Rose Cariadus

As soon as she saw the cats, Rose knew they had managed to stumble their way into yet another trap. Her pure blue eyes counted them as quickly as her HUD did. Hard skinned, likely blaster fire resistant. But not invulnerable to small arms fire. It was time for her to enter her element. All it took was a little mid rim surprise. Her hand fell to her belt and pulled one of the cryopods off the loop. As large as her thumb and cryogenically frozen with the small tinfoil wrapper that read: Product of the Black Sun Syndicate. Had it been packaged properly from kessel before the rebels had sacked the place? She didn’t know, nor did she really care other than it cost a good amount of her last commission for a dozen such capsules. One twist and the cyro seal broke, revealing the sandy white red particulate of spice in a suspended vacuum within a blown glass inner vial. With one hand, she flicked the vial up and placed it into her mouth, her fingers finding the gap between durasteel helmet and her chin. One bite, which popped the vial, then a quick intake of air to breath it in. One inhalation, then another, and the pain in her mouth from the sudden few cuts was gone. Time seemed to slow, and all she could think about was the hunt. The kill. A glorious sacrifice for a god long dead. A hecatomb of violence that she would thrust upon the alter of damnation. Her rifle came up, and her left hand found the trigger for the underbarrel grenade launcher. Two squeezes and two incendiary phosphor munitions exploded in the middle of the pack of saber cats. Then she was moving, her blaster laying down a rain of red energy as she followed the Tusken.

Rose did not much care for whatever religious freedoms or desires the monks had to express, but she followed until they had gotten to the hoverseld. To go any further in the disguise would require a separation from the Tusken so it was best to put the charade to rest. They had gotten through the front doors and into the lower levels. Now it was time for them both to do what they did best. Feigning reaching for the keys to the Tuskens cuffs, she whipped out her hatchet and buried it in the brain of the Monk. Cutting through skull and matter with the ease of long training and a distinct sense of frustration. She held the body close to the pair of them until the shuddering stopped, dropping the lifeless body into the hoverseld instead. She pointed the ax to the labour droids. Warning them to stay silent as she and the Tusken prepared for their assault to rescue their ratty friend.

Rose turned to Rru and quickly snapped the cuffs around his strong wrists, making sure that they were not fully secured. Then she pressed a holdout blaster into his hand wraps. “For when your ancient weapons fail you.” Then she gave him a swift kiss and leveled her blaster rifle at him. “Start walking sandperson scum.”

She kissed his mask then, leaving a dark bloody smear from her still bleeding mouth before she slipped her helmet back on her head. She twisted it slightly and the visor lit up with her custom readout. SHe walked after her beloved and his pet jawa. Wishing all the while that they did not need such a rodent to guide them when simple blaster play could get them in just the same. But they had learned that lesson before. So she followed in silence.

Rose could sense the judgement in his voice and could feel herself shrinking back and away from him. But she hated that part of herself anyway so she forced herself to instead lean forward a draw a bloody smile across her face. She gave a shrug and looked at the Jawa for a half moment, taking back the canteen with a look that emphasized her disdain for the creature. “If you spoke less annoying gibberish then we could all share my gift of water.” Then she looked back to the tusken raider. “I was wasting my time. Wandering like a lost soul through the plains of Armageddon.” She licked her bloody lips with her tongue. “And what were you doing? Coming to save a blue haired princess in her desperate time of need?” She stood and stretched her arms which had begun to be stiff from the bruising. “Hutts are hard to kill. So it should be a fun hunt.”

With an expert flick of the wrist, she flung the blood and sinew off the blade of the hatchet where it spattered into the sand at her feet. She grabbed the hem of her kama and ran the edge of the wicked blade over the soft leather before slipping the hatchet back into its sheath on her thigh. The smile never left her face as she ran after the unlikely pair of Tusken and Jawa. But she could feel the high in the back of her mind starting to slip. She sighed deeply and slumped next to Roar Roar and the little rat. She gave them both a grin and took a swig from her canteen, tasting the bitter copper flavour of the cuts in her mouth along with the cool water. She held the canteen out to the both of them. “Thanks for the rescue Roar Roar. And whoever you are.” She was sure they would both give an explanation of themselves in good time, but for now it was time to hydrate.

Rose reached out with one hand and grabbed her rifle from its place on the weapon rack near the door. Pulling her helmet from a nook beneath it and placing the ‘T’ visored helm over her stark blue hair. Darkness covered her eyes for a moment as she flipped the rifle around and brought the weapon’s wooden stock firmly into her shoulder, her hands finding their familiar positions. One blink, then a spam of triplets. One, two, three. The helmet activated in response to its coded password and her HUD sprang to life. It took several seconds to fully come to life as it connected to her suits vitals and other integrated panels throughout her armour. She followed Roar Roar out the door and spared a glance for the jawa. It was best to ignore the pest for now. If the rat could prove himself something other than a gibbering idiot then she would welcome him as a member of her clan. But for now she saw no reason to. His blaster bolt destroyed the speeder bike threat and then before she could congratulate him he ran away like a coward. What a strange creature. She shifted the rifle to one hand and ran towards the two injured men that lay face down on the tatooine sands. Her other hand finding the hatchet on her belt. She looked at Roar Roar and then set about the grisly work of ending the two men’s lives.

Why was that Jawa still jabbering? The high pitched squealing was more irritating than the blow that nearly landed her on top of the slick bartop. But what was that? She shook her head as she crushed her fist into the face of a Rodian, flattering one of his bug like eyes and splashing her with a sick green ichor. What was that smell? The drugs she had just ingested hightened all of her senses, but surely her nose was playing tricks on her. Was that the same strong spice smell at Roar Roar? She paused for a moment as she stepped over the twitching rodian body. She took another long breath through her nose. Her too wide eyes opened wider. Right as the sound of a Gaffi stick punching through the ribcage of a patron came thundering through her ears. She spun and came face to face with the Tusken Raider that had stolen her heart. “Roar roar?” She whispered through a mouthful of blood before grabbing his arm and pulling him into a fierce hug. She would have kissed him, but the blood and face wrappings always made that part difficult. “We should uh probably get out of here huh?”

It was interesting to see a pyroround do its grim business, even from several meters deep in the bar brawl, she could see the bright flash as the round carved its way through bone and brain and exited in a flash into the wall. The wet pop and following sonic crack as the Devorian’s head exploded from the kinetic backblast would have been a sight to behold if she had the time to watch and observe. But bar room brawls waited for no man or woman. She spun under a blow and slammed her fist in a riposte that dropped a human like a sack of muja fruit. But what was that other sound? Was that the shrill jabbering of a kwikian monkey? No, that was the sound of a Jawa. And it was a sound that raised her blood pressure through the roof. “Will someone shut that damn monkey up?” She scooped up a bottle of ale that had been dropped in the fight and threw it with some degree of accuracy at the little beady eyes beneath a hood that lay behind the bar. Now without the shrill distraction she could get back to the blissfulness of the fight. Riding that high as she dodged another blow and returned it in kind into a patron’s groin.

Eyelids fluttered against the sharp and obnoxious lights that dangled like leering luminescent faces over her. She blinked once, then twice, and her vision swam dangerously, the sound in her ears fuzzed like a dying headset into dismal static. Her stomach lurched as she tried to lift her head from the countertop of the dark wooden bartop, but she pushed again and she lifted her overly heavy head up. No helmet, and her face was sticky with the spilled drink that she had so lovingly laid her head down in. No. She hadn’t been sleeping. The quick fist in her guts told her that and the pounding in her head made a bit more sense as she was picked up by the blow and tossed over the bartop onto the squealing rodian behind it. She pulled herself into a crouch and felt to her belt. A leather pouch. A little vial. She grinned as she spat a mouthful of acid tasting blood onto the floor. Causing another squeal from the Rodian bartender. No time for the hypospray. She popped the little glass vial into her mouth and bit down hard, shattering the thin glass into shards that bit painfully against her tongue. But there it was. Amongst the glass shards grating against her molars the spice was activating. She took a breath through closed teeth to let the spice fully activate and then, like a flipped switch, the pain in her mouth, her head, her arms, her stomach, was gone. She spit out the glass and a great deal of blood, then she made her move. With practiced precision, she pushed off her back leg and launched herself over the bar, straight into the chest of the burly human man who had initially struck her. She headbutted his sternum, feeling more than hearing the wind rush from his lungs in a gasp. He choked, then she was striking again. A closed fist to his neck, striking once, twice, thrice. Then she swept his legs out from under him with a kick of her own. Dropping him face first into the bartop, Where he collapsed. His unconscious body struggling to even take a breath as he choked on his own tongue. Then the bar room erupted into chaos.

White flakes of snow struck against the protective kinetic shield that covered the wardroid, turning the protective bubble almost white as the shield compensated for the sudden increase in projectile disturbance. She and the rest of the Iron Knights tipped their wardroids completely over, hanging upside down over the eye of the storm they pulled back and began their dive. Shooting after their Manda’lor’s missiles like iron rockets. The wind kicking between their stirrups sounding like an unearthly scream as they reached terminal velocity. One of the knights beside her caught a turbolaser blast and disappeared in a jut of flame and expanding gas. But her smile was set, and her wardroid began to vibrate as they passed through the thermal layers of the storm. “Release munitions.” And a dozen heavy unguided bombs plummeted towards the center of the storm.

Her heart beat like the thundering wardrums aboard the Mandalorian battlecruisers. As their mass drivers accelerated chunks of phrik and durasteel to something close to the speed of light, so fell the iron riders of Mandalore the Bloody. Chandrila they had brought low, its populace put to the sword, then they had been blown again by the winds of their mighty God. For Kad Ha’Rangir had called them to follow the weakness of the Rebel Alliance. To forge them in the fire of war until they shed their weakness or perished in the white hot flames. Ka’ Ha’ ‘Thra The guttural calls of the Iron Knights filled her helmet as they followed Blackmorne toward the wine-dark sea. Kad Ha’Rangir would feast on their sacrifice. Mandalore the Bloody would lead them again. For the Crusade was not over. It would never be over.

“Then he is yours to do with as you wish. Though I would recommend you teach him to not run off from the pack.” She squinted a grin towards the Wookiee and Mon Calamari before giving them a near mocking bow. She gave a wave and the troup of battered mandalorians made thor way towards one of the escape shuttles that had been seeded on world from the Xaakzaamheid several months before. It would be a long journey. But she did not look back. There would be another future for her people. For her god.

But the drumming beat of the Mandalorians did not relent, and the the vibroblade sank up to the hilts in the right side of the Jedi Apprentice’s chest. It rattled against the back of his rib cage and collapsed his right lung. She withdrew the blade after snapping off its microvibration function as a new call burst through battle stupor. There were more jedi. And thus her dreams of a dark sacrifice were at an end. She had won the argument, but not the war itself. She cursed softly and looked up to the caves dark roof. Kad Ha’Rangir was a harsh master. She placed her hand on Genesis’s chest and pressed upon the wound. But the blood flow was already slackening. Miraculous jedi healing had saved the young man from instantaneous death and somewhere in Rose’s now tiring head she knew it was for the better. A hostage like him would save them from the brunt of the Jedi Master’s wroth. She lifted a thin hand and stared at the clotting blood that covered her pale skin then stood looking at her brothers and sisters who were readying their weapons. She pulled Genesis to his feet and walked him to the entrance to the cave where she could already hear the dim hum of lightsabers. A wookiee and a Mon Calamari? She gave them a bloody smile and an equally bloody wave. And when she spoke, her free hand spoke along with her in the lorrdian kinetic language she had grown up with. “It appears that your boy here believed that he could take on the might of Kad Ha’Rangir. We have proven him wrong. But fear not, the fool still lives. If barely. We offer him as a price for our escape, but if you wish to take us, then you will loose the boy.” She set him down against the wall and gave them a shrug her vibroblade coming back to life in her hand. Would they let the Mandalorians walk away? Or would there be another fight?

Rose felt the blade yet again bite into flesh, the thirsty blade drinking of it. But again she was hurled away. This time harder, as if a wall had been suddenly thrown at her. Tears stung her eyes as she stumbled into a crouch. The taste of copper flooded her senses as she blinked away the tears and felt the blood of her broken nose dripping down her chin. She reset her stance and coiled her back leg below her as she waited for his counter strike, the attack to follow his blow that could have finished her. But instead he chose to speak. Time? Nurture? This galaxy had been given decades of time to heal and prepare themselves for the unavoidable return of the Sith Lords. But what had the Galaxy done? It had sat on its haunches, dismissed its military, and let itself be infiltrated by a thousand leeches in the form of a senate. She had seen it. She had seen the suffering of the thousands. The escape ships on fire below mandalorian artillery. The Galactic Alliance crumbling while its rich made away in private craft. While trillions died in smoke and horror. That was the true price of sloth. And the Jedi had paid for it, the galactic alliance had paid for it. But they had not learned the lesson from it. The galaxy deserved to be molded by stronger hands than that of the failed Jedi Order! Her voice was muffled by the bleeding state of her nose, every word echoed by a spatter of blood upon the cave floor. “Did not the Jedi and your Galactic Alliance have years to prepare for us?” She spoke of the grand threat of the Sith and the Mandalorians. Her voice following the beat of the mandalorian war song rose with its pitch. “You had your nurture and your time and you failed. It was left for us wolves to tear apart!” But she had given him enough respite. She had answered his debate in turn. For, what respite was there when the drums were beating the song of war? Only blood would seal the argument. So she took the step and closed the distance, driving the vibro hatchet with all the force her muscles could bear in a downward swing to his exposed and wounded shoulder. The drums were begging for his blood. And this time she did not hold back and followed the first strike with a stab to his chest. Her god demanded his death, and she would give him the blood he desired. ((Combat actions: Took the force push to the face, strike again to the shoulder and to the chest)) ((3))

The hum of the Jedi’s vibro-knuckler joined the rhythm of her own blades. The rest of the Mandalorians in the cave stood and began to join that rhythm with percussion. A song of war, a song of the old crusade. A song of Mand’alors long forgotten, the song of a people on the precipice of extinction. They drummed hands on armour or or the butts of blaster rifles on the ground to make the deep rhythm of destruction. The song of a heartbeat. And Rose reveled in it. The hatchet bit into him but found no purchase as he pushed against her, his large form for the moment unbalancing her and forcing her to make a quick sidestep in order to not be disarmed. But he did not follow through with a strike of his own so she pushed off her back foot and brought the vibroblade up in a quick stab towards his now exposed underarm as she passed him. It was not as strong as she would have liked it due to being unbalanced, but Vibroblades did not need a horrendous strength to kill. Turning back around with the hatchet humming near her ear, she grinned, flecks of blood splattering from its blade to coat the side of her face. The key, she knew, was to keep up a furious offense to break the root of his concentration, but he was demanding an answer. For this was as much a clash of ideologies as weapons. “No. Weakness should never be preserved or guarded. It is not something precious. Weakness is to be destroyed.” She spat those words with a fierce growl, her voice low. “You do not craft a weapon out of weak metal without first purifying it in the fire.” And she struck again with the hatchet, its blade aiming for the slim crook between neck and shoulder. As she stepped into the swing, her knife up to deflect any counter strikes from the Jedi’s own vibro weapon. (Combat Action: Unbalanced by Genesis, struck at his underarm and neck.)) ((2))

Rose let her eyebrows waggle in an almost comedic emphasis. “Wait did you think that Kad Ha’Rangir, the War God himself, Son of Fire, The Untamed, War-Aspect, and the Destroyer of Arasuum would not prey upon the weak?” Her laugh was a mix of bitterness and madness. “We come to destroy Weakness little Jedi. For we are the harrowing flame, we are the crusade. Those that must shape the galaxy before the stage is set for the next war. For the Galaxy must be ready for what awaits it. And Weakness of any kind must be purged in the harrowing fire of Kad Ha’Rangir.” She let herself get picked up and thrown by the force push, landing lightly on her feet, her strong hand found the handle of the hatchet that hung from its leather loop on her belt. Its hilt was a strong ash wood, taken from the forests of some conquered planet in the middle core worlds. A planet she couldn't pronounce. One whose trees probably still burned. The hatchet in her hand began to hum in a furious rhythm. If there had been percussion behind it it would have matched the beating of her heart. “Jedi have always preserved that weakness, and are knights of Arasuum. You embody His weakness. His Sloth, His mercy. And that is why this war has raged for millennia. For you lack the strength to finally finish it.” She flipped the vibroblade in her weak hand so that it was in a forward grip. Perfect for quickly striking beneath a guard. “So then give us the taste of your preservation Arasuum.” And then she leapt at him, the light of the campfire illuminating the tears upon her freckled cheeks. The wicked hatchet aiming for his exposed midsection. ((1))

“Now now, it was the Sith that crashed that bloody moon into the damn city world, you think if we had the strength to do that we would simply have let ourselves get bogged down on this Shit world?” She spat onto the Jedi’s eyepatch and pressed the knife until its vibrations touched the bone structure of his ribcage. The smell of boiling blood and burning blood piqued her sense of smell and she grinned. “We were deemed to be rubbish that Kad Ha’Rangir tossed aside. Like a breeze blown before a firestorm. We have only one purpose now. To light the fire again.” She threw the young man down and tore the robe down his back. And placed the vibroblade along his spine. “Now you will be sacrificed. Say your prayers Jedi Knight.” She leaned down so that her lips caressed his right ear. “Unless you want to show us your power.”

“You know these ones can kill you with a single thought right Gren?” The Mandalorian shrugged, his rusted shoulder pouldrons dimly reflecting the scattering light of the small campfire that barely lit the gloomy cave. Rose mimicked the shrug over exaggeratedly and thumbed her nose at the older man. She flipped a vibroblade from her pouch and traced a glowing arc over the captive Jedi Knight, she brought it down fast, scraping the blade beside his ear before dancing away. “Wakey wakey Jedi Rat, Kad Ha’Rangir wants his blood.” She looked at the young Jedi and let the glitterstim ride her emotions though another pich. “Jedi are not good slaves Gren. They are good for sacrifice only. Perhaps we make a blood eagle?” She licked her dry lips, her bright blue eyes sparkling. “He hasn’t gotten to taste the Jedi in soooo long.” Her eyes widened impossibly big and she skipped back and forth beside the taller and more formidable Mandalorians who were laughing heartily at her antics. “He is hunger, he is thirst, he has waited a hundred generations to sup upon Jedi again. “ She pressed the now silent blade against the young man’s chest. Her fervor was high. “Call him Gren, draw the circle, prepare the fire!” She let out a hideous laugh then scowled at the young Jedi. A taunt, that was not echoed in her wide eyes. “Or perhaps he will simply reach out and yank on my aorta? Wouldn’t that be easier than being sacrificed?” her eyes stared, almost unseeing at Genesis.

Rose let the grin on her face set to a amiable smile and took her vibroblade from the belt that was snugging down her oversized uniform. She hefted it for a moment as she walked towards the refresher’s large plate mirrors and glared hard at herself. Pale sallow skin that had not seen UV in ages, and far too long hair. She ticked her head to the side and gathered up her hair into her fist, letting a long tangle of it hang down to her belt. She scrunched up her face and measured by sight as she flicked the switch on the handle of the knife. “Measure once, twice, thrice, then slash eh?” She laughed and sliced away at the hair with a nimble and deft attack. Cutting long strands away until she looked almost normal. Hair only down to her shoulders, even it was a bit ragged. She considered doing something about bangs, but decided firmly against it. Instead pulling her remaining hair into a short tail at the top of her head, held in place by one of the metrielastine bands that had been included in her clothing's package. She grimaced at her face again before turning back to Rruror’rur’rr. She mockingly saluted and then grabbed him into a fierce hug. Her voice soft in his ear. “Then let us find enemies to defeat and honour to take.” She smiled at the old weapon in his arms and giggled. “I should get an old slugthrower too, perhaps after this mission.” The weapons seemed so elegant compared to a blaster rifle. There was something so very interesting in using an ancient weapon to kill someone. She took his hand and led him out the door of the refresher and stopped dead in her tracks. There was something familiar in the newest person that had arrived, but she couldn’t place it, and she couldn’t smell him to make sure of it. Instead she inclined her head respectively to the audience and Dhon and looked to the host. “We are ready if you are. Sorry to keep you waiting.” Then turned her eyes back to the large Cathar. Who was he?

The redressing took a lot longer than the undressing. Firstly the jumpsuit provided was not the proper size, perhaps being a size too big in the bust, and she had to pin the uniform back in place and the addition of a few straps to the armour chestpeice made it all fit a bit better. All the while of course she was under the protection of her Tusken angel, which gave her heart a bit of a flutter. Thinking that she must absolutely say something other than leaving an awkward silence she broke the stale air with a cheery voice. “So how are you? I should apologize for not knowing you super well, despite our shared experiences. Please forgive my brain.” She grinned widely and finished tying up her boots. “So are we down to bathe in blood together for these criminals?” It wasn't a judgement call, but credits were very nice to have if you wanted to forge a destiny together.

Rose scrunched up her face as she thought about what the Black Sun tusken had just said, before getting knocked off her feet by whatever shenanigans the other agent had just pulled off. She pulled herself to her feet and helped Rruror’rur’rr back to his feet. Squeezing his hand in return. “Right. Uh yeah give us a mission, and some time for me to change into something other than a towel and were your personal vendetta squad or whatever you need.” She signed this out with her unoccupied hand as well of course, almost like a nervous tick. “Got hutts to kill or Jedi to assassinate? Seems like I may have been good at that.” She laughed and shook her head sadly. “But it's a bit hard to remember you know.”

Rose let herself fall into the kiss, even with how unexpected it was, feeling the stubble of his chin against her face. Memories, strange and foriegn flooded through her from the kiss. All flavoured by that spicy sweet smell of the Tusken Raider. Rruror’rur’rr, a name she could not pronounce, a mighty dragon, and the soft stillness of relief. She certainly had known this man in whatever past life she had lived. She finished the caress, and smiled shyly back before she heard the words of the Black Sun Agent. “I will go where he goes, if it is your Agency I am happy to do it again. If anything to get my fighting experience back. Speak the words and I'll sign my name.” She grinned at Rruror’rur’rr as her hands spelled out the words she was saying in her Lorrdian expression. “What do you wish to do Roar Roar roar roar roar-” She coughed at spat again. “Do you have a easier to pronounce name?”

It all seemed so familiar! The strong grip, that distinctive smell. It met with no firm memories, but the feeling was there, though unplaceable. As her hair spilled down her shoulders and the rough cloth of his Tusken Raider outfit abraded her skin she could feel tears filling up her eyes. As her tears began to stream down her face she started to cry for real. She didn’t know why, only that she was crying in what could only be the happiest moment of her life. And she didn’t even know who he was, it was locked in there somewhere, distant, behind an image of a dragon and a piercing pain in her side. THrough her tears she mumbled again, “Who are you? Who are you? Who areyouwhoareyou….” Until it became a wracking sob of tears and laughter. When the tears finally dried, she pulled herself off of the tusken and saluted the Black Sun Agents who were watching wryly from a corner. It was a crisp and military salute that was well practiced even from the long stasis of a cloning tube. She leaned down to offer a hand to whoever it was at her feet, pulling him up beside her, and holding the Beskad in the other. Unused and unbloody. She didn’t try to cover herself, it was pointless at this juncture anyway. “Are we in the service of the Black Sun?”

It was an older model sanisteam, the design that had kept the same for water abundant worlds for millennia, though if this was Tatooine like she suspected. This was yet another expression of the sloppy opulent wealth that the Sunners had so often flashed around. It hurt to think back, the entirety of her past having been made into a formless fuzzy relief that she could barely interpret. She knew her own name, that she had been an Agent, that she had fought for the Mandalorians and in the Lorrdian militia when she had turned twelve. But she couldn’t remember much more. Had she fought in a jungle recently? Why did she have the distinct scent of spice and musk in her nose? Whatever had brought her past life to a brutal end had left a few impressions. A strong embrace maybe? It was all so distant, and she cursed her past self for not updating her memory scan. She let the water run over her and down the drain for a while, scrubbing herself thoroughly with a bar of casmium soap, then taking some gels from the dispenser inside the sanisteam, she washed her overlong hair. It reached nearly to her waist, likely from the lack of input or care from the clone technicians, and the feeling of it made her anxious. Plus the long strands of hair held copious amounts of water from the sanisteam and would need a lot of drying. She decided to cut it short again, especially if she was ever going to wear another helmet in battle. That and get her muscles into a less spastic shape. She was in perfect health and fitness, as most clones were, but exercise would give her the control she needed to get used to the body again. She reached out with a steady hand and turned the handle of the hot water to the left, closing the valve and cutting the fogginess from her head with a stream of pure and ice cold water that made her body tingle. She coughed the rest of the preservation fluid out of her lungs and then turned the handle of the cold water as well, shutting off the sanisteam and she looked for a towel on the rack beside the cubicle. None. She cursed, then seeing one on the bench beside a lump of other equipment, she swiped back the hanging curtain and set about drying herself off. When she stepped out, partially wrapped in the towel and reaching for her flight suit, a loud and explosive crash echoed through the small refresher unit. She tossed the flightsuit asid, and grabbed the Beskad from the bench before seeing that it was someone who had likely fainted and taken out a good two hundred thousand credit cloning tank alongside. She wrapped the towel around her waist, not caring much for modesty, but enough to not expose absolutely everything, and ran over to the pile of cloaks that might be a humanoid, leaving a long trail of wet footprints. She wished she could put something more protective on than a towel, but if this was an intruder or a friend, it was better to eliminate or help them right then, instead of waiting and giving them a good minute for her to put her armour on. She tossed her hair over her shoulder so that it was laying in a wet mess down her back, and holding the knife behind her thigh she arrived beside the fallen...Tusken Raider? What? Well they were certainly on Tatooine that was for sure, but those were dangerous savages right? She pushed off with her bare feet and made the last few steps in a leap, straddling the downed man and pushing the mandalorian iron knife under his chin. “What are y-” But his scent. The spicy smell of it hit her brain in a wave. She grabbed the back of his neck and with wide blue eyes looked into his clone tank gel covered goggles. “Who are you?”