The Revolutionaries

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The Omega Protectorate had reestablished its hold over Naboo. Many of the remaining citizens were overjoyed at the return of what they saw as their defenders. Cyril was not apart of that majority.

He was displeased that the Republic had not come to claim Naboo as he had been promised. The Jedi Master had spent the months after the galactic crisis rebuilding the Republic, only to be rejected by the senate because they were afraid.

Not that it mattered anymore. He would work with what he had.

The errant Jedi Knight sipped his Balmoraan Bluesky to pass the time. He was currently stationed in the Royal Security Force headquarters a block away from the capital building of Keren. There he resided as the current head of the RSF. Manpower was short due to the disappearance of so many officers, and no one had offered any kind of dissent when a Jedi Master who also happened to be the son of the current queen offered to take over.

The room he'd chosen for this meeting was the officer's lounge. He wasn't one for the stifling atmosphere of his office when it came to meetings, and no one other than himself and the security droids were in the building anyway.

Things were not as grand as they seemed to the optimistic people of Theed. Naboo, while under the Protectorate's watchful eye once more, was destabilized. In the derelict cities, private militias were taking control of space ports, banks, and even capital buildings. There was a movement in the shadows operating on Naboo that few in the larger cities knew about. The RSF was keeping the movement quiet for now, but it would be impossible soon.

Food shortages were beginning to become apparent in occupied towns. Hangings of dissenters were made public in the territories surrounding these hostile zones. Even here in Keren there was word of revolution.

That was why Cyril had placed himself here in this city; to keep watch over the people.

He set his elbows on the wooden table that sat between the two leather seats brought in for both himself and Miss [member="Danger Arceneau"]. His mother did not need to know he had called in outside help. Keren was the perfect place for such a meeting.

He wore the black leather jacket all RSF officers were issued, and a ball cap with the RSF insignia embroidered on the front.

Cyril very much looked the part of a patriot - which he was slowly becoming. Ession was safe in the hands of the Grand Council, he could afford to devote his resources to his planet of birth


"It's just a woman. Keep calm. Trust in the force. Keep the eyes at neck level. Use big words."

 

[Danger Arceneau]

Naboo
K E R E N


They say that Naboo is an iconic picturesque planet out in the Mid-Rim. The Jewel that could very well rival Coruscant. Stepping out into the fresh summer air, Danger was at a loss to argue otherwise.

It was a balmy day, but one that would paint a picture of lazy summers and sweet Ashari tea.

Maybe I do need a vacation? came the wayward drifting thought, her attention drawing back to the purpose at hand by Aeri Vyn. Tall with pixie like features, Aeri Vyn was a Zeltron female with extensive Companion training and a head for facts and numbers. Eidetic memory served well with the personal assistant, ensuring that Danger would never be at a loss for information at the exact moment she'll need it.

More than anything, Aeri had proven well and over her worth during the Netherworld crisis. And she was sure this would be no different.

A deep breath would pull fresh air into her lungs, and a weary smile would be cast over to Aeri's direction. She was strung out, tired. She could feel it in her bones that she was wearing herself thing. But she had to. She couldn't stop; wouldn't stop.
Stopping meant that the silence would return, and with it the wondering thoughts of what if's and what might be's. So many questions, so many things to say, but most above all it was lined with words that she should have said.

The corners of her mouth would tighten, and she would paste on that cordial smile. A lift of her chin would draw, and like putting on a coat, she would wear confidence like a second skin.

She was hear to meet with a representative of Naboo to deal with aid as well as expansion in business. Mutual benefits so to speak. Perhaps even the chart of a new hyperlane route that would connect Naboo to the Corellian Spine.

There were many potential ideas and possibilities.

But like always, everything started with a glass of whiskey and some conversation.

The slow clip of her slow and easy walk would soon bring the woman to the entrance of the lounge. Heads couldn't help but turn, she did radiate a sort of something that demanded attention.

Danger would hesitate when she came to the threshold of the lounge; she always did whenever she'd entered a room, like a Companion taking a brief pause as she'd go slipping off her glove, as though she hadn't quite made up her mind whether she would -- or she wouldn’t. Most women have no sense of timing. They are either all stop or all go.

For Danger, every breath was an invitation and every movement a tease. It was as much a wall as it was a beckoning.

Finally, [member="Cyril Grayson"] would hear her walking down the lounge. Aeri had murmured low on just who her would be companion for the afternoon would be. That walk giving the impression she had all the time in the world, but that her time did not come cheap.

"Mistah Grayson, I hope I did not leave ya waiting long..." came her smoky Southern Systems whisper, her gaze appraising the man in the black RSF jacket.

She would appear ever pleasant and every proper, but her eyes took her own sweet time running over him.

Her hand would extend towards him.

"Danger Arceneau... a pleasure."

 

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Before calling this meeting, Cyril had spoken with the few officers remaining in Keren.

He was still an outsider when it came to social nuances. Unlike many, he was not aware of Acreneau's reputation. He knew of her business success and her subtle control of Tatooine and nearby systems, but not of the woman herself.

Each of his peers had warned him to be a stone wall. All were in agreement; Cyril could not afford to let the woman's charms take away his logical thinking. Of course, the Jedi Master refused to believe his thoughts could be swayed by any woman. His will was strong, and his desire to see Naboo recover matched only by his mother.

Yet, when [member="Danger Arceneau"] strode through the doorway and spoke her breathy words, he understood. Whether it was the lingering stride of a woman who ran on her own time, or the soft whisper of her exotic voice, there was something different about this one.

It was not a feeling that ebbed from her presence in the force. Cyril was attuned to the unseen mystical energy more than any other on Naboo, even his mother. He would have felt if there was some sort of trick or ruse being pulled. There was nothing. Arceneau's striking presence was entirely her own.

And that unsettled him.

"Just long enough to worry me. I'm sure you can guess the field day the rebels would have if they managed to capture you." His voice was a baritone that sharply contrasted Danger's own. There was a conviction lacing his words, even in the most casual of conversations. Whatever had happened thus far on Naboo, it was clear that Cyril was deeply effected.

He pushed up to his feet to meet her at the the door. The glass of azure liquid was left forgotten on the table. Standing at two meters and about as wiry as a rancor, Cyril played the part of an RSF officer well. Not that he would ever forget his true duties...

"Something tells me you would work your way out of such a situation just fine." He took her hand in his, taking advantage of the short moment to let his gaze drift from the ends of her shoes, to the crown of her head. Unfortunately, Cyril was not discreet in this act whatsoever.

"Thank you for coming, and I apologize for asking of you in such an out of the way part of Naboo. As of right now, discretion is key...and the pleasure is all mine."

 

[Danger Arceneau]

“My daddy done taught me how to take care of me and mine, Mistah Grayson,” she took his hand shaking it with a firm grip. There was a twinkle in her green eyes that would suggest she was quite serious on that.

“While I thank you for the concern… I’m a big girl and can handle myself.” she’d drawl out in that honeyed rasp, the corner of her mouth perking up in a warm and seemingly amused smile. There was no avoiding the manner by which [member="Cyril Grayson"] was trailing his eyes over her, but then again, it was something Danger was well used to.

Only thing being different is that there was done without the typical guile and undressing Danger was used to.

Aeri would take note of things behind her mistress, the Zeltron ever careful and ready. She was after all, a resource and aide for the Trade Queen -- among other things…

Without further ado, the woman would take a seat, left leg crossing over her right. A whiff of the delicate spicy scent of her perfume would drift on over, tickling and tantalizing the senses. Much like the Companions of the Oiran Guildhouse, Danger would be a walking embodiment of grace and sensuality. It came natural to her as breathing, a skill Colette Arceneau would focus upon to ensure Dangeruese would make the most of the blessings of her Lorell Pirate legacy. That she had Hapan blood in her veins would be of no surprise to anyone.

“I am glad we are able to meet… Tell me,” came her pause and a soft smile, her gaze locking upon Cyril’s own with curious attention.

“Just what and where do you need me for?” a play on words? Perhaps. Or done on purpose. Elaboration would continue.

“With Arceneau Trade, that is.”

 

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To say he was taken aback would be an understatement. Dueling Sith Emperors over the fate of an entire species? Sure. Teaching groups of Jedi Padawans how to wield a lightsaber? Peace of cake. Maintaining his composure around this alluring woman however, was an entirely different ball game.

"If I didn't show a bit of concern, this would be a cold reception wouldn't it?" The Jedi offered in half-challenge. He had the slightest sliver of a smile as the words fell from his lips, nowhere near the practiced grace of Danger, but he could play the game.

The errant Master offered a slight bow of the head to the companion. He had not made any terms involving their meeting, and there was no harm in having someone she trusted around as a witness. He watched the Zeltron with practiced subtlety, focusing on her with the force, rather than his eyes. If he could learn something about Miss Acreneau from her companion, then he would do his best to do so.

"As for what I need from you..." He trailed off, that thin half-smile plastered across his face. Cyril was transparent. He thought he was being slick, but anyone with a bit of experience in this sort of situation could tell he was just trying to keep up. He offered a seat to the desert rose, while taking his Balmoraan Bluesky by the glass rim.

The pause lasted a bit longer than intended. He drew in the sharp scent of spice that seemed to forebear her approach. It caught him off guard; as if he'd walk headlong into a wall. His lips pursed, but no words came forth. What was he saying again?

Cyril was flustered. Anxiety crept over him as he pulled himself back into reality. He swallowed heavily, repeating the old Jedi mantra in his mind in a vain attempt to center himself.

"What I need...is support. I understand your organization holds a monumental amount of sway over the southern systems." He shook his head slowly, settling that look of conviction upon her once more. He would not let a woman's charms distract him from his duties.

"The RSF is under supplied. People in Kadaara are starving. Humanitarian aid is being blocked by the rebels. I would call in for the Protectorate's help, but I and my Padawan fear they would put a new Exarch over Naboo and end up changing our way of life. There's also no guarantee there would be a solution other than military action. Our world has been ravaged enough by warfare. We'd like to avoid an all out urban conflict if possible."



[member="Danger Arceneau"]

 

[Danger Arceneau]

Danger would quietly study the man, watching and studying every subtle movement. There was something about a man with conviction and a dire need to protect his own. Danger could very well understand that driving necessity.

Slowly, her forefinger would tap a light beat upon the polished surface of the table. She was mulling over how to directly go about this. In the wake of the Nine Hells birthing the dead, every sector in the 'verse held a dire need. Naboo would not be the only one.

Funny that this wasn't the only Protectorate world she was utilizing Arceneau resources in.

"I reckon I can provide that support," she began, the soft drawl of her voice drifting across the table. "Bearing my own escorts and the like to get from Tatooine to Naboo, but with no clear cut hyperlane that will take time. "

They had some ATC trade stations near, but for the level of effort he was so desiring...

"Commendable as your cause is and the commitment you express, logistically this ain't a quick fix " she was being honest. "I can get you what you need, smuggle what you desire, bring you the necessities to get you back on your feet -- but that's a short term goal. " her fingers gave one last gentle tap.

" so what is your long term goal?" From there she could plan and offer counsel accordingly.

 

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"I understand it will take time, and supplying this will be expensive." Cyril replied pointedly. It was not necessarily defensive, but he was going to get his point across. Danger had the ships, he had the means. He parted his lips to present an alternative plan, when the red head brought up an unexpected question.

The Jedi Master was forced to fall silent as he mulled over the answer. There was no easy way of wording what Naboo truly needed. Not without sounding like a revolutionary himself.

"My goals..." He settled his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. Her companion ceased to exist in his mind's eye. There was only Miss Acrenau and his chance to win her over. "For the longterm anyway, are the security of Naboo. We've been in a state of chaos, my dear, and I'm not entirely confident the Queen can bring it under control with a snap if her fingers."

He brought his glass up to his lips, and reached out with his free hand. The servos in his right arm whirred as he reached out - he still was not used to the cybernetic replacement. Occasionally it acted up, sometimes devastatingly so. He focused on the comm unit sitting across the room. With sheer force of will, he lifted the small device, and delivered it to the prosthetic hand.

"Longterm, I want Naboo to prosper. I want a home built planet side for my order. I want Naboo to be able to rely on itself for defense, rather than the Protectorate." He replied in time, cold purpose adding a great weight to his words. There was no political spin to his jive; he truly meant every word of it.

"Drinks mood Acreneau?" He asked though a warm smile, shaking the comm in his hand.

Cyril gave a moment's pause, and pushed off his elbows. There's was still the issue of moving supplies in a timely manner. There weren't many ways around that - but Cyril had full control of Naboo. The princes and princesses would keep the crowds from getting too rowdy, but the queen's son kept the machine from falling apart. Theoretically, he could authorize anything Danger needed.

"I understand there are other worlds with similar situations. I want to help them, but Naboo is too important on the galactic scale to pass it up." He intoned quietly. "You and I could work together on these other worlds, using Naboo as a base. I'm sure ATC would reap a sizable profit, not to mention the huge boost to your already monumental reputation."

He motioned with his glass, and breathed a soft sigh. He wasn't trying to flatter Danger - she was a woman of power, leagues above him in Naboo's class system. Enamored as he might have been, it was the carnal part of him that wanted to pursue. He did no know her, not yet. Cyril was only pointing out precision facts.

"Perhaps we could extend the hyperspace lane?" He mused, lofting a brow. "Is that possible?"


[member="Danger Arceneau"]

 

[Danger Arceneau]

"Whiskey, neat if you please," she'd request at the offer. It wouldn't be too long before a lowball glass was soon set before her, the woman quietly reading and listening to [member="Cyril Grayson"]'s explanation. She would pick up on the subtle tells; like the way he was curling and uncurling his fingers. The faint whirring sound would indicate that instead of an organic arm he had a cybernetic.

How curious.

Already her mind was working at the small details he would relay. What she could do as Arceneau Trade. That's when he dropped a heck of a long term goal.

A hyperlane.

The glass would pause before it hit her lips, and she would peer at him over the rim of her glass. After a moment, she took a sip, the fiery liquid pooling down to her belly, warming her from the inside out. A numbing agent as much as a method of intestinal fortitude.

"A hyperlane?" she would begin, letting the words roll off of her tongue. Now there was a doozy of a goal. Her forefinger would start to gently tap against the glass, mulling this over.

"Where exactly are you looking to connect this hyperlane to?" there were several different ventures and methods of going about this, and she was no fool --- being instrumental in trade she knew far too well how much that would bolster the economy and ATC.

If he was thinking a hyperlane then that meant he had an idea of just where to lay the proverbial brick.

 

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"I hope you like it. If there's two things the RSF is good for, it's alcohol and drug busts. More so the latter than the former. Except on weekends." He shot back. His gaze remained locked on Danger, not so much studying the woman as he was sizing her up. Where could he stand in negotiations with the queen of ATC? Would it be smart to let her in on his ulterior motives?

"There are a number of options." He drew back the Bluesky with a short sip. The neon blue liquid didn't so much burn on the way down as it numbed. That was the point anyway, one with Cyril's condition could only withstand the physical anguish before trying to nullify the effects. "A chief one would be to extend an existing hyperlane. If that isn't possible, then there are a handful of worlds nearby that could serve the purpose."

He shifted himself forward, gray eyes locking with the tradeswoman's gaze. He was not one for sociability, but he'd put in a bit of practice before hand. It was no secret to his inner circle that Cyril Grayson admired Miss Acreneau. More so for her influence and political position than her looks. He wasn't a carnally driven person. The head of the RSF tapped his fingers on the arms of his chair, constantly aware of the soft whir that came from his arm.

He hated that sound. A reminder of his impurities. Of his ties to Darth Vulcanus. Of the fact that he should very well be dead, and only lived because of his Padawan's quick, if not a bit brash, thinking. It was something he was growing self-conscious about, and Danger had surely noticed by now.

"I admit, Miss Acreneau, this sort of thing isn't my specialty, and I will be the first to admit that I am distracted" He fought the urge to grimace. The key here was honesty, even if it was unpleasant. "I am a Jedi Knight, and I've little experience in this area. I trust whatever judgement you might think of over any of my suggestions in this situation."


[member="Danger Arceneau"]

 

[Danger Arceneau]

A thankful smile would shine on over to [member="Cyril Grayson"]. "It's perfect." she'd reply, a slight toast of gratitude would follow thereafter. "Spicy with a bit of a pepper aftertaste." If anything, Danger knew her whiskey.

"Single malt." the corner of her mouth would perk. The pink tip of her tongue would reach round to lick the fullness of her lower lip, taking a drop of the golden liquor that lingered upon it.

Her mind would mull over the following information he would reveal. That he was being so candid was a refreshing change. Not many men were willing to admit that they required the expertise of one who was far more experienced in matters. Normally, it was a matter of working the conversation to seeing her line of thought. A man never likes to be told what he does or does not know. And if there was one thing Danger knew, it was men.

"Charting a hyperlane will take time, Mistah Grayson..." she began, her finger still tapping a small beat against the side of her glass.

Her green eyes would flicker up to meet the Jedi's. "But not impossible."

"If'n this be what you so desire, then there is an appropriate amount of planning, negotiating, and construction involved. Right now you got the Sanctuary Pipeline ending at Sullust... down south you have the corellian Trade Spine."

She brought the glass to her lips, taking a swig. Again, the liquid would burn a fiery familiar path. The whiskey a numbing agent as much as the talk of business was to her heart.

A day at a time.

"If you are looking to chart a hyperlane... that's there where you would get the best results... Connecting the Sanctuary to the Corellian Spine right at Ryloth... where the Mara starts."

 

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"I'll be sure to inform procurement of your approval." Cyril promised, allowing the sharp blue liquid in his glass to seep down his throat. The glass was drained within second, and the cold sharpness it left in his mouth was like electricity. It woke him up, kept him alert, kept him from getting complacent. "I'm sure one or two of the boys downstairs will swoon at the news. You're a bit of a celebrity - but you knew that already."

Ryloth. Cyril shifted uncomfortably at the mention. There was a history between the home of the Twi'leks and the head of the RSF. It brought forth a wave of nostalgia that he did not need or have the means to deal with right now.

"I can do whatever is needed of me Danger. Can I call you that?" He lofted a brow, and mumbled an age-old mantra under his breath. It pulled him from the unpleasant memories of that forsaken world. They should not have had so much away - he's tossed aside his old identity months ago - but the simple mention of Ryloth sent shivers down his spine.

"There are plenty of citizens out of work as the result of the recent crisis. Finding a workforce won't be too difficult, though finding people with skills might be an issue given that same crisis. Negotiations are something I've been trained to deal with - though your assistance would be greatly appreciated."

His expression relaxed as the final word fell from his lips. His broad shoulders slackened as if a great weight had been lifted. The taut expression he's adopted at the mention of Ryloth was replaced with a thin, albeit confident smile.

This could be done if he had the right help. The south could be fortified against the One Sith, and maybe, just maybe, they could put a wrench in the Sith campaign.

It was a faint hope, but nothing great ever came about when the odds were fair.

Click.

Cyril's ears perked up at the faint sound. It was too far away and far too quiet for anyone without the force to hear. He was being warned. Something was amiss.

"Boxer." He quipped into his comm. All that came back was static. "...I believe it's best we put this on hold my dear. Something is amiss."

The Jedi Master pushed to his feet, sharp blue eyes narrowing at the main entrance from which Danger had entered.

"I sense malicious intent. Just down the corridor. Either someone is out for you, Miss Acreneau, or our rebels are making a very stupid, and very bold move."



[member="Danger Arceneau"]

 

[Danger Arceneau]

Malicious intent?

Both her eyebrows would perk, a bit amused as she was in a mild case of growing alarm. Aeri was quick to react nonetheless, the Zeltron assistant always did. Ever since before Corellia fell, Aeri Vyn was a constant and pillar of support for Danger. A former companion turned assistant, Aeri would fill a need that she didn't realize she had been lacking before.

It hadn't been until she met Commander Kiran Vess that she came to realize that having a Zeltron aid made things a lot easier to negotiate terms with when calamity could very well strike.

That calamity had come to a head two weeks ago at a failed assassination attempt upon Arceneau. So Cyril's pointed comment about someone being out for her struck a cord.

Danger came to her feet, Aeri at her back. The Trade Queen didn't come alone or unprotected. Darkwater Herglic guards were at the entrance, as well as other security guards that she contracted out for her own protection.

A slight frown of annoyance would draw over her. Sense malicious intent? While she had worked with those who would use their special skills in that magical hoodoo they could control, it still bothered her how it would be manifested. Granted, to her, skill was meant to be earned, much like her crack shot with a blaster or a mean left hook right at the shinner.

"All things considered... Danger works well." well, it was an appropriate term to use now no? Granted, a breach in decorum, but she wasn't going to correct him.

Taking a step to the side, her attention would pan over to the man.

"Well now... pity it has been cut short. Perhaps then, we'll just have to reschedule another time."

 

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"Cyril then." He drew in a deep breath, extending what he liked to envision was his consciousness. It was one of the few force abilities he had a talent for. "It's only fair."


Danger had her fair share of guards. From Herglics to regular humans, Miss Acreneau's posse was rather intimidating. They easily outgunned what little of the RSF was still in the building - Cyril had them spread thin. There was no point keeping the officers posted in their headquarters while Naboo was engulfed in chaos.

"I sincerely apologize." He breathed, and he very well meant it. "I expected Keren to be safe. This falls on me." He dropped a hand down at the lightsaber that hung from his hip. It had been some time since he'd used the weapon in combat, but he'd made sure to keep his skills sharp.

"The head security droid didn't answer. It's why I'm worried." He added quietly, trying to explain his sudden distress in a logical fashion.

Something heavy moved far down the hall. Cyril stepped forward, taking a stance next to Danger an her assistant. His shoulder tensed as the sound of heavy metal thudding against the tiles floor reverberated through the room. Another from the opposite corridor made the floor shudder.

How the rebels had managed to get something with that kind if hydraulics into the building was a mystery.

"There's a back room we can take to the basement, and outside from there, unless you think your guards are sufficient?" He turned partway toward Danger. There was an intensity in his gaze, one that demanded an immediate answer from the head of Arceneau.

"I'll do my best to help ensure your safety."

[member="Danger Arceneau"]

 

[Danger Arceneau]

[member="Cyril Grayson"]

She was grateful to say the least.

“Ain’t nothing to be apologetic about, Cyril. Scum and villainy are about all ‘round the ‘verse.”

The heavy metal thudding against the floor shook them all. Her expression would turn grim.

“I say the back room it is and that it is best to get to leading. We'll follow.” she told him, motioning for the Hergalics to stand down.

“They can provide back up cover. “ she’d say, moving to follow [member="Cyril Grayson"] along with Aeri, who already traded in her datapad for a Browncoat blaster.

Well this was a new way to deal business.

“Let’s go.” she’d say with her own glint of determination. Oh this was the facet of Danger who was born and raised on Tatooine. While she didn’t run from a fight, she knew when she ought to not be a fool.

 

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He would have stood and fought if she had asked it of him. His life was service, his sole duty to defend those in need. Yet, he could not help but breath a quiet sigh of relief when she opted to fight another day, per sey. Cyril jogged to the back of the meeting room, grabbed at the edge of one of the bookcases. He yanked with all his strength, calling upon the force for temporary assistance. The massive piece of furniture slowly shifted to the right, grinding along the floors as it went along.

A single open archway would become visible. It led into what looked to be absolute darkness. The faint light that seeped within from the room illuminated old wooden stairs that descended deep under the building's surface.

"Before there was peace with the Gungans, escape routes like these were built beneath many buildings. I can lead us along." He cast a look over his shoulder. The smile he wore was one of grim purpose, but the look in his eyes was different in its entirety. He was confident, and looked as if he might even be looking forward to this conflict, as pointless as it might be.

"You'll have to forgive me if I take your arm, Danger. I am positively terrified of the darkness." There was a teasing lite to his voice as he stepped into the darkness. He fished in his belt for a flashlight, finding one with a moment's search. The pale light filled the cavern, revealing stairs that went below even the flashlight's illumination.

The sound of metal scrapping across the floor would come from just beyond the doors. Then the entire building shook. A heat flash seeped through the room as plasma exploded just outside the door. A section of the wall began to collapse, and the head of a bulbous spider droid could just barely be seen through the cracks.

[member="Danger Arceneau"]

 

[Danger Arceneau]

[member="Cyril Grayson"]

Well, that came out of the blue.

His quip about the dark would fall on suprised ears, but there was little time to mull over the validity of those words. Instead there was a pressing need to ensure that both were able to survive the next few minutes.

Debris would start to fall upon them as the building began to collapse, and a rather unladylike curse would rip from Danger's mouth. Figures, this would happen. Just figures.

Behind them, that bulbous spider droid would start to slip it's robotic arms inside, shoving through the open area as if searching for prey.

"Well I am positively terrified of dying, so I guess we both have something to get over." one wouldn't know if she was being serious or not. Either case, Aeri was sending pot shots at whatever came at them from behind.

"GO!" the Zeltron would yell out, "I'll provide some cover!" she wouldn't be the only one, as some of Grayson's men would help her.

 

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This wasn't Lin or Corvy. He would need to remember that once they returned to their negotiations, lest he cause a fracture between himself and Miss Acreneau. Not everyone enjoyed breaking boundaries in such a way, especially in such a pressured situation.

Now was not the time to examine the underlying issue there, there was tunnel navigation to do.

He cracked the faintest ghost of a smile at her words, though it quickly vanished when the spider droid forced itself through its own makeshift opening. The Jedi rushed down the stairs, and relied on memory rather than the force as he decided which direction to take.

The snap-hiss of his lightsaber overpowered the low rumble of laser fire for a moment. The blade was a black hole, absorbing all light around it like a vacuum. Its edges cast a white glow along with Cyril's flashlight, illuminating the cavern far enough to provide a bubble of light.

The great door that had led them within would be closed once the last of whoever Danger intended to join them made it through. The officers remaining on the other side would disperse in whatever way they could--once Miss Arceneau was secured, they were instructed to look out for themselves rather than die needlessly.

Cyril took a moment to stop as they would come to an intersection not entirely far from the entrance. He clipped the flashlight to his belt, and removed his hat. The soft whir of cybernetics broke the quiet of the cavern as he ran a gloved hand over his head, disheveling the short mop of black hair that would just as well suit a soldier.

"These tunnels lead all over the city. I can get you to a spaceport, and then offworld." He offered quietly. The Jedi turned about, looking all too grim for but a moment. That expression quickly evaporated, as if Cyril had just recalled where he was, and what company he currently kept. "I'm sorry, our security is lacking as of late - as I'm sure you can tell." He mused. "Naboo as a whole is a mess."

He drew in a deep breath, and mulled over the stale smell of the tunnels. It was not a terribly bad smell, nor was it good. Cyril felt it was akin to the inside of a hospital.

He removed the glove of his let hand, and trailed his pale fingers along the dusty cavern wall. "...Should be to our left."

[member="Danger Arceneau"]

 

[Danger Arceneau]

[member="Cyril Grayson"]

To the left they would go, the auburn haired woman giving a nod. She held her blaster close, Aeri sending a few more pot shots down range. However, it didn't stop the volley that would come at their direction just as the doors would hiss shut with a resounding thud. Dust would swirl, clouding the vision, but this was no time to worry about such things.

"Apologies are not needed, Cyril," Danger would tell him, moving quickly beside him, the flare white glow of his lightsagber lighting the way. Well at least those lightsticks were good for something. Truth be told, Danger never really had the best of thoughts of Force Users, much the less the females who would use it to their means. Jedi women in particular, held a bit of a prejudice for the Trade Queen.

Granted, that was due to Ryori Holloway and what had happened with Noxu Za'tire and Nareveni Garrett. Experience has a way of coloring a perspective.

Aeri came in line behind her, the Zeltron at the ready. They were all covered in grime, and to be frank, her dress was likely ruined. Well, nothing that a good cleaning might help out. Maybe.

"Not like you planned the whole thing -- can't be held at fault for a sudden turn of events. " the corner of her mouth would perk, her attention shifting to her surroundings.

"Have to be flexible... only way one can save their skins."