Allora Viper
Character
Nar Shaddaa.
A lone Twi'lek woman bowed her head against the acid rain that was coming down. Small beads of it rolled down her brown hood and splashed into the puddle that glistened in the street.
Orange eyes - eyes like a cat - looked up. She was looking at a neon sign that burned bright pink, advertising a pair of lips that puckered into a kiss and then back again every time the sign blinked. A scroll of text below that advertised the same thing those lips were advertising.
On Nar Shaddaa, these joints were as common as a knife pressed to your ribs.
But Allora knew she had found the right place. This was the place. She could feel a hatred for it that burned brightly in the Force. It burned as if a pair of tongs had clamped around her lekku.
She was here because he was here.
If she could just end him, then she could move on. She would be able to put cool this burning restlessness in her spirit and clear her mind.
But until then - her thoughts consisted only of murdering him.
The Twi'lek pressed her cloak over her body and moved inside, lowering her head and stooping a little as if she were an old woman. If they thought her a crone - a beggar wandering in from the rain - perhaps they would leave her alone.
She fell into a crowd that was oozing their way into the club, the soft patter of rain giving way to the pulsating symphony of beats that drowned out idle conversations about primitive desires. A red hand pressed into her leather belt. The knife was still tucked away quietly.
Allora dared to raise her eyes just a little as she crept along with the tourists. A round stage - which appeared like a heavy-lidded eye with lashes when seen from above took up most of the room in this club, and most of the light came from there - a ghostly light that turned everything and everyone shifting shades of crimson and violet.
Even better. She could hardly see her own sharp nails extended in front of her as she spread her hand. They would never know what hit them.
She looked up again as the crowd whooped. A piece of clothing was flung away.
Allora observed the young women who were dancing. It seemed even in this club there was a hierarchy.
There were those who made the drinks - these were the safest. They were as far away from unwanted hands and conversations as the space would allow.
These were probably the best jobs, the ones everyone else clamored for. Then there were those who brought the drinks, something of a double-edged sword. Protected by the need to keep moving - but not exempt from hands, as she observed a Mikkian waitress slap a man. The waitresses no doubt made better coin than the bartenders - but with every perk, a pitfall, or so the saying went on Ryloth.
And then last, of course, were the dancers, who were afforded little to no protection in joints like this.
Allora moved about the building unnoticed - she appeared as a bent old woman, with even her lekku bundled away around her neck to hide her species. In a setting that offered good, drink, illicit substances, or women - she was invisible. A person did not even need the Force if no one considered them noticeable.
She crept closer to one of the black-armored guards that were posted every twenty or so feet in this building. Her cloak pooled at her feet and concealed her bodysuit beneath.
"Oh, my heart, my heart!" she said, forcing her voice into a higher pitch that croaked. She clutched at her garment while her other hand made a grab for the guard.
The Cathar man was forced to put his hands on her arm to keep her upright, though his fur bristled in irritation. It was exactly the sort of instance she needed.
"Can I trouble you for a glass of water? Away from this loud music?" she croaked, her hood concealing most of her face, except for her mouth, which she twisted.
As she did so, she reached out and clamped onto his mind with the Force, as if she had seized a piece of jewelry.
Take me to the offices, she suggested to his mind.
The Cathar's sea-green eyes became glassy and he stiffened slightly.
"This way," he said slowly.
He led her away, as Allora tossed her head this way and that to ensure no other guards caught onto them.
He led her through a set of black doors, and immediately the music was dulled by the cramped walls that threatened to box them in under artificial light.
With a quick motion she pulled the knife from her belt and seized the back of the Cathar's tunic with her fist. Her wrist made a sharp slicing motion, and the man slumped forward, his claws snatching desperately as he tried to stop the ichor that was running down the front of his shirt.
The Twi'lek hissed, pulling away her hood to free her lekku as he toppled heavily onto the floor. She stepped over him and turned a corner into another hallway, performing a soft flicking motion to clear the blade of her mess.
She did not dare reach for the electric whip that dangled from her belt within the cloak. It was too noisy; it would give her away before her goal was accomplished.
She thought taking out the guard would make her feel better, even a little. It did not. Her anger burned brightly, and her hand shook as she held the knife.
Killing them would not bring her parents back. It was too late for that.
But she would find him. She could feel him here in the Force, though it was as if he lay buried under heaps upon heaps of blankets that she would have to twist and claw to get to him. She would -
A door opened, and a human man emerged from an office, carrying a box. Her thoughts stopped.
They stood frozen in the hallway, her holding the bloody knife and him the box, staring at one another. His chest rose, and her chest fell.
Then there was a silent, chaotic struggle as she leapt for him with her hand out and he reached for his blaster. The hallway became filled with the sounds of quiet discord - a grunt, a foot scuffing against the floor, the sound of teeth clenching.
Then there was the sound of a knife sinking into an arm as she found the concentration to pierce his mind and slow him down.
"Aaaaargh!" He growled. "You….!"
There was the sound of a door swinging open, and a shout. Silently, the Twi'lek cursed herself.
She had been so distracted by him she had not extended her senses beyond him.
She whipped her head around and reached blindly toward whoever was coming at her from behind.
Her hand closed around a reptilian throat. A Noghri. She had no chance at beating his brute strength in a contest like this, but she stood there, one hand pushed into the arm of the human, the other hand keeping the Noghri at bay few inches from her face.
"Uuuuuh!" She let out a growl, a primitive noise of frustration and regret. She had gone about this wrong, after months of careful recon.
The Noghri's right hand whipped around and decked her in the jaw, and her vision went black.
————————
When she woke up, she found herself tied into a chair.
The Twi'lek turned her head and spit a mouthful of blood, watching it splatter near her ankles as they were tied to the chair.
Her feet were bare. In fact, most of her was bare.
She looked down, feeling the air on her red skin as she took in the costume she had been stuffed into.
It was a glistening mess of gauzy black material that gleamed with cheap gemstones. Thin strips of it covered the necessary areas and belted at her waist, leaving two long trails that cover her front and back. Her head had been jammed into a headpiece that strapped under her chin.
She strained against the ropes tying her in, her bare muscles flexing in an attempt to snap them off her.
"Don't move," said a man's voice. "Don't move unless I tell you to do so."
She looked up and found a blaster pointing in her face. Beyond that blaster, an elbow relaxed on a desk. Attached to that elbow - the man she hated.
Tavis Phow laughed and relaxed in his chair, his other hand going up to run across his smooth head. His fingers bumped along his horns.
"You are just as beautiful as your mother," the Zabrak said. He smiled. "Of course, you got a little…." He pointed to his lips, wincing as if he felt badly for her.
Her eyes became very narrow, and a vein pulsates in her neck. Her lekku curled in agitation.
"I am going to kill you," she said through gritted teeth.
"My dear, you'll do no such thing." He gestured toward the door behind her with the gun. "You'll stay locked in this office…until you agree to something."
Her hands tightened into fists behind the chair. "Agree to…what?" she said slowly.
"You're going to work for me for the next…oh, I don't know. Ten years. Maybe then you won't be so shiny and new, and you'll have paid off your debt. The guard you killed was very expensive, plus you maimed another."
Allora closed her eyes. She tried to pierce his mind with the Force, but it was like trying to punch into water - he was extremely elusive.
She wondered what sort of training he must have had. Perhaps a Force sensitive had indulged him. Tavis Phow was a rich and powerful man - he would have had the resources to attract a Sith.
She tried to break the ropes with the Force, though she knew it was futile. She had attempted such perversions against physics before, with very little success.
She stretched her mind, but the ropes were too tight. She gasped from the effort.
"Of course," the Zabrak man continued. "This might fetch a lot of coin."
He reached into a drawer and removed her electric whip hilt. He set in in the middle of the desk, about two feet away from her.
"Nice," he said, nodding as if he were impressed. He waved the gun at her body, eyebrows raised. "Not as nice as that, but…."
She closed her eyes. "Shut up," she said. "I'm trying to concentrate."
Her mind floated out to the whip, begging for it to slide off the desk and onto the floor. Her hands struggled in the binds.
Tavis calmly squeezed the trigger on his gun, and the blast echoed inside his small office.
A green bolt sailed past her arm and melted into the wall behind her.
Allora froze, her heart leaping into her throat.
"Don't do that again," he said, standing up from his chair. He walked slowly around his desk, keeping the gun trained on her exposed abdomen. He dug the silver nozzle of the blaster into her belly as his other hand squeezed around her neck.
"You will dance for me, or you're gonna die…just like your parents," he said. "I'll let you think about it."
She closed her eyes as his hand tightened around her windpipe. Her chest rose and fell in a frantic pattern - and then he let go.
She heard his footsteps recede, and then the door open and close, followed by the click of a lock.
The Twi'lek opened her eyes and let out a low breath, as her skin trembled.
But on the inside, she burned with rage. Her orange eyes seemed to glow brighter.
An invisible force caused her chair to rock side to side, and she took another calming breath.
A lone Twi'lek woman bowed her head against the acid rain that was coming down. Small beads of it rolled down her brown hood and splashed into the puddle that glistened in the street.
Orange eyes - eyes like a cat - looked up. She was looking at a neon sign that burned bright pink, advertising a pair of lips that puckered into a kiss and then back again every time the sign blinked. A scroll of text below that advertised the same thing those lips were advertising.
On Nar Shaddaa, these joints were as common as a knife pressed to your ribs.
But Allora knew she had found the right place. This was the place. She could feel a hatred for it that burned brightly in the Force. It burned as if a pair of tongs had clamped around her lekku.
She was here because he was here.
If she could just end him, then she could move on. She would be able to put cool this burning restlessness in her spirit and clear her mind.
But until then - her thoughts consisted only of murdering him.
The Twi'lek pressed her cloak over her body and moved inside, lowering her head and stooping a little as if she were an old woman. If they thought her a crone - a beggar wandering in from the rain - perhaps they would leave her alone.
She fell into a crowd that was oozing their way into the club, the soft patter of rain giving way to the pulsating symphony of beats that drowned out idle conversations about primitive desires. A red hand pressed into her leather belt. The knife was still tucked away quietly.
Allora dared to raise her eyes just a little as she crept along with the tourists. A round stage - which appeared like a heavy-lidded eye with lashes when seen from above took up most of the room in this club, and most of the light came from there - a ghostly light that turned everything and everyone shifting shades of crimson and violet.
Even better. She could hardly see her own sharp nails extended in front of her as she spread her hand. They would never know what hit them.
She looked up again as the crowd whooped. A piece of clothing was flung away.
Allora observed the young women who were dancing. It seemed even in this club there was a hierarchy.
There were those who made the drinks - these were the safest. They were as far away from unwanted hands and conversations as the space would allow.
These were probably the best jobs, the ones everyone else clamored for. Then there were those who brought the drinks, something of a double-edged sword. Protected by the need to keep moving - but not exempt from hands, as she observed a Mikkian waitress slap a man. The waitresses no doubt made better coin than the bartenders - but with every perk, a pitfall, or so the saying went on Ryloth.
And then last, of course, were the dancers, who were afforded little to no protection in joints like this.
Allora moved about the building unnoticed - she appeared as a bent old woman, with even her lekku bundled away around her neck to hide her species. In a setting that offered good, drink, illicit substances, or women - she was invisible. A person did not even need the Force if no one considered them noticeable.
She crept closer to one of the black-armored guards that were posted every twenty or so feet in this building. Her cloak pooled at her feet and concealed her bodysuit beneath.
"Oh, my heart, my heart!" she said, forcing her voice into a higher pitch that croaked. She clutched at her garment while her other hand made a grab for the guard.
The Cathar man was forced to put his hands on her arm to keep her upright, though his fur bristled in irritation. It was exactly the sort of instance she needed.
"Can I trouble you for a glass of water? Away from this loud music?" she croaked, her hood concealing most of her face, except for her mouth, which she twisted.
As she did so, she reached out and clamped onto his mind with the Force, as if she had seized a piece of jewelry.
Take me to the offices, she suggested to his mind.
The Cathar's sea-green eyes became glassy and he stiffened slightly.
"This way," he said slowly.
He led her away, as Allora tossed her head this way and that to ensure no other guards caught onto them.
He led her through a set of black doors, and immediately the music was dulled by the cramped walls that threatened to box them in under artificial light.
With a quick motion she pulled the knife from her belt and seized the back of the Cathar's tunic with her fist. Her wrist made a sharp slicing motion, and the man slumped forward, his claws snatching desperately as he tried to stop the ichor that was running down the front of his shirt.
The Twi'lek hissed, pulling away her hood to free her lekku as he toppled heavily onto the floor. She stepped over him and turned a corner into another hallway, performing a soft flicking motion to clear the blade of her mess.
She did not dare reach for the electric whip that dangled from her belt within the cloak. It was too noisy; it would give her away before her goal was accomplished.
She thought taking out the guard would make her feel better, even a little. It did not. Her anger burned brightly, and her hand shook as she held the knife.
Killing them would not bring her parents back. It was too late for that.
But she would find him. She could feel him here in the Force, though it was as if he lay buried under heaps upon heaps of blankets that she would have to twist and claw to get to him. She would -
A door opened, and a human man emerged from an office, carrying a box. Her thoughts stopped.
They stood frozen in the hallway, her holding the bloody knife and him the box, staring at one another. His chest rose, and her chest fell.
Then there was a silent, chaotic struggle as she leapt for him with her hand out and he reached for his blaster. The hallway became filled with the sounds of quiet discord - a grunt, a foot scuffing against the floor, the sound of teeth clenching.
Then there was the sound of a knife sinking into an arm as she found the concentration to pierce his mind and slow him down.
"Aaaaargh!" He growled. "You….!"
There was the sound of a door swinging open, and a shout. Silently, the Twi'lek cursed herself.
She had been so distracted by him she had not extended her senses beyond him.
She whipped her head around and reached blindly toward whoever was coming at her from behind.
Her hand closed around a reptilian throat. A Noghri. She had no chance at beating his brute strength in a contest like this, but she stood there, one hand pushed into the arm of the human, the other hand keeping the Noghri at bay few inches from her face.
"Uuuuuh!" She let out a growl, a primitive noise of frustration and regret. She had gone about this wrong, after months of careful recon.
The Noghri's right hand whipped around and decked her in the jaw, and her vision went black.
————————
When she woke up, she found herself tied into a chair.
The Twi'lek turned her head and spit a mouthful of blood, watching it splatter near her ankles as they were tied to the chair.
Her feet were bare. In fact, most of her was bare.
She looked down, feeling the air on her red skin as she took in the costume she had been stuffed into.
It was a glistening mess of gauzy black material that gleamed with cheap gemstones. Thin strips of it covered the necessary areas and belted at her waist, leaving two long trails that cover her front and back. Her head had been jammed into a headpiece that strapped under her chin.
She strained against the ropes tying her in, her bare muscles flexing in an attempt to snap them off her.
"Don't move," said a man's voice. "Don't move unless I tell you to do so."
She looked up and found a blaster pointing in her face. Beyond that blaster, an elbow relaxed on a desk. Attached to that elbow - the man she hated.
Tavis Phow laughed and relaxed in his chair, his other hand going up to run across his smooth head. His fingers bumped along his horns.
"You are just as beautiful as your mother," the Zabrak said. He smiled. "Of course, you got a little…." He pointed to his lips, wincing as if he felt badly for her.
Her eyes became very narrow, and a vein pulsates in her neck. Her lekku curled in agitation.
"I am going to kill you," she said through gritted teeth.
"My dear, you'll do no such thing." He gestured toward the door behind her with the gun. "You'll stay locked in this office…until you agree to something."
Her hands tightened into fists behind the chair. "Agree to…what?" she said slowly.
"You're going to work for me for the next…oh, I don't know. Ten years. Maybe then you won't be so shiny and new, and you'll have paid off your debt. The guard you killed was very expensive, plus you maimed another."
Allora closed her eyes. She tried to pierce his mind with the Force, but it was like trying to punch into water - he was extremely elusive.
She wondered what sort of training he must have had. Perhaps a Force sensitive had indulged him. Tavis Phow was a rich and powerful man - he would have had the resources to attract a Sith.
She tried to break the ropes with the Force, though she knew it was futile. She had attempted such perversions against physics before, with very little success.
She stretched her mind, but the ropes were too tight. She gasped from the effort.
"Of course," the Zabrak man continued. "This might fetch a lot of coin."
He reached into a drawer and removed her electric whip hilt. He set in in the middle of the desk, about two feet away from her.
"Nice," he said, nodding as if he were impressed. He waved the gun at her body, eyebrows raised. "Not as nice as that, but…."
She closed her eyes. "Shut up," she said. "I'm trying to concentrate."
Her mind floated out to the whip, begging for it to slide off the desk and onto the floor. Her hands struggled in the binds.
Tavis calmly squeezed the trigger on his gun, and the blast echoed inside his small office.
A green bolt sailed past her arm and melted into the wall behind her.
Allora froze, her heart leaping into her throat.
"Don't do that again," he said, standing up from his chair. He walked slowly around his desk, keeping the gun trained on her exposed abdomen. He dug the silver nozzle of the blaster into her belly as his other hand squeezed around her neck.
"You will dance for me, or you're gonna die…just like your parents," he said. "I'll let you think about it."
She closed her eyes as his hand tightened around her windpipe. Her chest rose and fell in a frantic pattern - and then he let go.
She heard his footsteps recede, and then the door open and close, followed by the click of a lock.
The Twi'lek opened her eyes and let out a low breath, as her skin trembled.
But on the inside, she burned with rage. Her orange eyes seemed to glow brighter.
An invisible force caused her chair to rock side to side, and she took another calming breath.
