The mercenary blinked several times, internally wondering if she was really hearing this or if she was having some sort of brain aneurysm. That her mouth hung slightly agape didn’t seem to help the human’s perception of her reaction, eliciting a grin from him that Qyreia was sure had hemorrhaged something important in her neural pathways. A flicker sparked to life — a thought that shone a small vestige of hope in the foggy mire of this… person.
A gentle, almost inviting smile crept across her lips. “Why go inside?” she cooed, releasing the friction of her boot on the giant bone beneath her and sliding down its length to the dusty earth below. “What’s wrong with right here?”
Edgar watched as she leaned lazily back against the massive rib, very happy that Turel had made this arrangement. “Nothing.” He stepped closer, very much enjoying the feel of her hand that touched lightly on his shoulder, nearly losing himself in her gray-blue eyes. She slid a leg back, and he moved closer. Something egged at his mind, like a siren, saying that something was going to happen between his legs. Feeling her other hand on his hip, he was happily sure of it.
The Force didn’t tell him that it would be her shin, but that was readily remedied.
Reeling back, he clutched at what he was sure was the loss of his ability to reproduce; perhaps the loss of more than that. Tears welled in his eyes as he looked up, only to feel the Zeltron’s fist connect squarely on the bridge of his nose. The thought entered his head that he had clearly misjudged the situation.
“I thingk der’s been a mbisunderstandingk,” he struggled to say through the blood bubbling from his nose. I don’t think it’s broken, he thought, feeling the tender proboscis.
“Ya think?!” She pulled her rifle from her shoulder and seriously considered shooting him too.
The Odanite was not about to take that chance. Extending his arm, he sent an unseen shove into Qyreia’s chest that had her stumbling back into the large bone, tripping and falling for a moment before righting herself again. While brief, it gave Drachen enough time to blink and flex away the lingering pain in his nose to bearable levels. Walking would require a little more self-control for a while.
“I think, we got off on the wrong foot. I thought you were a… um… ‘lady of the night.’”
Qyreia’s eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. “Do I look like a hooker to you?!” she yelled, motioning to the blasters and other dangerous implements on her person.
“I mean… you’re so beautiful and… well, you are a Zeltron.”
He definitely saw her eye twitch. “Ohhh schutta, you did nooot just go there.”
Red energy bolted from the muzzle of her rifle, only narrowly blocked by the golden blade of his lightsaber. As curious as he was about what this woman’s big issue was, clearly she wanted to fight more than to work things out like a sane sentient. I’ll work it out after I’ve disarmed her, he thought as he brought his other lightsaber to bear. While she was outside of his immediate attack range, in the quiet, dusty air, he could hear the distinct tones of a droid emanating from her commlink. He was pretty sure the guns of her ship were slowly panning toward him too.
“No Remee,” she replied to the droid, “I got this. He tries to get fresh though… You know what to do.”
The affirming bleeps just seemed taunting. Between the sidebar and the continuous shift from fighting to banter, his frustration was reaching its limits. “Oh come on! I’m on vacation here, and Turel said he knew you!”
“So Turel said that I was a floozy, did he?” she said as she fired a pair of shots which Edgar hastily blocked.
“Not… necessarily in those words, no.”
“Then enlighten me,” she growled, letting loose with another salvo.
