To Start Down The Path...

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Fondor was the last place Rook would have gone searching for the Cabal. All his previous encounters with its members had been on the far outer rim, and records showed they preferred to stay away from the galactic core. They were a finicky bunch; afraid of their own shadows yet the thought themselves gods. Arrogance truly knew no bounds.

The single thread of information that had brought the errant warrior to this world was unreliable at best. Just a few words left on the holoterminal of a geneticist that had been on the Cabal's payroll.

'Jester is moving our assets to Oridin City. You'll find him in the Red Rose.'

So Rook had come. He wandered the streets alone, save for the rare drunken denizen or the occasional young couple. The average folk stayed away from the Nova district of Oridin. It was a seedy, dangerous place, and one only ever went there for the sake of sin. In a way, that was exactly what Rook was up to now.

He'd taken the time to look up this Red Rose. It was a run down tavern that smugglers seemed to have a love for in the area, and after speaking to some of the city's commoners, a brothel later in the night. Whoever this Jester was, he had bad taste in entertainment.

Ahead, he could make out the faint neon light of the cantina. Men and women of various different species meandered around the entrance. Some were heavily inebriated, others were taking care of them, and others still were escorting partners they'd chosen for the evening back to their homes. Not a soul paid the man in the black jacket a thought when he strode through the doors.

The smell of alcohol and perfume hit him like a truck. the lights were dimmed low, and smoke from pipes and cigars curled up to caress the wooden ceiling. Every booth in the room was filled, and people came running up and down the stairs leading to what Rook could only assume was the servicing area for the brothel. He shrugged, and made his way toward the bar.

He'd set aside his armor for this trip. Today, he was just a simple bruiser, clad in a black hooded jacket, jeans, and two blasters clung to the holsters at his hip. He settled on one of the many stools, ran a hand over his shaved head, and turned about. Men of the Cabal were well established. Jester would likely be well dressed, well protected, and surrounded by women.

Rook would find him, eventually.

[member="Malin Spritejägare"]

 

[Beowoof]

Malin was in a bar.

That was not too surprising, in actuality. She practically lived in them these days. The former cop had taken a mental beating ever since her job and her home were obliterated, and all she really had these days was a knapsack, a religious book handed to her by some weary preacher a few months ago, and whatever bottle of alcohol she was currently drowning in. Today, it was Cap'n Whiskers. Hard stuff, but it made her a little less concerned about tomorrow.

She was dead. The galaxy was dead to her and her life was but a repetitive pub crawl to wherever would serve the unkempt blonde. She was rather tall for a human female, but her posture was ever slumped as she limped through life in a drunken stupor. When she had her livelihood to keep her happy, even criminals had flirted with her and craned to check out her figure. But nowadays she was just another drunk wasting away.

Malin had never predicted she would be anything like this. Of all people, she would have sworn that she would never become an alcoholic. Liquor had never been much on her mind previously. In fact, she had pulled her fair share of sloshed brawlers out of bars in the past as a CorSec patrolwoman. But those days were gone. Corellia was gone. Malin was gone. All that was left of her were tears in a bottle of whiskey.

Head lolling as she was in the throes of an alcohol-induced faint, the down-and-out CorSec officer swiped her hand down atop the shoulder of the man who had just sat down next to her to maintain balance before her face made contact with the countertop. "Don' trussst any'un o'er thurdy."

[member="Rook"]

 

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It certainly wasn't going to be the Bith in the corner. He was too far from human for the Cabal to give him the time of day - they had always been rather human-centric. Rook's gaze shifted to a Rodian, then a Nikto, checking each off his metaphorical list as the city's nightlife began to come out of the rafters. Plenty of drunks and lowlifes showed themselves, but no one of relative importance.

Mumbling a curse under his breath, Rook began to stand up to leave, only to have a rather tall blond set a hand on his shoulder.

"Agreed completely." He shot back, lofting a brow at the inebriated woman. "Try not to throw up on anyone miss. Wouldn't go well here." He added quietly as he gently moved her hand from his shoulder to the table.

Casting the blond a final curious look, he pushed up from his chair. The former soldier began to make his way toward the door - and stopped in his tracks. A large group of men strode through the entrance. In the center stood a burly dark skinned human dressed far too well for this kind of bar. He was smiling and laughing with one of his associates, and paid no heed to the stranger that had stopped to stare at him when he walked in. Such reactions were likely the usual for this kind of man, after all.

Regaining his wits, Rook turned sharply on his heel, and marched back to his seat. He did not dare look over his shoulder at the man or his posse, but he did run his attentions to the drunk woman that'd used him as a glorified stepping stool.

"Hey. You know that guy?" He asked in a harsh whisper, lowering his head over the bar to hide his features. It was unlikely he would be recognized by the man, but if he knew of the Cabal's clones, then it was possible he might make Rook out in the crowd.

[member="Malin Spritejägare"]

 

[Beowoof]

He left with a hint of affirmation to whatever she had just told him. That was five seconds ago. She had forgotten what she said by now. Memory was failing her these days, and that was a good sign for someone who was trying to forget what had brought her here in the first place. Cap'n Whiskers was being good to her.

Malin took a snotty inhalation and wiped away driblets of whiskey and mucus from around her lips before leaning back on the countertop and raising her hand to hail the barkeeper for another round. She was way past intoxicated and legally should have been turned down another drink. But this bar was one of those places where no one cares to know your name and no one remembers you even if they do know it by the identification cards they steal off of you in your drunken slumber. They would oblige her to that last beverage.

Then that guy returned. He was a bit taller than the ex-cop and had a well-toned build to him. That was about all Malin could discern with her blurry vision. Seemed like a nice guy, but she needed her drink more than conversation. Still, he asked her a question and she was purely reactive at this point. So she looked in the general direction he had indicated and tried to figure out who he was talking about. Like she could even tell.

But she was just barely cognizant enough to assume he meant the loud guy in the middle of the doorway. She shrugged and clasped her hands around the new glass of whiskey slid her way. "Mebbe banged him lasssst wik," she slurred into her glass. "I don' evun know ennymoar."

[member="Rook"]

 

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"Charming."

Rook shook his head. He had little way of identifying the man, and straight up asking the bartender here was not an option. If it were anywhere else it wouldn't be a problem, but the man running the bar was running all over the place trying to pour drinks for his clients. That, and if the well dressed man had the bartender on his payroll, Rook might get more than he bargained for asking about him.

Then there was this woman. Far too tall for her own sake, and well past the point of intoxication. She was drunk. It was the kind of thing that used to make Rook turn up his nose and turn shake his head. Now he tolerated it, though it certainly do the gal's looks any favors.

"Not really my business who you're riding home, sweetheart. Just need his name." he grumbled. "Something you recognize? His face?"

Rook turned to look at the man now. To his dismay, he and his entourage were taking the walk upstairs. The gods only knew what went on up there, and poor Rook happened to be a male. He wasn't getting up there without credits - not something he was intent on shoveling out if he didn't need to. Perhaps...

"I'll buy you your next few rounds if you do me a favor." he snapped, turning toward the blonde. "Need to talk to those guys up there. Not to keen on paying to go up. Come with me, say I'm your escort, get me a moment with them, and you've got your drinks. Deal?"

[member="Malin Spritejägare"]

 

[Beowoof]

"I'm not riding home," Malin insisted very loudly, not comprehending the implications of the man's statement. Some people nearby looked at her, but no one's gaze lingered long as they could easily surmise that she was long past sobriety. "I don' wanna go hum. I don' evun know that guys."

She tried to take a sip but was questioned again. This time he was proposing some sort of deal in exchange for going upstairs to the 'private' rooms. "I know wut goez on upsthere. It's sex. Nuuuuthing int'resting." But he did want to buy her drinks. Not that she would make it through this one, but what was it going to hurt? She had no idea what she was doing. Malin was no longer in control of her own body. It was the devil in the bottle. "You and meeee can have sum."

The truth was that she had never knowingly engaged in anything of the sort before. She hardly even remembered any of those events--barely had a clue that she had lost her innocence at some point. Liquor made her forget. She was just a shell of a person. Whatever was in her mind anymore simply flew past her lips without filter. The true Malin was gone, and no one could know if she would ever be unlocked from the depths of her mind. She was a toy. The shy, upright woman in her was sealed in a vault and only time and recovery would tell if she would ever see the light of day again.

Standing up, the promiscuous drunk impostor who called herself by the name of the good girl Malin Spritejägare grabbed her apparent comrade and prepared to be escorted up the stairs. "Wut'ssss your fav'rit?"

[member="Rook"]

 

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"We're not going to do that, and my favorite what?" Rook stated plainly. There were many things on the clone's bucket list - a night with a drunken stranger was not on it. Regardless, she was his ticket up, and if this was the real Jester, the next step on the path to his goal. That, or things were going to get very, very awkward. Not like he had much of a choice in the matter anyway. The woman had taken him by the arm rather pointedly, and dragged him to the base of the stairwell. No one batted an eye after that. Everyone knew what they were going to do, or at least thought they knew.

"She yours?" The Nikto guarding the entrance asked, not even bothering to look up from his datapad.

"Wealthy guy upstairs, yeah? Figured I'd try my luck. Didn't see any blondes with him." He reached over and patted Malin on the arm in the same manner one might touch a pet. If there was anything he knew how to do well, it was acting.

"That my friend, is Jester Montimas. Works in stocks. The Red Rose expects ten percent of any profit you make - consider it a fee for the bed and the...uh, atmosphere. Mister Montimas is in the third room on the right." The Nikto grinned, turning his gaze up to Rook.

Rook smiled right back, and led his companion up the stairs. This was the Jester that had been spoken off, and if the bouncer was correct about his form of business, it would make sense to have him in the Cabal. They needed credits to fund their operations after all. The Republic deserter did his best to hide his excitement. The trail had been cold for quite some time, and every time he made contact with one of his targets...well, dispensing justice was an exhilarating experience.

"Keep your pants on. Just...act like you are right now, actually." He whispered to his companion. The upper level was as he expected. A long hall with doors leading to small rooms on each side. Each one was closed, and very likely locked. As they walked down the hall, Rook thanked the gods these walls seemed to be soundproofed. "And don't kiss anyone. They've all probably got diseases." He added quietly, knocking on the door. It opened on its own.

"Mister Montimas? Monty sent me, and I brought you a gift." He reached down to poke Malin's side, hoping to make her laugh, or make whatever sound women made to get attention.

[member="Malin Spritejägare"]

 

[Beowoof]

"We're not going to--Ohai." Nikto Breath distracted her from her train of thought--well, more derailed it and launched it off a trestle bridge and into a river below where it escaped her mind, never to be raised again. Her mind was simply working on shifting her through the gears to Sex Mode, and there was little else she could process with such a diluted blood flow sloshing though her alcoholic brain.

It was intriguing to discover that she was with a wealthy guy. Or was she being ushered too the wealthy guy? It did not matter, really. Even if she wanted to resist giving herself up to some creep, she was too far gone. Sure, she could push her weight around and come out victorious in many a barroom brawl, but there was no control; no coordination in her nerves, muscles, or brain cells. She was a doll to be played with. "Sooooooper rich, ya. I'm blond."

Wobbling up the stairs and through the hallway, Malin really had little perception of what was going on; how she was being used--and not in the way one would have assumed. She was fully intending on giving this guy a fun night at her own expense, yet he wanted her to keep her pants on? "I don' haffffff enny dizeeze. I'm a goooood g'rrrl," she said, lungs heaving with each dizzying breath. She almost went limp, and compensated by resting her weight on her 'partner'.

She was turned to face the recipient of the 'gift'--herself--and abruptly prodded in the rib by the man carrying her. She straightened up to full height and exhaled with a squeak, half in pain and half in laughter. "Oooh, I don' ushally bang in'fron'a people." Then she flipped her liquor-soaked hair back and began to remove her shirt with anything but sexy motion.

[member="Rook"]

 

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Rook had to stop himself from slapping the woman. It took more effort than it really should have. He turned to face the blond, arms folding over his chest, lips pressed into a thin line. "Put that back on." He snapped, gesturing to her shirt. "And keep it on."

It was then that the door was opened all the way. Mister Montimas stared at the two with the kind of expression you might expect from a man indulging himself in some of society's more amoral acts. His eyes narrowed at Rook, annoyed. Luckily, his expression softened when he caught a glimpse of Malin, his face even breaking into a wide grin. "She the girl then, eh? You're gonna have to tell Monty thanks for me, bud." He poked a finger at Malin's collarbone.

Rook did nothing to stop him, though he did not shy away from Malin setting her weight on him either. He highly doubted she would be able to stand otherwise. "She's yours. Do with her what you want. She's infertile too, so no worries." He replied disinterestedly. "Need to speak with you though. Something Monty needed relayed in person. It's important."

"How important?"

"Cabal important."

Any apprehension Montimas might have had evaporated with those words. He nodded understandingly, and opened the door. The room was empty save for a single bed and a dresser. The only window to the outside had long since been boarded up. Montimas motioned to Malin, then the bed. "Go ahead and get comfortable gal. Me and the mister are gonna have a quick talk, then I'll get to ya." He smiled, and motioned for Rook to follow him to the dresser. The soldier errant did so.

"So...what's so important that Monty sent a guy in person?"

"Afraid there's been an issue back on Balmorra..."

[member="Malin Spritejägare"]

 

[Beowoof]

Drugs. Alcohol is like a drug. Maybe your glitterstim or giggledust is not addicting to you, but that makes it no less potent and no less catalytic to disaster. Many people may shrug it off because they are not alcoholics; druggies. But they ignore its power for the time it has you in its grip. Alcohol was Malin's eyes, ears, and motor function. The man told her to put her shirt back on. She followed those orders as best she could.

Imagine if he were anyone else--say, Mister Montimas. "Hey," the blonde waved, a moist smile curving up her cheek. "Calllll meee." The drunk shoved her thumb underneath her shirt collar and pulled out the tag to reveal that she had apparently put it on backwards.

She did as they said again, this time following the commandment to get on the bed and get frisky. Malin's alcoholic alter-ego knew how this process went. She began undoing her holster and shedding her pants, sloppily undoing the zipper and pulling them down her thighs with the grace of a bantha rolling down a Tatooine sand dune. Her green, glazed eyes stared at the two men in conversation, reading their lips and comprehending the subject matter as a Lorrdian was capable. But all was lost as soon as she understood it. New data was input, and whatever they said was forgotten.

Still, she watched and waited--waited to be abused. Malin was not here. Just alcohol.

[member="Rook"]

 

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"If you're referring to the loss of the Stormtrooper commander, I know. Tal'verda told me a month ago." Montimas replied pointedly. With every word that fell from his lips his eyes would drift toward Malin. She was the prize; the reason he'd allowed this commoner to even speak with him. If he served the Cabal, even better, but it did not give him the right to deliver old news. He stared down at Rook with a look that could kill, waiting.

Meanwhile, the clone was glancing worriedly at Malin. She'd been useful - no, essential in cornering Montimas, and he wasn't going to repay that by allowing her to be used as the man's toy. He'd intended to confirm that Montimas was a member of the Cabal, and track him for a time, learn everything he could before going in for the kill. Doing that now would require leaving Malin to whatever fate the broker decided.

He nodded at Montimas and turned to walk out the door. He made it about two steps before the broker set a firm hand on his shoulder. "You got more to say. I can see it in your eyes. Didn't bring me that one just because you could." He motioned toward Malin. "So, big guy, what is it?"

Rook only took a moment to react. He pivoted on his heel and reached into his jacket at the same time. A blaster would be far too loud, even if the doors were soundproofed. His fingers wrapped around the all-too-familiar grip of his vibroknife. The blade hissed as it was drawn from its miniature scabbard. Then there was a fist in his face, and all he saw was red. Something cracked on the impact, and dark red blood poured from his nose. Momentarily stunned, the clone stumbled back, shaking his head as he regained his wits.

"I heard about you clone. I'm gonna skin you, and then I'm gonna let my boys have your girl for what you did to Monty!" Montimas snarled; Rook's blood glistening on his knuckles. He was a tall man, almost as big as Rook, though physically he was the lesser. Despite this, he charged, tackling the clone to the ground before he could strike him with the knife.

"He deserved it shabuir! We're not cattle, and the galaxy doesn't belong to you! " Rook spat in the man's face. He managed to twist his knife downward, and drove it deep into the broker's back. At least he would have if the broker hadn't been wearing a plasteel vest beneath. the blade glanced off the side and carved a bloody furrow through Montimas's arm, causing him to momentarily lose his grip, and allowing Rook to squirm free.

The clone stumbled up to his feet, knife held in a reverse grip as he readied to charge at the Broker.

[member="Malin Spritejägare"]

 

[Beowoof]

Even whiskey could not subvert every instinct. The conversation between the two men had taken a rough turn and their voices abruptly increased in volume, conflict evident as they discussed an obviously touchy subject about an entity referred to as the 'cabal'. Her mind alternated like a blinker between concluding their argument to be over her body or the goings-on of the secret society in question.

Hurriedly, Malin kicked off her pants and wrestled her shirt off again, awaiting the undignified ceremony she would soon be center-of-attention for. The drunk Malin felt like a princess; a prize to be awarded to the greater man. And she anticipated the ecstasy she hoped to attain herself.

But the quarrel became less of a discussion and more of a tussle as fists were suddenly bared and weapons drawn. The real Malin--somewhere in there--scratched and clawed to be heard. The real Malin knew what was happening. She had known all along but had been drowned in gallons of booze for nearly a year. She was suffocating. But she wanted out. She was screaming; ranting; begging for her to not let this happen.

In her half-nude glory, the blonde groped about the bedside for something to use to protect herself and the 'clone' with. The cop in her wanted one last breath.

There was a blaster.

Tumbling to the floor, Spritejägare picked the weapon up and fired at Montimas. Then she blacked out.

[member="Rook"]

 

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This should have been cleaner. Montimas was spurting blood from his wound - it seemed Rook had split an artery in his attempts to dismember the broker. He would have got a few more hits in for sure; possibly seriously hurt Rook, but it seemed the drunk had regained some of her wits, if she even had any.

The ex-soldier hovered over the still-warm corpse as the adrenaline of his physical confrontation began to dial down. No doubt anyone in the nearby rooms would have heard that blaster go off. Bruisers would surely be making their way up here, and then they would see Montimas, or at least his blood if the body was moved, and make Rook pay. Rook, and his hapless, half-naked, inebriated, unconscious sidekick.

Oh, this was going to be a fun evening.

"Good shooting. Least you dropped him." Rook mumbled, nudging Montimas with his boot. He bent over and began to search through man's pockets. A few credit chips with numbers large enough to pay for a few nights under someone's roof, and a datapad. The kind people used to keep personal records. Seemed this job hadn't gone too far south after all! He slipped the datapad into the folds of his jacket, and turned toward Malin.

She was out.

"Shab!" Rook spat, glancing over at the door. Without another thought, he locked it, and barred further entry with the nightstand. It wouldn't hold, but it would slow whoever was trying to get in down. The thought was only momentarily reassuring as the door began to shake. The wood was stressed, and had started to splinter. Someone was breaking it down.

Could leave the girl. Make for a lovely decoy.

The notion didn't last. She'd likely kept him from serious injury - possibly saved his life. He owed the girl a debt. With a sigh, the clone began to yank out the nails that held the window's boards in place. The splintered wood cut into his fingers, but Rook paid it no mind; if he took his time with it he and the girl would end up with blaster bolts in the back of their heads. A moment's effort saw the wood give, and with a grunt, Rook managed to rip off the faulty boarding. Freedom!

A man poked his head through the door. Then his blaster. Before he could fire, Rook sprinted across the short room, and sunk his dagger deep into the bouncer's palm. It cut through muscle and bone and came to rest a few inches into the wall. The man howled in agony, and his blood trickled down the side of the wall like it always did in the dramatic holofilms. Rook left the knife in.

Without any further hesitation, he scooped up the woman in his arms. His nose scrunched up in displeasure at the all-too-familiar scent of alcohol and cheap perfume. She'd certainly had the run of things. He marched over to the window, and held out a hand. The grappling hook he always carried around his arm sprung out and hooked onto the side of one of the many buildings adjacent to the rose.

With a single worried thought that together they might not be to heavy to make it, Rook began the retracting sequence on the hook. By the time the bruisers managed to remove the knife from their comrade's hand and break down the door, the two were already high above on a nearby rooftop.

[member="Malin Spritejägare"]

 

[Beowoof]

Cold, gnawing wind bit at Malin's bared skin as the duo ascended the heights of that house of ill repute. It licked at her moist strands of hair and infiltrated her lungs, dispelling the wretched, spent air of the Rose. The blonde stirred a bit, but it was too soon for her to leave her self-induced coma and completely orient herself. Her eyelids did not even open fully--more like dreary slits that revealed little of her green iris as her lashes hid them from the glare of city lights.

Yet it was cold. Shockingly cold. Her mind began to whir with each touch of the increasing breeze against her flesh awakening her nervous system. Her body would try its best at regaining life--the life of the true Malin Spritejägare. Her throat pulsated and emitted gargled sounds, choked by the limp tongue within her mouth. Her nose began to run profusely now, and streams of fluid ran across her lips and dripped down her chin. Her epidermis clammed up and diaphragm threatened to convulse and eject all the crap she had been guzzling down for the past two days as she tried in vain to waste away to nothing.

A hiccup escaped her stomach, and then her entire diluted dinner spewed out and fell down a score and a half of meters to the duracrete below. Her eyes flashed wide and Malin rocked in the man's grip, arms immediately grasping around his neck with a death grip ans she panicked. "Kriff! Oh, shint!" she exclaimed, noting both the perilous position she was in and her lack of garments--plus being in the arms of a stranger. This really was not a great way to regain consciousness. Was she being kidnapped?

"What are you doing?" Malin demanded, breath short and fast. Hyperventilation was something she was not unfamiliar with due to her sicknesses as a young girl, but how does one take in this situation after a year of being faded? "Put me down. Put me down!" Maybe she would have been better off drunk for this.

[member="Rook"]

 

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Rook did just that. As soon as they came to rest upon the adjacent roof, he more or less dropped the girl. Granted the fall wasn't far at all, but the message was clear all the same.

"You killed a man. Shot him in the back. The bouncers were going to take you in, probably do some nasty things beforehand." He grumbled, casting a look over his shoulder. The Rose was as chaotic as it had been when he'd first arrived, but now there was a method to the madness. Men armed with carbines and sidearms strode out from the back entrance of the bar; fanning out in all directions as they searched for Montimas' killer.

Rook doubted they would believe it was this half nude drunk.

"Man wasn't the best kind. Arms dealing, cloning, putting out hits on folks. Just another part of the Cabal I guess." Rook mused, drawing the hood of his jacket over his face. From here, he could make out the vast cityscape of Oridin city. Neon lights kept the Nova district alive; while the rest of the city varied from the bright flashing gold that illuminated the business district, to the dull glow of the suburbs on the edge of town. It was beautiful, and for now, the perfect place to stay low. "You were drunk. Tried to take me to bed; then him. Bit of a mess really."

He turned to face the woman. "Oridin won't be safe for you. Montimas was an important man. You should work on getting out of town, and we should find a way off this roof before they come looking."

[member="Malin Spritejägare"]

 

[Beowoof]

"I did what?" she shouted, incredulous of what the man had said--though, honestly, when one wakes up in their underwear being hauled up to the top of a building in the middle of a city and talks about having killed someone, that really does not inspire credibility. At all.

This had to be a dream, right? Malin's senses had been suffocated by alcohol for so long that reality was not something she was certain of. Sobriety? What was that? Malin was no prude, but trotting around without her clothes on was not an activity she had made a habit of performing. Never in public--especially not, being the cop she was. "You drugged me, didn't you?" she continued spurting out, panicked and accusing of the stranger as she continued to glance down at her bare skin and then back up at her 'rescuer'. "What did you do to me?"

The blonde wobbled forward with fist raised, ready to clock her rooftop transporter. Her mind was conflicted about whether she should even touch him again, considering what she thought he had done to her and why she was in this largely unclad state. "I may have been a cop, but I've never killed anyone before. But you had better give me a kriffing good reason I should believe you and not try to kill you right now." Her voice trembled with each word, every syllable seething through her clenched teeth as she held back tears in order to channel maximum rage. She had no doubt she had been violated. Now he wanted to blame her for murder.

She could not bear it. Malin advanced abruptly and swung without giving the man a chance to reply.

[member="Rook"]

 

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Rook was about as chivalrous as you might have guessed. Meaning not at all. He just stared at Malin as she went on screaming, and throwing her little fit. He expected she'd be done sometime soon - then she was asking pointed questions, and he found he didn't have the energy to work up a decent reply.

So she tried to hit him.

If there was one thing Rook could pride himself on, it as his ability to successfully protect himself from semi-nude female drunks. He would not lose that starling reputation so easily! He jerked an arm upward; managing to protect his face from Malin's wrath. The punch still hurt all the same though.

"Let me be clear." He spoke, his voice the very definition of icy. "If you try to kill me, I'm going to kill you. You haven't been drugged - not by me anyway. You were drinking at a whorehouse. My quarry took a liking to you." Rook motioned down toward the Rose. "I fought him. You shot him. Bruisers were upset. He was important. You managed to bring yourself out of you stupor...oh, three minutes ago?"

He shrugged.

"They're going to come for you. Whatever you think I did to you, I can assure you they're going to do to you a thousandfold." He approached the edge of the rooftop. The drop was a long one. Luckily, there were a few more buildings between the Rose and the spaceport. With a careful hand, he'd be able to make it across without setting foot on the ground below. The girl though...

"You took off your own clothes. Wanted to sleep with him. Apparently you don't now - good idea. Still, you should work on finding some new ones. You're easy to spot."

[member="Malin Spritejägare"]

 

[Beowoof]

Her eyes crossed and her brows angled angrily as her punch was stopped, unsure if she was more angry at herself or the man before her. He could be telling her anything he desired right now and she would have just as much of an option of believing him as she would with any other tale he offered.

Malin looked down at her own abdomen; legs; arms; chest. There were no scars or bruises indicating any sort of aggression had been carried out against her. And she knew that even as a drunk, she would have put up a fight if there had been anything forced upon her. Either she was drugged, or the clone was telling the truth--most of the truth, at least. She still did not believe she had killed anyone. But she hardly had any grounds to argue against anything he told her. She was simply a character witness to herself.

Cold, cold, cold. Her arms clutched at opposite sides, wrapping around her stomach to protect it from the breeze. He was right. One way or another, something bad was going to happen with her walking around in her undergarments. It mattered little how she got undressed. There was not much time to make a decision. And there was hardly an option at this point. "Fine," the blonde finally conceded. "Get me off this roof. And I'm not doing anything with you from there on unless you get me some real clothing." And I probably won't stick with you either way. But he did not need to know that. He just needed to believe she might tag along long enough to get her those clothes. Then they could part and be on their merry ways.

At least she was already on her way to sobriety.

[member="Rook"]

 

[Placeholder 0133]

"Might be able to help with that." Rook shot back. He was not amused. A quick look down at his own attire left a lot to be desired. Not a bit of protection from any kind of ballistics. If someone decided to start shooting, they'd put him in a bad way. A lucky shot would end this night quickly.

Not that I'd complain about getting done with this quickly.

"You're a real charmer y'know." His voice dripped with venomous sarcasm. "My speeder isn't far. Just...try not to cut yourself on anything." The twin DC-15s slipped into his hands. He flicked the safeties on each weapon, charged the power packs, and motioned toward the streets below. The thugs had dispersed, but more arrived quickly on swoops and speeder bikes. They'd certainly need to be avoided.

Rook drew in a deep breath. What was the right course of action here? They knew his face; if not his name. Granted, one he was off-world, they would never be able to find him - a small comfort - but that would mean nothing if he couldn't get to the speeder.

"Follow me."

He took opened the door leading into the building, and began to make his way rapidly down the stairs, weapons drawn in case one of Montimas' friends showed up.

[member="Malin Spritejägare"]

 

[Beowoof]

Malin continued to hug herself and shield from the chilled night breeze, but she was not chilled within. She was an animal in a cage right now. She was cornered, vulnerable, and in her last resort phase for dealing with the entire ordeal of being with a shady character and being labeled an equally shady character--with no memories of the alleged incident whatsoever. Her fangs were bared. "I'd clock you..."

But the stranger only decided to double back into the building. That seemed like a horrible plan. Surely they would get caught the moment they descended to the ground floor! But there was an advantage for her to this. From what she had deduced through their conversation, she had been playing quite the role downstairs and could pass off as a poor, manipulated whore (Though she was incredibly reluctant to accept such a role.) and acquire the sympathies of those scouring the locale for her and her... rescuer? Of course, she would have to make a decision very soon. Did she believe this man, or would she put herself in the hands of whomever could be waiting for them inside?

Either way, she would follow for now. She needed to find something to wear, after all. And so she entered the rooftop access and followed her 'guardian' inwards, no less than terrified of what someone would think of her with her knockers knocking and butt hanging out on display. This was not how she was raised.

Of course, death was also pretty scary. She would like to at least die in some clothes with a little dignity remaining.

[member="Rook"]