Private Uptown Funk

[Drifter]

Someplace on Zeltros as the result of really stupid, bad decisions...​

​

Under normal circumstances, the man going by the name of 'Drifter' would have been more than curious to explore the present circumstances presented to him here. However, fantasy rarely ever equates to reality. While every red-blooded man, alien, or what-have-you in between likely had a few handcuff fantasies in the back of their head, the one where it resulted in having his wrist handcuffed to a stranger onto a grimy stripper pole was not quite to sort of lead up he'd consider being up to par.

In his fantasy, the setting was a little cleaner, perhaps less cigarillo smoke and maybe a bed with clean sheets -- he did not want to dive into questionable stains that littered the heart-shaped acceleration couch nearby or the Packson Jollock-style wallpaper marks that blew up with kaleidoscopic, deathstick high color with the black lights.

His head felt as if a dozen pod-racer droids were hammering it, each trying to fix his head. At least he still had his helm on. Although there were some questionable stains over his armor -- The feth was that on my pants? Do I even want to know? Wait... did someone throw up on me?

It seemed that the chunky remnants on his thigh made him muse if that were the case. As always, the thought of puke brought a wave of nausea. Thankfully, he managed to rein it in by telling himself it was likely a food spill. Maybe.

Feth, I hope so.

As it was, he gave a jiggle of his hand, the weight of it turning his attention to the companion that was now stuck with him in this affair. Everything last night was a haze of booze, maybe some spice, and Zeltron pheromones. The last time he'd been on Zeltros had been when he was a teen. All hormones. Excited to see people a little less clothed that didn't require an encrypted holonet access and curious about what just made him tick. He'd surprisingly left it without sinking into libertine vices, but that didn't mean he didn't wonder how that could change if given another chance.

Alex told him this was a bad idea. He didn't listen, leaving her behind on the ship. Now that he was stuck here in Feth knows where on Zeltros, he knew that as soon as she heard about it, the droid was going to give him shit.

[ Oi! You! Wake up! ] He gave the handcuffs another jangle, his voice modulated by his helm, shaking Dia Secura 's wrist.

​

 

[Dia Secura]

Tagging: Drifter

As Dia slowly awoke, jostled by the movement at her wrist, the first thing that she felt was a dull, aching throb behind her eyelids. That, coupled with the dryness in her mouth, suggested that she had made a very bad decision last night. Spotchka and spice made for delightful bedfellows in the moment, but the mornings after were always rough. The second think that she felt was the chill of air conditioning blowing on her bare skin. Which... didn't make sense. With her vest on, she should have been perfectly warm, but instead, goosebumps were spreading across her bare shoulders.

... Bare shoulders?

Groggily, her eyelids fluttered open. She lifted her head to look down at herself first. Lazily, the Twi'lek blinked once, twice-- only for her wide eyes to shoot open as she recognized exactly what she was wearing.

A high-pitched shriek fell from her lips as she attempted to cover up, one arm covering her chest, legs clamping together. The other arm was currently immobile, clasped to a greasy stripper pole by a pair of fuzzy handcuffs... and to a strange man, presumably the one that had woken her up. It was impossible to see any further detail on him-- her fellow captive was covered from head to toe in armor. Lucky him. The faceplate of his helm was absolutely covered in multi-colored lipstains, a few of which, Dia suspected, must have come from her, judging by their cerulean color.

"Who the feth are you?!" the Twi'lek managed to squeak out, her lekku curling nervously against her back. Her wide eyes darted back and forth, taking in their surroundings and trying to establish their location. "What the hell happened?!"

 

[Drifter]

Oh, for Inari’s sake!

Even Drifter’s helm could not properly filter out the near glass shattering - or at least it felt like it - shriek that came from Dia Secura .

The comical wince that drew over his swarthy face was hidden by his polarized visor, but the exaggerated flinch and wince drawback of his shoulders and cant of his head told plenty.

[ Ow! Wow, okay. Let’s use our inside voice please? ] there was a slight jingle of the fuzzy handcuffs, while his other gloved hand was held up, palm out, fingers splayed wide as if to plead — oh please don’t yell again.

Or hit me.

[ Whoa! Look, I’m on the same boat as you okay? ] he began, defending himself from the owner of the seemingly ear-piercing scream against sensitive ears. That polarized helm with its mirror like finish decorated with kiss marks swung to look at Dia anew, this time with less grogginess and a bit more attention, but a healthy dose of snark.

Lekku. Cerulean skin. Oh, a Twi’lek.

[ I wasn’t exactly planning for this sort of — ] it was about that same time that Drifter caught on to the rest. Specifically, the lace and ribbon ensamble that left barely anything to the imagination. Slight curves were artfully framed in ways that enhanced her petite attributes.

[ breast situation — shit, blasted, I meant blasted situation. ] it was a grand thing that his helm at least allowed the annoying flush of embarrassment to be hidden away.

He may be fielding a hell of a hangover, but even he didn’t miss the way her Lekku quivered and shook in alarm and dismay. He grew up with a Lorrdian mother where the subtlest of body movements were an entire language. The Twi’lek was genuinely frightened.

Drifter did he’s best to look away to allow Dia a measure of privacy - if being handcuffed together gave any — and tried to do his best to defuse the situation.

[ Okay, look I am not here to hurt you. Name’s Drifter. Just your usual friendly neighborhood bounty hunter. ]

He tried is usual attempt at humor to see if it would work.

 

[Dia Secura]

Tagging: Drifter

As she wriggled and writhed against her bonds, the Twi'lek got the sense that he was looking at her through his mask, his verbal slip all but confirming it, and while that kind of attention from a man would be flattering under more voluntary circumstances... Right now, it was just another reminder that she was helplessly out of control.

At least he had the decency to finally look away. Maybe he wasn't a total sleemo.

Maybe.

[ Okay, look I am not here to hurt you. Name’s Drifter. Just your usual friendly neighborhood bounty hunter. ]

The revelation that she-- a known convict with a rap sheet a mile long and an active bounty on her head-- was currently attached to a bounty hunter did little to calm the Twi'lek's pounding heart. Still, she tried not to let her terror show; the last thing Dia wanted was for this man to start getting curious. Her panic slowly began to give way, replaced by annoyance and frustration with a situation entirely out of her control.

"Oh, great," she hissed, eyes narrowed as she looked at him. "Really, I'm so glad to know that you're just as clueless as I am right now. That's soooo freakin' helpful."

With an explosive sigh, she looked back up at the fuzzy handcuffs that linked them. They were a novelty pair, obviously, not really rated for law enforcement or penitentiary standards. That was good. Cheap cuffs like these were notoriously easy to break open. She just needed a sharp implement.

"You really wanna be helpful, Mr. Friendly Neighborhood Bounty Hunter?" Dia asked, eyes furrowed, lips pulled back to reveal yellowing teeth. "Slide me a vibroblade or something. I'll crack the lock and get us both out of here."

Maybe. Jury was still out on whether she'd let the bounty hunter free. Maybe if he impressed her over the next few minutes.

 

[Drifter]

The sarcasm is great in this one.

Already the podracer droids clanging on his head were replaced by tiny Rutian Twi'leks in itty bitty black lace and ribbon bikinis. While the visual would normally tempt him, the flush of embarrassment and the dull ache at the rear of his eyes stoked the fire of his recent short temper.

[ Inari save me from the nagging of women. ] Drifter uttered under his breath, his gloved hand reaching up to touch his visor as if needing to pinch the bridge of his nose to hold back the migraine at bay.

[ Yes, let me just rewind over last night's events so I can be more helpful. ] Never mind that if he wanted to, he could, in a sense, get an idea of just what happened in this room and how he got cuffed to the feisty Twi'lek. However, the thought of using the Force to pull images from this filthy Packson Jollock room of hedonistic vices was not the sort of visual he wanted to revisit.

A casual glance over his person - avoiding looking at the remnants of potential throw-up on his thigh - confirmed that his weapons were not on him.

Wonderful.

With sardonic humor, Drifter's hands gesticulated his apparent helplessness. Even the wrist that held him cuffed to Dia Secura would seemingly conduct his sentiments, moving to and fro along with his left as if to say, 'Well, if I had anything to offer, I would.'

[ It appears that what powers that be had decided to set us in this current predicament without my weapons. Likely to ensure you wouldn't blow my head off. Compliments to our warden. ] he jested in contrary humor, unable to help himself. Situations such as these with peanut gallery comments tended to get him a punch to the face.

He could, try using his alchemized metal arm to break the cuffs, but that would only result in serious injury to the Rutian. Annoyance at his choices, Drifter mulled on what could be used.

Oh! An idea shot through his head, and he immediately attempted to reach for his right pocket with his left. The struggle and strain were somewhat comical, with the man flexing and lifting his hips, kicking his legs to get what was inside. He failed, of course. The angle was all wrong.

Drifter collapsed on his arse with a tremendous weary sigh that resonated from his helm. Of course, this would happen. After a second, his left arm gave a flourish.

[ I've no weapons, but something you can potentially use... ] He began, voice hesitant as if knowing that his proposal would likely be taken the wrong way.

Ugh, Alex is never going to let me live this down.

 

[Dia Secura]

Tagging: Drifter

[ Yes, let me just rewind over last night's events so I can be more helpful. ]

Oh, he thought he was funny. A real comedian. Just her luck, and her hero. His absolute lack of weaponry only exacerbated her annoyance with him. A small "ugh" slipped free of her as she rolled her eyes, bottom lip jutting out in a petulant pout.

Had this been a less compromising situation, Dia might have actually found his incessant worming and wriggling funny. This man was a bounty hunter? As it stood, her frustration only grew deeper, and she recoiled slightly at his suggestion of fishing around in his pocket.

He was crazy. He was stupid if he thought she was going to fall for that kind of nasty trick. Was this all some kind of setup? Some elaborate joke or prank?

A glance around revealed no cameras. Nothing. The party room was as empty and as quiet as ever.

"Fine! Fine." Her reluctant agreement was accompanied by another exaggerated eyeroll. "Whatever it is, it had better be good, and if I feel something in there that's not s'posed to be? I'm breaking it in half," Dia warned him.

She had no choice but to scoot over to him, on her hand and knees, in order to reach into his pocket. Cautiously at first, then curiously. Whatever it was, she couldn't tell its nature right away. Carefully, she pulled the object free from his pocket.

 

[Drifter]

Avoiding eyeballing a décolleté was the name of the game, with the bounty hunter attempting to look the other direction while the Rutian was on all fours.

Does she even realize what she’s doing dressed like that?! Nope! Don’t go there. Don’t make a comment. Don’t say a word.

[ Trust me, plenty of good is in my pocket. ] Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Yup. Should not have said that.

Either way, by then Dia Secura Would have done her duty and pulled out… a small thin metal object no longer than her pinky. Flat on one side, wiggly on the other, heavier than one would expect and curiously made out of a dark metal with an oil slick appearance.

A bobby-pin.

Yup. He had a Bobby-pin. Four to be exact. The other three were still in his pocket.

As if expecting a judgmental expression, Drifter added defensively, [ What?! What did you expect? Those come in handy! ]

While it may not be evident with his helm, Drifter’s hair had long since passed the time of needing a trim. He’d found a few bobby-pins he made for his sisters on his ship, and they were very good for keeping his hair off his eyes… and you know, pickings locks, of course.

 

[Dia Secura]

Tagging: Drifter

[ Trust me, plenty of good is in my pocket. ]

If her eyes could roll any harder, she'd be able to see her brain. "Whatever you say, tall, dark and shiny..."

It took Dia a moment to recognize exactly what the little metal implement was. After all, with her dual lekku and utter lack of body hair, the Twi'lek had no need for bobby pins. A brief second passed; perhaps the stranger mistook her confusion for judgment. Eventually, however, it clicked, and Dia's expression immediately brightened, eyes wide and yellow teeth on display in a beaming grin.

"Oh, dank ferrik, I could kiss you, you weirdo!" It was exactly what she needed to get herself-- and him, she supposed-- out of this mess. With their fortunes reversing, she was in a much better mood. Dia planted a thankful kiss to the bobby pin itself, then leaned down to press a wet one to the bounty hunter's polarized visor, letting her excitement get the best of her.

No more time to waste. The Twi'lek set to work on wriggling the slim metal point into the keyhole of the cuff around her wrist. She moved as slowly and carefully as possible, bringing her wrist to her earcone to listen for the tiny metal tumblers as they locked into place.

Click.

The cuff ratcheted open, and Dia laughed triumphantly as she pulled her wrist free. The bounty hunter had managed to impress her with his handiness, and so she was in a good enough mood to return the favor; the Twi'lek leaned over, taking the bounty hunter's hand to hold him still as she began undoing his restraint.

"What's a guy like you even doing with these? I thought these were for... you know, girls. Girls with hair." It sounded stupid when she said it aloud, and a blush of dark blue scattered across her cheeks.

 

[Drifter]

"Oh, dank ferrik, I could kiss you, you weirdo!"

[ Oi, oi! Who you calling a weirdo!? ] Drifter immediately objected, only to be caught off guard as Dia Secura did exactly what she said, giving his visor another cerulean kiss mark right over where his nose would be.

[ Uhh... guess this means I'm in the helpful category.] he'd quip, staring at her in a daze for a few seconds before her close proximity and his gutter mind began commenting about prizes and motorboats. He quashed down the nagging voice in the back of his mind, stating that it wouldn't be that bad of a thing, choosing instead to pan his gaze at the room and look for clues to where his weapons might be at.

Not to mention why they were handcuffed here, to begin with, and who did it.

As the Rutian worked on his restraint, the Bounty Hunter tried to focus on her question and not the bed, blue skin, and tiny black ribbons.

[ Hey, hey, guys can use them too! ] At least his attention went to an attempt a feint, defending himself again. His right hand would once again gesture to his helm. It was evident that he tended to talk with his hands to convey context when his helm provided him none.

[ Gotta keep these locks of mine out of my eyes -- you know, the better to see you with. ] Okay, that didn't sound right, so he immediately maneuvered to a legitimate query, [ So, what's your name? If fuzzy handcuffs are already in play, we should at least go on a first-name basis. ]