- Joined
- Aug 1, 2013
- Messages
- 139
- Reaction score
- 74
____"How"—Tyral smashed a vase into the face of a security guard—"are we going to"—he ducked the swing of a stun baton—"get out of this!?" If Tyral were to be honest with himself, he felt like he'd thrown his life away in the past 32 hours; he'd gone from being a respected officer in a CorSec Special Operations division to a high priority fugitive, all because of—he punched the baton-wielding guard—a droid. Not just a droid. A person. If he were to continue being honest with himself, he'd have to admit that if he had a second chance, he do the exact same thing again. Tyral ducked another swing and cocked his fist for a shovel hook; the security guard raised his baton for another strike but instead choked suddenly and found himself several inches off the ground. A ceramic-plated arm tightened like a vise grip around his neck, cutting off arterial blood flow completely. Within a few seconds the guard lapsed into unconsciousness and crumpled to the floor, his body released by the droid behind him.
____"Cin vhetin." Beskar'ad replied to Tyral, beckoning him to follow as he jogged down the stairs toward street level.
____"I'm sorry," Tyral said irritably as he kept pace, "but I didn't speak your new language 15 minutes ago and I still don't speak it now."
____"It translates literally to 'white field.'" They emerged into an alley and Beskar'ad rolled down the sleeves and pulled up the hood of the sweatshirt he wore. "When you join a Mandalorian clan, your past is forgotten. You have a clean slate, a fresh start."
____"For some reason I don't think CorSec cares about Mandalorian customs." Tyral pulled a hat out of his back pocket and pulled it low, shadowing his face.
____"That won't matter once we're off Corellia."
____"Figured that out yet?" Tyral asked.
____"We'll find a way."
____They both slowed to a hurried walk and merged with the passing foot traffic. Coronet was a big city, but Beskar'ad knew it wasn't big enough to hide them from CorSec forever.
____"Cin vhetin." Beskar'ad replied to Tyral, beckoning him to follow as he jogged down the stairs toward street level.
____"I'm sorry," Tyral said irritably as he kept pace, "but I didn't speak your new language 15 minutes ago and I still don't speak it now."
____"It translates literally to 'white field.'" They emerged into an alley and Beskar'ad rolled down the sleeves and pulled up the hood of the sweatshirt he wore. "When you join a Mandalorian clan, your past is forgotten. You have a clean slate, a fresh start."
____"For some reason I don't think CorSec cares about Mandalorian customs." Tyral pulled a hat out of his back pocket and pulled it low, shadowing his face.
____"That won't matter once we're off Corellia."
____"Figured that out yet?" Tyral asked.
____"We'll find a way."
____They both slowed to a hurried walk and merged with the passing foot traffic. Coronet was a big city, but Beskar'ad knew it wasn't big enough to hide them from CorSec forever.
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