Stowaways Always Bring Trouble

[Holden Tark]

Another day, another job. Holden was always moving around, never staying any one place for a considerable amount of time. Too often he found himself picking up about the time he started to get attached to a place, or a someone, especially a someone. For whatever reason he liked to stay close to himself. Blame that on his several failed attempts to keep a crew around him. The Corellian had managed to get a crew together a few times only to see them fall apart. Usually that was fine because his main partner was always there, but that was no longer the case. Holden was alone, and he was beginning to like it that way, or so he tried convincing himself.

Work kept him buys, and on the move. His ship was needing to be replaced, and this next job would get him the credits he needed. Some rich aristocrat type had contacted him about recovering a family heirloom. The man's sell job on the job offer was pretty weak until the guy actually made Holden realize this heirloom was quite the rare artifact, and would not be a simple find. Where some people would hear the gemstone bracelet was simply that, the fact it had been passed to each generation for the past two millennia had Holden intrigued. It should have had him concerned two, as in why was it missing.

Holden rarely concerned himself with those kinds of questions. These jobs always paid a lot, and the repairs on his ship just warranted a replacement. In fact, Holden was elbow deep in grease trying to get the coolant system to work right so he could take off and get the stupid job started. Wait the job wasn't stupid, just the situation.

The Corellian let out a long sigh as the panel was finally closed up. Reaching to the left, Holden grabbed a grease rag and wiped his hands and arms. Once Holden had the ship on autopilot and in hyperspace, he could get a shower to clean the grime off, but until then, he was going to have to put up with it.

"And this is why I really should not be working alone," he said to no one in particular. Holden was just tired of the silence. "Holden Tark you are a stubborn old nerf herder. If you would just let people like you, you'd have a mechanic, your cyborg friend may still be around, and certainly you might even have a companion of two..."

Who was he kidding. Tark was about as likable as bantha fur on hot afternoon day on Tatooine. Work, work, work was all Holden thought about, and honestly, his work usually meant someone was going to shoot at him. When he wasn't stealing some priceless artifact to get it into the rightful hands, he was salvaging things which others seemed to want also. He really needed to change things up, but Holden wouldn't have it any other way. Tark loved rescuing history, and he loved the chase, even if it was him being chased.

The ship was repaired, and engines fired up. Holden ran them for a bit to make sure the coolant leak was truly gone, and when he was satisfied he closed the boarding ramp and lifted off. Fingers gingerly tugged on the control yoke, and in moments the smuggler's moon of Nar Shaddaa was a distant memory. It was off to Atrisia to meet with his newest benefactor to get the images he needed on the item he was supposed to retrieve. First thing was first though. Holden made the jump, engaged the autopilot, and bound down the corridor to his quarters where he was going to take a long shower.

[member="Eryn"]

 

[Eryn]

There was still glass in her thigh. She could feel it when she shifted around.

"Kriff." Eryn opened her eyes and lifted her head from its resting place against the cold metal wall, wincing as she tried to straighten her leg a little. No use. Not only was there not enough room in the small locker she'd stuffed herself into, but with every movement, the jagged shard sunk deeper into her torn flesh. The adrenaline that had allowed her to get this far was long gone, and other than giving the ability to ignore the pain and find her way aboard, it hadn't done much good otherwise. Blood had flowed too fast from her wound, she'd sucked in too much oxygen, and after two days on a few stale protein cubes and some sips of recycled water, whatever energy she'd managed to collect since she'd landed on Nar Shaddaa had already been expended just trying to find her way off the dangerous Smuggler's Moon.

There’s no textbook formula for stowing away, no flawless method that’s guaranteed to work without problems. It's a crapshoot every time you enter a ship uninvited; it's up to you to anticipate situations, case the joint thoroughly (if you can), and know where not to hide, and if you're smart, humble, and do your homework, you learn how to navigate the field. Like everything else in life, there are pros and cons for every decision. Bigger ships mean more hiding places, but also have bigger crews which mean bigger chances of being found. Bars are a great place to find potential stow options; drunk people tend to be too, well, drunk to notice anything amiss and make for an easy hitchhike, but the chances of them crashing during take-off are really high. Don't hide between the bulkhead and the inner walls unless you want to freeze to death, stay away from public 'official' vessels and droid operated cargo ships, and don't hide someplace too hard to get out of. Overconfidence will get you dead. Being over-cautious will, too.

And, of course, the golden (and only) rule… Don't wander the ship. Ever. In fact, don't leave your spot unless you're gonna die if you stay.

She'd actually found a decent pilot willing to take her elsewhere in return for a little manual labor, no questions asked, but he ended up being thrown off the top of the Promenade by a local gang lord before she could solidify the deal. Figures. The one time she attempts to be social and find a legit mode of transportation, somebody dies and she ends up a target-by-association.

There was a chase, 'lotta dodging, shattered glass and Eryn falling, hard. Losing the goons and limping her way to the spaceport without drawing too much attention had been difficult.
Rarely did the fugitive ever board a ship without a little research first, but the YT2000 was inconspicuous enough, and slightly smaller than the rest parked on the platforms. It would have to do.

Eryn smashed her fingers over her wound in attempt to stop the bleeding with pressure, glaring at the sliver of light pervading the darkness around her. The top of the locker was slightly dented, allowing air and the yellow illumination of the lower level cargo hold to filter in.

A sudden sharp bolt of pain seared through her leg, and her breath caught in her throat. She swallowed, mouth bone dry, her vision swimming. Dehydration was running its course, but she'd gone longer without water before. The locker floor was slick with her blood; she could feel it seeping rapidly between her fingers.
That glass had to come out. Now.

Eryn swore, pressing an ear to the inside of the locker again, and tried to listen past the buzzing in her ears and the pain burning through her focus. They'd already jumped to hyperspace, she'd felt that a few minutes ago, and the perpetual purr of the engines should drown out any significant sound. She couldn't be sure where the captain was, although she knew there was no other crew aboard.

It was a risk she'd have to take.

With a sluggish kick, the door to the locker swung open, bathing the young woman in sudden light. Eryn squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, adjusting to it, but she didn't move just yet. Groping around her, she found…absolutely nothing. The locker was empty. She stretched her good leg, letting it hang out of the open locker, but her body froze up when she tried her injured one. Shrugging out of her filthy leather jacket, she quickly twisted the sleeve until it was taught like a rolled rope and stuffed it in her mouth, biting down as she pulled a knife from her boot and set it next to her, just in case.

Eryn paused, still as stone, head cocked, listening once more. Hearing nothing, her sky blue gaze fell to her leg, about midway up her thigh. She pulled at the ragged, blood-soaked fabric circling the torn flesh; it ripped easily, exposing a fairly clean-cut puncture wound about three inches long. She shook her head, blinking, trying to steady her vision, and wiped at the blood welling up, but it was replaced quickly. How deep was the glass? She couldn't see it anymore. Was it near an artery? Was it in one piece or had it fractured when she'd sneaked aboard?

There was no careful examination, no gathering of the nerves or nauseous hesitation of any kind.
Eryn jammed two dirty fingers into the open gash and began digging.

She clamped down on the leather in her mouth, choking back the screams, eyes watering. There was no time to be delicate. She couldn't heal or stop the blood loss unless it came out, and if she sat in here and waited, she'd be dead in a few hours. The glass was buried deep, lodged in her muscle, but Eryn was no stranger to the process, although this was one of the more severe situations she'd been in.

That didn't mean it didn't hurt like a motherkriffer, though.

Her fingers hit something that wasn't her. Grasping, she pulled slowly. The shard slid out, inch by inch, blood rushing from the wound. Eryn's scream caught at the back of her throat, muffled by the leather as she tugged the glass free and dropped it to the locker floor with a clink. She pulled her makeshift leather gag from her mouth, pressed a hand over the gash, and rested her head back on the wall.

Darkness seeped over her vision.

She couldn't have been out more than a few minutes. God, she was so cold. So tired. That was a bad sign. Startling awake, the stowaway checked her leg, shivering. Still bleeding, and there was dirt. So much grime. With sluggish hands, she unfastened her belt and made a tourniquet. Eryn huffed in frustration, because she knew what had to happen now. She needed water, she needed to clean the thing out, and sew it up, and there was only one way any of that was gonna happen.


She had to break the stowaway golden rule.
Break it, or die.


Not much of a choice there.

With great effort, the young woman hauled herself from the locker and pulled off one of her tank tops, wiping up the trail of blood as she limped forward, dizzy, out of breath, and cursing herself for being so stupid. Every five steps, she stopped, listening, knife at the ready in her free hand, but no one came at her.

The next fifteen minutes were a blur. Eryn had no idea how she made it to the galley and back, but she did. She lugged herself in a daze back into her bloody locker with a small canteen of water, some fresh kitchen towels, a bottle of some strong liquor and a thin strand of electrical binding wire. The edges of her vision were dark, her heart thudded desperately in her chest, and the numb bliss of unconsciousness beckoned. Not yet, not yet, not yet, gotta fix leg, not yet, her thoughts chanted. She downed the water quickly, doused her wound with the alcohol, grit her teeth and straightened the wire out. Her hands shook as she held the sharp edge in front of her eyes, squinting, testing it, bending it.

No more time. Gotta do it now. NOW.

Eryn ran the wire through the gash, panting, gagging on the screams. Blood flooded forward.

She got about half sewn up before everything went black, locker door hanging open, and a badly covered up trail of blood leading straight from the galley.

|- [member="Holden Tark"] -|

 

[Holden Tark]

Holden could smell it in the corridor as he stepped out of his quarters to make his way for the bridge to check the readings. Frak! The last thing he needed was a stowaway. His job was already sketchy enough without having to deal with someone else hiding away. Sure it had happened before, but the good ones never got caught. If there was blood in the air though there was a life at stake. Dammit, why was Tark always the good guy?

A long sigh escaped his mouth as the shirt he was about to pull over his tank top was tossed aside. If he had to handle blood no sense in wrecking a perfectly good shirt. He followed the smell until he caught site of the trail which led him to a limp body. Great, it was a pretty woman. At least he was going to have a story about how he saved a hot chick from certain death. A few embellishments on the why death was certain, and it would make a great story to use in some cantina to get him bed companion for the night when wanted that.

The Corellian looked at the wound, and shook his head at the attempt to take care of it. It was sloppy meaning the blood loss had been severe before she started to patch it. Crouching, Holden lifted her. Sure she was in shock, but she was already out so it shouldn't do too much damage right? There was a MedBay near where she had collapsed, so Holden took her there and laid her on the bed. Reaching for the shears, Tark cut her pants off in order to work at the wound properly.

"Sorry about that," he said even though he knew she couldn't hear him. "I'll buy you a couple new pair when we get to where we're going."

The next few minutes were spent cutting the rough attempt at a suture, and cleaning the gash out to prevent infection. A bacta shot was injected directly to start repair inside, and a bacta patch was used to cover the wound. Tark wrapped a bandage around the patch, and then let the woman sleep. He didn't have any blood to put into her system, but he could push liquids and the like. Hopefully the medication would kick in quickly and get her up and about. Holden had a lot of questions, and not a lot of time to get answers.

[member="Eryn"]

 

[Eryn]

Time passed. How much, she couldn't say.

It took her a moment to open her eyes. They felt gluey, heavy, but the absence of pain in her leg was reassuring, replaced by a familiar cooling, tingling sensation. The sweet, watery scent of bacta drifted past her nose. Weird. She hadn't carried any patches on-board with her. Had she sewn up the wound before passing out? Why was it suddenly so bright in the locker?

Eryn blinked her vision clear.

…Oh. THAT'S why it was bright. She wasn't in the locker anymore.
And just like that, Eryn was back in survival mode, a method full of suspicion, snap decisions, and no apologies.

Alarm gripped her. She sat bolt upright, tense, gaze bouncing rapidly around her, heart hammering in her ribcage.
Surroundings. Greys and silvers. Cold, sterile, bright. Bag of IV fluids hanging to her left, needle taped to the crook of her left arm, bacta patch packaging crumpled on the steel table next to her, shears, bits of bloody wire from her leg in a tidy pile, used gauze. Equipment and scanners. Definitely a med-lab.

She felt eyes on her before she saw him, standing to the side near a small counter that jutted out from the wall and was littered with medical tools.
Out of habit when faced with an unknown, fight-or-flight engaged immediately, adrenaline surging through her veins. Time seemed to slow. Swiping the shears from the bedside, the fugitive launched herself off the med-lab table in her underwear and a tank top, pouncing like a cat. The IV feed in her arm ripped free, and the table of medbay instruments keeled over with a crash. The man's back hit the bulkhead with a smack, Eryn's arm pressed across his chest, pinning him firmly as she brought the shears up and rested the sharp tip at the side of his throat.

She was significantly shorter than he was, and judging by the iron muscle mass she felt through his tank top, significantly stronger, but if it intimidated her, she didn't show it. Eryn held her ground, teal eyes wild, limbs taut, ready for action. The young woman whipped her head around, scanning for other threats, looking for a way out of the situation. "You're the captain, right? Where's this boat going and how far away is it?" she growled, punctuating her aggression with a poke from the shears.

|- [member="Holden Tark"] -|

 

[Holden Tark]

A day passed. Usually time moved quickly when Holden was traveling the stars, but when there was someone in the medbay fighting for their life the minutes seemed to tick by slowly. Holden couldn't take the wait anymore and walked back to the sterile room. The Corellian had always found it difficult to keep his emotions out of things, and well, this time was no different. That's why he found himself standing at the side of the bed near the counter.

Teal eyes flicked open, and suddenly she was moving. Holden was big, but not fast. Her sudden attack caught him off guard and he could not react fast enough to keep himself from finding himself in an awkward situation. With shears pressed to his throat, Holden looked down at the woman. The sight was comical in a way. She was shorter than him, and he was being held at shear point by a lady in her panties. There were a lot of cocky Corellian remarks which ran through his mind, all of which likely ended with him getting hurt. He had to to turn the tables on her. It was a good thing he was more than twice as strong as she was.

"Hey watch it with those things. You aren't getting anywhere with me dead, and you don't want to get caught by my contact in your panties."

Holden quickly reached up and grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the shears. He spun her around as his other hand went her abdomen and with a pivot she was now the one against the wall. He smirked. Talk shook the shears from her hand before he locked eye contact with her. She was feisty, and since she was on his ship, and going to be until the job was done, feisty was good.

"I'm the captain yeah... Holden Tark, and you're the stowaway," he let her go. "We're heading to Atrisia, and we have about another day before we get there. I've got work lined up, and you're stuck with me until it's done. You won't want to stay there with what I got myself in. Lucky I found you, but you picked the wrong ship if you weren't looking for trouble."

His eyes broke contact with hers, dipping to look at her bare legs. Holden was very male and couldn't help the look. She had nice legs.

"Sorry again about the pants... I'll replace them. In the meantime I might be able to find something you can wear in the meantime. I mean you don't have to, but..."

Right, Holden was trying to lighten the mood. He had saved her life after all. The brunette didn't need to try a and kill him.

[member="Eryn"]

 

[Eryn]

"Clothes would be good..." She stared at him, analyzing the circumstances, half puzzled, half suspicious, still tensed to run or fight. Her gaze flicked back and forth between him and the fallen shears a few feet away. She'd only been caught hitchhiking twice before, and neither situation had ended well. Not only had this Holden Tark saved her life, he hadn't threatened to space her (yet), hadn't locked her up or given any indication he'd turn her over to authorities. He'd even offered her pants.

No one was that nice unless they were up to something. In her experience, at least.

"…You're not gonna float me?" It didn't make sense to her, and her struggle to understand his kindness showed. It was obvious he was not a bounty hunter or this would have played out very differently. Eryn watched his gaze drop to her exposed thighs. "Hey." She raised her hands at shoulder level and snapped her fingers at Tark. "Up here."

Cautiously, the fugitive let go of her fight-or-flight and was rewarded with rubbery muscles and a gentle throbbing through her wound. Eryn cocked an eyebrow at Tark's words. "Wait wait… you want my help?" She frowned, her expression aloof. She was very aware of the fact that she now owed him for saving her rear, and the stowaway hated owing people.
Teal eyes soured, and she crossed her arms defensively. "Look, Tark, thanks for the save and everything, but whatever you're doing on Atrisia, you'd be better off without me in the mix." It'd been so long since she'd had a legit conversation with someone who wasn't trying to nab her that Eryn wasn't entirely sure how to talk her way out of it without giving too much away, and it made her uncomfortable. "It's not like I hide in lockers 'cause I like it. Just let me off when you land and I'll be outta your hair."

She met his gaze squarely, hoping he didn't invoke his right to collect on the debt she owed him.

Eryn didn't know how she'd get out of that one.

|- [member="Holden Tark"] -|

 

[Holden Tark]

"Right your eyes are right there," Tark said with a smile. "You got nice legs though..."

Holden just let that hang there for a few moments. He was a pretty fast talker, but he wasn't sure how he would get out of that one. Sometimes his mouth engaged before his brain did. She'd either be upset, or take it as a compliment and be flattered. Not seeing a way out, he simply motioned for her to follow him back to his living quarters where he dug out a pair of his lounging oants which had a draw string on it. Her lithe figure in his loose and baggy sweats was going to be a comical sight and it made Holden smirk. Gods he was enjoying this too much. He might be a nice guy, but he did like to have his fun too.

"I'm not gonna float you. I don't kill anyone unless I have to, and I sure as hell wasn't going to let you bleed out on my floor."

Holden tossed her the pants. He didn't see a reason to turn or anything since he'd been the one to cut her pants off in the first place. It was obvious she wanted to run off as soon as she got to Atrisia, but that wasn't going to happen. Tark's job was a sensitive one, and he wasn't going to have her messing it up by running off as soon as they got there. Who knew what his contacts would think if he let her go.

"Look miss...." Holden didn't have her name yet. "You can try and talk yourself out of this all you want, but I've got a job to do, and you decided to take passage on my ship. You're stuck with me until the job is done, and you might as well just get settled on that now. I promise you can do whatever you want, go wherever you want, when it's over. I'll even take you there, but you aren't getting off this ship when we get Atrisia. I've got very specific instructions."

If she was the stubborn type, she'd find him as much, if not more so. She just had better not make him play the "I saved your life card." Holden hated playing it, and he hated what kind of mess it could cause. He'd given up trying to clean the perfume out of his last jacket after the last damsel he rescued. Besides, she didn't seem the damsel type.

[member="Eryn"]

 

[Eryn]

She racked her brain for a name to give him as she pattered barefoot across the ship to his quarters, and probably ended up sounding a little…insincere when she finally offered one. "Uh…Cami. My name's Cami." The fugitive scrambled for the next topic, hoping she didn't sound too out of practice, and tried to pass it off as 'I'm Still Sluggish From Almost Dying, Yo'.

"Instructions?" Eryn hiked the sweatpants up and tugged at the drawstring until they stayed up on their own. Pulled so tightly, the waistband material gathered thickly around her hips, and the excess fabric ballooned around her legs like sails full of wind, but they were warm, and they were pants, and they certainly hid her curves from admiring eyes. A triple win for her, and probably for Tark, if he didn't want a broken nose and a black eye.

"What kind of specific instructions?" Her tone was more darkly apprehensive than curious. She'd lugged her boots with her after checking to make sure her knives were still there intact (they were), and she'd scanned his room for threats with a practiced eye when she'd entered, so she felt okay about sitting on the edge of his bunk to jam her feet into her shoes. Dark hair fell over her face, untamed and twisted into thin rope-like strands by grime and months of neglect as she leaned down to tie the laces. She kept her eyes on Tark, though, shadowed with doubt, narrowed as she scrutinized him. "I mean, what do you do for a living anyway?"

Now that she was curious about, but she hid it behind her stand-offish demeanor. Maybe he was in a line of work she could use to her advantage. Boots on, Eryn rose from his bedside (which she couldn't imagine sleeping on, by the way. Far too soft, far too comfortable), and stepped towards him, jaw set, expression sharp with challenge. She paused a foot away, arms slack by her sides, shoulders square, hands balled into fists. "Transport? Smuggling? Salvage? Muscle for hire? Crack pilot?"

|- [member="Holden Tark"] -|

 

[Holden Tark]

Cami? Right... That name was about as fake as they came. She may have lost a lot of blood, but Holden was not stupid. He was slow in fights sometimes, but he was not stupid. The former Cor-Sec officer could smell most lies a mile off, and there was certainly something about this one which made her want to cover up more than her bare legs. He did get a chuckle at the sight of her in his pants.

"I'm sorry, can't help it. It's a pretty humorous sight. Again, I promise to replace those pants I had to cut up."

Yeah Holden found humor in all of this. He looked for it, because in this galaxy one had to find humor where they could. One could look at the fact it was falling apart because of all the war it had seen. Gods knew Holden was still reeling over the loss of Corellia despite the fact he was pretty much "adjusted" to the fact his home had been destroyed. How much of his story did he tell a stranger anyway. Here she was the one stowed away on his ship, and she was the one asking what he was into. Holden shook his head.

"Wow, the irony. Here you're the one asking questions when you're the one who snuck aboard my ship and hid away in one of the lockers," he sighed. "I got my hands in a lot. I'm a salvager when I need to be, smuggle a few things here and there, but mostly I deal in artifacts, and locating lost or stolen items which belong in a museum or some rich guy's family collection. You would think that last part would be easy, uncomplicated, safe work, but it isn't."

Holden debated whether he was going to start asking questions. There were plenty. The most obvious one was why was she on his ship, but her wounded leg told him the answer, she was running. Her poor attempt to stitch it herself told him she had been running for a while, and that meant someone was tracking her. All he could hope was his ship had not been tagged, or she had not been tagged. Briefly Holden thought about scrolling through the open bounties to see if her face popped up, but right now Holden didn't care. He wasn't in that line of work, and never was going to be.

"I'm not a bounty hunter, so you can let your guard down," he finally said indicating he knew enough of the situation to know she likely had a price on her head. If he knew how much even he might be tempted, but Holden really hated that line of work. "My instructions are simple. When I get to the spaceport I'm supposed to wait for a transmission as to where the amulet I'm to recover is currently located. From there I go recover it, and then we deliver it to the rightful owner. I can do this alone, but since you're here, and since you decided to hitch a free ride nearly bleeding to death on the floor of my cargo hold, I figure you could earn your transport. Like I said, when this is over, I'll take you wherever you want to go."

Tark looked her in the eye, careful to not let his gaze wander. It had been sometime since he'd had a woman on board his ship, and well, hormones were hormones.

"We got a deal?"

[member="Eryn"]

 

[Eryn]

Eryn weighed the options quickly, although there wasn't much to consider. Tark had a point. A few points, actually, and while his 'good guy' routine did nothing to ease her hard-learned fears and doubts (years of people stabbing you in the back leave you hesitant to acknowledge the genuine when you encounter it), his logic was sound. He was smart, definitely more brains that brawn, but strong and in control. In short, not someone she wanted to be at odds with right now. He'd stopped just short of saying 'and you owe me', which earned him a little respect, but she could read between the lines. And, he was right. She DID owe him.

…She could still kill him (maybe) and take the ship, were she so inclined, but she wasn't. Not how she did things, and it would be a stupid move anyway. Eryn was a fugitive, a tough nut to crack with a personality like broken glass, but she wasn't a murderer. It was one thing she and Tark had in common. (Besides, bodies left a trail, and the point of her life was not to draw attention.)

Of course, the rules changed if you pulled a weapon on her or tried anything that might end in her demise. Like her uncle Draykon had always said, 'Kid, if someone tries to kill you, you try an' kill them right back.'

"Fine," she finally conceded begrudgingly. "Deal." Eryn jabbed a finger at his chest, chin held high. "But if this gets dangerous, I'm not taking any blaster bolts for you. You may not be my enemy right now, but you're not my friend, and I gotta look out for my own skin first." The fugitive stared him down, daring Tark to look disappointed. "Harsh reality of my life these days. Nothing personal, but I can't afford to let my guard down. Ever."
The spacer, to his credit, had put most of two and two together as evidenced by his reassurances that he wasn't after her hide. She could tell he was being sincere, but for her own safety, she couldn't (or didn't want to) believe it. Experience had left her perception so dark and broken that she could barely see through it anymore.

She backed off, circling restlessly around his room like a hawk looking for dinner. Come to think of it, she was pretty hungry. Her wounded leg burned a little, but that's how she knew her healing genes had kicked in. "As far as going places after this, I don't have anywhere to go." Eryn paused by the desk in his room, poking at the trinkets he'd assembled in one of the corners. "I kind of just…drift around, never stay in the same place too long. I usually stay away from places like Coruscant or Nar Shaddaa, so…" She threw a glance at him over her shoulder. "…wouldn't mind a ride to the Outer Rim, if you're actually serious about that. Taris, maybe, or Dantooine. Settlers and farmers don't ask questions, 'lotta space to myself there."

|- [member="Holden Tark"] -|

 

[Holden Tark]

"Until they do start asking questions," Tark said.

He knew how it worked. Holden tried to lay low after Corellia had been ripped open. Sure he'd always wanted an excuse to travel the stars and break away of the expectation of family tradition. He'd been a good CorSec officer, but it wasn't what he'd wanted to do given a choice. Then again, scrounging some kind of life together while flying from place to place wasn't either. They were both drifters, but for different reasons. Circumstances made them who they were. The Corellian had learned to be content with the hand he was dealt, but he didn't have to like what hand others got. Sure he didn't know what the fugitive had done to find herself adrift, but with how adept she seemed at all this it had to have happened when she was young.

"I can handle the whole not friends but not enemies thing. You aren't the only one who has gotten burned by getting closer than you should to someone... You do what I need you to do and we can head to the Outer Rim when this all done. I'll need to lay low a few days after this anyway. This guy is paying way too much for a snatch and grab. I got a feeling I'm about to piss off someone I wouldn't want to ofherwise."

That was the truth. Holden was an honest person. Sure he wasn't the clean cut and straight laced lawman he used to be. Many of the things he'd made arrests for he'd done himself. It gave him a whole new perspective on what people did to survive, to live. More than often he'd lie awake at night wondering how many good people he locked up who were just trying to survive and make a living. It didn't make the work anymore legal, but he could never go back to that work now.

Holden moved to the door. They were going to arrive soon, or soonish, depending on how one saw it. They both needed food, and she needed sleep. The other thing needed if she was going to help were some weapons. Holden had more than he needed, and if he could arm her, she could have a fighting chance on her own. Yeah he could help even the odds a bit.

"Let's get you ready for this thing. I'm getting hungry and I can whip something up in the galley while you get outfitted."

He walked her to his "armory." The room was just one of the crew quarters he never used. Come to think of it one of the ladies had used this room. Maybe there were some better fitting pants that had been left behind too.

"See anything you like you can keep it. Whyla may have left some clothes behind too. I'll be in the lounge with something to eat when you get done."

[member="Eryn"]

 

[Eryn]

She watched him leave, hit the keypad to close the door, and thumbed the lock out of habit.

With the thought of food propelling her tired body forward, Eryn dragged her vision over the array of firearms, blades, and other tools assembled on racks against the walls and spread out over the desk. Her eyebrows rose. For a relic-rescuer, Tark had quite a collection. The weapons enthusiast buried inside her strained to get out and admire all the styles and mods, but she refused it, as usual. These days, she didn't care much what it looked like or how fast its rate of fire was or what mods made it better; she didn't have the luxury to like how it fit in her hand or how it sounded slicing through the air. If it could carve open a chest or blow a hole in someone's head, it worked for her.

Taking off her boots, Eryn padded around the makeshift armory, pulling out drawers and looking in cabinets until she found the clothing Tark had mentioned. It was folded neatly, almost too neatly, arranged first by item and then by color. Someone had taken their time with this, for sure, and she bet it hadn't been Tark. He didn't strike her as the type to make sure the folds were crisp and straight, and unless he had some secret cross-dressing fetish, dresses and bras weren't his style, either. Must have been that Whyla chick he'd talked about.

She rummaged through the small assortment, not bothering to be delicate. Most of the clothes were fairly practical for life on-board a ship or running around with a relic hunter. Breathable fabrics in darker, earthy tones, brown leathers and sturdy gloves, socks (the luxury this woman had lived in!), a utility belt. There was a cream colored dress with a white scarf and two other more elaborate outfits that Eryn left alone. A quick scan told her everything was nearly her size. Grabbing a few things from the now messy stack, she dropped the sweatpants and shed her grimy layers of tank tops, about to try on a top when she caught a glimpse of herself in the small mirror next to the floor-to-ceiling cabinet. It was obscured by weapons, but she could see the film of dirt coating most of her upper body. Tark had cleaned up her legs (even the uninjured one; how very… thoughtful of him); in fact, she'd probably never seen her lower half so sparkling. But she was a mess from the waist up.

Not that she had a problem with that. On the contrary, being clean and shiny tended to stick out at the kind of places she ended up traversing. She felt better with dirt smudges on her cheeks and dried sweat in her hair because she was used to it now, and it helped her blend into the background. But Atrisia was not the kind of place you wandered around looking like a wild animal. Atrisia, at least to her knowledge, was all refined culture, elegance, beauty. She'd stand out if she kept her dirt.

A shower was out of the question. Took too long, and she felt too vulnerable just standing there. But there were a few small grey towels in the drawer with the socks, and with a little water and some half-hearted scrubbing, Eryn saw the true color of her skin for the first time in months. She was unsure what to do with her hair, so she hung her head over the sink and poured the rest of the water over her head, shaking excess water from the strands like a dog.

It took her longer to get dressed than it took her to pick the weapons, but she kept her own boots. The clothes were comfortable but functional, and she added a thin, simple chest harness with a magnetized panel to hold the vibroblade sheath on her back. Securing a heavy pistol to her right hip and stuffing a small hold-out blaster down her right boot, Eryn left the armory feeling annoyingly clean and ready for anything. Well, almost anything.

This Atrisia job sounded like anything but cake, and all Eryn wanted to do was sit in her locker and jump ship as soon as possible.

At least Tark was nice to look at. Not that she had time for that, anyway.

The smell of food led her down the hallway. Once again, out of habit, she moved like she would have had she not been found out: quiet, sneaking, alert. Rounding the corner, Eryn honed in on the edibles laid out on the table. It was a decent spread for a ship this size; the table itself was small, with a booth against the bulkhead and two free-moving chairs opposite. She briefly considered sitting on one of them next to Tark like a normal human being, but routine is hard to break, so she gathered a handful of familiar looking nutrition cubes and a hunk of blueish polystarch, retreated to the farthest reaches of the booth (which wasn't far), wedged her back into the corner making herself as small as she could, drew her legs up onto the seat and into her chest, and popped a cube in her mouth.

Eryn had the manners of a Gamorrean, and she knew it. The amount of kriffs she gave, though, were zero. When you ate on the fly and had to focus on watching your own back, manners didn't matter. You stuffed your face quickly with whatever you could find and kept your eyes peeled for threats. Never mind chewing, who cared what you looked like? There was no one else to impress. Just you, your food, and miles of enemies.

Teal eyes stared at Tark from the corner, barely blinking, thick lashes still glistening damply from her sponge bath. A long, quiet few moments went by. "Who's Whyla?" she finally asked around a mouthful of polystarch. "Girlfriend? Sister? One night stand?"


|- [member="Holden Tark"] -|

 

[Holden Tark]

Holden was sitting at the table eating when "Cami," he still didn't buy that was her real name, came out in an entirely different outfit and was clean. Wow, underneath all the grime and dirt she had a rather pretty complexion. He knew she was attractive, but now he got to see what was hiding under the layers of dirt and he rather liked what he saw. Right, Tark didn't need any distractions right now. The job was important.

He smiled and took a bite from the ration bar he was holding when she slid to the corner of the booth and buried herself in. Her manners were nonexistent, but what did Holden care. He was a bachelor who lived alone. The ship was likely not as clean as it could be, and it certainly had the distinct smell of single man all over the place. What drove him nuts was the long awkward silence. Someone needed to say something, but he just as soon figured if he called her pretty she'd not take it so well. The woman was guarded, and who could blame her. She lived life on the run.

"Whyla was an old partner of mine you could say. I found her on a salvage job on Tatooine. The ship carrying her had crash landed and when I found her she was in this cream dress which struck me as odd. Turns out she was a cyborg and her programming was all out of whack from the crash for a while."

Now those had been interesting days, when Holden had a crew. His work the was mostly salvage, and the man brought in a good amount of credits. The relic thing was recent, after his crew had left. He'd met a few people here and there who shared an interest, but they never stuck around. The story of Holden's life it seemed. Whenever he finally felt like he might have a business partner, a new friend, hell he'd even settle for a rival, they were gone. Holden was used to it, but he was alone, and walking through his ship would tell anyone that much.

"I have this thing about not leaving people behind to die... Ever since Corellia was ripped apart..." Holden signed and popped a ration cube into his mouth, and drained it with some ale. The only real thing to eat or drink besides water. His reaction may tell her he was from Corellia if she was paying attention. "Well we better clean all this up. We'll be there soon."

Now Holden was the one being guarded, the one with a secret.

[member="Eryn"]

 

[Eryn]

She'd heard about Corellia, and by the looks of it, the topic ran too close to a sensitive nerve for Holden Tark. She'd suspected he might be Corellian. The smooth talkin', the swagger, the Casanova routine, although his was by far the most mild version she'd run into. But it explained the look in his eyes and the way he hurriedly brushed the whole thing under the rug. She didn't blame him. Losing your home was…painful.

"I got it," she volunteered as he stood to clear the table. If he thought she was being helpful, he was wrong. Eryn didn't know what leftovers were. Her idea of 'clean all this up' was 'eat everything left behind', and that's exactly what she did. The rest of the food cubes disappeared rapidly, as did the remaining polystarch. She left the ration bars, though, adding them to the brown leather rucksack slung across her body. By the time she was done 'cleaning', there wasn't a crumb of food left on the table.

The whole thing took her maybe a minute and twenty seconds.

"…What?" She said defensively, shrugging at Tark's amused staring. She licked a finger and picked up the morsels that had fallen on her jacket.

He laughed.


They were about two hours out from Atrisia. As Tark settled into the pilot's chair to pour over maps and check systems, Eryn curled up on the floor in a cold corner of the galley and slept fitfully, waking every few minutes to scan her surroundings for danger with a bleary eye.

She woke with a start as the alarms went off, indicating they were close, and she reached the cockpit just in time to watch the swirling white-blue vortex of hyperspace melt away. It was something she was rarely able to see these days. Usually, she was stuffed into a hiding spot until landing.

Beautiful Atrisia appeared before them, suspended in the black of space like a gem in the night.

Eryn sat in the co-pilot chair, drawing her knees up into her chest and hugging her legs. The movement drew a little pain from her wound, but the bacta soothed the worst of it. "I've never been here," the fugitive admitted quietly. A familiar anxiety twisted in her gut. "What's the security like at the spaceport?"

|- [member="Holden Tark"] -| |- [member="Varik Ryjin"] -|

 

[Varik Ryjin]

He'd been tracking her since Coruscant, hacking starport security feeds and correlating that with the BoSS databases to determine the ships she stowed away on and their next port of call. Not all of the ships had opted to file a flight plan, especially when their destination was a backwater world on the rim, and that made his job a dozen times more difficult. Fortunately, Atrisia was one of those planets civilized enough that you'd be hard-pressed to get clearance without a proper flight plan. Thanks to that, the owner of her current ride, a corellian captain by the name of Holden Tark, had been required to do his do diligence this time around and file a plan with BoSS.

That, in turn, had given Varik all the information he would need to beat his prey to her destination. He'd arrived less than an hour ago, and unless he missed his guess, Captain Tark would be dropping out of hyperspace anytime in the next ten minutes. That would give him another fifteen to twenty to get on the ground, and five minutes after that the local BoSS database would be updated with his berth information. All Varik had to do now was wait.

He hated waiting.

A low growl off to his left made it clear that Kresh was of the same sentiment. The Blackstalker was 'lounging' in the corner of the cockpit, tail swishing idly as his eyes shifted slowly around the cabin. If a 2 meter canine could look bored, Kresh was the embodiment of that feeling right now. Varik glanced down at his companion then swiveled his chair around to face him.

"Tell me about it. It's been weeks and this is the closest we've gotten. She definitely knows what she's doing."

The console behind Varik pinged, and Kresh raised his head in interest as the bounty hunter turned back to read the message.

"Looks like she's arrived in orbit. Won't be long now."

 

[Holden Tark]

Holden sat back in his pilot's chair and began to pour over old charts, new charts, any charts he had. Tark in some way was glad when [member="Eryn"] went off to sleep. Watching her walk off only made him realize two things. First he clearly thought she was attractive and he didn't need the distraction right now. Second, it made him realize how alone he was on his freighter. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. The laughter earlier was nice. Maybe with time their walls would come down, but she was the kind who seemed to never be anywhere long.

When the proximity alarms went off, Holden turned them off as his charts were cleared out. Eryn came to the cockpit as Holden decanted from hyperspace. Her body language indicated she was used to the lockers. Holden just smiled at her admission at first. She was being nice, and Holden would take what he could get. He had saved her life.

"It's a great place to relax for a whole, but too civilized to hide long," he admitted. "Now remember when we land, do not get off the ship. We're just going to wait for the communique."

Holden nodded then began to release the landing gear. The ship touched down with a gentle thud, typical of a well practiced landing. Immediately Holden started to run through the post flight checklist, keeping a close eye on Eryn the entire time. He didn't trust that she wasn't going to try something, not because she had promised she wouldn't, but because running was her nature.

"We should be contacted in thirty minutes or so. I sent out a signal to the client that we've arrived. Just hold tight and we'll be on our way shortly."

[member="Varik Ryjin"]

 

[Eryn]

Eryn sat back in her seat and tapped out an impatient beat with her hands on the arms of the co-pilots chair, nodding in affirmation. She was trying to look bored, but this whole situation made her jumpy. She'd been in sole control of her own direction for so many years that she wasn't sure how to let someone else steer for a while. Her eyes traveled around the small cockpit, registering metal and controls and screens but only seeing a cage.

She stared at the back of Holden's head for a moment, imagining knocking him out and making a run for it, wondering if life would be different were she a worse type of person, a vicious killer that showed no mercy and gave no karks… which she didn't, so maybe she was halfway there. She tried to picture herself crossing that line, leaving bodies in her wake. Innocent bodies, people who'd be caught in her uncaring cross-hairs on her quest for answers, people who were trying just as hard to eke out some kind of life for themselves, to find some small measure of peace in the frothing chaotic mess that was the galaxy.

It wasn't a question of 'could'. Eryn COULD do it. The capability to make that leap, to go absolutely cold and soulless and cross that line was inside her, because she walked it daily, knew where it was all the time, and it would be so easy. So very easy. But it boiled down to your choice, because everyone had the same proficiency for darkness buried in their personalities. And when you were under as much stress as she was every waking (and sleeping) moment of living? That choice got a little harder to make. The easy road was always there, shiny and shadowy and lovely in your peripheral vision. It never took a break, never looked less appealing, never stopped beckoning. You don't have time for this, it said. Just kill them and move on. They're not important, they'd do the same to you given the chance, don't you want to feel safer, it's easy, just pull the trigger and you're one step closer to your freedom…

Eryn chose not to walk it. At every opportunity, she gave that road the middle finger and chose the other way, because at the end of the day, when she finally found her family, she wanted to deserve to be with them. She wanted to be human when they hugged her, wanted to be proud when she told them how she'd survived for them the past eight years. She wanted to be Eryn. She'd seen what crossing that line did to people. She'd seen their eyes afterwards. It wasn't them anymore, just a shell, a poor, dark imitation.

No. She might be out for herself now, she might not trust anyone or make any friends or worry about hurting any feelings, she might turn a blind eye to a robbery in progress or think about ruining your life for a decent meal, but she'd never willingly go over that cliff. If she had to burn down a church to pass Go and not pay two hundred credits, she'd do it, but she'd make sure everyone was outside first. If she had to steal medicine from a hospital to make a deal with a hunter, she'd do it, but she'd find a way to reimburse the doctors afterwards. If you were threatening her, she'd drop you without any sleep lost over it. But she'd never take the easy way out. No karks given? Yeah. But handing a few out here and there wasn't that a bad move, either.

Like with Holden Tark, Eryn's first kark given in years. 'course, no one had tried to save her life before, but maybe that's because she hadn't given them chances, which she wasn't going to start doing, either.

She blinked, standing abruptly. "Relax," she said as Holden tensed to tackle, expression cautioning. "Just need a drink. Back in a minute." And she made for the galley, glad to be moving around. Somehow, sitting for days in a locker with just your mind for company didn't bother her, but she could only sit in a chair near another person for so long before she got antsy.

There was bottled ale in the cooler, but Eryn went right for the sink, grabbing a cup (was it washed? Who cared?) and filling it with water. It had that slightly metallic taste left over from the recycling process, but it was cool, and she was still catching up on fluid intake from dehydration. The fugitive paced the galley for a while, twiddling her hair, and fifteen minutes had disappeared by the time she returned to her chair in the cockpit. She got a mild charge at Holden's surprise, and the salvager was rewarded with the tiniest of smirks. "You've got that look someone gets before they put a leash on their wandering pet mooka."


|- [member="Holden Tark"] -| |- [member="Varik Ryjin"] -|

 

[Holden Tark]

Why, why did she have to look at him like that? Holden sighed as she walked off to get a drink. All he did was go back to reports. If she went anywhere an alarm would go off anyway. Normally he'd follow, but she seemed jumpy, and the last thing he needed was Eryn getting jumpy. He'd already been taken by surprise and pinned to the wall by her. Okay, so he might have enjoyed the small tussle and tumble, but not for reasons he was going to dwell on.

Fifteen minutes passed by the time she returned, and Holden was still distracted by his charts. Her fragrance was what pulled him up. While she wasn't wearing any perfume, it was distinctly feminine, which resulted in the pet look she had just mused. Well her wandering had something to do that, but Eryn wasn't going to be caged. It was probably a waste to even consider offering a place on his ship, but he was thinking it. Running was no life for someone so young. Well okay she looked his age, slightly younger, but that was still young.

"What, it's been a while since anyone has been on my ship..."

He was Corellian after all which meant there were times when the alone thing just did not work. Yeah he found his line of work was better alone because a crew just complicated things. Having Eryn on his ship though made him think that it would be nice to take up some work that required more people for a season. The ship was a large one for just one person, especially with the work Holden was in, and could do with some use. Maybe he could transport a few people to a planet or something, which he did sometimes when the loneliness got to him.

There some additional witty thing to say at the tip of his tongue when the communique came across his screen. He rolled his eyes as it was all text. "And the elusive client remains elusive. Good thing they're paying a bantha load of credits for this job. Looks like the amulet is on the planet after all. Why they couldn't just give me that information up front..." Tark was talking to himself, but it wasn't that obvious.

He stood from his seat and turned to Eryn. There was a wide smirk on his face as he grabbed his blaster holster off the back of chair and strapped it to his hip.

"You ready to get out of here?"

Holden already knew the answer to that, but asked anyway. He walked down the corridor and lowered the boarding ramp. His speeder bike was right there, and he hopped on motioning for Eryn to get on the back. Once she was on, they were off toward the coordinates he'd been given.

[member="Eryn"] | [member="Varik Ryjin"]

 

[Varik Ryjin]

He watched them go, dust rising in their wake as they sped out of the hangar. The man was Corellian alright. Zero regard for local traffic laws. He closed his eyes and inhaled as they passed, catching the barest whiff of the young woman's scent. It wasn't what he was after though, and he cast out with his mind as much as his physical senses, committing the feel of her to memory. Nervous and flighty, ready to run in an instant and leave everything behind. He'd chased a lot of targets like that. As an afterthought, he familiarized himself with the captain as well.

He opened his eyes again, glancing down at Kresh and giving the Blackstalker a slight nod. He knew what to do, stalking across the hangar and leaping to a vantage that would allow him to see them coming. Varik preferred the surprise to be on his side, rather than that of his prey. He wasted no time himself, sprinting the distance between his darkened alcove and the Corellian's freighter, reaching the ramp just as it began to close and slipping inside. He did love the aftermarket auto-sealers. If you timed it right and they weren't paying attention, you could slip aboard any ship without leaving a single sign of a break-in. This captain was going to live to regret that particular retrofit.

He headed for the cockpit as the ramp hissed shut behind him, restoring the pressure seal of the ships internals. First thing he did was jack into the navicomp and begin copying the contents to a small datapad, then headed aft to find a good place to hide a tracker. Just in case.

 

[Eryn]

Any amount of time spent on the back of a speeder clinging to a man was too much time for Eryn.

She'd tried to avoid the inevitable, sitting back and gripping the sides of the seat instead, but true to his Corellian roots, Holden Tark drove that speeder like it was a race with risks, and eventually she ended up clutching his torso, arms wrapped viselike around his middle to keep herself from flying off the back. He kept to the outskirts, avoiding the big city, and Atrisia sped by on either side, a blur of forest colors and green, woody scents. At some point, they turned off the main path and road free over the forest floor, navigating the trees until they grew too close together before joining with a narrow, dirt backroad that lead straight through the woods. She suspected there was a faster way to their destination, and that Tark was taking the scenic route just so he could dodge obstacles and feel the wind in his hero hair, and honestly, Eryn didn't blame him. She wasn't fond of the bodily closeness, but she got the need to go a little funcrazy sometimes, and honestly, it was exhilarating every time they swerved just in time to avoid death by tree.

It was some time before they began to slow, finally stopping at the edge of the treeline. Beyond, a small ridge with a steadily inclining grassy knoll and an expansive estate sitting at the top.
Hair windswept, arms aching, Eryn wiggled out of her seat quickly, nearly climbing over Tark in her haste to put feet on ground. "Daaaaamn," she exclaimed, voice full of envious approval as she surveyed the scene. The fugitive raked her hair away from her face and planted her hands on her hips. "Nice pad. What does this guy do for a living? Bet he sleeps on his gold at night."

|- [member="Holden Tark"] -| |- [member="Varik Ryjin"] -|