No rest for the wary

[Jhiaga Shiwr]

Jhiaga yawned and stretched her arms as an alarm clock beeped in her helmet.
Today was going to be a very special day; she had contacted the leader of a mercenary group just the night before, and now was the dreaded time to prepare for such a person's arrival. Not knowing much about her potential employer's personnality, she decided to go the easy way as not to give an uncaring impression; and so, she stood from her couch and started to put the room in order, under the gaze of her Jawa friend, who was already carrying the Mandalorian's blasters to the rack on the side of the main room of their home.

Said home was the same the young Zabrak had grew up into in her youth with her mother; a wasted AT-AT, who, as time passed by, had new passages created with the Jawa's ingenuosity, transforming the destroyed heavy walker into a large bunker of a home, with all the Mandalorian bounty hunter needed; an armory, a training area, a firing range, a restroom, a form of living room in whom she displayed her trophies and received her guests, and their bedrooms. Not to forget the foundry buried beneath the whole structure.
In but a few hours, everything was in order. Not a drop of sand was left in the living room, the weapons on the rack had been polished to the point of shining in the dim light, the red carpet had been deployed from the entrance of the reinforced titanium door to the beginning of the room, and all of the accumulated pile of junk had been throw into the burning fires of their foundries. Finally, Jhiaga sent her friend to the lower levels, after a few high-pitched sound from the Jawa, who grabbed a severed B-1 battle droid head and carried it with her to the foundries, as the bounty hunter shook her head.
Leaving her home after passing the "airlock" scrapped off of a ship, she found herself under the hot sun of the planet, her armor allowing her to ignore a part of the heat, but not by much. And so she waited in the burning sand of Kalabesh III, waiting for her contact to come, a mix of curiosity, melancholy and awareness in her mind. She was going from employer to employer, her only social ties being with her Jawa and some unknown bounty hunters and mercenaries she sometimes shared a drink at a bar with, and she started to grow grim, knowing she would die a loner. Bumping her helmeted head with her fist, she sighed.

"Get back to your senses, girl. It's all you can do, and all you are made to do. So forget about socializing and get professional!"

Her own voice surprised her in the silence of the dead planet, and she straightened her back once more, watching as the sun slowly disappeared into the horizon. She did not want to appear too aggressive to her potential employer, and so she had gotten rid of her back-mounted missile and of her Mandalorian assault rifle, but she had kept her blaster pistols just in case. Finally, she saw a ship arriving, and, knowing it could pass off as an insult, decided not to remove her helmet. She wasn't going to deal with anyone knowing she was a Zabrak.
She threw a glance at her own ship, the Slayer II, and sighed. The ship definitively needed a new paintjob. Throwing the thought out of her head, she waited for whoever as onboard to get out, waiting nervously, albeit immobile, into the settling evening.

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

In orbit above Kalabesh III the war fleet of Blood Hunter's Iron Works loomed. To far to be seen with the naked eye, yet close enough to react should trouble arise. Nearly two thousand meters worth of combat ready capital ship between the five vessels, yet all that moved was a single Dropship making it's way to the surface of the arid world. One ship. Still it carried enough firepower within, and without it, to start a considerable conflict if problems should occur.

The Blood Matron reclined in her seat, her head bouncing against the padding of her harness as the Dropship broke through the atmosphere. Her eyes were closed while she listened to the radio chatter of her soldiers, flight crew, and command personnel of her fleet, through the built-in comm system of her amber colored Shadez. A faint smile played across her sharp features. Chatter yes, but the conversations were short, and to the point. Not many in the service of The Crimson Lady were prone to idle chit chat, even less so when they knew she was listening.

Soon, a report filtered through the comms, silencing the chatter. Every helmet in the Dropship turned to the Matron. "Begin," she said softly. And with that single word chatter filled the airwaves once more. Orders relayed and repeated back, the final approach began.

The Dropship swung low as it neared the designated rendezvous. "Rawhides standby for combat drop in ten seconds. Three second spacing. On my mark. Three. Two." The Dropship lurched as the first MT-RAW fell away. "Three. Two." The Dropship swayed again as the second eighteen ton Walker dropped free. Twenty meters of open air hung between the free falling war machines and the ground. The moment the Walkers were free of their rigging repulse engines flared to life, the two Walkers slammed into the ground in a swirl of sand and dust.

A few moments later the Dropship set down between the two war machines, loading ramps dropping to the sand with dull thumps. Soldiers flooded the area around the Dropship in mere moments, forty heavily armored individuals, each rendered nearly indistinguishable from the soldier beside them. The only noticeable differences between them were their weapons, some carried slug thrower rifles, others blaster rifles with thermal detonator launchers. Still some could only be told apart by their sidearm, one or two pistols, or a small automatic blaster. A full half of them were surrounded by the faint shimmer of personal energy shields.

The mass of soldiers parted, and through them walked their Matron. Clad in her typical battle attire, brown knee high riding boots, skin tight black leggings, a black and red miniskirt, her black and brown armored corset, all topped off by a blood red leather trench coat. Two pistols were clearly visible in holsters on her well muscled thighs, while most of her other weapons, two more pistols, grenades, and a scatter blaster were hidden beneath her coat. At her left hip, protruding through the openings of her coat, a pair of swords bounced with every sway of her hips as she walked toward the Mandalorian warrior. Her voice rang across the sands, sweet and oddly musical, "You are [member="Jhiaga Shiwr"], I assume?" She held up an odd leather bag. "I've water to share, if you'd be willing to share the shade of your shelter there." A smile cut across her features, pearl white serrated teeth gleaming brightly in the desert sun.

 

[Jhiaga Shiwr]

Jhiaga stood motionless as she watched the ship coming down, trying to keep her cool as one of her droids stationed on what was formerly a relay station, and now a barely-functionning ruin, informed her that her visitor had five ships waiting in orbit. The bounty hunter had to ask the OOM-series droid again in her commlink, thinking she had heard it wrong. It only repeated its former sentence.
Five. Whole. Ships.
Breathing deeply, she looked down at her blasters. She was absolutely tiny compared to that battle force, and she had a feeling her would-be employer wouldn't fret on the ground forces either. She sighed and closed her eyes; it had been absolutely un-Mandalorian of her not to check for the known strenght of her contact's mercenary band, but now was too late. Maybe her constantly excited personnality was really, really a great flaw, just like her surrogate father had once told her after he just had her too excited to fight him and got her down wiht a ridiculously simple leg swipe.
And now, a dropship was approaching.

After assuring her droids that no, they were not supposed to shoot it down like the last ship who tried to get on her planet, she used her incorporated helmet display to zoom in.
Her mouth dropped open as she saw two walkers dropping down, with a force of around forty warriors following suit.
"What did I just get myself into."
At this point, Jhiaga couldn't even have the privilege of anxiety; she analyzed the situation quickly from a strategic point of view. The mercenary force would be enough to absolutely obliterate her base and defences. The question was; would the leader just decide to wreck the place out of spite if she refused the offer? Judging by the military strenght, she didn't even know who might be commanding such a fearsome band. They all looked battle-ready and dangerous, their gear being of an effective quality, almost equal to her's, which only underlined her obvious disadvantage. She couldn't fight her way out of this if it turned ugly.
But it wasn't the greatest surprise yet. Their leader was, and Jaghia had to mentally slap herself to stay concentrated on strategical details. Like the blades and blasters at her hips, who were probably but a part of her armament. Not the hips themselves.
Purely strategical.

"Uh, clankers, lay low for a while, would you? I don't think these guys are a match for outdated bots like you. Not counting on how weak you are - no offense, guys, really. Oh, before I forget; radio silence now. If you need to contact me so badly, send me something crypted like you never crypted before."
As soon as she heard the now famous "Roger roger" of her very few droids, she closed the channel and looked intently at the leader who spoke to her as she approached her, her voice sounding much less threatening than what she looked like. Deception it is, mused the Mandalorian as she tried to ignore the soldiers around the woman, who looked oddly familiar to her. Not that she knew her personally, but more like her features reminded her of someone. She'd have to see her up close for that anyway.

"I sure am", the Zabrak let out as confidently as she could, trying to control her voice as not to let her awe be seen through it. She was a proud Mandalorian, and she wasn't going to be impressed that easily.
"And I guess you are Zenva Vrotoa, judging by the strike force", she continued as the stranger got closer, allowing her to get a better look, desperatly searching her database for info in the meantime, pretending not to see the glimmering energy shields of the armed mercenaries. There was something about her smile that made her both comfortable and wary. She knew that behind all this, there couldn't be anything good - after all, she was facing the leader of a large, powerful band of mercenaries. How could she expect any outer beauty to be anything more than a facade?
"Welcome to Kalabesh III, then. Come right in - it is my pleasure to have you here."
Did I do good? Did I sound too pompous, or not enough? Did it sound too proud?
Such thoughts ran in the mind of the young bounty hunter as she made a gesture beetween a strict Mandalorian salute, and her more laidback greeting. Well, she never really understood protocole and étiquette. She was an overexcited, quite positive, dreamy person when she wasn't killing for a living. She walked up to the reinforced door of her home, entered the digicode, and held it open for the strange, strange visitor to enter. Hopefully, she hadn't messed up the welcome too much; the last thing she wanted to do was to upset her guest.
It was only as she reviewed the articles of the main room of her home that she realized there was something she should of hidden; her mother's lightsaber.
Damnit.

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

Zenva's smile faltered, "Strike force?" She sounded genuinely confused as she glanced to the forces arrayed behind her. When she turned back to the Mandalorian her smile was back, her eyes glittering with amusement. "No, no, Mando'ade. This is not a strike force. These are my guards." She laughed slightly, low and dangerous. The Blood Matron continued across the sands to stand before the Mandalorian. "But please, pay them no mind. I'm pleased to be here. Come, let's get out of this Gods forsaken desert sunshine."

The Matron moved passed her hostess, and potential employee. As she crossed the threshold of the woman's home, for lack of a more polite term, the air around the Zabrak shimmered, her own personal energy shield snapping into existence. Before the Mandalorian could follow, two of Zenva's Elites followed their Matron inside without a word. Zenva's yellow-red eyes swept the main room, taking in details with the ease of a seasoned soldier. Her gaze fixated briefly on the lightsaber, one hairless brow rose as she looked at the weapon. "Heirloom, trophy, or somewhat more?" She turned her quizzical expression on the Mandalorian. Her guards moved to stand against the walls, present but out of the way.

[member="Jhiaga Shiwr"]

 

[Jhiaga Shiwr]

"Oh."
That was all the Mandalorian could utter as she heard the other Zabrak's words, and so she decided to remain silent, while she strategically reviewed the situation. The fact that such a powerful leader had accepted to visit her spoke of two things - either she knew of he reputation, or she was there for the Sith artifacts, or even the droid factories. Not like she cared for the factories, but she preferred they remained unused; who knew what an ambitious mercenary group could do with the potential to make an army of droids?
She was slightly unsettled as she saw Zenva's smile once more - it wasn't a façade, it held a tint of danger the Mandalorian did not fail to register. But now that she managed to get a look up at her potential employer, she was trouble. Physically, she looked quite like her mother - crimson red skin, black tatoos, and being a Zabrak. The only thing she could think of that kept the two apart was their age and their stature, the memories she had of her mother being of a shorter woman.
Shaking the past out of her head once more, she nervously glanced at the bodyguards. She didn't like being watched. Even less by people armed with blasters and shields, in her own home. But she had brought this upon herself, and she was willing to accept the consequences.

Jhiaga turned around as she heard the Blood Matron's question - and she was thankful the woman couldn't see her blush of embarassment.
"Heirloom" the Mandalorian finally answered as she ran her fingers delicately on the handle of the lightsaber. "It was my mother's."
Turning away from the painful memory of her past, she almost gracefully turned toward the armchairs, whom she had taken great care in choosing the best she had. "Please, take a seat - would you care for a drink?"
She sat down herself on the chair facing the matron's, the table with the lightsaber in beetween them.

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

Dark memories swam through Zenva's mind as phantom pains racked her body. Vicious images of her hellish mother flashed before her yellow-red eyes. Blood drained from her face leaving the crimson skinned Zabrak ashen for a fleeting moment. She forced the thoughts of her childhood tormentor away from the forefront of her mind, focusing on the young Mandalorian before her. "I see." She said, a small shudder ran through the Blood Matron. Her gaze shifting away from the lightsaber finally. "My own mother had a blade not unlike that one."

She settled into the offered seat with uncanny grace, one long leg folding atop the other near the knee. "Let's not dwell on the past, hmm? We are here to discuss the future. Your future more accurately." She held up the leather water skin she had brought with her. "I believe the deal was water in exchange for shade, Miss Shiwr. It is miss, correct?" The Matron flashed another smile before lifting the water skin to her lips. She made a show of swallowing a few mouthfuls before setting the skin on the table between them, her way of demonstrating that the skin contained no poison.

"It's my understanding that you operate as a bounty hunter primarily, and a part time mercenary. Is that correct?"

[member="Jhiaga Shiwr"]

 

[Jhiaga Shiwr]

Jhiaga froze for a split second as she heard her would-be employer's words. She did not fail to see the sudden reaction of the Zabrak, carefully acting as if she didn't. After all, it wasn't her business. But the fact that Zenva Vrotoa might had lived a similar beginning to her felt... weird. Just as if the two of them were the same person, taking different paths. Abandonning the thought, she did not lose any detail as her guest sat down in the seat with a grace the woman hadn't expected - but after all, she hadn't expected to hear such a musical voice, given the reputation of the so-called Blood Matron. Appearances were most certainly deceiving, and she knew that very well from her time working as a bounty hunter. Some people hid behind fake misery, passing off as lowlifes, while actually being master swordsmans, just waiting to take their prey by surprise. Still taking in the perfect fluidity and grace of her kin's moves, she finally focused back on the matter, as the red-skinned warlord told her that the time was not to talk about the past, but about the future - and, she claimed, about her future.

Looking down at the flask, she realized she had been outsmarted. Refusing to drink from it would be seen as something offensive, but removing her helmet would mean revealing her identity... something she loathed, especially in front of the two stoic grunts the matron had brought with her. "You win", said the young woman simply as she placed her hands on her helmet and unlocked it, taking it off ceremonously and placing it down on the table, revealing her horns and her ponytail, giving Zenva Vrotoa a small smirk. "Pardon my staring", said the humanoid as she took the flask in her hands, realizing that now, she couldn't hide where she glanced and her facial expressions, feeling naked without her helmet, "'tis been a long time since I've seen another Zabrak.".
She took a long, ostentious gulp from the flask, before setting it down carefully on the table once more, caressing the lightsaber, letting the memories go back to the grave they were spawned from, wondering if using such a weapon would be against Mandalorian honor.
"Why, yes", the Zabrak answered to her guest's question, looking at her directly in the eyes, "I am a bounty hunter, and a mercenary, as you seem to know. However, I do save myself some spare time to explore uncharted planets and take the fight to the ennemies of Mandalore. Just like that time on Ossus."

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

There was no help for it, Zenva laughed as the Mandalorian accepted being outwitted with grace. The laugh itself was one of the Zabrak Matron's rare genuine laughs, a rich, musical chortle that tapered off with a girlish giggle. "I win, is it?" She said with a chuckle. "Typically, yes. I do." Her coal black lips peeled back in an amused smile as she waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Stare all you desire, Miss Shiwr. I enjoy the attention."

Zenva turned away slightly, holding out a hand toward one of her guards. The larger of the two stepped forward to place a datapad in Zenva's outstretched hand. The Blood Matron's yellow-red eyes never strayed from her hostess. "Thank you, Mister Irons." She said absently as the soldier moved back to his position along the wall.

"I have here, Miss Shiwr, a contract for your consideration. It's largely straightforward, an agreement that you will not knowingly engage in action contrary to my interests, or the interests of my company, Blood Hunter's Iron Works. In it there are assurances that you will not be forced to engage in actions that could be considered hostile toward the Mandalorian nation." The Blood Matron set the datapad on the table between them, her eyes focused intently on Jhiaga's. "Of course your pay is outlined, but suffice it to say, you'll not earn less than one thousand standard credits per combat hour. A generous rate in my opinion." Zenva clicked one of her lacquered finger nails against the screen before she leaned back in her seat. Her expression schooled to a professional mask of utter neutrality. "Naturally, you'll be free to pick and choose which operations you take part in. I'll not force you to do something you're opposed to."

She paused, letting the younger woman process what she had said thus far. "There are a few stipulations involved, I'm afraid. This contract is one in which you'll be employed by my company, and therefore required to perform a task for me once a month. Nothing overly difficult mind you. I would like you to oversee the training of my soldiers once a month, a ten hour session. You'll be paid for the service of course. Two hundred credits an hour." She motioned to the datapad between them, an invitation for the young Zabrak to look through the information in it. "There are a few offers in there as well, if you're interested in them. New accommodations, for instance."

[member="Jhiaga Shiwr"]

 

[Jhiaga Shiwr]

Jhiaga used every single bit of her will to keep a mask of neutrality onto her face. While this was something a Mando'a had to know to do, she was used to wearing her helmets at almost all times, and so, it took her great effort. While she did let her lips curl upward as she heard the Matron's comment. She was an oddity; most people would act differently, with that much power. Imposing the deals, rather than making them so... interestingly unrestrictive. And, while her vigilance was not put asleep by the other Zabrak's proposition, it would be an understatement to say she was interested in what she had to offer; the deal seemed to good to be true, and so she kept searching for the trick in it. Nobody would offer that much for her. Well, actually, maybe - but people seemed to despise her, even a couple of Hutts, which was saying something. Perhaps it was her hot-headedness, or just the fact she was the kind to punch people in the face and ask questions after. While she wasn't especially greedy, she couldn't hide the smallest of frowns as she heard the word of one thousand credits per combat hour. Calculating rapidly, she realized that it meant she would be able to earn around seven thousands during a heavy firefight. The amount was dizzying. Finally, she looked into the matron's eyes, her arms crossed. "I'll bite. What type of "tasks" would you have me do, if I were to apply my signature onto this? And what kind of soldiers are we talking about? I can dish out Mandalorian training, but I doubt they'll handle that, with my respect. It's often taught to childrens, because their minds can be molded into warriors after a couple of years, like yours truly. But adults? The mind is already forged, no longer able to changed... unless bent, and, if necessary, broken. So, what kind of training do you want me to give?"

Waiting for the leader's response, she eyed the lightsaber. She hadn't thought about it, but she probably wouldn't leave this place. She was bound to this planet, like her mother before her. And she'd rather die than left her tomb unprotected. Despite her nature, she had been loving, a figure she looked up to - and she'd be damned if any Jedi or Sith, or whoever else, wanted to claim her remains and the lightsabers there. Slowly, she sighed and made her move, taking the datapad, scrolling through it, being very careful in the wording of each sentence - she had been tricked once, and never again. After a moment of silence, she spoke up once more. "It's a tough choice. One mission per mounth, one training per mounth. It sounds good enough to allow me to do a couple of things in the meantime, but at the same time... I have a couple of questions burning my lips, before I can sign this."
Laying back in her seat, she placed the datapad onto the table once more, she absendetly traced a line onto her armor, deep in wonder. In the end, she passed a finger onto one of her horns, clearing a speck of dust from it, the bone white standing out onto her tanned face. It felt weird, to be about to join an organization. She wouldn't an independant like most Mando'as anymore, but two days out of a mounth seemed good enough... but despite the pleasing personnality of Zenva Vrotoa, she couldn't help but feel a bit stressed about the situation. The fact someone so powerful would move arond just for her made her uneasy... and she, as always, felt like someone was making a fool of her by making a subtle loophole in the contract.
"For instance; what do you know about this planet? And, obviously... why me? Why yet another Mandalorian in the mass of bounty hunters? Why me, and not someone else? That's the thing really bugging me. I'm sure you can find people that show greater skill than me - well, if you manage to manage to talk to them before they spit something about the death watch, of course."

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

The Zabrak Matron's professional mask cracked, pearl white, serrated teeth sparkled between her plump, black lips as she smiled. "You'll bite. I like that." She said with another chuckle. "As I have said, Miss Shiwr, the tasks I expect of you will be relatively simple for a woman of your skill. Shaping new soldiers once a month, and performing one additional job of your choice is all I require of you. If you choose to take on a combat mission for me, so be it. Your one additional task for the month has been performed. Otherwise there will be times I ask you to accompany me as one of my bodyguards, or perhaps spend a day seeing to my personal training. Unless that's to difficult for you?"

One long leg folded atop the other, the motion deliberately slow. "As for your other concerns, I chose you because you are Zabrak. Granted, you aren't Iridonian like my clan and I, but I'll forgive you your birthplace this once. Yes, I could have chosen a Mandalorian more seasoned than yourself, I know more than a few well respected Mando'ade that I could have called upon. They, however, are not what I desire, Miss Shiwr." The Zabrak Matron glanced to one of her soldiers briefly, "What do I know of this planet, Priest."

The second soldier stepped forward once, bowing it's armored head to the Blood Matron. The voice that emerged from beneath the helmet was eerily similar to Zenva's, both shared a rather unique musical quality distinct to the women of Clan Vrotoa. "Kalabesh III, Matron. While nearly a neighbor to Antecedent, the Red Ravens saw no use for the planet. It's largely desert wastes. Scans indicate there are a number of dilapidated droid facilities present, but they are very old, Matron. Likely B series facilities left over from the Clone Wars. Beyond that, there is little here." The woman paused, her helmet turning toward the ground. When she spoke again her words came out in Zabraki. "There is likely a temple or a tomb of the Sith here, my Lady."

Zenva nodded once to her guard, "Thank you, Kil'kae." Her yellow-red gaze swept back to the young Zabrak across from her. "There you are. I know there are droid factories here, and an endless supply of sand. One day I might be inclined to ask you to help me secure those facilities for my company, but they are not why I'm here. I'm here to secure your services, Miss Shiwr."

[member="Jhiaga Shiwr"]

 

[Jhiaga Shiwr]

Jhiaga struggled to keep a mask of neutrality on her face. Why did Zenva always spoke in that sweet, musical voice of hers, shining smiles that could promise a thousand deaths or genuine amusement? The Zabrak found it insanely distracting. A miniscule, an yet obvious blush creeped upon her face, the Mando'a looking down, trying to hide the shameful expression onto her face. She'd have to train for a hundred more hours - maybe a thousand! - in the following mounths, to hone her skill enough and make her face a complete mask, unmoving before words or sights. Because, in this very moment, the fact she couldn't really think clearly terrified her. Regaining control of her senses, she thoughts over the warlord's words. Being choosed because of her race didn't really feel flattering at first... until she managed to see the situation from another angle. It sounded more like a compliment, now that she thought it over - the clan mentality was strong among Mandalorians, and she could appreciate the Matron's behavior... to a certain point. Being what one of the most powerful people she'd met so far's object of attention, if only for the duration of the deal, made her feel proud, and special.

"No need to call me miss, Matron. I am... at your service."
Taking her decision just as she spoke, she took the datapad, searching for the obvious paperwork she'd have to fill. Damned be the stars, she would be a complete fool to ignore such an offer. And to the hells her doubts - she only lived once. Or, at least, in her personnal belief. "As for the difficulty of the tasks you might give me", spoke the Zabrak once more with a slight smirk on her face, "I do love myself a challenge."

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

A vulpine smile spread across the Blood Matron's coal black lips, smugness and self-satisfaction written plainly on her sharp features for those who knew how to read a person. "I think my title falling from your lips will be enjoyable for a very long time, Jhiaga." The Zabrak shook herself, forcing her thoughts back to the business aspect of their meeting. It was a poor time to become distracted by the sweet blush spreading across the Mandalorian's cheeks.

Zenva rose from her seat with instinctive grace, a predatory and serpentine motion. "Well Jhiaga, if you would kindly sign at the bottom of your contract, and leave a thumb print in the box beside that. Oh, and we'll need a retinal scan. Won't hurt a bit, I promise." She motioned toward her bodyguard, Kil'kae, who stepped forward obediently.

The soldier produced a small scanner device from a pouch on her hip. "Miss Shiwr, if you don't mind." The soldier stepped closer still, though made no move to scan the woman's eye without invitation.

[member="Jhiaga Shiwr"]

 

[Jhiaga Shiwr]

Jhiaga was unable to take her eyes off of Zenva, knowing that she should show deference to her as the Blood Matron, but simply unable to tear her gaze away from the graceful, serpentine gestures of the other Zabrak, every single bit of herself speaking of control and fluidity. After all, she hadn't signed the contract yet... so, maybe she'd be allowed to have one last, honest look? Because she knew that, sadly, once she'd be in the job, it would be out of the question. There was no question in the fact that she was "analyzing" the situation completely out of a professional state of mind now... but, why wouldn't she? There was something enthralling about her employer, something that called on to her. And then, she spoke once more, her voice only making the bounty hunter blush once more, and the words sending her even harder onto that path. Trying to throw back the redness from her face was a failure, and so she stood up, taking her helmet in one hand and intending to put it right back on once the eye scan would be finished, as to avoid any more embarassment from her part.
"And so will I, Matron."

Approaching Kil'kae, she placed herself on the level of the scanner, mediating as the laser mapped out every single particularity of her eye. Then, she was prompted by the soldier to press her thumb onto another small pad, which she obliged after getting rid of her gauntlet, revealing a surprisingly soft hand for someone that made a living out of killing people for credits. Finally, she wrote her signature onto the bottom of the contract after carefully reading it; as soon as she did that, she nodded to the soldier, and turned back to the Blood Matron... her employer.
"Should I bow?"

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

A wicked smile curled Zenva's plump, black lips. Serrated pearl white teeth gleamed, standing out strongly against the woman's crimson skin and black markings. A laugh, at once musical and somehow sinister, rolled from The Blood Matron. "No, no, Jhiaga. No one bows to me. My servants kneel from time to time, when it amuses me. You however are no servant. You are a warrior, and my warriors salute."

One of the woman's hands rolled toward one of her guards, and both reacted immediately. Their heels clicked together as they stood at attention. Their right hand closed to a fist, and thumped against their breast plate between their hearts. The Matron's smile never faltered as she nodded to her new employee. "Nothing more, and nothing less is required of my soldiers, Jhiaga. I expect you'll have no difficulty mimicking their salute?"

[member="Jhiaga Shiwr"]