Free Worlds Coaltion Space, Harbinger Class Cathedral Ship
"Not again."
It was far from the first time that Nealon awoke with a headache that could put down a Bantha, and almost no recollection of what had happened in the night before. He stretched his body on the soft, comfortable bed of his luxury suite on Nar Shaddaa, finally awaking from the bad dream that had felt like years. It was good to know that the whole story about being abducted and forcefully recruited in some kind of backwater underground resistance was behind him.
Only when his body informed him that he wasn't actually in his bed, but instead laying on a hard metal floor in a very small cell he managed to opened his eyes. His blurry vision suddenly reminded him that his bad dream didn't had been a dream at all, but the joke of a life he had to go through for a few months now. Slowly he pushed himself into a sitting position, a task that was quite complex considering the handcuffs that kept his hands tied in front of him.
Trying his best to ignore the pain in his head and stomach he focused on the handcuffs, using the force to open them. Yet he kept them on his hands, so no potential guards would notice the change. As the fog inside his mind cleared up, the memories of what misfortune had brought him here slowly returned. He had stumbled into a bar on some backwater world, already wasted like any other day and a woman caught his eye.
Him being himself he didn't even hesitated a second before approaching her and the man that was with her. The whole encounter didn't turned out the way he had expected. Both had belonged to some weird religion, the order of the sacred fire or whatever, and the man gave him a long boring lecture about the dangers of the force. Making him trip with his limited skills in telekinesis had been a lot funnier in his mind than the short, painful brawl that followed afterwards.
His last clear memory was him giving a thumbs up to the woman with a winning grin as the man rose from the ground and knocked him out in a single punch. After that it was only black, until he opened his eyes inside the cell. He fixed the position of his dirty jacket that he wore since the day he had been abducted, before laying down again to look even less threatening. Then he released a faked scream of pain, hoping that someone would come to "save him".
[member="Amelia Sorenn-Syrush"]
"Not again."
It was far from the first time that Nealon awoke with a headache that could put down a Bantha, and almost no recollection of what had happened in the night before. He stretched his body on the soft, comfortable bed of his luxury suite on Nar Shaddaa, finally awaking from the bad dream that had felt like years. It was good to know that the whole story about being abducted and forcefully recruited in some kind of backwater underground resistance was behind him.
Only when his body informed him that he wasn't actually in his bed, but instead laying on a hard metal floor in a very small cell he managed to opened his eyes. His blurry vision suddenly reminded him that his bad dream didn't had been a dream at all, but the joke of a life he had to go through for a few months now. Slowly he pushed himself into a sitting position, a task that was quite complex considering the handcuffs that kept his hands tied in front of him.
Trying his best to ignore the pain in his head and stomach he focused on the handcuffs, using the force to open them. Yet he kept them on his hands, so no potential guards would notice the change. As the fog inside his mind cleared up, the memories of what misfortune had brought him here slowly returned. He had stumbled into a bar on some backwater world, already wasted like any other day and a woman caught his eye.
Him being himself he didn't even hesitated a second before approaching her and the man that was with her. The whole encounter didn't turned out the way he had expected. Both had belonged to some weird religion, the order of the sacred fire or whatever, and the man gave him a long boring lecture about the dangers of the force. Making him trip with his limited skills in telekinesis had been a lot funnier in his mind than the short, painful brawl that followed afterwards.
His last clear memory was him giving a thumbs up to the woman with a winning grin as the man rose from the ground and knocked him out in a single punch. After that it was only black, until he opened his eyes inside the cell. He fixed the position of his dirty jacket that he wore since the day he had been abducted, before laying down again to look even less threatening. Then he released a faked scream of pain, hoping that someone would come to "save him".
[member="Amelia Sorenn-Syrush"]