Riddik's Story: Escape

Lars was just beginning to think that she needed to order her last round, call Kachojich out of the corner he'd ensconced himself in with his drink and newfound buddies, and get out of the current spaceport, certain she wasn't going to find anyone worthwhile here, when an interesting pair came into the smoky little bar behind the docking station that she'd holed up in. Really, her eye couldn't help but land on them, even in a bar full of varied aliens.

The fact that one looked remarkably, uniquely familiar was a big part of it.

The non-familiar one was big and brawny-- though not nearly as much as Lars herself was; that would've taken some doing-- and dark where she was light, furry and feather-winged. Though he wasn't nearly as tall as Lars, his big arms, broad chest, and strong wings made him look bigger. His clothing was equally dark, what looked like the modified remains of some sort of uniform-- the sleeves had been torn off, and the broad belt had been turned into two hip-sheaths for curved knives, leaving the tunic loose and untucked-- and he had darkened goggles down over his eyes. It was kind of funny-looking, but he had the kind of face and bearing that suggested laughing at him wasn't terribly intelligent, even if he was laughing, too. Lars didn't recognize the species, or even even possibly hybrid species-- an anthropomorphic something, maybe. He didn't stand out terribly until you really looked at him, all in dull browns and blacks, but once you looked, he was pretty impressive.

The other one, though.... Lars had seen a creature like that before-- once, and only once. Well, twice, she supposed, but Four-Eighty-Two didn't count. Twenty-Six, though, did.

Because that was a genuine feline construct, right there. There wasn't anything else it could be-- that size, that shape, those features. How many giant cats were there out there with two tails and six curled tentacles on their backs? It was even the same color, for the most part, except the stripes on its tentacles were blue instead of red, and its mane and two tails were white instead of gold. There was nothing of Twenty-Six's restless, angry energy about it, though. If anything, it looked indifferent, bored, only slightly interested in its surroundings, and it followed the tall, winged one as if he were the leader and the feline construct just a follower.

And the tall, winged one noticed her regard, where the construct hadn't. Well, she had kind of been staring. She met his goggled gaze fearlessly, grinned jauntily, and jerked her head, inviting him over. Unless he was magical, it wasn't likely he could hurt her, and now she was curious.

She hadn't honestly expected him to take the invitation, but his muzzle opened to flash her a toothy grin in return, and he wove his way through the crowd towards her with ease. The construct flicked its ears as if puzzled but trailed along after him. Anyone who inadvertently touched the construct-- or not so inadvertently, as one foolish woman reached over as if to pet it, either too stupid or too drunk to consider that it might be dangerous or even sentient-- actually seemed to relax, wilt, look away, and lose interest. The woman who tried to pet it actually slumped back in her chair drowsily.

Well, that was interesting.

"Well, hello," the big fellow greeted her, taking the barstool next to her. She noticed that he even had a tail sticking out the back of the trousers, short and bristly. What the hell was he?

"Hey," she said, beckoning the bartender over for another round, including one for him. "Itching for social contact, are we?"

"Not about to turn down a friendly face in a room full of strangers," he corrected mildly, smirking. He had a deep, gravelly voice that she thought suited the rest of him. "Or free drink," he added as the tender dropped a slopping mug in front of him.

"Trusting sort," Lars commented, amused.

"Maybe," he agreed with an even bigger grin.

"Can we please just get on with this?" she heard, and glanced down to look at the construct, who was sitting at their feet and looking like he was trying hard not to actually touch the ground with rump, tail, or even paws-- impossible, of course, so he just kept shifting awkwardly. He-- definitely a he, given the voice-- looked so uncomfortable and so disgusted that she laughed.

"Who's your friend?" she asked, jerking her thumb at the cat on the floor.

"I wouldn't exactly call him 'friend'," the fellow smirked, taking a generous swig of the ale she'd ordered him.

Since he wasn't any more forthcoming than that, Lars tried again: "Then who are you?"

"Riddik." He stuck out his hand, and she shook it enthusiastically. He had a good grip, and she had a guess as to why he wore the goggles. She had a feeling, now, that the past hour and a half spent in this dark little bar hadn't been totally wasted.

"Lars," she said back.

"I don't suppose you're in the ship-trading business, are you?" the construct spoke up, moving his weight from paw to paw unhappily.

"Impatient," Riddik tsked.

"Disgusted," the construct shot back.

"You looking to get rid of a ship?" Lars asked curiously.

"Looking to trade a ship," Riddik answered. "Need something smaller and more efficient than what I got. Why, are you a ship-trader?"

"Not exactly," she said. She looked him over, frowning thoughtfully. "Got another offer for you, though."

Riddik drained his ale and set the mug down loudly. "Do you." She'd lost his interest, but that didn't matter. He was coming, whether he wanted to or not. She grabbed his wrist in an implacable grip.

"'Offer' was the wrong word to use," she said. "You're coming with me."

He tugged against her hand uselessly-- strong though he obviously was, he was no match for a rune-branding for power-- frowning in confusion and growing annoyance. "Lady, I got things to do. You wanna let go, or are things gonna get messy?"

"Try it and see how messy it gets," Lars suggested.

Riddik's muzzle twitched in the direction of the construct, who was now on his feet, giving her a narrow-eyed look and lashing his two tails restlessly. Lars guessed he'd glanced at him, but she couldn't see his eyes to tell. Then he cocked his head, looking more serious now, and shrugged. "Hey, if you wanna get us both kicked out... sure, why not."

Lars may have been stronger, but Riddik certainly was faster. She was impressed at the speed with which he'd unsheathed one of his blades and attacked with it-- she'd not even seen it coming.

Not that it did him any good. The knife cut through her jacket and tunic at the stomach, probably with the intent to eviscerate her, but it refused to break skin. Lars counter-attacked by yanking off his shaded goggles, which made him flinch and squint, and gave Lars her first glimpse of his eyes: black in the parts that should have been white, oddly reflective in the iris and pupil.

But it was only a brief glimpse, because he immediately ducked away from her, lashing out with a leg to knock hers out from under her. Even if he was smaller than she was, he wasn't that much smaller, and they went down in a tangle together to shouts of surprise and displeasure all around them. Giving up on the knife, he kicked, punched, and even bit viciously-- though he couldn't break the skin, due to her other rune-branding, he sure could cause some killer bruises, and she fully expected him to break something. When the top of his shaved head connected painfully with her face, "expectation" became "reality". Worse, Lars realized as she tried to give as good as she got and found herself fouled up with tentacles and tails, was that he had backup.

"Lars!"

Well, so did she. And hers was bigger than his. With a roar that sent patrons scattering away from him, Kachojich came bounding to her rescue, bowling the construct over and away from her-- one of his tentacles tried to take her neck with it, making her choke, but Kachojich managed to separate him completely after a only a couple seconds of extreme discomfort. She sat up, coughing and bleeding copiously from the nose, to find Riddik had broken her hold in the scuffle and was bolting for the door, launching himself over tables and knots of rubber-neckers to do so. The latter, rather than being useful, mostly just ducked and screamed when he approached them.

"Out!" bellowed the bouncer at the three remaining, wading over before anyone else could get in on the bar-brawl. Not wanting to cause too much trouble-- or wind up with more than just her nose broken or, worse, lose track of her ship's next Chosen-- Lars heaved herself up and beat a hasty retreat. Kachojich followed, looking disappointed that he hadn't been able to finish the last gallon-sized mug he'd ordered, and the construct seemed to have already fled.

"Time to get tracking," Lars said, tugging her nose back into place with a wince and another spray of blood.

"Maybe you should do ssssomething about that, first," the drak suggested.

Irritated, Lars just stuck a sleeve against the already-abating flow and started off.