Prompt: Trust Fall ("Do you trust me?", taken hostage, pushed)
Fandom: SWtoR (with Genma from Naruto)
Pairing/Character: Genma and Fynta (Female Trooper) (who belongs to @cinlat )
Words: 785
Rating: T (some language and blood)
Story below cut to keep from cluttering up everyone's dash
Blaster fire sounded in the distance; brilliant bolts ricocheted through the ship, pinging off the walls. Genma dropped to a roll and contemplated the passage around him. It would be simple to leap for the ceiling around a turn and disappear into the shadows. No one would think to look for him there. Except, Fynta couldn’t use chakra to anchor her feet, and she’d probably get them both killed anyway. The whole mission had gone sideways because she didn’t understand the meaning of subtlety.
Fynta skidded sharply to the left and dragged Genma with her. She frowned at one of the indistinguishable doors and pressed a stolen badge against the panel. For two agonizing seconds, nothing happened. Then, after a series of trills, the door slid open. Fynta shoved Genma through into the room and palmed the panel shut behind them.
Genma looked around in confusion at the small crafts and arched one eyebrow. “What are we doing here?”
“Do you trust me?” Fynta’s words came quick and urgent, hard to pick out over the blaring alarms ringing through the ship.
Genma raised one eyebrow at the question. “Of course not.”
“Fair enough,” Fynta laughed. Genma had a moment to share in the amusement before the butt of the woman’s weapon slammed into his temple.
A second wave of agony brought Genma around, sharp and throbbing through his ribs. When he reached to massage the pain away, his arms wouldn’t move. He blinked in confusion until he realized that his hands were bound. Cold metal locked them in front of him, and there was no space to move. Dread spread through Genma’s gut like ice.
“This one was trying to get into one of the escape pods,” came an unfamiliar, electronically modulated voice.
When Genma tried to rise, a boot slammed into his back. With no way to break his fall, he crashed back to the durasteel. He grunted and looked up at the man standing above him. Thick robes hid the stranger's body and armor, but the red skin stood out in the gloom. Genma managed to smirk. “Hell of sunburn you’ve got there.”
Pain squeezed Genma’s throat, cutting off the rest of his taunt. Something unseen lifted him half a dozen feet into the air like he was not more than a doll. He kicked, trying to draw a breath into his constricted wind wipe. A soft wheeze issued between his lips as darkness swallowed the edge of his vision. Genma tried to spit, to do anything but gape for air, but he couldn't find the strength.
“Sir,” one of the soldiers standing at Genma’s back coughed. “We need him alive, sir.”
The agony disappeared and Genma thumped to the floor, knees buckling a second time. He forced his gaze up and smiled. “Harder, daddy.”
The red faced man turned, and faster then Genma could think, a red beam appeared in the man’s hand. There was a startled gasp, then the energy bisected the man who had spoken up to save Genma’s life. He had anticipated a backhand for his cheek, not blood pooling on the ground in sticky puddles that raced toward him.
Genma scrambled backward, wishing he could find purchase with his hands. He waited for the searing blade to finish him, but the brilliant light faded. The darkness in the immediate area seemed to suck the life from Genma’s soul. A feral grin lit the creature’s face, Genma refused to think of him as a man, when the piercing yellow eyes fell on him. “It’s not often the SIS stumble into our traps quite so spectacularly. I thought you were trained better than this.”
“I’m new,” Genma offered, throwing his weight onto his hands so he could rise. If he was going to die today, he was going to face it standing.
The man snorted, hooking his weapon back onto his belt. “Your partner was quick enough to give you up. If she hadn’t laid you out and left you like a prize, we might have caught both of you.”
Betrayal swam through Genma’s chest, but he pushed it away. “She’s a bitch, we’re working on that too.”
The man chuckled, an eerie sound like a snake slithering over leaves. It reminded Genma uncomfortably of Orochimaru. “You’re strong. That’s good; they break better in the end.”
Genma opened his mouth to say something snarky, but stopped when exquisite pain shot through his veins. It felt like every inch of his body had been set afire. He grit his teeth together, holding back the cry of pain. Sharp teeth showed in his captor’s smile, and the agony doubled, then tripled to the point of intolerable. Genma’s screams followed him into darkness.
The universe and genre transcending Fynta and Caldus for @cinlat ...I think it's just as likely that they're searching for trouble as it is they're avoiding it!
Ahaaaha so happy that it gets to be @cinlat 's lovely Fynta being smooch-attacked by Cormac and Verin for this one, also super fun drawing some swtor OCs that are also bg3 OCs at the same time.
“I’m only here to establish an alibi.” sounds like a wonderful prompt
[Okay so the intent was to craft a short, punchy little comedy tale, but instead I've somehow wound up with almost 2.5k words of meandering shenanigans instead hahaha. I've borrowed @kunoichi-ume's Noara, @cinlat's Fynta, @humanrevolt's Crow, and a little bit of Jorgan for the ride so I hope it's entertaining at least for that crew? This is definitely one of those bits of writing where I just plonked the characters together and let them talk with next to no planning, I barely feel like I can be held accountable for the nonsense in here!]
A Solid Alibi
“WHOOOOAAAA–!!” Three voices hollered out in chorus as the out of town competitor, a burly selonian with jagged patterns bleached into her dark fur, was sent skidding across the ring. The spectating crowd was beside itself as the victor, a barabel with a toothy grin as broad as her shoulders, shook her still-sparking fists in the air and secured her third championship win.
“Did you see that? Did you see that? Now that was a fight,” Noara gestured emphatically at the holoscreen projected across a generous portion of the hotel room wall, grinning almost as wide as the hologrammatic shockboxing champ that was now graciously helping the selonian back onto her feet. “I don’t care what they say, the Outer Rim competition has nothing on Republic League.”
“I’ll admit,” Ahuska said through a fistful of popcorn. “I enjoyed that a hell of a lot more than I was expecting to. Better than borgleball any day of the week.”
Fynta helped herself to some of the popcorn out of Ahuska’s bowl, even though she wasn’t quite done with her own share yet. “You know we use some shockboxing techniques when we train with our units? One of the first times I-”
“Heyyyyy there ladies!” Fynta was destined to never finish her anecdote when the door to their room burst open, and a wide eyed Crow helped himself inside, his grin just a little more manic than usual. Arms laden with a tray of snacks, he kicked the door shut behind him and swooped over to the couch to set his offering gracefully across their laps.
Noara instinctively got up to make space for him to squeeze in beside Ahuska, but Crow waved his hands and shook his head, still grinning. “Oh no, no, don’t mind me, pretend I’m not here. Only please acknowledge that I’m here. Look at me, here. Here in this room with you.” He motioned up and down his body, and then about the whole room with an exaggerated flourish. “See? I’m not here to get in the way of your fun, I’m just here to establish an alibi.”
“Mmmhmm.” Ahuska’s mouth was now full of chocolate dipped juun berries, and the flat expression she shot Crow suggested she was all too familiar with the expression he wore. “And is there something we should know about before we accept your offering and let you stay?”
Fynta held her tongue, though from her perspective Ahuska had plainly already accepted the offering. She picked out a little bowl of hot spiced nuts for herself, the sort that make one’s eyes water, and leaned back with a tight-lipped smile. It had been a stroke of fortune that had brought them all together on Nar Shaddaa; a mission for herself and Aric, a meetup with an old friend of the clan for Noara and Torian, and… well, she wasn’t entirely sure what Crow and Ahuska were doing here, but she’d learned it was often better simply just not to know when it came to the outlaw couple. The hotel they’d agreed to meet up at and share some rooms for a few nights had overbooked, leaving them six single beds between them, split evenly between two rooms across the hall from one another.
Rather than force one of the couples to be split between rooms, they’d wound up deciding that the most fair arrangement would be to split all the couples, with Noara, Fynta and Ahuska taking one side of the hall, and Torian, Aric and Crow on the other. Aric, with two and a half headache’s worth of surplus paperwork to take care of, was the only one who’d needed a bit of convincing.
Having successfully crashed what Fynta and Noara had dubbed ‘Ahuska’s night of sports education’, Crow now beamed at the trio, fluttering his lashes while he shrugged innocently. “Oh, you know how it is. I… may or may not be a teeny tiny bit responsible for something that may or may not happen at all. I just want to be absolutely certain I don’t get the blame on the off chance that it does. Happen. Because I’ll have been here. Me, here, all night, see?”
“This means we’ll have to keep you under supervision all night, you realise,” Noara stated quietly, with a cheeky twinkle in her eye.
“Oh, yes. But that’s fine, I’ve got some spare binder cuffs with me if we ever need to leave you alone for a bit,” Fynta chimed in.
“Yeah, you’ll have to stay in eye or earshot the entire time you’re here,” Ahuska added swiftly before Crow could say whatever had flashed through his thoughts, and was met with a powerful smirk in return.
“Right, so a running commentary while I’m in the ‘fresher, got it.”
Fynta didn’t miss a beat. “That, or we just cuff you to the ‘fresher for the night.”
“Locked in the ensuite is a pretty solid alibi, don’t you think?” Noara considered.
“Hey. Hey, come on. I said I didn’t want to ruin whatever your plans are here. I brought snacks. I think that’s enough to keep me at guest rather than prisoner status don’t you think…?”
“Oh, yes, definitely. An honoured guest. A privileged guest.” Ahuska grinned at him. “Because you’re going to hang out right here with us and let Noara do your hair the way she’s always wanted while we watch some GWA fights…”
The way Noara’s eyes lit up halted Crow’s protests in their tracks.
“Oh, my stars, yes,” Noara slid the tray to one side to bounce up off the couch, and Ahuska did likewise, leaving the whole thing under Fynta’s jurisdiction.
“Lemme help you get your stuff. Crow, stay put.”
As the two bustled off, Crow found himself in the incredibly rare and unusual circumstance of being alone in a room with Fynta. His own expression came alight when he realised he had the opportunity to discuss something with her that never felt polite to bring up in broader company.
“What is that look for…?” Fynta side-eyed him with caution, lifting a brow as he slid onto the couch beside her.
“So.” He made a show of inspecting his nails before flashing Fynta a bright and knowing grin, waggling his eyebrows. “Fur, huh?”
For a moment Fynta was speechless, staring at Crow slack-jawed until she connected the dots and remembered exactly what their respective partners had in common. Then she laughed, her whole body shaking with mirth as she slapped Crow about the shoulders. “Right!? Nobody else gets it, do you find people can be super weird about it? Like no, no, I’m not into him just because he’s fuzzy, I love who he is and he just happens to also be a species covered in fur.”
“Right?” Crow had to laugh at the way Fynta punctuated her points with a series of emphatic gestures. “And it’s not like I don’t like it, I mean, she’s cute as hell, but I like it ‘cause it’s part of who she is, right? Of course I’m gonna enjoy how it makes her all…” he paused, gnawing on his lip as his cheeks flushed a little.
“Soft?” Fynta offered.
“So soft!” Crow positively lit up, and then touched two fingers to the underside of his chin. “Right here, right? Unbelievable.”
“Don’t tell him I said anything, but with Aric? Just a little higher…” Fynta touched her jawline, just below the base of her ear, her smile growing a little dreamy.
Crow’s grin nearly split his entire face, and then suddenly his eyes widened and he fixed Fynta with a wild and searching look. “Okay okay, but, have you ever had people making the stupid jokes about hairballs..?”
“Oh kriff, yes, and it’s so gross? Why do they even think that’s funny?”
“You know what’s actually funny? Asking di’kuts like that to explain the joke to you. Watching them talk themselves into circles trying to explain what’s ‘funny’ about implying that your partner behaves like an actual nexu.”
“Ha!” Fynta snorted appreciatively. “Oh I’ll have to remember that next time I hear key’shebe making jokes in terrible taste. I swear I get more annoyed than Aric most of the time…”
“What, Mister Stiff Upper Lip? He’s always struck me as the sort who bottles his rage, bet he loves seeing you arc up on his behalf though, heh. You aughtta see the way Ahuska obliterates people who say the wrong thing at the wrong time though!”
Fynta believed she could imagine. “Gets a little savage?”
“She is,” Crow said, lifting his fingers to his lips to perform a delicate chef’s kiss. “Magnificent. Got every right to be though. I never really realised just what asses people could be till I walked through a few Imperial spaceports with her? Feth.”
“Oh, there’s idiots like that on both sides of the war, believe me,” Fynta rolled her eyes, but then flashed Crow a cheeky grin. “Speaking of asses, though. Ahuska once mentioned a… chart…”
Crow started laughing so hard it took them both a moment to realise Ahuska and Noara had returned, their arms laden with a variety of hair products, their eyes wide as they stared at the way Crow was trying to bite back his sniggers.
“I feel like I should be concerned,” Ahuska said to Noara in a blatant stage-whisper.
“Never mind that. Crow! What do you like better, blue or purple?”
It was Crow’s turn to stare. “Uh. What exactly have I signed up for here?”
Noara simply smiled sweetly back at him. “The purple has glitter in it.”
Laughter echoed well into the night, and by the time the first light of day filtered gently through the window the group had managed roughly an hour of sleep between them, and Crow’s hair had never looked more fabulous. Even Ahuska had allowed herself to be given a purple streak to match, after making the mistake of mentioning the fact that she’d never actually gotten her hair coloured in her life, with Noara firmly insisting that the fur dye tattoo on her shoulder absolutely did not count.
The exhausted bliss of a long night in threatened to be shattered when a strangled roar bellowed across the hall, and Fynta startled herself upright, blinking in bleary alarm. “Aric…?”
Crow carefully avoided Ahuska’s gaze while a series of thumps and exasperated snarls continued to sound from the other room.
“...what did you do?” she pressed, while he twiddled his thumbs and ran a hand through his spectacularly quiffed, shimmering purple hair.
“Absolutely nothing. You know I didn’t. I’ve been here literally all-”
A heavy slam interrupted them, as the door was thrust open with uncharacteristic ferocity. There, framed in the doorway, bare chested and square shouldered with only a towel wrapped around his waist to preserve his modesty, was none other than Aric Jorgan. His glare was so fierce his eyes were virtually glowing, and they were fixed on Crow. “Don’t think for a second you’re going to get away with this…”
“Hey hey hey hey, hold up, whatever you think I’ve done, I swear it wasn’t me, just ask any of this lot. I haven’t left this room all night, not since I dropped by after dinner last night!”
“He’s actually telling the truth,” Fynta spoke up, her gaze darting rapid fire between her husband and Crow. “He hasn’t left our sight. In fact, from some point he wouldn’t have been able to leave even if he’d wanted to…” She half-rolled across the floor to where Crow was slumped against the sofa, and tugged on his arm. A clink of chain and flash of metal against his wrist reminded them all that her binder cuffs had, in fact, made an appearance at some point during the night.
Jorgan stared. “Fynta are those…” he blinked several times, then waved a hand and turned his head, shaking it fiercely before storming back out into the hallway. “CADERA! Just you wait till I get my HANDS ON YOU–!”
Fynta, Ahuska and Noara all stared at each other silently for a moment.
And then with a scrambling fit of newfound energy, the three of them darted through the still open doorway, across the hall and into the other room, where a few seconds of confused silence gave way into a rolling, wheezing cackle of boisterous laughter.
“Fynta is that his underwear?”
“Every… every single damned piece by the look of it!”
“Oh, kriffing kad. It’s all frozen solid.”
“That’s the biggest block of ice I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been to Hoth.”
“They really froze all of Jorgan’s underwear into an ice block.”
“What d’you mean they? Crow was with us! All night!”
“Listen he’s going to be raging about this at least until the evening, but… I mean look at it. It’s beautiful. I wish I’d seen his face coming out of the shower and going to get his clean clothes.”
“Do I at least get to see the handiwork?” Crow’s voice piped out across the hall.
And the laughter began afresh as the trio dragged the giant slab of ice across the hall. Crow was wiping tears from his eyes as he stared at the block, an almost perfect cube, knee-high, steaming gently where the warm red-gold Nar Shaddaa light hit it. Like graceful Mon Calamari ballet dancers, fabric swirls in sombre, dark, regulation colours filled the block with a fascinating collection of shapes and shadows. “You’re right. It’s beautiful. I almost wish I could take full credit for it.”
“Is… Torian going to be okay?” Ahuska glanced carefully toward the others.
“Oh, he left early to visit his vode, I was going to meet them for lunch. He’d be four districts over by now. ”
Ahuska always found it quite sweet when Noara tried to use a little Mando’a, but her gaze slide back toward Crow. “And yet somehow you knew tonight would be the night to keep yourself thoroughly supervised.”
“Yeah, well,” Crow shrugged, biting back his grin but absolutely unable to hide just how pleased he was with the results slowly melting on the hotel room floor. “Torian and I might’ve been swapping stories the other night, I might’ve been telling him a few of the pranks my unit pulled back when I was a regular pub army grunt. And when he showed up in the room yesterday afternoon with a brand new mini chest freezer…” Crow shrugged again, flashing them all a dazzling smile. Residual glitter sparkled across his cheeks. “I figured it was gonna be a good night to make myself completely accounted for. Worked, didn’t it?”
The dim roar of a raging cathar drifted up from one of the hotel’s lower floors.
Fynta smothered her smile with her hands. “Worked a treat.”
One more, because they really are all good words. PROTECT
[Wooo, this is one of a bunch of prompts that I've sat on for a good long while, and the 'must write something' urge hit me hard enough tonight to get it out! I never actually used the word directly here but the sentiment is definitely what drove me to put this together. Based on several conversations with @cinlat musing over the SIS/Republic side of things in the werewolf au, here's Crow and Fynta having a nice little chat post his Imperial defection. >.>]
---
“Fynta. Hey. Hey is that you?”
“Crow!?” Fynta’s voice, a little rough with static through the hacked comm, sounded even more incredulous than he’d been expecting. But that quickly switched to pure acid as she went on. “Crow, what the kriff do you think you’re doing, you son of a-”
“No time for pleasantries. Please. Listen to me.”
“Like hell I’m going to give you the time of day, traitor. How about you drop by HQ and tell me what you think I need to hear from behind bars?”
He could hear the snarl in her tone, and even though he understood the place of hurt it came from, there was nothing she could say that would make him double back on his choices. He was also reasonably sure that it was that hurt that would have her hang up on him sooner than any of the ferocious anger she clung to, so he decided to get to the point before she did. “Did you know they built a homing device into me?”
Fynta’s momentary silence was telling. When she spoke again, her tone was heavily guarded. “A what?”
“Homing device. Return to sender. Override of my own damned body. Did you know that? That the SIS could flip a switch and my wings would fly me straight to ‘em if I just happened to come into range…”
Fynta snorted. “Sounds like a good insurance policy to me. So what, now you get to live the rest of your life just hoping you never drift in range of an SIS signal tower? Have fun with that. Look forward to seeing you again.”
“Fynta.”
“C’mon. Try ‘Captain’. Just once, once ever. Surely it won’t burn a hole through your tongue now that it doesn’t mean anything to you any more.”
“Fynta. Please.”
“Or was it just me?” Her tone continued to be goading, sneering, making Crow wonder if there wasn’t some part of her that wanted to hang onto any sort of conversation with him, even if it was through antagonistic stabs. Like she couldn’t dare let the conversation veer into a place that reminded her of the times they’d actually enjoyed one another’s company, but couldn’t quite bring herself to end it. “Didn’t ever like the way I talked about your pretty little ex, did you? Made you never want to show me even an inch of respect…”
Crow pressed his fingers into his forehead. “Fynta stop. The homing device is coming back to you. Dunno where exactly, but it’ll be soon, and I ain’t attached to it.”
He was gratified to hear silence from Fynta as she chewed on his words. “And you’d be telling me this exactly why?”
Crow puffed out a slow breath. “I’ll be slaughtered if they ever find out about this conversation.” Well, not me specifically. It’s Thirteen who’ll be ground up for mince meat on account of my little transgression, but there’s no kriffing way I’m telling you that. “It’s not like Intel was gonna find that tech and leave it on me. They stuck it on a probe droid. Rigged to the antennae with detonite. Whoever winds up dealing with it is gonna wind up disintegrated.”
There was a fractional pause, and Fynta’s tone was cold. “And I’m supposed to believe you’re risking Intel crashing down on you to let me know this. How do I know this isn’t some Intelligence gig, and they’re feeding you every word you tell me?”
It was Crow’s turn to pause, and consider the fact that it was entirely possible that Fynta never would trust another word to come out of his mouth for the rest of his life. He wasn’t sure how to describe the working relationship they’d had, at odds with one another as much as they’d been in sync, and yet undeniably in it together. But whatever it had been, he’d betrayed it completely.
He didn’t regret it, but a heavy sigh filled the silence before he spoke. “The Republic might be a lesser of two evils, but the SIS sure as hell ain’t what’s keepin’ it that way. I don’t give a flying feth about ninety-nine per cent of your colleagues. But who d’you reckon is the most likely person they’re gonna send out to retrieve what they figure is ‘me’? Who knows my specs better than anyone, and I’d go as far as to include me in that? Who d’you think would leap at the chance…?”
“Rivet,” Fynta said, her tone softening against her best efforts otherwise.
“Yeah. Rivet.” Crow’s tone was uncharacteristically solemn. The team’s mechanic, engineer, programmer, technician… name it, and she could work with it. Easily as important as a medic, as far as the team’s physical fitness was concerned, and far moreso in terms of their functional capacity as elite, specialised agents. A bright eyed squib with more optimism than one could ever expect to fit into such a diminutive body, Rivet had a knack with cybernetics that was well beyond uncanny. She and Crow had gotten on like a house on fire.
“Broke her heart when she realised you weren’t coming back.”
“She deserves better.”
“Not too late for you to come try to make good with her for never saying goodbye. If any of us has it in them to forgive you-”
“Nah, I mean she still deserves better. Even now. Better ‘n the life the SIS lets her have. Definitely better than walking head first into an Intel trap. All the rest of us might’ve been lost causes when we signed up, but not her. You see she’s taken care of, Fynta.”
Crow ended the call before he’d even voiced the final syllable. He’d done enough.
