These Aren't the Slaves You're Looking For [Aver]

[Aver Brand]

She quirked a brow.

Chewing on her response, the merc brought up her datalogger and placed a bet on the noghri fighter. His opponent, a wispy nagai, simply wouldn’t withstand those killer instincts. Hell, the lizard warriors were skilled enough to make the Yuuzhan Vong sweat.

“Something wrong with ya, or what?” Aver enjoyed her work, and she took vacations. Plenty of them. Used to be they were on Onderon – these days, they could be… anywhere. There was a certain thrill of unpredictability there, still, that made her smile behind her skull faceplate.

“You don’t relax that head of yours, you’re gonna sna— Alright, you fether, GET HIM!” She punched the air as the noghri began pummeling his opponent into the ground. Fist after fist after fist, and the arena heaved with the violence on the air.

“Krellan Rahn does it again! A fifth victory this week – a real upset from below, folks!” Cheers and beer; blood and sweat. Aver revelled in it.

But she revelled more in what came next.

“Now, you dirty Nadir scumbags, it’s Taungsday, and you know what that means!”

“VO-LUN-TEERS!”
“VO-LUN-TEERS!”
“VO-LUN-TEERS!”

The chanting of the people.

Aver reached over, lightning quick, and pulled Emryc’s arm in the air.

 

[Emryc]

“Something wrong with ya, or what?”

A question of questions. Emryc did not dignify it with a response.

One minute he was stashing away his tin of cigarras into a breast pocket, the next his left hand was in the air. There was no coolness to the hazy grey maelstorm that swiveled round to meet the grinning Merc and he considered, however briefly, forcing her teeth into her mouth with his fist.

Only for a speedy exit, not that he thought for a second he'd survive a round against Aver Brand.

This was a terrible idea.

“Well well well, looks like we got ourselves Rahn's next victim!”

The crowd did not agree with his sentiment.

Jaw tight, brow tighter, Emryc released a long breath through his nose and reclaimed his arm from the woman. Let it be known it was this moment in history that solidified within the man a particular disliking for her on par with his sentiments held towards Qosta and Archie. Especially Archie. Especially today.

He turned from Aver without a word and strode off around the pit cage, hands unfastening the buttons that held his jacket in place. by the time he'd descended the stairs and reached the side pit entrance he was pulling the suit piece from his shoulders and handing it off to a ring attendee - a tiny toydarian. The armored vest upon which a host of weapons rested snuggly against his figure came next followed by his waist holsters. It was Taungsday, after all, which meant no weapons. Skin on skin, fist on face. The attendee nearly collapsed under the weight. Emryc topped it off with the pressed black business shirt, shoes, socks and his belt before he moved to enter the arena.

A chiseled piece of art met the spectators, his silvered skin causing him to resemble the granite sculptures one might find in the gardens of Troy. His shoulders were broad and his torso stacked by the outline of carved sinew - any scars visible were very faint, a testament to the powerful healing factor of a pureblooded Firrerreo. The crowd roared, the Ringmaster stepped up between the two fighters that had begun to circle one another, sizing each other up.

“Isn't this a pretty face on a tall drink, eh ladies? What's your name?”

Emryc did not reply. His gaze was daggers, his fists were curled.

“Nexu got your tongue? Well how bout we call you Prettyboy! Let's see how pretty you are after Rahn's done with you. Fighters ready!”

Assassin and Interrogator nodded in turn.

“FIGHT!”

 

[Aver Brand]

Ice blue followed him all the way down, and she wasn’t the only one. The whole arena fell into subdued susurrus as he stripped. Women stared – some men, too. No wonder. Man was built like Gayla Riemann’s wet dream: all pale, sculpted muscle, with that flexed jaw of manly suffering that made chicks go weak at the knees.

The merc swallowed her threatening laughter with a deep swig from her tumbler. Wouldn’t do to interrupt his moment of glory with a guffaw.

Rahn was a noghri. Emryc was… not human. There’d been something familiar about him at the safehouse, and it’d been prodding at the back of her mind the whole ride over. Aver was observant, but her attention was selective – looking at the pair of them now, she could tell a number of things. (None of them had jack to do with feelings.)

Like the fact that the lizard would favor his left foot because the dominant one got injured in the last fight.

Or that ex-coathanger was now slouching on purpose, trying to sell a shorter reach to his foe.

And that Rahn had a crybernetic right arm that hit like a head-on collision in Nadir traffic. And that [member="Emryc"] had swiped some sand off the ground at the lip of the corridor.

And that it was gonna be a fethin’ good fight.