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Tread Lightly [closed] - Printable Version

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Tread Lightly [closed] - Kat - 04-24-2015

<img style="" src="http://i.imgur.com/CZb2Wyp.png" style="max-width:100%;]
A 1x1 between Kat && Deific.
Feel free to read along.


Tread Lightly [closed] - Kat - 04-24-2015

<img style="max-width:25%;float:right;margin:0 0 18px 18px;" src="http://i.imgur.com/FXQBglf.png" style="avatar]Rhailo Destros was considered a flight risk, so she was kept grounded. Detained. A small cell in Nar Shaddaa's loading quarter was where Hutta interplanetary forces housed her, with a few wayward guards pacing the halls of their cubed office building. Honestly, if she wasn't busy using a laser switch as a jimmied lock pick, she might have taken offense; after all, her methods were seen as being quite cunning. Had the woman not been a severe problem in great need of remedying, she wouldn't be contained to begin with- but the logic behind their imprisonment protocol was lost on her. Time didn't wait for the thoughts to settle though, and the small beam of energy she maneuvered like a stylus only had so much juice left in it's waning battery life. Fingers eased the measure against the light frame of the jail cell, sparking discontent across the face of the energy door. Rifts in the fabric shot across the front, testing the solidity of her exit time and time again.

Searching, opalescent hues finally found a hole in the barrier. "Oh, you lot really didn't plan ahead..." The woman smiled into her commentary, crouched to re-position just before sliding the point of her pen-like device through the severed material. Something in the mesh sizzled, and collectively, the entire framework crumpled loosely where the middle was breached, leaving it to hang like a toppled hammock while she rose to step over her handiwork. Stylus was pocketed while her figure sauntered along, one stiletto heel clicking extra hard as she activated her camouflage tech. Suddenly, what had once been the buxom figure with startling features and moonlit hair now appeared to those around her as nothing more than a factory model R2-71 unit. The most common custodial unit on Nar Shaddaa.

Leaving the facility was a fucking joke. If androids laughed as loudly as she did when the cityscape stretched before her some moments later, Rhailo would have to look into acquiring one of her own. A reminder of another eventful outing. The disguise dissipated as she coasted the streets, drifting between shops and shuffling pedestrians all trying to make their way from low end to high roller. Nar Shaddaa was, in some ways, a real escape from typical galactic tyranny, but it had enough crime to sink lesser planets into far worse states. The nightlife was the real draw, she assumed, as clubs with flashing neon signs burned as effigies to lost causes and loose morals. There were endless ways to lose one's self in the atmosphere of the metropolis, but Rhailo didn't have time to table dance and gamble the very last of her credits; not with syndicate enforcer's still looking for her.

As it was, the Auroun female owed more credits than could be payed off in several life times. God, she knew it too, because every bookie, loan shark, club jockey, and mob boss on this flashbulb spaceport was trying to track her down. And, if said search parties couldn't have the credits due, they could have her, and such a concept wasn't so outrageous when one knew a bit about her people. It almost made sense to think they might prefer her instead. Rhailo was one of the very few Aurouns on this side of the galaxy, and even elsewhere, they weren't a common race to come across in one's space journeying. The common misconception was the Auroun were hunted and enslaved by a neighboring quadrant's government, but this wasn't anywhere near the truth, and even Rhailo wasn't so cocky to believe her people to be desirable enough to be the chosen slave race of war mongers on Anassi Prime.

Yet there was a certain air to the creature that seemed to attract attention, even when she was doing her best to look inconspicuous within the denizens in transit. Sights followed her shapely figure when Rhailo sidled around smaller races scooting past her ankles, and anonymous catcalls sounded from alleyways every other street she bypassed. Her destination was a dingy cantina many wouldn't consider more than a crack in the wall, but when it was finally in her sights, the unique Auroun ducked from the populace and headed inside.

Idly, her hands toyed at belt hoops on her pants, thumbs poking through to hang forgotten while Rhailo sauntered through the dimly lit bar. No one seemed to want to look her way, save maybe the six armed bartender, though he only had a snort to share with this familiar patron.

"What, no welcome wagon? You guys gotta be kidding me.." Rhailo reached a particularly skittish creature where it perched in a seat far too large for it's Rat-like body, and one leg shot out to kick over the stool, sending the alien flying to the floor with a miserable squeak. "What's that, Grauzli? You got something to say to me after you fucking snitched?" Rhailo brought a heel up and stepped on the throat of the animal while she continued with, "And none of you fucking idiots thought to teach the informant a lesson? Fucking pathetic."

Rhailo's heel didn't stop it's descent until the gurgles of beast were silenced, it's thrashing limbs ceasing to move after it's throat was crushed. Such was their lives in the belly of the beast known as Nar Shaddaa.

"Whatever. I'll be the fucking exterminator, as always.." Strange opal shaded orbs were directed back to the bar, and she commented, "You're awful quiet for someone who owes me a favor."

"Gonna cash it in?" The bartender asked as several of his arms moved around, busied with cleaning glasses and wiping down the counter area.

"Yeah, lemme cash it. How about you tell me who the hell is looking for me?" Rhailo picked up the seat she had previously kicked over and settled it down near the alien, beckoning him closer with a single manicured finger. "I end up in minimum lockdown when the rat rat's on me, but we both fucking know they were only holding me..."

"Yeah, heard that." The creature, with his almost reptilian features, seemed to narrow his gaze. "They got someone professional headed this way. Don't know the details, don't know the time frame... But from what I've head, someone wants you bad."

Rhailo couldn't help laughing at his words, offering, "Tell me something I don't know, pal. Right, whatever. That ain't enough information to count for a favor... But I'll leave you guys out of this." Back to her feet she went, giving the patrons a sweeping look before adding on her way back through the door, "Be a shame is anyone mentioned I was here..."

As much as she might have loved sticking around to intimidate the lowlifes of the lower end, Rhailo had an apartment to head to. Even a rampaging gambler required having a shitty loft to crash in, and it just so happened to be where the supplies needed to get through this uncomfortable conundrum were stored. Probably about time for the woman to get the hell off this space trash planet anyway, considering just how extensive the damage to her reputation had become. Even knowing she was being hunted didn't actually help her, as she had enough organizations riled up, it could have been any of their orders. Perhaps there would be multiple bounties on her head at this point; she didn't want to think about it.

The streets got darker the farther she moved away from the casinos and bars, her apartment a top shelf dive in it's own right, crammed between countless small businesses of a less than reputable variety. A shoddy elevator shot her up 71 stories, past all the other gamblers and pimps and urchins residing in the building, and then stopped abruptly to spit her out. The hallway looked like someone had taken a blow torch to the walls a few times, but Rhailo was seemingly un-phased. After all, she lived here- she knew it was a shit hole. The door opened after the facial recognition software finally kicked in, so for about five minutes, she just poked her tongue out and made an array of faces to pass the time.

Inside, Rhailo tensed, sniffing the air. Someone had been there... The woman could smell battery acid and some other fuel source she had no reason to own, and it put pause to her plans of rummaging through her belongings.

"Hello?" Was all she asked, but it was loud enough to cut through the static quiet. Peculiar orbs searched for movement, for light sources, for an unfamiliar shape... Anything out of place.

Tread Lightly [closed] - Kat - 04-24-2015

<img style="avatar" src="http://i.imgur.com/FXQBglf.png" style="max-width:25%;float:right;margin:0 0 18px 18px;]Had it not been for the roof top caving in under the the Mandalorian's efforts to penetrate her apartment, Rhailo would have counted herself lucky. Only one bounty hunter. Surly, secretly, she considered her crimes worth at least a small squadron-- but this one seemed to be cut from a different cloth than the usual syndicate bred meat heads she danced circles around. This wasn't her first chase, after all. Rhailo didn't think there was an Auroun alive who hadn't kept to the winds with the dogs of credit chase nipping at their heels, but with such power came great and unforgiving responsibility. There was, to put it lightly, secrets at stake.

Crumbling framework and heavy concrete battered her bedroom, essentially crushing the contents, which included but wasn't limited to the materials she meant to gather. Falsified paperwork, ocular implants for retinal scans, beskar grade upgrades for her armor, said armor. Irreplaceable in their own right, fear quickly shifted to anger as the suited hunter made his appearance within the plumes of smoke and dust, giving just enough information to ensure Rhailo wasn't out of the loop. The name wasn't unknown to the woman, and it was entirely possible she owed them far more than the rest of the syndicates combined.

"I'mma give you credit for showmanship." Rhailo said coolly, tonguing the corner of her lip as opal orbs dragged along the stranger's gear. While she wasn't an expert in what determined quality of supplies, she did know solid craftsmanship when she saw it; his was no amateur job. Whatever set of hands or claws or machinery brought that suit to life wasn't fucking around, and the Auroun made note of what she could see. It wasn't obvious the way she detailed his figure, though she also continued to speak, as though considering what it would take to track the audio while also assessing how she might garner information from his appearance. "I'm sure what you're wearing is a real hit with the ladies everywhere. You know, I always loved a man in a mask. Gives that certain, uh, what would you call it? Allure? Mystique? Sense of wonder?"

Meanwhile, idly, the heel of her stiletto pressed firm into the tile of her entryway. A flicker shimmered through her appearance, almost too brief and too quick to linger on. After all, she was just standing there, speaking.

"I used to have this ex. Real crazy guy, you know. Got big into masks and gear. Hell, he had this thing where his biggest fetish was when he couldn't breathe through his shit, so he'd flop around like a fish." The figure before Demagol gave a sort of shimmy, all hips in those form fitting jeans, arms still content to rest beneath the swell of her breasts. Goodness, was she attractive, all starlit and seductive, lips curling into a curious smirk as eyes watched him. Empty eyes. Eyes without soul. "I think he still hangs down is Kerkirik's from time to time, though he moved on to picking up the Oorkanian's walkers by the dock, and I'm not keen on sharing. You know what I mean? Bet a guy like you doesn't share-"

The mirage, if that was was it could be considered, was starting to fade. The imprint on the fabric of the realm was slipping, lost as time ran out on the illusion, leaving nothing but the faintest whispers in the air. "You got a girlfriend, stud? She know where you are now-"

Rhailo was running. Back through the door she had sneaked, going so far as the elevator, though she reconsidered this course of action as she realized he'd likely blow it up. He didn't seem like he was keen to fuck around, especially when the imagery she left behind ran it's course, as no one liked falling for a decoy. The Auroun cursed quietly, and retreated to the opposite side of the hall, darting towards the stairwell that likely only saw use by the hookers who roamed this darker side of Nar Shaddaa; she was lucky they hadn't crowded the entry point. Despite wearing heels, Rhailo had a certain glide to her step, and her body moved without much movement at all- a glide that rippled through the air like she was floating.

Half in, half out.

Auroun weren't a pleasure race made for servitude. No, they were weavers of fantasy and creators of dreams. They embodied an existence beyond the flesh lands, and though space, and technology, and universal scaling made the entire feel of reality minuscule, their abilities transcended the cosmic concept of space and time. Rhailo knew little of it, but she could phase shift through walls and create near perfect clones of herself, and those small additions seemed to add flavor to an otherwise abusive lifestyle. In all fairness to a rather impressive race, Rhailo was shit at what she did, as there was more to learn, and she never had interest to bother. A bag of tricks was all it took to wreak havoc, and the rest?

Well, the rest was saved for scholars and psions. Rhailo didn't have the drive to excel. Just to squeak by.

The bottom floor came sooner than it should have, but she was cheating by hopping the railing to drop several floors in her haste, as he was likely coming to find the doppelganger disappearing. Pushing back out into the street, fatigue already ate at her muscles like the gnaw of termites at the foundation of a home. Just chipping at the typically energetic being as a means of punishment for pushing herself; she wasn't entirely confident she would get away. Yet, despite it, she made a run for it. Back through the dark back alleys and filthy streets of Nar Shaddaa's most urbanized crime sector. If nothing else, he would need to be quick and agile, as she slipped through the thin cracks with ease due to her lack of heavy gear.

One such spot, a fracture of space between two towering apartment complexes, was where she impractically stuffed herself into; physically pained at how thin it demanded her chest and waist to be for entry. "Stupid fucking curves.."

Tread Lightly [closed] - Kat - 04-25-2015

[/img]"http://i.imgur.com/FXQBglf.png" style="max-width:25%;float:right;margin:0 0 18px 18px;" style="avatar]No stranger to being found in precarious situations, it didn't bring any semblance of shame to Rhailo's pinned personage when he closed the gap between them, his bloody demonstration lost in a wash of constant rain. Both were being pelted, but she hadn't dressed for the change in the weather, and while thunder clapped and the streets were filled, the Auroun shivered under soaked apparel. The thought hadn't yet crossed her mind that the hunter would see the curves of her physique as her shirt turned into a water tight second skin, the cold driving the flesh on her exposed extremities to raise. Flashing a smile seemed almost too natural at the bounty hunter's comment, because for all intents and purposes, she seemed caught. A prize to ponder over, or simply haul away to the S'zari syndicate.

"You didn't waste any time." There were distant calls from her neighbors on the block, shouts over toppled structures and damages the Mandalorian caused mid-flight. Now that Demagol was grounded, he seemed more dangerous than before, though Rhailo was under the impression he got his kicks playing apex predator. Perhaps the woman would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy being treated like prey; but he didn't need to know that. Their game had only just begun, after all.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were in a rush." Palms pressed into the buildings the Auroun had been trying to wedge between, flattened so she could break away from the structures. In the movements, fabric to her pants would seize and shift, threatening to rip if she wiggled too quickly or pulled away with haste. Hazardous wardrobe in focus, Rhailo realized the heels should be discarded at some point, as energy was becoming a precious commodity, and gliding about without stepping foot on the pavement ate up the reserves faster than anything else. No one particularly looks forward to running barefoot in dirty rain water, but practicality was it's own pressure she didn't need to think twice about accepting.

"Are they paying you well? Figure I only get chased this hard when there's a good deal of credits on the table..." Pausing, her tongue ran smooth against her lips as though she could taste something he wasn't privy to. "Or you have nothing better to do than torment a poor, defenseless woman." Rhailo had a way of pressing buttons she had no right to push, and though finally freed from her makeshift hiding spot, there was no immediate escape. On the contrary, her stilettos marched her closer to where he waited, arms seeking to rest folded beneath the swell of see through linen so the outline of her breasts was unmistakable. "Shouldn't you be camped out in some skeezy cantina, making eyes with serving girls?" Rhailo tsked thoughtfully as those opalescent orbs of hers danced along the front of Demagol's armor, searching for any sign of wear.

"You need to blow off steam, and I bet if you were to look, there are better outlets for you." Rhailo shared a smirk before adding, "I'm not going anywhere with you, Tin man. So, you're either going to get bored, or tired, of chasing me around this shit hole city." And such words were enough indication, as the Auroun's body vanished in a sparkling cloud of ethereal energies, only to reappear several yards away, immediately sprinting down the nearest alley. On her heels, reality seemed to bend, and from it, a copy formed. An almost exact replication- with a heat signature and a pulse, and matching garb down to the frayed knees of her jeans. Another soon followed suit, created at the original's front, and the three ran in their row until reaching the mouth feeding out towards another set of streets.

The original didn't need to say a word; they each took a direction and didn't stop to think about what would happen to them if he caught up. One moved left, backtracking towards where the initial meeting with the Bounty Hunter was, while another ran the exact opposite way, off towards the lights and sounds of the city's downtown. The third headed straight, looking to continue weaving around defunct droid piles and homeless denizens taking shelter from the storm. All the Rhailo's making their escape were equally fast, but one kicked off their shoes after a brief pause so they were less impaired.

The second shamelessly removed their shirt when they reached the redlighter's corner, using the crowd they found themselves passing through as a means to camouflage.

The third, which perhaps seemed most likely to be the original, was hopeful they could recover the goods they wanted at the very beginning of this wild chase they found themselves in. Of course, it meant climbing over massive towers of concrete while avoiding a sea of glass and debris otherwise, but there was time for such scaling. Clambering as it was. Split attention between the three meant their perception of details wasn't anywhere near as good as it had been when they were one, but the original had pulled this trick enough times to have a grasp on all three consciousnesses at once. They were a team, following dictation through the direction of the original, who knew she was running out of options.

'We have to get to the S'zari.' One communicated through their telepathic link. 'If we turn ourselves in, he gets no bounty. No prize, no chase.'

'He'd chase without prize.' Another shared. 'He's going to be mad over this.'

The third seemed the least hopeful of the separated triad. 'I can't outrun him forever. Another cartel might be the best option.'

'Calrathiions?' The first asked.

'No. Better to keep our limbs than pay blood debts.' The second said before suggesting, 'Maybe the Tara'ridarium? Roth Khanians?'

'Perhaps... Roth Khanians have a soft spot for women. Their hive mother is considered sacred... I might be able to convince them to house me while I pay off my debts. I'll plead to their sense of chivalry.' The speaking Rhailo was avoiding a pair of fondling hands while the messages were relayed, still topless and still scooting through the crowd, though they were quickly managing to make progress on said plan.

To the Roth Khanians in Doo-Lah-Khan's Casino, who hated the S'zari syndicate more than they hated her.

Tread Lightly [closed] - Kat - 04-25-2015

<img style="avatar" src="http://i.imgur.com/FXQBglf.png" style="max-width:25%;float:right;margin:0 0 18px 18px;]The original was preoccupied with strutting through the crowd to a chorus of whistles and a series of winks following closely behind, but there had been no sign of hunter anywhere, which left a bad taste in her mouth. Reaching out, the telepathic tethers between herself and the clones were tugged as a means of figure out just what was going on. Initially Rhailo received nothing, and ultimately presumed the worst, but through a soft static, one eventually responded. Her heart skipped a beat in it's excitement and hastily, she reiterated her initial inquiry. Hopefully not too desperately that they got the wrong idea of her own circumstances.

"Where are you?!"

The voice in response, a mental capture of what her own voice sounded like, commented, "Think I've got company."

The corridor the middle Rhailo traversed was narrowing, refuse and filth making her path difficult as though testament to the decay of the landscape. This clone didn't have the capacity to linger on how ironic it was that space trash like her creator was running from the law on one of the most lawless planets in the quadrant, but she could try and keep her maker alive. That was the goal anyway as she sidestepped through a collection of huddled derelicts trying to keep warm. The rains were heavy, dowsing the murky alleyway so puddles formed in time worn ditches. All it took was one misstep and she was off balance, twisting into the motion to limit the damage done to her ankles, though it knocked her sidelong into the nearest wall.

Clutching the surface, a whizzing sound erupted from behind the clone, and in her paused state, she was caught off guard. Completely so, it seemed, because the concept of a tranquilizer wasn't one she could fully grasp, and further conceptualization didn't allow the possibility that he might fire more. The copy hazily stumbled forward, assaulted by the three projectiles that lodged themselves in her torso and neck, quick to inject their toxins. The figure crumpled to the water washed ground, muscles twitching as a last message was relayed to the others.

"He... Shot me."

With that, the middle clone was incapacitated, though Rhailo severed the connection as she received word, and the body of the figure before Demagol bubbled face first in the hole that had ended her running. Without motor skills, or perhaps the spirit to process what life they were leaving, the woman would drown in the shallow grave he set up for her if he didn't stop her. Such was the life of clones.

Meanwhile, the other clone was sprinting back up a flight of stairs in search of the belongings they were tasked to find. It took them a while, though with the hunter busy elsewhere, the concern for their safety was muted. On hold for the time being. Clones didn't have the mental capacity to juggle the full range of thoughts and emotions their creator did, but they were competent enough to be tasked with menial duties. Returning to the apartment for the contraband was their goal, and until that goal had been satisfied with some sort of result, the uncaptured copy proceeded under instructed duty. After a few moments trek, Rhailo copy arrived back on the 71st floor where the air was heavy with dust, and the door to the once home remained precariously open.

Their bare feet were soundless over the tile as they entered, scanning the still unlit interior for possible trouble. The search was over quickly as they could only assess what could be seen in the dark, and nothing particularly noticeable seemed jarring after the first scan; so, the trouble was long gone from this place. Or, at least the clone believed it was, given they made no more efforts of caution, instead traipsing through towards the bedroom with one thought in mind: the goods. Through what was left of the living room they went, onward to the massacred bed and the crushed closet space, feet absently stepping over rubble without investigating.

And then some went off. A loud series of bangs erupted from the corners of the room, and the clone shrieked as she was deafened. The mental ties between the copy and it's maker returned just in time for the siren call of concussion grenades to alert the real Rhailo of the problem. The shock was so immense that the original buckled where she stood, dizzy and disoriented while her counterpart clone screamed through the telepathic link.

"HELP ME-" But the thoughts were cut short, again, as Rhailo disengaged her consciousness from second other copy so not to be burdened with whatever mess they found themselves in. It was a mercy killing, in a way, as the one in the apartment suddenly slumped over from the loss of free will, sending their body crashing into the next layer of the trap. Flames erupted to encircle the room, triggered when the woman tripped their sensors, and the body of the creature fell headlong into the blast. The discarded clone was dead before they stopped jostling across the floor, their airway boiled shut with the heat of the explosive.

With one unconscious and the other a charred corpse, Rhailo found herself once more alone; as if that was anything new to her. Everything about Nar Shaddaa was created to instill a sense of loneliness in it's residents, from the love bots to the pleasure dens to the casino's geniality towards their customers. The planet was a vacuum, and it aimed to suck all life from it's residents, robbing them blind of their basic rights and their credits in hope to further line already full pockets. Rhailo hated everything about this place, and more so, she hated that it took a bounty on her head to get the point across. Still on her hands and knees from the resonated shock of the shared experience with the now deceased clone, the Auroun crawled off towards the stoop of her destination before rising back to her full height.

Already partially exposed, it took little effort on the femme's part to further her disguise into a reason she would be at the Doo-Lah-Khan's casino. A second was used to slip out of her heels briefly to escape her jeans, then the heels returned to her feet and both hands were raised to tie up silver locks in a messy ponytail. Down to a g-string and stilettos, no one seemed to question Rhailo casually sauntering through the primarily topless bar, and grabbing a serving tray, she fell into playing the part. A playful smile crossed lush lips as a hand raised, and upon approach, she asked, "What can I get you?"

In the crowded casino's main floor, she highly doubted her hunter would be as careless of the environment as he had been previously. Not with the Roth Khanians running half of uptown and the strip; he's have a fleet on hunter's after him. No, he'd have to stalk her through the patrons, and Rhailo was mindful as she skirted neighboring tables to pick up more orders. The Auroun's body seemed built for the setting, with an ass that shook tantalizingly as she walked those long legs around the peripheral tables, and with her bare breasts bouncing to accentuate perked nipples, she wasn't surprised by how many orders she ended up with. One would have a hard time believing Rhailo wasn't actually an employee with her demeanor, all flashed grins and mischievous smirks.

Yet her eyes wandered, glued to entries and exits in between seeking out one of the high ups. Someone from the cartel would be here. If she found them before the Mandalorian found her, Rhailo could skip away from this whole fiasco scotch free.

Tread Lightly [closed] - Kat - 04-25-2015

<img style="avatar" src="http://i.imgur.com/FXQBglf.png" style="max-width:25%;float:right;margin:0 0 18px 18px;]Hips moved to the thump of the bass. The minimalist techno music played like the vocals of a synthetic, the tone set a stark contrast to that of the streets beyond the lavish entryways. As Rhailo moved, so too did her figure shift and snake seductively from the bar to the tables the drinks she carried belonged to. Over the course of her rounds, however little time she had been there obviously didn't affect her tips, as the woman had accumulated a hefty stack of credit chits for her efforts. Tucked in the string of that barely existent thong, they were enough to cover a night out on the town; or enough to get her the hell out of Nar Shaddaa. Whichever came first really. The creature continued observing the entrances and exits, opalescent oculars attracted to any figure taller than waist height.

Any moment now, she expected trouble to waltz in wearing a familiar mask of silent cruelty.

Doo-Lah-Khan translated, roughly, to 'buried in sand'- meaning a hidden treasure of sorts. Perhaps this particular casino was indeed such an oasis. Rhailo was generally one to argue quality of hedonistic cesspools, but at this point, she didn't have attention span to find out for sure. After all, the familiar bounty hunter was arriving in his suited armaments, and security seemed tense. Various armed figures around the room held up their wrists and pressed buttons just beneath their ear lobes; relaying messages among themselves, and to their superiors. Perfect. At this rate, someone worth more than their blaster's value would show up, and that would be her chance to plead sanctuary with the Roth Khanians. Old races stuck to such primitive values because over the course of generations, no one within their collective opposed their practices, and those who thought to try were quickly removed.

Her own people weren't lucky enough to be considered an ancient race, or even a fully functional race. Some argued they weren't a race at all. Instead, Auroun's were an anomaly that occurred initially through botched genetic testing on Q'ior. All rumors, as Rhailo would explain, and all were used as a means to further the propaganda against a potentially limitless breed of psions. Fear of their capabilities made them sought after for testing, breeding, and in some sectors of the universe, they were deemed hazardous. Extermination of Aurouns was legal on more than 400 planets across the known universe, which always left Rhailo curious just where the hell she was supposed to go if she left Nar Shaddaa.

Auroun as a species were little more than gypsy trash of this universe, chasing after a means of freedom while other alien races chased them; it was a cat and mouse game that no Auroun was excluded from. Because of these preordained facts, Rhailo had lost everyone close to her in one disaster or another. Some sold her out. Others had been helpful, and their kindhearted actions cost them dearly. While she had never been one to reminisce, that sort of weight on a relationship of any variety was met with an almost impossible sense of guilt. To get close to the woman was a sure fire way to make yourself a target in the process, and despite feeling guilt, Rhailo didn't risk her life for anyone. When it came down to fight or flight, she was already gone, leaving little more than the mess she created.

Pausing at an empty table, Rhailo leaned into the edge and bent at the hip, her figure languidly placed over the side so she could collect glassware individually. How it must have looked to anyone watching made the corners of her lips twitch, as she knew damn well there was little separating her body from the rest of the planet, but wasn't that the fun of this disguise? The barest coverage to accentuate a form some would kill for. Literally kill for. The Auroun slowly straightened to shift her weight from one leg to the other, her ample rear jostling with a few jiggles as though she was unaware of such attachments. Her skin seemed to shimmer in the light, specks of gold swirled amid a palette of alabaster. Easily, the woman held the empty drinks across her left arm while the right one remained unburdened in case her hunter wandered her way.

Oddly enough, Rhailo's best bet was to seem as natural as possible in the face of a chase. If he approached her, she would deny she knew what he was talking about. There were witnesses and, with the disguise, she was just an employee being assaulted by a disgruntled customer. It couldn't possibly come off otherwise- not when her ass was the main attraction to this club, and the patrons were in awe of her prowess. There was a time and a place for modesty, but based on her earnings in the short time she had been falsely playing waitress, Rhailo Destros was a vision. Now all she needed was some sorry sap dumb enough to stand between herself and her hunter friend.

'Or to have one of the Dynasty brothers make an appearance...' The Auroun commented to herself as a dark skinned fellow the size of a small tree walked through the club, just inches from hitting the crown of his head against the high ceiling. His eyes were a gold, and gold lightning-esque markings cut through the ebony of his hide, decorating him with an almost ombre sheen. Flanking him was a small army, all fellow Roth Khanians, with their gem embedded skin looking like cracked geodes over their exposed extremities. While it wasn't a good idea to make an approach since his guards would be quick to apprehend her, Rhailo did her best to garner the massive creature's attention in other ways. Puffing her chest out so the swell of her breasts were all the more noticeable under the somber lighting of the stage lights, long lashes batted seductively.

'Yeah, that's right... Look at me. Come a little closer, and I'll make you look at me.."

With any luck, Jaxisher Dynasty would catch her eyes before her Mandalorean tracker did. Word down the grapevine hinted he was recently single, and in such a case, Rhailo could be his bedroom bunny for as long as it took to get the whole bounty situation cleared up. It wasn't something she really wanted to do, but as life seemed to prove at every turn, doing things against your wishes was the best way to keep one's self intact. Relatively intact. Why did the S'zari want her anyway? Why didn't that come with the standard intimidation greeting? A deep breath escaped her as Jaxisher turned around, leaving her to set down the tray on the stage for a second to adjust her accouterments(which was literally just a thong).

"C'mon, stud.. Look at me..." Rhailo whispered, not realizing she was speaking to herself, but also wouldn't be particularly concerned had she noticed. "C'mon, baby, you know what you want... Just fucking look at me so I can work my magic..."

Tread Lightly [closed] - Kat - 04-26-2015

<img style="avatar" src="http://i.imgur.com/FXQBglf.png" style="max-width:25%;float:right;margin:0 0 18px 18px;]Fast forward two minutes.

That's really all it took, as the spectacle was nothing more than one brute beating the shit out of another, give or take a few wayward laser bolts. Bodies covered the floor, the ceiling of the club looking reminiscent of the disarray her apartment was left in, and Rhailo was just standing there with her arms snaked over the swell of her chest to cover her upper half. Someone had struck the hunter in the club foray - that much she caught - though that was after he put an end to a great deal of the Roth Khanian guards. The corpse of her once meal ticket Jexisher Dynasty was a massive bulk on the lighted flooring, his weight caving the tiles directly beneath where he and the Mandalorian had made impact. The mound of male Roth Khanian stared back at the woman with half his head blown off, an eye socket vacant as it bore holes in the space between them.

Rhailo tensed more than she thought was possible as, inevitably, Demagol was finished cleaning up what security was within firing range of their location. Narrowed gaze sunk from the helmet to his crest, and then lower to the grazing where the Mandalorian had been shot, perhaps investigating the severity of the wound as quickly as she could before his attention was solely on the Auroun. His glance intimidated her; lost behind beskar embedded visor, but without a doubt, found solely on her figure. The male spoke her full name when the demand was made, which struck her as comical considering the options otherwise had thinned out greatly those active few moments she had been watching. Considering all the Auroun had just been witness to, her hesitation to follow direction was less noticeable. Quelled behind starlit features, her disobedience felt the significance of their situation more than it did the persuasion factor coaxing pressure from his tone.

Rhailo knew damn well what the Mandalorian's intentions were for her. Another day, another bounty. The anger attached to being categorized as just another job was there, but swallowed. Stifled for the pettiness of the thought, but also because she didn't associate herself with being a bounty. There had to be a way to shake that tagline. Now though, there simply wasn't time to permit much choice on her part. Another wave of security personnel began swarming the building, siren calls echoing in replacement of techno bass drops. As the crowd thinned around them, it was clear the pair actually couldn't stay put. Not without coverage of some kind. The Auroun let her arms drop to once more bare her breasts, suddenly over the semblance of modesty that escaped her previously.

"Where?" Her expression was as confused as could be expected. Oculars carefully sought to follow the Mandalorian's mannerisms as a replacement to having no face to judge, but his stillness was mechanical in nature. The suit didn't need to shift to adjust to better accommodate positioning. For all it's fancy tech and weaponry, it paled in comparison to real flesh, and Rhailo was left pitying Demagol in a strange regard. Coated in a form fitting suit, putting an end to countless lives for profit... What did he even hope to buy? Did one have time to shop when they were always combing the universe for bounties? The whole concept caused a knitting of the Auroun's brow, frown moving to overtake a visage too lovely for such unhappiness.

"You don't have to take me, you know. You could get away easier without having to drag me along." Already, long legs backed up towards the platform, though she didn't break the contact of her attention on his helmet. "Is my contract really worth it? You got Jexisher, and I know he had to be worth more than mine... So, can't that be enough?" Rhailo was halted when she hit the curved framework of the stage, and there was a moment when she waited, because she didn't have much juice left to make scarce. She would do one more thing - just one - and that was left as only the most desperate of game plans on her part. Certainly it didn't need to be now given how persistent Demagol seemed with her. He wanted her alive, that much the woman gleaned through the chase thus far, as it seemed illogical he hadn't put a shot through her if his intentions were otherwise. Wasn't she just baggage now?

Rhailo didn't want to be shot. To push more buttons when he was injured and in a hurry. Without a word, she was left like a deer in the headlights; watching him. Waiting on his plan of action. This ceased to be her show anymore, so the Auroun made it perfectly clear that he would need to lead the way, regardless what way he thought best to take them. All his captive could hope was he didn't honestly expect to escape with his jetpack- Not with the weather as it was. Not when he was within airstrike range of every surveying sentry cannon on the countless rooftops along the strip. Especially not with her in tow, because for one thing, Rhailo had no need nor desire to be whisked away in such a manner. It was already bad enough that her company loomed over her like an emotionless robot, ready to snuff out what made her unique just as quickly as he was to cart her along for his journey.

At some point while she waited, Rhailo stepped out of her heels, picking them up to hold them in a set of manicured digits. Wouldn't do well to lose her now singular pair of shoes. Thanks to him. Thanks to the bounty hunter. Not only had he chased her all evening with the objective of selling her existence to a cartel notorious for torturing, enslaving, and gruesomely deforming women, but he also ensured the creature had nothing in the way of belongings. No clothing, not mementos, no personal effects. Nothing. In essence, he had destroyed what had been known of Rhailo Destros, and she had nothing left to do with herself but hold onto the credit chits and shoes like they were her only lifeline to the outside world. Beneath the surface, fear wormed through her core, working to bind her stomach in knots.

Either Rhailo was going to die, or she was going to become a slave; neither of which she wanted.

Tread Lightly [closed] - Kat - 04-26-2015

<img style="avatar" src="http://i.imgur.com/FXQBglf.png" style="max-width:25%;float:right;margin:0 0 18px 18px;]
There was no other choice but to go with him. Not that Demagol seemed keen to allow her any space to argue on the off chance she hadn't wanted to be taken. An armored grasp encircled her waist, and with as much fear one could harbor without knowing what they were afraid of, Rhailo looked at him again. Really looked. Really, honest to ancient Gods tried to see something in his visor besides the reflection of her tears. The Auroun hadn't meant to cry, nor did she have some secret desire to shake against his hold, but some things were to be expected. Nothing was quite so intimidating as being taken into the arms of a stranger; couple that with a bounty on her head. Of all the things that could go wrong, the woman presumed her choice was a relatively safe one. It beat being shot by ground guard Roth Khaanians, and if need be, she still had some time to get away from him before they were anywhere near the S'zari. Perhaps she would seize that opportunity at some point.

For now, Rhailo was hoisted over his shoulder, leaving her exposed midsection to rest flat against cold beskar steel. "Please don't take us-"

And then they were airborne from outside Doo-Lah-Khan, and Rhailo could recall screaming, even if the action of the boosters rocketing them upwards drowned the sound. Weightless. The woman certainly wasn't wearing enough to stave off the cold winds whipping at their figures, but terror was far more imposing than the chill of night air. Even when airborne, her priorities were elsewhere. Lids shut to block out the wind while the Auroun did everything she could not to move, arms partially linked around the Mandalorian's shoulders as if that could be enough to ensure there was no opportunity to plummet towards the stretched crossroads of Nar Shaddaa. The city was so centralized from the sky, congregated towards a towering center mass while the outskirts were slums. Just skirting flop houses and twisted remains of lost business ventures. The creeping death of forgotten peoples, slowly eating at the outer levels at a rate Rhailo assumed would choke out the metropolis within the next decade or so.

Decadence in decay. Nothing was meant to last forever.

Hopping from roof to roof, Rhailo was caught off guard by how careful her companion was being. It wasn't a rough ride, despite how she hung precariously over his back, unable to direct any of their traveling. By the time he came to his first stop on the trip, Rhailo was gently lowered onto the building to stand awkwardly nude near her captor. Opalescent hues blinked open, and absently, hands were moved to wipe tears. The shivering hadn't stopped at any part of their journey. Initially, his messaged seemed to fall on deaf ears, perhaps ignored. Fingers were curled slowly to return circulation, icy to the touch. In some regards, the Auroun looked miserable; in a state she didn't rightly know what to make of. Just trying to remain coherent, as a hostage who couldn't grasp their situation often found themselves replaced. As they were alone, she worried that he was growing tired of having a tagalong. What sort of bounty hunter was content being saddled down with near useless cargo?

"So, you'll be 300,000 credits richer." The statement had a hint of disapproval attached. "How nice."

Something about their location didn't fit the bounty hunter's plans, and in such, Rhailo was once more carried away to their next destination. Here, a balcony awaited her, and the door keeping the duo outside of the hotel was unceremoniously ripped from it's hinges so she could wander inside. The setting was assessed with vague interest, and almost immediately, the Auroun left him with his task of refitting the door to crawl onto the bed and seek heat from the blankets. Around bare shoulders the comforter was wrapped, her legs crossed where Rhailo sat at the end of the bed. Never did she really seem to take her eyes off Demagol, took curious and too frightened to give him any space outside of very brief interactions with the rest of their environment. His stunts at the club had cemented a hatred for him the Roth Khaanians wouldn't soon forget; they would see her as an accomplice. She knew at least a handful of the employees saw her being whisked away by the bounty hunter.

The grave he dug for himself may have needed widening. It might need to fit her as well.

Watchful of how he tended to his wounds, Rhailo commented offhandedly, "Do you expect a rendezvous at some point?" She had been under the impression they were currently waiting for direction from somewhere. Whoever hired him within the S'zari. It wasn't until he finished with applying the salve that he acknowledged she was still with him, sights settling towards the silver haired femme. It took everything to hold an expression of neutrality, her focus all pushing towards ensuring he couldn't tell what she was really feeling. In some small way, it was the only modesty she could afford under these circumstances. The shoes and the credit chits remained nearby, adorning the opposite side of the mattress like a hint at her brief double life in the club. Bringing both hands upwards to rake through windblown locks, Rhailo blinked her silent approval of his appearance.

Not that she would admit finding him attractive. What she could offer as the signs of a smirk teased her lips was, "I thought you'd have more eyes than you do."

The woman cleared her throat as Demagol's tone shifted from that of pseudo-factual quips to an offer of importance. It actually felt like blackmail more than it did a release of any type. Relief wasn't forthcoming. Processing the words was more than she had estimated having strength to accomplish, yet the Auroun found herself asking questions. Several questions, all in a neat row, like she could line them up to cater to his impending answers. "Why? Why would you do that for me? I don't understand why." Scratching roughly at the base of her neck, her inquiry continued. "What do you get out of this? Are you trying to buy me? Was that your plan all along? I-I don't know what you want with me.."

Until that moment, Rhailo hadn't felt anything in particular over being nude. The curves of her body were on display and it had been comfortable in it's own right. She wasn't self conscious about it. Just something that needed to be done for the time being-- But with how foreign eyes seemed to search her, she was quite conscious of the fact. The blankets moved at either side of her to be hugged closer, shielding the swell of her breasts from wandering gaze. "Y-you know I wouldn't pick them." Rhailo stated with a swallow, looking away to ease her tensions; to try and keep calm her frazzled, over worked nerves. "You're just fucking setting me up..."

Straightening with a whisper of an inhale, Rhailo nodded begrudgingly while her milky irises returned to meet his oceanic orbs. "You. I'll stay with you. The lesser of two evils, or something, right?"

Tread Lightly [closed] - Kat - 04-26-2015

[/img]"http://i.imgur.com/FXQBglf.png" style="max-width:25%;float:right;margin:0 0 18px 18px;" style="avatar]Strangely quiet during the whole process, Rhailo found herself just as confused as she had been before the Mandalorian finished answering. Be it the way he seemed so much better informed than she did, or the fact he was candid, the Auroun couldn't help bringing her knees up to further hide her figure; arms wrapping tight around her now bruised shins. What was normally unmarred flesh glared outwards; decorated in scratches, scrapes, bruises, and dirt. An outrage to that vision of a figure she possessed, the woman scratched lightly at dried flecks of blood stuck to her ankles. All that business at the club, she was bound to be worse for wear in a handful of ways, but she counted her lucky stars that everything important was intact. Well, minus her apartment, but she had numbed that portion of the evening off. Maybe with enough concentration, the lack of a home could be forgotten. Overlooked. Narrowed lids shifted to settle on the stranger where he sat, his now armorless body an appealing mess of tattoos and light scarring.

If she were a weaker woman, there may have been attempts made to seduce her owner; to create an illusion while his helmet wasn't on to protect him. Kind or cruel, anything was possible while he was vulnerable... Rhailo didn't do that though. If anything, every effort was made to come off as undesirable in the moment. Her mind needed to focus on words and his closeness only made it harder to mull over responses. It took some searching, but through the fog of her thoughts, the Auroun finally asked, "If I had a choice, a real choice, what do you think I would do?" There was no real way to answer, as they both knew that a long term escape of any variety was unavailable. Even if she managed to trick him, to get away and make distance between their two persons, he would come again. And again. Over and over until the woman's will was broken, and Demagol's patience was nothing more than a memory.

Physically shifting herself to turn away from the hunter, Rhailo continued to respond in her flat tone; unwilling to meet his features where they sought to look her over. "I don't have a choice. I'll stay. I have to." Messages segmented and sharp, they were likely snipes made out of frustration. She didn't want to be near him. His face, as lovely as it may have been, made her infinitely more angry than the mask had. Suddenly he wasn't emotionless and cold-- there was warmth and it radiated irritatingly nearby with him seated there. "I don't know what you're on about otherwise... You think you have reasons? Okay. Sure." Blankets were pushed from her body so her back was exposed, and with the covers discarded, Rhailo stood facing the lavatory. "You didn't even have the decency to give me your name, but I'm supposed to trust you? Fuck you."

With a sashay of hips, the Auroun left her company to do as he pleased, to watch through the door she left open, if he cared to. Rhailo waved her hands in front of the motion censors to the shower to get the water started, then unabashedly slipped out of the last material of clothing she owned. The whole night had been an awful, frightening trainwreck of constant action, and she just couldn't take another word of it. Another moment being lectured about trust? To be told of her past like she had such an awful history that compared to his? Maybe what the woman had done was wrong, but she certainly did it for justifiable reasons. Her own reasons. She wasn't a dog to be ordered around, and she certainly wasn't about to let this hunter treat her like one. Rhailo stepped into the warm embrace of the capsule shaped basin and released the barest sigh of acceptance. When all was said and done, she wanted to unwind, and for whatever reason, his sudden shift in attitudes made her uneasy.

Coating a layer of body wash from the Hotel's complimentary bottles over her palms, hands busied themselves in covering every inch of that tantalizing form in a glossy, bubbly sheen. Her movements didn't seem shy, nor did she pause at any hint he may have been watching her; she left the door open, after all. No, Rhailo had better things to do than avoid granting the male a peep show of his assumed property. That was probably the most concerning factor of their agreement. Had she given up her freedom to someone looking to possess her, or was she being taken as something else? All these skills she seemed to harbor, and the first ones that came to mind were the ones that failed her earlier in the night. Spreading her legs to either side in a wider stance, one hand braced against the shower wall. The other drifted lower to settle comfortably between her thighs, at the place where her torso curved.

What was she doing?

The water continued to run hot, fogging the small restroom while her manicured middle finger dragged lazy circles around her clit. Tip against the cluster of nerves, cosmic hues closed themselves while her mouth parted to give a weak sigh of pleasure. All this running, the chase, the complete disregard for safety. Something about the rush made Rhailo incredibly aroused, and while the solemn solider in the other room waited, she let herself succumb to deviant desires. If he wanted her help, he could have it; her life was on the table. He just couldn't dispel an overactive libido in the meantime. His options were less conventional, leaving Demagol with the option of watching the femme finger fuck herself as those quiet whimpers increased from the other side of the hotel room.

Apparently, the creature was taunting him with her sounds. Or, more accurately, trying to taunt him.

Repositioning, Rhailo flattened her back against the wall and arched over it, using the surface to brace against wild twirls and flicks of practiced digits. It was rather pleasant watching her, the woman's cunt slick regardless of the streaming water, folds spread slightly with how she went about pleasuring her clitoris. Steady attention, drawn as small circles against the nub. Every so often, her eyes would flutter open just long enough to see if he was watching. Fuck him. Tongue running along her lips, the Auroun shivered through her affections; breasts raising with every heave of her panting chest. She hoped he suffered... Or maybe did something about it. It was hard to tell what she wanted. Rhailo was in heat.

Tread Lightly [closed] - Kat - 04-26-2015

<img style="avatar" src="http://i.imgur.com/FXQBglf.png" style="max-width:25%;float:right;margin:0 0 18px 18px;]A silhouette lingered before it was lost like a shadow at high noon, replaced by the hunter's set of features she had seen so briefly before, she was almost surprised. Almost. He didn't even ask to join her; he just stepped in, and immediately made himself comfortable in her presence. Looming. Rhailo was mid objection when his his lips were on hers, hungry. Carnal. For a split second, warnings flashed through her consciousness to continue their objections while his grip put a stop to her pleasuring digits. Back against the shower stall, all the Auroun could do was close her eyes and let herself be taken. It wasn't necessarily consensual, it just was. Demanded from her. He was taking what he intended to pay for, and as the woman ran her tongue against his bottom lip, it was apparent she was willing. So they worked now on a bartering system-- To ensure her safety, she would give him just what he craved. The politics of the matter were as old as the act itself; there was no shame in the use of sex as a commodity.

Especially when one was left without a choice. Perhaps, had the Auroun wanted him to snap out of this animal state, the hunter would have. Demagol was a warrior of an order older than some races, and despite their work in bounty hunting, there was a code of ethics. Honor. They weren't rapists... so he already knew Rhailo had no intention of screaming, or trying to break away. As Demagol tasted her parted lips, one might assume he was asserting his dominance, and in such, it was left as her burden to either accept this, or to fight him for the position. Rhailo was too tired to fight. That was the excuse she would use if ever prompted over it. She was too tired to fight, but also too aroused to want anything more than to be fucked by her mysterious savior. After all, wasn't he something of that sort, having rescued her from a bounty she would never have been able to pay off otherwise?

A soft whimper left the woman when his lips pulled back, but he soon was moving her in a circle to face the wall, where she rested her features sideways so he could see her profile. Quite abruptly, muscular arms held her against the surface, pinned. Rhailo wouldn't be going anywhere until he was finished with her, even if that meant the Mandalorian would have to hold the Psion to keep her knees from buckling beneath her. A strong hand guided her hips away and out, ensuring her ass was available for him to linger over in great detail. The shower was unrelenting, just coating the pair in a wash of warmth, and the woman savored the heat on her fatigued muscles. All that running, and now she was spread, wanton for his affections. The head of his member prodded and Rhailo shivered, realizing what was happening as her expression shifted to a hazy screen of lust. The male was privy to her portrait, catching how she bit her bottom lip secretly when he pressed the head of his cock along a meaty cheek to test the waters.

Maybe just to prove that he also could tease a response out of her.

There was no pause to Demagol's pace. Just when she was getting comfortable in the embrace of his grip, the head of his cock slid along the curve of her nether lips to part them, then forced its tip in that tight, lubricated hole of hers. Rhailo couldn't stop herself from emitting a series of lilting murmurs, her lashes fluttering before they shut to him. All she wanted to feel was how his cock spread narrow walls, making her body fit him. It was all muscle memory, taking his throbbing member enough times that her cunt knew just how to please him. In time, he'd have her trained. For now, the Auroun was tensed ever so slightly while the hunter sank deep in her folds, driving himself to bottom out while her plump rear spread teasingly at his waist. Just as he wanted, the Mandalorian had her to himself, and the muscles within wrapped pleadingly around the girth of his piece. Sometimes, the constricting muscles seemed so taut and strained around his cock, it felt like they could push him out.

Maybe they were trying to, but the Auroun personally wasn't. On the contrary, her hips worked to grind where they sat at the base, daring him to go further. To fuck her hard. When a craned visage moved to bury teeth in her neck, Rhailo cried out; the sound shifting from sharp pain to a purr of longing. Throaty, desperate desire. Stretched around his cock, she was as expectant as she was frightened. The edge of danger always seemed to get her juices flowing, and where he was making idle thrusts to drill into the Auroun, her breasts were shoved into the wall he used as a brace for them. Her sounds were quiet, panting murrs of praise, fed with each shift of his hips. Repetition just seemed to tense her figure, making his motions through her tight sex that much harder as the cluster of inner muscles kneaded at the length.

Possibly blind to much of what was happening, all her senses seemed to focus on where he invaded her between parted thighs. Even when his mouth released her throat, Rhailo gave little more than a faint sigh while listening. Hopeful to hear more as he growled under his breathe a name she wouldn't soon forget. The barest hint of a smile tugged at her lips as she replied with a defiant whisper, "You know my name.. Fuckin' prove it."

Tread Lightly [closed] - Kat - 04-27-2015

<img style="max-width:25%;float:right;margin:0 0 18px 18px;" src="http://i.imgur.com/FXQBglf.png" style="avatar]Maybe, in some ways, Rhailo would always taunt him. Such was ingrained in the fibers of her very being. Meant to test the limits, to find gaps in the armor of others; be the armor steel encasement, or a raw emotional shroud. She demanded to see what made him tick, to get inside that foreign head of his and read his thoughts. Perhaps become intimate with the mind that controlled his hunger if she was meant to satisfy his every wanton command. If nothing else, the Auroun wanted to be thorough. Both could meet the others expectations if they wished to, but first there were lines to cross. Boundaries to ignore. Captures to make, and prizes to claim. Dominance to show while that natural fear was instilled. Rhailo didn't trust Demagol, but in some ways, she expected to learn how to; if only to make his invasive and territorial behavior more personal.

And Gods, how he invaded her territory...

Something in the way she answered his comments brought out a ferocity in her captor, and with his hips jack-hammering against her ass, he drove his cock up and in. This was initiated by a swift swat to one spread cheek, and upon impact, the Auroun hissed weakly as her body tried to recoil, but was unable. Just more twisting of her insides, undulating tissue and musculature all working to strangle the girth of his sheathed manhood. Her body craved him. That much was apparent in how attentive the woman's buxom physique remained to his every motion, shift, or sway. Especially when the Mandalorian directed her to curve against the wall so he was able to feel himself jab inwards. A hand at her breast, rough pads toyed with the mound of decadent flesh to send sparks through the encounter. All wet and craven, seeking salvation from a man with more blood to his name than a small army.

What had changed, she wondered when Demagol manhandled the Auroun in his quest to turn her around, to send her spiraling into some lust fed romp in the shower? There was little in way of resistance from Rhailo as she wanted to taste his grinning, cruel lips. Depravity had a way of making her blood boil, and with the wall now where her back resided, the woman flickered translucent orbs at the the rise of her chest before a lingering gaze cast over the tone of Demagol's body. Sliding along his cock, the woman studied ridges and rises beneath flesh, her fingers falling to the space where they didn't meet. To rest against his pectorals, dancing lightly where heart beats thundered. Strange beast he was, Rhailo again gave way to temptation, tongue against tongue to roll languidly while he demanded she accept him.

If this was only the beginning, perhaps she was more willing than her words would otherwise admit. Her mannerisms betrayed her.

The male had claims to her rear, gripping the cheeks of her ass to drive his head to the core of her sex. How tight she remained, internally cradling that ferocity so he would always struggle to part the lining; bucking and thrashing against her pinned figure. Moans followed the course of this event, trickling through the meeting of lips to incite a sort of hidden passion. At a primitive level, Rhailo was being fucked for the sheer joy of it. Both were looking to find a release to their otherwise contained frustrations, and when battered by a steady savagery, her sounds couldn't be silenced. Just accepted as they came, needy. Quieted only when the male swallowed them between kisses. He could taste her fear and her desire, maybe even the curiosity he seemed to drag from her, as he was as mysterious then as he had been in those battle worn armaments.

Steam of the shower rose to hide them in the heat, a smothering fog that clung to the outline of her held personage so only silhouettes could be made out in the room beyond. Secretive in a way, his thrusts didn't seem capable of slowing. It brought out a series of throaty moans from his captive, and against his features, she breathed a thought. "You're a fucking animal.." And in fairness to his behavior, it was raw. Untamed. There was no keeping him at bay, with her thighs parted around his waist to wrap long dancer legs around his chiseled torso. They would pull Demagol closer, make their own plans for how he challenged her endurance with his own. That was the one advantage the Auroun had where she was pinned and forced to ride his twitching, dictating member; she could sink him so deep that he couldn't pull away.

If Demagol meant to make her feel as though she was trapped, then he would find himself no freer than Rhailo. If he wanted to be free, this wasn't the path to take.

With every sheathed jab and coaxed grazing of his tongue, the Auroun could feel the pressure building in the crunch of her abdomen. It was a slow process, a building of tensions that gripped her attention like distant signal flares being noticed on the horizon. Initially it was nothing but a twinge, a shadow she could ignore following their actions. Now though, in the heat of their passions, the sensation was starting to root itself among the turmoil of their scene, between fears and doubts. Just eating at Rhailo's resolve, tearing it to bits while Demagol made a mess of her insides; ever insistent on having the walls collapse around his girth. He wanted her to fit him, and only him, because he wanted what he bought. As she was, that was his, and her future potential? Also his.

Her hands strayed in their shivering travels, rising to meet the messy mesh of ebony locks. Entwined among his strands, pulling Demagol closer to mask her features beneath a battery of sore lips. Ego had been everything to the Auroun, and even now, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of catching her visage blanketed with desire. No, not now. Not while her partner demanded total compliance, and she was fighting to keep him from any such thing. Devotion wasn't bought. That much both should know, considering their extenuating circumstances. If he wanted her trained, the bounty hunter would have his work cut out for him; even when she was so slick and taut around his cock. Especially then.

Tread Lightly [closed] - Kat - 04-27-2015

<img style="avatar" src="http://i.imgur.com/FXQBglf.png" style="max-width:25%;float:right;margin:0 0 18px 18px;]It had been in Rhailo's experience that men were, in some ways, more affectionate than women. More advantageous with their advances, or simply less self conscious about how they were perceived. Demagol didn't seem to care how Rhailo saw him, his strength and build on display as their flesh met with messy, grandiose slaps. Fueled by ancient hungers modern society had no appreciation for; it was what it was. An anomaly, much as the Auroun were. The sort of situation that, despite all possible obstacles, barreled into existence on a tide of desire neither involved could overcome. A show of weakness, perhaps. It made the woman prickle, her skin hot and energized with unfamiliar static that teased her nerves and brought a rough moan from her lips. The Mandalorian would taste how she struggled not to satisfy every urge he expressed, fighting with what little willpower remained in her fatigued frame.

She wouldn't be dragged into his fantasies so quickly. No. There was still resistance. Conflict in the woman. But Gods, his body was so extraordinarily attuned to their shared movements, forcing the continued meeting of two thirsty egos. Not that Rhailo would admit the burning in her stomach pitted between anxiety and accumulated friction. It just continued to grow, manifesting into the swelling rise of impending ecstasy. Without a means to stop him, there was no stemming the sounds that escaped her. At times, their kiss could mask the pleasure, but it was unrelenting. The Auroun wanted to moan for him, to encourage the driving of his captured hips against splayed thighs. Her own hips were shameless, ecstatic to mesh at the sides of his waist when his cock was based in tangling rapture. Nothing prepared the woman for all this fiery aggression, but she was feeding from it; giving herself too much slack.

Sliding against the wall in her travels, Rhailo flickered open her gaze mid kiss and watched him through hooded lids. She could see fucking him again. Under different circumstances, different rules. There was a future in her eyes that seemed to blindly admit too much in the moment. Her bottom lip quivered, and instinctively, she bit it to stifle whimpers he didn't need to hear. Another futile effort on her part when Demagol smashed their mouths into a bruising mess of adoration. It was just too much. Skilled digits dug into the cheek of her ass to keep the Auroun hoisted, his cock between her folds making constant demand that she spread and give passage to his girth. Everything blurred through her narrowed vision, and a sense of dizziness encroached over her sensibilities. The water splashed soaked hair, drowning her companion while droplets pinged off in her direction.

Rhailo detached herself in the moment to focus. All of her attention was settled in the split he occupied, the steady thrumming pulse of his member, where slick walls rippled to mold. Form fitting. She must have felt like she was made to take every inch of his carnal desires, and in a way, Rhailo was convinced she hadn't felt this way before. Did she really deserve it? In any sense, she wasn't of sound mind to argue her worth-- he held her tight now. Once more, weightless. The hands massaging his scalp pulled hair while the longing in her loins seemed to reach it's precipice. There was no way he could hold her in such a fashion and not know what it would do to her libido; his length was drenched by her pent up impulses.

One did well not to try and fight the inevitable, after all.

Lashes flickered closed, but continued to bat idly against moist cheeks. A flush rose over the skin of her face, her lips parting as a weak groan stole from marred throat. Such a sound could only evolve, change to adapt when her torso tightened and her breasts heaved against the carved flesh of his chest. Her back arched hard into the arm about her figure. Inside was locking and grinding to a pleasure induced halt, reacting as if it could contain the body of his cock to unleash oncoming spasms of undulating muscles. There was no avoiding the climax she experienced; it wouldn't be ignored. Throwing her head back to howl, words could be picked out through the scream, uttered for no one but the Mandalorian. "O-oh god, I'm gonna cum..." And with that, Rhailo was silenced just long enough to hit the surface of her orgasm. Diving in, the plunge left her breathless.

Arms refused to leave Demagol's shoulders, hugging him with more emotion than he had garnered from his captive throughout their evening outside the hotel room. Just wanting to feel as much of his heat against her own as was possible, Rhailo was weak and desperate. Begging with the squeezing of her coated insides, pleading with the whispered pants she could manage through parted maw. The legs corded around his backside did everything in their power to still him just long enough to focus on her climax. To shift his interests to the way her warm juices seeped along the head of his cock, sincere as they were unavoidably coaxed from the Auroun. Shaking, quaking, and writhing in her state, nothing said satisfaction like being worshiped by another, and Rhailo felt entirely entitled to that submerging lust. No thoughts, nor feelings outside of the sensations radiating from her filled hole.

Just as it was. Just as it should be.

Demagol would be left with her hooked embrace where she had enough trust in her captor that she could marvel in her passion without fear of falling. That possessive, somewhat protective hold the male kept Rhailo in was worth the exertion. There was no sensation she kept hidden from him in this vulnerable state. If this was any sort of game, the woman lost to his affections, and seemed all too happy to taste defeat where their tongues once more met. Her kisses were aimless, uncontrolled, just the barest twirls of her tongue to lap at his between cries. Euphoric for the time being, free from all those panicked thoughts that otherwise buzzed in her head like a hive of angry bees. Isn't that what he wanted from her? Submission. As a shapely, shuddering collection of overly sensitive nerve endings, Rhailo fit the bill.

At least for now.

Tread Lightly [closed] - Kat - 04-27-2015

<img style="max-width:25%;float:right;margin:0 0 18px 18px;" style="avatar" src="http://i.imgur.com/FXQBglf.png]The rush... It was blinding. Rhailo couldn't keep her eyes open through the electrifying tendrils of sensation he manifested through thrusts, though she didn't want him to stop. Every wayward jacking of hips brought a new surge of feverish desire and earned a plethora of emitted whimpers and gasping heaves from the Auroun. How could she have let this become of her, a tangled mess of limbs dependent on the throbbing cock her body engulfed? As though she was puppeted, coerced into suffering every small death of ecstasy for his amusement. His approval. Having underestimated his prowess initially meant the repercussions were severe, and Rhailo rode his lap in utter complacency, save for her inner workings that fought life and limb to choke the head of his manhood with thirsty moistened muscles.

She would milk him for every drop.

When Demagol hit his climax, the woman was still riding her own waves of fulfillment, and the added addition of spurting warmth seemed to drive her mad. Wiggling, her lower half ground to base his cock so his seed had no choice but to squeeze out in a messy display. She was just too tight, and he was too willing to fill her with gush after gush of cum. Inclined against the wall for the last time, he could barely manage to stay on his feet when he was finished, yet the Mandalorian continued to kiss and pant his adorations for the Auroun. Of course she wouldn't forget this any time soon, there was too much to dwell on. Every glimpse of his tense, taut figure made her ache with desire-- But Rhailo's mind was clearing with every passing breath, and when the bucking of his hips slowed to nothing more than reminisce flexing of coated walls settling to mold his member, she was freed from her trance.

Slowly, Rhailo's milky hues opened to gaze over his face, her own a flush of roseate from the heat of the shower. Where she once pulled at his hair, the digits simply stroked the mat of ebony in absent affection. One hand slipped to palm his cheek with the scar, and with her thumb grazing the damaged tissue, the Auroun remarked, "That must have hurt..." In a way, she wanted to hear his story. It seemed natural to learn as much as she could, even when he seemed too wild for such pillow talk. The woman half expected to be dropped in a messy pile beneath them, discarded now that Demagol had satisfied carnal instincts. it was a question she would return to now that her senses ceased to be corrupted by thunderous pumps. Everything beyond the shower stall returned to focus; their situation was suddenly real again.

What did he think of her?

Pulling back the hand on the male's face, Rhailo shoved back damp locks to anchor them behind her ears. Piercings of titanium lined their cartilage, right up to the pointed tips, uniform in a small hooped appearance. Dancing her attention over the series of tattoos closest, the Auroun tilted her chin off towards the door, hinting towards the bedroom. "Can we, uh.. Go to bed?" In the act, the water had been invigorating, and there was a sort of craven longing to be under the shower head while her partner's intentions were entirely unclean. In some ways, Rhailo felt unclean for partaking in it, but she hadn't been given much in the way of choice, had she? Her forehead bowed and a sigh escaped partially parted lips, indicating something similar to frustration. It could easily been seen as fatigue, as they had been busy for hours, and it all was catching up to the Auroun.

Features came to rest on Demagol's shoulder, dipping so her mouth remained over the outline of his collar bone. "I just want to sleep. Can we please just go lay down? You can fuck me there if you're still keen, but.." Rhailo practically wilted in his embrace, opposing his strength with a show of delicacy he likely wasn't used to dealing with. For all that bulk and tone he possessed, the woman was a body of soft curves and smooth flesh. No scars to speak of, no definition attempting to steal the stage from her delectable sex appeal. Even then, after all their pair had done, her body seemed to ooze promises of future deviance. One could never be entirely sure when it came to Rhailo Destros' motives.

Her mind was elsewhere. Circling her options. It sought answers to questions the Auroun wouldn't dare ask the man cradling her, as she feared his reaction. How could she get away from him? Was there any way she would be able to sneak away while he was sleeping? Where did he keep his gun? Rhailo could remember where the armor had been set neatly, and in that, she knew the firearm would be near the collective. But.. No, she couldn't see using it on him, even if it meant being forced to stay 'under his protection' until a later date. What she said previously, she had meant. Exhaustion was a serious concern of hers, especially after the evening of energy expulsion. Rare had there been a time the woman had been forced to use that many abilities in one chase, let alone in the time frame of a few hours.

The advantage of having a suit seemed all the more unfair in retrospect. There was no challenge in showing up to a knife fight with a tank. A frown found it's way to lush lips, though she doubted Demagol would even notice. Likely, he was too busy mentally patting himself on the back for how well their night had turned out. First, he downed the exalted Jaxisher Dynasty with nothing more than a forgettable wound that took barely anything to heal. Then, he purchased himself a slave. Finally, to add insult to the injury he caused poor Rhailo's ego, he fucked her. Without asking. The Mandalorian had no tact what-so-ever, and her sculpted brows knit at her recollections.

What a cocky bastard.

Tread Lightly [closed] - Kat - 04-28-2015

<img style="avatar" src="http://i.imgur.com/FXQBglf.png" style="max-width:25%;float:right;margin:0 0 18px 18px;]Demagol's lack of words was entirely uncomfortable, and in the time it took for him to carry her from the shower to the bed, Rhailo silently prayed he hadn't planned to do anything rash. No swipe or jab. No slap. No punch, or kick, or maiming blow. Again, the fear ballooned in that buxom figure until she regretted ever breathing a word his way. Mostly, the Auroun wished she had never met him. If she could take back all those desperate acts that lead her down a path of self destruction, she would've kept her nose clean and her head down. Sadly, even the most skilled Auroun couldn't backpedal through time, and that certainly meant Rhailo was stuck with the decisions she had made in her reckless youth. But, in some sense, those very decisions were the foundation for who the hunter had chosen to save, and those glimpses into his personality weren't entirely lost. At times forgotten, but clearly planted in the back of the woman's mind.

Gods, she wanted to sleep.

Barely present where she had been placed, Rhailo watched him slip back into his undergarments, mesmerized. He was so mechanical in motion, one might question the integrity of his body. Did he harbor synthetic parts? Was he more than just a man in a suit? Shifting, the Auroun brought the covers down and slipped beneath them so her long legs could be stretched without attention returning to them. As awful as it showed signs of being, Rhailo would rather he cover his goods and keep his space, if only to allow her thoughts to stay unclouded. Pretending she was invisible had always worked for her in the past, as she could actually become invisible in some sense of the term, but the Auroun was drained. The burden of over expending energy made her feel like she had been awake for a week, and there wasn't a muscle in that shapely shell that wasn't screaming.

It was such a great and overwhelming wall of fatigue that she didn't even acknowledge the clothing he set out for her. Tears had collected on her lashes, warm and harsh, their travels leading them in a steady flow down her still reddened cheeks. Crying sometimes helped take the edge off the pain, after all. Sometimes. Now it just added a whole new level of vulnerability into the mix. One arm wrapped over her stomach while the other was brought to mask her vision; to hide the flow of emotion he had no right to see. Rhailo didn't care if he was her owner. There was no man in their whole deity forsaken universe that had any sway over what she did on a basic, biological level. If she meant to cry, so be it. That was between her and the spirits.

Unfairness over clothing was near laughable, but she didn't even react in such a way. Just laid there on the far side of the bed, masked beneath splayed fingers.

Mattress movement was really the only way she could tell he was close, and it immediately caused a tension in her spine. There was no way she could get away farther away from Demagol in the bed, so she remained where she was. Still as a statue, wishing to disappear. When the Mandalorian was settled, he spoke, and in such, Rhailo listened. Every word of it scrutinized by a woman too heartbroken to cope, and too worn out to fight. She bore a face of silent apathy, yet still the tears came, disregarding of whether she cared to continue pouting or not. Nothing for him, that was what he pressed with his message. The woman wasn't a slave-- but she had no freedoms either. In truth, Rhailo had nothing. Not even the peace of mind death brings. So when he finished with the additional quip of disregard, this didn't seem to surprise her. Rather, it cemented what she had already presumed true.

Demagol didn't care. Not for her, and not for what he had done.

The S'zari would probably receive her in the morning through a courier, though with how the hunter worked, he might just walk the Auroun through their front doors at high noon and dump the bounty at their feet. What a hero he must have felt he was, picking up a woman known for her debts. How this Mandalorian must've gotten such a stiff cock over the thoughts of her in chains, forced into servitude until her appearance was unsatisfactory to their standards. At that point, the cartel would end her, and feed the scraps to the other slaves. In that brief glimpse at possibilities, a frown twitched at the corner of her lips. With a sudden motion, Rhailo turned away from Demagol to face the wall where they had broken through the window, and seemed perfectly content never to meet his unmasked face again.

"Whatever you say." In a hoarse whisper, the Auroun spoke. "I don't care anymore. You... Just, I don't care. Just leave me the fuck alone. I don't need your fucking pity clothing, and I don't need any of your bullshit excuses. Why would I ever believe someone who kills for credits? You've gotta be fuckin' delusional." A cold laugh sprung from her throat, hollow of any true amusement. "Just wake me up when we're headed for the S'zari, okay? Until then, I don't wanna talk to you. I have nothing to fuckin' say." And with that, as best she could with so little of the bed available to her, Rhailo brought her knees up to her chest to hug. Maybe he would respect her wishes and allow her to sleep-- Or maybe he would attempt to smother her with a pillow. Rhailo honestly thought that was a better option available to her; Preferable to being turned in to those seeking her head.

Fucking piece of shit bounty hunter ruined her life, and all she got was an 'I don't care'. Yeah. She heard him. Loud and clear.

Tread Lightly [closed] - Kat - 04-28-2015

<img style="avatar" src="http://i.imgur.com/FXQBglf.png" style="max-width:25%;float:right;margin:0 0 18px 18px;]"S-stop!" Is what Rhailo said when he approached, the warning signals firing off in her brain like someone had lit a fuse in a firework factory. She didn't want him touching her, lovingly or otherwise, but the words fell on deaf ears. Really, she wasn't surprised in the slightest when a strong grip wrestled itself around her throat, and with swift dragging movement, she was lifted like a rag doll in his grasp. The woman wasn't anywhere near as physically capable as the Mandalorian. It must have felt like assaulting a child, the way she looked at his expression with pure terror residing behind starlight hues. Staring, accusing, with pain wrinkling her brows. Perhaps long ago, someone else had choked their message through the youthful head of hers, and in time, it was absorbed. Not hardly forgotten, never. Just edged to the farthest reaches of consciousness so it wasn't always foreground.

But it came back now in a small way. The look in those deep blues made it impossible to shake. Rhailo reached up her hands to take his arm, but the digits weren't tight. They didn't seem like they wished to pull him away. The nails didn't bite down into his exposed flesh, nor did they scratch and scrape against the hair in wild attempts to divert his attention. Just a feather light resting, their pads twitching absently against the muscles where they tensed. Her lips gaped slightly when the pressure was changed, when he was trying to force the air from her lungs-- But, even in that moment of gut wrenching horror, Rhailo didn't harm him. She didn't even think about it, just like she had never attempted to harm him at any point in their evening together.

in the dim of the room, the flecks of sparkled light embedded in her physique were noticeable. A peculiar glow to a woman he knew nothing of. At this rate, would never know anything about. Demagol spoke of a great many things, but he never said anything she would see the way he saw it. At times, the Auroun almost felt pity for the male, as he thought so considerably low of himself that he couldn't consider saving her as anything more than a mercy on his part. Pity. Paired with an idea that, somehow, there was potential for her. Why hadn't he just said these things to her? Unable to continue meeting the eyes of her assailant, Rhailo shut her lids while her face bore the signs of discomfort. Not from the choke hold-- she would live through this, as she had times before. No, it was how every distant hope she may have had for Demagol seemed chipped, pieces scattering with the winds.

And then she was lowered, settled on the pillows so she could breath again. A gasp followed, a quick one that hurt to make, but the Auroun would take what was given. Even while his hand continued to keep her from straying. Especially then. So her back met the headboard and long legs were stretched out of the bed, her body still bare and her oculars reopening to see him. To try and see through him. This wasn't him, it couldn't be. Something about him was off, and she knew beneath the layers of anger and frustration, she could learn. Demagol just had to tell her. That's all he had to do from the start, wasn't it? It would have saved them time, and effort, and injury. Yet he just looked at her with condemnation; appalled. Woe was Rhailo, glancing away so she wouldn't wear the burden of his judgement. Not now. Not at her weakest.

"Please..." She began softly, but the idea soon fell to the wayside. So stubborn he was, so assumptive. Rhailo did her best to sigh, chest fluttering through the attempt, but it was a ragged sound. Rattled. "Yes. Okay. I belong to you." The hands that had touched his offending arm so gently fell back to the bed, complacently resting on either side of the Auroun. He always used her full name, and she didn't understand why. Rhailo would have been just as fine to use. Rhai was what her friends called her. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy hearing her full name, but in the way he spoke to her, it was always disapproving. Like, to him, it was an insult, as much as the string of insults he had fed her through his warning were. Brows found themselves tight as they bunched towards her forehead, knotted in anguish as her head slumped.

Now with her chin on his hand, still forced to be seated, the woman cried. Soft sounds, broken sounds. The sort of sounds one expects from loss. They reflected more than she had bothered to share through words, and the hurt hung in the air like a rising plume of smoke. For all intents and purposes, she was his; this made her scared. Beyond scared, with Demagol the woman felt alone. Whether it be because he couldn't understand, or simply didn't have the patience, she didn't know. Neither of them wanted to speak in any civilized fashion, and after his last commentary, she may never say another word to him again. The line was drawn and she toed it, shivering where she stood in the sand. All it took was a strong tide, and the Auroun would be swallowed up by the sea.

Even now, she just wanted to sleep. He couldn't know this sort of exhaustion. She bent time and space-- She created new life forms with her own stores of energy. Now she needed to sleep and he pushed her. Again and again. Over and over. It was too much.