Get Up (Pt. IV of IV)
[[tl;dr: Tressie and Mav’reth go out for an evening of romance and gladiatorial bloodsport on Nar Shaddaa, and they end up participating a bit more than they had bargained for. *** CW: Language, violence, some sexual themes. *** Written by @tehlaen, who plays Mav’reth; Tressie belongs to @carasilvaart.]]
Whatever disappointment Mav’reth had felt with the undercard fights notwithstanding, the main attraction surpassed her every expectation. Tressie and Mav found themselves on their feet more than once, howling for blood with all their fellow spectators. To Mav’s critical eye, the fighters were magnificent, matching their foes in primal savagery and feral, animal cunning. Pity at least one wouldn't survive the night.
Kohnir’s blaster bolt could have simply gone wild and ended up blazing toward Aubriena’s throat, but the Zakuulan whirled her saberpike up and around, deflecting it into a Mawrorr’s eye. After that particularly exhilarating exchange, Mav’reth dropped back into her seat and leaned on Tressie’s shoulder, panting breathlessly.
Black imitation-nerfhide, trimmed with red and orange, obstructed her view, and Mav’reth glanced up in irritation. The sandy-haired human, his stocky build equal parts fat and muscle, gave her a dismissive look and sneered at Tressie. “Get up and get out, De’Roachez. You don’t belong here.”
Fury rolled off Tressie in waves, and Mav was torn between mirroring in it… and exulting in it.
Her lover bared her teeth in a snarl. “Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of, Zubner, and stick ta dealin’ to sewer-scags. This here’s my turf, ‘n you get one chance to leave upright.”
The Rodian said something in that absurd language of theirs and Zubner scoffed. “Fuckin’ right. You come in here tryin’ ta show off, dressin’ like a Cartel underboss with some pretty piece of ass hangin’ on yer arm. Doll yerself up all ya want, yer still nothin’ but gutter trash.”
Muscles bunched under Mav’s fingers as Tressie started to her feet. Before she could, the Sith gave an exaggerated, loud yawn. When she had the attention of all four, she swung her head to look at Tressie. Large, opal eyes blinked slowly, and in her sharpest, haughtiest Kaas City accent, Mav said, “Tressie, darling… I can’t see.”
“Who zis, De’Roachez? Yer a nobody, but she seems classy. Looks expensive, too,” Zubner said with a lecherous grin. “Gotta be a whore. Can’t imagine somebody like her’d be fuckin’ caught dead with a worthless, wannabe streetpunk like you if she wasn’t gettin’ paid.”
Unbridled rage flushed Tressie’s face the purple of a fresh bruise and her citrine eyes blazed like blasterfire. The human made a big show of ignoring her reaction as he leered at Mav’reth. “Whatcha say, sweet thang? Why don’t ya come with us and we’ll give ya what this pathetic gutter-scag can’t?”
Mav’reth didn’t speak Gamorrese, but the porcine alien’s vulgar, jerking motion at his crotch made his meaning plain. Tressie rocketed to her feet. Her fists balled at her sides and she leaned forward on her toes, her nose scant centimeters from Zubner’s. The human stared at her defiantly, lip curled in a sneer.
It was Mav’s voice that broke the silence of the standoff. “Tressie, my love…” Her lover didn't turn to face her, but Mav knew she had her attention. She stretched languidly, then regarded Zubner and his lackeys under hooded lids. “Rid me of this noisome pest, would you, darling?”
Tressie’s chin jerked in a sharp nod. Her eyes blazed as she growled, “Disrespect me here, on my turf, that’s just plain stupid. Disrespect my Lady ‘n I’m gonna slow-roast you til yer skin starts boilin’ off the bone, so ya can watch as my akk dogs start eatin’ ya alive. You got one chance, ‘n only one chance, ta apologize to the Lady for bein’ a brainless, no-manners shitwad ‘n disappear, if ya wanna make it outta here alive.”
The human laughed, then hocked and spat. The gob of saliva hit the floor, barely missing Mav’s feet, but the impact speckled her skin with spit through the open toes of her slippers. Mav’s eyes flashed and her fingers curled, nearly overwhelmed by her desire to rip his jawbone free from his skull and use it to gouge out his eyes. She restrained herself; this was Tressie’s fight, on Tressie’s turf, and stealing her kill would make her weak in the eyes of all who were watching, and all the people they’d tell.
Before either of them could make a move to draw, the announcer came over the speakers. “Just a reminder, sentients and gentlebeings: the only gunplay that goes on here is in the arena! Violators will be disintegrated, and maybe their friends, too, for good measure.”
“Works fer me,” Tressie snarled. “You ‘n me. No blasters, no blades, just fists. ‘N tell yer friends ta stay out of it or once I finish with you, They’re next.”
“Ha! Like I need backup to deal with you.”
Tressie began to shrug out of her shoulder holster and unbuckled the gunbelt as Zubner did the same. She turned to Mav’reth to hand her the bundle of weaponry, and the Sith grabbed her chin in strong fingers. Her pale eyes held Tressie’s gaze and she pitched her voice low. “I won’t waste my breath telling you I love you; you should know that by now. What I will say…” Her fingers tightened and pulled Tressie into a deep kiss that was almost savage in its intensity. “Win.”
“You done yet?” Zubner jeered. “Good idea, get one last kiss from ‘er, ‘cause she ain’t gonna be doin’ much kissin’ once I get done with her.”
Mav’reth’s eyes narrowed and her lip curled in a snarl. Tressie mirrored the expression and gave her a sharp nod.
Mav’s snarl shifted into a predatory grin as Tressie’s muscles tensed. She sat back in her seat, sipping at the dark Rishi rum in Tressie’s glass. Not usually her preferred poison, but it felt like it fit the scene.
In one smooth motion, Tressie dropped into a crouch with her legs coiled under her, spun, and exploded out of her crouch like a pouncing vorntiger. The sudden ferocity took Zubner by surprise, and he backpedaled unsteadily, a flurry of sharp jabs at his ribs and short, sharp hooks keeping him on his heels. Mav noted approvingly that Tressie was carefully choosing her shots; without even minimal padding or wrapping, striking the jaw or other bones could easily break her knuckles.
A sharp jab flattened Zubner’s mushroom nose. His eyes opened wide in shock and he shook his head, spraying flecks of blood all around. His shoulders drew in and he set his feet, fists up in a cautious guard.
WHatever his shortcomings, Zubner was not stupid--at least not in matters of violence. He waited for Tressie to spend her momentum, and at a short pause in the flurry of punches, he short a haymaker left at her ribs.
Tressie’s eyes shot open and she twisted, the bone-shattering strike grazing her side instead of cracking her sternum. She danced back out of rang and regarded Zubner warily.
Mav’reth’s opal eyes flicked between the two and she could see in the set of Tressie’s eyes that the two were making the same assessments. Zubner was a brawler, slow and plodding, but it’d be stupid and potentially fatal to forget that the flab covered muscles like durasteel cable. THe punches he threw at her head and torso had roughly the same kinetic energy behind them as a rogue comet, fully capable of knocking Tressie’s teeth down her throat.
Tressie, by contrast, was nimble and wiry, constantly moving so as not to give Zubner an easy target. She couldn't match Zubner for brute strength and weight, but she had the advantage in speed, reach and flexibility. She compensated by striking hard and fast at spots she’d already hit, forcing Zubner to fight defensively to protect his injuries.
The two settled into an equilibrium that, far too quickly for Mav’reth’s liking, stagnated and turned to stalemate. Tressie ducked in, fired off a few well-aimed shots, and ducked back out of reach before one of Zubner’s killer retaliations could connect.
Everyone present could tell how the fight would go. For Tressie it was a battle of attrition, hammering the same sore spots ‘til the pain made the human drop his guard. Zubner, conversely, only needed to land one solid shot to the torso or head to put Tressie down. The Pureblood was younger, fitter, and faster, and if she paced herself and didn’t fall for idiot feints, she’d wear Zubner down.
And thus the stalemate. Both fought cagily, playing it safe. Mav’reth frowned severely; warfare--not to mention a youth at the Korriban Academy--had carved into her psyche and her hide the lesson that stalemate is broken by doing something unexpected. And in her experience, victory went to the bold and the unpredictable.
Gnawing dread and roiling anger vied for supremacy in the Sith’s mind as Zubner acted to break the impasse. With an agility Mav wouldn’t have thought him capable of, Zubner feinted and, when Tresise moved to block, opened his fist and wrapped sausage fingers in a vise grip around her forearm, planted his foot, and twisted his bulky form, giving Tressie’s arm a savage yank. He wrenched her arm and wrung a cry of pain from her throat. Tressie stumbled toward him and into his waiting arms. Zubner’s arm wrapped around her torso, crushing her wiry frame against him and pinning her arm to her side.
The arm around her ribs tightened, constricting her breath. She twisted and wriggled, feet kicking ineffectually against his shins. Her free arm--her dominant left, by some miracle--flailed, trying to both fend off the punches from Zubner’s free hand and strike at him. Her fingers clawed, scratching his eyes, and he jerked his head from side to side to keep her thumb out of his eye socket.
The saving grace--and one that probably saved Tressie’s life--was that, this close in, Zubner couldn’t put his full strength behind the punches he rained on Tressie. Instead he hammered at the side of her head, he flattened her nose, and he pounded at her cheek and lips.
Mav watched ing rowing horror as blood poured from Tressie’s shredded lips and her broken nose. BLood dripped from one ear and her left eye was rapidly swelling shut.
I. Am. Sith. She scourged herself inwardly. Fear is for the weak and the doomed.
Mav’reth channeled her fear into burning, seething rage. Anger at Zubner for his impudence and disrespect and for daring to strike at Tressie. Anger at Tressie for her stupidity in assuming her foe would adhere to her idiot rules of fair play, and for not going straight for the kill, and for hobbling Mav’reth with foolish notions about respect and keeping up appearances and not getting involved. At herself for knowing that Tressie was right and wanting to get involved regardless.
An expression of murderous and almost childlike glee shone on Zubner’s face. Mav’reth struggled to keep her fury at heel and not indulge her desire to carve the look off the human’s face with a shard of glass. Tressie’s knee came up sharply, and while Mav’reth would have preferred to see Zubner collapse screaming and clutching his crushed testicles, the glancing blow was enough to loosen his death-grip.
Tressie wriggled free--and her knees gave out from under her. Mav’s momentary elation withered as quickly as it had blossomed. Tressie fell onto her back, and although she curled her neck forward, the back of her head still slammed against the permacrete. The blood oozing from her torn scalp gleamed oily black in the darkness.
Dazed, Tressie’s head tipped back, staring upside down through Mav’reth’s face. Grey gnawed at the edges of her vision, and her eyes didn’t want to point in the same direction. Until… Her sight tunneled and focused on Mav’reth’s face. The Sith’s elegant features contorted in a mask of primal, unbridled fury. Mav’reth’s opal eyes held Tressie’s gaze, as irresistible as being drawn past the event horizon. They blazed and went supernova. Mav’reth’s lips might have moved; Tressie couldn’t be sure, because she couldn’t look away from that stare. Later, she’d lie awake, wondering if she heard Mav’reth’s voice in her head because of some Sith bullshit, or because she’d so strongly internalized her lover’s expectations and mindset.
“GET. UP.”
Mav’reth and Tressie’s eyes remained locked for heartbeat that lasted a lifetime. NEither broke eye contact to look at Zubner, standing over Tressie with his foot raised to crush her kneecap.
Tressie tucked her arms inward and rolled into Zubner’s ankle. The human--already unsteady on one foot--windmilled his arms to get his balance. Tressie gathered her limbs under her, then exploded out of her crouch. SHe slammed into Zubner, throwing the teetering human wholly off balance. His arms flailed wildly and Tressie jumped on him, knocking him from his feet.
She kept her grip on him, following him to the ground. The arc of Zubner’s skull as he fell intersected with the alusteel frame of Mav’reth’s chair, and Mav felt as much as heard the sharp KRAKK of parting bone as the side of his head met the metal.
Stunned, the human’s eyes jerked wildly and his hands flailed ineffectually to ward off Tressie. Slender, bloody fingers tangled in dirty hair and she slammed his head again and again against the permacrete. He thrashed weakly but couldn’t break her grip, and she held him by the hair as she rained blows on his cheek, ear and throat.
After a short time--that was likely interminable for the poor Zubner--his weak flailing slowed. He shuddered violently once and went still. It took Tressie a few moments to realize he was no longer moving.
The too-brief stillness was broken when the late--or soon-to-be late--Zubner’s Gamorrean lackey squealed in anger and alarm. Thick fingers groped for the blaster at his hip.
A primal scream tore from Mav’reth’s throat, equal parts fury and exultation, finally free to unleash her rage. Her fingers tightened, shattering the glass in her hand. She surge dto her feet, utterly unmindful of the broken glass shredding her palm. Bloody fingers clutched at the largest shard as she lunged for the Gamorrean. Her other hand clamped around the porcine alien’s throat, his windpipe creaking and cracking under her grip. Fury flooded her limbs and she lifted the Gamorrean off the ground by the neck. Stubby legs kicked and thrashed and Mav allowed herself a brief instant to revel in his terror.
Her bloody hand crossed her body and buried the glass shard in the Gamorrean’s side above his hip. She stared into his wide, terrified eyes and drew the improvised knife across his belly. The glass, with Mav’reth’s raw physical strength behind it, ripped through the cheap jacket and thick hide and opened a ragged, gaping tear from one hip to the other.
Three strides took Mav’reth and the screaming Gamorrean to the short rail of the terrace and the forcefield separating the audience from the arena. It was meant to repel bottles and other detritus thrown from the stands, and to dissipate stray blasterbolts. It was not, however, spec’d to resist a 150kg Gamorrean, propelled by the unchained wrath of a Lord of the Sith. A four-meter section of the field sputtered, flickered, and shorted out. Muscles bunched in Mav’reth’s arm and she hurled the squealing alien through the gap and into the arena. He hit the sand twenty meters below with a sickening thud and the wet crack of snapping bones. Not the neck, Mav’reth mused as the squealing continued unabated. He was, therefore, still alive as the pack of sauroid tonitrans--sensing much less dangerous prey--fell on him and began to devour him.
Mav’reth spun to stare at the Rodian, her bloodlust still raging. The bug-eyed alien’s compound eyes were hard to read, but he jerked back and forth between looking at the possibly-living Zubner and the avatar of death clad in a backless, shimmersilk evening gown.
The Sith kept eye contact--as much as she could with a compound-eyed alien--as she moved to remove his dilemma. Bloody fingers wrapped around the unmoving Zubner’s ankle and dragged him to the terrace railing. She stooped and grabbed him by the collar and belt, then hoisted him effortlessly and flung him to join what was left of his friend.
The Rodian fled. Mav’reth--with blood seeping from the wound still embedded with broken glass--stared at the alien’s retreating back. She was giving serious consideration to chasing him down, to burying serrated fangs in the back of his neck, to feeling the delectable KRONCH of vertebrae between her jaws…
She was drawn from her reverie by Tressie’s panting and groaning. Her lover sat slumped back against her chair, too exhausted to lift herself up into it. Mav’reth turned back to her and gave her a beaming, loving smile. “May I, darling?” she asked and offered Tressie her hands to help her up.
Tressie grunted inarticulately and Mav’reth pulled her easily to her feet. “Shall we stay for the remainder of the show, Tressie, dearest? Or shall we see to your concussion, broken fingers and knuckles, popped eardrum, torn lips, and hairline skull fractures?”
Tressie gave Mav’reth a wary, sidelong look from her good eye as she listed off her injuries matter-of-factly. A disapproving frown tugged painfully at her shredded lip and she hissed to herself. “Love, ya know I don’t like it when ya use that Force bantha-shit on me, even if it’s jus’ ta see how bad I’m hurt.”
Mav’reth snorted and surreptitiously wiped blood from her hand on her dress--where Tressie couldn’t see. “I didn’t, darling. You might not have noticed,” she quipped dryly, “but I’m something of a connoisseur of bloodshed and bodily harm. The injuries of a fistfight are rather… uncomplicated.”
Tressie shrugged and winced as the gesture shifted her wrenched shoulder. “If ya won’t be disappointed, I think I’d rather get some kolton ‘n somethin’ ta take the edge off.”
“Mmm. I didn’t get the fight I expected, my love, but I’m not at all disappointed. In point of fact, Mav’reth said, lips curled in a predatory grin, “I believe I prefer the show I got to the one I came for. Besides… For what I’ve got in mind for you, I need you in fighting trim.”
Tressie leaned heavily on Mav’reth as the Sith led her lover to the exit, her arm over Mav’s shoulder and Mav’s arm supporting her around her waist. “Mav… Ya know I love showin’ off fer ya, but…” She hissed in pain. “I don’t think I’mma be up for another brawl like that again real soon.”
Mav’reth stopped and turned with her arm still around Tressie’s waist. Her other hand caressed Tressie’s cheek tenderly and she leaned in to kiss the point of her chin, between her jawspurs. Her eyes smoldered and the growl in her voice sent shivers up Tressie’s spine.
“Not what I had in mind, my love.”
