Private Friends With The Floor

[Frea Sheplin]

Beeeeeep…

Come on, Dash…

Beeeeeeeeeep…

Dash for fu— Answer!

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep…

Frea's knee wiggled up and down, her foot rubbed against the wooden beam of her raised bar stool. She shot an impatient stare at the crowd before she glanced down at her device again. It had been a while now since the paychecks stopped coming in. Had this been any other time in Frea's life that wouldn't have mattered much, but this wasn't any other time in her life. Matter of fact was that this was this exact moment in her life, and in this exact moment of her life she needed money, and fast.

The bartender approached the Echani-Hapan woman with an equally impatient lean on the bar to ask for his money already. Frea cleared her throat and cut him off with a quick raise of her index finger to shut him up. He gently grabbed her wrist and put it back down on the bar and latched on.

"That tab payment…" He muttered as she stared him down. "You are overdue."

"Right right, yeah." Frea nodded and raised her other hand and feigned struggling to get the money from her other pocket. "If you'd just let me, y'know…"

The man let his grip on her wrist go and the hand quickly swept away from it. She kicked off of the chair and entered straight into a sprint for the door. The bartender raised his voice before whistling at the guards, but Frea was far too swift for them. Her escape was practically guaranteed until some would-be do-gooder decided it was time to step in. She could smell the fresh-ish air outside, she was right by the door, and suddenly there was a fist right in her face.

Frea was thrown onto her back. Her hands touched her face for a moment, groaning all the while as two firm hands grabbed her by the upper arm and began to drag her back inside and out of view for whatever punishment the establishment saw fit to hand her. The rest of the evening passed by in a state of pain.

Her back hurt, her feet hurt, everything hurt.

By the time they were done with her they threw her out in a back alley. Battered and bruised she picked herself off the ground and began to stumble away. On the bright side, at least the night couldn't possibly get any worse.

 

[Mercy]

Frea Sheplin

Tonight was good eating.

Good drinks, good food, and someone getting their lights punched out for the rest of the night. Mercy was no empath by any sense of the word, but emotions curled so tight and painful in the air? Oh, yeah, Mercy drew on it. It was delicious. By the time they were done with the poor little lass Mercy's glass was empty too.

A couple of chips were thrown lazily on the bar and Mercy followed half a dozen steps behind the beaten girl being dragged out.

Mercy clapped the shoulder of one of the bouncers as they walked back in beside her. "Always appreciate expert handiwork, lads." Before stepping out into the cold and lighting up one of her cigarettes.

"See, it takes real skill to beat someone up 'til an inch o' their life." Now addressing Frea as they ended up alone. "But not leave any permanent damage. No broken bones, no nerve damage, not bleeding so hard ya bleed out." She stretched lightly as her big steps caught up easily with the half stumbling, half crawling lady.

"Smoke?" Offering her one easily and taken it back regardless of if she took one or not. "Friz, the barkeep, is pragmatic. A beatdown so ya dun' think ya can keep leaving tabs o' him... but still leave ya functional enough to order drinks another day."

Now Mercy would not have bothered with that. Tear out Frea's throat in front of everyone and then certainly nobody would be skimping on their bar tabs any time soon. But that was why Mercy wasn't the owner of a fine establishment like that. She didn't have the patience for it or the long-term thinking.

The latter she was trying to change. The former... eh, work in progress.

"Looks like ya need more than jus' some advice tho. Do ya need a hand?" And Mercy offered her right one. The one with the coiled eldritch tattoo slowly moving skin-deep in iridescent hues.

 

[Frea Sheplin]

Mercy

Scratch that, it could get worse. A towering pile of muscle decided that now was the time to gloat and in reality Frea had absolutely no desire to indulge her. The white-haired woman rolled her eyes underneath the disheveled locks of her hair and straightened her back to stand up straight again. The swelling and bruising on her cheek was perhaps a bit unflattering and the small dried up spots of blood in her sweater was certainly an aesthetic of their own.

"I'm good." She hissed under the oddly dry wetness in her throat and declined the hand offered. "Don't have a habit of shaking hands with strangers in dark alleys."

The all too stubborn girl cleared her throat and spat out the blood that pooled at the back of her palate, but not before she had herself a small coughing fit. Her eyes began to well up, teeth gritted to swallow the worst of the pain from the part of her pride that was positively going up in smoke at the moment. In a rather unsubtle display of attempted… Something, anything, Frea patted her thigh for her blaster only to find that the holster which usually held her sidearm was empty. They must have taken it as part of the payment.

"Great…" She groaned. "Look, if you want money you are barking up the wrong tree, and if you want a fight I won't make it easy on you."

Well, that was up for debate.

"What's your deal, lady?"

 

[Mercy]

Frea Sheplin

A chuckle.

At least Frea's spirit remained unbroken. Anything less than this would have turned her into a punching bag for Mercy. Instead? Just a shimmer of respect for her. Just a shimmer however. This was still Mercy they were talking about. "Money I got enough of." And suddenly a scatter of credit chits landed in front of Frea's mangled face.

"An' I dun' fight scraps. I fight wars."

At least Mercy liked to believe she was past the pit fighting days. Parts of her still longed for them, of course. The joy of blood, the cheers and celebrations afterwards.

But Mercy was trying to make something of herself. To be something more than just a brawler, just another pair of knuckles being paid for.

"Am here to offer ya a deal." She crouched down with one knee and caught Frea's eye. She was a pretty thing, hell, the blood made her far more interesting than the clean-faced sleepless visage of an hour ago. "I can make ya problems go away. Money? There's more where that came from." A nod towards the pile o' credits that would have easily solved her entire bar tab.

"An' if ya work with me, mm, people like Friz won't dare to lay a hand on ya."

 

[Frea Sheplin]

Mercy

Did she rehearse that one in the mirror? Frea kept herself from staring at the personal pep talk to see beyond it and to what this woman wanted from her. It wasn't money and it wasn't a fight. It wasn't even something she did for the sake of her ego either, or at least Frea would assume so given its already disproportionate size. Not that it was bigger from the redhead's physical form, but it most likely came close to it. Frea would hate to be around whenever that particular bubble burst.

She eyed that little scattering of credits for a while longer before she finally glanced back at Mercy.

"Right, because nothing says 'happy ending' to an evening like this as being indentured and under the boot of whatever organization you work for." She tried to laugh but really just ended up coughing again. "I take this—" Frea cleared her throat and spat again. "I take this money, and you write me down for the whole sum plus a little more owed." She exhaled a chuckle. "Then, when I repay the sum, there has been a mysterious sum of interest added to it."


"Seen it before. Not into it." She exhaled again with an uneasy shiver. "For all I know…" This time she swallowed. "You are actually the one behind this racket."

 

[Mercy]

Frea Sheplin

Frea would have earned a punch in the ear for that not so long ago.

But Mercy was more forgiving these days. Still, she would have noticed the tightening in her jaw, if she was paying attention. Instead Mercy booped Frea's bloody nose with her right hand. The eldritch one. That coiled and twisted right under the skin. At skin contact? She received a flare of a memory at the same time.

Mercy staring down a gorog the size of an apartment block. And still living to tell the tale.

"I work for myself, darling dumbass." That was as much patience as Mercy could summon. "But I asked around about ya while you were being worked over in the backroom. Street racer, sponsor dropped ya..." Then she grinned and booped Frea's nose once again.

Mercy fighting for her life against a forest of evil sentient meat-eating trees. Surviving and eating a soup made out of them.

"You need a sponsor. I want a cut of yar winnings... if you manage to win anyway."

 

[Frea Sheplin]

It was like being dragged through a hyperspace tunnel made out of flesh and imagery that wasn't her own. She could see a big creature made out of muscles and hatred scream at her for a moment before she was torn back into reality with a wet gasp. It was evident that something had struck her that she was not ready for, her breathing ramped up along with the panic.

"Wha—" But there was another boop. A forest, a— a— SOUP? A measure of pride and accomplishment before she was tugged back to reality again. Frea's head began to spin, thoughts grew increasingly more difficult to form as sweat began to pour from her skin.

"STOP!" She screamed and began to frantically push away from the redhead. "Stop."

"I— I get it." Frea coughed and felt more than ever how badly her head was getting starved of air. "Please, stop."

There was a very real fear in her eyes as she swallowed the tears that formed at the corner of her eyes. A cut of her winnings for the sake of leaving this alley alive? She needed air, she needed to assess this, but… But then, there was that small spark of indignant pride. Frea's teeth grinded as her jaw began to move back and forth.

"How much, for how long?" She asked, not really wanting an answer to that.

Mercy

 

[Mercy]

Frea Sheplin

Mercy chuckled.

She forgot that non-forcers were fragile little creatures. So easily broken with a single well-placed tap. But she resisted the urge to boop her nose one more time. Only a year ago Mercy would have just to underline the point. Because she could. To show this wretched broken thing who tried to negotiate with her that she was nothing and couldn't do anything.

But Mercy had learned her lesson.

Sometimes it was better to use honey. It baffled her when they still fought, but now she could handle it better.

"Poor darling," Mercy cooed there and withdrew her hand. "-we really need to put you in a nice bacta tank." There she cracked her neck and rose up to her feet again.

"Mm, have you ever done a deal with the devil before, Frea?" Yes, she knew her name, though that wasn't so special. She had been in that bloody backroom for quite a while. "You don't want to know the details. We both know that." It was all spelled out in her eyes. "Just take my hand and pull yourself out of these drags."

Then a grin.

"Once you are cleaned up and healed... we can chat about the finer points over a whiskey."

Her hand was offered once more.

 

[Frea Sheplin]

Mercy

There was fire in the glare that set upon the redhead's extended hand. Frea's teeth continued the gnash as she considered the odds of getting out of here. Given that this woman was force sensitive it felt all the more unlikely. As much as Frea wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, this was not it. Still, she had her pride to nurse and even if it wasn't much she still refused the hand. She put her hand on her knee and pushed up from the ground with a groan.

"Hard to make deals with devils if I don't have a habit of shaking hands in dark alleys." She muttered and continued to glare at the hand with a cautious measure of fear. "But I can also recognize when I am left without the option to say no and keep my life intact."

She grasped the hand, ready for another bout of images to wash over her.

 

[Mercy]

Frea Sheplin

Mercy snorted at her stubborn desire to get up herself. Couldn't blame her, she would have done the exact same thing. No. That is untrue. In Mercy's case she would either have grabbed the offered hand only to yank it forward for a sucker punch or she would have spit in the hand and then got up herself again.

Either was fair game.

No images this time. Mercy smiled warmly. "Expecting something?" Chuckling there as the Sith shook her hand with a hard squeeze, before letting go and stretching lightly.

"Ya did ask me to stop, so." Respect for consent from a Sith? If that wasn't a surprise who knew what was. "And lady, please. I wouldn't have murdered you if you didn't take the deal."

Mercy had better things to do.

"Why would I? You'd get yourself killed with a few more stunts like that in the bar." She moved past Frea and gestured for her to follow. "Yar in luck, my workshop ain't far from here." Which was a relative term, Mercy realized, once she glanced over her shoulder and saw the rough shape Frea was in. "Well, ain't far for me. Ya able to walk for about fifteen? Or do ya wanna pass out already."

 

[Frea Sheplin]

"Yeah, a nightmare." Frea blurted back on sheer instinct but kept herself from saying much more, which was no small feat given her propensity for it in situations when she felt tense or simply under a world of pressure. This was very much one of those situations.

"I am not passing out." Frea grunted as she slowly stumbled forward, far too determined to see this through with her pride intact. "Why fifteen? Make it…" She coughed and grinned again. "Make it twenty."

Was there any power more driving than indignant anger and broken pride? For each step that Frea took she began to straighten her back more and more even if the bruises began to rub and burn against the folds in the fabric of her undershirt.

"I have hardware of my own, you know." She exhaled.

Mercy

 

[Mercy]

Frea Sheplin

A chuckle.

"Nah, not a nightmare, babe. My glory. Moments of pure victory when my chains shattered."

Not exactly the Sith creed, but Mercy wasn't the usual or average Sith. On the one hand she was most likely even more self-involved and self-loving than a general Sith. Which said something, because those people were incredibly hedonistic and egotistical. But on the other hand... she didn't seem nearly as cruel as one.

Not casually cruel anyway. Not just for the kick of it.

"Oh, really?" She shrugged. "That's good then. We can take a little detour so I can finish my groceries. I ran out of beer the other day, so." It wasn't clear if Mercy was joking or not.

But it was certainly not her modus operandi to make it easier on people. Taking challenges away was an insult, not a gift.

She chuckled again, a bit lower and softer.

"What hardware is that, luv? Stronger arms, eh? Fiercer legs? Whatcha got."

 

[Frea Sheplin]

Glory? Did she seriously just call those scenes glory? It seemed a lot more like a chain of brutal slaughter, scenes from a deranged mind's unstill slumber. Frea might not have been in danger right this second, at least not any evident danger, but she knew better than to trust that such a calm would last around someone like this.

"A custom built Nyx Erebus speed-cycle, calculated and weighted to myself and maintained to be kept in a pristine condition." Frea's pride bled into her words between the grunts she made for each step she took. "Aftermarket parts hand-tooled by myself and a few friends."

Moment of silence.

"Ironic that you think my legs and arms would need to be stronger when they seem to be working just fine despite the beating."

Mercy

 

[Mercy]

Frea Sheplin

A bemused look Frea's way.

"Because the bouncers had specific orders not to turn you into an invalid." She pointed out lightly. Invalids didn't earn money easily in these parts and the barkeep was an opportunist if anything. Sure, he beat the chit out of Frea now, but if she earned money again? That money could be spent in his bar all the same.

Can't do that if she was dead or useless.

"Oh, really? I work on bikes in my free time." A hand waggled there. "Not a pro mechanic or anything, but... just you, yar bike and some tools. Really brings out the zen in ya, no?"

Mercy didn't particularly look like someone who had engineering talent.

At all.

"So, how ya go from having a sponsor an' some good racing success, to being beat silly in the gutter?"

 

[Frea Sheplin]

Mercy

Was this an attempt at bonding all of a sudden? Frea glared at the redhead's back for a moment before she exhaled a contemptuous sigh. Invalid or not she would have gotten out of there one way or the other at the end of the day. She rolled with the punches perfectly well, this entire thing was just temporary. Dash would be in touch any moment now.

So, sure, the redhead spoke some truths about tinkering but Frea was as equally tempted to just leave mid-sentence as she was to agree with her and at the very least see what the offer truly entailed. They had, after all, technically shaken on it already.

And then of course there was the matter of how Frea ended up in this seat.

"My sponsor is—" She groaned and sighed. "Or, I guess, was Dash Kessler, of Tricks of the Trade."

"Guy went real quiet lately and I have absolutely no idea why. Dead? Spontaneous retirement? Your guess is as good as mine."

 

[Mercy]

Frea Sheplin

A slow nod.

"Heard of him." You couldn't walk the underworld, especially not on Terminus, without having heard fo Kessler, the veritable Trickster of Trade. She even had a few of his weapons, custom ordered, up in her workshop. The real deal. Chit that really could hurt a fether. She always saved up at the end of a long tournament and spruced it out on things like that.

"How ya manage to snag him as a sponsor in the first place? Guy is practically impossible to grab by the collar."

And Mercy had tried a handful of times.

Just to get an autograph on one of her guns, of course. You didn't hurt an artist like that. It would be... despicable in a way. Denying the world a genius like that.

She sighed and took out another cigarette. Lit it up quickly.

"You smoke?" Offering her one and the fire if she wanted it.

 

[Frea Sheplin]

But it was a consistent attack, wasn't it? This means to get under the skin by suddenly acting all 'cool' about what had just happened as if this redheaded lady couldn't have stepped in at any point to stop it. Yes, Frea's bones hurt, and yes she was holding that off with the disdain she felt for this woman that could easily snap at a moment's notice and turn it into a fight. She had read the files, she knew that force users — Sith — were raving mad like that.

"No." Frea declined the second offer for a smoke and sighed. "I didn't grab Dash so much as he grabbed me. I had run a circuit out in the Outer Rim and I guess he just saw something that the others didn't."

A veritable Racerella, glass bike and all. Well, metaphorical glass at least.

"Look, I like taking risks. Luck willing you won't have to sponsor me for very long."

Mercy

 

[Mercy]

Frea Sheplin

A soft tut, but Mercy didn't protest too much.

It just meant more smokes for her and that was just fine.

"Lucky star," Mercy drawled in response to the story. "-would be we were all so lucky for Dash to grab us." Smirked there as she stretched lazily during the mid-stride. If someone swung that way anyway. Mercy wasn't one of them, but could appreciate creative genius in its own way. "And what exactly did the good old boy see in you?"

It was most likely not the same thing what drew Mercy to her.

Desperation.

Then again, Mercy enjoyed Frea's pure grit. It wasn't often someone worked you over the entire night and you were a queen ass schutta about accepting any help afterwards.

That required a specific kind of person.

Mercy chuckled there. "Ya know, yar very hostile for someone who dun' even know me. All I am offering is money an' a return in mah investment. Ya could thank me for the opportunity rather than be petulant about it."

 

[Frea Sheplin]

Mercy

Goddamn it, okay, fine! Frea sighed and shook her head.

"Look," She began and tried to find a reason to really share anything. "I was raised to have a clear purpose and a clear conscience. Right now I have neither of those."

"My life got flipped on its head and out of nowhere I suddenly needed to rebuild." She continued. "And I can't exactly build a foundation on—... I don't know, fancy words and well-wishes."

"For the sake of our… Working relationship," If one could even call it that yet. "I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt that you are on the up-and-up."

Frea grunted as the adrenaline wore off. That whole 'sting tomorrow' part was certainly turning into a 'sting now' kind of situation. Still, she soldiered on. That was what she was raised to do in these situations; to bite down hard and kick back at life right in its babymaker.

"I'm Frea, by the way." She groaned between her steps. "And I am in pain."

 

[Mercy]

Frea Sheplin

Mercy smirked a bit smugly.

It was true.

Few people could resist her charming attitude if she applied it. The issue was that she rarely did. Perhaps that was something to think about for the future. But then again, it was rarely that Mercy had enough patience for it. That was the issue she was working on these days. To contemplate the longer track rather than be so forceful she dashed face-first through every wall in sight.

She made progress.

Slow progress.

She listened intently to Frea's valve breaking and the waterfall that came from it. Head tilting there as Mercy turned a corner that would lead them to the underground garage her bike was parked at. "Well, darling, I dunno about being on the up-and-up in general." Said truthfully and perhaps that would earn her at least a modicum of grudging belief.

Someone being a liar didn't just come out and say they were a bastard... usually.

"But in terms of our business arrangement, oh, I am perfectly above-board. See, just like you, I am trying to build a new foundation." She walked over to her bike, patting its hull with clear pride. She had build this one herself and it showed. The level of care, the custom parts and everything in between. Oh, there was more to Mercy than just being an irredeemable bruiser. "I started mah career with mah fists. A hot-head. Unthinking. Immoral." A sharp grin with sharper teeth flashed at Frea.

"I am bad to the bone, darling. But I wanna be better. I dun' wanna be a cog in the machine. I wanna be the machine. And I can only do that by ditching some o' mah previous instincts. Like seein' a wounded bird and deciding to step on it for its weakness."

It took little imagination to know who the bird was in this context.

"So consider ya self part o' mah personal development plan. If I help ya... I help mahself, both in money but more importantly in becoming more patient, more methodical, organized." A little shrug of meaty shoulders that had more muscle in one than a grown-man had in both their arms. "Nice t'a meet ya, Frea. They call me Mercy."

She glanced her up and down at the mention of pain. Nodding there and shrugging again.

"I can heal ya. Tho. Never learned how to do it without pain, so... it's gon' hurt like a mother' and then ya be as right as rain."

There Mercy extended her right arm, pulsing with eldritch delight and moving piecemeal just under her skin.