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[Republic] Cat Fight

Sarge Potteiger

Half-Glimpsed Dreamings
Character
@[member="Marakai Al'Orren"]

Nar Shaddaa
Lower Wards


It wasn't often that Sarge found himself on planets such as these - lawless cities of Hutt controlled wastes. And it was even less often that he stood in a crowd, surrounding a ring used for 'illegal' fights. Everything about this was, technically, legal. But the idea that it might not be is what drew the crowds.

To be fair, he mused in thought, illegal on the Smuggler's Moon meant the Hutts weren't in on it. That was always a good way to bring the pain down on a gathering like this. But this was a Hutt sanctioned fighting ring, and sadly that wasn't going to work.

Still, considering the planet had recently come under control of the Republic, he'd felt it necessary to come and clean up some... hobbies that left a sour taste in his mouth. Underground fight clubs were one. Especially ones that preyed on slaves or the poor for their 'contenders.'

It was a bonus that there were rumblings the Black Sun was up to something, although he wasn't quite sure what that was yet. A place like this could provide that information, if you knew where to look. "Anyone taking bets on the next fight...?" He asks quietly, voice muffled by the white mask he wore.

He'd traded out his traditional Jedi robes for a tattered red cloak that just barely covered his shoulders, and was able to be pulled up and into a hood. Otherwise, he still wore his characteristic beskar. "Jaret is." A thick Hauk next to him says, hiking a finger towards a scrawny Rodian some ways over. "Thanks."

Moving his way around the stands, mindful not to offend any of the many gangers here to make a quick cred, he cleared his throat as he got in closer. "Who's up next?"

"Fangs versus Neon. 10 to 1 odds." The Rodian spoke quickly, clearly not wanting to take longer than necessary. Simple odds for simple bets. "100 on Fangs." Neon was a stupid name, but they were generally the ones you wanted to fear over the people with the aggressive names. Handing the credits over, he moves to the railing and leans over it, anxious to see what was about to go down.

Generally because the aggressive ones were named such to sucker in bets from people like him; if he were a mark, that was. He was playing a part. So was any number of other bored Republic soldiers and Jedi in the crowd which he'd brought along.
 

Marakai Al'Orren

[:] P R I M A L [:]
Character
@[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

Wouldn't mother be proud of me right now...

Sometimes the sarcasm she leveled at herself was of delightfully epic proportions. There was little she'd done in the last year that her mother would have been proud of, had she still been living. Of course, had she still been living, Marakai wouldn't have been exiled from the only home she'd ever known. Forced to leave everything familiar behind, with scarcely enough credits to get her off-world, never mind keep her fed.

But it didn't matter. She had to survive, and no one could fault her for doing it with the only real means at her disposal - her fists. This, she mused...this she was good at. At least, good enough to make credits enough to eat and to keep some manner of roof over her head. Even if it was a tiny little room she rented just a handful of steps away.

Marakai winced only slightly, a fleeting expression, as slender fingers peeled away the bandage from her shoulder. No doubt it would need medical attention, and no doubt Jaret would keep most of her winnings for the privilege. Amber eyes flicked up to his accustomed spot at the high rail, narrowing as she watched him take yet another bet. No doubt someone he just conned out if their hard-earned credits, the hooded and masked man pushed his way to a spot to where he'd have the advantage to see the whole pit.

"You're up."

Man of few words, her burly Devaronian guard. Oddly, Fenton wasn't much for fighting, given that most of his opponents didn't live long enough for a rematch. In fact, he'd stopped altogether and moved to guarding her. She let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and gritter her teeth. A swift pull on the bandage saw it settle back into place. She'd have to deal with it for at least the next several fights...but it would at least help her focus.

She strode forward into the pit, the packed dirt hard beneath her bare feet. The overhead lights swayed slightly, casting their light across the growing crowd that now roared to life at the sight of her. Fantastic...ny fanboys are back again. Marakai stood close to the relative center, waiting for her opponent to arrive, hands curled into fists that balanced on slender hips. She was clad in torn leather pants and something that only vaguely resembled the white tank top it used to be. More of a ragged edged cropped top, really, that left much of her midriff bare. Blood, some of it her own, was splattered here and there across her skin and clothing, in an almost rainbow assemblage of colors.

At least, she told herself, they leave alive. A faint thought that turned her stomach, but one that she clung to. Amber eyes that had no spark left within them gazed out of her features, head tilting to the side as one of the boss' minions scurried up to her. She frowned, but couldn't make out what he was trying to say over the roar of the crowd. Hands rose to push her hair back over her shoulders as she rolled them in an effort to release some measure of tension.

A solid mass of blue tinted flesh stepped out of the opposite entrance, sweeping the arena with a glowing red gaze that must have given rise to his pit nickname. At least partially Chiss, Marakai thought, regarding him carefully. The speakers crackled to life in preparation of the announcement of the combatants and the basic pit rules - the later being variable from fight to fight. The Chiss snarled and her beast answered, a growl rumbling deep in her chest as the light caught her sharp canines in just the right way.

Her eyes slid from an empty amber to a burnished gold with slitted pupils, her expression hardening as her muscles tense in anticipation.

"NO-HOLDS-BARRED!"

Marakai breathed deeply and exhaled, her focus narrowing and the crowd noise fading away.

"BEGIN!"
 

Sarge Potteiger

Half-Glimpsed Dreamings
Character
"Take another shot of courage...", he mumbles to himself, "...and wonder why the right words never come. You just get numb." An old, old song that was one of his favorites. But he was hitting his bre-battle high, and that wasn't going to be doing him any good. Watching as the woman comes out, he finds his eyes narrowing behind the white porcelain of his mask.


That couldn't be Allaina, she was gone far into the... Outer Rim....

No. No, no. He was imagining things. The Admiral wouldn't be in a situation like this. She'd all but taken a whole fleet with her when she'd left. This had to be someone else. Shaking himself mentally, he looked the other way to the large Chiss who was going to be her opponent. Which was Fangs? Which was...

Ah screw it.

"BEGIN!"

Don't mind if I do.

Grabbing the railing, he threw himself over it and landed in the dirt with a faint thump that drew all the attention of the crowd. "HEY. GET OUT OF THERE." A guard roared from somewhere in the tunnels.

Holding up his hands as if to say 'make me', Sarge ambled his way towards the middle of the ring. "Right." He says, looking between the two fighters. "No fighting today. Or for awhile, I think." Already, Jaret was probably noticing a group of plain clothed Republic soldiers moving to grab him.

He'd be hard pressed getting out in this crowd. "And you two." He pointed to the Chiss, then the woman. "I don't know which, if either of you, are slaves, but I'd probably suggest getting out of here before things get bloody."

And he'd still not drawn a weapon yet.

@[member="Marakai Al'Orren"]
 

Marakai Al'Orren

[:] P R I M A L [:]
Character
Her breath left her in a rush as she regarded the man standing in the middle of the arena floor. Adrenaline still spiked through her system, heightening her already enhanced senses as her purely feline gaze traveled slowly up and down. Just her luck, she mused, raided before her first fight of the night. Well. Food was overrated, wasn't it?

Mara frowned, fingers clenching into fists as she finally noticed the sleek collar around the Chiss' neck, marking him as a slave. She couldn't read the markings, so his owner eluded her. Before he could say anything, she closed the distance between them faster than a normal human would have been able to. One hand reached up and curled her fingers beneath the durasteel, which shrieked as sharp claws extended out and tore through. Tossing the now-useless metal aside, she tilted her head towards the door. "You ought to get out of herrre. If you time it rrright, you can catch a transporrrt and get off-worrrrld beforrre they rrrealize you'rrre gone." her voice emerged at last, a purr rolling through her words to match the feline in her gaze.

She watched him retreat, his expression still torn between surprise and the sudden, sweet first taste of freedom. With any luck, he'd have somewhere to run to, where he could lay low and recover through whatever hell had gotten him enslaved on Nar Shaddaa to begin with.

Marakai, however, was not going anywhere. She turned back to the man in the white mask, arms crossing over her chest. Briefly, her gaze traveled around the arena, watching as soldiers systematically swept through the crowd in spite of everyone's best efforts to get away. "You know, some of us need these fights to surrrrvive."


@[member="Sarge Potteiger"]
 

Sarge Potteiger

Half-Glimpsed Dreamings
Character
There was a bit of agitation to the set of her shoulders, to the way her eyes moved around the ring to watch as the party was disbanded. It made his brow furrow, truly, but it was something that he had anticipated. At least a little. Somewhere at the back of his mind he'd realized people did this kind of thing for fun.

Or, rather, to 'survive' as she put it.

Tilting his head a little, walking around the battered looking woman, his porcelain mask gazed at her with a soulless expression. Deep in the shadows of his hood were eyes whose irises had long since faded to black. Often, when he was dressing in the morning, he found that to be the worst part of the mask for him.

It wasn't the lack of a face. It was the unsettling lack of spirit in his black eyes. Frowning a little, he sniffed a little, trying to get a fix on her. The roll to her R's was different, hinting at perhaps a lower class upbringing...? Or maybe she'd spent time among the Cathar? He wasn't entirely sure.

This was all new.

"I hear casinos are a good place to hate your life, too." He remarks dryly, "But sadly, the Republic is in charge now, and we generally frown upon slavery."

@[member="Marakai Al'Orren"]
 

Marakai Al'Orren

[:] P R I M A L [:]
Character
A frown marred her features, drawing her lips together in a tight line. She let her hands drop to her sides, rolling her shoulders and visibly wincing as her injured shoulder protested loudly. Fingertips rose to push the strap of her tanktop aside before they proceeded to gingerly unwind the carefully wrought bandage she had cobbled together.

Mara remained still as she could manage as he strolled around her, as if sizing her up and trying to unravel her secrets. Well...that sure as hell wasn't going to happen in that arena. Or ever, if she had her way. Something about him was unsettling...perhaps not the mask, but maybe the whole ensemble.

Her nose wrinkled in frustration. There was something about him that was eluding her senses. If she were feeling particularly feisty, she'd have shifted right then and there. Her senses were so much stronger that way, and her beast would have known in an instance what type of person that he was. Her eyes brightened in the cold arena light, the gold fading to the edges as her pupils opened wide.

"See anything you like?" Mara purred, dropping the last of the bandages to the floor. The gash cut deep, through muscle and tissue, all the way to the bone. This was going to definitely need a medic's attention - last thing she needed was to be out of commission and unable to fight for very long.

In spite of the pain, she managed to draw herself up and meet his glance with a glare of her own. "You make a hell of alot of assumptions forrrr someone who doesn't know me in the least. I am not a slave."

She tore a strip from her already tattered tank top and wadded it up, pressing it to the wound. "I am herrre because I....I choose to be. Don't prrresume I want orrr need your interrrferrance." Mara gritted her teeth and did her level best to resist the urge to punch him. While she wasn't precisely lying, her circumstances and her presence there on Nar Shaddaa did not lend themselves to being revealed to a complete stranger.

@[member="Sarge Potteiger"]
 

Sarge Potteiger

Half-Glimpsed Dreamings
Character
"Plenty." One could practically hear the smirk leveled in that voice.

But he said not a word more on that particular subject. "Ah, and that is where you are, in fact, wrong." Chuckling a little, kneeling down to run beskar plated hands across the dirt, he looks up even as he scoops the silt into his hand. "I did not say you were a slave." Audibly inhaling deeply through his nose, the man let the grains run through his fingers like the sands of an hourglass.

The din of angry spectators was dying down as people were lead away. Only one or two real arrests would be made, the rest was crowd dispersal. He didn't have to look to know it was going smoothly. Considering how quickly the Republic had rolled through the Suns, it was easy to understand why people weren't keen on rousing their ire.

Looking up at her, crouched as he was, he rubbed his palms together faintly. "What I said was that the Republic didn't like slavery. There were slaves here. Therefore I was called into action." Chuckling faintly, he stood again, rolling shoulders covered in deep maroon cloth.

Still, she, like he usually was... was on edge.

Her shoulders were tense, her posture aggressive. A punch was likely coming. Normally he'd consider a slap, but she was here of her own volition - she'd told him as much. She was beyond such petty assaults as 'slapping.'

"That being said... what is it you're here for? Enjoyment? Money? Pay off an old debt, perhaps?"
 

Marakai Al'Orren

[:] P R I M A L [:]
Character
"Half of me enjoys this, actually. The otherrr half goes along because we need the crrrredits to surrrvive." Mara replied with startling frankness, blinking as she surprised even herself with the revelation.

Spinning on her heel, she stalked away from him, preferring to pace, her steps long and fluid as she made a circuit of the arena, muttering to herself in Felacatian. It was, to say the very least, a colorful swath of words that blended together into a stream of invectives that lasted nearly a full minute. She was getting too close, cutting her necessary schedule too tightly with more and more fights. Her beast needed out, and now was most definitely not the time.

The invectives turned into a slightly softer plea for patience. Just one more day, she murmurred, we'll go tomorrow. I promise.

This time, it was Mara who circled him, head held high as she breathed deeply and the scents in the air rolled across her senses. "If you'rrre rrreally herrre forrr slaves...then you should make surrre you sweep the lowerrr corridorrs. That's where the fighterrrs are kept in the evenings beforrre the fights."
 

Sarge Potteiger

Half-Glimpsed Dreamings
Character
Normally, he'd not question what she meant by halves, but something told him this was not something he wanted to leave be. Bipolar, perhaps? Or maybe just a turn of phrase? His gut said more, but one could never quite be sure. "They're sweeping already...", he says, crouching down again as she circled.

Everything about her screamed predator, but she still was likely unsure as to whether or not he himself was one. Frankly, he was more a hunter, but the differences were slight. Predators had no choice. Hunters had all of it.

Still, he was glad she didn't know much about him, otherwise she wouldn't have said what she'd just said.

Or rather mumbled, for lack of a better phrase. He realized she was speaking another language, and he didn't know what it was. But he knew that he understood it.

"What about tomorrow?", he asks, having not quite heard all of what she'd said.
 

Marakai Al'Orren

[:] P R I M A L [:]
Character
Her feline gaze narrowed, her steps just as fluid but with her predatory nature clearly coming through. Before her beast got the better of her, she stopped circling him, in spite of the temptation that tugged at her. She took deep, measured breaths, bringing some measure of temporary calm. Mara dropped the sodden, bloody rag and focused on his hooded head as he remained in a crouch.

His words finally sunk in and set the hackles up on the back of her neck and setting all of her senses on alert. No one Marakai had met in the time she'd been away from her home had understood Felacatian. Most didn't even know about Felacatians themselves.

Mara stood perfectly still, tension and readiness writ in every muscle. Eyes narrowed, and a deep, rumbling growl threaded into the air and permeated her words. "Tomorrrrow, I hunt. If I do not...then we have a prrrroblem."

Her skin rippled, and her heart sank in her chest, fear wreathing its way through her veins to join the adrenaline. This wasn't good.
 

Sarge Potteiger

Half-Glimpsed Dreamings
Character
"I'm not familiar with your language, so why would there be a problem if you don't hunt? Is there something in you that has to be... well, hunting?" He asks, admitting that he hadn't the faintest clue where she was from or what she was. Knowing what someone said didn't mean you understood.

He was in that boat right now.

Her growl, however, told him that she was likely more animal than person right now. Although he wasn't quite sure if that meant she was part Cathar or something else. Sometimes people were the results of failed experimentation which resulted in strange urges. He wasn't one to judge.

...OK maybe that was a lie. He did judge. A lot. Everyone did, though.

Still, he sniffed. "You're excited. Starting to sweat a bit; can smell it. Calm down."
 

Marakai Al'Orren

[:] P R I M A L [:]
Character
"That's alot easierrr said than done..." she rumbled, turning her back on him and stalking away.

He was right though...she was much more on edge than she should be. Mara knew that she was pushing her limits with how long she'd put off her shift and hunt, but this...this kind of reaction was rare. She could, in fact, count the instances it had happened this bad on one hand. There was a matching body count, a fact that made her sick to her stomach all over again.

Thinking about it served like getting doused with a bucket of ice water on Hoth. She blinked as she turned around, eyes returned to a human shape and shade of amber. The arena was empty now, and relatively quiet, save for what few voices and footsteps echoed down the corridors behind them.

Slender fingers lifted to rub at her eyes, steps taking her back to where the masked man had crouched. Mara dropped down to sit a few feet in front of him, head tilted as she regarded him intently. "I'm half-Felacatian. Which means that my genetics arrre all mannerrr of scrrrewed up. One of the perrrks is that I can shapeshift into a huge predatorrry cat. But...I need to shift and hunt on a rrregular basis to keep the kitty happy."
 

Sarge Potteiger

Half-Glimpsed Dreamings
Character
"Not particularly. Just have to find the right train of thought." The masked man muses, knowing all too well that any rage could be quelled with the right chain of reasoning. Rage was simply a wildfire, and you had to cut off it's oxygen. If you didn't do that, it would spread until it destroyed everything.

But if you did...? New growth could begin as life struggled to assert it's dominance over the ashes.

Still, he didn't budge even as she moved to take a seat not far from him. "I've heard mention of your species once before, although I've generally found that when women use the word 'kitty' it's never about an actual cat. Nice to know you buck that trend."

Clearing his throat, he pulled out a small device no larger than his thumb. "Mind if I take a quick blood sample?" Judging by the small device, it was going to be the faintest of pricks.
 

Marakai Al'Orren

[:] P R I M A L [:]
Character
"Thinking about the body count generrrally keeps me sane and in contrrrol." Mara added quietly, wrapping her arms around her knees as she settled in. Her beast still paced, but far enough in the back of her mind where it was not grating on her senses and wearing down her control. She was determined to believe that her feline half was good, and was learning as she did. The alternative was something she didn't want to contemplate.

She grinned and blew a lock of auburn streaked hair from her cheek. "Well, yeah...I'm just not norrrmal in any sense."

Her brow knit together in concern as she eyed the tiny device in his fingers, she took in a slow, deep breath and expelled it. Her beast offered a mental nudge, which surprised her completely. She blinked, the surprise finally registering across her features. "That's...odd..." she murmured, tentatively extending her right hand, palm side up, across the space between them. "...she thinks you'rrre ok. She neverrr thinks anyone is ok."
 

Sarge Potteiger

Half-Glimpsed Dreamings
Character
"Typically that's all it takes for people who don't enjoy taking life." Giving a knowing nod of his head, he stands slowly, a faint muffled chuckle being heard behind his mask. "Give yourself more credit; no one is 'normal.'" Taking a step or two to close the distance a bit more, he crouches again and takes her hand gently in his own.

He had to be gentle because his hands were covered by crushgaunts, which would break all the bones in her hand if he so much as flexed wrong while holding the appendage.

Pressing the device to her index finger, it took the barest hint of a drop of blood from her in near-painless fashion. The sample should tell him whether or not she was Force-Sensitive, because he couldn't really sense it himself.

Giving a smile to her that she'd not see, he shook his head. "Because one will always recognize another." It had always fascinated him how perceptive animals could be; they knew good intentions, fear, the coming of a storm. Strange. But fascinating.
 

Marakai Al'Orren

[:] P R I M A L [:]
Character
"Norrrmal is borrring...why be norrrmal if you can help it?"

Mara watched the care he took with her hand, absently blowing a loose curl away from her cheek. Her beast was quiet, and though far from content, receded enough to giver her a modicum of space to breathe. Which she did, slowly and deeply, letting it restore her sense of self.

Her head tilted as he applied the tiny device to the tip of her index finger. The tiny pinprick didn't make her blink, but the little lights flickering across it's tiny display caught her attention. While her beast was calm and accepting, she wasn't so certain...but she trusted her instincts. After all, they'd kept her alive this long.

His words drew a smile to her features, a real one, and even though she couldn't see his expression, she could 'hear' the smile in his tone. "An excellent point..." she conceded, and withdrew her hand as he let it go. Her curiosity wanted to ask what he was, since her senses didn't recognize him as anything she'd come across before. But the device's tiny trill forestalled her questions.

Blinking, she looked up at him, a sudden hitch in her voice. "Darrre I ask what the little grrreen lights mean?"
 

Sarge Potteiger

Half-Glimpsed Dreamings
Character
As his right arm rotated to better get glare from the screen, she'd find there were two jagged slots in his forearm guard which looked very much like a claw had torn through the powerful metal. Whatever had done it had been precise, although the jaggedness to the edges hinted at a natural origin.

Perhaps a Nexu, or other large predator. He often wondered what people would make of that, but thought little of it himself.

Peering with black eyes at the screen, he gave a faint chuckle. "Means you're Force-Sensitive. Well, more than your average bear. This means I should probably tell my Master to take a look at you." Yes, despite the wizened rasp to his quiet voice, he was a student. Strange to think that at this point in his life he was a student.

But he wasn't one to judge where life took him too harshly. "Likely this means you'll become a Jedi."
 

Marakai Al'Orren

[:] P R I M A L [:]
Character
Without thinking about, she lightly shook her free hand and partially shifted it into a paw. It looked decidedly awkward and painful, though she felt nothing more than a tightness in her wrist. Her claws extended, she compared them to the jagged slots in the forearm guard he wore. As she spoke, her paw melted back into her deceptively delicate hand, a fingertip tracing the ragged edges. "You took on something rrroughly my size...maybe a little biggerrr. Was this the worrrst of it?"

Mara knew she looked like someone had come up behind her and smacked her head with a large chunk of wood. After a moment, she at least managed to close her mouth, eyes traveling between his own dark gaze and the happily chirping display. "Me? Forrrce sensitive enough to become a Jedi?" The purr in her voice emerged more intensely as some of her control slipped away with the surprise.

"Is that even allowed? I mean..I'm not..." she dissolved into a string of Felacatian and bit her lower lip, hard, as her beast rumbled at her in a tone Mara had come to think of as being her 'stop being an idiot' tone. "Sorrry..."
 

Sarge Potteiger

Half-Glimpsed Dreamings
Character
"I'm 29 and just joined the Jedi, so I imagine it would be allowed. I killed people for a living." The ease with which he admitted that and seemed fine with it was more than slightly unsettling, even to himself. Still, in response to her questions about his armor, his arm retreated somewhat in shame.

How did he tell her that he'd done it to himself? Would it even make sense? "I took on myself." It was enigmatic, but the truth. She could puzzle out the rest herself. Lying wasn't something he did as a matter of principle, but that didn't mean he'd given the blunt truth all the time.

"Don't apologize." He adds, putting the small device away after turning it off. Standing, he offered her a hand to help her up, apparently unperturbed by the vague shifting she'd done.

It was still better than his old boss, who'd sprouted wings out of nowhere.
 

Marakai Al'Orren

[:] P R I M A L [:]
Character
Sometimes, she noted distantly, silence was best. Mara just didn't know what to say...that he'd killed for a living? Well, that wasn't unheard of, nor did it make her think any less of him. It was in the past, and nothing about it could be changed. What he did from this point forward was more important...or at least, from the point he joined the Jedi going forward.

"Yourrrs...ahh..." understanding finally dawned on her, his words coupled with the movement of his hand back towards him. Mara blinked and glanced down at her own wrists, lost in thought for several moments. "...I've been therrre." she finished simply, unwrapping the strips of fabric she kept wound about her wrists. Both were marred by a numerous scars, long-since healed punctures on top and parallel slashes across the bottom. As if they'd been bitten by a predator in the midst of a savage depression...which, had sadly been the case.

Shaking her head, Mara looked up and took his proffered hand, fingers lingering briefly before withdrawing to absently brush at the dirt that seemed permanently attached to her leather pants. "So...what now?"
 
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