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Kill a Slaver and You Know it, Clap Your Hands!

- - - - - Razelle Beuner Scherezade deWinter Tatooine

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#1
Scherezade deWinter

Scherezade deWinter

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T A T O O I N E

M O S - E I S L E Y - D O C K Y A R D

 

Her speederbike was a sweet ride, though Scherezade still had no name for it. Her mind was working a bunch on configuring how she could turn its purple pink; a personal sort of thing that she liked to do on occasion. Only a few of these bikes existed in the entire 'verse, and she was damned proud to have one of them. After learning how to drive one on Coruscant (which included going vertically upwards and destroying another speeder in the process to pull off a lovely stunt), Scherezade had attempted various dangerous drives with various different vehicles. Her space piloting might have been chit, but planet-side? She reigned supreme.

 

Much as she had wanted to use her beautiful new armor, this mission required something ever so slightly more incognito. So instead of looking like the dangerous and curvaceous predator that she was, she'd instead opted for something that was over so slightly more than simple slave rags, a dysfunctional Force-blocking collar going around her neck as well.

 

The mission was simple. Get into the ring, get the slaves out, and kill the slavers. All of them. Scherezade's favorite method for such thing was simple infiltration. Her plan, if Razelle would be willing to play along, was to have Razelle sell her. Well. Pretend-sell her. Then if things went according to plan, the slaves would receive some backdoor that they could use to escape while Scherezade and her… Whatever the hell the term was for the developing relationship between her and Razelle was, could go on a slaughter. Slaughtering was always fun.

 

Vroom-vrooming her way to where she and Raz had agreed to meet, Scherezade was grinning beneath her safety helmet. For once, she was excited about something like this; excited about the mission, about the mission partner, and about what was to come.

 

She had missed feeling like that for too damn long.


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#2
Razelle Breuner

Razelle Breuner

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Flicking a few switches and turning a couple of dials, Razelle Breuner powered down the Rime. This wasn't even the first time she'd been on Tatooine with this ship, under the umbrella of Confederate employment. The last time she was here, she spent most of her time making friends with sand people. This time...well, she wouldn't be making a lot of friends. But then, that was Tatooine for you.

 

As she started to stand, her path was blocked. Her dog had become a lot more affectionate over the last couple of days. Apparently, interacting with Scherezade was enough to make her energetic enough to sleep slightly less than 20 hours a day, and needy enough to require a lap to put her head in. Raz's pants smelled like dog now, but if she'd been the type to get upset about that, she wouldn't have taken in Walker's lazy old dog in the first place. It took her a good two minutes to convince the dog to move her head.

 

Prep for combat, quietly. Raz unzipped a duffel bag to start stowing hardware in. Combat rifle, grenades, scattergun, backup pistol and knife...more grenades... When she was finally finished, she suited herself up in a set of light armor - enough to stop a blaster bolt or two - and covered the whole thing in a rather traditional Tatooine sand shawl. No one would think twice about someone carrying a really big knife or heavy blaster pistol in Mos Eisley, but anything bigger than that would draw stares. She didn't want stares. She wanted to blend in.

 

This whole thing was supposed to be an outing with Scherezade, but the second her boots were on the ground, her mind was all business. Fortunately, looking out her cockpit window to see the bright, neon purple speeder zipping up to her ship was enough to bring a grin to her lips. Right. Eyes on the prize. These were thugs. They could only hurt them if they were careless. Raz zipped up her bag, tossed it over one shoulder, and tapped the button for the boarding ramp.

 

The moment she was down and got a once-over of Scherezade, her smile faded. "I don't like where this is going."

 

Scherezade deWinter


Edited by Razelle Breuner, 16 April 2019 - 05:22 AM.

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It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three.


#3
Scherezade deWinter

Scherezade deWinter

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"You got a bad feeling about this?" Scherezade shot back with a grin, stepping off her speeder. A moment later she was already on Raz, hugging the woman tightly for a moment. It wasn't like anyone was going to successfully follow them from Mos Eisley; the speeder and what it could do alone would ensure that.

 

Stepping back, Scherezade looked Raz over. She had her own version of an incognito outfit, though now she wondered how well it was going to work with the speeder. Then again, that was easily rectified without changing a single outward detail.

 

"So you captured me a few months ago and stole the speeder from me," she said as she tossed Razelle the keys, "I'm an unruly slave who deserves to get beaten a lot. I'm also a Forcie, hence the collar."

 

Looking over her speeder, Scherezade sighed. She really wished she could be the one to drive it. Maybe she should've arrived a few hours earlier just to have fun with it on the sand dunes. Well. She was just going to have to take it for a ride once they were done instead.

 

"The coordinates are already on the GPS system," she continued, "about thirty miles into the sea of sand. I can sort of balance myself on the back if you promise not to take any sharp turns. And there's some rope in the glove compartment for the last mile."

 

Razelle Breuner


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#4
Razelle Breuner

Razelle Breuner

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Well this was... uncomfortable. What was it with deWinters and flirting with her without realizing what they were doing?

 

Closing her eyes, Raz gave a loud sigh. "That's... a way to do it." Stepping off the ramp, she tapped the panel on the side. The Rime closed up with a quiet hiss, and Razelle turned back around, arms crossed. "Better idea. You're a rich girl on holiday. Fell for a con game at your swanky hotel." That way, she wouldn't have to hurt her. Jeez, where was Fable when she needed her? "That way you get to be mouthy, and things don't have to get weird." Also provided a way better justification for the ridiculous bike, too.

 

There was no reason to assume Scherezade was new to this in the least. She'd probably done something similar before, which was honestly much scarier than the idea of hitting her for no reason. This thought, brief as it was, caused Raz to blink in surprise. At literally no point before had she ever cared about that sort of thing. She chloroformed Walker after Huttball tackling him to the ground, for gods' sake. That was a new feeling.

 

"So. Start the trade. They'll probably take you back for examination, grill me about where I found you." Raz shook her head. "Not a problem. After maybe an hour of that, I'll get paid, you'll be double-checked for restraints. They might even have their own version to put on you. That's the last chance we'll get." Looking at the collar, she frowned. "Why telegraph that you're a Jedi? Most people can't test that."

 

Scherezade deWinter


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It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three.


#5
Scherezade deWinter

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Nah, that wasn't flirting. Scherezade didn't really flirt with people. There'd been only one with whom she'd managed to do that and well. That was another traumatic story, so suffice to say, she absolutely didn't, and if Raz was interpreting things differently, it was entirely on her.

 

"I'm not going to pass for a rich girl," Scherezade pointed out with a grin, and lifted her rags a little bit. No, this was not a flirty movement. The idea was to show Raz the skin on her legs – her very obviously and very deeply scarred legs. "I've seen rich girls. They don't look like that. At most, they have stupid tattoos in languages they don't understand and think they say peace and love when it actually says taco Tuesday. They used to call me the best pin cushion in the 'verse and most of my body is covered like that."

 

Nodding to bits and pieces of what Raz said, it all made sense. That was how it usually worked. But- "Jedi?" she blinked, surprised, "Raz, I'm a Sith. I don't do the whole no-emotion thing. Couldn't even if I wanted to."

 

Either way through, she shrugged and opened the clasp on the collar. "Forcies usually bring in more creds," she explained herself, "you sure you want me to remove it?"

 

Razelle Breuner


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#6
Razelle Breuner

Razelle Breuner

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Razelle shook her head soundly. "No. No one takes chances with Jed-... Sith." It was all she could do to keep from rolling her eyes. Instead of launching into a rant about how all magic-using mutant freaks were identical, she moved the topic forward. "You'll be under heavier guard, or possibly just aggressively sedated. I could do this alone, yes, but I don't want you to be in that kind of danger."

 

Unfortunately, for the rest, Scherezade's reasoning was sound. Pretty and pale, sure, but she wasn't nearly as smooth as Raz had assumed she'd be. Which, honestly, was on her, not the girl. She was still expecting to see Scherezade beneath all that gunk, and there was no Nessa to be found. Didn't mean she had to like the idea of beating her any more. That said, it was the plan, so it was time to haul ass.

 

With a quick once over again, Raz tapped the control panel to the Rime, held up one finger, and walked up to grab some more accessories. When she came back down, she had a set of binders, another neck shackle, and a single long rag. She passed each to Scherezade as she closed her ship back up. "Those are false binders. There's a safety catch by the wrist. Press it and pop them off whenever you're in danger." The collar wasn't terribly high-tech. Electronic lock and tracking beacon, but nothing else. "That one won't mark you as a saber jockey. You don't want that anymore than I do."

 

She let Scherezade try on and inspect the others, before grabbing the rag and tugging it a few times, then dropping it to stamp it into the sand. When she picked it back up and brushed it off, it looked much less... clean, though the only addition was a bit of Tatooine turf. "This'll go in your mouth. Unlike the binders, we'll have to be legit with it, so it's gonna suck a bit." Tapping one boot against her duffel, she frowned and crossed her arms. "There's a shockstick in there. I'll set it to its lowest setting, but..."

 

Raz's frown was deep. "Kiddo, it's gonna hurt. I don't like it."

 

Scherezade deWinter


Edited by Razelle Breuner, 15 April 2019 - 09:20 PM.

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It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three.


#7
Scherezade deWinter

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"Fine," Scherezade shrugged, tossing the fake collar to the floor. She liked her neck better free anyway.

 

When Raz brought the rest of the toys out, Scherezade listened quiet, taking notes inside her head. Some of the items she tried on, but there was no point to actually keeping any of them on just yet; they could stop about a mile away before they reached the slaver's nest to put it all on. Especially since riding on the back of her beautiful speeder was too far a cry from the comfort it was to actually drive it. She wasn't going to be comfortable anyway, and she'd prefer to minimize the discomfort until the last possible moment.

 

And then there was the shockstick. Razelle was obviously not exactly comfortable with it. Scherzade smiled, closing the distance between the two and put a hand on her shoulder.

 

"Razelle, look at my body," she said quietly, "look. I'm not a stranger to pain. And sometimes pain needs to happen so that a goal gets attained. I'll take the shockstick at highest setting a million times over other things I've experienced that didn't leave a single scratch on my skin."

 

Taking a step back, Scherezade released her arms at the sides of her body. "Do it."

 

Razelle Breuner


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#8
Razelle Breuner

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Literally no part of Razelle was okay with this. At all. In fact, she was so aggressively not okay with it that she had half a mind to call off the whole thing, right the hell now. That said, this was important to Scherezade, and horrifically dangerous to do alone. Raz herself wouldn't have tried this without a day or two of prep time to lace the entire area with explosives, gas, data bombs, and whatever else she needed to ambush a dozen men. Possibly a mortar. Or a heavy repeater.

 

But no. They were doing this now. Her mouth set into grim determination, Raz narrowed her eyes, grabbed her old torture stick, and set it to maximum burn. Electrocution shouldn't have caused heart failure, but she didn't want to risk it. Without any further hesitation, she jabbed the tip of the explicitly inhumane "enhanced interrogation device" onto the back of Scherezade's hand, then dragged it up her arm to her throat.

 

It was a poor technician who didn't understand her tools. From personal experience, Razelle was quite well aware of just how nasty this thing was. Sometimes, though, you had to get burned to learn not to touch a hot stovetop. Eventually, every idiot child had to learn they weren't invincible. Even if they were pushing 50 and on their second body post-freaking-mortem.

 

Despite her first inclination, Raz didn't offer any snide jabs or patronizing words. This was a learning experience, not a hazing.

 

Scherezade deWinter


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It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three.


#9
Scherezade deWinter

Scherezade deWinter

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When Razelle Breuner had said "shock stick", Scherezade had assumed that this was exactly what she'd meant; a stick that sent electrocution shocks into your body. And while she couldn't say she was a fan of the whole electric chair experience, it wasn't really a pain that would easily break her. Through her year and some of living, she had been electrocuted, stabbed, speared, cut, speared again, stabbed some more, had her heart stabbed by a lightsaber, been almost shredded to pieces by a big ugly cat, dropped from orbit to land without proper equipment, almost gobbled up by a black hole, killed herself, burst a lung, broke endless important bones, and amassed a butt load of scars.

 

And yet, she had never actually been burned.

 

Burning was a different kind of pain. There had been times she'd been injured and had to fight her body not to lose consciousness from the shock of it. This… This pain was much higher in volume, and her body could not outrun it. Oh, her body wanted to run. Every nerve ending in Scherezade's form wanted to deliver a punch straight into Razelle's face and shove that rod right into her to see how she liked it. It was an excruciating exercise in self-control. By the time that Razelle's not-only-a-shock-stick reached her throat, Scherezade was visibly shaking with the attempt to not move, not punch, and not do anything, sweat beading at her forehead.

 

At last, Razelle removed the stupid thing, and Scherezade could let go. She inhaled sharply and turned around before the Force Scream erupted from her.

 

"MOTHERKRAKKER!!!!!!!!!!!!!"


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#10
Razelle Breuner

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Yup. That was about what she was expecting.

 

...Well, one of a few possibilities, anyway. Raz herself had almost bitten her lip clean in two, and Walker had some issue controlling certain autonomic functions. She thought it best not to dwell on how Fable had responded to the neurological equivalent of being shoved into a meat grinder. Raz did visibly wince when she heard the raw pain in Scherezade's voice, though she tried hard not to mix it with pity. This was a learning experience. Scherezade found out something important today.

 

"Alright," she continued, visibly turning the nasty little machine down several notches. "No need to worry about the binders until we're closer." With an almost annoyed tilt of her jaw, she stared at the bright, gaudy nonsense she was going to be riding. "Wish I had an hour for detailing. Scam paint's not hard to come by this far out." You work with what you're given, and Razelle had been given a cocky child who thought she'd already experienced every possible form of pain, a guilt complex, and a pimpmobile. If this damn thing hadn't been waxed a hundred times to keep its bright little sheen, it would've made it much easier.

 

"Ready when you are," she offered softly, still recovering from just how loud she'd made that poor girl scream. That...was gonna weigh for a while.

 

Scherezade deWinter


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It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three.


#11
Scherezade deWinter

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"Nah uh, you can't paint my baby," Scherezade said, her breathing serving as evidence to the pain she still felt in her upper body. Motherkrakker. There was no other way to describe it. "Just look at it! It's so… sleek! And purple! And you better not let the buttholes scratch it either! I worked hard for that speeder!"

 

Technically… She hadn't. It had been Madalena. But Scherezade was the one with the love for speedy drives, and Madalena didn't care too much about it, so Scherezade was the one who got to keep the bling. The two sisters were still trying to decide on which of them it was that was going to keep the former [Butt] Queen of Eshan title.

 

Groaning unhappily, Scherezade motioned for Razelle to get up on the speeder. It was going to be much easier to balance herself on the back once that was done, considering the thing really wasn't built for passengers.

 

"Fake names time," she grinned once that was done and they were on the way, "I think I'll use Feyre again. What's yours?"

 

Razelle Breuner


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#12
Razelle Breuner

Razelle Breuner

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With a quick grunt, Raz slung a leg over the pimpmobile's chassis and gave it a once-over. It seemed mostly electronic, which was good, in a way. She didn't want to have to hunt for the throttle or the brakes; a GUI made that sort of thing much easier. Ugh, it was awful, though. No cargo space, shimmering and shiny, probably painted by a blind gay man. It was built for looks and speed, rather than utility or blending in. The worst possible kind of machine to bring to Tatooine.

 

As she leaned against it, she could practically feel herself growing daddy issues and an inferiority complex.

 

"Alright, hop on." She sighed and sat back up, fixing her hair into a tight bun. Better to fit under a shawl. "Grab the bag, too. If you've got anything you need to hide in there - knives, I'm guessing? - go ahead and toss it in." She'd have to have her "merchandise" hold her gear, because this gaudy piece of crap didn't have any cargo hooks. Ugh. This stupid thing had to have been designed by a Zeltron going through a midlife crisis.

 

Names? Huhboy. Raz didn't want to blow any aliases here. Fortunately, she had a pretty good option for that sort of thing. "Starkiller," she replied, wrapping her face in a breathable, sand-retardant scarf. "Jane Starkiller." The two most generic names in the galaxy. Utterly forgettable, practically untraceable. They'd become Raz's favorite throwaway handle over the last few months.

 

Scherezade deWinter


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It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three.


#13
Scherezade deWinter

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Carefully, Scherezade did as instructed, hopping on behind Raz and making sure she was balanced enough before taking on any bags and other objects. Despite her better judgement, she left her hair loose; the wind that would turn it into a dirty tangled mess would do best to sell the image of slave girl caught. Her own weapons went into the dufflebag, godmother was now Jane Starkiller, and they were off.

 

There was a certain beauty to being a passenger on her own speeder, even if her own speeder was never actually built to carry her like that. Scherezade closed her eyes, letting the wind and the sand smack her freely, but the smile on her face was not one that would easily be erased. Thanks to the speeder's abilities, it almost felt like the free fall down from her grandmother's house into Corusant traffic – free.

 

The way to the compound was free of anything worthy of note. They just drove, Scherezade enjoying the wind in her hair, less enjoying the sand, and Razelle doing what Razelle was doing.

 

About a mile off though, they had to climb off. Scherezade jumped into the sand, cursing as the crappy boots she had on did little to keep the heat of it away from her feet. Her usual boots were much better suited for this terrain, but not suited at all for the part of a slave girl. Looking into the distance, she could see the top of those… What did you call them? Those buildings that looked like igloos but were made from and for desert sand? It was quite big.

 

She tossed the bag on the back of the speeder, and tied her own hands up.

 

"Maybe I should've asked to stop two or three miles away," she smiled, "would've loved for the chance to sand-surf properly."

 

But sand surfing was not going to happen now. Instead, she sighed, removed the gag from the bag in advance and put it in her mouth so she'd not have to swallow fistfuls of sand, and lay down, ready for Raz to make the final mile.

 

Razelle Breuner


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#14
Razelle Breuner

Razelle Breuner

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One of the uncomfortable side-effects to being a deviant was in seeing deviance in others were there was none. As Razelle pulled to a stop, Scherezade jovially trussed herself up while making idle chatter, and Raz had to banish all sorts of problematic thoughts. "We'll take some time for it later," she replied as optimistically as possible. "After anyone who could take umbrage with you having a relaxing afternoon is drying in the sand."

 

Not much longer now. She was calm enough, but Raz was in no way enjoying the potential for things to go wrong, even if there wasn't much of a chance they would. Scherezade had her magic nonsense and Razelle had brought along a small armory of tricks she could trust. They were meeting with corpses who hadn't wised up to it yet. Still. She couldn't be completely confident about it. There was always the chance that things were about to go unbelievably, horrifically wrong in ways that neither of them could have anticipated.

 

That wasn't bad luck. It was just the nature of field work. Heated situations had the tendency to get more heated. There was no way for them to account for it, which meant Raz had to account for not being able to account for it. Right now, that meant making sure she could reach and defend Scherezade if necessary, and more importantly that she had the hardware and positioning to end the whole thing as quickly and definitively as possible.

 

There was no such thing as "overkill" in a war zone.

With Scherezade looking like she was about to have a fun Friday night, Razelle threw her bag over one shoulder and kicked the awful, gaudy bike into gear. Not a mile out. It wouldn't take them more than a minute to get there. She was already formulating her process for after she dismounted. Negotiations weren't her strong suit, but most thugs weren't terribly charming either. It wouldn't be hard for her to convince them that the tall, gorgeous girl was worth shelling out for.

 

Within about a hundred feet, she slowed the objectively terrible bike to a stop and muttered a quick and quiet "Sorry, kiddo." With that, she hopped off, and physically kicked Scherezade off the bike, into the sand. Unzipping her bag, she pulled out the torture stick, setting it for a much more believable level of shocking, this time. "G'won, get up. Longer you lay there, more it's gonna hurt."

 

A couple of thugs squared off against her within seconds, and Raz answered their approach by pulling out her stimsticks, lighting one up, and tugging down her shawl. "Afternoon, gentlemen."

 

Scherezade deWinter


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It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three.