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Fennec would like to state for the record, if anyone happens to be taking notes, that assassination is much easier and significantly less annoying to do than theft.
Stealing shit makes shit so much more complicated, especially if it’s a physical object. You have to find a way to get in close to the thing, and then somehow exfil with it too—usually from a space that has been designed specifically to prevent you from doing so. Assassination is easy. Helmet footage is proof enough for most clients, and the chaos and confusion that tends to happen when someone is suddenly shot in public provides plenty of cover to ship away.
The Guild also dislikes double-booking pucks if they can help it—too messy. That’s not to say that Fennec has never had competition for a mark but it’s rarely been that much of a problem.
Figures that it would be one now.
There have been…rumors, that the third prince of some barely relevant Mid-Rim system has his hands on a real physical copy of Jaster Mereel’s codex. He’s supposed to be some big history nut and with his parent’s no-doubt sizeable fortune, Fennec figures that it would track well enough. Boba had been hesitant to reveal the entirety of his true identity by asking or starting an unnecessary conflict trying to force the issue, but—
Well, the anniversary of Boba’s reign as Daimyo is coming up, and Fennec still needs a gift. He’ll be so annoyed if she gets him something so genuinely sentimental, too.
Infil goes smoothly enough; the royal family’s residence is as technologically advanced as could be expected, but the system as a whole seems to be sleepy enough to be considered boring and most of the security they do have is mostly focused on protecting the family. Fennec only has to elude two guard patrols on her way down to the sublevel where their climate-controlled storage seems to be, and breaking into the prince’s personal vault proves to be difficult but hardly impossible.
The kid’s even been kind enough to meticulously organize the place for her, making it nice and easy to locate what she’s looking for. How sweet.
The codex is tucked away in a transparisteel case towards the back of the room, with a bronze description plate that is so cheesily written that Fennec can’t resist the urge to snap a quick holo for Boba before she sets to work liberating his grandfather’s life’s work.
Little gods, Boba had said the man was a devoted historian and ‘student of ethics’, he hadn’t said anything about him being a lunatic. Fennec’s not actually sure she’s ever seen a book that thick.
She already mourns the way her back is going to feel tomorrow. Boba had better appreciate the damn gift.
Fennec’s just gotten finished deactivating the security on the case when she hears the low hiss of the pneumatic door and almost silent footfalls of well-trained feet on the duracrete floor that signal that she isn’t the only one here with the intent to steal something from this vault tonight.
Shit.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you take that.”
The edge of Fennec’s lip quirks upward. “I suppose you think you have more right to it.”
Bo-Katan smirks, in that haughty way of hers that Fennec suspects betrays her true frustration. “I am Mandalorian.”
“I have better things to do than trying to understand messy Mandalorian politics,” Fennec drawls, “but I’m pretty sure I know someone with more claim on this than you.”
Bo-Katan scoffs. “The clone? He’s not—”
“Well now I’m definitely not going to let you have it.” Fennec settles into a more stable stance and brings her hands up. For once, she thinks she’d rather not leave a body behind, so hand-to-hand it is. “Best two out of three?”
The two of them seem to be pretty evenly matched at hand-to-hand, all things considered. The redhead’s armor gives her an obvious edge, but Fennec doesn’t let herself become complacent at close-range combat and a part of that since she’d started working with Boba has been training with him in his armor specifically. It’s also pretty clear that—for as much of a skilled fighter as Bo-Katan is—she’s used to fighting alongside other people rather than on her own, and she keeps leaving Fennec openings.
It turns mostly into blocking and deflecting as they dance through the aisles of art pieces and artifacts, moving at speeds that turn the whole thing into a blur. Strike, deflect, strike again, block. Fennec manages to catch the Mandalorian pretty good in the nose and is smart enough to take a couple steps back before the other woman stops seeing stars, taking the opportunity to catch a breath as Bo-Katan brings a hand up to her face to check for blood and snarls when it comes away red.
Then they’re off again.
Fennec kicks out at Bo-Katan’s knee. Bo-Katan gives a quick touch to her jetpack and tries to return the favor by kicking her in the face. There’s still blood dripping from Bo-Katan’s nose. She’s going to have a hell of a time washing it out of her flightsuit later.
Bo-Katan’s lip keeps curling further and further, frustrated that the fight hasn’t ended yet. Fennec grins to agitate her further and winds up taking a fist to one of her cheekbones for her trouble—mostly glancing, but she does feel the skin split a little.
Bo-Katan grins at having gotten blood as though her own teeth aren’t red. Fennec kicks her right in the solar plexus and sends her flying backwards. The Mandalorian connects with one of the displays with the telltale little oomph that comes with having the wind knocked out of you, and they both wince slightly at the sound of cracking transparisteel.
And then alarms start blaring.
The vault, it turns out, has been designed specifically to lock everything in if the security system is tripped. Entirely smooth durasteel walls lower around the entire vault, essentially creating an inescapable box. Even with the Mandalorian’s jetpack, Fennec can’t see any weak points in the ceiling. The air vents are a series of very narrow holes she’s not sure they could even get a hand through.
“Please be patient,” a robotic voice comes through a hidden intercom. “The prince will be here to address you in the morning.”
“You’re just going to leave us in here?!” Bo-Katan demands, furious. She’s already pacing like a caged animal. Fennec decides to take a seat and lean back against the wall instead.
“Please be patient,” the voice repeats. “The prince will be here to address you in the morning.”
“We could always start breaking shit,” Fennec points out, figuring that might be the best bargaining chip they have right now.
“That would be ill-advised,” the voice says. “I have the ability to pull all of the air out of the vault in four-point-three-six seconds.”
Well, shit.
“You’re just wasting your energy, Kryze.”
Bo-Katan barely pauses in her efforts to escape to glare at Fennec, but she does find a spare second to do so apparently in between feeling around the durasteel wall closest to them for seams that don’t exist. “And you would rather just sit there and wait for them to get here and decide what to do with us?”
Fennec raises an eyebrow at the other woman, resting her arms across her knees. “If they were just planning to kill us, they would’ve suffocated us already,” she points out. “Our best shot at getting out of here is going to be when they lift the lockdown to deal with us. I would rather not already be exhausted when that happens.”
“We don’t know that,” the Mandalorian argues. “The prince might just want to watch us die in person.”
Fennec snorts. “Are you kidding? We’re talking about a nineteen-year-old kid whose idea of fun is collecting dusty old artifacts.”
Bo-Katan cuts her a bitchy little side-eye but otherwise doesn’t reply, likely recognizing that Fennec’s right but unwilling to say as much. After another few moments of fruitless searching the redhead gives a frustrated huff and drops down on the ground a couple feet away, leaning her head back against the wall and shutting her eyes. Fennec watches her for a few moments and then smirks.
“You know, we’re going to be stuck here for at least a few hours.”
Bo-Katan cracks open one irritated eye to glance over at Fennec, raising a severe red brow. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Obviously not.” Fennec tilts her head, studying the other woman consideringly. “But I can think of a few ways to pass the time that might.”
Both blue eyes are open now, glaring at the assassin indignantly. “Are you trying to suggest that we should sleep together?”
“Well, I don’t suppose you brought a book with you.”
The Mandalorian’s gaze tightens. “So the first thing you think of is sex?”
“Well, it beats sitting here staring at each other.”
“I don’t know about you,” Bo-Katan sniffs, pointedly looking away as she starts divesting herself of her gear, “but I have kit to maintain.”
Fennec scoffs. “My gear stays maintained,” she drawls, maybe a little patronizing. “And someone that claims weapons as a religion should know that overcleaning can damage them just as much as neglect.” Fennec watches the other woman grind her teeth in irritation but ultimately set her shit down, and fights the urge to grin wider.
“It won’t mean anything,” the redhead bites out. “Just sex, nothing more.”
Fennec snorts, fingers already working at the closures of her bracers. “No shit, Kryze.”
Kryze seems to think she’s going to be in charge here. It’s cute, Fennec considers amusedly. She’s happy enough to let the redhead lead the kisses, at least, for now—Fennec has more important goals in mind.
Bo-Katan’s mouth is hot and wet and tastes like blood, still, and the movement of her tongue against Fennec’s feels distinctly less confident than the hands on her hips. She’s done this before, Fennec’s sure, but she wonders how often the other woman’s actually been kissed while it was happening. Either way, it seems to keep her thoroughly distracted—a fact that Fennec intends to take full advantage of.
She slides a hand down the front of the other woman’s torso while their tongues twist together, glad suddenly that the Mandalorian had chosen to remove her own armor before they even really got started and that the tac clothes underneath seem to consist of two different pieces. Fennec toys with the other woman's waistband for a moment before sliding her hand beneath it and grins against her mouth at the first touch of her fingertips to coarse, damp curls.
“Don't tease,” the Mandalorian growls, the greater effect lost for how breathy she's gone already.
“Been a while?” Fennec teases. She nips at the other woman's lower lip before she can respond. “You'll take what I give you, princess.” Bo-Katan’s eyes narrow, and Fennec decides that it seems like a good time to slip the first finger in. Somewhat predictably, the redhead gasps, and Fennec withdraws from her mouth to start nipping at her throat. “I'm going to get you off with my fingers,” she informs the other woman, matter-of-fact, “and then I'm going to sit on that pretty face. If you do a good job, I might even get you off again. How does that sound?” The only response Fennec gets is a broken moan, and she grins against the tender skin of the Mandalorian’s throat before adding a second finger and crooking them to make her gasp again. “Good.”
“You know, I think I like you better like this,” Fennec muses, teasing. She grinds down against the slick, warm tongue sliding between her folds and moans quietly, luxuriating in the sensation. It never gets old.
Bo-Katan grunts her annoyance but is unable to do much more than that, not with her mouth occupied and the woman having to be mindful of not putting too much pressure on her injured nose—or, rather, trying not to let Fennec. Fennec ‘helps’ by leaning forward and down over the woman’s legs and angling her hips up. It’s the best angle for her clit, after all.
It also positions her perfectly to tease the other woman relentlessly; running calloused palms up and down her thighs, tonguing at her hipbones, blowing small puffs of air across her pretty cunt to make her shiver. Reminding ehr what’s in store if she behaves herself and does a good job eating Fennec out. “Mmm, there you go. It’s harder to get yourself in trouble with your mouth full, isn’t it?” Teeth scrape ever-so-lightly at one of Fennec’s labia in retaliation, so the assassin slaps the other woman’s pussy with the tips of her fingers. She enjoys a little teeth, but Bo-Katan hasn’t earned that privilege yet and she won’t by being a brat.
A stuttering whine escapes the redhead at the light impact, and so Fennec grins and does it again.
“Behave. No teeth, or you won’t get to come again.” Bo-Katan huffs, but then she starts focusing her attention on Fennec’s clit. Fennec takes it as an acquiescence.
Kryze is pretty good at this, ultimately, but Fennec decides to take control back as she starts nearing the end anyway, riding the other woman’s mouth and slipping three fingers inside her. The redhead’s so wet still from her first orgasm that they go easy, and Fennec immediately starts pumping them in and out with enough speed and accuracy to make Bo-Katan buck and whine.
“There we go.” Fennec drops down a little more of her weight and moans, tilting her head back. “Just like that. I’m going to come on your face, princess, and you’re going to come when I do.” Fennec focuses her attention on the other woman’s sweet spot, grinding her fingers against it hard until Bo-Katan’s thighs are trembling just as badly as her own.
Then she ducks down to lick across the other woman’s clit, and they both come.
The prince that eventually comes to question them looks even less intimidating than Fennec had initially expected, which is saying something. The guards flanking him on either side only manage to make him look that much slighter.
Bo-Katan is on her feet first, the second the durasteel lifts, and she starts striding towards the transparisteel with purpose. Fennec hangs back, waiting to see how this plays out. “I am Bo-Katan Kryze—”
“I know who you are,” the prince says. His eyes flicker over to Fennec. “Both of you.”
“Then you know that if you do not release us, you will have much bigger problems.”
Fennec will give the man this: he is not cowed. The prince snorts softly, one brow going up. “Indeed. I suppose I should just be grateful that you opted to try to steal what you wanted rather than taking it by force, hm?” He tilts his head. “Now, I know why you want the codex. My question is, why does Mx. Shand?”
Fennec studies the man intently for a moment before ultimately deciding to go with the truth—or at least the bare bones of it. It can’t hurt. “I’ve got a friend with a familial interest in it.”
The prince…perks up, standing up a little straighter. Fennec blinks. “You’re here to retrieve it for Boba Fett, aren’t you?” Fennec says nothing, her expression carefully blank, and the prince waves a hand. “Oh, well, of course you can’t tell me anything. Of course he can have it,” he continues on, surprising them both. “I have already created a digitized copy for myself, and the real thing belongs in the hands of the author’s family. I wish only that you had simply asked.”
Fennec rolls her head over to grin at her fuming temporary companion, smirking a little. “Better luck next time, Kryze.”
Bo-Katan doesn’t tell the other woman that she wasn’t planning to destroy the book.
It’s none of her business.
And the truth is…she isn’t sure why she wanted the stars-damned thing anyway.