Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Slavers Sales, Warehouse Tales

Just 'cause the damned bizzies thought they had her on a leash didn't mean she couldn't hop the fence now and again so to speak. They'd never been too great at their jobs to start with in her opinion, and now they were wasting resources watching her. It was the most damned basic trick in the book. Well. Kind of. With a twist. Go into a busy washroom, walk out as someone else, leave your tail behind. Of course most folks hide to depend on changing clothes and makeups and hats and the like. Nan literally walked out as someone else. She could do exactly two thing with any consistency. Guide a bullet and change her appearance. Couldn't do both at once but whatever, details.

She had a lead to follow. A contact, a woman she'd helped before when ladies deadbeat son wound up owing money to the wrong sort of people, had given her info on a slave ring. Now, Nan wasn't keen on slavery to start with. She liked her independence and assumed everyone else liked theirs just the same. But these lot were taking it to a new low. They weren't just moving aliens, poor bastards far from home, they were taking Corellian kids. That there just wouldn't stand.

Nan swung by one of her drop points and pulled out the bag she kept there. Pistols went into their holsters, rifle was slung over her back and battered red scarf was looped around her neck. Didn't mean anything to her of course, Nan wasn't the sort of person who'd get hung up on sentimentality and other foolishness like that. You just never knew when you might need a scarf. Now appropriately kitted out, Nan was off and moving. Towards the Blue Sector of course. Where else would they be? CorSec tended to steer clear and if anyone got too nosy or your merchandise didn't make it they could always be disappeared into the Pit, like who knew how many others. Still close enough to the spaceport to make getting in and out pretty easy too.

According to her tip, the slavers were operating out of an old warehouse that was owned by a fashion manufacturer currently in the process of going broke. Eventually it would be sold of to the highest bidder, but for now? Oh there had probably been someone left to keep an eye on it, and they were likely paid a hefty fee to turn those eyes elsewhere. Two pay cheques and none of the work, as long as you didn't have a conscience it was a good deal. Nan spat at that, scowling.

She eyed it out of her peripheral vision, it was all slums here and no one looked at you too closely, especially when you were obviously armed, but it still wouldn't be wise to be seen directly casing out the joint. Front door was just a bad idea, feth that. Carrying on, she turned down the alley beside it. Someone had made a rookie error. A dumpster was sitting under a window. It was a small window, but Nan reckoned she could weasel through it. Might lose a bit of skin, but wasn't anything she'd die from. Not like a lot of the slaves in that building would die if she didn't.

Grim faced, she hauled herself up onto the dumpster after one last look to make sure no one was paying attention, rubbing a bit of the grime off the window she peered in. Couldn't see much, looked like it would let out just across from a catwalk. Be a bit of a stretch to get from window to catwalk but doable. Breaking the window would attract some attention, but some risks had to be taken, besides, if she threw a rock through it, they'd likely just assume it had been kids. The gangs of street kids that ran these streets were right nasty little buggers, she should know,s he'd been one after all. She was just looking down at the ground for a suitable rock or other lump of solid detritus when an idea occurred to her.

She tried the window.

It was not in fact locked. Well I'm a right idjit.

Levering it further open, she peered in once again. A large shipping container or something was blocking her view of almost everything, but this was good, it meant it was also hiding her. The smell was ungodly. Bodily fluids were definitely involved. What followed was an honestly not very graceful but surprisingly quiet (one of the things a scarf was good for was wrapping a rifle or other weapon inclined to clonk) squirming through a window and onto the catwalk. Honestly once she managed to get her chest through it wasn't too bad, luckily she wasn't overly endowed in that department.

Back on her feet, she crept forward, rifle up and ready to fire. She was prepared for the horrors of slavery, steeling herself mentally for what she was about to see. All the same, when she rounded the side of the shipping container and her eyes fell upon the scene that covered the floor of the warehouse, the tip of her rifle dipped.

"What th'absolute skrag.."

Horrors were right, but not of slavery. This had been a massacre a- her eyes found a man, drenched in blood crouched atop another, was still a massacre apparently. Not sure who either man was or what was going on, the rifle snapped back up.

"Oi! Hey you! What's going on down there!"

[member="Thal"]
 
The slaver beneath his hand was squirming, begging for life.

He gave him no quarter. He gripped his windpipe, and crushed the human's throat with a single, well-placed squeeze. He stood tall, rolling his bulky shoulders as he turned to the newcomer. Bright blue eyes and a pale face stared daggers at the newcomer. He was coated in blood- their blood. He reached into his back pocket, wiping his face with a cloth.

Like it was a usual occurrence.

"Bazi Batza Bocce?"

He cocked his head. She clearly wasn't a slaver. They would've sent more. No, she was here for something else. Thal picked up the knife he was using- after ripping it out of the throats of one of the slavers he killed. He began to circle her, seeming to disregard the woman's rifle. He didn't appear to be afraid of her at all. He emanated death in the force, rippling waves of anger and rage in the room. He was a whirlwind of anger and hatred.

But he was not like these men.

He was maybe worse, maybe justified- but he also had a twinge of pain. Of loss. Everything was connected in the force. He was a burning tree in the meadow. A brushfire in the tall grass. Where the was once peace in the man, was replaced with only anger, malice.

Revenge drove him- and driving him mad. He stared at the woman before him for a while, before stopping. The blade of the knife went behind his back. He was ready for a fight. But he could sense that she wasn't like them. Or he could be wrong. But if he was-

He'd slit her throat like all the others.


[member="Shinnan Moreno"]

[member="Shinnan Moreno"]
 
Now, most people with a rifle aimed at them tended to stop. Not this madhouse apparently. He casually crushed a mans throat, then immediately ignored the corpse like it hadn't been a living, breathing sentient being a moment before, gave his face a wipe like maybe he was a bit sweaty as opposed to entirely covered in the blood of his enemies, and then pulled a knife and started circling her.

Nan liked to think she was a pretty tough cookie, but this was a whole different tree of squirrels than she'd signed up to deal with. Plus she still wasn't certain of the situation here. Grown man, human or humanoid. So were most of the dead. Slaver, slave or something else? She turned with him, keeping the rifle steady, for all that she felt shaky, and it wasn't doing much as a deterrent. It may not have been keeping him away but it would damn well take him down if he came at her with that knife. She wouldn't hesitate either. CorSec might've tossed her into the Jedi Temple, but she did what had to be done and that was that, no whinging or wondering about it, just get it done. She just wasn't sure what that might be at the moment. At least he spoke a language she knew. Bocce didn't clearly identify him though. It was after all the Smugglers language, exactly the sort of thing a ragtag group of slavers would use if they all came from different world.

"Keezx."

He stopped, knife going behind his back, though she didn't miss for a minute the fact that he didn't put it down or away. The man was damned unnerving. It wasn't just what he'd done, or the immediate and brutal threat he represented, it was more than that. She could feel him. She'd gone to a circus once as a child. Well, she'd snuck in. Hadn't had the credits to pay. There'd been tumblers and jugglers and more, but there had also been the cages. Animals from all over the galaxy caught and caged for folks who'd never been more than ten miles from where's they'd been born to stare and point at. Most of them blurred in her memory. But one she remembered. Tiger, they'd called it. It had paced back and forth, back and forth, seemingly oblivious to it's surroundings, but then it had looked up, and caught young Shinnans eye, and there had been such.. such pain and hate in those eyes. Back and forth it went, but those eyes promised the moment it had it's freedom, people would die. She'd been tempted to free it when no one was looking, because it had seemed wrong, seeing it imprisoned there, but she'd been too afraid of it, and had run away instead.

The tiger before her was not caged.

Still, it didn't do to show fear, that was a damn good way to get attacked by any predator. Chin up she lowered the rifle somewhat. It looked less immediately threatening, tit for tat, but in truth it just meant that now she'd gut shoot him and he'd have a slower more miserable death, but in her mind if he pretended to play nice and then jumped her, he deserved it.

<This's a fething mess, who're you, why'd you kill these men?>

There were two acceptable answers, and one that would get him shot. Brown eyes stayed fixed on him as she waited for his response. Or for him to make a move she didn't like.

[member="Thal"]
 
He looked at the trail of bodies slain around him. One comically slumped over from having been pinned on an outcropping piece of metal in the aging warehouse. Thal rolled his shoulders and lowered the knife into the sheath on his leg.

He walked casually, his back turning to her.

She was right- he was uncaged. Unhinged. Unleashed.

<"It's interesting you use the word men for these people. They are monsters, worse than I.">

The same bright, piercing blue eyes- like ice on an ocean's surface. He began to walk towards her. He was heads taller than her, had weight on her- maybe she might have been, on a good day, literally half his weight.

<"Though with that rifle, you might have come to do the same thing I did to them...so now the question is...why were you coming to kill them?"

Thal only made one movement. His hand twitched. He was a practiced killer. Honed his skills every night, week after week, year after year in the Red Tower. He didn't fight for money. He didn't fight for glory. He didn't fight for anything but to survive. That made him dangerous. That made him capable. It made him smart. It made him effective.

He leaned in and over her.

<"You were just slower to the punch.">

[member="Shinnan Moreno"]
 
Luckily for him, or possibly for her, the answer he gave was one of the correct ones. Though he didn't say it in so many words, no one would call slaves monsters. Beasts maybe. Cattle. But not monsters. That was a good description of slavers on the other hand. Between that and the sheathing of the knife, she switched her hold on the rifle to one handed and brought it up to rest on her shoulder, pointing at the ceiling. Not fully put away, but the man was damned unnerving.

It was all she could do to maintain an air of nonchalance as he advanced on her, and as much as she would deny it later, when his hand twitched, she flinched. Blood rose into her cheeks at that. Embarrassment, quickly turned to annoyance and anger. Anger was good, anger drove you forward. Turning her head she spat before glaring up at him once more.

<Yeah, yeah good for you, fast an' messy, and din't finish th'job, just like most men. Din't see no slaves runnin' away on m'way in and I don't see 'em here. So good for you fer startin' this, I'll finish it.>

With that she pushed past him. Or would have. If he'd been pushable. Mostly she sort of bounced off of him and then went around. The intent was there.

Pointedly ignoring him, though really paying attention to very little else, because if you turn your back on a tiger you better be listening damned hard for the scrape of claws, she checked the slaver who's throat he'd crushed. Nothing in his pockets except a few credits, which she took. Wasn't like he was going to need 'em. She moved on to the next corpse. Not killed nearly as cleanly. Looked more like an industrial accident than the work of a man.

"This's fethin' gross. Nooo, we can't jus' cut his throat or somethin', gotta stab 'im like twenny million times, just to make things extra gross. Aaagh, is this spleen?" She muttered as she searched this corpse. It wasn't that she was squeamish exactly. I mean she regularly made peoples heads explode, she just didn't normally have to poke around in them afterwards. She was still doing it though, she wasn't fainting or vomiting or anything. "Ha!"

She toggled the comm unit on, and flipped through the last few messages. Mostly it was a lot of explicit messages to and from a woman she could only assume was not humanoid based on most of the acts described, but there was also a message with a dock number.

[member="Thal"]
 
<"Every pain I inflicted upon them was warranted.">

Thal absent mindedly rubbed his wrists, where the skin was even paler than the rest of his body- and worn. No blonde hairs grew there. They had been worn away over the years. Burn marks where the stun cuffs had done their work restraining him. He had suffered for the nearly twenty four years he had been alive- and he was taking it out on these brutes.

<"You haven't the stomach for what I will do to them.">

She spoke basic, and he picked up a few words- though what she did made him flush with embarrassment. Although most of the galaxy could decipher the strange lines that made up the written language, Thal was an illiterate brute. He stared at her for a while, and rubbed his hands together, like a nervous boy. For all of Thal's savagery, brutality, he had never gotten the chance to be a kid. To enjoy life. And it showed, in the quiet moments.

He stood there silently, hoping that she would divulge what she found with the comm unit the dead man had. He crouched, rubbing his hands together.

[member="Shinnan Moreno"]
 
It was probably good she wasn't really looking at him, because for every moment he failed to prove to be a threat to her specifically, Nans bravado returned, and while his words clearly weren't all or even mostly bluster, they did have her rolling her eyes. It was a bit like a holo-drama. Handsome barbarian out for revenge, gripping speeches and proclamations of said revenge. Shinnan had no intention of being his helpless maiden who swooned and sighed over his actions though thank you very much. Nope, she was a whole 'nother genre entirely.

<Got more stomach than I need right now thanks, here, y'can have some.> In for a throw in for the game, she tossed what may or may not have been a stomach at him over her shoulder. She wasn't a doctor. It had come from inside a man and was disgusting. It might have been a stomach.

When she did look at him, it was to see him standing there like a lost puppy. She'd expected him to either leave, bloodbath accomplished or demand she hand over the investigation continuing his swaggering dominant act.

Well hell.

He had killed the slavers, effectively and all alone, she had to give him that. With a sigh she rose. <Y'can't go into a spaceport lookin' like that, c'mere y'idjit.>

She removed her scarf once more (scarves were also quite useful for wiping off blood). He'd wiped his face true enough, but most of what he'd done was move blood around, and the bit he had managed to clean really only brought attention to all the bits he hadn't. <Y'gonna have t'either ditch the top or find a clean jacket big enough t'fit you.>

This said, she spit on one end of her scarf and went to clean him off. If he didn't want spit on his face he shouldn't have made such a bloody mess, literally, or else done a better job cleaning himself off. Plus it was just practical, wasn't like she was carrying a bottle of water and soap. And yeah maybe she was getting back at him a little bit for giving her a fright.

[member="Thal"]
 
He was beginning to like this woman.

Thal had never been cared for in his life. The only 'gentle' touches that he knew were from nurses that patched his wounds, night after night and week after week in the Red Tower. Even if her way of cleaning him was crass- it was appreciated on different level.

His eyes flicked down to meet the woman's.

<"My name is Thal.">

He rolled his shoulders and threw the bloodied jacket off of him, combing through the collection of dead slavers. He found not a jacket, but a gray cotton shirt that was miraculously spared the blood that the owner's jacket was coated with. He turned, peeling his bloodied clothing off his body. The tattoo of the crumbling Red Tower was visible for a moment, before his shirt covered his torso.

<"Why am I going to a spaceport? Have you found something?">

He seemed eager- all too eager to try and figure out what she deciphered from the texts.

And to commit more acts of murder.

[member="Shinnan Moreno"]
 
<Shinnan, y'can call me Nan.>

She might've glanced over as he was peeling his bloody duds off. For purely practical reasons. Y'know, makin' sure he din't have a detonator strapped to him or somethin', like a proper crazy. Detonator free, but he did have one hell of a tatt. It might've been just something he liked or that had meaning to him, but it looked more like a gang marking to Nan. Not one she recognized, but she took note of it all the same. She wouldn't ask, there were some pirate gangs that got a bit titchy about being fingered, and Thal had already proven more murdery than usual. She could ask a few people later though.

<And maybe. Probably. Found a berth number. Reckon they may still be there, give'n these> osk'y <were still here. Scum like this, you don' leave 'em alone too long, can't trust 'em not t'git into trouble, bring the law down on you. Th'only thing what'd keep 'em here if the slaves ain't is credits. Y'don't pay 'em 'til the last minute t'make sure they don' double cross you. So if they were here, slaves might be there. It'll be tight though, so we gotta move.>

Of course, if she stayed here she might catch the purse, which could in turn lead her to whoever controlled the purse strings. A much more effective means of halting this little ring. But that would mean losing the current batch of slaves. Sacrifice a few for future good?

No.

She'd find who's fault this was some other way. A way that didn't include sacrificing anyone. Miracle of miracles, Thal managed to find a shirt to fit his impressive frame that wasn't covered in blood.

<Right-o, let's go. Don't freak out.> This last was added after giving him a scrutinizing look and then turning her attention inwards. A slight blurriness and then a little old woman with bright blue eyes and white hair stood where Nan had been a moment before. Best not to be seen strolling out of a bloodbath like this. CorSec took enough interest in her as it was. <And I wanna make somethin' real clear t'ya. You wanna kill these guys, that's great, so do I, but my first priority is gettin' their cargo out and free, you got me? Most Corellians don't think much of slavery, so I c'n guarantee they'd ruther kill th'lot of 'em and take the loss than leave proof of what they done. Which mean's use yer head at least as much as yer knife.>

<Now, help your poor dear Granny up onto the bus yeah?> This last having led him to one of the large public airbus stops and using the deadmans credits to get two tickets to the spaceport. Public transportation was rarely watched. Besides, she didn't feel like walking and time was of the essence. Even if it was hilarious faking all the indignities of old age.

[member="Thal"]
 
The Force- or what Thal understood to be the force, in his limited understanding, moved around the woman before him, altering her once-attractive appearance into an elderly woman. To say the look of surprise and confusion on Thal's face was massive was an understatement. He blinked a few times, before following her. The short trek through the bus stops and spaceports brought stares, mostly due to his size and hair. Rarely did humans have braided hair like he did, especially the paler-skinned humanoids. That was to say, that there was also the fact that Thal was six and a half feet tall, and had the palest blue eyes that most people had ever seen.

He had not said a word since the warehouse, but spoke quietly to the woman.

<"I was once a slave, shackled and bound like those who we are to rescue are.">

He showed her his wrists. Scarred and burned from years of wearing cuffs.

<"I was made to fight, made to slaughter for entertainment on the Red Tower. I escaped, barely. I will return there. I will free those who are in bondage there.">

He turned his head to face the woman again.

<"I will kill every single one of them. They will not have the chance to cover up their crimes here- we both can accomplish what we wish to here.">

[member="Shinnan Moreno"]
 
Nan had chosen an old woman for more than one reason. One of those reasons however was because you were allowed a certain amount of madness after a certain age. She knew Thal would draw attention. People were hardwired to know when a predator was around. And women would be paying attention for a whole different reason. More than one person looked away after hearing the little old woman carrying on a largely one sided conversation with her 'grandson'.

Such a good boy, did we turn the kettle off dear?, people were better pilots in my day, spitting image of his father, goodness look at that girls outfit! had she ever told him about the time she went to Zeltros? Ohoho, but she could make a pup like him blush and so on and so forth whenever anyone seemed to be paying too much attention.

and in between and maybe part of the act, it was hard to say, she gave his poor pale wrists a gentle pat and a squeeze

And lower still in her own voice rather than the cracked voice of an elder she answered him.

<We're all made somethin', some of it by worse people'n others. Life starts when y'start makin' yerself I reckon. This goes down a'right an' we both walk away, you call me afore you go into your tower.>

They were getting deeper into the spaceport now. Not the shiny well kept berths the dignitaries and rich folks used. It was funny to think of a spaceport as stratified by class, of having a slum, but most things were and did if you looked hard enough. Certainly the ships got rustier and smaller, the folks who could be seen lounging about got tougher and more heavily armed.

In a moment when she judged herself unobserved Nan rippled and stood in her own form once more <Bah, fethin' weird changin' heights. Worse bein' a man, but still weird.>

She rolled her shoulders, hands checking her blasters. <Right-o, we're five ships away. If anyone's on the blacktop, take 'em quick and quiet if y'can, I'll distract 'em so's you can get 'em if need be. Engine don't seem t'be on so I reckon I can jimmy us a hatch open rather'n strollin' in the front door. Never been one for front doors, I'm more of a back entrance sort of gal.>

Wait did I just- son of.. He might miss that. It's murder time, that's his favourite so far as I c'n see. Besides, he's very direct, he ain't been usin' a lot of flowery speech, might miss it. Off m'damn game. Lord. A'right. Focus.

[member="Thal"]
 
Thal, in fact, did not notice the joke. He was not accustom to such things, such as humor. Or even the looks of the women who found him attractive. He was laser-focused. Angry. And righteous.

He rolled his shoulders as he approached the ship with her, turning to her before he began.

<"Stealth is not what I usually do. But I will try.">

Exactly three minutes later...

Two slavers had been beaten to death, the third Rodian slaver was held over Thal's head, spraying disruptor bolts wildly, trying to avoid his incoming fate. Thal made the slaver meet his fate, by crushing his face onto the blacktop. Thal reached up to the cockpit, and undid the emergency hatch release, sending a torrent of fresh air into the docked ship. He rolled his shoulders as he entered the ship, and removed the knife from it's sheath.

The slavers began to screech around the ship, intending on killing Thal. Thal stood in the darkness, clutching the knife in his hands tightly. He didn't give the woman much of a chance to formulate a plan. He was all about the rampage, the bloodlust.

They would feel his wrath.

[member="Shinnan Moreno"]
 
It was quite frankly flabbergasting the speed at which Thal could basically destroy everything. It was a bit like if you had a toddler, and you'd agreed to let them help you make sandwiches. You gave them a piece of bread, a little plastic butter-knife and some peanut butter and turned your back for a second to prep everything else. You knew they might make a bit of a mess. Peanut butter on their hands, face, probably the table. But when you turned around not only was there peanut butter everywhere, including the ceiling, the chairs were broken, the curtains were on fire and for some reason the neighbours cat was in the oven.

"Force fethin' save me from his try." Shinnan grumbled. Rolling one of the corpses over with the toe of her boot she gave him a once over before heading for the main cargo hatch. Glancing around to see if anyone was paying too much attention, not yet, though they were probably studiously not noticing the commotion, a shiver moved through her as she took on the deadmans face, red scarf still around her neck (scarves were also useful for identifying a friendly shapeshifter assuming their counterpart wasn't on too much of a murderous rampage). She hit the button to open the cargo hold, rifle at the ready. Crouching shackled forms, stink, no time to pay too much attention to that. Three standing armed slavers, turning her way, pausing at the sight of a friendly face.

"He's in th'cockpit!" She yelled, pointing. It likely didn't sound much like the dead slaver. Hopefully masculine yelling sounded similar enough. Apparently so, they turned to the door that led deeper into the ship, and as they did, Shinnan fired. One, two, three. Reloading before the last body hit the floor. Still two shots left, but it was better to have more shots than you needed.

"Hold tight folks." She closed the cargo doors again. Best not to have the sentient cargo exposed to anyone walking by in case they decided to start shooting. Rifle went over her back and she pulled her pistols. Better to use the pistols in close tight spaces like this. One leading the way, if anyone got smart and tried to grab it from around a corner or the like, the second pistol moved like a nasty surprise.

She advanced forward. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was terrified. She could die. They could shoot her. This wasn't sniping someone from a roof top, this was so close their brains would splatter her face when she dropped them. Or hers would splatter theirs. But it wasn't time to think anymore. Right now she was her weapons. She was the bullets, and all that mattered was guiding them home. Well. In fairness one of her pistols was in fact a blaster on the off chance she needed to stun anyone, but it was harder to guide bolts of energy.

She could roughly track Thal from where the screams were coming from at any particular point in time. Her stolen face made sure she got the first shot in most cases, and that was usually all she needed. A stray blaster bolt, shot by a slaver who was more panicked than actually trying to hit her, barely missed her right arm, burning her as it passed. She hissed through her teeth at the pain of that, but kept her focus. Keep the face, guide the bullets, this was what mattered.

Rounding another corner she came face to face with Thal, and froze, finger twitching slightly, but not pulling the trigger. Not a target.

[member="Thal"]
 
She hesitated. Well, she, not being the case because Thal could not see through the woman's force disguise. While Thal saw a target, the Nan saw a friendly face. Well, friendly to her at least.

Meanwhile, he reached out and grabbed the stolen face by the collar, and threw her on the deck. He raised his blade above his head, preparing to stab her violently in the face, before he stopped. He could feel her. In that ocean, that invisible current that he saw. The threads held the universe, he touched them for a moment. And saw that it was her. He blinked rapidly, bright blue eyes, illuminated in the dark, dropped the knife next to her head.

He rolled off of her, staring at the ceiling.

<"Are the people safe?">

Not slaves. People. People like him. People who didn't need to be like him. He ran a hand over his braided hair, before sitting up.

<"I made a mess.">

Not 'I killed about six people in the span of a few minutes'. He just made a mess.

[member="Shinnan Moreno"]
 
If Thal circling you like a tiger was worrying, being bodily thrown to the deck and almost stabbed by him was terrifying. And yet even while the animal part of her brain was gibbering in terror another part of Nan simply thought 'Is this it? Am I done now?'. The answer, apparently, was no. He dropped his weapon, peering down at her, those great blue eyes blinking as he reined the animal part of his brain, far less prone to gibbering, in and rolled off of her. Her own form reasserted itself.

<Yes.>

She answered simply. They still had to be turned loose of course, but from what she'd seen, all slaves that had entered the ship alive still were. When he sat up and spoke again, she turned her head to look at him for a moment, almost disbelieving, before turning to face the ceiling again and starting to chuckle, and then full on laugh, pausing to catch her breath before she replied.

<Ayuh, that y'did. Don't reckon y'broke anything what din't need breaking though.>

She holstered the pistols she'd been holding only loosely in limp hands, grin still on her face. Yes, it was decided, she quite liked Thal. He was an absolute force-be-damned whirlwind of destruction, and seemed to spend most of his time covered in blood, but he was, she decided, all in all a good man. He fought them who should be fought, saved them who should be saved, didn't fuss about laws when they kept the right thing from being done, and he was simple and easy to understand. Not stupid. Simple. Everyone else always had about four different agendas and what they said was never what they meant. Thal, it seemed to her, stated his intent, and then he went and did that thing. No mucking about.

So what if a mess was sometimes made? Break a few eggs and all that..

She laced her now free hands behind her head. Ought to get up and go free the folks in the back, but it was good to take a moment to breathe. To really realise and let it sink in that they'd succeeded and were still alive.

[member="Thal"]
 
Thal sat up, sitting next to Nan, resting his hands on his knees. He looked around the cockpit, before he looked over at the woman next to him. He admired her too, her strength, tenacity and skillset especially. The force was unknown concept to Thal, after all, he never was explained what it actually was, or what he could do with it. All he knew is that he could see differently through it. Sense people and how they felt.

Beyond that, Thal's anger and demons threatened to consume him and lead him down a darker, vile path.

Thal placed a hand on Nan's back, comforting her and trying to make her relax. He could feel her tension.

<"I'm sorry I almost murdered you.">

His voice softened.

<"We should release the people. They're probably terrified.">

He stood, and wiped his hand on his pants, holding it out for Nan to take.

<"You have a softer voice, and they're probably less terrified of you. I'll let you be the hero.">

Thal's pearly white teeth curled into a smile.

[member="Shinnan Moreno"]
 

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