Derveld turned, calling after his half-naked prey: “If you're thinking about going back to the Bantha, I'd think again. Let the manager cool down a little. I don't expect he'd be too pleased to see you now, after you left such a mess outside of his bar.”

She lifted one hand, flipping the pale man a rude gesture, and continued on her way. Her clothes wouldn't be there, but her weapons were. But, he had a point. The owner of The Blind Bantha would be about as reasonable as a rabid wampa when she asked for her guns back.

If he had put together that she was responsible for the dead bodies out in the alley behind his bar. Wait, dead bodies? She shuddered as that memory made itself clear. She kept walking though - no need for Whitey to think his words had made an impression.

Streetwalker... streetwalker. Something about what he'd said seemed relevant. Ah. Arya made a right turn at the next available alley, and headed towards the nearest traffic canyon. There were always prostitutes about this far down (well, on Nar Shaddaa it didn't really matter what level you were on), and what they were wearing was probably more appropriate than what she was.

It was only a matter of moments before Vega caught up, walking at Arya's heels, her shadow. “You shouldn't be walking around here alone, looking like that.” Though he had seen that she could defend herself when provoked, he doubted that she wanted to wake up cold and naked in another alleyway after the beast within over had taken over her defenses.

She looked sideways at him, but kept walking. "I'm not stupid, you know. Look, I'm not interested, just leave me alone."

Whitey seemed unwilling to allow her out of his sight, however, and so Arya studiously ignored him. He seemed harmless enough. After a minute or two of walking, they came out near a canyon. And near a group of women of the night, so to speak.

Arya was hoping to simply steal some more appropriate clothing off of one of them, but she squawked when she saw one of them wearing her jacket. "Bitch!" she hollered, stalking over in her bare feet. As the weathered looking female turned to see what was going on, Arya punched her right in the nose. The prostitute went down easy, ha ha, blood dripping out from between her hands as she grabbed her face.

Even in human form, Ravenwing had quite a bite. Vega stood at a short distance away, like a spectator ring-side at the shock-boxing, watching as Arya let the whore know just what she thought of stealing. The other 'ladies' of the evening looked disgusted, torn between standing up to the attacker and running away. One particularly catty girl clawed at Arya from behind, determined not to be the next victim.

Another woman jumped on Arya's back, pulling at her hair. The smuggler reached blindly behind her with one hand, and stuck her finger right in the hooker's eye. She screeched and stumbled backwards, leaving Arya to resume pulling her jacket off of the first woman. There was some blood on it, but nothing that wouldn't wipe clean. The lining was red, anyway.

Arya grabbed the prostitute with the busted nose by the front of her... shirt?... and pulled her half off the ground to get eye to eye with her. "Where's the rest of it!? Where is the rest of it?"

The woman blubbered, but pointed to a nearby building and managed to give her apartment number to the smuggler. Arya dropped her back to the ground, shrugged on her jacket, and gave Whitey a look that dared him to do anything as she strode towards the apartment building. Well, it was a structure of some kind, but the units were plain and cheap and there were glit biters in the stairwells.