Like a Cornered Beast

[Saphir Steele]

Saphir really should've tried to look less suspicious, running from imperial guards and whatnot. That might've been too much to ask of one wielding a sword such as hers, along with other weapons the Vahla had taken to carrying with her, vibrostaff in hand in particular. Beyond that, she probably should've had some sort of plan beyond the "Well, yes, officer. I'm definitely a citizen of the Empire and I absolutely have an ID on me, lemme just find it real quick," before punching the guy and running. Sure, it'd seemed like a good idea at the time - better than getting rounded up with a bunch of strangers and carted off to who knows where.

It seemed the chase was coming to an end, however, Saphir's pace drawing to a halt as she reached a dead end. Wrong way. This was the wrong way. This was a horrible mistake. She could hear people following in quick pursuit, turning to face them with a spin of her staff. "You really should let me go, uh, dude. "

[member="Joycelyn Zambrano"]​

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

[member="Saphir Steele"]

The Dark Lord had decreed: All refugees fleeing from the fallen Galactic Alliance to the Commenor Systems Alliance were to be detained; all trade vehicles were to be stopped and searched, and it was to be declared that it was all on account of the Queen of Commenor. This was never expected to go without hitch. There were Jedi fleeing, terrorists, persons of interest, and the blasted Wardens of the Sky.

Besides the Armada and scores of Legionnaires, the Sith Empire had sent Sith Knights to support and control the situation. Joycelyn Zambrano, ever eager to prove herself, had jumped at the chance of enforcing the decree.

"Subject fleeing prow-ward. Possible Force User; unconfirmed."​

And then she saw a familiar face.

Joycelyn spun the silvery shaft of her pike in her hand, turning the inactive emitter forward. The jagged, red eyes shone in the canine head of her black plate armour. While protective and arguably intimidating, the armour did very little to accentuate her sex or gender - If anything, it pushed her hard towards the masculine - But this was the first time anyone had commented on it.

"Dude?"

Her head cocked to the side ever so slightly, letting the protective plates slide over one another to facilitate the movement. With a curl of her fingers, she made the visor open up and pull back from her face. Her facial features were sharp and angular; One scar trailing diagonally down her left cheek and another dotting the right cheekbone. Her eyes were yellow, with a distinct fire to them, and betraying her momentary confusion.

 

[Saphir Steele]

She recognized that armor - that ridiculously tall creature that'd set several monstrosities on her while Coruscant suffered. Saphir still bore the scars of that day, her muscles still ached from bruises not yet healed. Needless to say, she wasn't exactly excited about encountering this armored figure once more. A few of the standard guard she could handle. This one? It hadn't been her goal to find out.

Keeping the staff between her and her foe, Saphir backed further into the dead end, gaze shifting between said foe and her surroundings. Maybe she could bounce off some walls, avoid the conflict entirely? No, that'd just be asking to be impaled.

"Uhh..." Her cheeks grew hot,flushed in something akin to embarrassment. It'd wouldn't be her first time referring to a woman as 'dude'. Why, 'dude' was more gender neutral in her vocabulary as is. Still, that didn't make it any less awkward to be corrected. "Sorry, dude-err lady? Ma'am? I don't know, what works for you? Geez you're tall."

A few strands of hair fell into her face, not enough to obscure vision, but just enough and at just the right length that the ends of said strands stabbed at her eyeballs. A quick jerk of the head did nothing but jostle more hairs out of place, the same went for trying to blow them out of the way. Finally she relented, pushing the hairs back with a free hand. "Don't think you could help me out here, could you?"

[member="Joycelyn Zambrano"]​

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

[member="Saphir Steele"]

This one talked a lot more now than the last she was spotted, and Joycelyn was both confused and somewhat amused by the whole stream of words.

"Ma'am works"

Subconsciously, Joycelyn shifted to become even taller at the mention of her height. It had been a point of ridicule when she was very young, and something she had claimed for her own as an adult. She was tall, it was part of who she were.

"Oh, I can help you out." "Come with me. We will sit down and talk this all out."

A smile spread on her stern face as she extended a hand coated in black, overlapping plates, the fingertips ending in little talons - or spoons, perhaps. The inside of the hand was padded where it made grip, not unlike the paws of a canine.

"I am sure you have quite the explanation, don't you?."

Even with her attempt at kindness, there was a commanding tone in her voice. Perhaps it was that distinct accent? Difficult to place. Sort of Imperial, but with an odd cadence, thick consonants, and rolled r's. Parts of it harked back to her Vahla roots.

 

[Saphir Steele]

"Please don't actually make me call you that." Geez, this was awkward. Saphir found herself wishing she possessed some sort of great cosmic power. Namely, one that'd allow her to sink into the floor after that outburst. She was already doing it, as best as one could, shoulders hunching, drawing into herself.

Her brow furrowed, head cocked to the side, eyeing the outstretched hand with both suspicion and intrigue. "That sounds a lot like code for 'I'll interrogate you from your cell' and if that's the case, I'm going to have to pass. 'M not about that cell life. You understand, right?"

Posture relaxing a fraction, her grip on the staff loosened to something a bit more natural. Her free hand wasn't quite reaching for the one extended, not until she knew more of what that'd entail. Parts of her hair flopped to the side. If one were particularly observant, one could see roots of copper peaking out from the brown that made up the majority of her hair. Her voice lingered on the low side of things, words often slurred together, never quite paying each syllable the respect it was due.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm all for talking - and boy do I have the story for you - but if jail's in the cards, I'mma have to do a rain check."

[member="Joycelyn Zambrano"]​

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

"It's 'Please don't make me call you that ma'am'"

Saphir had started something now and Joycelyn would be damned if she let it slip.

She kept her hand extended, but the fingers retracted slightly, curling half way into a fist. The smile on her face betrayed the emotion behind it as it started fading like a flimsiplast drawing suddenly dropped in a pool. Her voice was stern when she spoke next.

"I don't think you have as much choice in this as you think you do."

The facade slowly rebuilt, softening her ever so slightly, but it was never as convincing as the first time. Even now, the flimsiplast bobbed in the water, ink sprawling out of the fine lines like a thousand tiny black quarrens breaking free from their bonds of illustration.

"You can surrender or I can arrest you." "Your choice."

[member="Saphir Steele"]

 

[Saphir Steele]

"Yeah, no, that's okay, uh, lady." She had a reputation to maintain. One that wouldn't be wasted on imposing figures, backed into a corner.

She twirled her staff in her grasp, temporarily parting with it as she tossed it into the air, nearly failing to catch it as it fell. The day certainly wasn't hers when it came to impressive displays. Her head moved to the other side, joints popping as they hit the right angle.

"I dunno. You don't have any of those creepy wraaaagh guys with you." She gave a half-hearted shriek in an attempt to mimic the monstrosities she fought on Coruscant. "My chances could be worse."

Saphir's stance widened, further cementing her ground, one brow raised higher than the other. She bore a stark contrast to the other - where Joyce was heavily armored, she preferred the loose, free-flowing robes, sometimes even throwing shoes out of the picture. While Joyce's visage was made up of black and the occasional read, Saphir maintained a silhouette of blues and greens.

"The only way I'm leaving this in anyone's custody is if I'm being carried."

[member="Joycelyn Zambrano"]​

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

Joycelyn grinned, the scars on her cheeks twisting as her eyes gleamed. There was no pretence in this smile; she was looking forward to a fight that, in her mind, had a predetermined outcome. Her, heavily armoured, armed, and clearly physically superior, versus this twerp in casual clothing? All too easy.

She did not need her Hyal'hask to support her against this little thing.

"Oh, we can do that."

She retracted her fist and took a step back. The silvery shaft of her pike had been let fall back previously, but now it returned to the front. She did not ignite it, not yet. In a sense, it served as an almost perfect contrast to Saphir's own polearm. How they wielded their weapons would remain to be seen.

In a flash, with speed unbecoming of someone in plate armour, Joycelyn swung her staff one handed down at Saphir's head, aiming to clock her plain on the forehead. It was not the most sophisticated attack nor truly the most powerful, perhaps because it was never meant to land. All Joycelyn tried to do was make Saphir look up for a second, draw out her guard and then-

Her counterbalanced by the swing of the staff, the black-armoured leg of the vahlacanthix darted forward in a straight kick at Saphir's leg. Joycelyn sought to stamp her armoured heel into her opponent's leg and gain an early advantage.

 

[Saphir Steele]

She didn't like that smile as it met her in its heavily armored self. A chill rushed down Saphir's spine, both exhilarating and terrifying as one would expect. That gaze had her reaching into her robes for a flask hidden among the fabric, downing half the contents in a quick gulp and wincing as the liquid ran down her throat.

"Will you hold me during the interrogation, too? Y'know, since aftercare's like a big thing these days?"

Her posture widened, opening herself up to react to any onslaught, feet planting themselves in the ground. Saphir was by no means a tiny individual. Among most crowds, she'd find herself on the taller side of things and with the gruff personality to make up for any lost centimeters. Yet in this company, the size difference was almost comical and one the woman didn't exactly have the most experience in countering.

Almost immediately, Saphir was on the defensive, her opponent moving impossibly fast giving her armor. As Joyce struck with her staff, Saphir brought her own staff-wielding arm to block, her free hand jutted out for Joyce's midsection, the contact barely there if at all, meant more to administer a relatively small dose of the Force and scout for chinks in the larger woman's armor rather than actually dealing damage.

"Oww!" She drew back in a hurry, bouncing on her other leg as Joyce's boot made contact and several beats after as she steadied herself. "I kinda need these limbs later, y'know."

[member="Joycelyn Zambrano"]​

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

[member="Saphir Steele"]

She did not even bother to try stopping the punch, letting her armour tank it instead. A chuckle rolled out of Joycelyn, her eyes aglow with delight from the fight.

"No you won't"

The obsidian armour had many little chinks in it; though, little was they key to the phrase. There were numerous points in which the plates left a gap, which were only really protected by armourweave. There were also places where the protective plating could be used against her should they come into grappling. There were also articulated joints, such as the fingers, where a strong, concussive hit would not damage the armour, but possibly still hurt the fingers. Additionally, repeated blows to the head would still hurt and potentially concuss her.

Most damaging, perhaps, were the points in which a thin blade could slip between the plates, rip through the armourweave, and pierce her flesh. One could also guess that the eye-slits, while covered, were not as strong as the rest of the plate armour. These were flaws Joycelyn was painfully aware of.

"Not if I'm carrying you out of here myself."

The silvery shaft of her weapon swung around and down, aiming to either sweep Saphir off her leg as she jumped around or to make her commit to a higher jump. If she committed to a higher jump, then the butt end of the polearm would come as a thrust for her midsection. She aimed to wind her opponent quickly and ensure that she never quite recovered during the fight.

 

[Saphir Steele]

If Saphir were the gulping type, if this was such a battle in which one could devote time to the action of gulping, a gulp would've been perfect here.

"Maiming's a bit on the extreme side, don't you think?"

The odds were almost overwhelmingly out of her favor and Saphir was far too sober to feel good about it. Between a sword, a staff, and her fists, she didn't exactly have the materials best suited for making any sort of quick work out of that armor and her opponent wasn't giving her any openings any time soon. Recovery time was nonexistent, too, something Saphir suspected was entirely intentional. A good strategy, really. One she really didn't appreciate being on this side of.

Why couldn't this had been some bar fight, where a punch or two would mean the end of the scuffle? A bunch of drunks would've been so much easier to deal with. Not some Sith lady both physically superior and well versed in the same weapon.

"Kinda takes the appeal out of, well, a lot."

The staff quite literally swept her off her feet, the Vahla watching the butt of staff jut out for what would've been a grievous hit, one that even now missed her face by millimeters at most. Her injured leg moved as she fell, meaning to hook itself to the staff, the idea being to at least throw it off course if it would not be removed from its owner.

The moment Saphir hit the ground she was a blur of movement, rolling into an improvised crouch, the sword's sheath clattering against the ground. She could feel a dull pounding in her head from hitting the ground, the start of a headache she had a feeling she'd be nursing for some time after this. But nevermind that, there were more important things to deal with. Her own staff-wielding hand gave the weapon another twirl, also going for her opponent's legs before swinging up, hoping to catch her opponent in the jaw if she couldn't bring her down to her level.

[member="Joycelyn Zambrano"]​

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

[member="Saphir Steele"]

It looked like the fight was over. Her opponent was on the ground, seemingly defenceless. She turned the point of her weapon down to peg her opponent against the floor with a vicious stab through the abdomen when the back of her weapon was pushed aside, forcing Joycelyn to make an extra turn of the polearm to bring it into position. Then-

Clang!

Her opponent had already gotten to a crouch, hit Joycelyn over the leg-plate with a resounding ringing sound, and then-

Thuk!

The wooden shaft clipped Joycelyn's unarmoured face and made her head rear back as a small gash sprayed a trail of liquid rubies.

A black hand went up to her face, cupping her chin as her eyebrows furrowed in pain. Redness filled her ears as anger lit a fire in her eyes. For a moment, actual fire licked along her feet and hands as the Force coalesced around her rage and adopted physical form in the shape of an exothermic reaction: Actual fire, burning the air around her as Joycelyn smeared the blood over her chin in an attempt at wiping it away, and glowered down at Saphir.

And then she smiled.

"Oh, she has claws."

She swung the silvery staff in an upward arc, now crested with a trail of fire, before bringing the butt of it in another thrust. Then swept the thrust to the side in an attempt at hooking one of Saphir's limbs. She was more aggressive than before, eyes lit with a manic bloodlust, and the weapon catering to her macabre whims.

 

[Saphir Steele]

A small grin, almost more of a smirk, found itself pulling at Saphir's mouth as her staff made contact. The couple moments of Joycelyn tending to her jaw were precious moments of reprieve. She adopted a sturdier crouch, something perhaps better suited for the space. Her leg still throbbed and probably would continue to do so for several days - provided she lived that long.

That smirk faded, turning to concern, as Joycelyn's own face warped. Saphir's eyes widened, her feet shuffling back a pace, as fire made its appearance. When had fire even entered the equation? This was a mistake. This was an absolute mistake. A pit of dread formed in her stomach, only deepening when the woman towering over her smiled.

"Uh...hot?"

Her pitch raised towards the end, cut short by a crack in an otherwise fairly high note for the woman. The usual uninterested disposition started to crack in the face of she didn't know what.

Even though Saphir had that moment to gather herself, she was sorely unprepared for the onslaught that followed. While her opponent brought down her weapon with a new vigor, Saphir was still on old adrenaline, her own rudimentary experience with the Force doing little to close the gap. This was the second time she'd hit the ground, elongated limbs caught by Joyce's own staff, while Saphir's own weapon found itself focusing more on protecting more vital areas.

"We could stop at any time, you know." It was half a plea, half feigning confidence, with a dash of an attempt to turn this encounter back to its more talkative beginning.

[member="Joycelyn Zambrano"]​

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

There were few things that went over Joycelyn's head.

But that pun did.

In her rage and newly awakened bloodlust, she was seemingly beyond the idea of dialogue.

Blood trickled down her chin in a steady stream of beads, and her eyes were a wild, bright yellow. The flames stilled some, but lingered on the edges of her movements, flickering blue at the tips of her fingers and toes, or trailing over her leg or shoulder as she moved her bulk.

Joycelyn did not relent her attack yet, but kept bashing and prodding at Saphir's vitals and the weapon in her hands. It would seem like she was trying to bash her way through the staff itself, or exhaust the arms that held it. And as her staff beat repeatedly against Saphir's, one of her hands quickly dislodged itself from the silver shaft, and a black gauntlet moved to seize Saphir's ankle and hoist her up in the air.

The strength of the gauntlets were inhumane, even comparably to the woman's size. Her grip was supported by servo engines in the armour's extremities; a milder version of the mandalorian crushgaunt design. Still, not comfortable.

[member="Saphir Steele"]

 

[Saphir Steele]

There was only so much a person could take. And, while not quite so bad as meriting the title of Glass Cannon, Saphir was built more for dealing blows well over taking them. She put up a fight as best she could, striking back the moment there seemed to be a break in the onslaught. Unfortunately, such opportunities were just few and far between.

Her opponent held both training and resources over her, something Saphir at least could figure from the beginning. That was before even taking the frenzied rage into account. While it was a distinct possibility in the beginning, the fact of the matter was now the nail sealing her metaphorical coffin. This wasn't a fight she could win. Not now, not like this.

Eventually, the staff slipped from her grip, clattering to the ground and sporting the nasty beginnings of a weapon ready to snap without mending. By then, any ideas of offense or escape were gone from Saphir's mind, her focus being solely on survival as her arms moved to block as best they could. Yet even they were starting to grow lethargic as both fatigue and the weight of the situation bore down on the smaller woman.

The hand on her ankle brought forth a new burst of energy, a panic that came from both the unexpected move and from one just generally unsettled by one touching anything near her ankles and feet. Whatever sort of tough facade she was trying to put up, whatever character she was trying to play, was all dashed away as she cried out in both fear and shock, her remaining limbs scrambling for something to hold on to if not a means of escape entirely.

[member="Joycelyn Zambrano"]​

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

It was interesting how quickly a fight could change.

Once Joycelyn had grabbed Saphir's ankle, she seemingly changed her entire game. Was it fear? A fear of being held and restrained? Or was it a fear of what Joycelyn would do to her if she did not escape? Perhaps there was something more individual at play; a deeper fear stuck in Saphir's mind. Joycelyn was too deep in her rage to contemplate it in the moment, though she would give it much thought later.

In response to Saphir's flailing attempts at escape, Joycelyn dropped her own silvery staff to the side and reached down with her second hand to affirm her hold. She did not attempt to hold the woman down, however. No, she had a far more cruel mind. The silvery staff sang as it clattered to the floor, and blackened iron hands sought to tighten around ankle or ankles.

Instead, Joycelyn reared up with a roar of effort. Her legs took a wide stance as she lifted and turned, trying to equalise weight and momentum so that she could swing Saphir around and into the arms of the soldiers behind Joyce. Some of which were prepared, others not so much.

"You worm!"

Joycelyn's roar turned into words. The power of her oratory organs made up for her less than original insult.

[member="Saphir Steele"]

 

[Saphir Steele]

In her panic, Saphir was at a loss as to what to do. Unfasten whatever armor protected her adversary's legs? Go for the shoes? Try to trip Joycelyn up? Her free leg kicked wildly, with no real frame of reference as to whether or not it had the angles to land. Her arms were in a similar situation, reaching for something, anything to grab on to. As the silver clattered to the floor, she desperately reached out for it, all with the intention to at least trip if not deal damage.

Another grunt of pain found itself pushing past Saphir's tight-lipped grimace as the second hand found purchase on her ankles. She was never one for armor - it'd only slow her down, so only the leather of her boots stood between her ankle and the full force of those gauntlets.

And suddenly she was airborne. Not something she was expecting, much less prepared for. The collision was awkward, her back smacking into a couple soldiers not exactly unified in their own tactics. In an awkward flurry that was part a lack of preparedness on either end, part Saphir just lashing out as panic shifted into near-animalistic instinct, Saphir found herself once again on the ground.

She could've ran. This would've been an opportune time to rush into some other crevice. And yet the topple to the ground had left the Vahla with her ears ringing and a nasty headache that sent the edges of her vision to darkness for a bit. And while escape was a priority just moments ago, focus on any one thing in particular wasn't happening.

"That's..." The less than stellar insult was providing a puzzle she normally would have no trouble responding to. The hair that was once pulled into a loose bun was now a mess both in and around her face. "That's not...I'm not...What?" Her head was swimming, the words never bringing themselves together.

[member="Joycelyn Zambrano"]​

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

She should probably have foreseen the consequence of dropping her weapon to pick up an opponent. Yet, in her rage, she did it. As Saphir touched the staff and changed its position, Joycelyn was unable to see it on account of the blind zones provided by her armour. The Force did as it would to warn her, but her single-minded focus deafened out caution and reason. It tangled between her legs and brought her to one knee.

It was loud, and even kneeling she was larger than most.

Seizing the moment and wishing to fill her empty hands, Joycelyn clenched her left hand into a tight fist. A blade protruded from the knuckle plate of her gauntlet; serrated, vicious, and deadly sharp.

"Grab her and hold her down."

Through the momentary discord of Saphir being thrown into their midst, some of the soldiers spurred into action, attempting to grab the woman by the shoulders, arms, legs, and pin her down for whatever their master had in store. Joycelyn herself rose back to her feet, restoring her dignity, and pushed a loose strand of hair away from her face with the serrated blade. Her eyes were fixed on Saphir.

What would she do?

And who the frack was this person anyway?

[member="Saphir Steele"]

 

[Saphir Steele]

"Are worms even native to this area?" Still caught up in the logistics of that insult, Saphir's face shifted to emulate one look of confusion after another. She was still disjointed, not quite processing everything quickly as she probably should've been. Trying to focus on one thing in particular wasn't exactly doing much for the headache, as far as she could tell.

When the soldiers started grabbing at her limbs, that panic returned though diluted, muffled. Like a veil had been cast over the woman's senses. "Wha? No. Don't. Touch." The words came out short, choppy, like one couldn't quite place what they were saying as they were saying it. She squirmed, twisted and moving trying her best to evade the group set to cut off her movement. A punch and a kick or two were thrown, though the actual success of any of them was questionable at best.

Saphir would continue to squirm, even with her physical limbs were more or less subdued. She made the mistake of getting a glance at Joyce, seeing that gaze turned to her and the blade protruding from the gauntlet, and the squirms continued with a new vigor though never as precise as before. With the physical lashing out came the other form, the one Saphir never quite bothered to perfect. Why, even proficiency could be considered questionable, the Force to the woman being like a violinist trying to play the trombone on the fly. Clumsy, out of her element, used only as a last resort.

[member="Joycelyn Zambrano"]​

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

[member="Saphir Steele"]

Joycelyn regretted her spontaneous insult. Banter had never been her strong suit, beatings were.

Saphir's kicking, wrenching and punching made her hard to get a hold of, but hands piled on and locked down tight. One of the legionnaires who got a kick from Saphir straight into the visor of his helm reeled back and laid flat. Joycelyn noticed and stepped over the unconscious body. It was a perfect hit to the weakest portion of his helm, where the others mostly suffered a blow to the strong of their armour. It made the gel inside the plates harden in response, absorbing the shock and stiffening their armour somewhat.

Then, Joycelyn felt the surge of Saphir's emotions before she heard the blast of the proverbial trombone.

The white-armoured troops were mostly knocked back off their feet, flung against walls or stacked on the floor. It did not take much proficiency to catch a man off guard, but Joycelyn had sensed it coming and braced. She still stood, albeit flabbergasted.

Understanding trickled in and a corner of her mouth curled viciously upward.

"Oh, I see."

She dove in, the bladed gauntlet coming in for the throat with a right hook. However, it was but a ruse. She gambled that her opponent would see the blade and prioritise that threat, and she knew most people would protect their head and throat first. So she threw the punch and then pulled it. As her right elbow pulled back out of the punch, Joycelyn dropped her stance slightly to throw an uppercut from below, powered by her legs, at Saphir's abdomen.