Intro

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Runi Verin"]

Looked like she misunderstood him again.

Jer didn't think she couldn't handle herself.

Chit, she had already shown she was more than capable, ain't that. Just that he wasn't sacrificing both their lives... just his own. The idea of taking responsibility for her as well just didn't jive with him in that moment, but try telling her that. It seemed as if she was purposefully misunderstanding him for one reason or the other. "Am sure you have." He calmly agreed while taking stock of the situation. They seemed to have some luck at the very least, because his speeder was still there.

Without anyone hugging it or otherwise loitering around it.

Part of Jericho had been afraid Rat Face would have been there. "I don't like to fight." Was only half of the explanation without the why behind it, but she didn't need nor deserved more than that. His history was his own, it was private and it would remain that way. "Nothing good comes off of it."

"Alright, I am going to check over the speeder, see if it's all good-"

The rest was obvious and Jer didn't finish his sentence.

No need for that, because they were mandalorians. They knew the drill- watch each other's back while the other was distracted by something.

 

[Runi Verin]

[member="Jericho Vizsla"]

She had been the same, once. On the streets of Kol Atorn, fighting was simply the cost of living one more day. There had been no enjoyment in the act. No sense of satisfaction from having to bloody your knuckles for the sake of a few crusts and crumbs you had managed to salvage from the trash pile you called home. Yet somewhere along the line something had changed within her. As if the constant exposure to violence and bloodshed had simply become a part of who she was, feeding the flickers of darkness that swirled beneath the surface. Perhaps she really was her Father's daughter. Now there's a sobering thought.

"Like it or not, fighting is the common tongue in these parts." Runi murmured softly as the other Mandalorian set about verifying their transport, placing him at her back in an incredibly rare sign of trust for someone she didn't even know the name of. But that was Mandalorian culture at its core. You didn't need to know a vod to trust a vod. When enemies aligned against, you simply were expected to have each others backs, through thick and thin, putting aside grudges or personal feelings until the matter was settled. "When you get this far out from the core, the only sense of law you'll find is the kind you carry strapped to your hip." She patted her beskad as if to illustrate her point. "As right or wrong as it might make you feel, strength - even the illusion of it - is what keeps you alive out here."

Her head abruptly quirked to the side even as the last word tumbled from her mouth, a flicker in the force casting those dark and terminally troubled eyes towards where the center of the township would lie. Narrowing at the swirl of emotions she could pick up even from this distance. It seemed that hut'uun with a Rat Face had found himself a few friends. Kark, more than a few. As much as that swirling darkness inside her enjoyed a good tussle, it enjoyed being a live a whole lot more.

"Fierfek," She bit down, turning on her heel and moving to give him a hand with the speeder. She had been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt when trouble wasn't looming quite so near on the horizon, but she was far more comfortable with her own technical prowess when it came time. "We need to move fast, Mesh'troan. We're about to have company - and a lot of it - if we don't get out of here."

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Runi Verin"]

"Ain't disputing that, ya right." Jer agreed silently as fingers moved across the speeder and inspected it inch to inch. He wasn't a technician, not an engineer and in truth wasn't sure what he was doing. But this was his speeder and he had been running with it for a few years now. Even an untrained eye could get familiar with a piece of tech, if they stared at it for long enough. So while Jericho would never settle down and start fixing up other crap, his own speeder?

Different story.

But that didn't mean he hadn't noticed the grease just brushing her knuckle and bottom of her ear.

That sort of thing was difficult to clean out, if you weren't looking for a constant scrubbing day in, day out. "Don't like it either way. Won't shy away from one, won't look for one either." There were slaves beaten down and broken. They got used to the beating, come to expect it and wouldn't fight against the coming storm.

Jer was different.

He wouldn't go down quietly.

"Do whatcha need to do-" He pulled back a bit and let her take a look herself. Faster that way, so Jer stayed out of her way and took the role of the look-out. It didn't take the Force to see what was happening. Grown men fading away into the scenery, paving the way for a storm. Rat face had moved faster than anticipated. Ronan would have been able to make a count of the thugs incoming just by the wake they left in the crowd, but all Jericho had to go on was... a lot."

The fear palpable.

Then Jer heard a small burst followed by excessive cursing from bucket. "Tell me that ain't what I think it is." Minute or two, then they'd be here.

 

[Runi Verin]

[member="Jericho Vizsla"]

The speeder was in worse condition than she'd like her getaway vehicles to be in, but it wasn't like they were spoilt for choice in that particular moment in time. Judging from the pointed teeth and claw marks gouging the paint around the engine housing, the local jungle creatures must have descended on it the moment Jericho had left it unattended. No doubt the reptilian species she'd noted creeping through the township, their cold blooded nature drawn by the heat of the engine. Fortunately, they seemed to have moved on since the heat had abated, leaving only the damage they'd wrought to show of their presence.

"Kark, do you leave all your gear like this?" She groused as she began to work, her hands moving deftly as she tried to restore the craft to working condition, tools swapping from belt to hand to belt again in rapid succession. Fighting might have become an inescapable part of her daily life, but it was working on machines that she truly felt a sense of purpose. It had kept her alive long before she was cracking skulls and dodging starweirds. She wasn't, however, a miracle worker. "We'll be lucky if this can even ta---"

She was cut off by the sudden, muted burst of scalding gas as the compressor resigned itself to it an untimely demise. Searing at the synth-flesh that covered her hand, peeling and charring the edges of her fingers as she tried to salvage what little she could from the device, a litany of choice curse words from countless languages serving to only illustrate how well that was panning out. The pain she scarcely noticed. Her cybernetic arm, while serviceable, was hardly top of the line. The sensations it delivered had shut down almost as quickly as the receptors had kicked up a notch, leaving her only with the residual phantom pain she had continuously experienced since losing the limb in the first place.

"FETH!" Her hydrospanner clanged loudly off the far wall as wrenched herself away from the ruined machine. Given time, she was confident she could have managed a serviceable work around. Unfortunately for them, time wasn't exactly on their side as that crowd drew closer and closer by the second. He might have been as innocent as the now lost hydrospanner before him, but that fact alone didn't stop Runi from rounding on her companion with an ire. "Depends. If you think it was the sound of us about to get lynched because you can't karkin' look after your kit, then... Yeah, It was exactly what you thought it was, y' di'kut."

She hawked and spat on the floor, eyes a blaze of anger and fury - at herself as much as anyone else. She should've known that compressor was about to explode. She should have felt it. Instead she'd let herself be distracted by the surging storm of emotions that was slowly drifting in their direction. A stupid, rookie mistake that was likely about to get them both killed if they didn't move quickly. "I hope you have a plan B, pretty boy." There was a whisper of iron as her beskad left its sheath, the weapon turning over in her hand as she held it low by her side. "Because I'm not really liking our odds any more than I like you right now."

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Runi Verin"]

Difficult position... this.

On the one hand they had an untimely demise at the hand of a crowd of xenophobic bastards. On the other hand there was him and his oath- never lose control again. He had been freed and that meant that the choice would always be his to choose. But was there really a different option? A different way out of this mess? Jer didn't like violence, no, he didn't want to fight. But that didn't make him a saint, didn't make him someone that would give up his own life if it meant preserving someone else's.

For the most part anyway.

"Ain't an engineer." Jer brought up back against her accusations. It was a weak retort, he knew that inherently. But it was the only thing he had left in this mess. The speeder never really concerned him. It was just a thing that brought him from A to B and that was the end of it.

"Barely know how to keep it from breaking down by itself, so yeah."

Ask him how he would treat an ancient book bound in bantha hide and it would be a different story. This? This was a different story altogether. The rasp of her beskad was the second thing that made him look back towards her. "Plan B? Kill them 'til you fix our crap." Jericho gave up. Just like that. The moment his own life (and maybe her life) was at stake his oaths mattered as much as piss in the wind. Nothing at all, not when he had the opportunity to live.

Already he tugged the beskad out of her hands.

She gave him a look, but it went away once it met his look.

Jericho didn't like to fight... and he pushed it away more often than not, but you didn't survive years in the Rattakak fighting pits by being lucky. "Fix the speeder, I will hold them off as long as I can." The whirl of the beskad in his hands would underline it for her.

He wasn't a stranger to that weight in his hand.

 

[Runi Verin]

[member="Jericho Vizsla"]

The temporary loss of her beskad irritated her more than it perhaps should. It wasn't as if she didn't have other weapons at her disposal should the need arise. And yet... Like the heavy wrench it had replaced, the broad bladed weapon had the distinction of serving as perhaps her longest and most reliable companion. Unlike her present new found one in Jericho, it never spoke back. Never complained. Only remained faithfully at her side, silently offering her its unyielding support when the chips were down. She felt naked without it. Alone.

Her real hand tightened and balled into a fist, requiring a will and an effort to force herself from acting on the sudden impulse that threatened to uncoil her muscles and her anger in one swift blow. Jericho was right. She hated him for it, but he was right. She needed to fix the speeder and someone needed to fend off the crowd while she accomplished that feat of engineering marvel. The loss of her beskad, if only for a few minutes, was a price she would simply have to pay.

"Just do a better job here than in the bar, 'lek? I can't salvage this and save your shebs at the same time." With that vote of confidence still ringing in the air, the faux Kiffar returned to the speeder and the task at hand. There was nothing that needed to be said, after all. Words wouldn't help much in this situation, only deeds. Hers would be recorded in grease and engine lubricant, his in blood. With a wing and a prayer, hopefully it would not be theirs.

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Runi Verin"]

It was difficult to record time in the way of blows, blood struck and lives lost.

Jericho saw red and that was something he had always been afraid of. That loss of control where he would attack whatever came in front of his beskad, when life-blood sprayed against his skin and his laugh filled his own ears. The laughter was suppressed, but that did not stop the familiar weight of the blade swinging up and down, up and down, until there was nothing left besides corpses and the warm blood clinging against his neck.

There had been words before the fight, but Jer couldn't rightly remember what they had been.

Something about the bucket-head behind him.

Let us kill them and you can go, but she was vod and family was not something that he would simply lead towards the slaughter. Then the tug at his shoulder when the lull in the fight appeared. Her voice, calm, soft, insistent combined with a lot of cursing. The crowd had not been expecting so many dead. Within a moment left Jer found himself behind Runi on the speeder and they fled.

If Bucket decided to look behind her?

She'd see corpses after corpses after corpses. Too many to count.

But Jericho remained quiet. Still holding the bloody beskar, cradling it, trying to calm himself down while his teeth just wanted to snap against something that wasn't friendly and accepting.

He hated the red.

He worshiped it.

 

[Runi Verin]

[member="Jericho Vizsla"]

While the world behind her turned into a carnal slaughterhouse, Runi focused instead on the electronic and mechanical guts of the speeder before her. Components were evaluated with cursory glances and either discarded or re-purposed. Bypasses were quickly constructed and then adjusted to suit the constantly changing need. It wouldn't be pretty. It wouldn't be perfect. It would grate at every inch of her outlaw tech pride, but it would be serviceable. Or at least for the first few klicks. Any further than that, and her patch job sure as osik wouldn't hold. Given that the plan had been to hoof it into the jungle at some point in the first place, she could live with it merely filling a temporary stop gap.

"That should do it." She remarked with a begrudging sense of approval, turning to issue a few further remarks to her companion-turned-bodyguard. Whatever it was she had deigned to say, however, died on her lips then and there. Eyes widening as they settled on the ruinous red that stained the cobbled streets behind her. Hearing it was one thing, but seeing it? That was something else entirely. Worse was the fact she felt no anger from the man. No searing fury or deadly sense of cold purpose.

And in that instant, she knew why the Alor of Vizsla had sent this man alone. That utter skanah.

"Kark me." Eloquent as always, but there really was nothing else to describe it. Her gaze flickered towards those heaving shoulders of Jericho, tracing the bloodstained outline that would no doubt stay with her for days to come (provided they survive), knowing that her usual approach in that moment would be ill-advised. She had seen it before. A white run. When you let yourself be consumed by the task at hand, letting the world and its distractions bleed away, leaving you with only the singular purity of the moment. She had never seen it used in such a fashion, however. Not even when Ronan had saved her life in the factory.

She reached out a hand towards his shoulder, to her credit only hesitating for a second, and began to gently steer him away from the bloodshed and back towards the speeder. "Naak, ner vod. Kyr ge'kaan." Voice calm and quiet, as if talking to a spooked eopi. "The battle is yours, but the day won't be if we stay here any longer. We need to go. Now."

*****​

​

Her back was stained by the gore of his armour by the time the speeder puttered it's last final breath. The journey made in silence save for the whine of the engine and whoosh of tree after tree as they navigated the winding jungle paths. Now that had come to an end, Runi found herself at loss how to re-engage her silent companion. She had never been one for words. Insults, curses and threats, sure. But words that actually meant something, that carried some sort of empathetic weight with the audience, those kind of words were far beyond her.

Instead she simply rapped her fist against the man's pauldron as she slipped from the speeder. A curt gesture of solidarity and respect. Recognising the blood-price that had been exacted from him during their mad dash to escape. Lett him know that it was appreciated and, perhaps just as importantly, one she would not let him bear alone.

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Runi Verin"]

It was only after that display that Runi would understand the sheer amount of restraint Jer had shown during the bar brawl.

Getting beat had been preferable to letting himself go entirely and cause the kind of scene that had been shown just a moment ago. But the moment was gone, the thirst running up and down his spine slowly dissipating in the face of exhaustion. His arm had gone up and down, up and down like the great deliverer. No mercy as the weight of the beskad went down and down and down. It was only once Runi slowly guided him onto the speeder and they went away that the world carefully came back to him once more.

First came the sounds: the cacophony of the jungle all around them. What followed was the scent of blood, gore and sweat brushing against his nose and mouth. Enough to make him gag, but not overwhelming to make him throw up there and then.

Not yet.

That would come later. Once the full brunt of emotions would start to take him over. They traveled, the scenery around them speeding up, until they were simple blurs and Jericho could simply close his eyes. Forget even the weight of the beskad in his hand. Because he hadn't sheathed it. Couldn't sheath it. To let go and release that weight would have been an acknowledgement of what he had done.

The oath sworn and discarded as easily as a pair of socks each morning.

Their speeder settled down at the blink of an eye - or it was his experience that caused it to be as fast as it had gone. She touched his shoulder. It had different connotations, but in the moment Jer couldn't care.

He nodded. Then the beskad, bloody, wet and slick, dropped to the ground as his fist unclenched in relaxation. "I will be back." Instead the hand curled around the flask of water attached to his belt. Jericho didn't meet her eye and instead pushed past her towards the jungle. He needed to be alone now. He needed to wash away the guilt and the blood and the pain on his skin, burning against his hide.

It didn't matter.

There was no amount of water or soap or vibro-showers that could cleanse him now.

 

[Runi Verin]

[member="Jericho Vizsla"]

Runi busied herself with the speeder once more while Jericho took his leave to collect himself. There was little she could do to save it at this point, especially not after her last ditched adjustments, but there was still one final task it could accomplish. One that would hopefully dissuade (or at least slow down) any overly eager pursuers. Not that the Thaggoth Cartel wouldn't be on their heels for a little while longer. Not after...

Her lips pursed into a concentrated thin line. Mesh'troan. The man was a mystery. He'd struggled to hold his own at the bar, yet had gone through those cartel thugs like a scythe harvesting wheat. Displaying a savagery that wasn't inline with his presence inside the force. Admittedly her training in such regard was flimsy at best, but being able to get a read on people was something she had always excelled at. It's why it made it so hard to trust them. And yet that didn't seem to be an issue with Jericho. She'd placed her life in his hands without a second thought. That alone was just as troubling as the bloody red trail he'd left in their wake.

She ran a damaged hand over her features, her qukuuf smearing beneath the grease and blackened soot that caked her digits. One day, she'd have to question how it was she always seemed to find herself in the company of killers. Today, however, she had more important things to attend to than reassessing her obviously poor life choices.

Setting her surprise for their pursuers, she turned her attention to their surviving supplies and gear. Well, what little they had left at this point. Most of Jericho's stash that had been strapped to the speeder had been an unfortunate sacrifice before the alter of their escape. With stringent rationing, she estimated they could survive perhaps three days before they ran out of food. Longer if they didn't mind skipping a few meals. A hard experience at the best of times, let alone with the added exertion of having to traipse through the unruly and untamed thickets of Jungle that lay between them and the centre of the island.

Oh, and then there were the cartel death squads that would be on their tail.

Not to mention the radically isolationist Mandalorian Enclave.

Congratu-karking-lations, Runi Verin. This is your life.

At least she had her beskad back.

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Runi Verin"]

It didn't take long for Jericho to come back.

Clean now.

Sort of.

There was a bandage around his hand now, where he had tried to scrub the blood off too hard and had only managed to break his own skin in the progress. Coat was gone, ruined and thrown out in the bushes. It showed the little cuts he had been tanking a while ago. But there was nothing to be done about that right now. He still didn't meet her eye, instead focusing on the speeder. "Not salvageable?" Feth. Jer had owned this one since the day he joined Vizsla.

His first real possession that was bigger than a coat or a twisted knife.

Now it was gone, because... no. Don't think about that.

"We probably have some time, before they go after us again." Not after what had happened in that village. They would come though, too stupid to do anything else. Now it was about their name and reputation. They ruled through fear and strength. The fact that Jer had rattled that was something they wouldn't be able to ignore. "Let's go. We can put some distance between us and them, until the sun sets." They spend the next minutes gathering up any supplies they could.

Then Jer watched her sabotage his speeder.

His jacket was discarded elsewhere. Maybe if they found it... they'd assume they had gone that direction.

That would give them more time.

 

[Runi Verin]

[member="Jericho Vizsla"]

"She won't fly again, but she's not quite ready to lay down without one last fight." In truth, the surprise would likely only catch one or two of their pursuers at best. Hardly a fitting end for the speeder after such a valiant escape. It would, however, make them much more cautious in following their trail. Perhaps even make a few of the less enthusiastic thugs rethink the venture entirely.

Runi patted it gently. Tenderly, almost. They might have only been together for a fleeting, ephemeral moment, but it was hard not to form some attachment with the machine after being elbow deep in its wires and components. In many ways, machines were far more preferable to people. They at least made sense. Her gaze flickered towards Jericho.

"Lead the way, vod." She replied, shouldering her portion of the supplies they'd been able to scrounge. Willing to let the other Mandalorian take the lead, trusting in the sense of ease he seemed to have in the surroundings that she sorely lacked. Most of her life had been spent either on a barren, desert planet or in the empty void of the space lanes. "This is your di'kutla errand after all."

Who was the real di'kut, though. The one leading them into almost certain death or the one stupid enough to be following?

"Vizsla. Why did you have to be a karkin' Vizsla?"

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Runi Verin"]

Spend almost a decade on Wayland and the jungles became second-nature to you.

Rishi was a walk around the park when you were used to that. There were no plants the size of skyscrapers trying to eat you here or beast malformed, the size of a bean, that could bite you once and leave your body eating through itself in moments. "Can." Instead of immediately setting off into one direction or the other Jer took his time with it. He knelt down by a tree, studied the ground, looked past the treeline towards the sky and the positioning of Rish and the moon. Hand brushed the ground, before giving a small nod.

"We head West, then circle North." They divided the packs evenly and a moment later they were off into the jungle. The cacophony of the wildlife buzzing all around them without interruption.

That was good, it meant their footprint was relatively small and they weren't making too loud a noise.

"Ronan has always been acceptive of newcomers to the Clan." Jer answered her, thinking she was asking literally rather than just complaining. "As long as you aren't useless and are ready to fight for Vizsla, one way or another."

Jericho felt no shame for his past... not entirely. It was difficult to explain, more difficult to understand if you weren't there. So he avoided getting into it now. Didn't seem to have a real point to it. "I had nothing." A shrug of the shoulders as he led them further, through the jungle clearing until the soft tide of a river could be overhead. That was good, they would need all the water they could get. They could go without food for a while, but water? That was an entirely different story altogether.

"He offered me a place with the Clan and I accepted."

The river, fast and spinning throughout the landscape, came into view as they left the trees behind for now. A brush of the hand, a whiff, then a careful taste made Jer nod. "Fresh. Let's fill up the canisters left. Can you swim?" It would take ages to find a way around it and it would cover their tracks, their scent.

Stroke of luck this river.

 

[Runi Verin]

[member="Jericho Vizsla"]

"It's a common tactic," Runi replied flatly. The passing similarities in Jericho's background enough to cast her thoughts on her own situation, reminding her of how she had come to bear the Verin name. Like him, she had her own 'savior' ride in during her hour of need. Someone that had taken her in. Given her a family, a purpose, a sense of belonging. For a time at least. "Pretty much the planetary past time on the outer rim. Pick them up when they don't have anything. Cast them aside when they've served their purpose. "
Or when they can't be what you want them to be.

Not the time, nor the place for that particular magtrain of thought.

The river was an altogether welcome, yet unwelcome distraction. One that she wisely kept her distance from as they approached. Telling herself she was simply being careful not to leave any footprints in the soft bank mud, but knowing that it was more a case of the unease such watercourses invariably elicited within the salvager. On Kol Atorn, water was mostly drawn from underground aquifers. It had only been in her teens that she'd first laid eyes on an a body of water larger than that created by a burst water main. Fortunately, Jacaro had insisted that she learn. That old bastard always seemed to have some wisdom in him.

"'lek, I can swim it." She confirmed after a moment or two gauging the speed and ferocity of the water against her fledgling swimming ability. It would be a touch and go, with no room for error, but she was fairly confident she wouldn't be drowning today. One cause of death off the list, a few hundred to go. "Although I don't think we'll need to."

She nodded her head towards the treeline that overhung the opposite bank further down. The river narrowed slightly at that point as it came towards a curve, dropping down to perhaps twenty or so meters across at the widest point. Well within range of her whipcord grapple. It wouldn't be enough to stop them from getting wet, granted, but it should let them navigate the surging river without the risk of becoming swept away. "We could set a line between the trees on either side an' shimmy our way on over. With a bit of luck, we might only just get our boots wet. I don't know about you, but hoofing it through this jungle with wet clothes ain't my idea of a fun adventure. Some of these supplies ain't exactly waterproof either."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"But if you say we swim, we swim. Just don't expect me to thank you afterwards, tayli'bac?"

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Runi Verin"]

He passed over one filled canister and accepted another empty one from her, while mulling over the strategy.

"Both paths have their advantages." Jer mumbled. It wasn't really for her as much as simply thinking out-loud. "Ya right about the wetness." He wasn't all too worried about dancing around wet through the jungle. The heat around these parts would dry them up soon enough, but the supplies? That was a different story altogether. Oh, they could presumably try and hold them up over their heads.

But with the strength of the current?

That would be a challenge either way. "Still- it would scatter our scent, if they end up going this way." Which only mattered if they'd have hounds with them. Wouldn't be strange, the locals around town were known for their breeding of strange hounds with excellent scent.

"Let's go check out your tree, see if it can carry our weight."

She was in armor, he had pieces of it and his helmet. It should be fine. But dropping in the middle of the traversal wasn't something that Jer wanted to experience. That would wreck their supplies even more and only increase the chance of drowning out here. It was one thing to swim from the start, another thing to have to center yourself in chaos and mania.

 

[Runi Verin]

[member="Jericho Vizsla"]

"Ain't much advantage in drownin'." Runi replied with a purposeful dryness, unwilling to concede that he may have stumbled on to the workings of a good argument. She would rather deal with a dozen hounds and trackers than the surging water course that lay between them and their destination. If the worst should come to pass, she would at least meet her end dry and some passable control. The same couldn't be said about the river. "'sides, won't take them too long to figure out which direction we're heading. The ruins are the only thing for miles in this force-forsaken place."

Well, except for the Enclave ca---

"Ahh, fierfek."

It couldn't be that obvious, could it? A soft, mirthless laugh abruptly escaped her. Of course it could, they were Mandalorians. Mandalorians reeling from a serious sucker punch and loss of face. Professionalism and pragmatism might have been staples of the culture, but so was the underlying need to prove yourself. To your clan, to your people, to your enemies. If you didn't have status, if you didn't have honour, you were almost nothing. Worse than nothing. No, the Mandalorians of the Enclave would need to make a statement of strength if they wanted to salve their pride.

Something bold.

Something foolish.

Something undeniably Mandalorian.

"If you were a bunch of hardcore, tooled up Mandalorians, the kind that get off on their own rep as being the toughest motherkarkers in this lawless stretch of the 'verse... " There was a subtle whoompf! as her grapple launched itself from her gauntlet as she spoke, the whipcord whistling through the air before the line caught and took hold on the trunk of a tree on the opposite bank. A few experimental tugs confirmed that it should, in theory, be able to take her weight if nothing else. "...an' you were forced into the godforsaken jungle by a bunch of ramshackle, drug pushing thugs..." She continued, securing the end of the line to the largest and most sturdy looking tree on their end. "...an' bear in mind that you ain't exactly the sharpest kal in the battle kit here... Where would you hide yourself?"