Re: Things Past (A Backstory Thread)
Posted: Sat Feb 12, 2022 7:53 pm
Kismet Dineen
Twelve Years Ago
Kismet spent most of the trip to Nar Shaddaa thinking about her target. She repeated his name over and over. Marisotis Frey. She went over everything she knew again and again. Devaronian. Male. Hiding out on Nar Shaddaa. Known associates. Habits - drinking problem. Marisotis Frey. Devaronian. Male...
She had to kill him - but how? The terms of the deal allowed her no weapon. No blaster, at least. She would just have to improvise something when she got there, or steal something... But the lack of specificity made it hard to plan. That worried her.
The rest of her time, she was expected to spend in Neshdo's bunk. The Rodian's support wasn't free, it turned out - nor was the trip to Nar Shaddaa. Kismet gritted her teeth and did what was expected. It was demeaning, but Neshdo's demands were unexceptional, nor was he particularly cruel to her. It was bearable. And soon they arrived on the gaudy, glittering city-planet.
Blending in there was the easy part. No one gave a second look to a Twi'lek dancer in a slave collar. She could go anywhere, and was assumed to belong.
Finding Marisotis Frey was harder. He was lying low, and there were limits on how much a slave could question people or seem to be searching for information - it didn't take much to raise suspicion, or worse. Kismet started to feel she'd checked every dive bar and drinking hovel on Nar Shaddaa. Her feet ached. Neshdo was getting impatient. Time was running out.
Eventually, miraculously and largely by pure chance, she found him in a disreputable saloon. He was sitting with a drink in his hand, but she could tell he was less drunk than he pretended to be. She would have to be careful.
"Care for a dance?" she asked Frey, brushing a barely-clothed thigh against his leg as she passed too close.
He nodded, and Kismet danced for awhile. Her movements were practiced, mechanical as her mind raced. How was she going to do this? There was nothing to use as a weapon. But she was so close. Something would come to her soon. Surely...
"Shall we go someplace more private...?" Frey suggested, motioning toward one of the rooms reserved for discreet client use.
"You got it..." Kismet murmured. But she had mixed feelings. She couldn't kill him in the middle of a bar - but going into an unknown, unscouted location alone with him was a major risk.
Exactly how risky soon became apparent.
As soon as they were alone, he began fumbling the clasp of her halter top.
Kismet shook her head. "Slow down there, buddy," she said, trying to sound playful.
"Stop being such a tease," Frey growled. "You know what you're here for."
"I said no..."
He grabbed her shoulders, hard, and abruptly bashed her face against the side table. She saw stars, and felt blood begin to drip from a cut that opened on her chin.
"Know your place, slave!"
He grabbed for her again, but she ducked away. Did he have a blaster she could try to take from him...? She didn't see one. No heavy objects. No convenient glass bottles to smash over his head...
As Frey grabbed her wrist and started to drag her, something caught her eye. Above the bed, there was a curtain. The curtain itself wasn't important - but it was secured with a cord. That was what she needed. She spent so much of her time chained to a Hutt; she knew what to do with a tether.
Kismet pulled away from Frey and took a few steps back, and yanked at the fabric. The curtain came off the wall as she tugged, and she fumbled for the cord till it was in her hand. Frey advanced on her. She wrapped the cord around his neck and pulled.
It seemed to take a long time. He fought. It took all her strength to hold on. But eventually, Frey went still.
Her chin was still bleeding when Neshdo came to collect the corpse.
Neshdo beamed at her. "You won me some credits, slave girl."
She clasped her hands together, trying to stop them from shaking.
By the time they presented Marisotis Frey's head to Vintuu on Nal Hutta, though, she wasn't trembling anymore. Her face was calm and her voice was even as she told her Hutt master, "I don't dance anymore. I fight now."
Twelve Years Ago
Kismet spent most of the trip to Nar Shaddaa thinking about her target. She repeated his name over and over. Marisotis Frey. She went over everything she knew again and again. Devaronian. Male. Hiding out on Nar Shaddaa. Known associates. Habits - drinking problem. Marisotis Frey. Devaronian. Male...
She had to kill him - but how? The terms of the deal allowed her no weapon. No blaster, at least. She would just have to improvise something when she got there, or steal something... But the lack of specificity made it hard to plan. That worried her.
The rest of her time, she was expected to spend in Neshdo's bunk. The Rodian's support wasn't free, it turned out - nor was the trip to Nar Shaddaa. Kismet gritted her teeth and did what was expected. It was demeaning, but Neshdo's demands were unexceptional, nor was he particularly cruel to her. It was bearable. And soon they arrived on the gaudy, glittering city-planet.
Blending in there was the easy part. No one gave a second look to a Twi'lek dancer in a slave collar. She could go anywhere, and was assumed to belong.
Finding Marisotis Frey was harder. He was lying low, and there were limits on how much a slave could question people or seem to be searching for information - it didn't take much to raise suspicion, or worse. Kismet started to feel she'd checked every dive bar and drinking hovel on Nar Shaddaa. Her feet ached. Neshdo was getting impatient. Time was running out.
Eventually, miraculously and largely by pure chance, she found him in a disreputable saloon. He was sitting with a drink in his hand, but she could tell he was less drunk than he pretended to be. She would have to be careful.
"Care for a dance?" she asked Frey, brushing a barely-clothed thigh against his leg as she passed too close.
He nodded, and Kismet danced for awhile. Her movements were practiced, mechanical as her mind raced. How was she going to do this? There was nothing to use as a weapon. But she was so close. Something would come to her soon. Surely...
"Shall we go someplace more private...?" Frey suggested, motioning toward one of the rooms reserved for discreet client use.
"You got it..." Kismet murmured. But she had mixed feelings. She couldn't kill him in the middle of a bar - but going into an unknown, unscouted location alone with him was a major risk.
Exactly how risky soon became apparent.
As soon as they were alone, he began fumbling the clasp of her halter top.
Kismet shook her head. "Slow down there, buddy," she said, trying to sound playful.
"Stop being such a tease," Frey growled. "You know what you're here for."
"I said no..."
He grabbed her shoulders, hard, and abruptly bashed her face against the side table. She saw stars, and felt blood begin to drip from a cut that opened on her chin.
"Know your place, slave!"
He grabbed for her again, but she ducked away. Did he have a blaster she could try to take from him...? She didn't see one. No heavy objects. No convenient glass bottles to smash over his head...
As Frey grabbed her wrist and started to drag her, something caught her eye. Above the bed, there was a curtain. The curtain itself wasn't important - but it was secured with a cord. That was what she needed. She spent so much of her time chained to a Hutt; she knew what to do with a tether.
Kismet pulled away from Frey and took a few steps back, and yanked at the fabric. The curtain came off the wall as she tugged, and she fumbled for the cord till it was in her hand. Frey advanced on her. She wrapped the cord around his neck and pulled.
It seemed to take a long time. He fought. It took all her strength to hold on. But eventually, Frey went still.
Her chin was still bleeding when Neshdo came to collect the corpse.
Neshdo beamed at her. "You won me some credits, slave girl."
She clasped her hands together, trying to stop them from shaking.
By the time they presented Marisotis Frey's head to Vintuu on Nal Hutta, though, she wasn't trembling anymore. Her face was calm and her voice was even as she told her Hutt master, "I don't dance anymore. I fight now."