hoppiholla391 — Roleplayer Guild

Pᴀx

Two of Pax's hands closed on the baton as soon as it was laid on the table. No one had seen her move, just a red blur—it was just that one moment the red alien was lounging in her chair, and the next she was lounging in her chair and lazily flipping the Captain's nightstick between her fingers.

"This is a damn fool decision," she said as she stood up, stretching her four arms over her head. The hard lines of her back flexed, as did the short spines that had long since torn through her undershirt, until some joint cracked and she lowered her arms again with a pleased sigh. 

She wasn't just having a go, either—there were so many things wrong with this shitty plan she couldn't be bothered to list them. Any one of the crew could sell them out for a plea deal; could give up the game to anyone on Nomad; or, hell, just turn tail and leave since the Captain was leaving the door wide open. 

If this plan worked, it would shock the hell out of her. If it didn't, it would kill her.

Pax made a show of stretching, crossing each of her four arms over the other. She was this close to saying 'suns out, guns out' and just flexing at people, but she didn't. She was self-sacrificing like that. Instead, she stood there with three hands on her hips and the fourth flipping the baton. Three buttons on the side—one to electrify it, one to make it telescope into a longer quarterstaff, and a one-off rechargeable sonic wave. She'd had her eye on this thing for a while, but the shit that would be stirred up by an inmate swiping the Captain's weapon of choice outweighed the fun she'd have until it was taken away. Now, though...now it had just been handed to her. Damn straight she was going to keep it.

"Thanks for this," she said cheerfully, before tucking it into a belt loop. The single hand she left on the hilt made it clear: trying to take it back would be a poor decision. "But I'll save it for later."

Pax approached the Captain slowly, a considering tilt to her head. For once, her eyes looked as predatory as her body, but after a quick look over the other woman, her ever-present look of insolence was back.

"Sit tight, Cap. This might take a while," she said, voice surprisingly quiet. Pax reached out with all four hands, but she didn't swing—instead, she pressed her fists slowly and precisely to Aksel's skin, the pressure growing and growing. A push like this from a Trakqi was enough to put a bruise on any Villianian, and Pax knew it. The slow, methodical bruising was almost worse than just going at her with a few punches. However, she picked her targets with care as she pulled her hands away and pressed them to another four patches of skin—these bruises wouldn't stiffen up any vital muscles to hinder the Captain if things went south, while still looking random enough to satisfy a casual glance.

If things did go south, any disadvantage could be deadly.

Goddamn, she was not looking forward to going back to Nomad.
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