Two Tin Cans
pt. one
pt. one
"Nice helmet-" came a voice from behind as Teague was sent fumbling forward by a sudden forceful shove to the base of her spine.
THWACK!
The impact from the second blow is what floored her, the data feed streaming across the inner visor of her helmet was riddled with static spikes as the aftershocks distorted the surrounding area, leaping pixels in her peripherals enough warning to Teague to be prepared for an impending blackout of the system. "Shit," she mouthed just in time for a pressurized hiss to usher forth, the backup computation chip forced to pick up the slack left in wake of the main motherboard being compromised. The entire system was rebooting to avoid short circuiting, and Teague found her helmet a dark place as a boot crushed her torso further to the cement. With the heel digging between her shoulder blades, the woman growled through gritted teeth, partially grateful her attacker couldn't hear the signs of her distress.
"Move and I'll blast your ass back to Nal Hutta, Foxwell." The weight of the foot wavered as if her attacker was considering their options until it eventually lifted so a set of stun cuffs could be adjusted over what little skin was accessible of Teague's wrists. "I'm fuckin' impressed you made it this far, kid-" A pause, "Wait, is that modified neo-crusader armor? Really? I dropped two thousand creds on schmoozing some squeakers to find you, and I come to find out you're wearing armor from the shit age? Oh, this is fuckin' rich. Just fucking perfect."
Hoisted from the floor, Teague wobbled blindly as the inside of her headgear remained without its usual data feed, thus without any means to see what was happening or who had managed to catch her off guard. Muffled and quiet without the voice modifier built into her rig, she asked brazenly, "You here 'bout the parking fines? Damn, didn' think they sent grub lackeys this far into space." She expected some backlash, though the kick she received still earned a soft grunt from the woman before she was half led, half dragged from the edge of New Jedah city to what could only be a ship. Call it a hunch, but Teague had experienced the grating clank of boots slapping laminasteel plating more times than she cared to recall, and the smell of rhydonium never boded well for a prisoner in chains. "We can't even stop to get my things?" She quipped through the silence of boarding procedures, not expecting an answer.
She didn't receive one.
Instead, Teague was left watching a miniature hourglass to the bottom left of her field of vision, denoting the progress of the reboot. Much like watching paint dry would fail to entertain, so too did the observation of a minuscule indicator dripping pixels into an equally pixelated ampoule bore the captive femme. Eventually, despite feeling well rested some two hours prior to taking off, she fell asleep with the hum of the aircraft filtering through vents on either side of the armor. With the battery life consistently worsening on the helmet, it wasn't any wonder that she would wake several hours later to stale air from slumber stifling the narrow lip of available space. No credit to the ion drive engine humming beyond the sleek compartment of the ship, but with her grogginess dissipating in tandem with a series of mechanized coughs through the distorted voice modulator, the sound was noted.
Not just the engine, but the rest as far as Teague could hear from her strapped in position. There were steps approaching, heavy thuds over the grates of slated sheet metal flooring. Despite her otherwise thrilling activity of 'Guess that sound', she knew it was long overdue to relaunch systems and press for information regarding the charges. It wasn't that Teague wasn't guilty of a great many things, but which of those things might matter in how a fellow Mandalorian perceived her, even if he was the one who had ambushed her in an empty alley. As far as Teague was concerned, she wasn't worth the credits being fronted for her capture, but someone considered her a threat, and learning that much was of utmost importance while the two were in transit. Her only saving grace was being spared the containment cell further down the corridor, one which buzzed with energy despite being empty.
"You're awake?"
Teague merely grunted, the screen of her helmet reactivating with the display parting from the middle, stretching to encompass the entirety of her field of vision, and in such, the entirety of the mystery man now kneeling a few feet in front of where she was restraints, elbows resting on his armored thighs so his hands were left swinging idly in the space between himself and Teague. Through his helmet, she couldn't make out his expression, though his voice modulator was lacking and the monotony occasionally lilted with his vocals. For instance, with the grunt Teague issued, the man replied softly but the playfulness was easily read through whatever attempts existed to mask it.
"Easy credits, Foxwell. Enough to buy a very pretty girl with a healthy repertoire of tricks. At this rate, that's what you're going to end up being, you know- Well, minus the pretty part. I'm almost positive you're as ugly as an upside down Bantha under your helmet-"
For the life of her, she couldn't help smiling as if she were keeping a secret from the stranger while still masked, but her reply was coarse due to the lack of use her throat had received since their trip began and hardly passed for the smooth transition Teague had intended for it to be. "How much're you gonna wager?"
"On how ugly you are potentially...?" He laughed while a set of his gloved fingers dragged absently over where the plates separated on his leggings. "Nothing. I'm alright with being wrong so long as me being wrong means you're worth the credits I'm being offered to bag and bring you in." Reaching out his other hand, the stranger issued a few short pats to the top of Teague's helmet in the fashion one might show encouragement to their dog and added, "Pretty girls come and go. A Foxwell is one in a billion."
"Funny," Teague goaded while swiveling her head, rolling the helmet as best she could from the attention of her captor's touch even when it was apparent she wouldn't manage to shake him while strapped in, "but there's plenty of Foxwell kin in this neck of space last I checked. Hell, I talked to Titus a few weeks back, and sure as shit, he mentioned a bounty on my head." This wasn't entirely true, but banking on the ego of her captor wasn't the worst plan Teague could orchestrate in a pinch, and there was no great loss if he didn't want to get into the details immediately. So long as he didn't fall quiet, Teague would have ample opportunities to learn who was pulling the strings on this operation and how she could weasel out of the contract. At this rate, the unknown man was being rather chatty with his prisoner and that eased her concerns involving his motives.
"I'm sure half the galaxy was looking for you. As we both know, contracts made by a Hutt are the most lucrative." Drawing back his hands, the stranger wrenched off his helmet just long enough to show tan features and dark hair slicked back in a small knot on top of a nest of ebony curls. His features were aged, the lines accentuating his eyes and mouth giving Teague a general age to work from. By her guess, he was in his mid-thirties, and behind dark lashes were pale blue eyes that seemed to defy the natural order of his countenance. She flared her nostrils as if revolting against her immediate thoughts on the matter, but before she could make a snarky remark, he returned his helmet and released a muffled groan from inside the armor. "They told me you'd be an issue."
"Because I'm a Foxwell?" Doing her best to move past his attractiveness, Teague offered a meager shrug before asking, "Where are we going and how long will it take to get there?"
"Ganthel." He said flatly, not bothering to answer the latter part of her inquiry. She knew well enough it would take months to get to that part of the galaxy and without realizing it, her fingers tightened nervously around the restraints over her torso, knuckles whitening where they dug into the bindings. "Do you want your helmet off?"
"No." She whispered, trying to envision what might wait for them on Ganthel. No matter what scenario came to mind, the outcome was the same. Kotaska.
"I'm gonna take it off you anyway. It's gotta be uncomfortable wearing that piece of shit while you're back here. No air conditioning for prisoners..." He trailed off before unceremoniously plucking off Teague's helmet, not bothering to ease it off her head. The force of his actions left her gasping, and she blinked as the outside world met her sweaty portrait, bright red pixie cut dripping rivulets of perspiration down her brow so the only hope of not blinding herself was to blink them away as furiously as possible. Now she was visible, vulnerable even, for the stranger to take a moment to stare her down before noting offhandedly, "Not what I expected, Foxwell."
"You expected a body to lug around." Without the mask between her and the male, her voice rang like a bell; short and clear and surprisingly feminine. She hated the sound of it, and more so, she hated that he got to keep his helmet on while hers was left on the seat next to her, out of reach and unable to assist with her current plight. "Why would a Hutt want a drop off on Ganthel?"
"Fuck if I know." Tugging out a scrap of cloth from his chest piece, the stranger leaned inward to dab away the sweat from Teague's face. When she was free of the threat to her eyes, he was satisfied enough to return to a more upright position, the cloth once more tucked behind armor plating. "Maybe they have a buyer lined up for you there."
"Don't think they're lookin' for a chemist on Ganthel..." Shaking her head with a sharp exhale through her nostrils, she remarked, "I'd be happier with my helmet back on."
"Who said I gave a shit if you're happy?"
"Guy doesn't make sure I don't get sweat in my eyes if he doesn't care about my happiness."
"No," He said with a chuckle, "I care that you're comfortable enough to live through this trip. It's a long trip, after all, and as far as I know, they want you in pristine condition. Like brand new, ya know? Now, in the state you're in now, that's you seeming brand new to me... So, I'm gonna make sure you're no worse for wear by the time we get to Ganthel. Princess treatment." Clicking his tongue several times, he seemed to regret his choice of words immediately after they were shared. "Well, damsel in distress treatment at least."
"That makes you the villain." Teague snickered quietly before dragging her sights away from the Mandalorian to once more assess the environment of the ship she could see from her seat. "I gotta pee."
"Seriously? All this shit is happening and you gotta pee?"
"Yeah. It's almost like some sick fuck abducted me from an alleyway outside the cantina I'd been relaxing in. I would have pissed at home, but hell, I never did make it that far." Deadpan, Teague went on to add, "I got nothing to lose by peeing all over your damn upholstery."
"Besides getting to sit in it for however long I leave you."
Teague sneered. "Try me, fucker."
BDRP Admin. Writer. Villain. Personal Blog.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
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