Run Lupine Run (Vega)

Thin and hungry, Arya blinked at the bright sunlight on the landing pad she was being escorted out to. Executor Sevon was as good as his word, and The Wing of the Raven was waiting for her, smelling of freedom.

The shapeshifter scratched at her temple, where thin scars had formed just below and into her hairline. The wounds sustained from silver did not heal as quickly as she was used to. She walked towards the freighter, running her hands along the hull. A stormtrooper opened the hatch for her, extending the ramp. They'd redone her security codes, she noticed, trying not to glare at the troopers too much. After all, she was free to go.

Arya pulled her thin nerfhide jacket around her, and walked up the ramp, boots clunking against the deck plating. "Thanks for everything, fellas, but I can take it from here."

The stormtroopers who'd escorted her to the ship were waiting silently. "I'm not going to tip you, if that's what you're waiting for." She slapped her palm against the controls, retracting the ramp and closing up the freighter. Mortie was nowhere to be found, but the tiny blob had most likely jumped ship while it was impounded. Or was hiding somewhere, waiting to surprise her when she least expected it.

She slid into the pilot's seat, and started up the engines. Go find s'Ilancy, they told her. Yeah, she'd look for the woman, but first she had something to do.

Wing of the Raven took off from the landing pad, soaring into the Coruscant sky.

Not long after the departure of the Wing of the Raven the second of the Executor's recently released prisoners was escorted to one of Coruscant's many launchpads. His eyes narrowed against the harsh light of day, though were soon spared the strain as the bulk of a ship obscured the sun. The patrol of stormtroopers that had served as an escort, whilst making sure to maintain a fair cautious distance from their charge, gave a brisk salute, signaling their arrival.

Disdain was evident in Vega Van-Derveld eyes, as he looked over the assembled soldiers and recalled his own time as a buckethead. He had moved on to greater things now. His first task, as the bloodhound of the Imperial Executor Khendon Sevon, was to follow and monitor Arya Ravenwing. Sevon had entreated Ravenwing with a mission of some personal interest and importance, and it fell to Van-Derveld to ensure that the smuggler did not become sidetracked along the way.

Along with his traveling companion and slave Sibylle, he boarded the YT-1930 Voracious – once badly damaged, but now given a second-wind by the Executor's mechanics. With Vega at the controls, the ship made a beeline for the stars above. Its long-range sensors activated, a course was set to follow in the wake of the Wing of the Raven, keeping at all times a fair distance behind. Until the time at which Arya landed, Vega was free to acquaint himself with his prey - reviewing the data that Sevon had provided on the smugglers unique species...

She was greenlit for departure and didn't have to wait around for permission from sector authorities to break for open space. The smuggler throttled up while the navcomp spit out coordinates to her destination: Nar Shaddaa.

Smashing in someone's head would make her feel better about her predicament. After all, if someone hadn't doubled up on the shipment to Corellia, she never would have been captured by the Imperials in the first place. The Chevvette77 freighter eased into hyperspace, and Arya headed for her bunk to rest. No one was going to pop around the corner and jab her with a shockprod, hopefully, and she was exhausted.

beep beep beep

Arya pried open her eyes, glaring at the alert light on the wall. "What now?" All she wanted to do was sleep. No, wait. The smuggler looked at the chrono. "Frelling..." She sat up and swung her legs over the side of her bed. She didn't even remember falling asleep!

She got to the cockpit in time to monitor the reversion to real space. The Smugglers Moon and it's orbiting ring of decrepit and derelict ships and other space garbage filled her viewscreen. Home sweet home. Arya took the controls to manually fly through the debris field.

As well as making some improvements to the Voracious, the Imperial mechanics had taken the liberty of installing a number of devices on board the Wing that would allow Vega to keep up with his vagrant prey. The first of which would allow Van-Derveld to monitor all communications to and from Arya's ship, whilst the second would enable him to keep track of her ships jump. It was this latter device that found him breaking into the orbit of Nar Shaddaa, a well-known haunt for Ravenwing's ilk. Vega had experienced first hand the depravity of the Smugglers Moon as part of an Imperial garrison; it was a dark place, amongst whose lowlifes he was sure he would blend-in quite nicely.

After landing the empty freighter, Arya used the ship's comm to dial up an old friend.

"Cloo here."

"Cloo, old buddy. Its Ravenwing." She made a strangling pantomime with her hands.

"Ravenwing? What are you doing here!?" The Rodian sounded positively thrilled to hear from her. In a oh-gods-she's-going-to-kill-me sort of way.

"Oh you know, looking up my old friends." Arya pulled her blaster and checked to make sure the powercells were full. They were.

"Anything Cloo can do for you, you let me know." Talking about himself in the third person. Definetely nervous.

She smiled, "Well, there is something you can do."

"Oh? Is it information you need?" She could almost see his antennae sticking up hopefully. "About last time, Cloo didn't know about the other contractor. I swear it! And then the Empire getting wind of it -"

"Yes, I know. You had no idea. I'm sure I'll forgive you. After you're dead." Arya broke the connection, stalking out of the cockpit and then out of the ship. Blaster in a shoulder holster, railgun on her hip, and full of anger. She stole a swoop bike from a Bothan that was looking the other way, and made her way down... down into the depths of Nar Shaddaa. Cloo was going to pay.

A district away, a Razalon FC-20 speeder bike screeched out of the hull of the Voracious. From eavesdropping, it seemed that Arya's first port of call was to deal with the being that had landed her in the hands of the Imperials. Knowing what Ravenwing was capable of, at least according to the dossier he had been provided with, Vega almost pitied the poor creature – yet was eager to see, with his own eyes, what the smuggler was capable of. Careening through the streets, he felt corruption and darkness all around him. The pain and suffering was almost palpable, and he saw marks of weakness and woe in the blurred faces of every civilian he shot by. The city was teeming with life and none of it pleasant.

Vega swerved to a halt by a group of furious locals, who were fuming over the lack of security and law enforcement in the city. One man claimed that his house had been ransacked, whilst another – a Bothan – was fuming over having his swoop stolen less than a minute ago. A bystander jabbed an accusing finger down a street to the left, claiming that the 'bitch' who had taken the bike had gone that way. It was a sign from the Force. Vega followed the lead willingly.

The feeling of the wind in her hair was exhilarating, but she took the time to figure out how she was going to get into Cloo's place of business. In the end, the simplest plan won out.

Several levels below where she'd started, Arya parked the bike and dismounted, pulling her railgun free from its holster. It boasted projectile rounds that would blow craters in duracrete and punch holes in transparisteel. It had quite a kick to it too, but she'd learned how to compensate for that shortly after getting it.

"Cloo, you stupid bastard." She edged up to the door along the wall, and extended her arm, using the muzzle of the railgun to knock on it.

"Who... who's there?" The Rodian sounded like he was throwing everything he owned into a crate. She had no idea what he was doing inside.

"Who do you think it is?" Arya snarled, and he answered by opening fire on his door from the inside. Green bolts of energy shot out from the smoking door, enough to put down a bantha. She smirked to herself, and waited for him to empty his power cell. There was some scuffling going on inside, and then the remnants of the door opened.

The smuggler held her position, 'gun in hand and ready to shoot at whatever came out. She eased her finger on the trigger...

...and stopped short of squeezing it when the being that appeared was Cloo's beautiful, but brainless, secretary. She was crying, and looked scared to death as she timidly peered out of the ruined doorframe. Arya met her eyes as the woman looked to the left, and grabbed the front of her shirt, yanking the secretary out of the doorway and to the other side of her.

Too terrified to scream, the woman went crosseyed as Arya shoved the end of the railgun against her nose. "Get the hells out of here, and if you know what's good for you, you won't come back." The smuggler shoved her, and the woman stumbled before picking herself up and running away. Scowling, Arya flipped around the corner of the doorframe and into the room.

There was no one in sight. She shot the dataprocessor on the desk, monitor and casing exploding impressively. "I know you're here Cloo!" Arya sniffed the air, separating the smell of fear apart from the odor of blaster fire. Ah, hiding I see. She crept forward, silent as a cat.

Fortunately for Vega, it was a slow day for the outlaws of the Smugglers Moon, otherwise following Arya's trail might have been difficult. He came across a woman, collapsed and weeping, and dismounted his speeder to investigate. She saw him approaching, and scrambled backwards, pressed against the grimy wall of the alley she'd stumbled into. Already nigh hysterical, the sight of a marauding stranger like Vega was almost enough to push her over the edge.

“Calm yourself, woman. What's the matter?” His voice was like cold steel. Obscured by the shadows, she wondered if he was, in fact, some kind of android. She took a ragged breath, her hysteria somehow subdued in spite of her fear, and through convulsing sobs explained that she almost just been shot. Amidst the whimpers, Vega caught the name Cloo and a grin began to form on his lips. His office was only a short distance away. Vega would make it there on foot, following the sound of blaster fire.

She found Cloo hiding in the refresher, and kicked in the door, leveling her railgun at his face before he could get his blaster up. Arya snatched it out of his hand and threw it into the toilet. "You knew all along, didn't you!"

The smuggler dragged the Rodian out of the 'fresher, his suckers grasping feebly at her arm as she propelled him into the middle of the office. She strong-armed him to the desk, and jerked her hand down, slamming his sensitive snout against the fake wood. "You sold me out you son of a Hutt. I hope you enjoyed what the Imps gave you."

"N-n-no! Noooo!" Cloo waved his suckered hands frantically as she pulled him back to his feet, bleeding from his nostrils. "It wasn't like that!"

"Like hells it wasn't." Arya pushed him backwards towards the lone window, and pulled the trigger on the railgun. The force of the projectile sent the Rodian crashing through the window, and blew a hole big enough for her head in his chest.

“N-n-no! Noooo!” CRASH! The sound of glass spraying across concrete, and the dull thud of a body colliding against it all. The smell of burnt flesh filled Vega's nostrils, as he watched the still twitching Rodian from the murk of an alleyway. There was a little blood on the body, but it did not seem as if she had toyed with him. Death would come with merciful haste for this coward, he thought. Silent and still, he wondered who was next on her list to visit, and if any of them could expect the same treatment.

She stalked out of the broken door, and spat on the body. "No one frells with me, Cloo." Her eyes momentarily yellowed at the smell of death. No one was watching, and if they were, no one would care. No here, in Nar Shaddaa. A two-bit information broker and middle man wasn't worth that much.

In the end, the only person who cared about Cloo's life was Cloo himself. But then, he should have taken better care of it. Angrily, Arya kicked the dead body, then turned away, walking down a darkened alley towards her swoop. She could use a drink, and she knew just where to get it.

The smuggler paused mid-step, and her nostrils flared as she scented the alley. Turning and bringing up her weapon in one smooth motion, she cocked the railgun and saw... nothing. Arya's brow furrowed suspiciously. Someone had been there recently.

But her eyes could see no one, and reluctantly she put the gun back in its holster and continued to walk down the alley. Straddling the swoop she kicked it into high gear and took off. The Blind Bantha was one level down and several blocks away. She needed a beer.

There was no clean-up job. The smoldering body would, in all likelihood, lie untouched for days. Perhaps then someone would chance on it and rifle through what was left of Cloo's pockets. A week or so later, the smell would begin to disturb the neighbors, who'd finally call the police in – more out of irritation than any concern for the poor, dead Rodian. It was a harsh life, one for which Vega had no sympathy.

He returned to his speeder, fishing out a small datapad. It was the reader for a small tracking device that he'd placed on Arya's bike while she was in the process of blowing a hole through Cloo. It would lead him right to her – and to The Blind Bantha. A bar, of course. Somehow, he doubted she had come here to continue her killing spree. He could see her just ahead, in the process of being looked over by a bouncer.

Arya snapped her jacket shut, flashing an angry look at the bouncer who'd taken just a bit too long to frisk her for hidden weapons. She locked up her railgun and blaster in the available rotating locker, and pocketed the key.

Straddling a bar stool she ordered a dark Chandrilan ale, served at room temperature. Three hours and seven more ales later, she was feeling warm and fuzzy inside and in need of the refresher. Getting down from the stool was easy enough, and she swayed through the crowded bar towards the back and the 'freshers. Everything was crazy.

Getting nabbed by the Imps, and not for being a smuggler, was crazy. Being tortured for information she didn't have was insane. Having dinner with the Executor of the Empire and then being sent on a wild nuna chase after someone who may or may not even exist (her bets were on not)... that was just her luck. Arya stumbled through the door of the 'fresher, and locked herself into a private stall to relieve her aching bladder.

She hated that Sevon was keeping her medallion as a barganing chip. Eventually... she'd get it back. There had to be a way. This s'Ilancy chick was a dead end and she only had the slightest idea as to where to start looking. Desert planets. That narrowed it down, but an entire planet was just a bit too big for one person to search. The smuggler leaned her warm forehead against the cool metallic stall dividers. Her frellin' medallion.

It pained her to write it off, but if that's what freedom entailed, she'd do it. Finishing up in the 'fresher, Arya pushed back into the main room of the Bantha, and bellied up to the bar again. She just wanted to forget all about it.

When he had come under the leadership of the Imperial Executor, Vega had been promised blood and glory. Thus far he had seen little of either, and in fact been forced to while his hours away watching some two-bit smuggler beat her brains with one too many ales. It had been a week since Arya Ravenwing had returned to Nar Shaddaa, and all that she had accomplished in those seven days was to kill one Rodian and fatten the pockets of the owner of The Blind Bantha.

Vega nursed a drink for as long as he could, occasionally exchanging brief words with some surly local who would regale him with tales of how they had either just been the victim or perpetrated some heinous crime. At first he had suspected that perhaps the smuggler planned on meeting someone here, but soon came to the conclusion that assuming that Arya had some greater plan was, more likely than not, an overestimation of her faculties. With each passing hour, he grew more vexed.

Seeing that his glass was once again empty, Van-Derveld paced – frustrated – to the bar and ordered another Orryxian Catsblood. He had a feeling it was going to be another long and tedious night.

Arya was well into a bottle of Corellian whiskey when the bald headed stranger bumped into her at the bar. She turned to face him, frowning, and tried to focus on his features. "Whatchit, buddy."

He ignored her, waiting for his drink, something with cat blood in it. Or something. Like that. But not. Her thoughts seemed jumbled, and she didn't remember why she was so drunk, but she was determined to get even more drunk before she was done. There were things to forget, and she was the one to forget them.

The smuggler felt the urge to visit the 'fresher, and practically fell off her stool, knocking against the pale patron beside her and spilling his drink. "Sssorry," she slurred, hardly looking at him before stumbling towards the back of the bar.

The Catsblood spilled over the already grimy bar floor. For a moment, Vega simply stared down at the ground, as though trying to stop his anger getting the better of him. What could Khendon possibly want from this woman? Yes, she was some unique species of shape shifter, but beyond that... she was just your average sauced-up spacer. Dabbing some blood from himself with a napkin, Vega turned to the bartender.

“Another?” he aksed, with a snaggle-toothed grin.

She missed the door to the 'fresher and was somehow outside in an alleyway behind the bar. Dizzily Arya stumbled, falling to her hands and knees in the filth. No, she didn't stumble - someone pushed her.

Dimly she was aware of male laughter. Two... no four beings. She glared at the ground, furious, but she couldn't seem to get her arms and legs moving properly. Her bile rose, and she vomited up a stomach full of whiskey.

She was too drunk. What was she thinking? The smuggler closed her eyes as rough hands pulled her to her feet, holding her up against the wall. They were talking, but her brain didn't seem to be able to comprehend what they were saying. One of the males, a human, pulled out a small vibroblade, switching it on.

Well, whatever they want, it isn't good. Her overactive metabolism was processing the alchohol she'd consumed... but she'd been drinking for nearly a week straight! She frowned as she remembered. Her unique metabolism was probably the only thing that had kept her from dying of alchohol poisoning.

The vibroblade sliced neatly through the front of her pants and shirt, and then it was put away. She was being held upright only by the men who were attempting to assault her, and the smelly human positioned himself in front of her, pulling at her cut clothing. The others released her arms, and Arya's head flopped forward, until she was looking the human in the eyes.

Hers gleamed yellow. "You don' wanna do this."

He paused, laughing, "Shut up bitch."

Well, I warned 'em. Before he could get any further with stripping her, Arya's hands came up and grabbed the sides of his head. She slammed her head into his nose, and the human fell down, yelling and grabbing his bloody nose.

She smiled at the others who were rushing forward, and Changed.

Where was she? After all this time waiting, Vega wasn't about to have his mission end anti-climatically with Ravenwing choking to death on his own vomit. Leaving his drink on the bar, he paced towards the refreshers – only to hear an almighty roar going up outside of the bar. The back, down the corridor from the 'freshers, hung ajar. There were voices shouting and the sound of a beastly snarl. Stepping into the doorway, Van-Derveld saw what appeared to be a vornskr toying with a gang of men who didn't know when to quit. He stood perfectly still, curious to see what it – she – had planned for them.

The Beast was confused as to why she was so wobbly, but her teeth worked well enough still. The first man, the one with the busted nose, was the first to fall prey to the vornskyr's bite, his throat ripped out in an impressive spray of blood.

The other three had jumped backwards initially, but the violent end of their comrade emboldened them. Arya circled around, tail lashing behind her as they tried to surround her. One of them pulled a blaster, but his shot went wide as she leapt on him, claws as strong as durasteel digging into his chest as she snapped at the softness under his chin. The man went down like a hibernating wampa, but one of his buddies stupidly threw himself at the vornskyr to try to knock her off of her prey.

Arya yelped, blood on her beastial tongue from the artery she'd managed to tear before being thrown to the side. The friend was frantically trying to stop the flow of blood, his hands and arms quickly becoming coated. The vornskyr took a few moments to get to her feet, dry heaving a few times from her alchohol soured stomach.

There was a strong smell of fear in the alley, and she saw that the fourth would-be attacker had fled the scene, his scent trailing along behind him. No matter. Arya growled, pouncing on the third man and tearing into his stomach with her strong teeth.

To anyone else, the sight of a rabid animal spilling blood and guts all across a dirty alley would have been revolting. To Vega, it was fascinating. Something had snapped in him long ago, some switch had flipped that had turned his morals on their head. He felt more affinity with this wild beast than he did with any man sitting in The Blind Bantha. It was violence in its purest form, driven by some primal force to exert a God-given right to supremacy. As much as he had grown to resent Ravenwing, he could not help but feel a small sense of awe in the presence of her Changed form. It was just as Khendon had described it – ruthless and deadly.

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.

That look she had given him... was it a dare? Not one to back down from a challenge, Van-Derveld gave a curt nod to the whores, “Ladies,” and walked on after Arya. It was a place of little luxury, but squalor had never bothered Vega, who stepped over the spice junkies and their scattered paraphernalia without a second glance. As he looked above to see Arya winding her way up the stairs, he felt one of the biters tugging at the tail of his coat and gave the man a boot in the ribcage for his audacity.

Arya found the apartment with little trouble, and stood outside the locked door for only a moment before backing up. Whitey came up the stairs, silently observing, and she chose to ignore him. As long as he didn't try sticking his nose in where it didn't belong... any more.

The smuggler got a running start and slammed her shoulder into the door, breaking the flimsy recycled wood door jam and falling into the room. Legs akimbo for a moment, she straightened herself up quickly to avoid giving Whitey a better look. Rubbing her shoulder (normally she would have kicked the door in, but with bare feet it wasn't advisable), Arya wrinkled her nose at the small one room studio.

Her boots were sticking out from underneath the bed, and there was a pile of clothes that might contain her pants and shirt. Maybe. Arya started throwing clothing around the room, looking for hers.

While Arya rifled through the contents of the whore's flat, Vega returned to the street outside. He stood in the doorway of the apartment building, and wondered – looking up through the vertical city – whether it was night or day. It was almost impossible to tell. Casting a casual glance around the area, he saw that the other women had scattered like a flock of mynocks spooked. Turning, he called over his shoulder: “You might want to hurry. I have a feeling that security is on the way.”

"Frell security." Arya pulled on a pair of pants that were distinctly better than the ones she'd lost, and discarded the upholstery fabric she'd used to cover herself up in the alley. Pulling on a tank top without bothering to turn her back, she added, "I got what I was looking for anyway."

She popped open the freezer unit in the kitchenette, and pulled out a bag of credit chits. "They never learn." Stuffing the frozen chits into her jacket pocket and shrugging into it, the smuggler took a moment to tie on her boots.

A grubby looking man, who Vega had seen rifling through one of the nearby dumpsters, ambled towards the apartment building, sniffing the air curiously. “Away you go, waif,” Van-Derveld commanded, at which the man frowned but backed away none the less. Vega sighed, a synthetic drone. Playing guardian-angel to Ravenwing was not nearly as thrilling as the Executor had made it out to be... and what was taking her so long? Now it was his turn to frown, as he paced back into the building, craning his neck to see up the stairs. “Still alive?” he called.

She'd gone out the window, determined to lose Whitey as soon as possible. Weapons, spaceport, job, and out. Maybe she'd go to Dantooine. Arya climbed hand over hand up a drainpipe, heading towards a higher level and bank of turbolifts that she knew was close. With a grunt the smuggler pulled herself up onto the 'roof' of the apartment building, which was a speeder parking lot. Tempting, but no.

Arya bypassed the vehicles, and jogged towards the pedwalk, blending into the people who were walking to and fro. Without her guns she was hardly defenseless, but she looked an easy target, and that could be bad news. Reaching the turbolifts she shoved her way into one that was already full, and let it carry her back down to the level The Blind Bantha resided on.