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.
"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.
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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Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:27 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:30 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:38 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:40 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:41 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:42 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:44 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:46 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:47 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:49 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:50 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:52 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:52 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:54 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:55 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:56 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:58 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:59 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:00 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 05:01 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:02 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 05:03 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:03 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 05:04 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:05 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 05:07 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:07 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 05:09 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:10 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 05:13 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:13 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 05:15 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:17 AM