Ariadne Van'Shelaq
Little Miss Grumpy
All that was left were his mangled remains. The cartel King had been slain by a girl of sixteen...
NAME: Ariadne Van’Shelaq. (Publicly known as Zen)
FACTION: The Exchange
RANK: Baroness of the Undercity. (Moniker in Nar Shaddaa's underground)
SPECIES: Mandolorian (Father: Firrerreon/ Mother: Human)
AGE: 27
FACTION: The Exchange
RANK: Baroness of the Undercity. (Moniker in Nar Shaddaa's underground)
SPECIES: Mandolorian (Father: Firrerreon/ Mother: Human)
AGE: 27
SEX: Female
SEXUALITY: Bisexual
HEIGHT: 5’6”
WEIGHT: 118 lbs
EYES: Deep auburn
HAIR: Dark Mahogany
SKIN: Pale. Occasionally glows silver depending on the light source
FORCE SENSITIVE: No
WEIGHT: 118 lbs
EYES: Deep auburn
HAIR: Dark Mahogany
SKIN: Pale. Occasionally glows silver depending on the light source
FORCE SENSITIVE: No
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"Some say she tore through the men in her way; bullets, nails and teeth."
STRENGTHS
- Firrerreon Physiology: Ariadne's human blood distilled many unique mutations carried by her father's species, deriving her of standard Fierrerreon traits such as two toned hair, changing skin colour and ultraviolet vision. Luckily for Ariadne, her mixed blood did not entirely rid her hybridized body of all Firrerreon traits, granting her several abilities that have been thoroughly utilized during her time with the Mandolorians as well as her skirmishes with the gangs of Nar Shaddaa. They include:
- Accelerated Regeneration: A potent biological phenomena that occurs within the Firrerreon species, Ariadne's healing factor is exceptionally noteworthy due to the speed of its recovery, with minor flesh wounds closing up in minutes and major injuries healing themselves in the space of several hours. The ability naturally staves off infection and blood loss, expelling any foreign object or bacteria from an open wound while the epidermus reconstructs itself back to working condition. Damage to vital organs such as the brain and heart however rarely undergo regeneration due to the fatality of such a wound, taking months to repair themselves if Ariadne were to neglect such wounds.
- Enhanced Hearing: Ariadne is capable of hearing into the upper spectrum, enabling her to decipher the heartbeats of those around her and the slightest whisper or sound in the nearby vicinity.
- Cunning: The ascension from a Hutt's prized slave to one of the Undercity's most vicious cartel bosses did not come without its challenges, luckily for 'Zen', a combination of her feminine wiles and uncompromising ambition propelled her into heights not even she foresaw. The woman is not above manipulating, extorting, blackmailing or betraying individuals she deems obsolete or unnecessary, knowing full well that the power over her self made Kingdom was made from her wits rather than her skill with a firearm.
- Pragmatic: If it's not needed then destroy it. Years growing up under the tutelage of Mandalorian warriors and the subsequent time she spent chained in a gangster's prison showed the woman the true necessities of survival and the acquisition of power. Anything that is counterproductive to her operations will be swiftly tossed aside in favour of something that saves her resources, energy and time.
- Like a Nexu: Even as a child the young half Ferrerrian was compared to the feline predators native to Cholganna, her sharp instincts and reflexes becoming all the more potent as she grew older and more experienced in the art of war and murder. Vicious when pushed too far and exceptionally efficient when hunting down her 'prey', the woman lives up to her childhood nickname with the added benefit of having a jaw full of canines and nails that could seamlessly slice through skin. Furthermore, Ariadne's slim frame betrays a vicious, almost animalistic, strength that is rarely ever shown unless it's warranted orif she's faced with a particularly challenging close quarter combatant. A combination of her Firrerreon genes and the training received from her time with the Mandolorians have honed the woman's physique till she has complete understanding of her strength and its capabilities.
Who is the man that haunts her dreams? I fear for the person who ever dares to ask...
WEAKNESSES
- Plethyl Nitrate Addiction: Every woman has her vice and in Ariadne's case it is is her unquenchable desire for the medical drug plethyl nitrate, a liquid based depressant that can be inhaled or injected. Standard short side effects for human addicts are lowered blood pressure, slowed heart rate, dizziness and disorientation and the long term side effects include insomnia, agitation and chronic fatigue. Due to her hybrid genes and natural Firrerreon resistance the drugs effects on Ariadne's biology take a lot longer to manifest, resulting in much milder short term affects but increasing the severity of its long term risks, especially her insomnia. In an attempt to combat her addiction Ariadne has tried to quell her desires by using cigarettes as a substitute, although such a remedy can only last so long before she craves another hit.
- Chilly Disposition: Dispassionate, impassive and apathetic; words commonly used to describe the Baroness of the Undercity whenever she's seen dealing with people, both friend and foe. Whilst she can throw up a cheery facade it can only last so long before her true nature leaks through, that of a cold, ruthless cartel boss whose annoyance is well maintained beneath her pale visage. Interacting with others, especially those she genuinely cares about, is often a chore and the woman sometimes finds herself in the unfortunate position of alienating potential allies because of her stoic demeanor. Sincerity and warmth is the rarest gift she can offer another, unfortunately, in the Undercity, such things aren't particularly valued and she has diligently smothered most opportunities to express proper care to those that please her.
- Vindictive: Insult the Baroness and she'll come for your head, your children's heads and the heads of all those that you love and cherish. Having experienced life at its worst during her formative years as a teenager, Ariadne has honed a particularly brutal and ruthless worldview that has bled into her cognitive processing and habits as a cartel boss. Mercy is something she disdains and any individual foolish enough to dent her little empire won't be granted much leeway when she eventually hunts them down for retribution. She is uncompromising with her grudges and will ensure justice has been served to those that hamper her goals.
- Insomniac: Ariadne hates sleep, or so she tells herself anyway. A combination of her drug addiction and nightmares that are a bit too vivid have severely hampered the woman's desire and ability to rest, often leaving her easily agitated and grumpy. She relies on a heavy cocktail of sleeping pills, alcohol and a diluted strain of pleythl nitrate to knock herself into dreamless sleeps that verge on comatose.
"This 'Zen' is just a myth, more propoganda by the Red Ravens..."
MISC.
- The 'Name': The Firrerreo believed that one could 'own' another's name, and therefore would almost never give out their name to another, unless it was their mate or close friend and this belief was instantly implemented the moment Ariadne found herself in the wider galaxy away from her Mando family. She believes that speaking another's name was a form of power over that individual and as a result has utilized the name 'Zen' to cover her real identity.
- Carnivore: A side effect of her Firrerreon heritage and one that has impacted her eating habits...and subdued animal nature. Ariadne is a strictly carnivorous woman, not only that but she is a aficionado of raw meat and will, almost compulsively, dine on the finest, most bloodiest cuts to sate her beastly appetite and combat her lingering anemia, which causes her exceptionally pale complexion. Enhanced metabolism and resistance has allowed her digestive tract to break down meats that would otherwise cause food poisoning to less durable individuals.
- Cat Person: This is self explanatory, the woman likes her little felines and is partial to adopting any stray that comes her way.
"Those teeth just add to the appeal right..?"
APPEARANCE
Pale and slim, the self titled Baroness moves with the fluid control and grace of a feline, her sleek beauty concealing the wrathful predator that lurks beneath the supple milky white skin. Dark mahogany hair frames a waifish visage, one that is not tarnished with any blemish nor marred with unnecessary make up. Thin, angular brows, often cocked in muted amusement, sit atop piercing auburn eyes, the deep pools of colour relentless in their attention to detail, always looking and always searching. Heavy eyelashes flow off the curve of her gaze, fluttering like a child whenever the half Firrerreon finds herself in the rare position of surprise or excitement. The woman's slender nose leads into peachy lips, often painted in red, and it effortlessly disguises one of the many mutations the cartel boss was born with.Highly developed canine teeth, ivory and razor sharp, sprout from both her upper and lower gums, the deadly fangs capable of tearing at flesh with relative ease. In conjunction with her predatory maw the woman's fingernails are carefully manicured into sharp points, or 'claws', and are made of a much more durable keratin than a standard human's biology.
Clothing and style is dependent on the situation with which 'Zen' finds herself in, but common colours the Baroness works with are black, white, red and gold. Her taste is pragmatic and simple, anything deemed unnecessary to her general 'look' is left in hidden the wardrobe, never to see the light of day unless she finds herself in a generous mood. Armour is often worn beneath her outfits, her penchant for sleek, streamlined fits that hug her figure bleeding into her choices for such essential gear.
BIOGRAPHY
Genesis
Little is known about Ariadne's mother other than her name, age and profession at the time of her discovery, all other information having been burned in the tempest of time and leaving her as little more than a succulent memory for the male Firrerreon that mounted her during those tumultuous years. Yana was but a young woman of nineteen years when the brothel where she worked was raided by a bloodied group of renegade Mandalorians, the upstart and freshly hired whore being the first conquest for the ravenous group to sate their desires. Worked till she could no longer walk, the young woman was promptly whisked away from her home on Coruscant and stuffed into the quarters of one Tigris Van'Shelaq, a Firrerreon warrior in league with the Mandalorian squad.
With golden skin and snowy hair the imposing Tigris was more beast than man, a predator whose skill in battle matched his uncompromising nature and devotion to his people. Smitten with the captive Yana and dedicating much of his time to the services she offered, the vicious Mandolorian eventually took her as a bondmate, an act that the young women refused to accept even until her last days as her pseudo-husband's plaything. It was a tempestuous affair, the battle of wills between the hardened warrior and his feisty prize becoming almost as infamous as Tigris' battle prowess.
If there was any good that blossomed between the man and his captive whore it was the child she bore for him on the moon base of Concordia. Initially horrified with the idea of spawning a child for someone who claimed her like a beast of burden, Yana's trepidation was eventually eased when Tigris offered her every amenity and service to keep the pregnancy afloat. The famed Firrerreon wanted a child, somebody to call his heir and whilst he'd taken in several war orphans as is own the idea of creating something beautiful in the womb of his young lover was too satisfying to ignore.
After twenty one hours of labour Ariadne was finally born, the squalling baby marking the beginning of one life and the end of another. Complications with the birth saw Yana's body tear itself apart, whatever chance she had to hold her child ending the moment her heart gave way. Emerging from the corpse of her mother, Ariadne instantly captured her father's affection, something that would intrinsically tie the duo together as she grew older.
Fanning the Flames
Yana's passing did little to stifle Tigris' resolve to mold his daughter into a true and proud Mandalorian, his ambition guiding the discipline and treatment of his child with firmness and pride. Displays of love between the two were rare, but not entirely unheard of, his affection typically manifesting in his devotion to teaching his child the art of war and the extent of her innate gifts. She was to be his shining heir, the cub who would continue Tigris Van'Shelaq's legacy and inspire fear into those unworthy of her presence. This was not to say the warrior avoided questionable measures when raising his daughter. Ariadne was subjected to the harshest of climates with little more than a small canteen, a rifle and her wits, these excursion often lasting several days without any contact from the man that was grooming her to perfection.
Talented, if a bit anti-social and aloof, Ari displayed finesse in the areas her father trained her in, excelling in the art of hunting and more ferocious variation of echani. Rather than hide her Firrerreon mutations like some other hybrid bastards the child was encouraged to actively accept them as special, Tigris repeatedly reminding her how beautiful her smile was. Even though he possessed little in the way of parenting, especially for a young girl, the Mandalorian was a doting father nonetheless even if he did employ a unique view of love. He spoiled her with trips to Cholganna, among other dangerous destinations, and it was there that she was eventually marked with a the title of 'little Nexu', a fitting nickname for a girl who could stare even the feircest of creatures down.
By the age of twelve, Ariadne was an initiated member of her father's squadron, any thoughts of marriage or the mundane duties of daily life escaping her attention completely. She was bred for blood, not for bridal gowns. Although quiet and studious with the rigorous training her father subjected her to, the young half breed found genuine happiness traversing strange planets with Tigris' crew, often assisting him with a bounty or helping him catch a wild beast on a week long hunt. It was these early years of blossoming into a woman did Ariadne live through a period of unadulterated bliss, enjoying life in all of its simplicity.
Although such a thing was not to last.
Caged Beast
An accomplished warrior was bound to make as many enemies as they did allies and Tigris' eventually found himself as the target for a substantial bounty, the identity of the person organizing the hit a complete mystery. All transactions and dealings were worked through several subcontractors, pirates and gangsters hoping to make several hundred thousand credits once they'd eventually caught up with the gold skinned Mandalorian. Thinking little of the threat and reassuring his crew, especially his daughter, that he was not in harm's way, Tigris continued to explore the very fringes of the galaxy, his swarm of would-be killers lurking in the darkest reaches of space hoping to claim their prize. Many attempted to subdue their infamous target and many failed, often falling in a blaze of bloody gunfire.
Alas, Tigris' luck could only last so long before fate saw to his last days on Nar Shaddaa. A routine stop over in the hopes of refueling and stocking up on ammo quickly derailed in a two day long gunfight with the reigning cartels, the sheer numbers gradually overwhelming the Firrerreon's small crew of men. It was here that Ariadne was confronted with life's second great injustice, the murder of her only surviving parent. Leaving his heir with little more than a strained kiss and a gruff nod, Tigris' final moments were riddled with bullets and blood, the cherished memory of his dead whore and their daughter splattered into million pieces once a distant sniper called the fateful shot.
The bounty was finalized and paid for. No further instructions were given, not even for those that survived the messy confrontation.
Whatever remained of Tigris could not be cleaned from the depths of Nar Shaddaa for several days, his legacy falling onto the slim shoulders of the fifteen year old girl who witnessed her father's execution from a heap of paid mercenaries that lay beaten and blooded by her feet.
Ariadne was discovered before she could even return to her father's ship, the thugs that found her recounting the rabid, crazed look in her eyes and the mangled fingers that were drenched in blood, whose it was they didn't care to ask. Several attempts at subduing the shattered teenager were met with an almost animalistic resistance, with two men receiving mortal wounds at the bloodied hands of their captive teenager. Much could be said about what was done to Ariadne that day, although such instances of immoral savagery were best left concealed in the past. In her grief the girl met Fate's cruelty and ever since the moment she was tossed into the den of Shak'ar Ki, a feared mobster, she was left to wallow in the cold, unstoppable rage that overwhelmed her body. Whatever joy the young Mandalorian thought she knew turned the ash, the promise of a life fulfilled by her father's side now splattered against the stained duracrete of Nar Shaddaa's dingiest city.
The Product of Pain
Much to her chagrin, Ariadne swiftly became her captor's favourite trophy, Shak'ar Ki often showing her off during his dealings with the pirates, smugglers and cartel bosses that swarmed the corrupt and tainted moon. She was his 'little Mandalorian', his prize beauty for taking part in Tigris Van'Shelaq's assassination and the price the man offered his associates for a night with his prisoner raked in a steady income of credits that would have otherwise been made dealing spice.
A particular method of torture Shak'ar's gang put the half Firrerreon through was abusing her healing factor to the very edge of its limits. Often chained to a stake with arms painfully locked behind her, Ariadne was subjected to hours of Shak'ar's men doing their best to leave the longest lasting bruise on her body, wherever they saw fit and in whatever fashion they believed to be the most effective. It was a cruel game, one of many that left the teenager little more than a ragged bloodied corpse and any chance at exercising their sadism was met with ecstatic encouragement from the man who'd claimed her.
It was the dirt in a wound that grew too deep too rapidly and by the time a month passed in captivity, the girl had very much become the tormented creature her abuser so diligently groomed her to be. Treated like an animal and often forced into partaking in Shak'ar's sick games, be it executing his enemies in a makeshift ring or pleasuring the more twisted men in his cohort, Ariadne's taste for the violent excess of the criminal underground grew to the point of deft understanding.
She knew the rules, the unspoken gestures and the crude dogma that ruled over the misfits that swarmed Nar Shaddaa's infected alleyways. The strangers that ogled and jeered soon became familiar faces, their identities burned into the girl's conscious until she could detect any individual by nothing more than the stutter and beat of their hearts. She studied it all, memorizing behaviors and banter, dealings and double crossings and twisted game of power that ruled over the men and maggots that defiled the corrupt kingdom. Ariadne became a product of Shak'ar Ki's design and yet she remained a child of Concordia, the savage hunter her father trained her to be. The whispers of the past haunted her memory, the nostalgic tethers that kept her from straying too far into grief reminding the girl of her purpose.
She was a huntress, a predator and a killer, not a prisoner. She was better.
On the eve of the first anniversary of Tigris' murder, Shak'ar thought it proper to mark his accomplishment by taking his prize in the waning hours of dusk. It wasn't the first time she'd become the object of his ravenous needs but this time it was different, the slurred beating of his heart echoing in the night telling the girl all she needed to know. Shak'ar Ki was drunk. Stumbling blind through the darkness of his bedroom and scrambling for the keys that unlocked the girl's cage, the cartel boss was already pants-less and drooling by the time he stepped into her enclosure and into the clawed hands of Death herself.
The sound of his breathing was what guided Ariadne, whom they'd once called the 'Little Nexu', into her prey. Under the blanket of night the girl exacted her bloody, violent revenge, the man's squeals of terror becoming a succulent symphony of sound that soothed the the tempest of her mind. He pleaded and wept as he watched his prized pet violate his body, the pitiful sounds that screeched from his throat and into the empty abyss becoming the final crescendo to his life.
What was left of the man was little more than a mangled puddle of blood and bone, the portrait of his life dashed into ground like the Mandalorian he helped gun down all those months ago.
But Ariadne's wrath was not sated, not yet anyway.
The Baroness
Shak'ar Ki's swift and bloody end at the hands of his captive Mandolorian sent a shockwave throughout the Undercity, the ripples of his death spreading into the lowers wards of Nar Shaddaa and before long old allies and rivals were vying for a share of his turf. But their attempts at infecting his ravaged kingdom quickly failed when certain individuals began dropping dead in each each faction. It was a warning, the bloody remains painting a vicious omen for any man foolish enough to tamper with the Undercity's newest player. To some, the murders seemed random, the perpetrator targeting anyone from the wealthiest crime lord down to the most pitiful thief but to those that knew of the secret sessions Shak'ar Ki organised with his prized pet...they were marked for death as well, the knowledge of Ariadne's torment not saving them from her wrath.
One by one, they fell, each paying the price of their sins. Shak'ar offered them a night of pleasure and Ariadne granted them a final night of pain. Her retribution was more than just a simple means of getting back at the men who defiled during her months of captivity, however, it was a statement of her power. Knowing full well that there could no longer be a life for her back on Concordia, the girl switched her attention to making do with what had been left for her in the blooded, battered turf that once belonged to the man that mutilated her. Ariadne was to rebuild the kingdom into something bigger, something that would not only make her father proud but inspire fear into those that hoped to wrangle with her even more. She was more than just a girl, she was a predator.
The process was arduous and slow, her ruthless and unyielding nature setting a precedent for the violent years that followed and after extinguishing any remnant of her former life, such as hiding her name, the Baroness of the Undercity finally marked her claim on the scarred landscape of Nar Shaddaa.
A Legacy
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PROLOGUE:[/FONT] A chance encounter]The music is pounding and the air is so hot you feel it crisping your lungs, as if you'd swallowed a handful of embers on the way in. The club is one of the few luxuries you have down here in the dirt, with fast music, cheap liquor and cheaper women. Bodies press together and the stench of sweat clings in the air but this is your night to feel alive and you brave the crowd, the bar your only hope for what you need.
You weren’t expecting to see her. You know that when you look on her because she’s far too perfect for the likes of this place. Her hair’s a curtain, obfuscating her features and yet you can tell that she’s perfect. Tall and thin, long of limb and hair – you catch her glance as she sips at hard vodka. Perfectly white teeth shine like diamonds when she smirks, auburn eyes knowing. Turning, she fades into the crowd and you’re after her. Because she’s all you ever wanted.
She’s lithe and agile, navigating the press of sweat-slicked bodies like a ghost – you struggle to keep your eyes on her but every so often, she stops – for only a moment and glances back, smiling when her eyes find yours. You have to have her. She’s singing in your blood and your throat is dry. You have to take her.
…whether she wants it or not.
You see the old, beaten door to the bathroom swing open and you smirk like a rancor walking to the bloody slaughter. It’s dingy and dirty, the scent of stale piss and neglected alcohol assaulting your senses like a pungent smog. Lights flicker ominously overhead, buzzing like a wounded droid, but she’s nowhere to be seen. It’s not a big place, perhaps the stalls? You check each one, and grow increasingly frustrated as each one turns out to be empty and desolate save the odorous messes the previous occupants left behind. You feel yourself slam a fist against a battered cubicle, swearing out loud amidst the sour stench. And then she’s on you. Out of nowhere, she’s suddenly in your arms, pushing you hard up against the broken sinks – hands pushing the jacket from your shoulder, her breath a gasp. It’s always so much easier when they don’t fight. She runs a hand down the seam of your fly and you smile darkly; her own lustful gaze turning up towards yours as she gropes you to life. “That a gun or you just happy to see me, baby?” Her voice is deep and sultry and you want to hear it screaming your name. And then your actual gun’s in her hand and she’s laughing – coyly – but laughing all the same. It enrages you but you don’t move. She does have a firearm after all.
Nice piece. I like it.” The magazine slips from the breach, clattering to the ground with a resounding clang. With a single kick, she sends it skittering underneath a stall. Cocking the slide back, she pops the round in the chamber out, the little lead-raindrop twirling over her head before leans back and snatches it out of the air with her mouth.
It was then you notice her teeth. They were predatory, deadly; so sharp you could feel air get cut into ribbons as it filtered through her immaculate canine maw.
You stare in disbelief when she looks at you, eyebrow raised, bullet caught perfectly between her front teeth. The pistol clatters to the ground, and she’s against you again – lips against yours, bullet slipping from her tongue to yours.
That’s all you remember before the blackness.
Your arms are strapped down, you know that before you open your eyes. “Oh good, you’re awake.” You tense up, how did she know? “Breathing changed. The rise and fall of your chest increased by about 4 centimeters.” How does she…?
“Don’t overthink it. You can open your eyes if you’d like. You’re in pleasant company.” You do, but you weren’t expecting what you saw. Perhaps a torture chamber? A cannibal’s feeding den? A hutt's harem?
Anything but an austere white room, flawlessly clean. A coffee-table spread out before you, a pretty black vase with cherry blossoms hanging out of it. How much those would cost all the way down here you didn't even want to imagine. You only know what they are because she mentions the name of them when you glance at them. Your eyes find her, to see her transformed. No longer is she dressed in a black sweater and ratty jeans. No longer is she perfect.
She sits on a beautifully clean, white leather couch and she is immaculate. Black suit-skirt clings to her form, her legs are crossed and the shoes she’s wearing are probably worth more than you are. In fact, you know it because again – she tells you so. The chair you’re strapped into is comfortable…except for the leather straps of course.
“Do you know why you’re here?” Her words feel like luscious silk against your ears and her mouth twitches, amused.
You shake your head no. Your training tells you that it is better not to speak in such situations, follow protocol and you may survive. You struggle at the straps, trying to be discreet – her eyes glance towards your arms. You know she’s caught you. She’s too observant, she’s too perfect.
“You’re here because you are suspected to have ties to the Ossa Het's cartel. I’d like to know if that’s the truth or not.”
“It isn’t.” You lie. Her lips tighten and she scratches idly at her eyebrow, bored – and you wonder what happened to the seemingly fun party girl in the bar. Was she a façade? An act? Turns out she was, because the woman tells you so, making it sound like a chore than anything else.
“How do you know what I’m thinking?” You ask, voice cautious – she laughs at you again. This time it isn’t half as charming. “I can hear your heartbeat, simple as that. I analyze people – it’s what I do and I’m very good at it. No need for Force tricks to get into that brain of yours." She sniffs, brushing a fleck of dirt from beneath her ruby red fingernail. "Now, since we both know you have ties to Ossa's activities, I would like for you to explain to me what exactly you were doing in that part of the Undercity."
“I don’t work for the Ossa or any of those slugs.” Your body tenses, you expect some sort of pain. That’s what they always told you would follow in these sort of circumstances. Your heart is hammering, but nothing comes. Just her impassive stare. “Do you know anyone who does work for them?”
Play it safe, try to trap her. Spin tales, spin lies. It’s worked for other agents. “Yeah, one guy.”
“Describe him for me if you would.”
“Tall, old, uhh…he had a white beard, it was long, blue eyes. An old hat, I think.”
She smirks and rolls her eyes; “How adorable”. Your jaw tightens.
“Tell me about Nadir Andiro, you may know him as Flek.” Kark. Your whole body tenses, how does she know? How does she know any of the stuff she knows? But she’s reading you and you physically relax…or attempt to. “Never heard of him.”
She cocks her head, luscious hair tumbling down her slender shoulders.
“You’re lying, your pulse quickened by three tenths of a second – indicating that you’re lying about knowing him which in turn means that you’re lying about being involved with Ossa's activities. The fact that you’re lying about Nadir suggests that he’s somehow important – given that the only thing Ossa's other pets have lied about is Black Spice– henceforth meaning that Nadir is probably the one moving Black Spice in and around the city. Given that all the operatives we’ve detained have stated knowing Nadir but not as a member of his cell indicates that your lie puts you inside his cell. You take his orders, you know where the Spice shipment is. Don’t make me get nasty.” Your blood is ice. She just described everything in perfect detail and you don’t understand how. She’s good, too good. She’s perfect. At least at this.
“I…I…” She rolls her eyes.
“Where is Nadir hiding at the moment? I don’t need to hurt you, you know. Just give me the information.”
“I won’t talk.”
“Will your children?” Your heart clenches up, and beats ever faster all at the same time. “How do you know I have children?”
“I know you have four children, between the ages of nine and fourteen – probably all by the same woman. She’s dead and you’re the one who killed her when she walked in on you cheating on her with a whore, but which man hasn't done that down here?" She purrs, leaning forward by an inch. Too close, she was too close."You joined Ossa's cartel in an effort to keep your children safe from starvation but you made the foolish decision of sharing details with them. They may not know as much as you but once their fingernails have been pulled out, I’m sure they’ll give me everything they can.” You strain hard against the leather straps – screaming at her, roaring in rage. She’s unflinching, watching you with dispassionate eyes. The eyes of a child who’d pulled the antennae off an ant.
“Who told you that?!” You wail.
“You did, just now. Like I said, I’m very good.” She stands, a small silver bell in her hand which she rings lightly, a tinkling sound singing out. You watch as a hulking and matted Wookie brings in a tea-tray, laden with everything the elite few must feast on daily. Your mouth waters and your stomach groans audibly. The creature retreats without a sound, summoning the smallest grin from his ivory skinned mistress. “I thought we could have afternoon tea, but only if you cooperate. I don’t want to hurt you or your little ones but I work with some very bad men and they will. Save yourself, save your children. Tell me what you can and I promise you freedom from reprisal of that slug you work for. You’ll get a place of honor, here within my little palace. You and your children, I promise and I do not make those lightly.” She has you between a rock and a hard place and she knows it.
You hate yourself when you say it.
“Fine.”
Clapping her hands together lightly, she steps over to your chair – loosening the straps, letting you up so that you can dine with her. “Come, come, sit down on the couch with me. Have some tea, there’s biscuits and cookies. Delicious. Comes from the wealthiest woman in the southern docks.” You freeze slightly at that, your eyes betraying nothing.
The wealthiest woman was Nadir's mother…
You sit down across from her, and take the cup of tea she offers you. It’s hot and delicious and everything you’ve never had. “It’s honeymint. Barely any survived the way, I hope you enjoy it.” She smirks, sipping at her own cup before setting it aside, folding her hands over in her lap. "Now...tell me, so this can be all said and done."
“Nadir is the man who protects our Black Spice, you were right about that. During the outbreak in the ghettos a few weeks ago, one of our safehouses was attacked but he got out, we haven’t heard from him since. He's been staying off the grid and that’s wise as far as I can tell...those Red Ravens can be pains.” You don’t make apologies for your disdain.
“Anything else?”
“That’s all I know, I swear. I wasn’t briefed on much, Ossa would barely fill us in. Three hours before the nightclub, I was at the safehouse that was attacked, trying to find anything that could lead me there and I didn’t.” You’re not lying.
“Thank you for your honesty.” You breathe a sigh of relief. She believes you.
“Open the screen please!” She doesn’t say it to you, but rather to something else, something listening in. The wall behind the chair you were seated in slides into the ground, a sheet of glass behind it and a dark room. Lights flicker on and your heart stops. Your children are wandering around the room, frightened but apparently unharmed.
“Please! I told you everything!” You turn towards her but her face is impassive.
“I’m well aware.” She waves her hand and a scream rips out of you as a latch in the room’s ceiling opens and three rabid nexus pounce in. You can’t hear their screams, but you see the blood.
You see the limbs.
You throw yourself at her, screaming and flailing but she side-steps you, far more agile than you are. She’s laughing at you again, vicious and cruel. You swing your fist and she catches it easily, twisting hard – bones snap as one of those stiletto heels finds itself slamming into the bottom of your chin in the midst of her fanciful flourish. She’s on top of you, crotch grinding into yours, teeth bared like a beast from conjured from hell itself. She waves her hand and speakers turn on. The dying screams filter in. Her eyes are cold when she pulls the gun. Your gun.
It levels with your face…and you’re surprised by the white light at the end of the tunnel.
You weren’t expecting to see her. You know that when you look on her because she’s far too perfect for the likes of this place. Her hair’s a curtain, obfuscating her features and yet you can tell that she’s perfect. Tall and thin, long of limb and hair – you catch her glance as she sips at hard vodka. Perfectly white teeth shine like diamonds when she smirks, auburn eyes knowing. Turning, she fades into the crowd and you’re after her. Because she’s all you ever wanted.
She’s lithe and agile, navigating the press of sweat-slicked bodies like a ghost – you struggle to keep your eyes on her but every so often, she stops – for only a moment and glances back, smiling when her eyes find yours. You have to have her. She’s singing in your blood and your throat is dry. You have to take her.
…whether she wants it or not.
You see the old, beaten door to the bathroom swing open and you smirk like a rancor walking to the bloody slaughter. It’s dingy and dirty, the scent of stale piss and neglected alcohol assaulting your senses like a pungent smog. Lights flicker ominously overhead, buzzing like a wounded droid, but she’s nowhere to be seen. It’s not a big place, perhaps the stalls? You check each one, and grow increasingly frustrated as each one turns out to be empty and desolate save the odorous messes the previous occupants left behind. You feel yourself slam a fist against a battered cubicle, swearing out loud amidst the sour stench. And then she’s on you. Out of nowhere, she’s suddenly in your arms, pushing you hard up against the broken sinks – hands pushing the jacket from your shoulder, her breath a gasp. It’s always so much easier when they don’t fight. She runs a hand down the seam of your fly and you smile darkly; her own lustful gaze turning up towards yours as she gropes you to life. “That a gun or you just happy to see me, baby?” Her voice is deep and sultry and you want to hear it screaming your name. And then your actual gun’s in her hand and she’s laughing – coyly – but laughing all the same. It enrages you but you don’t move. She does have a firearm after all.
Nice piece. I like it.” The magazine slips from the breach, clattering to the ground with a resounding clang. With a single kick, she sends it skittering underneath a stall. Cocking the slide back, she pops the round in the chamber out, the little lead-raindrop twirling over her head before leans back and snatches it out of the air with her mouth.
It was then you notice her teeth. They were predatory, deadly; so sharp you could feel air get cut into ribbons as it filtered through her immaculate canine maw.
You stare in disbelief when she looks at you, eyebrow raised, bullet caught perfectly between her front teeth. The pistol clatters to the ground, and she’s against you again – lips against yours, bullet slipping from her tongue to yours.
That’s all you remember before the blackness.
Your arms are strapped down, you know that before you open your eyes. “Oh good, you’re awake.” You tense up, how did she know? “Breathing changed. The rise and fall of your chest increased by about 4 centimeters.” How does she…?
“Don’t overthink it. You can open your eyes if you’d like. You’re in pleasant company.” You do, but you weren’t expecting what you saw. Perhaps a torture chamber? A cannibal’s feeding den? A hutt's harem?
Anything but an austere white room, flawlessly clean. A coffee-table spread out before you, a pretty black vase with cherry blossoms hanging out of it. How much those would cost all the way down here you didn't even want to imagine. You only know what they are because she mentions the name of them when you glance at them. Your eyes find her, to see her transformed. No longer is she dressed in a black sweater and ratty jeans. No longer is she perfect.
She sits on a beautifully clean, white leather couch and she is immaculate. Black suit-skirt clings to her form, her legs are crossed and the shoes she’s wearing are probably worth more than you are. In fact, you know it because again – she tells you so. The chair you’re strapped into is comfortable…except for the leather straps of course.
“Do you know why you’re here?” Her words feel like luscious silk against your ears and her mouth twitches, amused.
You shake your head no. Your training tells you that it is better not to speak in such situations, follow protocol and you may survive. You struggle at the straps, trying to be discreet – her eyes glance towards your arms. You know she’s caught you. She’s too observant, she’s too perfect.
“You’re here because you are suspected to have ties to the Ossa Het's cartel. I’d like to know if that’s the truth or not.”
“It isn’t.” You lie. Her lips tighten and she scratches idly at her eyebrow, bored – and you wonder what happened to the seemingly fun party girl in the bar. Was she a façade? An act? Turns out she was, because the woman tells you so, making it sound like a chore than anything else.
“How do you know what I’m thinking?” You ask, voice cautious – she laughs at you again. This time it isn’t half as charming. “I can hear your heartbeat, simple as that. I analyze people – it’s what I do and I’m very good at it. No need for Force tricks to get into that brain of yours." She sniffs, brushing a fleck of dirt from beneath her ruby red fingernail. "Now, since we both know you have ties to Ossa's activities, I would like for you to explain to me what exactly you were doing in that part of the Undercity."
“I don’t work for the Ossa or any of those slugs.” Your body tenses, you expect some sort of pain. That’s what they always told you would follow in these sort of circumstances. Your heart is hammering, but nothing comes. Just her impassive stare. “Do you know anyone who does work for them?”
Play it safe, try to trap her. Spin tales, spin lies. It’s worked for other agents. “Yeah, one guy.”
“Describe him for me if you would.”
“Tall, old, uhh…he had a white beard, it was long, blue eyes. An old hat, I think.”
She smirks and rolls her eyes; “How adorable”. Your jaw tightens.
“Tell me about Nadir Andiro, you may know him as Flek.” Kark. Your whole body tenses, how does she know? How does she know any of the stuff she knows? But she’s reading you and you physically relax…or attempt to. “Never heard of him.”
She cocks her head, luscious hair tumbling down her slender shoulders.
“You’re lying, your pulse quickened by three tenths of a second – indicating that you’re lying about knowing him which in turn means that you’re lying about being involved with Ossa's activities. The fact that you’re lying about Nadir suggests that he’s somehow important – given that the only thing Ossa's other pets have lied about is Black Spice– henceforth meaning that Nadir is probably the one moving Black Spice in and around the city. Given that all the operatives we’ve detained have stated knowing Nadir but not as a member of his cell indicates that your lie puts you inside his cell. You take his orders, you know where the Spice shipment is. Don’t make me get nasty.” Your blood is ice. She just described everything in perfect detail and you don’t understand how. She’s good, too good. She’s perfect. At least at this.
“I…I…” She rolls her eyes.
“Where is Nadir hiding at the moment? I don’t need to hurt you, you know. Just give me the information.”
“I won’t talk.”
“Will your children?” Your heart clenches up, and beats ever faster all at the same time. “How do you know I have children?”
“I know you have four children, between the ages of nine and fourteen – probably all by the same woman. She’s dead and you’re the one who killed her when she walked in on you cheating on her with a whore, but which man hasn't done that down here?" She purrs, leaning forward by an inch. Too close, she was too close."You joined Ossa's cartel in an effort to keep your children safe from starvation but you made the foolish decision of sharing details with them. They may not know as much as you but once their fingernails have been pulled out, I’m sure they’ll give me everything they can.” You strain hard against the leather straps – screaming at her, roaring in rage. She’s unflinching, watching you with dispassionate eyes. The eyes of a child who’d pulled the antennae off an ant.
“Who told you that?!” You wail.
“You did, just now. Like I said, I’m very good.” She stands, a small silver bell in her hand which she rings lightly, a tinkling sound singing out. You watch as a hulking and matted Wookie brings in a tea-tray, laden with everything the elite few must feast on daily. Your mouth waters and your stomach groans audibly. The creature retreats without a sound, summoning the smallest grin from his ivory skinned mistress. “I thought we could have afternoon tea, but only if you cooperate. I don’t want to hurt you or your little ones but I work with some very bad men and they will. Save yourself, save your children. Tell me what you can and I promise you freedom from reprisal of that slug you work for. You’ll get a place of honor, here within my little palace. You and your children, I promise and I do not make those lightly.” She has you between a rock and a hard place and she knows it.
You hate yourself when you say it.
“Fine.”
Clapping her hands together lightly, she steps over to your chair – loosening the straps, letting you up so that you can dine with her. “Come, come, sit down on the couch with me. Have some tea, there’s biscuits and cookies. Delicious. Comes from the wealthiest woman in the southern docks.” You freeze slightly at that, your eyes betraying nothing.
The wealthiest woman was Nadir's mother…
You sit down across from her, and take the cup of tea she offers you. It’s hot and delicious and everything you’ve never had. “It’s honeymint. Barely any survived the way, I hope you enjoy it.” She smirks, sipping at her own cup before setting it aside, folding her hands over in her lap. "Now...tell me, so this can be all said and done."
“Nadir is the man who protects our Black Spice, you were right about that. During the outbreak in the ghettos a few weeks ago, one of our safehouses was attacked but he got out, we haven’t heard from him since. He's been staying off the grid and that’s wise as far as I can tell...those Red Ravens can be pains.” You don’t make apologies for your disdain.
“Anything else?”
“That’s all I know, I swear. I wasn’t briefed on much, Ossa would barely fill us in. Three hours before the nightclub, I was at the safehouse that was attacked, trying to find anything that could lead me there and I didn’t.” You’re not lying.
“Thank you for your honesty.” You breathe a sigh of relief. She believes you.
“Open the screen please!” She doesn’t say it to you, but rather to something else, something listening in. The wall behind the chair you were seated in slides into the ground, a sheet of glass behind it and a dark room. Lights flicker on and your heart stops. Your children are wandering around the room, frightened but apparently unharmed.
“Please! I told you everything!” You turn towards her but her face is impassive.
“I’m well aware.” She waves her hand and a scream rips out of you as a latch in the room’s ceiling opens and three rabid nexus pounce in. You can’t hear their screams, but you see the blood.
You see the limbs.
You throw yourself at her, screaming and flailing but she side-steps you, far more agile than you are. She’s laughing at you again, vicious and cruel. You swing your fist and she catches it easily, twisting hard – bones snap as one of those stiletto heels finds itself slamming into the bottom of your chin in the midst of her fanciful flourish. She’s on top of you, crotch grinding into yours, teeth bared like a beast from conjured from hell itself. She waves her hand and speakers turn on. The dying screams filter in. Her eyes are cold when she pulls the gun. Your gun.
It levels with your face…and you’re surprised by the white light at the end of the tunnel.
ROLEPLAYS:
Development Threads:
- I of the Storm: Ariadne comes face to face with the enigmatic Lysle.
- Beggin for Thread: An old benefactor returns with news
- How could I know you better?: Ariadne is swept up in a political scandal off world.
- Porcelain & Steel: Tensions flare as the cartel boss has to deal with her newest 'purchase'.
- A Knife Edge: Khaleel and Ariadne contemplate their relationship
- http://starwarsrp.net/topic/73175-a-cut-above/#entry1090752]A Cut Above: Having been tracked down, Zen is faced with an interesting proposition.
Social Threads:
- The Lives that I Take: A trip to Coruscant is interrupted, grumpiness ensues
Faction Threads:
RELATIONSHIPS:
Family:- Tigris Van'Shelaq [Father]: Mentor. Deceased.
- Yana [Mother]: Never knew. Deceased.
- Sunnie [Daughter]: Distant Relationship.
Friends:
Acquaintances:
- Lysle Rigger [Fellow Gangster]: Mutual Respect
- http://starwarsrp.net/topic/73246-sav-elko/]Sav Elko [Fellow Grumpybum]: Neutral/Needs to wash her hair
[*]http://starwarsrp.net/topic/66767-trin-gravois/]Trin Gravois [Another Grumpybum]: Neutral/Needs to get a rest
[*]Zenva Vrotoa [Potential Business partner]: Wary
[*]Councillor Dalen Kilrik [Politician]: Dislike
Lovers:
- http://starwarsrp.net/topic/41834-khaleel-malvern/] Khaleel Malvern [Sugar Daddy]: Unknowing father to Sunnie
Enemies:
- http://starwarsrp.net/topic/55723-elleryn/]Elleryn [Current Property]: Displeased/Angry
EQUIPMENT:
- Torquere Bodysuit: Standard dress
- Kurb Stomp Boots: Standard Footwear
- CZ-840 ShotgunStandard Firearm. Utilizes the Standard Slug and the Bang Slug
- Phrik fighting knives: Hidden
- Lecepanine Darts: Hidden
- Scalpel Class Interceptor: Personal Ship
