Private Poached

[Guppy]

| LOCATION: Scarif |
| TAG: Jenn Kryze |


Scarif remained as gorgeous as ever. A gentle breeze to sway the palm trees, a vibrant blue to the skies that cast rays of sunshine down unto crystal clear waters. The smell of sea salt drifted through a comfortably warm air, and the distant chirping of birds that circled for unsuspecting seafood to snatch up.

THUD.

A crate is dropped to the ground, its carrier dusting his hands off with a grunt. Bulky hands fish for a comlink, brought up to his lips. "Ruby, I've got the target. Ruby, are you listening— yes, I've got it, I need a shuttle here in five or else the deal's off and I'm selling it myself." The man's voice is low, gravelly, spare hand running stubby digits through a thick beard. The crate rummages, teeth clamping around one of the steel bars at its front. The smuggler paces, brow knitted in welling impatience as he listens to the voice on the other end of the com — unaware of the metallic snapping that's given way beneath him.

From within the crate's confines, a baby Karnissadon emerges, squeezing its stocky body past the gap it had just chewed out. Glancing up at its captor, the pup makes a hasty escape, paws carrying it across the hard flooring of Scarif's spaceport and into its densely populated hub. Naturally, the sight of a loose Karnissadon inspires less than pleasant reactions; passers-by shriek at the sight of it, mothers grasping their children to tug them to safety as onlookers make a mad dash.

Despite the cold reception, the pup seems unfazed by the surrounding wails. It tilts its head, perhaps a tad disappointed that people are leaving it — seemingly wanting to play, it tries to ease any worries by planting its rump down and warbling a sweet little whine as a sign of docility.

Before it netted any results, however, the Karnissadon's vision blinked black as another crate swallowed it whole. The smuggler — visibly pissed — slams the cage shut, having sought out a replacement, this one concealing the pup with a thick panel that could be opened only by sliding it from the outside. With nothing to chew, there was little hope of escape.

"Ugly thing," he hisses, right leg reared back for a swift KICK to the side of the crate to silence the pup's muffled cries. Gritting his teeth, the man heaves the cage up, carried under his arm as he marches off to the docking bay to await his ride.

 

[Jenn Kryze]

Beskar'gam
​

| Location | Scarif
| Objective | Relax Save a sharkpup!

Mandalore stood as the ancestral homeworld of the Mandalorian people. Under the leadership of its new Alor, Clan Kryze no called Onderon their home. In spite of this, Jenn Kryze failed to recognize either world as a place where her heart truly belonged, for a third existed, far from either; a place that captured her heart and soul from the first time she stepped off her Xandu.​

​

Scarif was a tropical jewel; a place of immense beauty, yes, yet so much more than that. There were no responsibilities here, no reminders of the sheer weight that steadily brought her further and further down each passing day; to the locals, she was but an infrequent, if pleasantly friendly helmet for them to come across, and she relished in the carefree simplicity of it all. All but looking forward for a chance to flip her fins in the water of her favorite atoll, Jenn considered which music to play right into her helmet for her leisurely stroll on the beach... when a commotion caught her attention. More often than not, she caught a few looks sent her way (beskar had a way of attracting attention, after all), perhaps even an awed child pointing excitedly her way while tugging on their caretaker's sleeve - but this was different.​

​

Looking up from her bracer at the sound of wailing filling the air, the Mandalorian watched on as the most wonderful little creature she had ever seen passed her by, titillating her curiosity. Where many onlookers scrambled to get themselves away from the Karnissadon, the Ersansyr watched as the excitable pup sat itself down and whined... and, just as she pieced together how docile (or, at the very least, amicable) the poor thing really was, a stranger came along to trap it within a crate.​

​

Behind the faceless shape of her Y visor, Jenn's brows furrowed into a deep frown. And when that bastard went and gave that crate a firm kick, a low, murderous snarl escaped the siren.​

​

Each and every step she took spoke of fury, and none dared stand in her path. Seeing a Mandalorian walking with such purpose never heralded a peaceful resolution! A quick burst of her jetpack sent her into the air, flying over her target gracefully - before dropping down right in front of him, a blaster pointed right at his chest.​

​

"Only ugly thing I'm seeing here is you. Drop the crate, slowly, and walk away."​

​

And yet a part of her wished for him to defy her, and give in to the urge to make the Galaxy a better place.​

​

Guppy ​

 

[Guppy]

| LOCATION: Scarif |
| TAG: Jenn Kryze |


The sound of ignited thrusters was enough to grab attention. The smuggler peered over his shoulder, curious, only for his eyes to widen the subtlest amount as they settled on the noise's source. With little time to react, the most he could do was follow the Mandalorian's every movement with an unwavering gaze, body tensed and breathing sharp. Just his luck, he thought, as his newest adversary closed the distance and planted her feet in front of him.

"You can't be serious," he mutters, nose turned up and lips pulled taut into a scowl. The blaster is offered a single glance of defiance, followed up by a gravelly sigh that bubbles at his throat. Slowly, the man lowers an arm, gingerly placing the cage back down onto the floor. Stare growing scornful, he raises himself back up, both hands now in the air in sign of surrender. "It's just. An animal."

Surprisingly, there's a step forward — despite seemingly being empty-handed, he appears to be doubling down. "It's got nothing left, kid. What're you gonna do? Toss it back to a bigger fish looking for a meal?" Every word is poison, oozing with contempt. "I'm doing it a favor. You really gonna pick a fight over some stupid pet? In front of everyone?"

His head cants upward, attention shifting between the open skies and the Mandalorian before him. "Listen, I've got a flight to catch in five minutes. With real important people. If you know what's best for you, you'd leave me and the monster to it and get out of my face. Maybe if you're a good little girl, we can pretend this never happened, huh?"

The crate rumbles, the creature inside clearly trying its best to bust itself out. It's a fruitless endeavor, of course; the Karnissadon earns nothing but dull thuds and a mild numbness to its face, crying out for help with gargled whimpers.

A second step forward, this time with another kick to the cage — it's much gentler, however, serving to simply slide it further out of reach. The smuggler keeps his arms skyward, though his fingers are itching to grab at something unseen. A bated breath, and his gaze flickers to an approaching shuttle slowly making its way to the docking bay. A black speck in the distance, but drawing nearer all the same. Finally, the man's focus returns to the Mandalorian, a sleazy smile tugging at his lips.

"What do you say?"

 

[Jenn Kryze]

Beskar'gam
​

| Location | Scarif
| Objective | Save a sharkpup!

Jenn had been a bounty hunter, once - in those days when she yet prowled the vast expanse of the galaxy in search of the remnants of her people. Falling back into that role came easily enough to her; invoking the ominous reputation left by her people was something of an acquired skill. Even as the man before her kept on yapping away, the faceless warrior remained silent, hoping to instill within him a sense of unease. Nothing he said seemed to make a lick of difference in how that Y visor kept on staring him down.​

​

It was all an act, of course. A display meant to instill fear in the opposition. Beneath the imposing helm that came to represent an entire culture, lay a woman whose patience kept on being tested by the universe. The condescending tone (and words!) employed by the smuggler were not enough to set her off; but the casual dismissal of the well-being of another living being did. Not that she would give him the satisfaction of seeing it coming, returning her blaster to its holster on her gun belt slowly, as if the situation had been defused, and the matter thought beneath her.​

​

Until the siren moved with frightening speed, for one clad in beskar. The smuggler found himself with his back to the dirt before his mind could catch up to just how fast the situation had gotten out of hand. Perhaps he might realize, if a little too late, that the Mandalorian clad in shimmering blue plate was not a person he should have trifled with as her fingers closed around his throat, squeezing mercilessly... whilst the other hand closed into a fist, and struck him, again and again-​

​

The crate's rumbling stopped her from turning the smuggler's face into paste, much as she felt she might improve the galaxy by doing so. Furious as she was, Jenn knew that her anger, so often roused as of late, could only take her down a dark path. She had to be more than merely the avenging angel her warrior soul yearned to be, something better. Standing up to her feet, the Mandalorian gave the smuggler's form one last kick to the ribs, just as she had kicked the box whilst insulting the poor creature. Without paying any more attention to him, Jenn turned towards the crate, crouching down to open it.​

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"Shhhhh, it's okay now", called out the siren in that captivating sing-song voice of hers, offering a hand for the terrified little thing inside to sniff, or otherwise realize that she was unarmed. "You're safe. I've got you, little friend."​

​

Guppy ​

 

[Guppy]

| LOCATION: Scarif |
| TAG: Jenn Kryze |


The lowering of her weapon was met — unsurprisingly — with a sardonic smug. Palpable in its condescendence, the man's shoulders bounced with a roaring laughter partly fuelled by relief. "There we go. See?" He snarks, arms dropping down to his sides. "That wasn't so hard, now, was it?" Dark chuckles gradually trail off into an amused snicker, until all that's left is an ever-presenting grin that stretches from ear to ear.

"Now, move out of the——"

The wind is knocked from his lungs with a flash of blue, his back meeting the ground with a sickening thud. A pained wheeze is wrung from his chest, vision blurred and world spinning before a ruthless hand has seized his throat. Fight-or-flight kicks in, the man sputtering and flailing, thick fingers clasped around the Mandalorian's wrist in desperate attempt to pry her clutches off of him. It's all for nothing, of course — as big a stature as he boasted, Jenn was simply far more experienced than he was.

Legs kick, with his free arm jutted forth to plant a palm against the woman's visor. An effort is made to either smack or remove it — truthfully, it didn't matter — before his movements are killed on the spot by a vicious strike to his face courtesy of a powerful fist. The smuggler's head is knocked back, smacking against the floor with a force that further scatters his thoughts. His ears are ringing, eyes squeezed shut as the Mandalorian delivers punch after punch. The searing sting of blistering pain soon gives way to a silver-lined numbness, and the man has all but given in by the time Jenn has mercifully pulled away.

The Karnisaddon, conversely, has had a pretty good time, being freed from its confines and stepping out from within the claustrophobic cage that had briefly deprived it of sunlight. There's little hesitation on his part — four stubby paws trot out and over to his savior, head tilted and attention fixed on the hand offered in kind. As expected, it's sniffed, rewarding him with a scent not unfamiliar to him; happy, the pup's tongue lolls at Jenn's palm, slobbering gleefully as a tail wags with the wiggle of his haunches.

"You... hnrgh . . . you karking little brat..."

The display of affection comes to a hold, gaze wandering over to the low grunts and labored breathing of a man coughing up blood. The Karnissadon brushes past the Mandalorian's legs, inching closer to the thoroughly beaten smuggler.

With a hiss, a shaky hand reaches to the back of his belt, retrieving a small pistol that's promptly raised and aimed — unsteadily — toward Jenn. "You have no idea- Ueghwwhat you've done—" A wheeze, bloodied teeth gritting, as his index flirts with the trigger. "You're gonna regret that. You're not gonnaAAAHGGGHHH——"

Serrated teeth have clamped around his wrist, his grip faltering as the pistol falls to the ground. The smuggler throws his head back, air met with a deafening shriek of raw agony. The Karnissadon's grasp only tightens, sinking those pearly white daggers further into freshly pierced skin until— with one intensified bite— his wrist is severed entirely, split from his arm with nothing but a few strands of wayward flesh to speak of it.

The pup shakes its prize around in its mouth, before spitting it out and letting it roll along the dirt as a tongue laps at the crimson painting its teeth. Despite the carnal assault, he looks innocent as can be — panting away with a still-wagging tail. He peers up at the Mandalorian, eyes soft, as though waiting for approval.

 

[Jenn Kryze]

Beskar'gam
​

| Location | Scarif
| Objective | A new little friend

It was foolish of her to leave a foe alive before turning her back to them. Past Jenn would never have been this sloppy - but, then again, past Jenn would simply have shot the man in the back before selling the cargo in his stead, cold-hearted bounty hunter that she was. Losing some of her edge was a sacrifice she was more than willing to make, considering how far she had come since then, earning a certain measure of wisdom for herself across the years.​

​

Who could really blame her, though? The Karnissadon before her was such an endearing little friend, after all! A warm chuckle escaped the Mandalorian's helm as her hand was licked, rewarding the pup with a little pat against the side of its head. The tailwag that followed had the siren rolling her eyes, all too amused by the display- before those gargled words reached her ears, and she slowly turned around to address the threat. It took but a moment for her to formulate a plan of action; given how she had cleaned the smuggler's clock, she doubted his shot would land, much less keep up with a jetpack-assisted doge on her part. Before she could do just that and finish him off with a quick stab of her knuckleplate vibrobalde, however, the lovable pup ambled on over to the man who held him captive so cruelly, and...​

​

Although her body language did little to betray her surprise, calm and composed as she was, the Alor was somewhat taken aback by the sudden display of near-primal hunger. A hunger... not too dissimilar from her own, she realized, though keeping hers in check was far easier a proposition than it must have been for the sharkpup. Unholstering her blaster from its holster, the Mandalorian silenced the smuggler once and for all with a quick shot to the chest (a merciful end, all things considered) whilst strolling over to the Karnissadon, weighing the pros and cons of bringing him along. In spite of the mess he made with his teeth, he still looked so very docile, much like a little puppy desperate for attention!​

​

Jenn made her choice, then, as she crouched down and began to rub her hand against the little guy's snout affectionately. A reward, for a job well done. She'd make it work... somehow.​

​

"Who's my favorite little shark-pup? Who's my favorite little shark-pup? Yeeees you are!" ​

​

Guppy ​

 

[Guppy]

| LOCATION: Scarif |
| TAG: Jenn Kryze |


The man's struggles, hopeless in their efforts, ceased in an instant. The blaster shot was fatal, a lingering hum left in its wake that shook throughout the nearby walls. Passers-by, alerted by the noise, were quick to run off. Nobody dared to approach, lest they tempt fate against a Mandalorian that no present bystander stood a chance against — thus, the bay rang empty. Eerily so, with nobody but the woman and the beast she'd just saved, feet away from a lifeless corpse drowned in pools of crimson.

The Karnissadon doesn't bat an eye. The pup remains jovial, eager for attention; Jenn provides it in spades, and is subsequently granted a bombardment of licks from drool-slathered tongue, lapping at the hand brushing along his snout. The wagging of his haunches increases, tail swaying to-and-fro as excitement wells at his core — the pup dances, bobbing up and down with yips and yaps that gargle past his throat as he springs forth to double his affections.

Front paw at her knee, the Karnissadon is quick to prop his weight up, inching skyward as his tongue redirects its focus to her helmet. The Mandalorian's poor visor is promptly smeared in copious amounts of spittle, trickling down without a modicum of grace. His free front leg paws at the side of the helmet he'd just drenched, stubby claws tip-tapping against tinted glass. It was almost as though he knew it concealed a face underneath its coarse exterior — whether this had been coincidence or whether the pup truly craved to unearth said secret is left for the woman to ponder.

Despite the implied rough treatment at the hands of a brutish poacher, the pup seems rather healthy. There's a few bruises that have started to make themselves known along his sides, but they're hardly painful enough to impede movement. Collarless, having not been chipped -- should Jenn wish to release him into the waters of Scarif, he'd be gone without a trace. He doesn't want that, though, and a part of him recognizes that the feeling is mutual.

For now, the Mandalorian is left with the consequences of her choice: a baby, needy little Karnissadon lapping at her with all the elegance of a touchstarved mutt, unrelenting and unwavering in its guttural need to voice its love. The thrumming of jets draws louder, a shuttle nearing the area. Provided Jenn wish to avoid the impending confrontation with a smuggler in search for their target, it may be a good idea to venture someplace quieter.