A Magnate for Trouble

[Walker Twin-Sleeves]

Somewhere in CIS Space...

"And as you can clearly see, fine gentleman and ladies, not only will my Dare to Dream: Lorrdian Haircare Products work for you, they practically sell themselves!" Walker boasted proudly to a room of largely disinterested housewives. He'd been going about his little presentation for just over two hours now, it was time to bring it home - the wine was flowing generously, after all, and the fine point between delightfully tipsy and insensate was often a thin one. Not that Walker himself had been drinking - no sir, not me, not ever on the job except when he did. The housefraus could drink up all the cheap wine they wanted, he'd switched his out for juice on the sly some hours ago.

Walker gave the box of jingling bottles sitting on the living room table an affectionate pat. Like most of the building, the living room was well-to-do in a visible way, with nice cream carpets and high ceilings. Wall-mounted terminals for easy holonet access, pictures hung with care. These people had money. "Now, there is nothing to stop you from buying this Slay at Home Mom package of fine hair and skin products and simply use them yourselves. Heck - you'll be the talk of the town within the week! But for just a little more, you could invest, and go into business for yourself, spreading this product - which you're all familiar with the benefits of - among your friends and family for a massive return on your initial purchase!" The lanky, blue-haired huckster promised, tipping a sly wink to an older woman he was holding in rapt attention. "You get paid, they love the way they look, and you'll love the way it feels to be your own boss!"

A small rap of his cane on the box punctuated the statement, and he leaned in with a sly smirk. A conspirital tone to his voice, Walker stage whispered the next portion. "And, of course, not for nothing, but I've got an appointment with those fine ladies over in the Haymayfair Quarter this afternoon..." He 'confided', referencing a rival school district that many of these mothers likely had some complaint with. "...but I only brought so much product with me, today, so..."

It was almost too easy. Within a couple of hours, Walker had completely sold his stock of two-credit shampoos and lotion to an eager gaggle of housewives, and swiped no shortage of personal information from their bank cards. They'd never realize he'd just poured the cheapest stuff possible into fancy-looking bottles, added some fragrances and spices... and they'd probably never notice the slight skimming he'd done on the side. So really, as far as Walker was concerned, it was a victimless crime. How pleased would Razelle be to find him more than capable of fueling the ship this week? And, if he was feeling bold, refilling the pantry?


What Walker had overlooked, of course, was that the enclave of housewives he'd just fleeced were not simply the idle rich. It had taken some computer system somewhere less than an hour to flag the strange activity on the accounts of several fleet officers, and notify the authorities. When one robbed the wives of several military officers, he could expect the forces to come down hard and fast, and while Walker had no idea that the hammer of justice was swinging for him, he knew a bad situation when he saw one.

A bad situation like Military Police hustling through a commercial district, circulating his picture and asking questions. Walker pulled a hat over his blue hair and ducked into a bakery, narrowly dodging a squad of jackbooted corporate thugs.

This was bad. He considered calling Raz.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Bakery. The krak was she doing at a bakery? Oh, she knew all right. Her sister decided she wanted bread. And not just any bread, no. Special bread, from this special bakery, on this special planet that was definitely not Geonosis, because it was on the way back home after Scherezade personally took care of some slavers. Their heads were rolling around the cargo bay on her ship, and she was here, clad in civilian clothing, an aray of knives hidden skillfully beneath her clothes.

She's tried so hard to get Madalena to change her mind about it. Madalena was on Geonosis, there were perfectly good bakeries there that she could go to and buy her stupid bread. And then Madalena had reminded Scherezade that Scherezade had ripped her from another dimension and then destroyed the life she'd built because of the false memories that were in her head and even though her life was grand right now, she still owed her.

And Scherezade had nothing to respond to that, so she'd landed on this friggin' planet and found the krakking bakery and she was going to buy her sister some stupid bread.

Her turn had just come, and she stood in front of the vitrine, looking at the displayed loafs. How did you even choose good bread? She had no clue. Scherezade didn't eat that sort of stuff. It was vile. It was like eating yeasty puffy cotton with crumbs.

And then the door opened, closed, and someone was inside. Normally, she wouldn't care. But Scherezade was used to being either hyper aware, or hyper unaware, of her surroundings. And she saw the thugs running by the bakery.

The man with the hat was probably in some sort of trouble.

But Scherezade had no clue who he was, and had no bleeding heart for strangers unless she got something out of it. So she turned back to the baker and smiled. "Just give me one of everything."

[member="Walker Twin-Sleeves"]

 

[Walker Twin-Sleeves]

It wasn't hard to make a note of when you've been made note of, and Walker realized that the distracted-looking young woman by the counter had made a note of him. Even so, she was a teenager. She was visibly disinterested in everything around her, and would likely - Walker deduced - only care if something struck her as novel or personally offensive. Walker would strive to be neither. He swept past the counter and into a restroom, and worked his magic. Less than a minute later, a woman roughly matching Walker's phenotype but with much longer hair stepped out of the bathroom after touching up her makeup. Walker's obnoxious cape had been repurposed as a sarong, her button-down shirt turned inside out and tied into a bow-like top, and her hat was gone in favor of shoulder-length hair and reflective sunglasses. Her posture was utterly distant, entirely divorced of the frantic scramble that had brought him into the bakery a moment before, which helped sell the idea that this was a different person altogether.

On her way out, Walker tossed a credstick on the counter and helped herself to a muffin, giving the teenager waiting there a briefly dispassionate glance of dismissal. Who came to a bakery to wait for something, anyway? She mumbled a brief 'Excuse me' as she squeezed by [member="Scherezade deWinter"], helping herself to the teenager's wallet on the way out. Professionals, after all, never stopped honing their craft.

Walker made it roughly three steps out of the door before realizing she'd knicked what looked like a rather valuable throwing knife from the green-eyed girl at the counter, slicing her hand up a little in the process.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Scherezade waited patiently as the baker began to amass her order. It would be several bags of bread that she'd be carrying out. Who even ate that much bread anyway?! She had to remember to call her sister a fat butt once she got back to Geonosis.

The dude with the hat disappeared into the bathroom, thinking his disguise moments later would fool her. It didn't. But, she also didn't care. Why would she? It was a stranger, she wasn't about to get involved with local authorities, and she mostly wanted to see at present if she could turn some of the bread into coals. Madalena would appreciate coals, right? Sort of like Sithmas, but with bread.

And yet, something felt off. She'd been waiting so impatiently for the baker to finish gathering the bread that she hadn't noticed it at all when the dude… Dudette… Whatever they were, stole her knife.

Now, there's something people had to understand about Scherezade. Her knives were damned important to her. She'd killed people for trying to get them before. Each knife told a story, had endless scratches on its hilt that spoke of its story, had memories and joys and traumas to bare. Sure, she carried at least 14 blades on her on normal days, but it didn't mean that each and every one of them wasn't special to her.

As the baker held his bags out, a certain scent hit Scherezade.

And she froze.

Slowly, she turned her head around, green glowing eyes focusing on the bleeder. They had not been bleeding when they entered the bakery. They had not been bleeding when they left the bathroom. If the female form was the true form, she had not just started her period.

Instinctively, her hands went down her sides, ready to grab two knives before she chased after her, realizing… One was missing. Of course. That was the sorry comment, the small bump, the… Everything.

Scherezade's nostrils flared a moment before she turned around with her entire body and marched right out of the bakery, forgetting the matter of the bread entirely, ignoring the screams of the baker behind her.

"Hey!" she yelled out as she closed the distance. Still not pulling out her Force hoogah boogah. Still not electrocuting this person down to their toes. "There are worse things out her than those thugs you were running away from. Give it back and they'll go back to being the worst you could face in the next few moments."

[member="Walker Twin-Sleeves"]

 

[Walker Twin-Sleeves]

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

Hm?

Walker tossed the pilfered dagger over in her hand, considering the thing. Well-worn hilt, well-balanced blade. It was clearly well-maintained, but it didn't look especially valuable. Sure, value was in the eye of the beholder, but one could be forgiven for paying a little extra attention to it when the one valuing it so very much had glowing green eyes and the confidence of either a lunatic, or a saber-swinger. As though those weren't the same thing. Did she really want to start beef with some uppity little Sith this early in the day? Did she really want to acknowledge that her comparatively long life and success could be mostly attributed to her refusal to interact with the WizKids any more than they forced her to?

Nah, probably not. If the kid wanted this knife so much, chances are it was personally quite valuable, or actually quite valuable. And in either case, she'd probably be willing - and maybe even ABLE - to kill Walker to get it back. Walker resolved to return it, up until she saw the Military Police officers looming behind the angry kid, levelling what looked like capture weapons at the huckster's sorry hide. She was out of time; Walker had only scarce seconds to move, and certainly none to drop a knife covered in her fingerprints and blood directly in front of cops.

Walker flipped the knife over in her hand and shot Sheezade an apologetic look, before taking off at a dead sprint across a busy street. Though lanky and quick, she was no Force user - Walker had to bail on her heels to maintain a lead over the police, and made up the difference by sliding down the rail into a subway. Hopefully, in the thronging masses of meta-humanity, she could not only lose her wizkid pursuer, but also dissuade the police from firing in earnest. Hunkering down to hide her considerable height, Walker maneuvered through the crowd while going for what looked to be a staff office or supply closet at the end of the waiting dock.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

That apologetic look did nothing to soothe Scherezade's anger. Whoever this dude or dudette were, they were playing with something far more lethal than mere fire. In the year and a half since her release from the pebble, the amount of things Scherezade actually had was very small, and it had led it to be very possessive of her things, taking the loss of nearly each of them harshly. She was not about to lose her knife and let it go. Never her knives.

She made to follow the person again, when the Military Police appeared behind her. The Sithling groaned at the new distraction, and turned around to face them. Her thoughts quickly ran through her mind; sure, she could easily dispatch them, kill them, destroy their toys. But considering the amount of headache that would bring, along with the need for endless useless explanations about how they were getting in the way of her getting her krakking knife back, it seemed like it wasn't really worth it. A shame.

Yet there were other abilities Scherezade held. True, she usually preferred the path of most violence. Could you blame her? Yet sometimes, a more subtle thing was needed. Raising her hand, the Sith flew into the minds of the police officers, noting all but one of them to be of the lower kind. Grunts. Entry-level men and women with guns. Their minds were simple to overtake. This is not the person you're looking for, she suggested their minds, the person you're looking for is on the other end of town. Looking at their commander, or general, or whatever the term was, she knew his brain was not one she would be able to so easily overcome. Your boss is not really your boss. Ignore anything he has to say until the break of dawn. There. That ought to keep him busy too.

Turning around, her own prey was already gone far enough. But the blood was still on them – whether they were still bleeding or not made little difference at this point. As long as it was on them like that, they were effectively carrying a Blood Hound GPS.

Scherezade smiled, and broke into a run after the trail of blood.

[member="Walker Twin-Sleeves"]

 

[Walker Twin-Sleeves]

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

Walker wasn't an easy act to follow. She had long legs and experience in fleeing through crowds, on top of the meaningful speed boost that true cowardice supplied when one had wolves nipping at her heels. She led the spooky wizkid on a merry chase, cutting through alleyways and up fire escapes, over obstacles, and generally away from the lawful, patrolled parts of town. When it became clear to Walker that Scherezade was both still following her and that she seemed to unerringly follow her trail, she began planning her exit strategy. The girl was probably some brand of forcie, which meant that she'd chase Walker to the ends of the earth, and there was only about a thirty percent chance she'd be reasonable enough to let bygones be bygones if handed the knife back. She'd have to play this carefully.

Walker ducked into a shop labeled 'Noble K' and fixed her sunglasses, catching her breath as she moved deeper in. Racks of clothes, home goods, buzzing fluorescent lights - the dystopian trappings of an old-fashioned department store. Perfect. There were enough people around that a slaughter would be noticeable, not enough around to pay much attention to anyone in particular. Walker swiftly snatched something off of a rack to wrap around her bloodied hand, and found a not-so-busy corner of the store to wait for her tail to catch up in. It wouldn't do to just leave the knife, there was no promise that the woman wouldn't keep following her.

Scherezade would find Walker browsing the shoe aisle with a t-shirt wrapped around her hand, the hilt of the knife poking out of her makeshift sarong. An aisle with really only one way to approach, and an emergency exit behind the blue-haired huckster.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

When people saw Scherezade, many of them (wrongfully) assumed that she was not a woman who particularly liked to run. Or work out. Prejudices had that lovely way of working like that even in a galaxy far far away. But the girl could run like nobody's business, moving swiftly parkour-style as she set to chase the person who held her knife. By now, they'd made it personal.

Following the scent of the blood, always the scent of the blood. It was not a power she had come out of the pebble with; no, the powers related to her Blood Hound abilities had begun to emerge after she had been broken, beaten, brought to the brink of death once of body and once of the soul. It was almost painful how much she relied on them when on missions such this. It was even more painful how her sister was going to kill her for not bringing the bread because she got sidetracked.

The scent took her all the way to… A shop? Scherezade paused just outside of it, peering in, the corners of her mouth curling into a delicious smile. Within seconds, she vanished from where she'd been standing, disappearing into one of the nearby shadows.

And exiting right out of a shadow near [member="Walker Twin-Sleeves"]. The department store's isles and lighting didn't allow for much shadowing; but a little bit was enough, just one isle away from where her target was. Certainly, the isle stretched all the way to the wall; to walk around it would mean going back.

Which was exactly why Scherezade jumped instead, landing between the knife thief and the exit, the smile still on her face as she extended a hand. "My knife," came the simple words. There was no need to add more.