Log:The Hard Way, Pt. 3: Black, Cheerless, No Lace

The Hard Way, Pt. 3: Black, Cheerless, No Lace

Location: Lord Eebua's Starport
Participants: Nyla Forr, Fuze, Naelyn, Sion, Jehni'va Cihn

The First Order gets frisky.

Jehni'va Cihn has made a living out of confusion. She's come to accept that her very lot in life is to be rocketed from one extreme to the next with absolutely 0 input into what that direction might be - but even /this/ has come as a surprise.
"Uunnghhf." The pilot groans, slowly coming to beneath a ratty tarp. Her head pounds, her muscles twitch and cry out as the effects of the blaster's stun fade away, and the bruising on her back offers a continuous, blunt reminder that something is /very/ wrong right now. And the blood. She's covered in it, but something vague and foggy in her mind reminds her that it isn't her's. Slowly, she cracks an eye open, her cheek sliding in the bodily fluids and residual oil and grime that layers the cart - she's staring into the pulp of a familiar face.
"/Nyla/!" Jehn gasps, struggling to move her arm to cup the other woman's cheek, fluttering and shifting the tarp above them in the process. "The hell?" She dimly registers that she has no idea where they are, but the pressing mass of sound and noise is gaining substance. Engines - voices? Are they in a Starport? "Nyla?" The pilot repeats, tapping that swollen, bloodied cheek and shifting forward with wide-eyed panic? But there is breathing. "Shit." She exhales, body relinquishing its fear that the worst had come to pass. "Can you hear me?" She mutters, sluggishly using her free hand to lift a corner of their covering and peeeeeeeking out from under that tarp.
What the actual hell just happened.
The pair are nestled among the general cargo of the Spaceport, and no one seems to find it even remotely odd that the tarp is moving and swearing and definitely leaking blood and residue. Welcome to Nar Shaddaa.

Shallow breathing, but it's there. Nyla Forr looks /rough/. Broken nose, dried blood everywhere, a hole in her left thigh the size of a swoop exhaust port. Her face is bruised... /everywhere/ is bruised. Welcome to Nar indeed. Nyla wheezes a little, trying to fight off whatever cruel force is bringing her back into the waking world. "No," she says in a voice that is barely audible. No to what? Nyla doesn't say. She just attempts to fall back into her concussion slumber. Always a good move.

Nearby, a unit of First Order Troopers are unstacking crates from a series of pallets into a cargo speeder. They're being supervised by an officer, a Lieutenant by the rank insignia - in uniform but not in armor, although she's armed with her blaster on her hip. "Get a move on, Troopers, I want to be back at the base for chow," she calls in a clear, ringing voice. She's of average height, olive skin, hair pulled back into a small bun. Her designation is FZ-4792. She gazes around, making sure that everything is secure, and her attention is drawn to the flapping tarp corner. "Sergeant!" she snaps, "Bring two of your men. On me." And she's walking forwards towards the cart, hand on the handle of her blaster, the armored Troopers cradling their rifles. "Probably some thieving scum," the Sergeant interjects.

Okay, breathe. Juuuust breathe - they are alive, /both/ of them, and that is all that matters right now. Jehn just needs to get Nyla to Wayside, and everything will be okay. "Hey, hey - come on don't go back to sleep." She remembers a none-too-distant twist of fate where Nyla was begging the same thing of her. She has learned this is what you do when head injuries are involved. "Wake up, Nyla - come on, /please/." Why did the useless one wake up first?! Jehn is regaining control over her legs, and clumsily slides and shuffles and wiggles herself until she can get a foot on the ground. She's hunched over - ass up out of the tarp in a /very/ dignified pose - when the Troopers near, an approach that goes unnoticed by her because she's... Well, covered in fluids, still knocked a little silly, and regaining control of her body one muscle at a time. Blondes, man.

Dangit, can't a girl just sleep off several life-threatening injuries in /peace/? Nyla stirs again, grumbling with frustration as her mind wakes her up. The pain hit her and she twitches slightly. "Fuck," Nyla whispers, attempting to open her eyes that are crusty with sleep and blood. "Kill me," she breathes as she stretches out and pushes weakly at the tarp covering them.

The Troopers reach the cart, and the Sergeant steps forwards, ripping the tarp away. Jehni'va and Nyla find themselves at blaster-point, the two Troopers and the Sergeant aiming weaponry at them with their gloved fingers caressing the triggers, Fuze with her hand on her holstered blaster staring with wide eyes at the condition of the two women inside. "Well, hell," she mutters. There's no great hurry to spring to their aid as she assesses the situation. Then she sighs heavily, "Alright. Someone get a medic over here."
The Sergeant grunts. "Could be a trap, m'am," he warns, turning to scan the surrounding area.
"I know. But hearts and minds, right?" Fuze smiles crookedly, and one of the Troopers sets off at a jog-trot towards the main body of First Order folk, returning at the same lack-of-urgency pace with another Trooper in tow, this one carrying a medpack. "Search them for identification," Fuze orders, and rough gloved hands paw at Jehn's and Nyla's clothing, searching for anything in the way of ID.

No. No she cannot. "I'm not gonna kill you." Jehn grumbles, but there is the shadow of a pained smile around the words. And then the tarp is ripped away and they find themselves staring at - you guessed it - more blasters. "You've /got/ to be kidding me." The pilot says, deadpan, into the closest muzzle. And then she's being frisked! Which, she finds herself realizing for the second time through this ordeal, isn't exactly how she thought this date would end. At least they're getting a medpac? "She needs to go to the clinic." Jehn urges, looking pleadingly between the surrounding Troopers and focusing on Fuze - who seems to be in charge. She's wearing a different outfit, anyway... That's how it works in the military, right?
Fortunately, they were out for pleasure rather than business - the searching hands will find nothing more than her ID and money (plus the credit chit she still hasn't realized Guri left in her pocket) and a /fat/ joint. "Uhhhh that's not mine."

Nyla Forr shrivels away from the sudden light thrust upon them like an aquatic critter drying up on the shore. "Nuuuh," she mumbles, not really /aware/ of the situation. Nyla is a beaten, bloody pulp, curling herself into the fetal position on the cart. When a trooper begins to fish around her, she jolts and focuses. "What?" she asks, blinking in surprise at the blaster in her face and the strange dude's hands on her. "The hell?" She attempts to sit up and pull away, the world spinning around her. Adrenaline. Helluva drug.

The joint is examined briefly, then tossed to the ground, where it'll no doubt get crushed in a puddle by a booted foot. The ID and money are passed to Fuze, who examines them carefully before handing them back to the Sergeant, who stuffs them roughly into one of Jehn's pockets, Nyla's ID included. Fuze's eyes are on Nyla. "Make sure neither of them die before I've had a chance to talk to them," Fuze orders curtly, "Hold her down if necessary.", and the medic sets to stabilizing Nyla Forr's injuries. Unless of course Nyla fights, in which case she's restrained by gloved hands. It's basic field treatment; vibroscissors are used to slice away clothing and antibacterial powder is scattered liberally on the wounds, before the worst are packed and wrapped with bandages. Extracting charred and bloodied clothing is not part of the routine, it seems. A hypodermic needle is prepped, and Nyla is going to have to be quick if she (or Jehn) are to prevent it being slapped through clothing and into Nyla's ass. None of this swabbing the skin nonsense; the hefty dose of antibiotics she's receiving will kill anything short of a major attack of flesh-eating bacteria, and the First Order likely won't be around to clear up the bowel issues that'll hit poor Nyla over the next few days.
"Who did this to you?" Fuze demands of Jehni'va, although her attention is still mostly on the medic's treatment of Nyla's wounds.

Not too far away from the site of the strangeness, Sion Corvara is letting her Flare-S cool down from a cross-city run. It wasn't for fun: She's carrying messages and dataplans for the rebuilding of the starport. It's an odd job: She definitely hates the Hutts, but everyone /should/ benefit from the starport coming back to life, right?
She's just returning from the little canteen the workers have set up when she spots the scene unfolding on the tarmac. And realizes that she knows the two next to the now tarp-free cart full of... something she can't make out at this distance. "Oh, frell..." First Order or not, her friends are in trouble. She begins walking quickly that way. "Hey! Hey, what's going on?" she calls, waving her hand overhead just to let the Stormies know she's not armed or coming to attack them; Stormies are not known for their judgement or compassion, after all.

You don't have to be armed to get pumped full of blaster-heat by the First Order. Just ask Rheisa Dirleel.
"Hey, he-!" Jehn's attention fixates on the rough handling of her injured companion, and she instinctively starts to crane for the offending hands before it registers that they are... Kind of helping? "You gotta be so /rough/? Holy hell - what is that?" Her brow furrows in worry, fists clenched at her sides at the sight of that scary looking needle... But she behaves after this, standing stiff and awkward as their belongings are stuffed back into her pockets... All except the joint, which lies smashed and sad on the ground. It provides a very accurate and artistic rendition of their night.
Jehn takes a deep breath, sore ribs creaking with the movement and sending a fresh wave of pain through her head - some payment, jeez. Questions, right. "We... We don't kn-" And then... "...Sion?"

Nyla Forr is still slightly delirious, but she can tell there are bucketheads around and she's attempting to /get away/. Very weakly, mind you. She's in no real state to fight them off. Still, the short droid mechanic finds herself pinned down and being roughly handled with meds, her clothes shorn off like the wool of a Nerf, and.... "No no no," Nyla whimpers at the giant needle. But, again, she is in no shape to get away. Nyla yelps out as it's administered. Her gaze snaps over to Jehn with a pained look of 'help!'.

One of the Troopers and the Sergeant whirls at Sion's approach, and the swoop pilot will find herself staring down the business end of blasters. "Identify yourself, and keep your hands where we can see them!" barks the Sergeant. "Search her!" And the Trooper moves forwards, intent on a rough (naturally) frisk of Sion. Any weaponry found will be saved and tossed onto the ground, if Sion cooperates. Which is no way to treat tools. Jehni'va's words have not escaped Fuze, though. She looks from the injured one to her incoming friend, and demands sharply of Sion, "You know this woman?" Meanwhile, the medic is reporting aloud Nyla's injuries, culminating in an unsympathetic, "She'll live." So many cross-conversations.

Sion blinks at the sight of the gaping barrels, though she's not really surprised: There's just something immensely thought-focusing about being on the wrong end of a lot of blast-rifles. "Sion Corvara, and my hands /are/ where you can see them," she replies, not without just a touch of heat. She /isn't/ waving a blaster their way, after all. This kind of attitude might have something to do with the way the FO's being treated all over this moon.
She doesn't resist the search, still looking worriedly at her two friends. Her heavy riding leathers could hide all manner of gear, as could her utility belt, but all they're likely to find is a professional-grade medpac, a hold-out blaster strapped to her boot-top, and a wrist-comlink depending on how thorough the search is. "Jehni? Nyla? Maker, what /happened/ to you two?" Blink. "And how'd you end up with all those /blasters/?"

The Starport is a hub of activity today: ships come and go, crates are loaded and unloaded, Jehni'va and Nyla are bloody and bruised and being hustled by the First Order while Sion receives a similar welcome nearby. Same old same old.
"Yeah she's a friend of ours -" Jehn begins before thinking to add "-she didn't have anything to do with /this/ though." Her eyes stay on Nyla, mouth twisted in her helpless inaction... She wants to say that she's shocked that they're being treated like criminals, but nothing the First Order does shocks her anymore. For both Trooper and Sion's sake, she explains the situation as best as she can... Because she really can't explain it too well. "We were kidnapped by this... Crazy strong blonde lady. That's all we know. She made me fix her ship and kept my - my friend hostage." She hates this, and the gangly, awkward pilot's hands shake at her sides from rage and pain and worry. "Now can we /please/ take her to get some medical attention?" In a rare moment of Jehn-feisty she adds. "Some /real/ medical attention."

There are very few things that draw Naelyn is this district...the slender dancer clad in dark red, black, and gold...there are very few places he could be hiding anything on his person. There is a black leather satchel tossed over a shoulder however as he makes his way into the area with that serpentine grace. A dark red veil draped over his head and across his mouth, leaving his eyes exposed as resident man-woman, pauses in midstep, lashes fluttering as he appraises the situation, a hand moving to his bag, resting there lightly. It is hard for someone like him to blend in, but he bears the familiar stares or lewd comments with winks or blown kisses as he is focusing on his wimmen.

Nyla Forr is making all sorts of stressed out noises. It hurts. "Everything /hurts/," she repeats the sentiment aloud. "Please... I--!" She's flipped back over and still held. Jehn, what the /fuck/? Nyla has tears of pain in her eyes as she turns her head against the cart's surface and looks over to a familiar face. Two familiar faces, actually. "Is everyone we know on Nar here?!" Nyla demands in a weak, pained voice.

One of the Troopers leers at Nyla, now that significant portions of the mechanic's clothing has been cut away. "Sure you don't want us to take her in for... enhanced.... interrogation?" It's usually hard to discern when someone wearing a full armor helmet is leering, but this particular trooper makes it easy. Fuze glances at him with a disgusted expression. "Can that shit," she growls, and since Sion doesn't appear to be imminently harmful to her or her Troopers' well-being, "Get back to work stacking the fucking crates." The lecherous Trooper remains motionless for a moment, his helmet turned to Fuze, then mutters a surly "Yes, m'am" and walks off. Way to make friends all round, First Order dweebs.
The medic is not without a heart, even though he may be First Order scum. He prepares another hypodermic, this time an industrial/post-operative strength painkiller, and again smacks it into Nyla's ass through what clothing remains. Happy time.
Fuze looks back at Jehni'va. "What ship?" Crazy strong blonde ladies may be two a credit here, but there are fewer ships around. And then brusquely, to Sion, "You know these two? You can get them to a medical clinic? The Forr woman needs specialized attention now." The subtext of that particular conversational snippet being 'because we sure as hell won't, especially after that real medical snark'. As for Naelyn, if he approaches he, too, will have blasters pointing at him, orders barked for him to identify himself, keep his hands in sight, etc, etc. First Order Troopers get twitchy. But he'll be allowed to approach, providing he's cooperative.

Sion does her best to hold still as her jacket is pulled open and her sides frisked. Her belt is roughly pulled off and passed to another trooper for checking. Sion's eyes flash as one more trooper unfastens her leather pants and whips them down to her ankles, revealing a holdout holster full of BlasTech strapped to her boot, but the Soccorran keeps her cool. Though the trooper who subsequently tosses her little Blastech to the tarmac gets a rather venomous glare. Pity they all look alike in those plastic suits.
The rough stuff looks to be done now, but she doesn't reach for her pants yet, not with all those barrels still sort-of pointed her way. Besides, it's hard to look someone in the eye when you're stooping. So the starport gets to see her pink athletic briefs and nicely-toned legs a little longer. "I know them both and I know a good clinic, but I don't know if Nyla can ride double," she replies, frowning in concern and glancing at 'the Forr woman'. "Are they in trouble? They've done some dumb things, but I really doubt they'd get into arms smuggling. I mean I /really/ doubt it."

Between the glares and confused stares passed between First Order, Sion, and Nyla, Jehn is a little too pre-occupied to notice that Naelyn has arrived on the scene... But things aren't getting any better. And that one Trooper... Oh he /found/ the line and crossed it. The pilot is lunging at him with a snarl at the time the one in charge snaps a halt on that sort of talk - but Jehn still plants herself back on the cart with a possessive arm thrown between Nyla and the offending trooper.
But she doesn't attack him - and, in turn, probably avoids having her head blown off.
"Don't you /fucking touch her/." She growls, and not for the first time. Hopefully it is better heeded the second go around. Jehn glares at the medic - but it's that status of 'medic' that earns him a pass for more vicious ass stabbing. It is not without angry, smelly, blood and oil covered snarling, though.
Watch out everybody, Jehn is going feral. Too much time with the anooba.
Still hovering over the injured droid mechanic, hard eyes are glared back at Fuze. "It was a Conqueror-class. Surronian." Jehn mutters, eyes narrowed. "I patched the engine up real good but there is probably still some body damage on it. She'll be needing a new charge plane before too long, but I doubt she'll stay on world to get it done." Glare, glare, glare - underwear? Sion must be a lot better looking than her, because they lingered so briefly on her tush that you would have thought the thing was poisonous. HEAVY GLARING.

The quiet dancer tracks the movements of all troopers closest to Jehni and Nyla with, eyebrow raising a fraction at some of things he overhears. He moves closer, raising his arms and shifting to stand with a leg bent to expose his thigh just so. "Easy now my lovelies...what? Naelyn here....tell you what, I will allow a strip search and not even expect a tip. Just allow me to arrange safe transport for my family members to a safe clinic." He raises that lilting purr ever so slightly so Jehni and Nyla and Sion can hear him as Jehni is going grrrr. "Shhhhh....easy now Jehni darling, shhhh. Hello babies....sound off if you are still of this world. And hello Mistress Sion....what a flattering shade of pink."

Nyla Forr tenses, fear in disgust in her eyes as she locks onto the trooper leering. "Jehn," she hisses as the tall pilot starts to flail around. "Stop." Her voice eases to a nervous, pleading tone. "Oh, fuck, what no-OW," Nyla gasps out at the next needle. "C'mon!" she pants and wilts against the crate. Defeat is in her expression as she sinks back and closes her eyes. Naelyn's voice, Sion's... Jehn's. It's all a bit too much. "Seriously kill me," Nyla requests of Jehn again.

It was a really, really simple task she had to do. Load X crates onto a cargo hauler, where X is a relatively large number but still a nice, simple number. Load crate 1. Load crate 2. Repeat until all crates are loaded. Nobody ordered her to investigate Amazonian assaults or deal with whimpering blaster victims or pink panties or pheromones....well, Fuze is getting the feeling she is starting to lose control of the situation, what with a rabid Jehni'va looking like she wants to rip off Lecherous Trooper's head and a depanted Sion, a disrobed and bloody Nyla (if you're into that weird shit, as Lecherous Trooper clearly is) and last but not least a sultry Naelyn threatening to distract her entire squad from their tasks. Not that Sion's panty-clad ass is unattractive, no. Eyes forwards, Fuze. EYES FRONT. "Alright! Mister, get them out of here," she orders Naelyn brusquely. "All of them." Sion is apparently included. "Before someone gets shot." Well, technically that order comes too late, but whatever. "Troopers, move out! Get back to loading that hauler!"
But still. Conqueror-class, Surronian. Eeenteresting.
Having a bad feeling that things are definitely slipping out of control here, Sion risks a quick glance around... and finds the dark-haired FO supervisor's eyes on her backside. Turning as pink as her panties, she hastily pulls up her pants as that order comes out of the woman's mouth. She has a couple seconds to snatch up her little blaster, shoving it into a pocket. Not that she's ignoring Jehni'va's sudden attack of RAR-ness, or Naelyn's entrance, or Nyla's moaning. She hastily buttons her pants and pulls off her jacket, draping it over Nyla's prostrate form. "I know it's not much, but it'll keep you a little warmer," she says. "Let's get out of here before someone starts firing. Or that vein in that super's head explodes all over the place."

What the - when did Naelyn get here? Jehn's head snaps around - her teeth are still actually and legitimately bared in her best Crona impression - but she relaxes upon spying the dancer. "Naelyn." She breathes a sigh of relief, eyes pleading as one hand drifts down to rest at Nyla's arm. There's a small, reassuring squeeze there. Sorry she's a psycho! "Yes please." Jehn nods, dumbly, to the orders given - get them out of here? Check! Get them to a doctor? Check in progress! Not get shot by Troopers? Check - miraculously! Sion loses her pants? Also a check. As the Stormtroopers march away, Jehn looks helplessly between Sion and Naelyn as the jacket is laid over Nyla and a route of escape is offered. "Thank you." She breathes. "Thanks... We -" Another look at Nyla. "She really needs to get to Wayside."

"Thank you...." Naelyn lowers his hands and moves closer, more quickly...hands moving to his satchel to pull out a slip black metallic case, slipping a neatly rolled space joint and that is handed to Jehni along with his glittery lighter, a hand moving to gently rest on Jehni's arm. "You did an amazing job being so brave, now light this and take a puff...that is it." Then to Sion. "Can you push her and follow me, I will get us an emergency transport to the Corellian District...." Out comes that sleek clear datapad with its bedazzled corners as he types a few things in there. A look to Nyla. "You pull through this and I will share the part of my stash that actually glows..."

Nyla Forr is still tense. She's shivering now. Her outer layer of clothes in tatters, her wounds are packed, if messily, and she's /still/ a bloody, street grimed mess. "They're not taking me?" Nyla breathes, attempting to sit up a little to look at the backs of the bucketheads. Wide eyes seek out Jehn. "They're not taking me," she repeats weakly. Ugh, sitting up hurts. Nyla sinks back down and tries to keep her eyes open. "Guys, I dun' feel anything..." The painkillers, at least, are kicking in.

"M'am, the illegal drugs..." One of the Troopers, one with more of a stick up his ass than with the others (which isn't saying much) looks pointedly from the joint to Fuze and back. But she rises magnificently to the occasion, ignoring it. This is Nar Shaddaa. "Troopers, move out!" She lingers a moment and tells Jehni'va in a softer, Trooper-who-cares voice, "Take care of your friend." One final faintly blushed glance at Sion, a definite eyes-averted brush past Naelyn, and the First Order pilot is striding swiftly away and back to supervising cargo-loading, where there's no (or little) blood and definitely no panties. Unless the crates are full of First Order official issue panties. Black, cheerless, no lace.

"I think I can," Sion replies to Naelyn, moving to take up the burden of the increasingly-insensate Nyla. She does catch that glance from the FO supervisor, stifling a smile. At least someone doesn't have a steel rod up their sit-upon.
"They're totally not taking you. We are," she says to Nyla, beginning to move the woman in the direction of the largest clear space she can see. That airspeeder will have to put down someplace, after all. "Jehni, coming?" she asks, with a concerned glance back at the gawky pilot.

"No one's taking you." Jehn growls. "E-Except us. To, uh. To the clinic...Right?" She passes a concerned, confused look between Sion and Naelyn - and there's a joint at her nose. "Bless." She breathes out, taking it without a second question - and Fuze earns a surprised look as it hangs out of the corner of her mouth. They ruined her first one, after all.
Once lit, it is hit and immediately pushed at Nyla. "I'm glad you lot showed up." She exhales in a cloud of smoke (without coughing, because she's a champ) as she hops off the cart and joins Sion to help push her along. Not that she needs the help, Jehn just... Doesn't know what to do otherwise. She does abandon her post to trot alongside for drug passing, though... Because that's just kind of what these two do. Of course she's coming, she's been growling at people over the bloodied husk of a droid mechanic - she's emotionally invested. "Thank you." She repeats again, head still spinning... Because what the fuck has this night been? "I just -" She sticks at her spot beside the cart now, deciding that is more useful than trying to push. "...It's been an interesting -" She blinks. "I actually don't know how long we've been gone." They were knocked out twice, okay?? Time gets weird.

Even more so as they roll up to the clinic in a party bus full of strippers… Bless you, Naelyn.