Bare lithe limbs painted a brilliant crimson red practically danced through the halls of the Greenhouse, flowing hair ablaze trailing in her wake, though she knew now was far the time for celebration. Still, the princess couldn't help but keep that smirk of hers well placed on otherwise regal features. The woman had outwitted her captor in an almost too simple fashion, his enclosures meant for the likes of far more broken individuals that she had taken note of on her initial walk of shame through the prison. Did he not know who she was? Just who had hired this thug to steal the beloved Princess Russlion away from the throne? The mere thought of her being apart from her people seared imprints of her soles into the metal under now less flamboyant steps. Emotional outbursts of her kind were dangerous to say the least, even more so for those of the royal bloodlines. Orbs filled in an abyssal black glared upwards at another rotating camera and as if on cue glass shattered and the frame warped under what was some sort of pyrokinesis. She had not traveled back the way Zasz had led her, lest she run right into the man. He was still a threat even without the collar he'd slapped around her neck that jolted her into submission in the first place. Towering nearly two feet over the girl and clad in a suit of iron, he'd break her in two with even a single strike. The flames she could figuratively spit were mighty, but not strong enough to melt through solid armor. To cook him alive would take minutes in a conflict she didn't have.
Instead, a message needed to be sent out, a distress beacon back to the Russlion homeworld. If they could track where she was being held, their ships could pin down this vessel and force the slaver's hand. How long she had to perform such a miracle was only until he discovered her escape. A saving grace to Jallee's efforts was that it appeared that aboard this massive craft, just the captain remained the only one not in chains. She had free reign bar an unfortunate meet up with Zasz. Receiving a hiss from the another set of doors opening, she found herself in an environment with a stark difference in design from the inner corridors of the dilapidated Greenhouse. Unfamiliar to her was the spacious common room that Zasz had passed through not more than a minute prior on his way to where she had been; this was quite a spill of bad luck for the man.
Jallee looked visibly put off at the conditions her kidnapper seemed to inhabit, that someone of her status had been stolen by some sort of mercenary slob with a fetish for keeping small women locked up behind glass walls. An oddly specific depiction, but hers had always been a wandering mind. Trying her best to tip toe around discarded papers and half smoked cigarette butts, she stumbled over to a pair of couches where one item caught a gleam from eyes that were hard to judge the focus of. There lay right where Zasz had left it, his suppressant shotgun atop the cushion. Digits unsure of how to grasp the weapon wrapped around wherever they could take hold, pulling it up awkwardly to her naked chest. At certain points in her upbringing she'd been taught in matters that were not particularly befitting a princess, for instance how she felt confident in her skills at interfacing with the Greenhouse's systems to send out a call for help. What she had never been trained in was handling firearms. What was a relatively compact gun for one of Zasz's stature, served as a means to block a significant portion of Jallee's upper body. She didn't know what sort of weapon this was, so she assumed it to be threatening since it belonged to the slaver.
What she had to do was make her way to the front of the ship, to the cockpit so she could figure out how to get her location out to those that could send assistance. Somehow she'd managed to avoid the captain, and hoped she could keep it that way if only for a little while longer. With an apparent boosted confidence and a sway to the curve of her nude hips, she stepped forward without care of what smoldered under her heels.
It was quickly shattered as a strange noise was forced out from worn vocal cords when Alex wandered out from the hall and into the same area. The redhead was dead in her path ahead, not more than twenty feet with a face buried into the tablet. A shaky finger on the trigger, the woman hadn't intended to fire, but it came down to just that. The barrel was thankfully directed more to the side of the mechanic, so the pellets spread out to shatter whatever fragile panels in the background were impacted. Despite having a suppressed burst, the kickback was certainly enough to catch the unprepared Ifrit and send her to her rear, the shotgun clattering away out of reach. "Owww..." Dazed and confused and in a weary voice, she looked up to the other woman trying to determine just what was going on.
Zasz around this point was discovering that his "well made" plan had gone awry, and was on his way back, minutes away as he often seemed to be.
Instead, a message needed to be sent out, a distress beacon back to the Russlion homeworld. If they could track where she was being held, their ships could pin down this vessel and force the slaver's hand. How long she had to perform such a miracle was only until he discovered her escape. A saving grace to Jallee's efforts was that it appeared that aboard this massive craft, just the captain remained the only one not in chains. She had free reign bar an unfortunate meet up with Zasz. Receiving a hiss from the another set of doors opening, she found herself in an environment with a stark difference in design from the inner corridors of the dilapidated Greenhouse. Unfamiliar to her was the spacious common room that Zasz had passed through not more than a minute prior on his way to where she had been; this was quite a spill of bad luck for the man.
Jallee looked visibly put off at the conditions her kidnapper seemed to inhabit, that someone of her status had been stolen by some sort of mercenary slob with a fetish for keeping small women locked up behind glass walls. An oddly specific depiction, but hers had always been a wandering mind. Trying her best to tip toe around discarded papers and half smoked cigarette butts, she stumbled over to a pair of couches where one item caught a gleam from eyes that were hard to judge the focus of. There lay right where Zasz had left it, his suppressant shotgun atop the cushion. Digits unsure of how to grasp the weapon wrapped around wherever they could take hold, pulling it up awkwardly to her naked chest. At certain points in her upbringing she'd been taught in matters that were not particularly befitting a princess, for instance how she felt confident in her skills at interfacing with the Greenhouse's systems to send out a call for help. What she had never been trained in was handling firearms. What was a relatively compact gun for one of Zasz's stature, served as a means to block a significant portion of Jallee's upper body. She didn't know what sort of weapon this was, so she assumed it to be threatening since it belonged to the slaver.
What she had to do was make her way to the front of the ship, to the cockpit so she could figure out how to get her location out to those that could send assistance. Somehow she'd managed to avoid the captain, and hoped she could keep it that way if only for a little while longer. With an apparent boosted confidence and a sway to the curve of her nude hips, she stepped forward without care of what smoldered under her heels.
It was quickly shattered as a strange noise was forced out from worn vocal cords when Alex wandered out from the hall and into the same area. The redhead was dead in her path ahead, not more than twenty feet with a face buried into the tablet. A shaky finger on the trigger, the woman hadn't intended to fire, but it came down to just that. The barrel was thankfully directed more to the side of the mechanic, so the pellets spread out to shatter whatever fragile panels in the background were impacted. Despite having a suppressed burst, the kickback was certainly enough to catch the unprepared Ifrit and send her to her rear, the shotgun clattering away out of reach. "Owww..." Dazed and confused and in a weary voice, she looked up to the other woman trying to determine just what was going on.
Zasz around this point was discovering that his "well made" plan had gone awry, and was on his way back, minutes away as he often seemed to be.
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