Mr. and Mrs. Fett

[Hol Horse]

​

Armani sat on the balcony of his apartment in Sundari, his home away from the farm on Concord Dawn. Truth be told, he hadn't ever really spent much time in it, usually it was a place to sleep in and rest his head when he wasn't on deployment. Still, he had to admit, this place was perfect for a renegade sniper. Hell, if he wanted to, and had enough ammo, he could have turned the entire city into his personal shooting gallery, he had a good view of everything from up here. It sure would beat shooting scavengers back on the farm for practice, that much was certain. The Corellian took a bite of his apple, his legs kicked up on a loafer, clad in a tank top and pink boxers which he had accidentally mixed in with his colored clothes while washing them. Atop his lap was his baby, his sniper rifle, 'The Karma Chameleon' as he called it. He handled it with better care than he'd probably treat his wife if he ever married- which considering the constant warfare and alarmingly high death tolls for most Fetts these days, was pretty slim.

Ahhh, well, that was just the way the cookie crumbled. Armani had always made an effort to stay out of clan feuds, he was an outsider himself, a Corellian at birth, the last remnant of his immigrant birth that he thanked as an excuse to not be drawn into the mud of rivalries. It had kept him sane, that and fighting the sith on the Dominion's fronteirs for years. The sniper's life may have been the life of a coward, depending on who you asked, but this coward was one who was still alive while everyone else was getting buried six feet under. That though brought a sad smile to the man's face as he looked over his freshly cleaned weapon, "Fuck 'em, it's just you and me against the world. Right?" he asked his siper rifle aloud before sighing. He was starting to miss the front, city life was lethally boring.

It didn't help that there was a storm brewing.

How could he have missed the news? The Count of Clan Fett revealed to be a traitorous whore who worked in the shadows against his brethren? Armani had been appalled upon learning of the conspiracy, and immediately began to fear of an ensuing crackdown upon the clan. There was no telling if this would come back to haunt him or his clansmen. One thing was certain though, this was going to hurt the standings of Clan Fett severely. That thought made the green apple in his mouth taste a little more sour than usual. He was getting to sentimental, he needed to go get drunk. The sudden sound of his holocomm buzzing startled him a tad, though upon accepting the call, he immediately wished he hadn't.

"You've got a problem" said the form of Valia, a secretary he had 'befriended' at the capitol building a few years back. She had been his little informant when it came to happenings within the higher-ups, though it was rare to hear from her these days. "I do?" Armani asked, raising an eyebrow as he scratched his leg. The visage of the woman's frowning face was enough to convince him. "I just heard some gossip about a Fett woman causing quite the scene downtown, she's been on quite the spree from what I hear" Valia stated, piquing the man's interest in a less than stellar way. "She can do what she wants, just like I can. I pay my taxes, I wear clothes when I go out, what do you want me to do here?" he stated, as he had a feeling he knew what was coming next.

"A Fett woman going on a rampage downtown right after a conspiracy is revealed centered around the clan? The reaction wouldn't end well for you I assume" she implied, making her aim clear. As much as Armani hated to get drawn into any of the politics within clans, the woman had a point. These were highly sensitive times within the clan, it would only take a small spark to ignite an even bigger persecution. There were many within the clan, but it seemed there would be less of a whiplash if another Fett was seen dealing with the situation. Armani frowned before resigning himself to his fate, "Fine, give me the coordinates and I'll be there in ten minutes" he stated before downloading the location into the HUD of his helmet beside him.

With this done, the Corellian picked up his sniper rifle and slung it over his shoulder. It looked like he was off to go do damage control. It was time to get geared up.

@Deviant

 

[Deviant]

Persephone Fett was drunk. Perfectly, lovingly, and most remarkably, drunk. Alcohol runs through her veins and sticks to her mind, now just hogwash sloshing between the walls of her skull. She hadn’t been this drunk since the day she joined alongside her brothers in the Clan in the outset of the Dominion, having slobbered down a near dozen shots of tequila. Already can she remember the voices of her fellow Fetts, clamoring over one another as she downed each one. One, two, three— nothing. Four, five, six— the looming buzz of her mind. Seven, eight, nine— and next thing, she was awake in another city, on another planet, and on top of a strangely agitated chevin. Not what you might call an uneventful night, that was for damn sure.

But, now? Percy was as drunk as an upper-class white girl on a Friday night, wandering the streets for a fight to pick.

Given the unfortunate circumstance of getting kicked out of the local pub for sucker-punching the bartender in the face, while proceeding to stab him with the remains of a shattered shot glass after he refused to serve her anymore drinks, all Persephone was left to do now was to take out her anger on the nearest living, breathing thing she could find. Her first victim, an unfortunate alley cat, was forced to endure several minutes of aggressive petting and bizarre canoodling. And the next casualty to her ongoing rampage? A swift drop-kick to the nuts. From then on, she marched through stores demanding money with a toy water gun, and beat up creepy men who stared into her general direction.

Of course, she cared little— even despite the ongoing drama with the Fett Count, which still had yet to even reach her. Information isn’t hard to find around Mandalore, but when it comes to an armed Fett clad in armor, ain’t nobody willing to break the bad news. Not with their life on the line.

Persephone waltzes to an open window shop, face pressed against the glass like a child. Inside, a faceless mannequin stands proud, adorned in a a glittery silver dress and paired alongside a luxurious purse. With a smile surfacing on the edge of her lips, she takes out her blastsword and readies it like a bat, before aiming it toward the window. Silence ensues, and then, the shatter of glass.

— THIRTY SECONDS LATER —​

She dances through the streets of Sundari, looking and feeling as fashionable as ever, because perched under one arm is the same exact mannequin from before, still fully clothed and agleam. Eyes fixated onto the literally empty face beside her, she begins to talk to the inanimate object as intimately as possible. “Pardon me, hotstuff. You got a map? I think I’m getting lost in your eyes.”

The eyeless mannequin stares back, silent.

Percy laughs, hysterical. “Oh my, you have such a way with words.”

The mannequin continues to stare back, soundless.

A mother and her child passes by the crazed Mandalorian, their bewildered glares fastened to whatever hell they had just walked into. Percy catches this in an instant, and hisses, “Keep your eyes off my woman— she’s mine.” Taking the mannequin like a weapon, she waves the two poor pedestrians away, who flee in a panic. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Goddamn hustlers, amirite, hotstuff?”

Her plastic friend looks back to her, still speechless and devoid of consciousness. It was going to be a long night.

 

[Hol Horse]

It didn't take long for him to track down the signs of a Fett gone wild: booze, bombs, and breasts. The three may have appeared in different forms, but they were all somehow linked in one way or another. Armani stood clad in his armor, the scatterweave scattering his presence on any trackers hopefully, though his kahki color didn't exactly help him much in this urban environment. The darkening night helped at least, this city was a paradise for someone like him. Armani whistled to himself as he whiplined and jetpacked across the tops of the buildings downtown, his eyes trained on the streets below as he looked for signs of the telltale rampage. He wanted to get to this woman before the authorities did, at least then he'd be able to try and talk some sense into here. Though when he meant 'talk' he meant more along the lines of 'shoot then talk after' somewhat.

The Corellian stopped humming through as he came to the end of a row of tall steel buildings, standing atop the corner of the final one and looking down to survey the scene. He crouched down onto his stomach, staying out of sight while he zoomed in through his HUD down to the streets below. Shattered glass littered the street as two figures, along with a stolen maniquin walked down as happy as could be. Seeing as how the maniquin looked too nice for the other two, Armani assumed that this woman was the Fett in question. He didn't act though, instead pulling out the Karma Chameleon and looking down through its scope- this in addition to his zoomed HUD via his helmet gave him a HD view of the drunken stupor and movement that coursed through the woman as she merrily walked down the street.

Armani frowned, today was a poor night for a night out. From the reports he had been hearing via local security channels, the lil lady had been up to some nasty things it seemed. Kids these days were up to no good, why couldn't they be more productive and do things like killing Sith? That alone had done more for him than any hours of therapy ever could. At least she looked good drunk, that was more than Armani could say for most city women. She had a rear like the north star, one that wise men would follow. Even in her drunken state she seemed to still retain the glazed sociopathic look that seemed increasingly common in most commandos these days. A solid 8/10, as a mild sociopath though, Armani would have to dock her points for that last trait.

The mando grabbed one of his blaster bolt charges for his rifle and quietly loaded it into the magazine of his sniper rifle, as well as placing 5 more bolts on the ground next to where he lay in case he needed to quickly reload. He had no desire to kill a fellow Fett, instead if he could chase her away from Downtown he could get her away from other civilians, thus minimizing her actions. Crippling it was. Perched atop the high building, Armani quietly trained the barrel of his gun on the Fett woman, his gaze somewhat ahead to account for the long distance between his perch and the street below. His sights aimed at her hips and lower body, specifically her legs, the sniper fired, loosing a muffled but incredly powerful blaster bolt. His baby had enough stopping power to break through most armor as well as boast unparalelled speed.

As soon as Armani had loosed the bolt at the woman's legs though, he retreated backwards on his stomach, grabbing the five bolt charges and log rolling ten feet or so to his right atop the roof. Only from here would he poke the muzzle of his rifle out, looking along the scope to see where he'd hit. The dark rooftops would make him hard to see and make out as it is, the distance between him and the streets below would make it all that harder. The hunt was on.

 

[Deviant]

Persephone fluttered through the avenue, mannequin at one side and her imaginary friend at the other. Her laughs were a cacophonous echo between each steel high-rise, deep and haughty from the liquor that streamed throughout her body. The night was still young, and Persephone was more than inclined to have some more fun among the concrete jungle of Sundari— that is, until a slender flash of plasma arched from out of god knows where, and just barely kissed the edge of her armored shin. With a gasp, she stops just short, eyes wandering low to identify the extent of the attack. But a deep growl begins to build up inside her throat, just as she recognizes a tiny, insignificant burn mark lined over the armor plate.

“You bitch!” She clamors aloud, waving around her mannequin angrily. “I just got this redone!”

Percy grunts, and tosses the plastic dummy on the middle of the road to check the blotch again. Her fingers trace from its mark on the sidewalk, along the fringe of the burn, and straight to the upper echelons of a nearby skyscraper. Despite recognizing nothing but the empty darkness enveloped in the high-rise, her stare seemed spot-on— like the Devil awakened. Although, that wasn’t too far from the truth. While Persephone was originally resentful after getting ditched outside the bar, now, she was pissed. And nobody pisses off a retarded Mandalorian.

One snap of her heel, and her repulsorboots hiss to life. Teal light illuminates the pavement beneath her, and rockets her toward the building. At a speed undoubtedly too rapid for another clear shot, but just enough not to make Percy vomit on the way. Once she reaches into the lobby of the high-rise, and by reaches, I mean smashes through the largest window, she instantly makes her way to the elevator. Given that the burn was angled at an upward slope, she thought it obvious her assailant was perched on the roof.

Oh, I know. Shocking, right? Persephone— thinking? Believe me, stranger things have happened.

The ironclad Mandalorian pounces into an elevator, unslinging her pulse rifle and loading it to its fullest extent. It’s not until she stuffs a clip in that she catches an old woman fixed in the corner, her wrinkled gaze replete with fear. Percy though, being the elder-loving woman she is, cocks her weapon and offers a comforting smile. But with a ding, and as the doors open to the fourteenth floor, the old woman sprints out as if she were twenty again. Brow raised, Percy watches just before the doors come to a close and deliver her straight to the tramp who decided to piss on her parade.

OoC — fast-forwarding to the fun stuff, @Ravendark

 

[Hol Horse]

Well that didn't pan out.

Armani looked through the lens of his sniper rifle to inspect the damage he had done which wasn't much unfortunately. Had he aimed for her upper body or torso he probably would have hit the woman, by aiming for her legs he had already minimized his chances of hitting as it was. Perhaps that was for the best all things considered, he didn't truly wish to kill nor maim his clanswoman, just give her a shot across the bow to make her flee the scene. The last thing he had expected her to do really was instead charge headlong towards him and superjump through the air at the skyscraper he was on. He could see the glass shatter far below him, "Damn, that was nice form" Armani murmured to himself as he reloaded his rifle with another normal blaster charge. She was a Fett alright, the Ordos were too smart to charge head on, while the Kryze's were too spineless to face him fully. For that, she had his respect.

There were only two ways up to the rooftop where Armani now was, the elevator, or a jetpack. He had one, and she had the other. Given the many floors below him which she would need to ascend to reach him, he had ample time to prepare for their encounter should things go south. She may have been drunk, but that didn't mean she couldn't be dangerous. The man picked up his blaster charges and placed them back onto his ammo belt, though kept his rifle in his hands as he stood up. His HUD estimated he had maybe 2 minutes or less before the elevator reached him, that was more than enough time.

As the elevator door opened up, revealing in full the two vagabonds who had been causing the mess, Armani would frown from within his helmet. His rifle was at the ready, though not yet pointed at the newcomers. He was positioned on the opposite side of the rooftop, with ample room to move around and react should she charge or pull a gun on him. Still, his trigger finger felt on the heavier side all things considered. "Go home kid, party's over. Only reason I didn't blow a hole through your stomach is because we're kin. With the Lord of Fett killed for treason we all gotta stay low, not causing a scene like you were" he said casually. He could have just shot one of them when the elevator doors opened, made it a 1v1, but that wouldn't have done. He was a Fett, and for better or for worse, he couldn't kill his own clanspeople. For that reason alone, he kept his guard up and at the ready, waiting for a strike or slight of hand instead of being the aggressor.

@Deviant

 

[Deviant]

Persephone gasps twofold— one for the insult, the other for the threat. And of course, given her plain drunken nature, Percy chooses not to find reason in his rationale, and only grunts, “Shut the hell up, asshole.” She cocks the lower portion gun. “And don’t call me kid.”

With an instant click, the launcher attachment on the underside of the pulse rifle ripples with a sound of thunder. A single, slender explosive projectile flies over the span of ten meters, aimed only several feet from the silhouette of her assailant. Once it hit, it would utterly decimate everything within a three meter radius— including her newfound asshole. Unless, however, he were to surreptitiously slide out of the death zone just in time. A chance that Percy wasn’t going to risk.

Right hand still on the trigger of her pulse rifle, now switched back to its classic semi-auto mode and dangling at her side, her left hand drops down to the TS-15 pistol fastened to her waist. She aims it forward to the object of her seemingly latest victim, and to the soot growing from the ensuing explosion, which would have likewise collapsed that portion of the roof. With one lone step forward, Percy watches through her tinted visor and HUD for any sign of retaliation.

OoC: Edited to reflect change on the Fett Count, which is not yet canon/complete, so let's all pretend nobody mentioned it in all the posts above, and presume the two are fighting just 'cos they want to.

 

[Hol Horse]

Armani sensed things were quickly going south. Still, there was time for her to walk away. He had killed lots of people in the past, even children at one point, faces he could see from almost 500 meters away in HD before placing a bolt between their eyes. He never got over it, it haunted him. He knew he was a murderer, he slept with his sins instead of with a wife. His only solace had been living with his clanspeople, his fellow Fett, a kind that despite its impulsive nature was still family to him. For better or for worse, Armani Fett could not kill family. With this instinct blaring prominently in his mind, the man placed his sniper rifle back on his back and put his hands out in front of him. "It's not too late sister, just walk away and get out of here before they find you. That's all it'll take. Honest" he said, his voice calm but his adrenaline pumping.

With the cock of the gun though, all of that went out the window. As the woman fired, Armani dived forwards to his left, having previously been in the corner of the skyscraper roof. As he did this, two things occurred in tandem. The first being that the grappling launcher on his right hardpoint shot outwards at great speed at the torso of the woman. Given the recoil of launching a thermal grenade as well as the ensuing explosion engulfing the corner of the roof, she would likely need a moment at least to recollect herself- not to mention his form being silhouetted and overshadowed by the massive explosion that singed the air where he had previously stood. Secondly, as Armani began his dive to the left, his left hand nimbly reached down to his waist and seamlessly grabbed a Sonic Grenade.

As Armani had launched himself, he had begun to spin his upper body while diving to the left, yanking his right hand back after launching the grappling hook. Upon hitting the ground, presuming that he did indeed hit the Fett woman, his right shoulder would have been rotated along a lateral axis away from the Fett, thus creating a sudden tension along the line that would pull her forwards in either a stumble or hopefully outright falling to the ground. On the opposite end of this rotational axis, Armani charged the Sonic Grenade and lobbed it at the woman as he fell. The spinning motion he had committed to at the start of the dive would be at work here as well, with the momentum of his dive thrusting his left shoulder, and thus his arm, forwards, while pulling the right away along with the grappling hardpoint. The grenade would likely make it at least 25 or so feet before eventually hitting the ground and rolling in the general direction of the Fett, activating upon hitting the roof.

Now, Armani had never been too good at physics- being a Fett hillbilly from Corellia does that to a farmboy. Still, in theory, the rotational force, the torque, of his dive in tandem with both the grappling hardpoint as well as the sonic grenade would end thusly: the Fett would be hit by the grappling hardpoint as he dived before promptly being yanked forwards due to the rotation while simultaneously the sonic grenade would be thrown and roll towards her, being very much active. If he had calculated the distance right from the elevator, something he had been studying while she was in it, she would hopefully be disoriented or outright knocked out by the sonic grenade, or at least provide an opening that would give him a few moments to mount a counterattack...

That or he would ail horribly and look like a kriffing idiot. Knowing himself, he favored the latter option as likely.

 

[Deviant]

His dive was quick, almost miraculous, as her assailant jumped the span of over two meters and away from the inevitable explosion. Persephone wouldn’t have been able to notice it, of course, but given the man had jumped just before it hit, she would now know what to expect. What did come to her as a surprise, however, was the sudden hook launched into her direction. But, the Mandalorian would know better than fall into a snare that desperate— especially as the man was simultaneously aiming at her ten meters away mid-dive in heavy armor, all despite the ensuing shockwave and shrapnel from the explosion.

So, all Percy did was twist her body to the left. A task simple enough for the likes of her, given that she was more than ample out of range from any shrapnel or unsettling shockwave, and that her weapon was bolstered by both hands and arms. A recoil from a slender projectile half the size of a grenade wouldn’t be enough to distract this frenzied scumbag. Not just yet.

As the grappling hook hissed past her, and with her eyes having still fastened to her upcoming victim, she was quick to catch the sonic grenade flying clear into the air and into her view. Since her TS-15 pistol was already in hand and pointed to the billowing soot, Persephone only had to angle upward and fire. She didn’t have to be accurate or precise— only fitting. The tri-shot pistol would account for the momentary reaction, and of the three shots fired, only one would be necessary to render the sonic grenade worthless before it activated. And, of course, that was what just happened— with one lone bolt smacking into the metal sphere, the grenade would burst mid-air before falling into the ground, incandescent and ineffective.

She smiles, and within that same moment, slants her pistol back down to the Fett now undoubtedly lying on the rooftop, and fires another round. Three shots would presumably slam into his upper chest or face if not avoided in time. Though the man was a sitting duck, as well a target perfect for any decently insane woman, Persephone figured he might make his hand at another uncanny move. After all, she’d fought Sith who often tried strangling her with the force, or who started pissing out streaks of lightning, so Percy wouldn’t be surprised if this man pulled another trick out of his sleeve. So, effortlessly reloading her pistol, she held her distance. If they'd try throwing out an attack early on, however, she'd drop her initial response and reveal a little trick of her own.

 

[Hol Horse]

Kriffing idiot it was then. Armani could see the silhouette of the Fett woman twisting in place, effortlessly dodging the grappling line he had launched. Instinctively, with a flick of his right wrist, he disengaged the hook and released it from his hardpoint. He had more pressing matters.

Due to diving in a straight line parallel to the edge of the roof, optimizing the distance between him and the blast, as well as twisting to his right, Armani landed with a thud on his back with nothing to show for his display of athleticism. Even in those precious moments, he knew that he was vulnerable as he was. Thus, as quick as he had landed on the roof on his back, he quickly log rolled to his right, promptly rolling off the edge of the skyscraper rooftop.

Now, there were a few qualifiers that separated the commando's decision to do this from suicidal to practical. The first and perhaps most key of such points being that he had landed on his back, something he couldn't have done if he tried the same move from earlier while diving to his right as opposed to his left. Thus, as he log rolled over the side of the roof, it was his right arm that would be the last part of his body to slide off the side before he went into freefall. This was vital. For as Armani rolled off the side, going from on his back to facing downards towards the Sundari streets below, his right hand clamped into the roof's ledge, gripping with all the strength and might that his arm could provide. Thus, although the sudden lateral momentum of the roll combined with the vertical momentum of gravity would have pulled him down to the streets, he instead had a pivot point that transfered that momentum and created a great deal of tension in his arm. Instead of falling out and away, he now was descending in an arc downwards, his feet outstretched and with enough Total Force to crash through the windows of the floor beneath and send him feet first into a dark and spacious high rise apartment complex. Instead of firing pot shots, the Fett woman's Trishot would instead be hitting gravel and dirt.

While the cornerstone of this move might have been Armani's right hand, this didn't mean the left had been idle. As the commando swung down in an arc, crashing into the glass window of the floor below and landing in the abandoned yet luxuriously massive apartment complex, his free hand had been busy reaching down to the back of his belt for the second time, grabbing a Thermal Detonator as he disappeared from the Fett woman's field of view. Activating it as his feet hit the ground of the apartment, Armani would waste no time in immediately throwing it up at where he knew the crazed harlot to be standing, likely mid shot. She had not moved more than perhaps a foot since she had stepped out of that elevator, and now she would suffer for that mistake- even if she miraculously dived or fled, she would still likely catch a glancing blow from the blast. She may have been a Fett, but she was a fool, thinking that she could challenge him up here in the sky. Were he on the ground, he might very well have been done for right then and there- but up here, he had something she currently didn't, not to mention specialized in: the option of vertical movement.

As the Thermal Detonator arced through the air upwards at the area of the apartment's roof where he knew the Fett woman was, Armani would effortlessly grab his sniper pistol and aim it on the roof above him. The Karma Chameleon may have been impractical for mid-close range combat, but he now had an advantage in knowing the layout of the rooftop as well as possessing a weapon with enough stopping power to pierce both metal and armor. As the Thermal Detonator exploded ahead of him, engulfing the area where he expected the woman to be, his senses would be on high alert. He had commenced his move while out of her field of vision, she didn't know he had Thermals, she likely didn't expect a massive explosion to come out of nowhere and engulf the area around her from below, nor could she currently see him. He was confident the attack would hit, but regardless, he looked up at the roof, rifle in hand, listening and looking for signs of movement above him that he could use to lock onto with his rifle and send a bolt straight through the crazed woman's chest.

"Kids these days" Armani muttered. If she somehow survived the attack or dodged it, despite not seeing him, he still had the advantage of posessing a weapon that could tear through the 1ft thick or so rooftop with ease as well as hit her. Even if she used another demolitions trick, he had the mobility to move as well as fire back unlike before on the roof.

'If' she survived, being the key word in that statement.

 

[Deviant]

They that every whore was once a virgin, and every killer was once another innocent child. But, Persephone? She was always crazy. And by crazy, I mean batshit insane. At the age of three, she toyed with a handgun enough to click off the safety, and just about shoot her father’s face off. By seven, however, she learned how to properly pickpocket— from unknowing tourists to tricking even the most hardened Mandalorians, she had become a thief paralleled by few on Concord Dawn. However, it was when she hit ten, and thrashed a wayfaring pervert to death, that her parents finally decided she would be perfect for the life of a true Mandalorian warrior. And then, it went all downhill from there.

So, here Percy stood. Drunk as shit. Clad in armor and a clandestine adult diaper (don’t ask). Fighting an opponent from her own Clan, for almost no reason other than the fact that he nearly shot her for, y’know, going on a city-wide rampage. Not that Persephone cared, of course, she had every right to get tipsy and beat the hell out of some innocent bystanders. I mean, who wasn’t? This was goddamn Mandalore. If a man can strangle another man to death on the spot and call it a “consenting duel,” then by god, she would do whatever the kriff’ she wanted. Hell, even after she was finished making wine with this asshole’s face, she’d go straight to the nearest public fountain and—

In an instant of her worthless pondering, she recognizes her opponent having completely dodged her shot, having instead jumped right off the building. It's not until she hear glass shatters that she likewise realizes he would be on the floor below, and ripe to slip out from her thin, wiry fingers. A thought she wasn't going to come to fruition. So, she sprints forward, hoping to pursue him to wherever the hell he went. However, it's not until she reaches several meters from the rooftop fringe that an explosion rips behind her, sending a shockwave that sends her tumbling (although fortunately, not over the edge). Recovering back to her full height, she dusts off the ensuing soot. A close was, that was for sur—

Her thoughts interrupted yet again, Percy watches the floor beneath her crumble, and just before the rooftop gives way and collapses, murmurs, "Shit."

 

[Hol Horse]

As the thermal detonator arced through the air, Armani heard footsteps coming towards him on the roof above, running to the edge of the rooftop where he was on guard. Having thrown the thermal a rather great deal away, the shrapnel or force had little impact on him as a whole, his armor soaked up what pieces were sent rocketing his direction. Though, as he turned around to face the window, assuming her to try a similar trick as he. The sounds of stone separating and cracking above him could be heard. Sure enough, as the mandolorian looked up, a single crack rapidly spread along the ceiling from the epicenter of the Thermal explosion to the edge of the roof. A few moments later, the roof above him gave way.

Panicking, Armani lept forwards as quick as he could, throwing himself clean out of the window as the ceiling came crashing down. He had been tossed around and nearly caved in on during this fight, but, so far as he could tell, he wasn't dead. The man panted a bit as his heart raced, he was still unsure wether or not the structural failure had been caused by the Fett woman or not. Presumably her thermal launcher as well as his grenade had compromised the overall integrity of the roof, thus it collapsing. Were it not for his jetpack and igniting it as he initiated the dive, he too would probably have been buried.

The kahki sniper squinted his eyes as he looked at the rubble while floating in midair. The dust was still settling and a large amount of debris was piled up with pieces of plaster and gravel making a notable mound. Armani tried to alter the settings of his HUD, look for abnormalities in how the debris was spaced out, as well as even inspect the area a bit. Yet, for all intents and purposes, the Fett woman had disappeared. Whether she was dead or under a pile of debris, he didn't know. What he DID know however was that he was pretty banged up as it was, and that with the telltale sounds of sirens approaching him from below, it was in his interests to make like a tree and get the heck out of there.

Still, he never got the psycopath's name, neither she his. Perhaps it was for the better, she would probably be hung over the next morning and forget everything. Right?