Professional Courtesy
~AN: Another Priire story! This one is actually StarMoon ( http://starmoon.freeservers.com ) cannon, although it was edited down for the list. The PG-13 is due to exsessive violence. For the record—this is pre-Episode I. The prsice setting changes each time there is a time break. The first section is about 5 years before the second section. The third section is around the time of the first, and so on. Nom/The Mechanic is copyrighted to the Gnome. Priire/The Hawkbat is copyrighted to me.~
There was no love lost between smugglers and mercenaries. Even less so when one of the former was killed by one of the latter. It was like the bloodiest gang war on the largest scale. It was also the reason that several members of the Black Sidhe were out for Red Haze blood. They had another reason for hunting down the most dangerous of Red Haze minions, yet none but themselves knew the reasons.
The bartender jerked his head towards a young woman in a cloak who was drinking alone when the men asked him about members of the Red Haze. "But I wouldn't suggest messing with her." The warning fell on deaf ears. Sighing as he put up the glass he'd been cleaning, the bartender shook his head. When he looked up again, he frowned. "Oh no, not her. Every time she comes into my bar, things get broken."
The dark-haired woman he referred to didn't seem to notice the muttered comment as the Black Sidhe men laughed at the bartender. "Aw, that little lady ain't gonna be no problem."
"She's not a lady," the bartender retorted. "You're taking your life into your own hands."
"We have backup," one of the Black Sidhe smugglers snarled. "She won't be a problem."
The bartender winced and began tallying up all the breakable things in the bar as he went back to cleaning glasses.
"You Red Haze?" one of the men growled.
Slowly looking up at the men from behind her glass, the blonde spitted him with a cold stare from her sea green eyes. "What makes you ask that?" she questioned coolly. She wore a Jedi-esqu cloak that covered her body and shadowed most of her face. The only difference was the black shade of the robe and several patches sewn onto the sleeves. A few tendrils of blonde hair snaked their way out from the confines of the hood.
The man growled deep in his throat. "We're Black Sidhe."
"Out of curiosity," she asked, sounding like her curiosity was not a good thing to have focused on oneself, "what makes you assume I'm Red Haze?"
The man paused. "The patch on your shoulder. It says Red Haze."
A smile that didn't even hint at happiness fell across her lips. "Very good. Now that we've established you can read, what else does it say?"
"Hawkbat." The man angrily waved his hands in the air. "Oooo. Trying to scare us? I'm not afraid of some lackey."
"That makes us even." The girl turned back to her drink. It was a deceptive movement, making them think she'd taken her eyes off of them. In truth, she knew everything that was about to transpire and was ready to block the chair hurled her way. "Now, is that anyway to treat a lady?" she asked, standing.
"The man behind the bar said you ain't no lady!"
She shrugged. "He'd be right." Her sudden movements caught the men by surprise, allowing her to incapacitate one of them. She suspected he'd be spitting out teeth when he woke up.
One of the other men tried to imitate her crisp martial arts moves and failed at the expense of his nose. The sharp snap of his nose breaking brought a cold smile to the girl's lips hidden in the dark depths of her hood.
She turned to the final man and cocked her head toward the left. "Care to dance?" she purred. The victories—though easy—were like sweet nectar to the robed figure.
"Let me call in the reserves first. You'll like this dance partner," he replied cruelly, motioning with his hand.
The blonde turned to see whom he was indicating, keeping all her senses alert for any other signs of movement. If she hadn't been so paranoid, the sight in front of her would have captivated her entire being.
Breaking the path of a shaft of sunlight was a tall, dark figure. The reptilian skin armor that she wore seemed to be an outgrowth of her being more than it seemed to be clothes she wore. Tall boots crawled up her legs and clung to her powerful muscles. Coiled like a snake at her hip was a long whip complementing a dark blaster.
The blonde preferred understated power to outright displays, yet she couldn't help but be awed by the sight of the tall warrior. If this was the one she'd heard of, then perhaps she'd found a worthy adversary. Taking an almost formal bow, the blonde shrugged off the cloak that had before then hid her from the view of her enemies. Underneath the cloak was a well-shaped body, blonde hair, and a mask. This mask did not—like the cloak—hide her nature from the others; it revealed her nature in its blue-black depths. It was a familiar mask to most people who had been trained to fear it. She suspected this warrior wouldn't even break her powerful strides. In fact, the only one who reacted was the man who'd called forth the war demon. He smiled, fading back into the shadows.
Flipping a snake-like braid behind her shoulder, the warrior approached the girl. She stood in a position of relaxed defense, wondering how the warrior would attack. Upon closer inspection, the black haired woman's hands and face were covered with the small sort of scars one acquires over the years. The eyes that were set in her near-perfect face were of the utmost interest to the masked mercenary. Eyes blacker than space that seemed to pull in all light from around them, throwing a decisively dark aurora around the warrior.
Neither spoke as they carefully circled each other. Black hair with vibrant green tips swayed with every sinewy motion as the other's braided blonde hair hardly moved in its traditional ponytail. Suddenly their intricate dance became deadly. The dark haired warrior kicked at the masked mercenary, forcing the girl to duck. As the masked one went down, she lashed out with her own foot, near toppling the warrior.
It would not be that easy. The warrior leapt forward and a three-pronged blade swished into existence in her left hand. She didn't strike at the masked girl, knowing that her first strike would be met with possibly equal strength unless it was timed perfectly. The low lights of the cantina found the blade and lent their light to it, so that the weapon gleamed. The blonde stepped back a pace to better evaluate the warrior's intent and found her foot ensnared by one of the men she'd downed earlier. The hiss that made its way from her clenched teeth seemed more feline than human. The man released her foot.
But that time—measured in seconds—was more than enough for the dark warrior to strike. The masked woman hissed again, a tense admission of a wound, not the admission of the pain it must have caused her. The warrior held the knife up to strike again, but the masked girl was quicker than anyone in the cantina expected. She seemed almost to disappear as the knife clawed its way through the air to where she had been.
The surface of the knife was no longer gleaming silver. Instead, it dripped with deep red blood, giving lie to the rumor that the masked warrior's veins ran with ice water. The cut on her back was a little more than surface and less than mortal. She channeled the pain into her desire to defeat this smuggler.
It was her turn to bring out hardware. Not a dramatically three-pronged dagger, but an exquisitely decorated throwing knife. The warrior must not have seen it, or known its purpose, because she moved out of striking range. She was not, the masked girl noted, outside of throwing range.
With a quick movement to the left, the masked fighter disguised her toss. A tearing sound and a thud lent themselves to her cool smile. The sight of the warrior's blood seeping through the lizard-skin hide on the dark woman's stomach was reward enough. She was mildly disappointed that her knife hadn't penetrated farther. She 'd thrown it hard enough. It must be the hide, she decided. It was thick and strong.
The warrior stood a little straighter as she pulled the blade from her side. Its elegance was not lost on the warrior's senses. She inclined her head to the weapon and tossed it over her shoulder. The warrior did not need to turn around to see that she had scored a banthaseye in the dartboard behind her.
Suddenly, the warrior leapt at her slightly smaller opponent. Despite being surprised, the girl moved out of the way. The girl held up her arm to block the chair that was winging its way towards her head. Aggression…the girl snaked her foot out as she'd done before and this time succeeded in knocking the warrior to her knees. There was no time to celebrate the small victory for the dark-hair fighter was clawing at the masked figure's legs with a knife.
She had enough room to leap over the warrior woman, so the masked figure did. Landing in a crouch and facing the black haired opponent, the other girl succeeded in pulling another knife of her own and applying it liberally to the warrior's shoulder. More blood. The entire cantina seemed focused on the two seasoned killers in their bloodsport. Each time the red liquid showed itself, more beings were further entranced. This fight would end in nothing less than death. Not even the lawmen who had been called in dared to disrupt the two fighters. No one, law or outlaw, messed with either Red Haze or Black Sidhe.
Now the two were locked in a deadly embrace. Blood from one's shoulder mixed with blood from the other's arm, coating them in the sticky stuff.
"They'll die. Just like I told you they would."
Neither was too ignorant of the outside world to miss the words from the Black Sidhe smuggler. No fighters of their league could afford to focus entirely on one target. By silent discussion, they agreed to see what new affliction beset them.
"We'll rid the galaxy of two travesties of nature. Just like I planned."
The masked figure brushed dirt off her arm and raised her eyebrows. The warrior woman caught the expression and its meaning. Not even a terse nod was exchanged as the pair split and approached the man in silence. Every breath in the cantina was held as the women neared the man.
"I will have destroyed them!" the man boasted again.
"Not," the masked figure said, speaking in his ear, "if they destroy you first."
He turned and gasped at the fire that seemed to have possessed the girl's green eyes. When he looked at the warrior for help, she offered none. "And we shall destroy you," the warrior intoned as if passing down a decree in some half-forgotten language.
"What?" he said, trying to recover what dignity he had left. "Impossible. Red Haze" he spat the name out "and Black Sidhe are blood enemies!"
The masked female shrugged. "Call it professional courtesy."
He reached backwards and grasped a bottle off the table behind him. The masked woman saw it and muttered a warning to the warrior. She, too, had seen a projectile coming, but from another avenue. Each ducked the danger she saw coming, only to fall prey to the other.
Once more blood poured from the two outlaws. Each had a gash on her forehead that spilled out life's necessity. The warrior witch shook her head harshly, sending splatters of blood over the general area.
The man backed away. He was out of the reach of their hands…but not the warrior's whip. The whip wrapped itself around the man's neck and jerked him closer to the pair. He gasped for air and clawed at the bind around his neck. The masked figure moved herself closer to him and smile with more iciness than the depths of space that were reflected in her companion's eyes. Pulling another knife from the recesses of her black outfit, the masked warrior let the silence in the cantina carry on for a few minutes.
Just when he'd begun to believe that they might let him live, the knife danced across his throat like the first sandstorm across a moisture farmer's homestead.