First Reply Journal #9 - Bound in Grass

[Trent Perris]

Toshara Outback
Equipment in Bio - Currently Limited​

Spoiler: OOC Information Read First

Please do not instantly solve the problem as this is supposed to be a tall tale anyway as a story to potentially retell in character.
You wake up beside Trenton Perris on the Tosharan Savannah with the other half of a Stuncuff around your wrist and a length of Binder Wire keeping you tethered to him. The stuncuff is controlled remotely by those you have upset enough to find you, knock you out, and cart your butt to the wilds. The why for you is whatever you want to cook up but means having made local criminals want some dangerously petty payback with a show.

There is enough wire between you to take care of business without breathing down each other's neck but that is the only saving grace for the situation. Stripped of your advantages and needing to work together to get back to set things right.
Meant for fun and a break from the usual threads.
Also, when one you of gets shocked, both of you get shocked. Enjoy![/I]

Toshara had been turned out to be a mess from the first moment he had touched down.

Looking for details about a potential seller of various supplies for The Foundation to use, Trent had come sniffing around for whoever it was that was willing to sell. The first pull on of his string of problems being his own ignorance of what was proper protocol for the area. A stupid little fee for taking up time on the spot when he wasn't just stopping for the usual maintenance. Something he didn't even spend time thinking about.

That had been his first strike.

The next was a card game in a bar barely a stone's throw away from that blasted landing pad.

One of his favorite tricks earning himself a tight, almost round the clock shadow. The eyes watching him belonging to one of the local crime groups when they realized he was getting far too lucky, far too often. Even going so far as to use a completely rigged deck of cards to prove their point. With his second strike in their book in under a standard hour, those that adorned overly ornate chairs with ridiculously luxurious padding had already begun to wonder what kind of repayment for the offenses would be sufficient.

Which would have likely been a decent shakedown at best, and possibly losing a few of his digits at worst.

But the problem with Trent was, and usually seemed to be, when he stepped in the poodoo; He stepped into a herd's worth of it.

The final energy cell in the chamber had been looking at a crime boss's daughter and even daring to chat her up.

Straying so far from his original goal he had planned to stay overnight and deal with whatever fees he'd accumulated by the time he was burning fuel home. Instead, he woke with a pounding headache after a particularly frightful nightmare of what was less fantasy and more reality as his eyes opened to the unpleasant sting of a bright sun overhead. His whole body aching with the effort to sit upright, jaw popping as he yawned and made his hand snap to the spot. A sharp yowl of pain at the feeling as it brought to his attention the second most annoying part of his waking up.

A sharp buzz that seemed to be coming from his wrist.

Blinking away the fog of what he guessed to be sleep to stare at the blue glowing ring around his wrist.

"Huh" A little sound of surprise was all the more he could do as he tried to process when he'd bought or messed with a stuncuff like some newbie idjit.

Turning his wrist back and forth while his brain refused to fill in the blanks of his mind. Shifting slowly through the mental gears when he didn't feel the same threatening tingle of energy against his skin on the other wrist. Lifting the bound hand higher to find the connecting wire and trace it back to where it ended.

"Huh"

Surprise and confusion measured in equal amounts of his singular word while his whole face twisted into further, perhaps even deeper, thoughts.

@Open​

 

[Sid Berik]

Ow.

Ow.

OW.

OWW.
​

Shore leave after another successful operation- this time, to an off-planet world. The Commando earned some respite- some rest. Now, the planet he ended up on was not necessarily a great spot to pick, sure. But Sid had wanted to see the dangers of the galaxy, and the criminal underworld, well. That was something he didn't have a lot of experience in. He knew war, he knew combat. He didn't know diddly squat about card games, scoundrels, pirates. So in an effort to expand his horizons, the Commando set forth to grow, adapt, learn, and return back to the Empire with a bountiful knowledge of the underworld and how to navigate it.

A real vacation, for sure.

Unfortunately, he was robbed, stunned, and hooked up to someone else, as much as the kid could gather. He was awoken, confident he was missing his wallet, holdout blaster, knife, garrote wire, punch-knife, lockpick- The bastards even took his shoes. Cheap boots. They took his cheap boots. At least they left him his socks. Imperial issue.

"Quit movin' it!"

Sid said, rising to be sitting up with his companion. He rubbed his free wrist, pulling on the man inadvertently, tugging on it. He did a mental measure of the wire between them- and frowned. This was a game to someone. He could deal with the pain, the dehydration and perhaps, for a while, no shoes. But he had no idea who he was hooked up to, or really, where he was on the planet.

"Ah crap-

Who the hell are you?"

No introductions, not yet. No, Sid would keep the fact that he was a Corporal in the Imperial Elite to himself for a while. Though, he didn't feel very Elite at the moment. He certainly put the Special in Special Forces, though, with his current situation. His new plan was to escape, go back to the Empire, and pretend he had a nice vacation and let off some steam. He'd never hear the end of this if he was discovered, or rescued. The endless ribbing, the demotion, maybe a beating, but the constant berating would be the worst part.

Sid was a rough-looking kid. Young, definitely- early 20s at most, maybe a bit older. But the scars on his face and his musculature showed that he was someone who had some degree of discipline, of training and of resolve. His voice sounded inner-core, accent fleeting. Not posh, lower-class. Calluses on his hands. The man he was hooked up to looked every bit like the word 'criminal' or 'pirate'. Hopefully, he didn't take offense and try to strangle him. At least, not until the stun cuffs were off.