#cylver

"Cut the crap. I've read your file, Fox. I know all the things they say about you. They don't seem to be true now though, are they? Your smartass mouth won't save you this time. You're looking at enough combined jail time to put you and your boyfriend here away for the rest of your natural lives." 

"Ah, he's really not my boyf-" 

"So you wouldn't care if something happened to him then?" 

Her nametag said Lawrence, S. But at that sentence, Cylver mentally assigned her to the category Occifer Asshole. This was quickly upgraded to actual motherfucker when she took the pistol from under Cylver's jaw...

...And leveled it at Toren. 

"If I had my arm-" Cylver growled, suddenly serious.

"Yes, yes, your arm of tricks, why the fuck do you think we took it from you? We aren't stupid. Nice piece by the way. Can't wait till the techs take it apart," Lawrence grinned. The smuggler's blood boiled. This bitch...

"What do you want?" she said through gritted teeth. Toren watched, tense, face unmoving, and if she didn't know him he'd seem dispassionate indeed about the gun inches from his nose. As it was, she did know him, and the twitch in his jaw betrayed his own anger.

The words that came next were the last she expected. 

"Tell me where Davin Sullivan is, whore. And maybe you and your man here don't end up in the deepest grave I can dig." 

"Who?" Cylver said, to all appearances genuinely confused.

Lawrence cracked her across the jaw with a haymaker that had her tasting blood and seeing stars. 

"Captain-!!"

"Don't move," the soldier said coldly, as Toren started forward. They were both shackled to the chair, and he couldn't move much, but the point remained.

Cylver coughed and spat red, with maybe a part of a tooth. 

Why the hell does she want to know about Sully? He's an Imp, but this sounds way more than that. This sounds personal.

Without warning Lawrence slammed her fist into the other side of Cylver's jaw, sending her and the chair flying across the floor and crashing into the wall. 

Between the blinding pain and the attempt to not choke on her own blood, Cylver felt something in the shockcuff on her ankle snap. Then Lawrence yanked her up by the hair and rightened the chair roughly.

"Talk, smuggler," she hissed. "We know of you... 'associations' with him, most of which border on treason, by the way, one of the rare crimes you haven't committed yet."

Her eyes on Cylver's were mad with hate and snapping fire. The gun remained leveled at Toren's chest. 

"Ynbow, hibbing somebon before bey tell you whab you wabba know, no' so bri'," Cylver said, trying to make her mouth work properly. "I mean, c'bon, really? The ol' rough 'em up to make dem talk?" Her voice normalized as she kept on speaking. "I mean, you seem like an old school kinda gal, so hey, maybe you like it rough, but you oughta buy a girl dinner first."

"Where. Is. He."

"He who?"

That got her another punch, this one to the chest that made her double over and sent her sprawling again. Lawrence stalked over, pinning the chair to the floor with one foot on the leg and knelt, cocking her gun. 

"Last chance. Or I start shooting. Ears first I think. Might make a good trophy. Never seen ears like that," she growled. 

That's it.

"And you never will again." 

With a sickening CRACK Cylver slammed her forehead agianst Lawrence's. The soldier staggered; Cylver took the chance to rip her leg free of the shockcuff, servos in her artificial knee whirring beyond thier capacity as she did so. It smashed into Lawrence's chin, then her side, and finally kicked her over. Cylver bolted to her feet and swung the chair around, smashing the legs off it against the wall. Then she jumped up and landed on the edge of the seat where the back joined the bottom, breaking it open like an eggshell, and ripping the armrests free.

And the Captain Cylver Fox grabbed the keycard from Lawrence's belt and skipped out of the way, casually throwing the chair legs at her. "Toren!" she yelled, freeing him with a swipe. 

Lawrence rose, rage incarnate. 

"You...."

"Me," Cylver agreed cheerfully. She spat on the floor in front of Lawrence. "Nice knowing ya, Lorri!" 

Then, yanking Toren behind her, she dashed out the door and palmed the forcefeild shut just as the Pub soldier ran into it with a roar of fury.

Cylver grinned a bloody smile inches and miles away from the ugly twist Lawrence's mouth had taken. 

"You know those things they say about me?" 

She moved closer, almost nose to nose, and licked her teeth, tonguing a loose tooth as she did. The grin widened. 

"They're all true."

"I will FRY you for this-"

"Get in line, GI Jane."

With that, and a jaunty two fingered salute, she skipped out the door, grabbing her personal affects and her arm on the way out. 

"GUARDS! GUARDS! ALERT LEVEL NINE NINE FIVE ALPHA! NINE NINE FIVE ALPHA!" roared thier enemy behind them as the two broke into a flat out run. 

"I assume there is a plan?" Toren asked.

"Yep, run like hell and don't look back." 

"The usual, then."

"And she said I was the smartass..."

They rounded the corner. The hallway split. 

"They're holding the ship in the cargo bay, but we'll never make it if they keep at us like this. Toren..." Cylver looked at him, serious. "Remember that hypothetical emergency plan I came up with at th' Lucky Lekku when I was drunk that one day?" 

".....Yes, I have an edidict memory-"

"Remember that hall we passed after they stunned us?" 

"Captain. No." 

"It'll work. Just go, quickly, there's no time!" Cylver snapped, shoving him down the left hall and taking the right just as soldiers rounded the corner and began firing. 

"Oy! Over here, motherfuckers!" she yelled. 

And then she was too busy running to do much of anything else. 

x-x-x-x-x-x

Cylver took a sip of her drink. "And then of course, I ran down the halls, dodgin' blasterbolts all over th' place, bookin' it like me life depends on it, which it did. I knew Stretch bein' Stretch would have my back of course, so I keeps runnin', got a whole buncha them on my ass, and then I get t' the hallway I mentioned, an' of course, guards everywhere. Now, I didn't have me arm on quite at this point so I clobbered one in the front with it usin' my other arm, jumped up, kicked him in the face,  and borrowed his helmet right quick. Then, naturally, coz th' halls were at a slope goin' down, I balance myself on the helmet to get some good speed on me, flyin' down th' cheap ass tile if I do say so myself, crash into the guards, step on one of 'em so that I can leap up an' grab the other's gun, reattachin' my arm while I'm at it-"

"Wait, wait wait, how could you grab it AND attach your arm at the same time?" one of the Lucky Lekku's patron's asked skeptically. 

"With my teeth. Duh. Now, as I was saying, I reattached my arm, flipped over th' rest of 'em, and crashed through the window, got a bit cut up, y'see, look here at my arm, but I was alright, y'know. Landed on a taxicap an' then the speeder chase ensued, whereupon I hijacked th' cab -politely- an' gave them th' slip so Toren could fly th' ol' girl up here with the cargo bay open, so I leaped out of the cab and into the ship and off we flew."

She took a second sip as the bar contemplated the story. 

"Is any of that true?" someone asked.

A bright, wicked grin, still a bit bloody. 

A few new uses for that little cord on his tight ensemble were invented. He had lovely long talented fingers (not as nice as Toren's, but close) and worked true magic with them. In return, she showed him what could be done with a cybernetic hand that didn't tire and an eye that could read things like body temperature and heart rate.

True to her word, she was slow, and thorough, and wicked. 

She woke up before he did. The room smelled like man and sex and a little bit of alcohol. Cylver stretched, yawned, sat up. He was still asleep.

Oddly, he looked a little like an angel there, all fair and pale and gold. But if he was, it was an archangel, the warriors of heaven, because of the scars. His hair was delightfully mussed and she was perversely pleased to see she'd left scratches on his back and a nice little hickey. 

She was sporting a few of her own as well. 

But she knew the routine now. Neither of them was looking for anything more than a good fuck and now that was done and she would go before akward could happen, or before he tried to arrest her. She didn't know if the Empire was still pissed at her but she sure as hell wasn't gonna stick around to find out. 

Dressing was the work of a few moments, locating her underthings (how had her bra gotten on the ceiling fan? She didn't remember. Oh well.) and pulling on her boots. Cylver swept her hair back into it's usual messy bun and put her guns back in thier holsters. 

Then she found a napkin and a pen and began to write.

Cylver Fox left her notes on his negotiating technique sitting on his pilot's chair and exited the shuttle silently. Her mind was already turning to business. There were goods to offload and a hutt to deal with, and probably Stretch with his disapproving stare to appease. 

Honestly, he acted like a jealous schoolboy sometimes. 

Whistling to herself, she disappeared into the hangar bay, quite pleased with the night's events and herself.