Log:The Shadowport: Finding THE Enigma Pt 2
Nothing ever goes according to plan
OOC Date: October 3, 2021
Location: Canto Bight
Participants: Eriu Jynx as GM and herself, Khalim as GM aid and himself, Ora, Netep Muri, B'haav Adasta
Everyone seems to have a wealth of their own problems. Knowledge is power and knowing Enigma is very much still present and pulling strings gives the group an advantage. They manage to meet up outside the lifts that Rale found - though now the Chadra-fan is decidedly missing. He's left some obscure instructions but in any case Netep's information presents them with the knowledge that Enigma has his hired hands to defend him and his place or respite. The woman that B'haav had spoken to gives him some idea of how to work the system of the lift. But passwords change and upon checking the code again there is no response for the lift to carry them up.
But who's in a hurry? They are still missing Yan who is now viewing the new up and coming attraction that Khalim found and Khalim? No word from that guy yet. Their comms are not completely silent and Ora even gets the wide spread call for hands from the Duchess who is in orbit - safely away from Enigma.
The holocall rings and rings until they answer and on the other end - Eriussa, being fitted in armor as she speaks, looking ...pissed for a lack of a better word. <"I am sorry to disturb all your hard work but we have a problem. Enigma has Khalim. Death is on the docket but he is already harming him in payment for my hiring our Mirialan friend to hunt him down. We need to get to the top floor, now! I am heading in with two Hapan squadrons to provide cover and hopefully make an emergency landing. Good luck. Hurry.">
The comm cuts out and now the problem with the lifts is made even more apparent. They need to get to that floor, but what are they going to do?
Ora is given directions of where to meet B'haav and Netep outside the personal lift to a private highly guarded penthouse level.
B'haav Adasta has a couple of tricks up his sleeve, but mostly just his arms. The Balosar is looking out for all of the other members of Shadowport, but wondering if he was at the wrong elevator when a certain Chadra-Fan seemed to be absent. But soon, with the group congregating, the need for improvise presents. The codes are... "Not working. Profiling is almost impossible to extend to passwords without about ten times more information." As the gravel-voiced cargo-runner speaks, his fingers deftly move over the panel, cutting further into the sub-menus until - finally - the lowest level of password access is found.
"We just need a code... Or another plan." B'haav looks around. "I.... Have my pistol with the ascension line, but I don't think that's getting us all where we need to go."
Ora had gotten that call, responding as promptly as she could in a mad rush. There isn't often a call for all hands, at least not since she joined, so it must be serious.
THAT, or, they've found a fantastic horde of booze and are drunk enough to be giddy enough to share
However she found out fairly quickly that the booze wasn't the case and is now playing lookout for the group as they hover around that console. She tries to look casual, one hand on her hip, the other lightly tapping in against her thigh, "Oh wow, yeah no, that super ain't gonna get us nowhere. Y'know what /might/ though .."
Clearing her throat to loosen that beauteous drawl she reaches into her coat pocket to pull out a little flute looking thing, stepping away a few feet from the group. A smack of her lips is followed by a salacious lick of her lips, shoulders wiggled as she loosens up, deep breath taken in as she awkwardly brings that flute to her lips, "AHEM. A'ight ya'll, pay 'ttention, yous all 'bout to witness something magical." Toooot toooot tooooooot.
She begins to play a very basic tune that children learn when first starting out, swaying hips from side to side as she plays, sidelong glances given 'round to see who she needs to reign in. TooOttttTTTTOOOOOOoooooot. Wow, that late night practicing is working out it seems. For now. Throats gettin' dry already.
Someday, Muri's gonna visit this casino and have a truly wonderful time. Absolutely stress-free vaca, no strings attached, just drink and gamble away her hard-earned credits with abandon and maybe sample her way through fellow casino goers with as much ease (and equal regret) as she does the entire room service menu.
Today has not been that day. But as crappy as it's been - as Muri's rolled ankle and a few shimmery streamers still stuck in her hair will tell - it's not half as rough as the time Khalim's likely having in Mr E's special room(s).
"S'bout time you show up, Gia" she says to the Information Analysis droid that's joined this little wad of individuals awkwardly congregating around a lift they've no business riding in. "He need to --"
"Excuse me, Doctor Adasta," the droid politely tips her head and shuffles forward to take his place at the little terminal. A golden finger extends farther than it ought to, by the anatomically human standards it appears modeled after, and mates with a droid-friendly port for a little uplink action. Oh baby.
While 'Gia' does her thang, Muri stands nervously by, half listening to the oh so alluring tune fluted out by Ora and picking another shimmery strand out of her poofy crest of curls.
The terminal is not very user friendly and hates to give up its secrets which are in this case whatever is waiting for them at the top of the life. If the Duchess is right though it is Khalim at the very least and he is not likely alone. As Muri's droid works at the station Ora is a distraction enough while the passcodes filter through and there are small beeps and boops. She takes it like a pro and feeds back information back into the terminal as it asks for it. Ora's sudden improvisation leaves more than a few who had started to look the groups' way staring. The music is not bad, not the best and a few start to clap and redirect their attention.
But yet a few more just stare at her as if waiting for something better. They are on Canto Bight after all and expectations are high. More than a few step forward to toss meager casino chips their way. They hit the ground at Ora's feet as a few move on though there are a couple that seem to expecting the rest of the group to join in at some point.
B'haav steps out of the way as Gia takes over, turning back to look at Ora as she begins to play the flute. That's... Definitely an approach. He looks to the console, which really is not big enough for two, and then back to the small crowd of onlookers. More distraction. Just like he'd always helped with when Shadowport needed. He steps away from the panel, looking to Ora and nodding along as he gets a sense of the tune. Then... He spreads his arms slowly outward and up, to clasp his fingers above his head and begins... Kicking his feet rhythmically to the tune.
Slowly, the Balosar turns, fancy shoes making a shuffling shoeshine sound on the floor as he sweeps in the smallest circle. His hands lower and one plays with his hat, tipping the brim occasionally at one onlooker or the other. He hums under his breath as he continues the routine. "Just like the tunes of my native Socorro. I hear, and I must dance!" Socorro his Balosar backside.
Ora
Twooot twoooooooot.
Ora gets more into the playing, actually enjoying it /and/ the attention (the chips, she loves the dang chips. Look ma, she's making it rain gambling blood!). Multi-colored large eyes wrinkle as she smiles in between lip purses, fingertips playing along the lovely little flute, hips still swaying and foot tapping.
Getting more cocky she begins to improvise a little, shoulders tilting towards B'haav, feet shuffling along so she can gather those chips into a pile for easier scooping later. Tooot tweeet twoooooOoOoOoooooo.
Tilting towards B'haav, feet shuffling along so she can gather those chips into a pile for easier scooping later. Tooot tweeet twoooooOoOoOoooooo.
SNERKT. B'haav claims Socorran roots that that's too much for Muri's Ibhann'I half to sit idly by and quietly absorb. No, no.
'Gia' continues to labor away, communing with the digital expanse of binary wonder, just absolutely blowing this terminal's mind on what's got to be a speed date because her flesh'n'bone handler's got flesh'n'bone friends who are far too mortal for their own good.
Netep casually edges away from that terminal, around the jigging Balosar, and hovers around the talented flutist. Her left hand lightly taps in against thigh, finding the beat for a few until her brain can piece together a little jaunty something that might passably accompany this strange performance. "Ohhh...eharl fho larel..."
The crowd becomes a little more amiable as Ora continues to entertain them. The proverbial beat has not dropped but her playing has improved and now she has a partner. A few more begin to clap. This is far more real feeling than most of the scheduled and practiced to perfection shows on Canto Bight. A couple of women are beginning to bounce and bob to the music. She's definitely doing her job presently and allowing Muri with the droid to be able to get through the lift's security. A green light suddenly fills the pad that the droid is working with and the sound of the lift lowering can be heard.
It takes no time at all for the express lift to the top of the building to arrive. A very lovely chime sounds as the doors open. Once chance...that is what them opening seems to say. One chance to board and get to their destination.
The music however has drawn attention and the sudden rush of their departure is going to cause some confusion and calls for them to come back! Disappointment is abound!
Once upon the lift they have a short ride to the top as it glides effortlessly up to the very top floor and the plateau of the penthouse that exists over the mountain top. Now or never.
The lift you all step out of is immediately recognizable as... different. It does not deposit the group into the sort of high-roller's suite entry corridor or welcoming foyer as perhaps might have been expected, but out into the wide open.
A coastal city, there's a salty tang to the air that circulates even at this altitute, nearly four hundred meters in height. This hotel has been built into the stunted dome mountain whose shadow is presently cast over the great casino-city. And what can be seen, rising in a gentle slope towards the summit of that dwarf height, is a natural ramp.
At its peak, perhaps two hundred meters forward, a fortress-like structure is built directly into the mountain. Built /OF/ the mountain. Buttressed by slender columns hewn from that same stone, Enigma's retreat is a wonder of the natural fused with the very best of modern construction materials and technique.
Between the private lift's duracrete-aproned exit and that fortress of... today it's not solitude... four elevated anti-aircraft turrets. Each quad turreted heavy laser cannon sits atop a cylindrical and well-armored casemate, and an entrance to each can be seen at each structure's base. An operator-droid can be seen entering the fourth and nearest turret, and signs of life can be observed and heard from the other three as they begin their power-on sequences.
B'haav Adasta As the elevator dings, and their exit is awaiting, B'haav waves to the shadows, where a droid... For lack of a better word, looms. A motion at waist-height has the hulking figure moving forward toward the elevator as B'haav dances backward. The X-10 draft droid is not particularly advanced, but it does understand commands, and it follows them. CLOMP. CLOMP. Heavy footsteps follow the troupe onto the elevator, turning to face the crowd as they call for more music. A light in the center of the droid's chest begins to glow ominously red, and the crowd suddenly is less interested in the music and dancing.
Up top, the droid is the first out - by necessity, as it blocks the door. B'haav follows, squeezing around to get an eye on the lay of the land. "Well... Looks like we're being received." B'haav steps forward, turning his lapel forward to show the Enigma pin. He holds a hand up as the guards approach. "Easy now, easy. We're all on high alert, but don't get loose with the weapons. We're here for some... Specialist support to increase security. I brought the big guy." He gestures to the Draft Droid as it towers over him. On that stone ramp, running towards the private lift, two guards. Each wields a simple blaster pistol, and one points with a yell as the party begins clearing out of the lift.
"How the heck he walkin' on them legs." Ora whispers to B'haav, chin jutting slightly to the X-10 as the elevator moves to their destination. Why she's whispering? Because she doesn't want to hurt the droids feelings. Maybe.
Dubiously eyeing the droid as the elevator moves up, and when it stops and the droid gets off in it's cloppy clumpy way she follows, peeking out from behind the droids right side, "He may have freakishly skinny legs, but it's them legs that be holdin' his power." Ora says in her warm drawl with the utmost confidence she can muster, which apparently is a lot, hands planted on her hips with her chin held nice and level, trying to ooze authori-tay.
"Now you be lettin' us do our specialin' with the security, you ain't want to stop this big guy from doin' his best securin'." And to prove his sturdiness and ability to secure, she reaches out to smack the droids bottom firmly, like she's patting a new car, "Two thousand rancor power in this one." Twang.
"You're security now, got it? Systems security analyst." Muri whispers an aside to the GY-1 who exits the lift just ahead of her owner. Unlike her owner, Gia does as she's told by those names and faces listed as 'trusted' in her databank and the face and voice of one B'haav Adasta happens to be among those few items stored.
"Directive acknowledged," Gia answers back and strolls robotically on out to do as her new security team do.
Muri waits a few moments, licking palms to smooth back some stray wispies and fluff her feathery cape and whathaveyou before stalking her way forth on short-legged but carefully measured steps. A little extra effort is given to sway the hips that she hasn't got and she spends the idle time in background breathing in the scent of the brine, relaxing her throat, and exhaling what's really just a half life...
"I'm 'ere t'be part o'the retinue...Mister E's special entertainment." Muri's purr holds a trace of the black sands but also something more lyrical. Lilting.
The lilac feathers of her cape, the blue of her hair, the starkness of her white clothing...bits and pieces that pay homage to the visual aesthetics of the Omwati. Much like her voice, in this moment. "S'a rowdy crowd below...I'll pass along an appreciative word for your assistance..." this last bit offered to Ora, B'haav and droidly companions.
The screaming of something in the air is getting closer and closer. On the distant horizon dark dots begin to take shape as they stay low to the mountain range. A group of six is flying low. Fighters. As they get closer they begin to open fire on what is happening below. THey break into groups of three as the guns begin to whir to life and swing about. Shots are being expressed from the four towers and their heavy armaments. The heavily fortified mountain top retreat is unleashing its fury on the assailants. The ships fly low, crossing the fire as they even leave a rush of air behind that can be felt by the group and the security officers. Silver and green, the Hapan fighters take out a few of the distant security members having run out to man the EWEBBS on the rooftop, rending the heavy flooring with carbon and divets.
The graceful presence of the angry wasps in the air come back around, readying for a second run just as one and then two are taken out by heavy turbolaser, spiraling off into the distant mountains to hit and explode. That leaves four and one of them is likely Eriussa Jynell.
The two security officers immediately note B'haav's Enigma pin and, well, they don't quite /relax/ but their pistols remain held at the low ready. "The watch officer didn't mention anything about relief or... specialist support." Ora's drawl appears to disarm the man a bit further, as the draft droid looms, and he nods. "If you were the intruders we've been alerted to expecting, I doubt we'd be having this conversation." Muri's pronouncement that she's Mister E's... entertainment... draws a widening of eyes. If they knew one thing it was to NEVER, EVER, EVER come between their employee and his particular predilections.
The (apparently) lead security guard, 'number 1' nods in acceptance and looks ready to say more, perhaps even make a demand about droid placement - hands have gone to hips and a quick survey of the life - when the first of the Jynell snubfighters scream into view.
"We can't stay out here in the open," argues the second security officer, pointing towards the nearest gun turret - its entrance framed at the base of its casemate - as laser bolts are exchanged between turbolasers and the smaller, yet more accurate return fire from Eriu's snubfighters.
The two guards take up position just outside the lift's entrance, in case the 'intruders' show up after all. "Go!" the lead guard yells, before adding, for the draft droid's benefit, "Stand position right here next to me. Destroy anyone that exits this lift that does not wear the insignia."
B'haav is about to start making his way up the ramp when the inbound aircraft and the ensuing turret fire derails any plan he may have been formulating. As two of the fighters are shot down, B'haav actually presses his fist into his side to keep from shouting. Those can't be Eriu Jynx's craft. He refuses. Still, they are her people and - by virtue of his position - his people. He wheels on the lead guard trying to order his droid. He looks to the X-10. "SECURE THE RAMP! NO ONE THROUGH WHO ISN'T WITH US!" The droid, responding to orders, turns toward the two guards.
<"NONE SHALL PASS. NONE SHALL PASS! YOU SHALL NOT PASS!">
As the guards are left to likely soil their uniforms, B'haav is off for the nearest turret, poking his head in and spying the gunner droid. He begins speaking rapidly in Binary, chirps, whistles and tweeps spilling out at an insane pace. "This is a trick by the enemy. The Master is in one of those. The fortress has been beset! DESTROY THOSE OTHER TURRETS! Our entire organization is counting on you!" And so is B'haav as grey eyes look for the returning fighters. Time is of the essence.
Ora is quick to back up B'haav, following him despite keenly wishing she could have a convo with Muri about how she does that sultry thing, but nope, instead she gives Muri a little waggle of her fingertips as she dashes after B'haav, "Oh my word, oh goodness me --" She breathes heavily, looking to the droids as she grips the edge of the turret entrance frame, "They're with th'enemy, you ought ta spread the word to the other droids -- hurry, turn them turrets and do the thing!" A little finger gun is given, "Yer our only hope!"
Muri reflexively ducks as the rush of starfighters buffets the very air around them, stirs up her shoulder cape like a ruffled bird's wing. There's no need for acting when the shriek of turbolasers reaches her ears. The cower is quite real and in that blustery moment in time, the puckered pink of a lovely calligraphed 'K' is revealed, scrawled across her left shoulder blade. For those well-acquainted with the seedy underworld of entertainment, that sort of branding is indicative that the colorful little woman might belong to someone. Someone whose initials are not 'E'.
Wherever she's /supposed/ to be delivered, the plan has obviously been sent asunder by ENEMY ATTACK! The self-proclaimed entertainer hasn't any options but to scurry along after Ora's waggling fingers and B'haav's smooth talkin', unless she'd rather take her chances with not being transformed into a fiery divet by turbolasers, which....yeah nah.
"DOIN THE THING!!" Muri announces, too loudly as even her vocal chords are a ball of nerves in this moment. How the frell did she ever fly in the Battle of Exegol? Her comrades' noses have maybe nine seconds left of breathing in the pure air of seaside retreat before the distinct aroma of Lorddian-in-distress melds into the scent profile. An exotic twist to transform this small space into a busy market stall, many star systems away.
All ten of her fingers go to work on that targeting screen, giving the droid a little assist in laying down some friendly fire.
The fighters can be felt even in the reinforced turret tower and its clear that even with two towers going down and one under control of the Shadowportians that its not enough. Another fighter is hit and goes spiraling down towards the sea. This of course is causing chaos in the resort below, people running and screaming as they look for cover - confused about what is going on but not wanting ot be near danger. The three fighters left come back around as the mountain top retreat shudders with another volley of their fire, more of Enigma's men dying before they can find safety.
The draft droid turns on the two guards, who suddenly look up with shock written across their faces. Realizing something has gone quite wrong, and that this droid monstrosity looming over them is perhaps far more foe than friend, they both dive into the lift itself and with a jamming of fingers against little white buttons the door begins closing. Two security out of the fight without a shot.
As B'haav pops his head into the turret and begins addressing the fire control droid, the first sign of some bluffing efficacy is a cessation of fire from this particular turret. The droid is listening, and as Ora and Muri add their voices to this chorus of demand, its droid brain attempts to make sense of this madness. But THE MASTER... if he is in fact being betrayed, and the droid fails to respond appropriately with this newly granted data, a part-by-part disintegration was the only possible future.
The turret rotates, quad light turbolasers aiming at its neighbor. With a repeated discharge of hyper-focused energy, assisted by Muri in targeting /just the right spots/, a tower explodes. And then a second.
It's only then that a loud banging can be heard at the tower's entrance. "Stop! Your targeting control is malfunctioning!" BANG BANG BANG. "Target the fighters! THE FIGHTERS!"
Suddenly the fire control droid slumps, over-ridden by some external source, and at the exact same moment power is cut to the tower's control surfaces.
They've been exposed.
But one tower remains, and time is of the utmost essence. Khalim within, perhaps dead, perhaps not. Eriu above, but for how long as that final tower begins tracking that incoming trio of Hapan starfighters. And then, with a staccato burst of turbolaser fire, opens up.
B'haav is frantic at this point. Someone at the door, the droid out of commission, no talent for actually shooting anything... And they have someone in the last tower, and someone in the sky, both in a lot of danger. "Kriff!" He reaches over the now-slumped droid - patting it on the shoulder as he did so, as it had been absolutely instrumental to their cause. If possible, he'd have the Draft Droid carry it out and emancipate it from this organization. He presses the button for the intercom and out comes the only thing he actually ever brings to the table: words.
<"Attention. This is a general broadcast for anyone inside who can hear this. You have one of our people. We've come to get him back. Our fight is not with you, but with Enigma. If you hand him over to us and our associate is returned in a decent state, we will not hold you responsible for the actions of a madman under whose influence you have fallen. But if you don't... If you allow him to carry out this nefarious and heinous act, then so help me we will not stop until every last brick, every last stone, and every last one of you is scattered to the wind like dust. This is not a threat. I don't want you to be scared."> A puase. <"I want you to think, very closely. Is Enigma worth it? Worth your lives? Are you willing to give up EVERYthing... For one life? Consider this: he wouldn't even sacrifice a single credit for any of you. Surrender immediately, or face all consequences."> B'haav holds his breath. He had tried. But... That's all he could ever really have done.
Ora listens to the banging, gaze immediately drawn to the slumping droid, "Oh c'mon man, this ain't the time for nappin'." Exasperatingly stated, the Keshian twisting partially towards the banging on the door, fingers tapping against her hips, "This is why y'can't rely on them dang droids, ain't got minds of their dang own."
Huffing she will dart to the console the droid was at, not as kind as B'haav was, instead pushing the slumped droid off and onto the floor, "A'ight, hold onto yer bottoms and hope my abilities ain't dry up while I was off galavantin'." Working her magic she manages to get control of the turret AND target theother turret remaining.
Shootie noises resound and the explosion of the other turret along with orange-blue flames as it goes up is what greets all, "Yeaaaaaaaaah boi, now that's how y'do it, y'dummy." Down over her shoulder her gaze drops to the droid on the floor.
B'haav is broadcasting an appeal, Ora is overriding the security shutdown of their turret's firepower, and Netep...
Netep is opening the door - THE door - that very door which serves as the sole shield between their interloping selves and Enigma's highly motivated security personnel.
"HELP ME PLEEEHEEHEEEEASE!" A sob that's as ugly as it is LOUD errupts from the halfbreeds lungs as she throws herself out the opening door and latches onto that irate, armed, killing machine like the damsel in distress that she sort of felt like about one hundred and eighty-two seconds ago. "I don't--they--I'm s'posed t'be insiiiiiihiiihiiiide...he's going to be so maaahaaaaad..." a shaky, tear-filled gasp refills the air in Muri's lungs in spite of her nose getting mashed against his chest and her fingers become like claws, latching onto his everything seemingly all at once. Searching.
"Wh...what's going ON!?"
The security officer would probably like to know the answer to this very same question as he's assaulted by hair and feathers and very, VERY strange perfume. Baffled in the moment, he finds himself uttering automatic reassurances that everything's going to be fine....?
Face still buried in body armor, Muri cannot send meaningful looks to her partners in crime, but dammit she's hoping they act fast.
The two remaining fighters in the air swing back around and before the turret can be demolished by Ora's quick moves it clips the wing of one of the fighters as it is coming in for another run at the mountain top retreat. It wobbles in the air as the turret explodes from the fire of the turret the group occupies, sending a showering of debris in a bright brilliance. The pilot within angles down for a rough landing as the ship begins to lose power, cutting engines as it hits the wall on the far side of the complex showering the place in duracrete as it jumps over and lands in the massive pool. Skipping across the water until it comes to a thundering halt, slamming into the far end near the compound entrance.
The top pops and out steps Eriu, blood dripping from her forehead as she throws her helmet aside and uses the wing to walk off the slowly sinking ship. She pulls her sword after two tries and steps over the bodies of those taken out by the fighters, a sweep of her sword takes down a figure as she whirls about and ends another before entering the darkened building.
Not but a minute later there are cries of pain from within the complex - female in origin.
Unfortunately for B'haav, and the rest of this crew, Enigma's followers fringe heavily into cultish territory. His appeals have an affect on a handful of low-level employees, especially those newly hired to do things like peel carrots and mop floors. The majority, however, are all-in on all things... Enigmatic. "You'll die today like your Duchess," comes a snarl from the other end of the comm unit.
As the final turret dies, thanks to Ora's quick hands at the party's own turret's control surface, and the final flight of Hapan fighters is deflected - one into the retreat's pool - there's a moment of silence from outside. The guard attempting to calm Muri down looks back at the fortress slack-jawed, and as Eriu works her blade, and then enters Enigma's lair, he begins to run. Not just run, but his pistol is drawn and aimed back-long, a couple of warning shots fired without much in the way of aiming.
The turrets have quieted, and the one remaining Jynell fighter makes a lonesone strafing run at an E-Web emplacement built into a stone revetment near the retreat's top-level entrance, killing its crew and silencing one of the last remaining points of resistance. The ground is covered in bodies, and movement can be seen as a handful of defenders move deeper within the structure. In the opposite direction of Eriussa Jynell, who is atop the building, and dealing with... something... inside.
"HEY WA--" ah frink. A wounded fighter craft comes careening in, the secruity guard extricates himself from Muri's embrace in a panic, and shoves Muri AND Muri's little white pantsuit to the ground.
Rejection is the spice of life and Netep's life is heavily spiced, has been for years, but for reasons that have led her to be participating in this fracas in the first place, she decides to take THIS rejection quite personally.
"YEAH!" she yells from the ground, struggling into a wobbly, sideways situp to fight with the straps of her left shoe. "He gave y--eh--" my god, the workout "--CHANCE! Y'moof-brained HUTT SUCKER!"
With no small amount of effort, Muri lobs an ornately bedazzled stiletto(shoe) and follows its arc of flight with a little more heat behind the second. Heat, passion, fury - these things do not lend themselves to accuracy. Fortunately, the FIRST shoe follows an expertly calculated trajectory through the air and lands squarely between the guard's eyes - right on the nose - as he whirls around to contest the stabbing of his bum. It's a long distance kick to the face and the man staggers back from the sheer shock of the blow. UNfortunately, the second shoe goes a bit wide, more of a linear curve ball than overhead arc, and B'haav's active thrust puts him in the line of fire.
Whoops.
If Muri notices, she isn't apologizing. She's too busy rummaging in her fancy little handbag for her little blaster pistol now that her feet are free of their torment, ability to run restored, and footwear ammo depleted.
The cries of pain have ended and there is the sound of rage, some words that are masculine and then silence while they engage in battle. But upon entering the compound they find a wide open room and to the left is an area of quedstionable use. There is a table, implements and a chain hanging from the ceiling unoccupied - at this moment anyways. Half down some shallow steps that lead up to the questionable area is a body, a neurowhip off and laying on the ground beside him but what is even more disturbing is the ruined figure of Khalim wrapped up in Eriu's arms and her sword dropped a few feet away. "HURRY!" is screamed at the top of her lungs just as they enter and the Duchess is utterly distraught, tears having recently welled ot her eyes. Khalim for his part looks...in bad shape.
Further into the room at the back is a higher platform, merely twenty feet away and what looks like rooms behind a single wall. But before that is a hover chair. A disfigured burned and twisted corpse remain, blood running down to pool upon the floor from a deeply slit neck. Enigma.
He has a quick death which is likely more than he deserved given the state Khalim is in. Medical attention is a must.
Khalim. A bit cocky. A bit serious. Lover of small batch outer rim ales. A pilot's pilot. An at times soft-spoken, at others quite boisterous friend of Shadowport. Little of the man known to B'haav Adasta, Netep Muri, Ora, or Eriussa Jynell can be seen in the near naked form currently cradled by the Duchess.
Next to a cleaved body just behind them can be seen a fallen neuronic whip, and evidence of Khalim's reality the past two hours is apparent in hundreds upon hundreds of fine markings upon pear-hued skin. Back, chest, arms and legs show evidence of Enigma's savagery, even whip-marks curling up neck and onto the Mirialan's face. It's likely the man's motor control has been severely disrupted. Neuronic whips exist to force obedience in a strike or two. Hundreds, maybe upwards of a thousand? That is a different punishment entirely.
It pales, however, in comparison to what has been done to his face. Blood, in a freshly crimson ooze over parially dried layers, coats the right half. It splatters down his neck and upper chest. The source becomes immediately clear as a canyon has been rent down the right side of his face.
Anyone familiar with the effect of a vibroblade upon bared flesh, that rip-tearing near disintegration, would recognize the implement that had been pressed against Khalim's brow, at a point perhaps an inch above his right eye, and ruthlessly /drawn down/ in a trailing of pain and destruction. Though brow. Through eye. Through upper cheek and some of the black geometry of the Mirialan's story. What is left is a line of ugly destruction, and a ruined eye destroyed within the safety of its rended socket.
Khalim remains conscious, fresh tears welled and dropping down his opposite, yet unmarred cheek. He seems to be, somehow, beyond the pain. Shock, almost certainly. Something worse, perhaps. He appears lost. Haunted. Khalim's focus drifts off, oddly away from Eriu. He has the appearance of one for whom a battle has been lost, simply awaiting the axe. Or the fall of a final night.
A fallen man.
B'haav pushes the guard off the vibrorapier as he begins to slump from the shoe-based trauma, even as his own trauma is coming in the form of a long-distance blow to the head. The Balosar is temporarily thrown into the wall, and his hat goes flying - literally, as it is flung off his head by the flying shoe, and sails off the ramp and into the sky over the city below. A glinting durasteel ring catches the light as palps are now revealed to all, but B'haav Adasta does not notice it. He does not even seem to react to the show striking him in the temple. The door is open, and the Balosar pushes through. Surprisingly... No resistance is found within. Any that was found would be dispatched, but there is none to find.
'HURRY!'
The voice of Eriussa Jynell compels her advisor to move with all haste and reckless abandon, not looking for resistance or ambush. If anyone is in the way, it'll be up to them to get out of it. And it's only a moment for B'haav to see everything. Eriu Jynx. Khalim. Khalim's bleeding and shocked-to-breaking form. The Neuronic Whip. This is the sort of setting B'haav knows and never talks about. His reaction is immediate. He sheathes the sword and kneels, setting it quietly down as he slips off the satchel and digs within. Retrieving a med pack, he stands and moves slowly to the side of the two Shadowportians, no looks for the corpse in the chair. The Balosar is silent as he lays out the kit, spreading out the tools and beginning to apply soothing medicine to numb, and clean as he delicately tends to the most grievous wound.
His hands steer clear of the worst of it, instead seeking out any small things that can be stabilized, but leaving the worst alone if it will not threaten Khalim's life. "He needs a Doctor," B'haav says finally and clearly not meaning himself. B'haav looks up to EJ. "The best we can afford." Anything else, any further thoughts, are bit back, chewed and swallowed hard. There is no one in the Galaxy who needs to know what he's thinking right now. "But he will live. And he will heal."
The eyes need not see what the nose first betrays...but the eyes do see it, anyway. Netep's eyes see it and her skin remembers.
Nostrils flattened of their own accord, Muri stands there apart, lingering in the space between Khalim's broken body, the healing hands and comforting arms tending him, and the door. A portal to freedom and fresh air. The sounds in the room begin to blur, stream of voices running together until they become one flow that trickles in one ear and out the other. Sounds blur but vision clears with a single bat of third eyelid that sweeps the excessive of moisture away, draws it back into self. A second blink sharpens Muri's sight, her silent study of three faces. She hones in on every minutia, from the tension of jaw lines to the quiver of twitchy veins that strain to contain the pulse of adrenaline. Rage. Pain. No doubt, these tiny tells would match her own, had she not disappeared already behind the cold mask of Lorddian stoicism. It does not suit her...except for when it does.
When the quiet watcher finally opens her mouth to speak, it's naught but a whisper in her father tongue with the faintest of tremors detectable therein.
"Ofax ets burrin tehn." They are weighted words as heavy as the air of which they speak, in spite of the softeness with which they are spoken.
And on that solemn note, she turns around and pads soundlessly out on bare feet, vanishes into the salty breeze. Somewhere out there, Muri is calling for their ships. A ship. Any ship. KRIFFIN BRING THE SHIP. Her DL-18 remains in hand, half raised from side to trigger twitch at anything NOT Shadowportian that deigns to move in this tower's direction.
