Another faux-screenshot in the same vein of the previous RP, taking place during the night when Caspira awakes to hear some very unsettling noises aboard her ship ... those noises namely being Laz'ab unable to sleep and snooping about her private files. Those two constantly seem to have it out to one-up each other, and that night was no exception.

Other pictures in the same vein of RP/RP logs relating to this picture can be found here:



As usual, for those who like reading our roleplay sessions I've included the log related to this picture at the bottom of the Artist's Comments. Enjoy.


--Sak
_{Caspira belongs to
Laz'ab belongs to myself
Star Wars the Old Republic © Bioware/LucasArts}
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The Middle of the Night RP ...

Laz'ab leans forward over the desk, palms supporting him as he scrutinizes the specs and diagrams that flash across the screen. Occasionally his fingers curl and quietly compress another button or two, alternating the images across the screen. His eyes are bloodshot, though his heavy inking hides the bags under his eyes from a lack of sleep.

Caspira moves stealthily through the hallway, knowing her ship and its inherent noises to an obsessive degree. It's that which allows her to move into the doorway in complete silence, crouched down in a position of attack. She picks out the 'intruder' immediately, straightening with a noise of frustration. Her eyes narrow further as she identifies the information on her screen and she moves into the common area with a scoff. “That. Is. Classified!”

Laz'ab sighs when Caspira's voice cuts sharply through the still air. He arcs his back, raising his shoulders in a lazy stretch. His hands drag across the desk's surface like lead weights before flopping uselessly to his side as he turns to face her, smug smirk planted firmly on his face. Perhaps on purpose, the detailed schematics of her ship and all it's functions is left on the screen. He raises a finger to his lips and whispers, “Shhh, Azil'mort is still asleep.”

Caspira hitches her shoulders and darts a look across the area toward the medbay doors, watching them carefully for a minute before seeming satisfied. Though her eyes remain narrowed, she obligingly lowers her voice, “Which begs the question, what are you doing awake and snooping through my things?”

Laz'ab puts on a face of mock distress, “They confiscated my lightsaber. I can't sleep without it.”

Caspira stares at Laz'ab as if waiting for the punchline, her expression turning vague as it does not come. “Are you serious?” Not waiting for the answer, she pads over to the workbench and heroically resists the urge to elbow him aside. Throwing open a drawer, she shoves a few thick files away to reveal a handy little collection of lightsabers. Some blasted, some dented, but still … Pausing, she removes a specific one from the drawer and gives him a go-ahead gesture accompanied by a frown.

Laz'ab watches her approach and steps aside of his own accord when she gets too close. His eyes follow the movement of her hands as she rummages through her things, then dart to hers with a look of confusion as she offers him the saber. He doesn't take it immediately. “That's quite a collection of lightsabers you've got, Cipher Twelve. Trophies from Sith you've killed, I wonder?”

Caspira shifts her posture, the hand holding the saber fisting on her hip as she gives him a teasing look, “Why Lord Lazab, I'm surprised. I don't kill Sith.” One eyebrow arches delicately, lips curling in an overly sweet smile. “I get others to kill them … But to answer your question, no. Most belonged to Jedi.”

If he's perturbed at the thought of owning a Jedi's lightsaber he doesn't show it; he must be having an odd moment of clarity. He bares his teeth in a mocking grin; it looks like he wants to eat her, “I wonder if you expected me to walk out of there alive at all …”

Caspira drops the smile, brows furrowing as she considers exactly what to say. She turns, setting the lightsaber hilt to the side before facing him fully. “I did come back for you, didn't I?” Her tone serious, she attempts to maintain eye contact. “I may be a lot of negative things, but I'm not completely without honor. You did kill the Sith, so... it was only fair that both of us walk away in one piece.”

Laz’ab scoffs lightly, shifting on his feet to lean against the desk with his hip. His left hand traces over it, fingers spiderlike as usual. “Honor is a difficult thing to come by in the Empire these days,” he murmurs. The look he gives her clearly betrays his opinion of Agents and their abilities to adapt to the situation.

Caspira watches those creeping fingers with a quick look of unease, shifting back on her heels and returning her eyes to his face. “If it sets your mind at ease, consider it a self-serving reaction. Had I left you there, you may have been inclined to reveal my part in that little scheme. Not a risk I was willing to take.”

Laz'ab presses his lips together in an insincere smile, “As long as we're both being dishonest,” he murmurs, before plucking the lightsaber from the top of the desk. He twirls it in his hand like a parade officer might juggle a baton, testing the weight.

Caspira betrays herself a moment as Laz'ab snatches up the saber. Her saber. Eyes widening, she makes a lunging grab for it – one hand going for his wrist and the other for the battered hilt. “No. Not that one.”

Laz'ab reacts sluggishly, but manages to jerk his arm back in the nick of time. His left hand goes out as it to push her back, fingers curling like the thought of touching her repulses him, though there's a grin smeared across his face that could only be described as thoroughly amused. He holds the saber up above his head, stretching out a little on his toes; he's not the tallest Twi'lek. “Aww, why not? Special attachments to this one?”

Caspira pulls back long enough to fix Laz'ab with a dark look before closing in again, fingers stretching for the saber as she closes in on his personal territory. “It has sentimental value!”

Laz'ab waves the lightsaber higher up above him, though he backs further up against the desk in an attempt to avoid her hands touching him directly. After a moment's hesitation, his left hand shoots out to push her back lightly, fingers splaying over her stomach as his applies a warning pressure. “Ohh? A special someone, perhaps?”

Caspira stops at the pressure, glancing down to his hand with a look of disbelief. Shifting tactics, she tilts her head to give him a sideways look and angles her upper body past the plane of his hand. “Why so curious, Lord Laz'ab? Intending to find if I'm otherwise attached?” In a smooth movement, she angles her body to back him against the desk, eyes flicking to the saber to gauge her strike.

Laz’ab manages a convincing scoff, despite the way his stomach sickens at the implied suggestion. He can’t avoid backing up further against the desk, though, pressing the back of his hips almost desperately against it. “Please, I find it difficult to imagine anyone could stand your temperament for long.” It sounds like he wants to add ‘Cipher Twelve’ in there, but it gets caught somewhere and a small squeak comes out instead.

Caspira pursues him rather mercilessly, one hand flattening on the desk at his side as se angles just a touch more. Careful to keep from actually coming into contact with him, she steadies onto the balls of her feet. “Oh, my Lord Laz’ab,” she practically purrs, clicking her tongue in a slight tsk-tsk, “They need only stand it long enough for me to accomplish my task.” Using her hand on the desk for leverage, she pushes up onto the balls of her feet in a quick hop and manages to get her hand on the saber, falling back to earth and doing a half-hop backward to gain some distance. Any sign of flirtation is gone, replaced by calculation.

Laz'ab looks like he's about to fall flat on his back just to avoid having to rub hips with her, attempting to stretch back, but her wiles combined with the confusion in his head muddles his perception and even the Force can't help him jerk the saber out of the way. He punches the air with a fist when she steps back, relaxing immediately once there's more distance between them, “I almost had you, Cipher Twelve.” He shoots her a dead stare from beneath inked brows, clearly referring to her brief lapse in poise when he'd first grabbed the lightsaber.

Caspira rests the hand with the saber in it on her hip, cocking it out and giving him a quick, coy look. “If you want me, my Lord, you'll have to work much harder than that.” To further discomfit him, she winks and blows a kiss from her palm, wiggling her fingers in victory as she does so. Back to business, her posture melts to one of weary exhaustion. “There are other sabers, surely you can do with one of them.”

Laz'ab looks so perturbed by her little display that he might have actually gotten paler... if that were possible. He quickly focuses his attention at the topic of lightsabers, snorting derisively as he pushes himself away from the desk. “Tsk, I wasn't being completely serious. I have trouble sleeping and your ship is unusual.” He doesn't mention anything about the voices, but from the fatigue written on his face one might almost be able to hear their whispering. “I'll live.”

Caspira gives him a look of exasperation and reaches over, shutting the drawer with a sigh. Her saber though is tucked into her belt as she turns on bare feet. Pausing, she gives him an unreadable look and walks to the desk, pulling a pair of capsules from her pocket, she sets them both on the desk. Arching an eyebrow, she retrieves one and pops it into her mouth, swallowing in an attempt to remove any sense of suspicion. “Mild sedative.” I've found it helps me to sleep when...” One shoulder lifts in a shrug, “Whenever.” Not waiting around to find what he does, she turns and strides back to her quarters, shutting the door and engaging the locks without further fanfare.

Laz'ab eyes Caspira suspiciously as she pulls out the pills. He looks immediately doubtful and makes it obvious, watching as she takes the first with a droll expression. One brow does arch in curiosity when she almost divulges something private, before melting back into a look of disinterest, “Aah.” He watches her leave, waiting until she's back inside her room before he moves. With a resigned twitch of his lekku, he shuts off the terminal's screen and wanders back to the couches at the far end of the room. He doesn't touch the pill … for now.