The Crime of Fiction

[Toska]

His name was Ambrose, fresh off the boat from Corellia in a jumper with an old naval emblem emblazoned to his sleeve. Brushing his arms, he walked in the evening breeze; that artificial thing of dampened temperatures housing comfort in each digit. Finger after finger stretched, wound tight, rolling along the crook of his elbows. Synthetic warmth paled in comparison to the real thing, and it shivered over the gooseflesh puckering up on his neck.

Distaste wrung his lips dry, smacked at them at the butt of a cigarette. Old fashioned, fallen from grace, but we all have our ruts, and Ambrose's evidenced in the sway of his hips. The disjointed allure of heady, translucent smoke built character. Riddled his lungs with sinuous gas, embellished him with a cough that wracked out a wheeze. He pulled at the thing, sucked in air and spewed it back out into the nigh empty port.

Space hung in his eyes. In the empty cast, the look of ragged wear and tear threatening to devour him in sleep's long embrace. It was too soon to sleep, the sun had yet to crest the horizon, but the gentle croon of exhaustion took its toll. Boots rattling on chrome plastered duracrete, he set forth. Longed for the kiss of a whisky lullaby, the flick of a wrist and an absent smirk to blandly hand him his cards.

When the chips hit the table, surely, rejuvenation promised him a visit. Chewing at the filter, he brushed through the doors, exited the port, and entered the samba of songs berating the night. Neon lights, affixed in glows and hues so familiar. That rustic joy, so tempered by the downcast realization that every planet, every port was dyed the same color. Painted by a singular hand, a monoculture taste far off from his own. If he had a choice other than accepting it, moving from place to place, pretending in idle moments to enjoy what life brought his way, it remained obfuscated from him.

The low cast of his brow furrowed, sketched a surveillance that wove through the dispersed masses of people edging along the streets. They shuffled in pairs, hands in pockets or over shoulders. Slumped and overshot with smiles that kicked at the pebbles underfoot. He joined them. Spat his cigarette out, licked his lips, and rifled through his pockets, drumming at the seat of his pants.

Hunching over, thumbs looped under his belt, he whistled out a tune. Caught himself in the ring sweeping him aside, until individuality forgot his name. Until he managed to shuffle towards a red carpeted facade, overlaid with lights and music foreign to his beat; but it suited his pace. He made to enter, flashing a nod to the otherwise ignored bouncers.

Away he went.

 

[Leira Rys]

The steady percussion of footfalls laced vaporous air, broke persistent silence hanging by mere threads. Billows of white rolling from pale lips, chest snapping breath by exhausting breath. Needles of fatigue prickling lungs, outstretched legs screaming for rest. Her body pled with her to stop, succumb. Her fear demanded she continue, escape the danger nipping at her heels. Once she was spotted, nothing good came. Young, vulnerable, a shiny new toy for wicked hands to touch, her pain delectable to them as any fine dish. No. She would not yield to that fate.

What did she do? Struggle. Bit until metal sunk into taste buds, stabbed until their grips wavered. Then like butter, she slipped from their grasps. She ran, swift and incessant, in hot pursuit of a destination unknown to her. Leira sought to hide, disappear from the clutches of her offenders. To cease meant to perish. And she could not keep running forever.

Harlequin city light rose from the horizon, teeming with life. People pressed against one another, every inch occupied by bodies. In the masses, they became lost. Nameless, faceless, unimportant. Hiding in plain sight.

To Leira, it wasn't such a bad idea.

She slipped between them. Sunk into the crowd. Weaved past passerby, her identity forgotten in an instant. As she lost herself, so did they. Next objective? Unravel the endless web of strangers, find transportation. Sneak into a parking lot, hotwire a speeder. It all seemed simple.

Silently, she entered. Unnoticed by bouncers, hoping to find her way to the back parking lot--Where staff speeders were stored. Less people to stop her.

Leira shoved her way through. Pacing past machines, synthetic noise adrift on dense air. Advancing, until something--Or someone, stopped her. Bodies colliding into one another, quickly bouncing aback. Her glance met his stare; Frustration bubbled in throat. She thought of speaking. Spitting out invectives and then continuing. But, drawing attention to herself would only cast her back into trouble.

Onwards she went. Not sparing the man a second thought.

 

[Toska]

Smacking his lips in the sneer of a dandy, brushed aside from coat to pockets, Ambrose slouched. His shoulder was brushed, dashed past by a girl half his size; rattled into by a burly sort thereafter, one that clung roughly to his thespian cloak. Pushed at bone and sinew in haste, heavily knocking him aside. Not a care in the world. Utterly unfazed by the grunt he unleashed. It hissed out of him, stole the breath from his lungs in a milquetoast gasp.

But his brows furrowed. Dangled in that heady light. And he lashed out, grabbed for a cuff, cuffed his palm into a fist, balled his fist into a face. Smacked jaw, skimmed nose, crushed cartilage. Reflex. He lit into his assailant, that rude manifestation so bent on pursuit. Heel to shin, to hip, grazing thigh and sending reverberations to the burly man's eye. Laid out, decked, sent to the ground in a show of force.

Ambrose brushed off his jumper. Dusted patch and beamed at his panting coat of arms.

"On your feet," he spat. Grabbed the guy by the collar, bent over to hook fury into falsetto eyes; he could only skim a glance elsewhere, to see the troublemaker whose lithe form skirted by dancing off into the crowded ensemble beyond. A rigid smile was etched onto his lips.

Until a set of hands trussed his shoulders. Laid him into the door, flying onto bouncer, into baton. He shot a pitiful wink to the mountain of meat whose arms he rested in. Swooning, carried off by a gentle giant. The other suits lacked such generosity.

He was wrestled between hands, shuffled aside. Chiseled with knuckles and painted blue in the cheek.

"Where's my apology?" Another spit, laced with blood. Sanguine smiles added character. Between confused anger and scratching brows, he lifted himself. Forced his weight onto the chest that braced him. Kicked off, crumpling a pair onto the ground in a hasty mess.

And he was off. Crawling aside, untangling himself from the weave of limbs and shouts seeking to enmesh his freedom. Into the casino, hot on the trail of progression.

 

[Leira Rys]

The sea of flesh parted. Leira followed the path, kept her eyes fixed on the sign. Exit. Its' letters glowed synthetic crimson, lead to her destination. The plan was still good--Steal a speeder and leave. Return to Tarnit, and find her way from there. It seemed simple. It'd be carried out alone, not hitched by anyone.

So she thought.

A presence wavered behind her. Traced the patterns of her footsteps, nipped at her heels. For a moment, she ignored it. He was bound to depart somewhere else, seek another terminus. Yet, their paths remained the same. Grappling for the handle, she flung herself into the outside. Certainly, she outrun him.

Night air stung the throat. Chemicals laced the atmosphere, the stench of cigars meeting her nose. Empty bottles lay in speeders, money and trash scattered over their floors. Leira snatched it. Shoved the credits in every nook and cranny of her outfit, shoved food, alcohol, lighters, anything of use in her backpack. Hitching it over shoulders, she moved on.

Lying down on speeder floor, she got to work. Slender fingers tore back the metal guarding the interior. Every movement fluid, perfected by the tides of practice. They suddenly halted, when the low creek of the door met her ears.

The man.

Her hands flew to her blaster. Arms straight, the sable nose threatened him. Finger coiled around trigger, ready to squeeze if needed.

"If you make any sudden moves, I put one right between your eyes. Ditto to anybody with you."