Match, point... game

Chapter eleven:
Drifters

Riddick strode from the ships haul, his hands in his pockets and trying his hardest to blend into the crowd at the port as well as possible for his height and appearance. George walked a few steps behind him, her hands by her side and having put her hair up in a high ponytail, wearing a long sleeved pale green fatigue shirt with a pair of black cargos and new boots stolen from the dead merc who had just happened to be her size in just about everything. The shirt was just a little big. They were now stationed in a large space station hovering just over a large water planet occupied by some renegade elementals.

It was an all right station. It was as all others were, really, dingy, cramped, and filled with the smell of sex, drugs, booze, and gun powder. A real nice place to raise a family in. It was also this kind of place that Riddick did all of his info gathering if he needed to, and it would seem lately that he would need to. He had to know if it had been leaked already that he had escaped from the prison on Brigitus and just who was now after him; and there was the little problem with figuring out just who was behind him and what she had been sent to the Slam for. Surely for murder, he could tell that already, but for what kind? Was she a gun for hire? Could she be trusted at all? Should he just kill her now and launch her body into space? If only her body wasn’t so damn warm and her personality so damn alluring to him he would have done it a long time ago.

Almost all stations were run and funded by the same first party. The alliance provided the stations with money and parts to stay afloat and police to patrol their corridors, assuming that the floating rat nests would be orderly and calm like the inner sanctum of planets and systems that made up the Council. However, the cops were corrupt and hardly any better than the criminals and mercs that docked at the ports and there was so much illegal activity that went on within the space stations hauls that it was almost dizzying in some respects. So much to do, like getting to a brothel, getting some haze, buy a few illegal guns, kill a few people, and then stock up and head out. It was almost like the Ihram system only on a much smaller scale, meaning it was lawless and filthy. Riddick, having just come out of the damn place, was sorely reminded of the prison they had busted out of just a few days before hand. Rust was on all of the unimportant parts, like railing, grips, and steel boxes, and there were women walking around in short skirts, fish net, and hardly there tops, ushering to the men that were coming off of merc or merchant ships, trying to make their buck for the night.

He could hear George behind him let out a clicking noise of disdain when they passed one of the women, entering into the main halls of the station. Her scent changed drastically when they were now within the darker parts of the station, into the area where they had to be very careful about how they went about things; it was sharper, crisper, darker. Just as he was glancing down the curved corridors that were littered with other people, all of whom were either smoking some suspiciously colored smoking joints or passed out on the floor and a bottle in their hands, one of the prostitutes came into his view.

She was a leggy creature with a thin waist and some of the largest, synthetic breasts he had ever seen. Long blond hair plumed down her shoulders and rested on the hills elegantly while her overly painted face and bright sapphire blue eyes stared at him with a calculating stare. He could tell he was being sized up, taken for how much he was worth, and then appraised like a piece of meat. Wearing nothing more than a very short piece of fabric trying in vain to pass as a skirt, red heels, tight little red leather corset, and had her thong straps sticking up from under the pathetic little bottom, she looked all the world like the streetwalker she was. The glimmer in her eyes told him that he had been deemed worthy and wealthy enough.

Her teeth exposed in a bright, almost charming smile, though there was a wicked and tired gleam to her eyes. “Hello there, handsome. You look like you could use some company,” she purred at him in a husky deep voice that was surprisingly sexy. If Riddick had been the type he would have maybe considered her offer. But as it stood he was on business. He did, however, notice the sudden flare in offense and ire coming from the red head woman behind him.

George took a step passed him and leaned onto his arm heavily, almost possessively, while her snarling smile bared her fangs in a menacing and territorial way. “He’s got company, darling,” she said in a fake southern accent, her voice dripping with venom.

The prostitute suddenly glared at George as if she were the scum of the earth. The two glared each other down, slaughterer and whore, and Riddick found himself amused at the show of dominance and possessiveness coming from the fellow convict. Blond flipped over a delicate shoulder and the woman stated with a simpering grin, “Oh, but I meant pleasurable company… not that of a grease monkey woman that looks like she needs to shave her chin because she looks like a man.”

Riddick flared his nostrils at the spike this sent into the air from George. He could sense anger, pure, murderous, dangerous fury, as well as hurt pride, and a mixture of something else that he wasn’t expecting. Apparently the little spit fire was getting off telling some other woman to go fuck herself.

George pushed off of Riddick and came to stand before the woman, her hands on her hips and any and all smirks or grins gone from her face. There was the mask only of someone serious, ready, and willing, to end the woman before her, to take her life in a series of stabs and then let her just fade away. The lights flickered down onto the sea of rusted crimson that consisted of George’s hair and the way that her toned arms and tanned skin shimmered with sweat from the heat of this place made the male lick his lips absentmindedly. There was a thick feeling to the air, heavy with bloodlust and the square down of a whore wanting money and a primal, feral cat woman protecting her territory for however long she had it. Riddick caught the glare of her daggers on her hips and could hear the thoughts going through her head of just slitting the leggy woman’s throat.

“He’s got all the company he needs, sweety. Trust me, you can’t handle him,” George came unnervingly close to the woman that was now staring at her in confusion, blue eyes wide. “He’d snap you like a twig. You’re nothing compared to me… I’ve killed more people than you can count, what’s one whore on one station trying to get my piece of ass gonna matter?” she whispered haltingly. Within a second her dagger was drawn and the blade pressing in a silent warning to the woman’s revealed stomach.

“I’d take her serious. Red isn’t a sane person,” he breathed from behind George. The woman glanced at him in fear, her chest heaving with the sudden revelation that she was very close to death. Riddick merely nodded his agreement to her inner thoughts before putting his hands into his pockets nonchalantly.

The blond gasped and glanced down with a quivering, red painted lip before turning and running away as fast as she could in her four inch high heels. When the clacking ceased and George’s heart sped down to a normal level, her scent returning to something between darkness and irk Riddick came behind her with a swell in his chest. “Didn’t know you liked me that much, Red…”

George scoffed and swung her dagger around. He caught it with the side of his arm and grabbed her wrist before the blade could make contact though that didn’t change the fact that her brown eyes were narrowed and focused on his hard through his blacked out goggles. Her face was still and her entire body rigid. The little pissing contest over she growled low and harsh, “while I’m fucking you, baldy, no one else is allowed to. I don’t wanna catch some disease from some skank that gave you head or something,” she snarled.

Riddick chuckled slightly but let her go. George drew back the gleaming blade before spinning it and putting it back in its holster, glaring sidelong at him then down the corridor. “Thought you had the shots,” he observed cockily.

She scoffed again before turning away from him, crossing her arms over her chest and surveying the other prostitutes that were all staring at her with wide and fearful eyes. No one would be going after him again, he realized, at least not one that was sane. He supposed he should thank George for it since he was here after one thing and one thing only. Real shiv’s, real food, supplies, a few repairs to the ship that were just shielding, and then getting off of this station with the information that he needed and the cryo meds that were required. Chasing cat house skirts would just get him in trouble and waste time. Plus, why pay for it when he could get it for free… and he at least knew with Georgie girl that she knew what she was doing and could get him off better than any whore on this damn floating heap of dung.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They had separated to do their business in different areas. It would be more efficient that way and also less conspicuous. Not to mention both of them were tired of seeing only the others face after four days of being in a ship with only the other for company, so this was as good a time as any to get away from the opposite. The bar was where she had chosen to go, where most of the low lives of this little area would come and gossip, drink themselves into a truthful stupor, and then be gullied into following anyone anywhere with the promise of a free suck or two. It was her kind of place, where she did her best work. Being a female did have its advantages sometimes and hindrances others, but this time, oh this time it was a definite edge over her counterpart.

Smoke filtered through the air in a hazy, choking cloud, hanging over everything in its wake. The smell of spilled, wasted, and stale alcohol perforated through the grey smog and the murmur and drone of constant voices filled her ears incessantly. Cold glass in her fingers told her that she had yet to even touch the drink that had been handed to her, free of charge, from the bar keep. A bar keep that was eyeing her strangely and then kept tugging on his ear in a stupidly obvious way to someone out of her range of sight. Though she always kept everyone on her radar, she had done a headcount the second she walked in and was now listening acutely to all around her. Sweat from the glasses cold contents and the hot, stifling parlor slicked against her pads and brown eyes swept from the stained metal bar to the mirror that hung just behind the back of it, staring down all those that were eyeing the new stranger funny.

George sighed and leaned back, taking a small sip of her drink and instantly feeling the warm sting going down her throat seem to lift her slightly off kilter spirits. The burn was nice and strong and in her weaker days would have made her eyes water, all it managed to do was make her exhale loudly and lick her lips of the remaining substance before taking another long drag, almost draining the small shot glass, before thumping it down and indicating for the fat man behind the metal slab to fill her back up. Her gaze once more flittered around the room and tried to zero in on the best target for her mission here. She agreed with her partner that they needed to find out fast if their escape had been found out and televised systems wide by now. If not then they could stay a few days, if so then they left as soon as the shielding was fixed and were off to the Ihram if they weren’t found out.

Lay low… she told herself with another breathy sigh, listening to the liquid from inside the long, skinny bottle slosh around within the glass before the tender scuffled away. Lay low and your target will come to you. It was how these places worked. The highest ranking scum always came first to sniff out the newest arrivals, to make sure they weren’t rivals that had to be dealt with, to make sure they weren’t dangerous to them. Too bad they didn’t know that she was Georgina Collins… and too bad the sad sap that had pulled up a stool next to her and was sitting unnecessarily close did not know it either. If he had he would have given her a good four mile radius, she liked to think.

“Hey there girlie,” the man started off. George took her sweet time, sipping from her shot, before turning to the grungy man that had chosen to invade her personal space.

Glancing him over from her stool she leaned forwards and started to analyze just how drunk he was. He was of normal height, she had almost forgotten how tall normal people were supposed to be thanks to Riddick, with a curtain of greasy brown hair and dull, dead, black eyes. His skin was sallow and tinged yellow from too much alcohol consumption and she wagered that he was entering into the first stages of cirrhosis. Just another drunkard, and from his bedraggled clothing and the fact that there was an empty gun holder on his hip she would bet around fifty creds that this dude was also a washed up merc. All the better, she thought with a sly sneer.

“What do you want?” George muttered, downing the rest of the drink and signaling for another one. It was in her experience that not only did guys respond better to rejection, or implied rejection, when it came to this kind of shit, but also that they were more likely to speak openly and candidly with someone who was appearing to be getting just as sloshed as them. Too bad she could handle her alcohol thanks to years of doing this same song and dance.

The man gave her a sickening look, his eyes racking up her body in much the same way that all of the guards in the Slam had done. It was only Riddick that had ever gotten away with looking at her like that and only because in the beginning he scared the shit out of her, and still did, but it was that trepidation, the apprehension, that was what made her all the more willing. She didn’t fear much, but he was one of them. When his eyes once again came to her chest through her shirt she rolled her eyes mentally but played ignorant and took another shot, wincing this time at the increased burning that went down her throat.

“How much?” he slurred at her.

George blinked a few times, disbelieving her ears. She turned to him with a scowl, her brown eyes sparkling with offense. But she chose to brush it off, and instead settled into her stool, her stomach still churning and burning. This guy was going to pay for his comment but later, much later, when she got what she needed. “How much for what?” she asked patiently, mentally prepping herself for whatever sick, demented thing this guy was into.

“You know for what. How many creds do I have to pay to get some?” he drawled out. His voice stunk pungently of stale, cheap liquor and when it reached into her nostrils she had no choice but to wrinkle her nose in distaste. It burned the hairs within her nose and made her want to gag from the strength of it. Swatting at the air with an impatient hand she turned her gaze once more to the drunkard next to her, leaning on the bar and pursing her lips in thought. Then, deciding the didn’t want to go down this road today, she smirked and flipped some of her curly red hair from her face.

“I’m not a hooker, guy, so back the hell up. Though, I wouldn’t mind a drinking partner,” she mended the burned bridge fast enough that the guy just stared blearily at her. She could tell that he was in shock that a woman on this station wasn’t for hire for the night and it made her all the more disdainful of this place. She had been to some shity space ports before but this one was quickly taking any and all cake she had ever possessed. When at last his brain caught up to her words he nodded and ordered a beer, a low caliber one that when he popped the cap it smelled more like soap and less like good barely and hops. A merc fallen on hard times were one more merc to worry about. When they got this destitute then they got desperate and unpredictable… she raised her alertness a few more degrees just in case.

“Fine with me,” he slurred and wiped his hand over his mouth before taking a swig from the fat bottle. Some of the putrid liquid dribbled down his chin and onto his already stained red shirt, making it all the more sullied than it was now. George growled low in her throat but ordered another shot, aware that maybe five more was her limit before she started to get drunk off of synthetic vodka made from cloned potatoes. It wasn’t the best shit but it was the closest she was gonna get to top shelf in a dive like this.
George nodded lightly before muttering, “Hey, ya a merc, right?”

The man stopped his guzzling of the drink and glanced over to her with a wary eye, his lower jaw jutting out sharply. He put the bottle back down and wiped his mouth again, the stubble making a harsh, sandpaper like noise that caused the red head woman to shiver with dislike within her mind. “Yea, what of it?” the drunk asked darkly, his black eyes now sparking with distrust.

George sneered to herself. At least he had some wits about him… anyone asking if someone was a merc was either a fellow merc trying to get information from them or a convict trying to cover their tracks. Luckily, George was the latter, and that gave her more room to wiggle around, that and the idiot was so drunk he couldn’t see straight. “Just wondering. Thinking of getting into the business myself, some good money to be had… catching escapees and whatnot. Speaking of, heard of the recent break out from one of the Slam’s?” she asked, setting her bait and waiting to see if the word had indeed leaked out already. If it had then she would have to find Riddick quickly and they would have to get off of this floating scrap of metal and get on their way.

The merc cast her another leery look, his eyes bloodshot. But he let it go evidently and took another swig of his drink, causing more to spill from out of his mouth at his slow swallowing rather than actually hitting his throat. George took her que to down another shot before ordering a beer as well, aware that there was now a pleasant warm glow flowing around her body but not enough to inhibit her abilities. When he had finished his guzzle and was slamming the bottle down with a scrunched face, ordering another, he spluttered with liquid still staining his lips:

“Yeah… think I have. It came out of the Brigitus system the other day, some S.O.S call that… said some maniacs managed to get out of the Slam and kill a good chunk of the guards… Dunno who yet, though, the rumor is,” he stopped and put a hand to his face. Seconds later a large, loud, smelly burp ripped between his large and scarred up fingers.
The merc let out a thankful breath while George wrinkled her nose, holding her nostrils idly and waiting for him to return to his train of thought. “Rumor is… that it’s Richard B. Riddick, the mother load of all convicts. Doubt it’s him though,” the merc muttered.
When his second, or maybe even tenth from how sloshed this guy was, came down onto the metal slab with a clang as did George’s he popped the lid. She stared at him with interest in her gaze, leaning forwards and crossing her arms over the cold surface.
Someone not willing to think that Riddick could break out of a Slam was incredible in her book, the man was a fucking legend for shit’s sake! She eased her question in after a sip of her own drink, watching her partner pop his lid and start to do the same as her.

“Why don’t ya think it’s Riddick? Isn’t he like notorious for breaking out of Slam’s or something? He’s one bad motherfucker,” George tried to hide her humor at the conversation but a small smile was tugging at her lips anyway. Luckily the guy didn’t notice.
The merc waved his hand around, his shoulders steadily slumping forwards and the glaze to his eyes starting to signal his battle with intoxication was losing on his end. “Cause then none of us would be sitting on our asses here. If he had really escaped you can bet that he woulda had fourteen mercenaries on his bald ass already.”

George eyed him suspiciously but took another swig of her own drink. Slyly and without anyone noticing she took out something from within the confines of her black cargo’s, it’s end glittering with the promise of pain and a swift death. Twirling around the syringe she leaned in closer to the merc before looking down at the barkeep, giving him the death glare. The merc smelled worse than he looked, and it had only a little to do with the fact that he was bathed in alcohol and beer. It seemed he hadn’t bathed in days. When he turned to her with the drunken spark of lust at her close proximity she stabbed him hard in the leg with the needle before pushing her lips to his hard to silence the scream that would have erupted even from his inebriated mouth.

His mouth was hard and dry, with cruelly thin lips and a taste that made the woman want to vomit. But she stayed there, pushing his mouth open and thrusting her tongue in to muffle his cries of violation as she pushed the concoction of morphine and cyanide into his system. The guy couldn’t live, no one could know that she was asking about Brigitus especially when the news finally spread that it was Riddick and George that had fled from the Slam on S.8 and that they had gone through this very station. This would save them a few days, maybe even weeks, before news traveled like wildfire. When the man’s lips finally went limp against her she pulled away, tucking the needle back into her baggy pants tucked into worn out combat boots. She watched him thud down onto the bar, letting out a hiss of assuming sleep before she stood and slapped down some creds from the ship that she and Riddick had commandeered.

She slid out of the smoke choked bar like a shade, vanishing from their ranks and into the light of the station without a single word. She left nothing there to even leave a trace of herself, having wiped down the glasses while she was drinking with a clothe hidden in her hand and having taken her final beer with her. The only thing left was to find Riddick and tell him what she had learned.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Riddick glanced around the shop he had entered just over an hour ago. Metal gleamed wickedly on the walls, held up by pegs drilled into the surprisingly well kept up walls. A variety of weapons was present; anything a person could want in way of a blade, from daggers, shivs, all the way up to higher end scythes with double blades. His eye had instantly been drawn over to the shiv’s and the knives, giving them all a once over with his steady stare before starting to pluck them up and weigh them out for deficiencies. Gripping them by the handles, all firm and resistant in his hand for optimal grip, he began to spin them around his hand and in a circle, watching the glittering of the thin blades that curved wickedly and were crying out for a good trial run from the murderer.

“Can I interest you in anything?” Riddick stopped spinning one in particular and turned slowly, gripping the weapon to the side and holding it out with a contemplative grip. He liked this one… The clerk stood behind the counter, watching him with a slightly suspicious stare but that didn’t matter. As long as Riddick ended up buying something he would be pacified into thinking he was jut another customer. Which today he was. He had no intention of spilling blood today unless it was absolutely necessary.

Light poured into the dim shop from outside in the harsh hallways through the beaded curtain, protecting his eyes even through his goggles, and when the soft lighting hit his body he was aware he looked like some kind of hulking, ominous creature of pure power. The clerk, who was weak by nature he could smell it on him, looked away with a small noise and went back to doing whatever he had been when Riddick had come in. Directing his attention back to the shiv he held it out and gave it another once over. It was a simple blade with a leathered handle, the blade went straight out from the hilt and then curved sharply around his knuckles with sharp, cruel spikes at the beginning of the curve. The blade was made to do the most damage for the strike, if the first part of the blade, the smooth and almost demonically thin edge, missed then the sharp spikes would get the flesh that had failed for the first time and take out chunks, opening multiple, jagged holes rather than just one smooth one. A more painful way to die to be sure… but he liked this one. The actual metal was tempered, he could tell just by the small black sheen that was on the dull end around his knuckles, and that was good as well because then the chances of it breaking were far and few between.

Taking the mate to the first one into his grip he lifted them up and glanced from one to the other. Identical to a fault, the only thing to give one another away was where the forger had put his signature on opposite sides of the hilt, and one signature was engraved deeper than the other. The shiv’s were light and heavy in the handle, allowing for perfect balance when he threw them, and the way that they just barely grazed the air over his fist was fantastic, almost like they were made for him. He was enamored and knew that he was going to buy them. Though he had not expected to come across such high grade in such a run down station… it was suspicious that he had.

He moved along and then looked over the shorter daggers, for placing securely within his boot for emergency purposes. He was testing out another blade when the beads that held the shop shielded from the outside world clicked together and a flood of light entered in from the disturbance. Riddick took a small sniff at the air, sensing the scent that was now drifting through the area as the figure that had come in shifted around and scanned the walls. Then the newcomer’s eyes fell onto Riddick’s large back and the killer tensed idly, his lips twisting slightly in amusement. Looks like the shiv’s really would get a test run before he bought them.

Spinning around Riddick let the dagger he was holding fly, watching it spin through the air and make the most beautiful whirling sound of metal cutting through air. The figure merely glared icily at the massive man before moving the side, barely in time for the weapon to whiz by their face and thud into the wall, sticking out with the hilt jiggling around. Riddick was on the newcomer in an instant, drawing the new shiv’s and advancing like a charging bull, his body rushing with the promise of a fight. Brown eyes narrowed sharply at him coming at the figure and they moved slightly again, blocking the first attack with a grunting arm, drawing a fellow glittering dagger. The bald killer had it covered however, he slammed his wrist into the side of the intruders neck, causing them to splutter and stagger before he had them pinned to the wall, his new shiv to the woman’s neck, the pointed spikes dangerously close to the vital blood flows.

“For fuck’s sake, baldy!” George snarled and tried to wrestle his arm away and only succeeded in making him press the weapon on harsher. She stilled and her brown eyes flared at him, indignant annoyance written on her face while her own weapons had been thrown from her fingers and onto the floor.

Her annoyance was replaced abruptly with intrigue as she looked down at the new weapons, her eyes lighting up in the only way that a fighters could do. “Oh, those are nice. New knife thing’s, eh?”

Riddick smirked sardonically at the splayed out woman, his head cocking to the side at her question. Only George could be more interested in the thing he was holding rather than her life was within millimeters and in his mercy. For all she knew he could slice her throat here and now… but there was only a trace amount of fear on her person, as was usual whenever he was around, but this trace was smothered by interest. And also excitement, her mouth had quirked into a sly sneer and he couldn’t help but catch the faint arousal coming from her form and his body responded in kind. A low growl ripped from his chest as he leaned in and brought his mouth closer and closer until if she hadn’t breathed he would have been sure they were touching very lightly. He couldn’t deny that every time he showed his power over the red head that he felt a surge of power through him, dominating such a hell cat, putting her in her place… it was intoxicating.

“Uh, I’m sorry… but, are you going to buy those? If not, I’d like it if you didn’t kill a customer,” the clerk’s shaky and frightened voice ripped through the silent pissing match going on between the two killers. George’s eyes left his goggles, a look of disappointment on her face, and stared down the clerk with a sour glare. Riddick, however, heeded the man and let her go, spinning the shivs and walking them over to the counter with an assured gate. Hearing the dagger he’d thrown ripped from the wall and Georgie’s heavy booted footfalls the weapon was laid down next to the wanted shivs. there was an anticipation in the air beside her, something hanging around her, and when he sniffed at the air again he detected something he had known she would get. Smug arrogance was rolling off of her body in waves and hitting him square in the chest. She’d gotten what they needed. Good girl…

“That’ll be a thousand cred’s, sir,” the teenager murmured, glancing over the two hardened criminals with sweat starting to roll down the side of his neck. He then looked at the red head behind him a little too hard, his dark eyes roving over her body that wasn’t clad in revealing, whorish clothing, and Riddick let out a low, possessive noise.

“Eyes up front, kid,” the convict hissed. Luckily George was walking around and not paying attention, shopping for herself even though she had found perfectly good weapons in the female merc’s belongings. Too distracted that Riddick was being a little too protective of something that was just a hot body to have his way with whenever he wanted. The clerk snapped his attention up to the massive muscle of a man and swallowed hard, smiling nervously as if to say he wasn’t looking at the other murderer. Riddick wondered if this was one of the first women he had ever seen that wasn’t a prostitute. Lord knew that there were far too many on this station, he had been propositioned three times just coming a few hallways.

Slapping down the amount that was needed onto the counter Riddick slid the knives onto the straps on his back and then the third one into his boot. He relished in the sharp presence against his ankle, a constant reminder that he was armed and dangerous, the force to be reckoned with that he truly was. The power a blade held was enormous, could take a life one second or save one the other, could end someone’s existence with a flick of the wrist. They were so much more personal than guns who all you did was pull a trigger… oh shiv’s and knives and daggers were under your control at all times, took skill to handle… you were up close to your victim always, felt their body heat, their breath, their fear and got to see the blood first hand. Though the thrill of a kill had waned over the years it was still there like some kind of sweet, sweet drug that took him away from his existence whenever he did it. Though kids were off limits. He had set down the ground rule long ago. It was one of the reasons why he had worked harder than he should have to save Jack off of that planet and had actually kept his word… if not for the help of a certain blond commander.

George was looking over a tank of small revolvers, her eyebrows knit in concentration. The rounds that were displayed for them were that of a shinning, oddly liquid looking metal, and he could smell her confusion as to what kind they were. He came up behind her quietly and tapped her on the shoulder, making the red head jump and send a bitter glare over her shoulder at him, gripping at her braless chest in surprise. Nodding towards the door and the fact that he had what he had come for he headed out into the corridors awaiting him, through the beaded curtain, pushing it aside with a single arm. He waited outside of the door for a few seconds before the woman followed him out with a grunt, her arms behind her head and glancing up and down the hallway they were in.

“Well?” Riddick asked deeply.

George flicked him off for a second before walking off a few steps. “We’ll talk ‘bout it on the ship, dude. I don’t want fucking ears listening to our shit,” George stated with a shrug. Riddick took his cue to follow, now feeling more deadly and self assured that he had good quality weapons instead of hand made shit ass ones that he had sacrificed the woman’s before him jacket.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Looks like we’re in the green. There’s rumors of a break out from Brigitus but there hasn’t been any real confirmation of who it was. We might want to get out of here as soon as possible as a precaution though,” George finished with a nod to herself in affirmation. They had returned to the ship to talk over their plan on getting her to Ihram and then getting his ass wherever he wanted to go, but that had all depended on the info gathering done here. And from the sounds of it the lights were all in their favor and the Alliance was still oblivious to their escape. Even though there was little chance right now of getting caught there was still the possibility, and it was always nice to take certain cautionary steps when dealing with something of this magnitude. Namely not going to a triple max any time soon. George would never go back…

She watched as Riddick ran the blade of one of his shiv’s over the hills of his head, shaving off what little stubble had formed over the last few days of not shaving. Having caught the slight beginning of color and the fact that his eyebrows were a dark brownish color she figured him to be a brunette… it would have been funny if he was a blond. Oh it would have been hilarious. She winced at the sound of the hairs being cut off almost at the root, watching the thick, noxious liquid he used atop of his head as a shaving cream is scrapped off and then slapped down into a canister of some kind. Why he wasn’t doing this in the bathroom was beyond her. Then again, men were strange, George reminded herself as she leaned against the haul of the ships head, watching the fellow escapee intently for what he was planning in his head. Though she’d spent so much time with him lately she still could not figure out how he worked, and it was driving her insane. What triggered him to do what he did? Was it the mere fact of his mental status? Or was it something akin to her own, a traumatic event that had made human life of any kind expendable? What was Riddick’s story…?

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts she almost didn’t hear him rumble and then start off on what they were going to do.

“We’ll leave immediately then. The shielding is superficial damage, nothing that a few more entries into a planet with moderate atmosphere can’t handle. I got what supplies we needed sent to us while we were gone, everything’s in cargo, so we’re good to go,” he stated simply in that ridiculously rough and gravely voice. George shivered despite herself and watched as he once more started to shave his head, her eyebrows once more coming together in concentration.

“Why do you shave your head?” she blurted out and then mentally slapped herself. She really needed to get a hold of her mouth one day, it kept getting her into trouble.

Riddick however merely looked up at her with his goggles on his knee and his silver eyes showing slight surprise at her question. The ship had been darkened the second they had gotten in, the bald man ordering the ship to lower the lights to fifty percent before removing the blocking out shades. He didn’t change expressions but she could hear the amusement mocking in his voice when he said, “It’s better than having hair. If you’re in a fight and someone pulls your hair it hurts like a bitch, this way I don’t have that weakness. You should give it a try…” he glanced her up and down then resided on her hair line where she was now putting a hand protectively, glaring daggers at him warningly, “you might look good bald, Georgie girl.”

George scoffed at that, picturing herself sans hair and could only gag at the thought. Though she hated her hair with a passion equal only to that of the burning power of a red giant she couldn’t say that she hated it enough to where she would willingly part with the wild, frizzy red curls. No, she would die before she let him near her with one of those things to shave off of her spirals of defiance. “That’s okay, I’m good,” she quipped and leaned further on the wall. She glanced out the windshield at the head and frowned slightly, her eyes darkening. There was something going on, she could feel it through the heaviness that settled whenever they were silent like this. Their relationship was becoming disturbingly like that of two friends, she didn’t fear him anymore and he didn’t seem to hold her in quite the amount of contempt as when they first met. That did not bode well in her experience. Friends were worthless, weaknesses, something she was better without. Acquaintances could be used to get to her, to make her do something she didn’t want to do, to make her give herself in, or worse, to work for the Necro’s.

Now the need to leave was all the more powerful. The last thing she needed was her and Riddick becoming… ‘friends’. With a final flick the last of the goop was gone from Riddick’s head and he was newly bald, smooth and without a single missed spot of bristle atop of the slightly pointy surface.

Riddick stood and without saying a word brushed passed her into the bathroom to rinse off the remains of his job, small clusters of hair still remaining but severed from their growing roots. George watched after him, pursing her lips when she spotted he didn’t turn on the light to go into the room, then again, she supposed he didn’t need to. She had heard from various places that the guy could see in pitch black, that his eyes picked up more on life force energy or the shape of an object rather than the color or actual presence. What had it been like to suddenly go from normal vision to how he saw now? Was it a shock? It must have been… George didn’t know if she could have handled it the way that Riddick obviously had. Then again, his was out of necessity, she had heard how rough Butchers Bay had been and still was, it was worse than any other combined max out there. She had once been on route to there, when she was younger and stupider, but she had killed the mercs and landed in a different system, setting their boat adrift. She’d been lucky, if she had been caught in there she was sure she would have died within a few years. She wouldn’t have been able to escape like he had.

Water rushing caught her ears but now she was deep in thought about her first slam experience. It had been hell and she had only been nineteen at the time she had been sent there. A few months after her break off with her brother she had gotten sloppy in her work, had decided that what was there to lose. A lot. She had lost quite a bit of her humanity while in that place, it was because of that Slam, that horrible dingy place, that she had really turned the bucket and had become something all together different than her family or others from her planet. As far as she was concerned she was no longer from her home, her home didn’t exist… the place where George had been borne truly was on that icy cold death planet out in the now dead Furyan systems. She’d been scared shitless, confused, unable to comprehend how prison life worked. And for the first few weeks she was pushed around and used, hiding in a dark corner while trying desperately to think of a way out, anyway out. Something in her had snapped, shattered, and her brain had set into the mode needed to get her out of there and to survive in there. That of a cold hearted, dead minded individual, one that thought before they acted and whose mind was cruelly sharp; and she had escaped mere days after that had happened.

Imagining the prison walls, all deep red and stained with crimson, she winced at the still fresh memories. Though the current Georgina Collins was more than competent and more than able to handle living life in such a place, now it would actually be a cake walk, the mind set of that scared nineteen year old made her cringe and made her wish that her weakness from the past would be erased completely from her mind. Her old self made her sick. Her head snapped up from its sinking position to glance over to Riddick as he emerged from the bathroom, giving his head a once over with a towel before heading to the front of the controls. If he sensed her mind was off, if he smelled the dark brooding coming off of her, he didn’t mention it and didn’t speak. Instead he just strapped himself into the head’s pilot seat and motioned for her to sit as well in the copilot, that they were leaving and doing it now.

Her thoughts didn’t leave her when she took her spot next to Riddick, nor did they even falter when the docking bay doors opened and her partner turned on the reverse thrusters. Clearing the path out of the station, the lights of the corridor they had pulled into flashing as they reversed out, was something that she was used to. She had grown accustomed to the weight that shifted into her stomach with the sensation of going at the rate they were and then suddenly going from artificial gravity to that of the void of space. It always made her ears ring with the sudden difference in pressure. Space had a feeling all its own and once you were out there, in it, immersed, sometimes it felt better than being on any planet. It made you lightheaded, made your blood seem to pump faster, and there was also the knowledge that should anything, any one single little thing like the navcomm go out, then you were fucked and you would be floating out there forever on end unless rescued by another ship. It was that terror mixed with the beauty of it all that drew her to space, that drew others as well, and in a way Riddick was the exact same thing to George as space.

The station grew smaller and smaller until they were in the backwater lanes heading towards the Ihram system. Ion trails left behind by hundreds of other ships this month greeted them and danced around the ship in shimmering blues, reds, and depending on the ship golds. You could tell the lanes from pure outwards darkness simply by one thing, the trails, and otherwise there was open space to greet you and hope to god that your navcomm worked properly otherwise you were royally fucked. No one but pirates, mercs, and slavers worked out in open blackness out there and they were the last kind of people you wanted to run across. Especially them.

Safely tucked away within the confines of outer space and making their way passed planet after planet of this system she span in her seat and stared out the side window of the head. They had just passed a gas planet easily the size of earth’s Jupiter, keeping well away from its humongous gravitational pull, but the swirling clouds and deep, dark blue made her wonder if there was possibly any life on that rock whatsoever. It occurred to her, obscurely when she was lost in thought such as now, that there was a strong possibility that other forms of intelligent life other than humanoids existed out there. Though why they had yet to make their presence known in the politics of their neighbors was confusing. Maybe they saw humans as foolish, killing each other and hacking away at another planet all to gain their resources. Maybe they thought that there was nothing to be gained from opening communications with the human races and thus did nothing. Or maybe, she was wrong, and there was nothing out there but beasts and strange alien creatures left that could not voice, that were not all knowing. She knew that thought was wrong, to assume something didn’t exist was begging for it to show you it did and in a bad way, but still… George liked to see all angles of an argument.

Riddick put the ship into autopilot, having checked over the navigation system four times and making sure that all the pressure and life support was in order. She could hear his chair turn towards her and feel his silver eyes burn into her and she somewhat knew what was coming. Sometimes the animal of a man across from her could be predictable, five percent of the damn time, but all the others what he would do was a total toss up. Turning her chair back around George pulled a leg up to her chest, waiting for whatever it was he was going to say. When Riddick wanted to talk there would be heaviness to the air that hadn’t been there before as if he was willing her to start off the conversation. But unluckily for him she wasn’t particularly in the mood to talk so she just sat there staring at him, her mouth in a firm and insolent line.

Riddick was the one to cave first which always surprised her. Usually when this shit happened he just let it go and walked away until she was almost dying from boredom.
“Once we’re in cryo then it’ll feel like just a few hours until we get to Ihram. We’re almost at the end, Georgie,” he stated simply.

George glanced him over from the corner of her eye before nodding her agreement. There was a small gnawing settling into her chest from him saying that, that they wouldn’t see each other again once they set down and she was off of the ship. She didn’t want to say that she’d miss him, cause that wasn’t how Georgina Collins the murderer worked, but she knew that some level would indeed mourn the loss of Riddick’s presence. That must be the side of her that also liked the pain because it let her know that she was alive. The red headed woman grunted and ran a hand over the nape of her neck.

Finally, she just stood and tore off her tank top, throwing it to the ground of the head and walking towards the bedroom with a distinctive sway of her hips. When she didn’t know what to do she more often then not relied on something that was tried and true to her personality and wouldn’t affect her as much as this was oddly working up to. She didn’t need to hear Riddick to know that he was stalking after her, the sound of his own shirt hitting the floor all she needed to know that he was wholeheartedly agreeing to her plan of action. With a flick of her wrist her belt was gone and she was walking into the threshold of the shared bedroom, a bedroom that neither would be welcome in after cryo and after their departing.

“Lights off,” Riddick’s growl from right next to her ear caused George to gasp but not start, her skin breaking out into goose bumps. The computer of the ship obliged dutifully, turning the lights out completely and leaving her blind to the world around her. All that was left was hearing, and she knew that did shit good against the man that had left her in the darkness, and touch. Her skin jumped when his fingers came to her bare sides, running up the scared up surface to where her breasts hung heavily and gripped the softness of the flesh there with a firmness she hadn’t felt before. His lips fell onto her neck before his teeth did, biting there hard until she squirmed and swore at him though she bore her skin more to him, her eyes shutting while a slight moan escaped her mouth.

She was spun around, that much she knew from the sensation, and soon was being backed up towards where she had spotted the bed before the ship went dark. His mouth claimed hers passionately, his mouth forcing hers open without a second thought and started their usual war of tongues. When George bit onto Riddick’s lower lip he growled throatily at her before tumbling the female onto the barely soft cushion of the mattress, her thin body making a fabulous sounding thud. He was on top of her in a second, never letting her catch her breath, as his mouth once more was atop of hers and his hand was skimming down her stomach. Calluses caught on scars and she gasped, arching her back into him and ripping at the skin on his arms. Her brown eyes opened and stared up at him where she knew him to be but could only see the sharp shine of silver eyes in the nonexistent light. His mouth ran down her neck after leaving her mouth red and utterly conquered, biting and licking his way down to between her breasts while his hand dipped under the overly large cargo’s and gripped onto her crotch demandingly.

George’s hips arched and shifted, a soft hiss leaving her lips when a large finger inserted itself into her, passing into the increasingly dampening folds with ease. Mouth locking onto a nipple and his teeth pulling at the ridge until it stung and shivered in pleasure and hand rubbing up and down under the protection of the new cargo’s, she wondered just how much she would miss this…