Subtlety 101: How to Be Discreet (PM for Invitation)

[Astoach]

Who knew hotels in Kuat could be so vehemently filthy? It was such a beautiful planet, with ringed mesas of towering stone, crystalline waterbeds, and flourishing, bright flora, not to even mention their history as a wealthy aristocracy in service to the Empires of Old, crafting vast spacebound juggernauts to terrorize the Galaxy as eclipsing behemoths of war. But here, in the middle of the stinky inn, it looked like someone stuck their mops into a pond of fecal matter and decided to repaint the joint in filth. Certainly smelled like it. Yet here Astoach was, inhaling sharply the odor of the offworld working class and, much to his surprise, some noblemen downing a few too many drinks at the grimy bar. Turns out that the drinks, as advertised, really were that good to conjure up a few penny pinching upperclassmen at the dirt-stained counter, and who knew who else might pop up out of thin air come nightfall.

Astoach did not come all the way to this fantastic little joint for the fun and games provided however, even though the sudden urge to drink, a substance he had not found the slightest interest in ever, hit him like a truck as he watched those drunks suck down hooch like a black hole of booze. He was on the run again, like the good old days. He had gone a bit overboard the last few hunts and got his name really far out there. Stabbed an ambassador from Naboo too, a feat he was proud of, but one that got him on the radar by some really upset people, people who caught him and locked him up, people he knew the faces of, the names of, and people who he was going to get back at, especially that damn shard who had made it twice onto his naughty list. But following his rather intense and climactic escape he now had a big flashing sign stapled to his ass, one that read, “SHOOT ME! I’M WORTH A LOT OF MONEY!” And as trigger-happy people were, even one such as Astoach recognized the danger of walking said ass out in the midday sunshine for the entire Galaxy to see.

So here he was, sucking up that delectable reek of illegal immigrants and underpaid workers broiling together in their little nest of nastiness. Astoach almost felt at home. He never took off the mask, even if it did serve as the sole bullseye for the bounty hunters on his trail, but his mask, his Polyp, was his identity. To be without it was to be without skin, naked and cold, without purpose, without face, identity. It would be suicidal to remove such a feature fundamental to his character. “My mask is my son, blood, flesh, face, breath, and seed,” he muttered in a drawling wheeze, catching an odd glance from random passersby who scooted past or lurked at nearby tables. Walking into such a place with a mask was certain to grab attention but he minded little, he was a God, dammit, even if he was a God on the run. He had since convinced himself as a necessary precaution, he was to be a phantom, a mysterious figure far from limelight and prison, capture, would be far too revealing. He would be spoiled. Rotten.

Adjacent to the bar rested a clerk, half dozing off in a greasy vest behind a booth layered with grime. He was a bith, whose occasional, thunderous snore silenced the entirety of the floor and would startle himself awake with a jolt. It was a rather impressive spectacle, but one Astoach had little patience to watch play out on repeat for the remaining hours of the afternoon, and he approached with the ginger care of a rancor on hulk-level steroids. “One room for the night, please,” he requested, earning naught but a steady silence that seemed to drill into his skull. “One room, I said.” Silence. He noted the presence of a small desktop bell to his left, and he rung it. Silence. He rang it again. Silence. By this moment he was about to shove this bell where the sun might never shine until another snore detonated with concussive force and the bith rumbled from the deepest depths of his slumber, “Seventy-five credits, please…”

A truly riveting exchange and one that certainly left Astoach one step closer to choking out the next person that met him with eye contact.

[member="Tanalth"]

 

[Tanalth]

Kuat was not all that different from Courascant. Everyone thought it looked so nice thanks to the pristine look and the always present "ideal place to stay" advertisement it had. In truth it had it's darker underbelly that everyone either tried to ignore or maintained was not as bad as it seemed. So they said at least. But in truth it was the perefect place for someone like Tanalth to stay. Plenty of places to drink, possibly get into a few fights, and then have a nice little nap at a nearby hotel while bringing along "company" for the night. These were the sort of places she preferred to be on while awaiting word or confirmation on assignments and missions needed for either the One Sith or the Techno Union. Half the time, however, she wished she could just stay and say "karak off" on the missions. ​

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Finding a decent place to settle for the night, a bar with one hell of a lobby, Tanalth made her entrance no secret. She stepped in, towering over most, and looked around at some of the people who were surprised to see a Gen'dai or her size and look nearby. Her yellow eyes beamed as she looked around before seeing the bith clerk nearby for a room. She made her way over but stopped when she sniffed something. Looking towards a twi'lek who had what seemed like coreillian ale she walked over to him, towered in a threatening manner, and gestured she wanted his drink now. He quickly handed it over and sipped it down before giving a pleased hum. From there he drank down the last of it before dropping the bottle, which shattered, and then continuing onward to the clerk. ​

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She bumped against [member="Astoach"] , not really caring, and said "One room. Might need it for a few days." ​

 

[Astoach]

There was the brief fraction of inner peace, that stemming sense of tranquility running from the brief sliver of moment in between the retrieval of his key and the appearance of the Gen’Dai. It was just the overly exaggerated tone of exhaustive gratitude, for now in this brief moment things went smoothly, but it was such a profound impression that Astoach swore in subconscious silence. His brain felt numb as all of his hate, his pain, and the essences of his tortured conscious seemed to drain away into an unfeeling pressure and then buzz with some unfamiliaremotion and it was such an animated, stand-out feeling, Astoach almost felt the need to indulge upon it. He was feeling a rather sincere form of happiness, one free from the confines of manslaughter to get off on some libidinous, violent turn-on and to Astoach it felt rather pleasant, a word he had probably never used before.

Then [member="Tanalth"] bumped into him and all inner peace was shattered into panes of unseen broken glass. His concentration so fervidly ripped all notation of such harmony vanished into clouds of rage, never to see the light of day again. He did not even know what she was, who she was, and what she could do, but what Astoach did take of note was of how this damn red Amazonian plowed past him with the grace befitting a tank, and the sheer disrespect of it all, that glaring sense of disconcert that seemed to radiate from her, it all struck the deepest cord of Astoach’s frustration, reigniting his previous anger into a deep wrath that committed mutiny upon his rationality and scored control of his subsequent actions. This snu snu-looking juggernaut had just pissed off a wanted murderer dammit, a self-perceived God at that! She should be groveling before him, for what he has done, what he has committed, trumps all sense of self. He was legion, composed of the eyes of hundreds, watching out through the thin veil of shadow cascading from his mask, his Polyp, and if this freaking jolly red giant was just going to steamroll him then by-the-Force would she be taught the errors of her ways.

“Schutta,” called out Astoach, the hostility on his voice present like a knife edge, drowning in the call of the cantina only to break free with another foul addressment of the giant woman before him. “Schutta!” He cared not if she turned; he was already scorned and needed not her further addressment. Instead he would act upon his reputation and make sure that his fame would be upheld, he was to be feared not shirked! With that, he drew his blade, a stained machete, patched and worn by the year of use dragging back to the fungal jungles of Felucia, but looked after with loving care, licked clean and patched in the wear, drawing forth its long-lasting usage and giving it a very grim, used appearance that he felt suited him rather nicely. “Do you know who I am? Do you have any idea who you’re just pushing past, you space ape?”

 

[Tanalth]

Hearing someone call 'schutta' had not truly phased Tanalth all that much. She only perked up before looking back to the teller, waiting for her room key. The second time however made her groan before looking back to who said it. She looked down at the odd creature in front of her. Clearly he was wearing a mask, gross as it looked, which made a small smile appear on the side of her lips. He looked so silly even as he called her names that she couldn't help but smirk at him all the more. When he asked who she'd bumped into she merely giggled and joked "Someone clearly afraid to look in a mirror once in a while." She let out a bigger laugh before her hand reached out, encompassing his entire head, and then pushing him back. Her attention went back to the teller as she made it clear she did not see [member="Astoach"] as a threat. ​

 

[Astoach]

What immediate fathoms of rage smoked in lapping flames was immediately cooled into the frosty desire of suffering. Astoach was only audible in the profound ring of what he could only describe as confusion to her initial comment, then silenced beneath the resounding crack of his withholding rationality caving in, collapsing into the bomb shelter of conscious thought, burying the inhabitants alive under the glacial ice of dead intent. He eyed up her spine and exhaled sharply, wheezing the breath through pursed lips, peeled apart into a snarl, exposing the white teeth beneath his chops, dribbling frothing drool that trickled down his chin and pooled in the cup of his mask’s jaw. He snuggling gripped the hilt of his weapon, the shimmering neon of the cantina highlights glancing off the edge in luminous arrays of reds and purples, blues and greens.

There was always this brief moment of clarity, as he noted, where all things seemed to smooth around the edges and collapse into a singular fold. This was that moment, where senses heightened and movement became machinery, it became clockwork, each flex of muscle a tick in the gears as time wove around him like a shroud, mummifying him, collapsing his corpse into the fold. He grunted beneath the weight and took a stiff step forward, the initial herald to his march into madness, and rose the knife, winding back his arm so the heavy blade glinted in the air, catching the panicked glances of nearby patrons, but granting little time for reaction, until he rolled the arm back down, unwinding it, like he was rolling a bowling ball, cascading the weapon along the path of its ascendance to grant it momentum as he attempted to drive it into the underside of her knee, to collapse her titanic trunk-like leg.

There would be no one above him, such shirking lack of concern, such disrespect, the vast intensity of her desire to irk him was unfathomable, drowning him in the black sea of maddened hate, so hot it turned to hoarfrost in the air, raining ashen snow upon his conscious as he fixated upon this complex. He was on the run, yes, but his reputation demanded reverence from such lowlifes, his work demanded exalted praise. He would chop her down like a tree and slice her to bits if that’s what it took to gain notoriety in this single backwater cantina, and that is what he took action upon. She would be mincemeat, knocked up in carrion and splayed across the bar, gore splattered across ever damn room of this hotel if he had to.

There would be nothing left, so help him God.

[member="Tanalth"]

 

[Tanalth]

Tanalth had sensed it before he moved. Her connection with the Force at least gave her that advantage. She turned as she charged only to catch him as he tried to tackle her to the ground. Seeing his weapon one hand grabbed his wrist, holding it in tight grip, before forcing him to drop the weapon. Seeing this, confirming he had attempted to attack her, she sneered at him before hoisting the little man in the air by his arm. She huffed a smirk before tossing him back even further into the bar, making him land on a table of patrons. She awaited his reaction, crossing her arms with anticipation. ​

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[member="Astoach"]​

 

[Astoach]

Astoach only laid out atop the table, lightly fractured by his descent and weighed upon, much like he weighed upon the contemplations of his near instantaneous defeat. No, this woman was not like the child, bested by a mere playtime, she would put up a fight, and win in physical confrontation. These thoughts raced about his head as he rose, his back slowly creaking and he slithered upright, still sitting upon the table, to eye the Gen'Dai with vacant glare. "I'm dead," he said, matter-of-factly. "I'm lonely, I make people join me." He writhed, scooting his buttocks off the countertop and landed on twin, black boots with a heavy thud, shaking the coated film of dust from his coat and creating a downpour of grime from his form. "Polyp of Keln'shar breaks my flesh and replaced it with Legion, cascading fathoms of the dead, drunken in my gullet and drowned in my belly. Do you want to join them?" He eyed the vacant weapon, its blade bitten into the floor beside her feet. "I think you do, but you aren't a Jedi, are you?"

[member="Tanalth"]

 

[Tanalth]

Given the odd response [member="Astoach"] had given Tanalth's gave a matching confused look with her thoughts. He talked about things she had no idea of. When he asked to join some team, then mentioning about not being a Jedi, she walked over to him, towering over again. She leaned down with her eyes burning into his as she was practically face-to-face. "Do I look like a Jedi?" she sarcastically asked before leaning back, overshadowing him again. "You're an odd one, you know that? First you try to kill me and then you want me to join a team? What? You trying to butter me up or something?" ​

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[member="Astoach"]​

 

[Astoach]

[member="Tanalth"]

"Do I look like a Jedi?" she sarcastically asked before leaning back, overshadowing him again. "You're an odd one, you know that? First you try to kill me and then you want me to join a team? What? You trying to butter me up or something?"

Astoach met this response with a harrowing, blank stare. Is she serious? He doubted it, this was a mental maneuver to trump his own, collapsing his ability into underestimation, leaving him naked to further, complex mental assaults. She thought she had Astoach under her thumb, but not for long. Judging by the strange manner, the sheer bluntness, in which she spoke meant, to Astoach, that she must be speaking in highly intricate riddles, meaning that not only was she speaking above Astoach, she must be speaking down to him. An unforgivable blunder, one that must be met with correction and swift response. Even if the giant stood so close, so close he smelled her breath which nearly puckered his face into an alternate dimension, he felt no fear. He would be God unto earth by blood and sacrifice, he was Legion, destined to rile the destitute by consumption. Some scarlet behemoth would not be the one to send him packing in panic.

"Sith then?" inquired Astoach, standing his ground with stern poise, ready for her next assault, whether physical or mental. "I'm not odd, I'm rather normal, you're odd." Yes, for her roundabout speech was to be flung back. TEN FOLD. "So odd in fact you're red, and giant, that's odd. I don't want odd people on my team, not at all, you're too big for that, and I don't think I'd have enough margarine in the entire world to butter you up anyway."

 

[Tanalth]

Tanalth only titled her head at him. Obviously he was either crazy or just trying to toy with her. And given the fact she could be "off her rocker" at times, that said something. When he then insisted she was too odd to be on his team she merely shrugged and said "Must be pretty dull if all they have is your face to look at." The then leaned close, trying to peek behind the eye-holes, while asking "What's even under there? You lose your face or something? Is there a big scar? Can I see?" She started pawing at his mask to try and see what was underneath like a rude child. ​

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[member="Astoach"]​

 

[Astoach]

"Must be pretty dull if all they have is your face to look at." The then leaned close, trying to peek behind the eye-holes, while asking "What's even under there? You lose your face or something? Is there a big scar? Can I see?"

There was a sensation, some grasp of delight from this vastly comical approach to confrontation. He indulged upon it, enthralled himself by it, swallowed by the mixing, churning currents of wicked entertainment so that he might engulf his entirety within it. He had an inkling, some introverted instinct, deep within the subconsciousness of thought, regarding this, for how had he missed out upon such banter, such faint companionship through his foils? Had he been missing this all along?

He decided to escalate it and find out. "Like hell that it's dull, you're just too damn dense to comprehend that!" he snarled, swiping away her grasping hand and retreating a few steps, attempting to garner interest upon his blatantly exposed weakness. "My face is fine thank you, I just wear this over it for... reasons." It was a perfect trap, yet rather for the sake of argument, it was for attention, something that Astoach found a strange new yearning for.

It was all rather innocent.

 

[Tanalth]

Even as he swatted her hand away Tanalth gave given a little chuckle. Now she felt like an older child abusing a younger sibling. Even as he spat back at her about not being dull, his "pokyp" as he called being something of holy value, she still looked unconvinced. "Really? 'Cause even that sounds pretty dull to me." After that she poked his shoulder, which would feel like a hard tap, while adding "Bet you don't take it off enough to where it smells, huh? You have a dull face under there? D-U-LLLLL."​

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[member="Astoach"]​

 

[Astoach]

By the sun, moon, and stars if there had been ever a person to worm under his skin it was this woman, playing his emotions like a game of pong and slamming it to and fro, back and forth, and steadily driving him to the point of fatal insanity. By this point Astoach was about to start seeing double, his eyes so strained in a glare he might nearly go blind. He was a seasoned killer, murderer of innocents, children even, hunter of weeping, begging targets who were culled, gutted, eaten, adorned, used, and displayed in vile fetishes of Astoach's blood-strewn sense of eroticism. Yet, here he was, duking it out with some eight foot tall scarlet gorilla like a pair of school age children on a playground. Do children normally feel this angry? So angry they may suffer a stroke? Unseen veins popped along his brow, his red cheeks aflame with anger and embarassment. But his thoughts never turn back to the machete, only back to the banter.

"Really? 'Cause even that sounds pretty dull to me." After that she poked his shoulder, which would feel like a hard tap, while adding "Bet you don't take it off enough to where it smells, huh? You have a dull face under there? D-U-LLLLL."

"It sounds dull? Simple because you lake refined taste you freaking Bantha," spat Astoach, arms now crossed firmly in front of his chest to void any attempts of fury-induced suicide. At the touch of his shoulder he immediately recoiled, taking another step away from Tanalth. "I do take it off and for your information I wash it very gingerly every night so it doesn't smell and for your information my face isn't dull." What a sick burn. "Stop taking out your fething stupidity on me because you can't direct your damn rancor body through crowds like a normal person. Stabbing you was the right thing to do before you drive your wampa ass through a school yard and eat a class of toddlers."

[member="Tanalth"]

 

[Tanalth]

He spat out more insults while Tanalth just stood there with her arms crossed. Others in the cantina could tell things were escalating to where they started making for the doors. Tanalth looked directly at [member="Astoach"] the entire time as he continued to compare her to heavy beasts like banthas and rancors. She didn't seem very phased but clearly not happy with what he was referring to her as. Eventually she dropped her arms and brought one finger up to his chest. A hard poke came that would not him down on his back. Once he was she planted her right food onto his chest to keep him pinned. A little pressure was added as she kept him where he was, leaning down to speak to him.​

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"When I'm done with you, you'll be wishing that mask had a zipped to keep your mouth shut."​

 

[Astoach]

"When I'm done with you, you'll be wishing that mask had a zipped to keep your mouth shut."

Astoach remained content as he was firmly planted on the ground. Following these past few days, a fist fight with Koko here did not seem like the worst fate to befall him yet, but she did not seem very impressed by his comments. After all the pain, all the rage, there was no sensation within him, only the tired willingness for this to be over. Not necessarily within the sense of despair, but rather a plain annoyance with the continuous occurrence of every movement gone sour. As he stared down the ruby He-man, whose foot planted him to the floor and mouth spilled threats upon him. He only snorted derisively, seeking to keep on scorning her to the to the conclusion of the deal, "My mask doesn't even have a zipper you Lurdo."

"What happened to your pelt, you wookie? Lose it during some fling with a trandoshan?"

Que the Z-formation finger snap.

 

[Tanalth]

She smirked as he still continued to annoy her with his words before removing her foot. Only now she decided to use him as a seat as she planted her backside on his chest, bringing the whole weight of her body on him; not the full measure but close enough to where he'd have trouble breathing. Her legs came up and planted his arms to the side, her feet on his wrists, before she looked down at him with her yellow eyes still a glare. "I know you're just doing it to piss me off. And it's working. But I can play this game too." She reached out and grabbed the hem of his mask before saying "How about we see how ugly you are underneath?"​

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[member="Astoach"]​

 

[Astoach]

Many men would likely have given body and soul to trade places with Astoach at that very moment, yet the killer felt far less than enjoyment; rather than excitement, he experienced the crushing weight of the monster sitting upon him, using him as a glorified, squirming seat. He could not discern whether or not she was enjoying this, but it became clear his comments had hit the buttons, and aggravated the beast, as intended, but what he did not expect was her to home in so close. In the personal displays of vile, erotic affection to the dead, Astoach often did not hesitate in disturbing closeness to the corpse as he gently removed the various parts and pieces with surgical care, but here, here of all places, he felt unnervingly claustrophobic. And what was once the mere disturbance, as she sat upon him, turned into full-fledged open panic as her fingers slipped upon his mask.

"How about we see how ugly you are underneath?"

“Don’t you dare!” hissed Astoach. Yet, force would never work against the brute, the tremendous hulk of muscle that currently was within punching distance of his nether regions. His toes curled at the threats he now was exposed to, with wrists pinned beneath her heels. He needed to bargain with this devil, not plead, but bargain, even if it would mean losing his soul. His mask was his identity, only to be removed as a tool, a weapon, not as a means of discovering his identity! That was blasphemy and heresy! He would be damned should this zillo beast ever witness his face upon the light of day. “Wait, wait!” he attempted to interrupt, struggling to wiggle his wrists free from her massive feet. “Don't touch it, leave my mask on and I'll do anything. I'll even let you know... my secret."

The oldest trick in the book. It was simply a matter of tickling the ape's curiosity and at the next moment she would be dancing on the palm of his hand.

[member="Tanalth"]

 

[Tanalth]

She teased at the part of the mask she held, wiggling it ever so slightly as to hint that she would pull it off and see him. She stopped when he basically wanted to make a deal. He would share some secret with her if it meant not seeing his face. Odd. Either he really didn't want anyone to see or he was tat desperate for an excuse to want to not have himself exposed. She still had the mask between her fingers as she asked "And what's that exactly? The secret where you tell me something, I seem impressed and let you go, only for you to suddenly turn the tables on me? I may be big and a brute, but I'm not stupid."​

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[member="Astoach"]​

 

[Astoach]

"And what's that exactly? The secret where you tell me something, I seem impressed and let you go, only for you to suddenly turn the tables on me? I may be big and a brute, but I'm not stupid."

“No, no, no, you just don’t have to take the mask off, that’s it, no catch,” he assured, nodding his head cheerily, gently certain to control the direction of his head so not the single most minute inch of skin would peer beyond the breadth of the leather. “You can just sit on me all night if you like; it’s really doing wonders for my lung capacity, certainly.” He gave a sharp inhale as if to physically express the fact, still gently attempting to wiggle free his now numb hands from the clutch of the Gen’Dai’s feet. “Just swear on your life not to take off my mask and then lean in real close so I can whisper my secret into your ear. Simple, no strings attached, you don’t have to worry one single bit about me turning the tables on you, whatsoever. I can’t move down here, Force’s sake. I can’t even feel my legs anymore, I’m probably crippled.” He stared expectantly down at his immobile legs, expressing the fact that they, indeed, were not going to be making any sudden movements during the trade-off. "I'm a man of my word, trust me. I wouldn't get so far in life if I was so accustomed to backstabbing!"

 

[Tanalth]

She considered it for a moment, her fingers still wobbling on the mask while her had rested on her chin. Either she was really thinking it over or she was just toying with him. The seconds would seem like entire moments to him in anticipation as she finally came to a verdict. "Okay." she shrugged before taking her fingers off the mask. And then, to what would probably be the surprise of [member="Astoach"] , she stood off of him as well. She stood back and gave him a few minutes to recover before taking him in both of her strong hands. She hoisted him up and slung him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. One hand held his back while the other was large enough to grasp both his ankles with ease. As she carried him like a caveman would his mate she said "Hold tight." before walking off. ​

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[member="Astoach"]​