Vytal Noctura
N I G H T M O T H E R
"You Witches are far from home. Can't imagine you having much we want. Even looking like that."
An unusually pale woman sat comfortably still on the other side of the table. Her golden eyes fixed on a well-enough kept man; his hair only slightly disheveled, but adorned in clean clothes. Not the most decrepit of the lot in the Abregado-Rae port. Far from handsome in Noctura's opinion, however. The leering glint cast by the worn lighting of the cantina left much to be desired. How much longer before the beast extended his hand forward? As though he had the right to even entertain the notion of physical contact.
Flanking Vytal to either side were two of her Sisters. Their gaze was fixed on those flanking their leader, but they remain vigilant for threats beyond the ones before them now. This was not their first encounter offworld or among the celestial bodies; there had been many lessons learned since they departed Dathomir.
Such a lesson resulted in each sister carrying a blaster pistol whenever they went. A strange and foreign tool of death, but surprisingly effective; if not as accurate as a good bow or spear. Vytal reminder her Sisters it was necessary to adapt to the offworlders' ways if they intended to survive among them. Adopt their strengths, but leave their opulence and complacency behind.
After a data pad was quietly set down, Vytal slowly slid it to the center of the table. Her fingers withdrew smoothly before the man's hand shot forward. "We have credits. Are you prepared to deliver?"
One corner of the man's lips turned up at the corner. "As ever. But perhaps you could sweeten the deal? It will be a long trip."
The quiet creak of leather followed a subtle move designed to loosen a blaster in its holster. One of Vytal's Sisters did not appreciate what was far too common a comment by the outsider. It drew a scant flick of the man's eyes, but did little to ease the smirk.
Vytal's gloved hand extended once more over the surface of the table and hung awaiting the man's response. A smile graced the dark lips of the Dathomiri woman that sought their services. Perhaps the Witch was enticed by the possibility of exotic people from far away worlds after all? It was the bait that drew the man to accept her hand and begin to lean forward to kiss her fingers -- the Captain was no barbarian, after all. Nonetheless, the woman he sought to woo as a naive waif of some 'backwater world' was not so genteel.
Razor sharp claws extended from the tips of her fingers as she curled her fingers, clasping his hands in hers. A hiss followed the tips pressing sharply into the captured flesh. Now the smile washed away. The glint of desire shattered. Now Vytal leaned forward as the muscles of her upper arm rippled to draw his hand closer to her side of the table. "I have already sweetened the deal, Cap-tan. You, and your crew, will wake in the morning without the voices of the dead begging you to join them in darkness. Is this not enough?"
It was the man's turn to gaze into the sharpened rings of gold that caught fire in the diffuse lighting. Each passing second the claws pressed ever so more insistently and would soon draw rivulets of blood. Streams of it should the good smuggler not be up the task of repenting for transgressing against a Nightsister. To be treated as some helpless girl swept up in a sea of exploitation wasn't demeaning -- it was insulting. If this was not a 'business meeting' Vytal would gladly have them flayed alive. Perhaps they could extract the smallest spiritual energy from them; likely hardly enough for the effort.
"My mistake," the Captain replied between clenched teeth, "I had forgotten... your generous offer."
With a hum of satisfaction, the claws withdrew from the man's flesh and his hand was released so they could take their comfort in their respective seats once more. "You will be compensated for your efforts. You will be punished for the rest of your very long lives if you fail." Death could often be too quick a release. Let some of your enemies live long, terrible lives as examples to everyone else.
The Captain rose from his seat with a grunt, swiped the pad from the table, and retreated before any further humiliation would result. There'd been enough credits on the table to compensate him for the trouble. At least, from what Vytal heard from her Sister far more knowledge about these 'finances' of outsiders this was true. Denominations of 'currency' seemed unusually complicated. Life back in the clan was far more straight forward. Honest.
Vytal drew in and released a calming breath before she stood. These... deals took considerable restraint. To think everyone out here believed themselves better than the Nightsisters. They possessed technology to lay waste to Dathomir, perhaps, but better? The cantina reeked -- not of the labor of survival, but of desperation and fear. Never sure who would slash your throat for a few credits. To what end, the Nightsisters wondered?
"See they do not forget our agreement," Noctura instructed her Sisters. The delivery of supplies was important to them personally. IEach nodded before they departed in silence. It was not a jungle they knew from birth, but they knew how to stalk prey even in these foreign lands.
Now, perhaps, fresher air was in order.
Tag: [member='Scherezade deWinter']
An unusually pale woman sat comfortably still on the other side of the table. Her golden eyes fixed on a well-enough kept man; his hair only slightly disheveled, but adorned in clean clothes. Not the most decrepit of the lot in the Abregado-Rae port. Far from handsome in Noctura's opinion, however. The leering glint cast by the worn lighting of the cantina left much to be desired. How much longer before the beast extended his hand forward? As though he had the right to even entertain the notion of physical contact.
Flanking Vytal to either side were two of her Sisters. Their gaze was fixed on those flanking their leader, but they remain vigilant for threats beyond the ones before them now. This was not their first encounter offworld or among the celestial bodies; there had been many lessons learned since they departed Dathomir.
Such a lesson resulted in each sister carrying a blaster pistol whenever they went. A strange and foreign tool of death, but surprisingly effective; if not as accurate as a good bow or spear. Vytal reminder her Sisters it was necessary to adapt to the offworlders' ways if they intended to survive among them. Adopt their strengths, but leave their opulence and complacency behind.
After a data pad was quietly set down, Vytal slowly slid it to the center of the table. Her fingers withdrew smoothly before the man's hand shot forward. "We have credits. Are you prepared to deliver?"
One corner of the man's lips turned up at the corner. "As ever. But perhaps you could sweeten the deal? It will be a long trip."
The quiet creak of leather followed a subtle move designed to loosen a blaster in its holster. One of Vytal's Sisters did not appreciate what was far too common a comment by the outsider. It drew a scant flick of the man's eyes, but did little to ease the smirk.
Vytal's gloved hand extended once more over the surface of the table and hung awaiting the man's response. A smile graced the dark lips of the Dathomiri woman that sought their services. Perhaps the Witch was enticed by the possibility of exotic people from far away worlds after all? It was the bait that drew the man to accept her hand and begin to lean forward to kiss her fingers -- the Captain was no barbarian, after all. Nonetheless, the woman he sought to woo as a naive waif of some 'backwater world' was not so genteel.
Razor sharp claws extended from the tips of her fingers as she curled her fingers, clasping his hands in hers. A hiss followed the tips pressing sharply into the captured flesh. Now the smile washed away. The glint of desire shattered. Now Vytal leaned forward as the muscles of her upper arm rippled to draw his hand closer to her side of the table. "I have already sweetened the deal, Cap-tan. You, and your crew, will wake in the morning without the voices of the dead begging you to join them in darkness. Is this not enough?"
It was the man's turn to gaze into the sharpened rings of gold that caught fire in the diffuse lighting. Each passing second the claws pressed ever so more insistently and would soon draw rivulets of blood. Streams of it should the good smuggler not be up the task of repenting for transgressing against a Nightsister. To be treated as some helpless girl swept up in a sea of exploitation wasn't demeaning -- it was insulting. If this was not a 'business meeting' Vytal would gladly have them flayed alive. Perhaps they could extract the smallest spiritual energy from them; likely hardly enough for the effort.
"My mistake," the Captain replied between clenched teeth, "I had forgotten... your generous offer."
With a hum of satisfaction, the claws withdrew from the man's flesh and his hand was released so they could take their comfort in their respective seats once more. "You will be compensated for your efforts. You will be punished for the rest of your very long lives if you fail." Death could often be too quick a release. Let some of your enemies live long, terrible lives as examples to everyone else.
The Captain rose from his seat with a grunt, swiped the pad from the table, and retreated before any further humiliation would result. There'd been enough credits on the table to compensate him for the trouble. At least, from what Vytal heard from her Sister far more knowledge about these 'finances' of outsiders this was true. Denominations of 'currency' seemed unusually complicated. Life back in the clan was far more straight forward. Honest.
Vytal drew in and released a calming breath before she stood. These... deals took considerable restraint. To think everyone out here believed themselves better than the Nightsisters. They possessed technology to lay waste to Dathomir, perhaps, but better? The cantina reeked -- not of the labor of survival, but of desperation and fear. Never sure who would slash your throat for a few credits. To what end, the Nightsisters wondered?
"See they do not forget our agreement," Noctura instructed her Sisters. The delivery of supplies was important to them personally. IEach nodded before they departed in silence. It was not a jungle they knew from birth, but they knew how to stalk prey even in these foreign lands.
Now, perhaps, fresher air was in order.
Tag: [member='Scherezade deWinter']