Public Agony Unsought

[Zefgahld Qojex]

(This is a minor duel between Scherezade deWinter and myself, during which she'll succeed in cutting off my left thumb and index finger after a bit of back-and-forth dueling. I've decided to make this game public to allow a third party or two, if interested, to step in to join one side or the other as they see fit. Just remember that my goal is to be injured, not killed, by one opponent only before we part ways and become minor rivals. Maybe another alliance or two will form in the aftermath, as well? We'll see...

Thanks, and let's have fun!)

Inner Rim, Denon
Southeastern Edge of the Ruins of the Denon-Ardru Mutual
0613 Local Time

Zefgahld Qojex sincerely hoped the duracrete researcher (of all things) didn't catch her scratching her ass.

Beside her, a ghost-pale S19-Series astromech with lovely purple trim beeped rather sullenly as it twirled its boxlike chassis to and fro, his emerald photoreceptor swirling as it surveyed all that was around it. The Amaran and her droid had made their way a good distance from the girl's ship - it was now several landing platforms back, and now was as good a time as any to scratch the itch that was burrowing... Between, so to speak. The gentle stroking of her left hand's fingers soothed the persistent burning, as well as worked her Corellian breeches away from riding up... That would have been annoying!

The ruins around them were cavernous and oddly yawning, like the waiting maw of some forgotten predator with the most craglike of teeth; chunks of misshapen and forgotten duracrete jutted above into the air, the ruins mostly forgotten - rumors say it dated back to the Clone Wars, or perhaps a little after. The original records had been lost in a localized HoloNet slicing attack, and now only a small amount of knowledge passed down from the faintest of local Elders' memories had fueled a cobbling of history, myth, urban legends, local gossip and rumors into a hodge-podge which may have contained a grain of truth, or maybe it didn't, yet was still interesting enough.

Withdrawing her still-flexing digits from her tailbase, the Amaran's gray-furred hand shifted up to withdraw an intricate-carved, white durasteel-looking cane with a platinum handle atop it. The can's base settled with a soft metallic tunk! to the metal platform surrounding those ruins, and the Amaran decided that a few minutes worth of walking would do her scar tissue good while she waited for the Houk to show up.

She was so glad she hadn't been caught scratching her butt! That would have been embarrassing, to say nothing of the Houk being a male! Who knows how his eyes may have acted from there.

The gentle metallic ringing of the fox alien's cane began lightly and rhythmically tapping a gentle chorus along the platform as she stretched her back by standing to her full height and working her legs into a stiffer position, the tugging of underlying musculature and the shifting of nerves soothing the scars above faintly, as a dull warmth steadily began to assail her scars, smoothing over the pain before it became unmanageable. It would have been an awkward sight to see, but a necessary one. Corellian breeches and a navy blue Gundark leather duster looked waaaaay less cool when one had to periodically walk like an idiot due to minor-to-moderate chronic pain.

A hand signal to the astromech behind her was accompanied by a softly spoken command.

"Alright Loser, keep your eye open for the Houk - I'd say he'll either meet us coming up from the ruins or else via airspeeder. Whistle if you see him before I do." She gestured towards a far off railing with her intricately-carved metal cane, situated in the warm light of the morning sun, a short distance away, "I'll be walking the pain off over there."

Scherezade deWinter (Pick which way the Houk is approaching and your methods of following him, Friend. I'll establish his look and mannerism on my next turn if you decide not to for some reason. Back and forth is always fun with worldbuilding.)

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Inner Rim, Denon
Southeastern Edge of the Ruins of the Denon-Ardru Mutual
0616 Local Time

The hum of the undercity was never far, not even out here among the cracked bones of what had once been a proud industrial block. Yet even decay had its rhythm. Scherezade deWinter watched it all from above, crouched on the edge of a crumbling balcony that had no right still existing, foot tapping with that rhythm that most people never noticed.

Below, a Houk's airspeeder lumbered through the dust clouds, its repulsors coughing like an asthmatic kath hound. The thing looked barely held together, probably carrying too much weight and having had too little maintenance. But what drew her attention wasn't the Houk. It was the fox-shaped silhouette walking ahead of him, cane gleaming when it caught the light.

Her quarry.

Scherezade's lips curved into something that might have been a smile, if she hadn't been borderline hyper focusing on the creature. Amaran. First time she picked the scent of one up through her blood hound abilities, and she'd become intrigued. Scherezade shifted her weight, the sound of leather brushing durasteel as she rose to her feet. The duracrete beneath her boot cracked faintly, sending a pebble tumbling into the gloom below.

The Force rippled faintly around her fingertips.

With a flick of her wrist, the grappling line she'd anchored earlier uncoiled, whistling softly as it pulled her down through the air. She landed in a crouch behind a shattered pillar not far from where the Amaran's cane had just tapped against the metal walkway.

The morning light caught the glint of her blades, the twin sabers clipped at her hips, gifted to her so many years ago by her best friend who happened to be a Master Jedi, but her right hand brushed against only one.

Someone had said something about a Houk at some point, but it had gone entirely over Scherezade's head. Until now. She smelled him with her regular nose before she realized he was there, a yelp of surprise escaping her lips as something rammed into her back from her behind and she was thrown several yards away, limbs flying around wildly. Mid-fall, her yelp turned into a giggle.

With a heavy grunt, the Sithling rose to her feet after a hard landing, looking now at the Houk instead of at the person she had come here for.

He came at her like a landslide, all muscle and momentum, shaking the ground with every step. Scherezade barely had time to plant her boots before he swung, a massive arm slicing through the air where she'd just been. She ducked low, the Force sharpening her reflexes as she darted forward and drove her elbow into the soft spot just beneath his ribs. It was like hitting a durasteel wall. Pain flared through her arm.

"Motherkrakker, you're a fat puck," she spit, delighted, and twisted away before the backhand could connect.

The Houk roared, the sound so deep it vibrated in her chest. He swatted aside a broken pipe she flung at his head and caught her next kick midair, with one massive hand clamping around her boot. Scherezade tried to spin free, but the moment she did, he used her momentum against her.

For a heartbeat, she saw the world tilt, and then gravity caught her and the Houk launched her bodily across the clearing. She crashed through a cloud of dust and debris, half laughing, half winded, towards where Zefgahld Qojex had been standing a mere few seconds ago.

 

[Zefgahld Qojex]

(This is gonna be a blast - let's draw it out a bit and see if there's any takers for the offer to join the fight, then we continue by ourselves if necessary. Also, I hope you're having a good day!)

Inner Rim, Denon
Southeastern Edge of the Ruins of the Denon-Ardru Mutual
0617 Local Time

The Amaran felt her triangular ears twitch atop her head of unkempt scarlet hair as she heard, not the faint whir of an airspeeder's repulsorlift, but the harsh grunting of a male's exertion and the sickening noise of flesh striking flesh! Immediate action was now necessary, and the girl's years of Coruscant Security Force escort duty kicked in: Protect the items and misdirect the foe!

Thankfully, her astromech had yet to roll too far away. She took several quick steps towards where the droid had headed, whistling harshly into the air. Turning on his tread, one of the astromech's compartments opened to extend a pincer-like claw of metal coated in black rubber. A furred hand vanished into one of her Gundark duster's overly-large pockets, to wrap two fingers around a small transparisteel vial with a blue rubber cap. The item was tossed through the air... Meanwhile, the Amaran's other hand clicked a button atop her carved metal cane; the cane shifted down, birthing a strange, equally white blade of smooth, double-sided metal atop the platinum cane's tip - it was apparently carved into the likeness of an ancient sword's likeness in the platinum handle for a reason - the cane itself functioned as an intricate scabbard!

...The vial danced one final time through the air, as the astromech's pincer wrapped around the vial gently and expertly. Even as his white-and-purple chassis turned atop its tread, the S19-Series (I LOVE those damn things... So cool!) rolled back along the eastern walkway, to make his way a few platforms back to wait aboard the Monk's Glory. The fox alien reached her free hand at her left hip, to produce a faded gray SSK-7 heavy pistol. It sounded like someone was attacking her contact, so protecting the cargo was a first priority - it could be exchanged in the safety of her ship afterwards if necessary!

A harsh Krrrassh! and a bizarre skidding noise greeted the Amaran's ears and, with a gasp, she turned in place; mere steps away where she had been walking, a bizarre humanoid form - female, she surmised from the curvature and shape of the pelvis that she was now glimpsing - had shot out of the ruins of the forgotten industrial complex to skid along the ground, trailing dust and a few broken chunks of worn duracrete, faded tan with time. A guttural snarl echoed this newcomer's arrival, and one Professor (in his own eyes, at least) Sylbom Rolgo, a fat, rotund (even by his own species' standards) Houk of night-black flesh splotched with harsh yellow along the tops of his arms and along his back emerged, tramping the ground as he fixed his alien pink eyes on the Strange Woman.

His immense black-and-yellow arms flared with more muscle then a body so fat should have had, his middle-aged, rotund paunch wobbling from beneath, of all things, what looked like a smith's apron worn over ill-fitting, tight Duros-made clothing. While he had no weapon, he didn't exactly need one; however, the Houk reached down with one fat-chocked hand to grasp and lift a larger, head-sized chunk of duracrete with his left hand, his fat-laced jowls lifting in a hideous snarl as he gestured with the duracrete.

His pink eyes flared as he growled at the Amaran, "ATTACKER!" He flexed his boulder-grasping left arm, the muscles shifting sinuously beneath the thick, wrinkly midnight skin, at-the-ready to drop the duracrete at a moment's notice to disable their shared aggressor!

The fox alien huffed and shivered as she felt a strange... Queasiness as she studied that humanoid, hefting up her cane-sword between her and her opponent.

With a resigned sigh, the Amaran and the Houk, as though they were of one mind, each struck, though with differing intentions. The fox alien began to raise her blade into a defensive position, something along the lines of a fencer's technique; then she fired a shot with her SSK-7's stun setting at one of her opponent's feet, even as her immense and EXTREMELY pissed off contact began to harshly swing down his duracrete boulder, which was aimed at his attacker's ribcage...
Scherezade deWinter

(Maim, kill or draw out the fight with the Houk as you see fit, and if you take a swing at my blade with lightwhip or anything else, it is composed of phrik-lined cortosis, so good luck breaking that. I hope I'm doing good. You determine whether my stun shot hits, as well. I've gotta get back to work, on my end. See you ASAP!)

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Zefgahld Qojex

---

The Houk's boulder slammed into the ground, sending up a cloud of dust and shards that cut the morning light into jagged beams. Scherezade danced through the debris, glowing green eyes glinting, twin lightsabers floating into her hands and flashing as she spun and struck at his thick wrists. Her blows landed with the Force-assisted precision of a predator, grazing the muscle beneath his midnight-and-gold skin, but he barely flinched, his bulk absorbing the hits like a living battering ram.

A laugh escaped her lips, sounding like she was having the time of her life, "you really want me to work for it, huh?"

He swung again, a monstrous arc aimed to crush her, and she barely ducked, rolling beneath the strike and kicking off the rubble-strewn ground. Her boots skidded across fractured duracrete, and she lashed out with a foot to his knee, but his weight shifted just enough to shrug it off. The Houk countered, hands flashing to grab at her midsection, and Scherezade twisted, striking the small of his back with her elbow.

For a heartbeat, it felt almost graceful, but the Houk's sheer mass was a weapon in itself. He caught her wrist mid-strike, swung her around like a ragdoll, and with a roar that rattled the nearby ruins, he flung her across the walkway.

Scherezade arced through the air, sabers raised instinctively, laughter spilling over the roar of wind. Dust and loose duracrete spun around her as she sailed until the momentum carried her toward her original target, Zefgahld Qojex , landing with just enough stagger to allow the duel to continue… but with the stakes raised and the morning already tasting of blood and adrenaline.

Hadn't the little fox-person tried to shoot her earlier? She wasn't sure, her entire attention had been on the Houk.

The Houk!

Scherezade bounced in her place, lightsabers vanishing only to be replaced with her two Dissuader KD-30 Pistols, loaded with Glitter Bullets. She wasted no time. There was a malevolent fox person who was maybe trying to kill her, and a Houlk who definitely was. Without waiting, she sent out shot after shot at the Houlk. Her bullets all hit, exploding against his flesh, filling the sights of any who were looking with a very pink glitter.

The Houlk paused.

And then began to scream.

For Scherezade's bullets weren't just regular bullets. She knew she had nothing on her that could comfortably pierce his flesh and blubber. But acid? That was something else entirely, and the glitter that was now beginning to spread and take over was covered in it. Smoke rose from his skin where it began to disintegrate where they touched, and Scherezade laughed, jumping back again as a small whift of wind began to carry some of those glittering pieces towards her and the fox-person.

 

[Zefgahld Qojex]

Scherezade deWinter (DAMN those things are sadistic...)

The Houk roared his fury even as the Amaran watched the morning air light up with PINK, of all things, the new color almost mist-like even as the alien cloud engulfed the Houk, whose grunts of exertion turned to a pained yowling. The fingers grasping her cane-sword flexed over a second switch along the weapon's handle, her fingertip naturally pressing into the switch with no extra movement, only the application of a clawed fingertip. The odd white blade soon lived up to its name - Spectre. Brilliant sapphire-looking energy pulsed along the blade's edge as it began to crackle audibly, even as the Amaran took several quick steps backwards, feeling very nervous about whatever toxic agent her charge had just ran into.

Acid, to judge by the way tatters of his work apron and underlying clothing and flesh were now falling to the steel and duracrete of the platform below.

Shaking away the memory of a Bith officer who had died in a similar manner back during her Security Force days, the Amaran pulled back her thin lips in a defiant snarl, raising her SSK-7 blaster with her left hand and pulling the trigger several times in rapid succession, even as she made her way backwards. The orange bolts whizzed past her Houk associate's flailing form to seek their target - the head and torso of the Strange Woman, a Dark Adept or Dark Jedi at least, or a Sith at the very worst.

The main point of interest was the cloud that was spreading before her eyes, and this high up, even the smallest shifting of the wind could send that agent, whatever it may have been, in her direction for a rather unpleasant chemical shave. Zef would rather avoid becoming a Bald Body if she could help it! The Amaran turned on her heel and ran, but not before firing three more orange bolts off in the direction of the Dark Lady, vanishing a few steps away into the darkness of those humid, moldy and forgotten industrial ruins. It was imperative to take away the advantage of those acidic or chemical agents, and an enclosed space was the perfect response, just barely inside the darkness and humidity. The intimidating show of her cane-sword's capabilities unfortunately, hadn't worked like she'd hoped; the weapon's electrical charge flicked off just as she slipped into the ruins...

The fox alien quickly holstered her pistol for a moment even as she ventured into the darkness. As quickly as she could manage, she withdrew a C1-Series comlink from an inner pocket to speak harshly and irritably into it.

"LOSER!! Option C, THIS INSTANT!!" The Amaran hissed through gritted predator's teeth, replacing the comlink in her pocket and withdrawing her SSK-7 once more.

Sylbom Rolgo, meanwhile, had recovered from the initial glitter-based attack a little worse for wear: his thick skin was covered in fresh, weeping pink and purplish-red blisters and scars to match over flabby folds of skin that had puckered over with so many of those little wounds. His torso and fat head had come to resemble a Child's meat hash meal before it was deep fried, assuming such a cheap, fast produced fly-thru meal could be so royally enraged before a droid or ambitionless teen from any species would have stuck it into the fryer.

Rolgo seemed more furious about his ruined apron and Duros-styled clothing than anything else. He briefly attempted to use one hand to attempt to hold together one side of his melting work apron, seemed to think better of it, then swore profusely in his native tongue, neither of the other two combatants were able to understand. In this state, the scarred, bleeding and pus-leaking Houk charged forward yet again, picking up another, larger acid-sizzling duracrete chunk with two hands, charging forth with intense hatred moistening those pink eyes as though Hell itself had directed and lit afire his heart!

Several meters inside the ruins, behind a rusted over shelf of forgotten droid parts, near a Southwestern exit, the irritated Amaran awaited.

At the same moment, several landing platforms away, a Scuurg H-6 bomber, black as night, rumbled softly as its engines began to glow with green energy...

(You called down the thunder - get ready to reap the whirlwind...)