Slipping away from there Bep Borum contacted them as they hid in a cantina frequented by local dockworkers and logistical personnel. The chubby Ortolan was there at ambush site. His fragile claim was that Cohr staged this as a means to 'disappear' officially with the impounding of the ship. Meanwhile they would depart on Bep's ship a few landing bays away.
Despite not fully trusting him, they made it to Aurek-Twelve and escape was in site: the Nebula Raptor. Then just as they were about to ascend the landing ramp, they saw it. An IG Assassin Droid.
Assassin droids were incredibly dangerous. They were walking armories, complete with integrated concussion grenade launchers and flamethrowers. They even sported acid-proof servo wires. IG's were deadly. Killers. And very good at their job.
As Roona froze mid-stride, froze mid-stride, the IG droid clanked down the ramp, its photoreceptors sweeping left-right-left in mechanical precision. Red hazard lights glinted off its polished durasteel torso. Its right arm terminated not in a blaster, but in a wicked flamethrower, it's flame a faint blue as it idled. A sickeningly seductive female voice with an Imperial accent breaks the silence, "I will be very pleased to kill you all."
The Nebula Raptor’s boarding ramp groaned under the droid’s weight as it descended, its hydraulic joints hissing like a nest of angry serpents. Roona dove to the left and summersaulted into a crouch, her modified L7 blaster pistol aimed at this deadly new target. Xander simply dropped prone behind the rear support strut.
Bep, trying not to yell, voiced his concern, "Wait! Don't shoot!" as he ran up in front of the IG unit. Surprisingly the words seemed to be meant for them and not the deadly droid. "Don't scare our guests, Gigi." The IG unit suddenly relaxed, the deadly flamethrower deactivated, and it stepped aside with a bow as an absolute vision descended to meet them. Somehow, they finally realized that the droid was painted in a contrast of yellow and black, looking like some deadly insect.
Dressed in a scandalous combination of yellow and green, the Zeltron female's skin glowed a soft pink, her blue curls bouncing with each step. The outfit left little to the imagination, with cut-outs that framed her curves, and yet, she carried herself with an effortless confidence. Her full lips curled into a knowing smile as she looked over the pair. "How lovely. Come on aboard," she purred, her voice smooth as Corellian whiskey.
- Vanda.jpg (23.6 KiB) Viewed 3476 times
Vanda’s laugh was like warm syrup, thick and disarming. “Oh, don’t look so tense,” she murmured, tilting her head so the neon lights painted her cheekbones in electric blue. The cut-outs of her outfit teased glimpses of smooth skin beneath, but the way she moved—calculated, deliberate—spoke of something far sharper beneath the surface. When she extended a hand toward them, Xander caught the faintest gleam of a vibroknife hilt strapped to her thigh.
Roona’s blaster didn’t waver. “Who are you?” she hissed.
Vanda pressed a hand to her chest—the gesture almost theatrical—her fingers splayed just so to draw the eye to the curve of her breast. “Why, my dear,” she purred, “I am your means of escape. Your lifeline.” She stepped closer, the scent of something floral and intoxicating clinging to her. “You really should be more appreciative.” Roona wasn't sure if Vanda was imitating the standard Rodian salute or if it was just part of her pageantry.
Roona’s blaster twitched, her finger hovering near the trigger. The Zeltron’s smile only widened, as if daring her to shoot. Behind her, Gigi the IG unit shifted slightly, her photoreceptors flickering between targets. Xander swallowed hard, his throat dry. He knew that look—the one that promised violence wrapped in silk. He’d seen it before, in cantinas and back alleys, always right before things went sideways.
Vanda exhaled—a slow, deliberate sound—and stepped closer, the scent of nightblossom and spice curling around them. “Oh, don’t be like that,” she murmured, her fingers brushing the hilt of her vibroknife absently. “If I wanted you dead, you’d already be choking on Gigi’s plasma.” She tilted her head toward the droid, who gave a cheerful little beep in response. “But since you’re alive, and since we went through the trouble of arranging this little rendezvous…” She trailed off, her gaze sliding to Xander. “Do you really want to stand here arguing out in the open?”
"Savior is not really a name," Xander finally spoke up.
Bep moved up next to the pair and said quietly, "You mean you never heard of Vanda, the Rose?" He whistled and hooted in surprise.
Xander hesitated, the weight of the blaster beneath his vest suddenly heavy. He took a step forward—maybe to disarm her, maybe just to get a better read on her eyes—but before he could decide, Vanda closed the distance between them. Her lips crashed against his, warm and insistent, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his collar. The kiss was dizzying, electric, and over far too soon. She pulled back with a smirk. “Welcome aboard!”
Once Xander managed to gain his senses again, he briefly turned to his Rodian companion and gave a quick two-thumbs-up gesture. A goofy smile remained etched on his face as he meandered up the ramp.
Roona rolled her large black eyes with a disgusted sigh, holstered her blaster, and pushed past the Ortolan to board. She would have to keep an eye on Xander—no doubt his brain was still scrambled by whatever pheromones that Zeltron was pumping out.
The Rodian had barely stepped onto the loading ramp when Vanda suddenly grabbed her wrist and sniffed—actually sniffed—the crook of her neck. "Stars above," the Zeltron murmured, nostrils flaring. "You smell like... like..." She inhaled again, deeper this time, her pink skin flushing darker. "Is that... Corellian jasmine? Mixed with something... citrus?"
Roona froze, her antennae twitching in disbelief. "What the kark are you—"
Vanda's lips brushed the smooth ridge of the Rodian's snout before Roona could finish, lingering just long enough for the warmth to register. The Zeltron pulled back, eyes half-lidded, her pink fingers still wrapped loosely around Roona's wrist. "Mm. Even better up close," she murmured, her thumb tracing the Rodian's pulse point. "You're clean. Not a hint of... well... you know." It had always been a sore spot with Roona that most species found the musky smell Rodians emitted as anywhere from unpleasant to foul to repulsive. It was a vanity that the scout did her best to always cover her natural musk with refined perfumes or oils.
Roona's antennae stood straight up, her entire body rigid with disbelief. A string of Rodian curses bubbled up her throat—something anatomically improbable involving a Hutt and a hydrospanner—but all that came out was a strangled grunt. The Zeltron belted out a satisfied laugh and turned and strode back up the ramp. "Let's go, Bep. Time's a'wasting."