RPlog:Many Thoughts, Little Words.

As hot as the days are on Tatooine, the nights are just as cold. Relishing the coldness, a Nagai female walks up the street heading towards a club. Her silvered eyes look over the places that she doesn't walk, while her ears listen to the night winds and the conversations of those in the open and shadows. Her hood is up, keeping her head and face from sight, but the white is eerie in the darkness as she moves, bathed in the moons' lights. Her hands are hidden under the folds of the cloak, as she makes her way.

Along the woman's path not far up ahead stands a man in desert robes, hood up high and his arms clasped in front of him, revealing little of the man beneath. He stands on the street watching people go by, but impassively to almost all. On this cool evening, however, he stands and watches the woman in white as she walks the street. It might almost appear that she is the female form to his on this evening, the moonlight giving and eerie glow to it all. For now he stands there, watching... perhaps a bit too much at the woman's passing.

Used to the stares from those of the male persuasion, Ash coolly walks past him. Her hands remain under the cloak, and hidden eyes, glint as she studies, not just the one figure with the clasped arms, but also the others on the street. She is definitely alert on this night. Some of the night folk seem to know her or of her and move out of her way. Her footfalls are silent, and barely a mark upon the sands that cover the walkways is left to mark her passage.

Watching as Ash passes, still intent on figuring out who this apparition is before his eyes. Without his goggle glasses on, one might be able to catch a glimpse of his silver eyes as they pass by him. As his head turns as she passes the rest of his body moves from the slight lean of where he was standing into something more erect, gliding himself across the sand to fall in step a short distance behind the woman. He doesn't conceal that he is following her, but rather welcomes it as he judges her reactions. Cooler and calmer than most, this woman is definitely not the same sort of rabble that inhabits the desert. With that may come answers to questions he sought as of late.

She notes the silver flash as the light plays upon the angles as she travels. Her own natural colour, the alabaster of her flesh is also revealed, perhaps. There is no hesitance as he begins to follow her, indeed she continues on her merry little way. Her head slightly lowers as she passes by a couple of people, perhaps in greeting? For once they're passed her head is up and she turns a corner with a lazy graceful ease, the white cloak opens slightly with her movement. Then the whisper of the cloak is gone.

The glances, the small subtle movements of her head, the way she walks, it's all analyzed and studied with an assassin's glare. Mithral isn't taking any chances on stalking her, aware that he has exposed himself and is in the open. However, there isn't a confrontation as of yet, and perhaps it is that he just wants to talk to her? Whatever the case may be it is seen only as him following her. There's a slight glance to those on the street that she may have connections with, but aren't paid much attention as he's been standing nearby for a very long time watching everyone. He turns the corner casually after her, hearing moments later the silence of her passing.

The street which she chooses to turn down is intercepted by several small alleyways and smaller thorough fares than the main street which both were traveling. Herself a hunter, never appreciating being followed, well simply to say that the woman in white had decided to slip down another street, one of several in easy dashing distant perhaps. She is there somewhere, her footfalls and the possible whoosh of the cloak obscured by several people walking at this hour, enjoying the refreshing coolness. Obscured in shadows, her hands now resting comfortably on weapons, she chooses to remain silent and observant, desiring to view this... male's intent. The gait of his walk, the setting of his shoulders and head, observed and calculated calmly. There's a smile that twists itself upon Ash's lips.

Passing around the corner and noting a few others that were out in the evening air, Mithral pauses for a moment, having lost the target he was tracking as the alleyways and other smaller side areas provided much room for cover. He was well aware he could be playing into her hands, but there was no reason to give her the upper hand due to carelessness. Glancing about for a moment his vision in the night enhanced due to the nature of his being, he searches for clues as to where she went. He drops to one knee, his arms still folded across each other as he pauses to sample the night air for sounds and clues to where she is. Moments later his vision adjusts on the flowing white cloak that floats on the air slightly into the alley. There wasn't much to go on but she was there all the same. Smiling under the hood to himself he stands again, this time he makes for where she stands. His progress is slow as he approaches, waiting to see what move she may make.

Intrigued by this one's manner, Ash smirks again. Direct, and slow he approaches her when many would try and play blind. Making a mental note to not wear her favourite outfit for this bloody planet at nighttimes, Ash watches his hands and his movement, then that which is behind him, to ensure he is a solitary hunter. "Stop there," her voice holds the tone of command well, like one used to having her words followed. "Hands in plain sight." She says after a couple of seconds, while it would be meaningless if he had vanbracers that at a twitch of his wrist deliver a small blaster or knife to his hand, but it does serve to keep his hands from other weapons. Course, if he chooses to not comply with both, well, she'll shoot first, and ask the questions later. And if he does comply, well, then it might be fun.

Taking one more step right after she says to stop, Mithral pushes the limit slightly. He's interested in how she reacts further, noting as well the distance he has to close upon her should the situation require it. At her request his arms move slowly and methodically as if he were pulling two swords from his sleeves. His forearms move parallel to the ground as they unfold, and eventually two black gloved hands are seen. However, they stop while they are still overlapping, fingers intertwining. Indeed, he was pushing the limits, but her reaction so far was far from the weak rabble of these parts that would have run by now. He's watching her a bit closer now, observing what sort of weaponry she has on her... perhaps she was one of those blaster folks that preferred a sloppy mess over the clean cut of a knife? Every action he makes further is methodical, but for now he simply stands there, her instructions having been complied with as she asked - quite literally.

Noting that he's a stubborn bugger, Ash smirks again, moving to better situate herself should she need to pull something down and actually bolt. Her hands still remain hidden, for now. "Hands, separate, palms up," she intones, not annoyed, but testing him to see if he will comply without her showing force of arms. Measuring the distance, between he and she, she does the math in her head should she need to move. The situation is workable. As the wind picks up a little, the cloak moves slightly, revealing the lower portion of a scabbard on her right side, the breeze tugs at her hood, but it still remains in place. Not presently caring who he is, she does have a couple of direct questions. "You are stalking me. Explain," once again a command, her voice though is akin to dark velvet.

Smiling inwardly at the woman's brashness, Mithral moves very slowly to comply... and even at that he takes several seconds to do so, making sure he takes his time and push the limit as to what she might accept; not to mention to see what he could get away with. His own cloak ruffles in the wind as he begins to move, his hands turning palms up but still interlaced. Once they are facing up he slowly draws his forearms parallel to the ground to slowly separate them. He only moves them a few inches before stopping, the fingers just barely apart from touching. There is no further movement. He takes in the scabbard at her side and notes that she more than likely has skill with it, an interesting challenge should the situation digress. He waits almost a minute before answering, his robes fluttering in the wind as he waits. In a deep gruff voice he responds as quiet as the wind. "Your view is based on your perspective." The answer is elusive, but a sufficient answer to cover the basic premise of her question. Again, he surveys her, taking not of how she may respond further and realizing that she has assessed the ways out of here already. Then again, he didn't mean to stop her either.

She snorts at his verbal parry, watching him keenly with her eyes. "You sought out my tracks and began to approach. For what purpose?" She puts out her counter. At her question, spoken aloud, the already clearing street becomes nearly abandoned in the moonlight. Seems the natives do not want to get stuck in a crossfire. Reframing from crossing her hands in her typical stance of strength, she keeps her hands resting on the unseen pommel and other weapon underneath.

Still, Mithral has not shown his face through all this, and remains stoic. He merely replies in that same gruff voice, almost unheard, "To find what is lost, uncover what is hidden, and learn what is unknown." It's again very cryptic, but Mithral was not here to directly answer the question right now. He wanted to know more of what she was doing here and the possible connections with the explosions and other happenings on the planet as of late. Though to let her know that was his purpose would be a failure on his part. He still watches her hands, one of them seemingly resting on a weapon of choice for her. How quaint.

She shakes her head. "You waste my time." She informs him, backing up with sure footing. A hand moves to her back, but does not pull out that which she has. How quaint indeed, for now she holds one of her prized weapons in an unseen hand. He intrigues her, but she has only so much time for cryptic answers. There are things in motions that she needs to view, and he, well, he might be a fun distraction, but she has better things to do. "Do not follow me," is her final command as she moves deeper into the shadows of the alley that she chooses. Territory familiarity is her advantage, though she severely doubts that one who would willingly be hunting her, knowing what she is capable of, would allow himself to be drawn into a region where he is not familiar with the lay.

Knowing now the limit of her patience and what she was willing to accept, Mithral chuckles, the low rumble audible from under his hooded cloak. His hands interlace quickly and cross within his cloak once more, the movement fluid and rapid. Her last command is something of a joke, in his book. Whereas she probably thought this was her territory, he had been exploring the streets of Tatooine over the last year, learning all of its ins and outs. He's just chosen to remain, in the background if you will. However, she was still in front of him, and no doubt her last reaching was for a weapon. It doesn't bother him; instead he watches her inch away, his vision acute and probably better in many ways in the darkness. Her bright cloak didn't help her any as well. Seems that she might have a bounty on her head... maybe?

Ah... now there's the response she suspected. She grins, silvered eyes lead to one of two things, a helmet upon his head, or the fact that he's some sort of near human or has implants. Well, she'll learn fast. She spins about, grabbing the crates that she noted and pulls them down with her free hand. First step, and she's throwing the grenade. Second step, she's throwing on her glasses, the ones she wears to block out the twin suns' light from her light sensitive eyes. Third step, she's leaping over some debris as she grabs her hood and pulls it farther down. Fourth step is the explosion of light and sound as the flash bang goes off. And she's running, relying more on memory at present than on actual sight, as her hood is still down. Course the brightness of the flash will attract the local toughs to scavenge. She spins about a corner, going off of a map in her mind.

Watching the events that lead up to the throwing of the grenade, he starts for her, knowing that if she was throwing the grenade forward he would put more distance between he and it if he went the way he does. He's diving for the crates that she's toppled, several of which provide him with cover while there are many more that are placed in the way of him and that woman. The flash goes off, but does little to affect his vision as he's facing away from it in the first place. The concussion is loud, but the crates dampen that enough where no serious damage is done to his ears. Collecting himself rapidly he stands and darts over the crates, his hood falling back in the rapid movement. Pursuing he runs in the most likely course she went, relying on his other senses to get a handle on where she might be off to, let alone if she'll likely try to hide in a shadow again.

Pulling off the glasses and slipping them in a pouch on her belt as she bolts, Ash's eyes pick up the movement of what is before her. There's a grin upon her features as she contemplates coolly what to do now. Turning down another corner, the buildings much closer together, her smile broadens. Moving to 'Jackie Chan' her way up, she gets the first two bounces perfectly before the third screws up. She stifles her curse, her mind condemning herself for forgetting that her balance isn't fully reset after that ear injury. And the bang from her grenade doesn't help much either. She tucks herself in, not needing balance to roll with the drop, she spins about to face where the male should be coming however. Her hood had fallen to her shoulders, her hands on a broken crate before her. "Dammit," she hisses, "I just had this cleaned."

Almost to a run but holding back, Mithral is recovering from the blast, a ringing noise in his ears. He's about to pass an alleyway when he hears muttering as if someone had fallen, and decides on the fly that this is where she must have gone. Turning the corner in a not so graceful way, he sees the woman he's been tracking and slows down, getting his bearings and chuckling at the same time. It wasn't everyday that a woman would try do such a reckless thing to get away. And thus, he felt that she was hiding something, though he didn't know why. Stalking her without a reason did have that distinct disadvantage. His arms are now by his side as he walks down the alley now, the black gloves apparent (or not in the light) from the billows of his cloak. He approaches to within a few feet this time, a step away from striking distance.

This was a curious hunter, her eyes easily distinguishing the colours of his clothing as he moves through the moonslight and shadow. Her silver eyes look at his face, seeking perhaps recognition as to who is hunting her. Pushing herself from the crate from which she held her hands upon, she continues to back up slowly, noting that the distance between him and her getting smaller. She doesn't appear too alarmed. "For one not following me," she says lightly, "You do seem to find me often." Contemplating her tricks, she idly wonders what this male is capable of. Too close to shoot, well that leaves a couple of options open to her if he decides to press his luck further. There's the slightest starting of a glare in her eyes, and a little annoyance. She crosses her hands at her waist, quirking an eyebrow as though expecting an answer, but prepared to fight.

The game of limits having been played now, Mithral is satisfied at the point at which it has placed him. He does want to find out more of what she can do, though has already seen much of her handiwork and craftiness. Sly and devious, that would be this woman. As he stares at her, his bald head revealed and face exposed he merely watches her get up. It was time for him to ask the questions as she was out of demands... for the moment. Gruffly and at a more normal voice he says to her (the ringing still in his ears). "Why don't you start by telling me who you are, what your name is. Then you can tell me who you work for and what you're doing here. If you're lucky, I'll let you go without a scratch." There is a bit of a grin on his face, which fades as he talks to a more serious expression.

Ash chuckles at his demands, "Really?" She snorts, and shakes her head, her mental opinion of this male dropping. He was good until he opened his mouth. Why is it always like that? "And by what declaration by what tin god of a sand empire do you make such demands?" Her sarcasm is thick, as she tests him now, loosening up and lining herself up for the next alleyway. Yes, she has several tricks still up her sleeve.

Ahh, there's the sarcasm. There's also the shifting of her body to get ready to run and try something tricky again. Since everyone had cleared out some time before it was empty out here, but other than that there would be people here soon investigating the explosion. Or not. In a quick snap of his arm he bolts forward to grasp her arm. Whether or not he catches it had yet to be seen, however in that instant he gives a sharp reply. "You're not from around here and I've been watching what you've been up to." He doesn't elaborate at the moment as he's making a move to stop her from bolting again.

The Nagai woman notes his slight shifting afore his attack. The knowing glint returns to her eyes, as her feet move to compensate her shifting weight. Her shoulder turns away from his hand at her arm moves in a circular motion to deflect it out and away from her. There's a glint of silver in a ray of moonslight. She pivots slightly and presents herself as a thinner target now, seemingly ready to book it down the next alleyway. Her other hand remains under the cloak for now, the whiteness marred by dust and some debris. Rather than attacking with her hands, she instead kicks out, present the ball and heel of her foot, rather than the toe, to his midriff, more to possibly buy her some breathing room, perhaps.

The quick backlash catches Mithral totally off guard, something he didn't expect of her. Judging her for one to use weapons more than combat, he had guessed wrong. And in this fight, going with actual fighting like this was not going to help. With a groan he reels back from the kick, eyes narrowing and thoughts racing. This was a woman not to be triffeled with, and he was playing with fire. Time to break this out into something more... his level. As he recoils his right hand dives into his cloak to reveal a blade that glints in the moonlight. Poising to attack as he recovers, the internal damage causing him to breathe heavily he looks for an opening and moves back in to strike. This time he wasn't pulling anything or being nice, it was to teach her a lesson and get back his respect. With a precision strike he lashes out under the pain of her previous hit, using every nerve ending and muscle in his body to land it.

This one has a temper; perhaps she hit a source of pride. She marks that on the profile she's been forming of him. Her hidden hand comes into play now as he pulls out his vibro-knife and attacks, she clicks her tongue at him. Both of Ash's hands move to deflect and block his blade, but the force of his determination pushes her twin daggers. No blood, yet, just the protests of muscles not liking the strain that she's putting them under. Finally pushing his blade out, she rotates a shoulder to convince the muscles it isn't that bad. She plants a foot and rotates fast, bringing up her other foot in an axel kick. Her cloak opens beautifully, and a blur of a couple of weapons upon her along with the sheerness of her clothing underneath is momentarily revealed.

Just as his strike hits home, Mithral realizes that she's struck a wound that is going to take much more effort than he has been putting in to this so far. Bracing now for her next attack, her foot slams directly into his armour and is easily cushioned now. It had been a while since he has been in a fight of this calibre... a smile plays across his face. Tossing his blade up and catching it facing down and away from him he launches another strike, this time it has his robes floating about him in the air as he comes at her from above, the blackness of enhanced armour revealed and possibly some other weapons that he may be concealing, much to the shape of a second blade. As he comes down he aims his strike once more upon her, taking every ounce of ability to land it; moreso on the maximum amount of power he can bring to bear while still trying to catch his breath.

She chuckles as she connects solidly with him, and he doesn't grunt. "Is this how you pick up your women?" she inquires, playfully, as he moves onto his next trick. Well gee, seems she didn't exactly learn the first time, but habits are habits, as he moves to come down on her. She gets her foot back, and fast, and dives for the alleyway, as he connects with her hip, her oh so pretty dive get ruined. Muttering in Huttese now, as that dialect is only good for cursing and swearing, she rolls with this oh not so happiness, dropping her blades. "That's it," her voice firmly states. She tosses aside a piece of rubbish from her shoulder as she gets to her feet. Her other hand pulls out of all bloody things a shotgun. Taking aim at his general directions, well, she shoots. The loud bang of the slug thrower is heard, and for now, she cannot remember if she loaded it with live rounds or rock salt. Either way, if it hits, there'll be blood. The mental count of rounds starts in her head.

The leaping lunge proved effective, to some extent. It was her counterattack that deflected most of his strength, or so he thinks as her blow aggravated his already existing wound. Dropping to one knee after the attack, he looks to her breathing heavily still. There's pain alright, but he doesn't show it. As she takes the blow she turns to run, dropping the blades nearby him and pulling a shotgun. His eyes narrow rather than enlarge and he thinks to himself amid the ringing that this woman was full of all sorts of tricks. Her latest move forces him to leap and roll away, her movement affecting her aim at such close range. Rolling out of the dodge onto one knee he stares at her, taking the knife and turning his wrist so it points at her, his other hand coming up and clasped on the hilt of the knife, a power stance. With all of his might he runs and leaps up at her, another savage attack to keep the shotgun at bay from striking him, mindful that he must strike with all his strength this time otherwise he would be in a whole world of hurt.

Cursing softly as he pushes her shotgun out of the way, she keeps a hold of it; one never knows when they'll use it again. She shifts her torso as he brings the dagger to bare, it's blade running along the outside of the corset, it's boning keeping the blade, for now, away from her flesh, but the pressure by which he applies it is enough to bruise her flesh underneath the protection. "Before or after you draw my blood?" she whispers back to him. Bringing her head forward, hoping to get his face before he shifts his head, she slams her's back.

There's the blow to her back that isn't as effective as he thought it would be, and then the counter blow from her. It's quick and effective, hitting home to the side of his face as he moves away. Fortunately for him he's able to grab it with his free hand and push it away to avoid any real damage, but the fact she did it made him grin. She was tough alright and with that he remarks, "Whenever you're ready to stop, my dear." Now face to face again with her shotgun away from a firing position and an arm across her body he moves in to strike once more. He wasn't sure how much more of this was needed, but it reminded him that they were probably both doing this to gain respect for the other. How like warriors to do something like this!

Spun about, her back no longer to the wall and the man managing to knock her shotgun out of his threat range, Ash gives a slight growl, at this dance. It was fun, but she really didn't have the time for it, perhaps her plays of flirting were making it last longer. Focusing back as she see the flash of silver come in at her, she steps back from the strike, but it cuts through her corset and manages to pierce flesh. She doesn't cry out, at the burning pain of the incision. But she does, however, curse as she starts to stumble back, her heeled foot catching on something solid. The corset is further torn as the knife is pulled out of the wound; the force of her weight shifting from standing to falling, has her trying to catch her balance, but the injury to her inner ear won't let her compensate. Instead she falls on her ass, her head thrown back and cracking against some large and metal. Her shotgun is out of her hand, dropped while she tried to regain that which was lost. The clank of the metal whatever resounds solidly, but she's shaking her head, as through trying to clear the cotton balls trying to take over.

The last stab landed harder than he expected, it even managed to pierce her body, something he didn't intend to do but was done anyhow. Mithral's breathing still hasn't subsided, but he does have a moment to try and catch his breath, containing the pain within. Taking his bloodied knife now he throws it into the sand, looking at the woman and the condition she was in. He doesn't really pay attention to his own tattered and torn cloak, rather he moves to where she is to give assistance. No doubt she had fight left in her, but it was never his intent to take her out in such a manner. Kicking her shotgun away so she couldn't play anymore tricks on him he kneels down beside her, pulling some bandage material from within his cloak. Moving nimbly he applies it to her side... whether she would accept the bandage or not had yet to be seen. His eyes look into hers, slightly narrowed as he comments at long last, "Bit reckless with a shotgun..."

Still trying to keep her head working and ignore the ache at the back of her head that sends pretty stars before her eyes, she hears more than sees him approaching and kicking her shotgun away. Recalling his demands, she mutters a curse in Huttese and a hand moves underneath the cloak, but pauses when she focuses an eye on the bandage. "First you draw blood then you patch it up," she snorts at his comment. Closing her eyes, and still fighting with the blackness that wants her attention, she inhales deeply as though to check the rest of her torso before cracking an eye open to watch him. "Strange way to meet someone for a conversation," her voice holds humour in it, "Most wait at a cantina or the night club or another place of eating and drinking. It's a little less risky," there's the sarcasm, her voice gaining strength as she pushes herself to remain conscious.

Still with the bandage in hand Mithral takes his free hand into his cloak again to pull out a bit more in the way of medical supplies as he continues to fix her up. He looks away for a few moments to continue his work that is no doubt painful on her end, but it would stop the bleeding until she could get fixed up. This way would also prevent a scar from forming... should she continue to cooperate. Responding to her remark of him breaking then fixing her he adds, "This should prevent a scar from forming, if you cooperate. Stay here a moment." The last thing Mithral needed was someone to come and find the remains of their fight. Standing and turning for a moment he reclaims his own knife first, wiping the blood and sand off in the folds of his damaged cloak. Then he retrieves her knives, stuffing them all from sight, to finally take the shotgun last and slip it behind his back, the cloak concealing the form of it totally. One might wonder what else he has under the cloak! Turning back to the woman he says, "Until you get better I will hold onto these for safe keeping Miss..." He lets it linger for a bit before adding, "And in my line of work, meeting someone in combat is the best way to know who they are. You're not rabble off the street... and I would guess you're more a mercenary or an assassin than anything else. Care to elaborate?" As he finishes what he says he kneels before her once again, looking into her eyes to see how she was holding up.

For now, her hands remain empty of weapons, for she too has a cloak, and many things secreted as well. She watches him work on her, her jaw setting firm as pressure is applied and pain follows after. When he's done, she rotates her head a bit, cracking her neck and part of her back in the motion. She brings up her leg and rests her hand upon it as he gathers up the weapons. "I will be having what is mine," she speaks determinedly, her tone suggesting another possible fight should he try to argue otherwise. At his words of holding onto them, her silver eyes narrow. Clenching an unseen fist and the sharper pain from the knife wound, she focuses upon to keep the dull ache away. Slowly releasing pressure from her hand, she inhales and returns his gaze easily. She was not some shy guttersnipe. "You followed me," she reminds him, "Proper etiquette dictates, even amongst warriors he or she who initiate contact must first say who they are," she smirks again. So few people ever use proper manners or anything of the like. All in all, she seems to be taking the defeat in combat rather well, the wounds annoying her more than anything, and well, her present situation, she'll get to that when it arrives.

Chuckling openly at the suggestion that she was going to carry her own weapons now, Mithral smiles at her and just shakes his head. Still down on one knee in front of her and breathing a bit heavy, the pain bearable now but not going away he merely says back to her, "Trust me miss, I have no need for your knives and shotgun. I have my own things, and they will be returned to you when you in time. If you're nice, I may even throw in the credits for new clothing... and a drink or two." When she goes on about proper etiquette he laughs some more and then says to her as he extends a hand, "Very well then, the name is Mithral." She didn't ask for more, but he was more than curious still as to who she was and what line of work she was in. Not everyone carried military grade flash bangs and shotguns.

"Trust is something earned," she quips back, the word trust spoken as though she held a different meaning for it than most beings. Listening to the rest of his offer, though, she ponders it over, before nodding in silent acknowledgement of the situation. When his hand is extended, she takes his forearm not his hand, and grasps it firmly, her eyes still on his, "Ash," she says simply. Releasing his hand after the introductions, she smirks at him, "Now, wasn't that easier?" Never mind the fact that fighting revealed a lot about someone, their mannerisms, gait of walk, and bearing often revealed more about a person, for that is self-taught in the vast majority of sentients. Lessons in combat arts were taught, regulated and nearly cookie cutter, depending on the species and the government. But she keeps her opinion on the whole debatable topic to herself.

Staying quiet for what she has to say he inwardly chuckles at her outlook in life. Apparently she has seen enough hard times and other things to bring her this way. And more importantly, she was an old romantic. The way she clasps his hand is rare, not many do that and it signifies to him that she is someone important indeed. There would be more time to catch up, and he was starting to get the impression she was a survivor. Knowing that she still needed medical attention he decided that if names were given to be got, then perhaps information would be as well. "Respect is earned. Trust is given. But enough of that, it's a pleasure to meet you Ash. My line of work is freelance mercenary. I would very much like to learn of yours. And then I'd like to take you to get patched up, as it is not my intent to see you harmed beyond repair." After saying this he offers a chance for her to speak, then stands and extends a hand for her to get up. Inwardly he knew she'd have to get up on her own power; she wouldn't have it any other way.

There's a slight twitch of her lips when he corrects her on the way of respect and trust, but she remains silent on that topic for now. Suspicion upon who he truly is rises, but for now she shoves that quarry aside, until she realises he's desiring an exchange of information. She inwardly chuckles at this ploy. "I hunt," she says simply again. Let him determine the word's meaning. At the offer of aid, however has the young woman raising a brow and her distrust of him open upon her face. This was Tatooine, after all. She regards the hand offered and then the man, her suspicion slowly leaving her features, getting replaced by a neutral mask. She shifts her legs about, so they are more under her than outstretched. Doing something that probably surprises him; she takes his hand as she gets up. Once she's able to put a hand upon the metal thing that she bonked into, she releases his hand. Inhaling, "Where to?" she sets her shoulders as a hand moves to the wound, as though to be sure that there's no extra strain to it.

Allowing her to get her balance and stand once again, Mithral looks about the area to make sure that nothing is left for anyone to find. Brushing off the rest of the sand about him, he makes himself a bit more presentable before stepping over to where she is, staying close if she required someone to balance off of as there has been much trauma as of late. Her response about hunting is probably closer to what he would expect his own response should be... as he wasn't a mercenary but rather an assassin. Though she didn't need to know that, and she was probably one herself. She just didn't expect him to be that tough, he supposed. Those thoughts aside he adds, "There is a clinic nearby that can help us both out. It's only a few blocks away." He points and then says to her with a grin, "After you."

She shakes her head again, damn headaches, always wanting more attention than they warrant. She shakes her cloak carefully, to get rid of as much of the gunk, sand and whatever else she fell, tripped and stumbled herself into. Stubbornly working to keep herself balanced and walking in a straight line, she tones down her feelings of weakness and buries them. She knows he's hurting too. That kick to the ribs probably dented his armour, and maybe, if she's lucky bruised him somewhat. She keeps her smile to herself. When he tells her to go before him, the look she gives him tells him just how unlikely that will be. "I walk beside," she says smoothly, "I thought we already had a discussion on how much I do not appreciate being followed." If he wasn't going to pull out the cuffs, then she wasn't going to act like a prisoner.

Walking into the clinic that Mithral recommended to her, it's a quiet and private place, one that permitted each of them to enter separate rooms to secure whatever 'gear' they had on them, no questions asked and totally private so that nobody could truly tell one's secrets. There is only one treatment room, and both of them are led into the room where there are only two beds, more meant for examination and healing than anything else. A bounty hunter's haven for healing and other... needs. Mithral enters the treatment room, the room casually lit, with a simple black A-Frame shirt and black cargo pants/belt. His goggles were left behind as well, and it's clear now that he's truly a strong well built sort of human besides the silver eyes. He's still breathing heavy, and an attendant with assisting droids move to have him lay down on one of the beds.

Corset ruined, skirt filthy and the cloak, well, lets not go there. Ash secures her weapons, and pulls out from one of her cloak pockets a change of clothing. Then she finally heads down to the examination room, the heels of her boots announcing her, she's switched the corset for a black halter top, and the long flowing skirt for a pair of snug shorts of silk-like material. Both without a wrinkle. Her body is fairly toned, but not overly, maintaining a fair bit of the curves that men find desirable in human-like species. The bandage is still upon her, though some blood has stained it. Seems this woman fancy ink and has an extensive tattoo upon her torso, the top of it hidden under the halter top, while the bottom of it is roughly a hand above her naval, which is pierced. That tattoo is tribal inspired black work with shading, while there are dark green long thorned vines woven throughout the tribal pattern that have pale blue ice roses and buds. The piece's outer corners meet at the small of her back. Rising up the spine the vines had been woven together and disappear under the halter. If it was stretched out, the tattoo would be a triangle. She smirks as she watches him get assistance from the attendant. She stubbornly walks on her own, though she sinks upon the bed, and does her best to hide the relief of sitting.

Breathing a bit heavier as the attendant checks him out and takes care of his gut, the shirt being moved up to reveal the bruised portions of his abdomen. He chuckles a bit as he sees it as he looks over to Ash, studying her form, the way she moves without obstruction and that of which is imprinted upon her. It's very interesting, and something that truly captures his attention and would not soon forget. He says to her gruffly as he watches other attendants move over to her, preparing to remove the bandage to see the level of damage. "Seems that you hit me a little harder than I thought, and for someone that only hunts you have much more potential."

She somewhat stiffens at the approaching attendants but relaxes. She really hates doctors. She carefully lowers herself down onto the table and scoots somewhat till she's comfortable, though there's a soft hiss as she moves wrong for the wound. "What's that supposed to mean?" She watches the attendants as they work to further clean and dress the wound. Satisfied that they're not going to do anything more to her than that, she turns her head to regard the man that stabbed her, and has her favourite weapon. "For someone who only hunts? It's almost as bad as 'you hit hard, for a girl.'" Studying him, as though suspecting that the silvered eye man is mocking her or being degrading, Ash's face for the most part is a stoic mask.

Seeing the reaction Mithral knew he had her primed for a bit more information, as he still knew little of the details surrounding her or what she truly did. Letting the medics do what they did without wincing Mithral merely responds with, "I think you're unemployed looking for something to do, drifting here and there, trying to find yourself. You're a capable fighter, I won't discount that. I am only suggesting that there may be a higher calling for you rather than roaming aimlessly forever." He's taking a chance to figure out where she was from or what she truly did, but he was guessing there wasn't much she was up to. Especially with such a graceful form... perfect for being an assassin. Cracking his neck as they push on his gut he grunts, and then they add some odd salve that dims the pain in the area. She indeed hit him hard...

She winces slightly and turns her head to throw an icy glare at the attendant tending to her wound. How unlike her good friend they are. If he hadn't taken her weapons she would be on her way to see the one doctor that she trusts. She raises her arms and her head then settles her head upon the arms. She listens to his words, and the only thing that twinges a chord in her being is the attempt to find herself. She regards the ceiling with her protected eyes, contemplating those words. She was searching, but not for herself. Or was she? She turns this over in her mind. So what if he reads her silence as a confirmation, he doesn't know what she is confirming. Roaming about aimlessly? She snickers at that one. Perhaps it is true, perhaps not, she'll think on it later. "What about you? Stalking random individuals when they catch your fancy?" her voice taking the tone of black velvet, "Certainly you must be down on your luck. I know who I am. Do you know yourself?" There goes her philosophical self. Such fun that is at times.

As they work on his stomach he doesn't turn over to look at her any longer but merely says to them first, "Make sure to give her some cream to remove the scar..." There's a quiet question in reply and he adds, "It's on me... and yes, the stuff you can't normally find anywhere..." A moment after his cryptic conversation he says back to Ash, "I am glad you know yourself, but perhaps you should try looking into doing something that will allow you to further your skills, and perhaps make some money in the effort. And I do know myself. I've chosen to stay out of the major factions and work at refining my skill, taking work as I see fit. Though, working alone has its downfalls..." He eludes to a little, but leaves it out there to see her response. No doubts were left in his mind she didn't have anything to do, and if she did... well, that would present itself soon enough.

A quizzical brow is arched with the whispered conversation over there. She holds her lower lip between her teeth, "Rather generous of you," she says in lue of thanking the man. Certainly her vanity didn't stand out that much, the only scarring visible upon her being the one that runs from behind her left ear to her collar bone and then down the collar bone; the 'X' shaped scar in the hollow of the left collar bone and the shoulder muscles; then the nearly two inches of open space within her tattoo on the lower left portion of her back. Though that last one has no visible scarring, just an area that she needs to get touched up. Surely he hasn't seen that. She chuckles, "Avoiding the major players allows for a great amount of freedom, but you also stand alone should one or more decide to eliminate you." She watches the attendants now as they apply some sort of cream to the tended area. She smirks at his comment about working alone. "Mercenaries tend to work in bands, just like smugglers. Assassins and bounty hunters live the lone shark life more often than not. But that is only an observation of the different circles classified as illegal in most sectors, or requiring authorisation and clearance to work." She can be a smart cookie when she decides to be, and she watches his reaction from the corner of her eye.

Chuckling, Mithral merely lets her last statement hang in the air for a while as he's attended to, his injuries almost fully tended to. The attendants ask Ash as well at this point quietly if she would like the other scars removed as well... leaving it open for her to answer either way and not offend them. Finally Mithral responds to Ash with, "Very Astute of you, though I think we both can do away with the premise that either of us is without our... shall we say resources. And you're welcome by the way." Smiling to himself he adds as well, "The trick of staying out of the factions is to make things look like someone else entirely, not to mention the ability to be off the radar and fade away when the time comes. Though it seems you're on your own... ever interested in some work?"

She regards the attendant for a moment and contemplates the implications of removing the scars. After several minutes, she finally shakes her head, quietly saying if the option had been present then, and letting it hang. She smirks, resources, why yes, she does have those, but for some reason she insists on taking care of things herself. "Everyone has their own special talents," she offhandedly points out to Mithral, "though how one uses them determines if they are prey or predators." She regards him, and then forces herself to sit up when the attendant is finally finished with her. Turning to face him, she cocks her head, "What do you get out of that offer?" There is always a catch with these males.

As the attendants finish up with Mithral he pulls down and his shirt and swings his legs over the bed to hang down, jumping off the table in a small shove. Looking over Ash to see that she was taken care of he turns and nods to the attendants, who all leave. Looking back to Ash he says to her, "I would like to work with you, assist in your hunts and to have you along in the work that I do. I need a sure hand, and you've more than proven yourself. As for what I'll be doing next I cannot say for certain, but there are credits for bounties out there... not to mention many want information, or merely hunting out and applying pressure to key people; whoever pays the most. That and I seek to improve on my skills, and perhaps I might be able to teach you something... what do I get out of this you ask?" Chuckling again he shakes his head a little as if that were a silly question. "I'd get the chance to impart my skills to someone as well as having an able hand to help. A woman named Arissa may require my services soon, and her requests are always... unique." He's grinning now, wondering if she'd accept. Though if she didn't there wasn't any harm in that. Though for a woman searching, the offer should be tempting enough.

Contemplating the words. Of course training peaked her interest. There is a glint in her eyes as she considers what he could teach her. The mentioning of Arissa, Ash contemplates this name, it's familiar. She'll look her personal records up on the name when she's away from the man. "Sounds possibly doable. I do not know when I will be available for potential hunts. Or lessons." She says cautiously. This man hasn't yet earned her trust, taking her to get patched up after he stabbed her hadn't worked. Perhaps she was a hard person to sell to, but that's how she's managed to keep her hide intact for the most part. She slides off of the table, her boots not making a sound. Crossing her arms, perhaps from a chill, she regards him, "You still owe me an outfit," she says matter of factly. She cared more about that then the drink or two that he offered. The name hits her, the day at the docking bay when it was reduced to rubble. She smirks, interesting woman.

Watching her cross her arms amuses Mithral, and he chuckles in response with a smile of his own. "Well, indeed I do owe you and outfit. And I like doable... You're free to go by the way. Your weapons as well as a way to get in touch with me are with your clothes. There's a new robe for you as well as some simple garments, nothing fancy. However, if you want a real outfit as I've promised, then I'll see you again soon. Perhaps a little bit of teaching while we're at it and a few drinks?" In his head he needed a way for her to come back, there were some doubts that she would be around all the time... and to that he didn't mind. Just that he'd prefer to have someone else around.

Ash coolly regards what she's wearing, albeit not much, she personally thought she looked good in it. There's a playful smile upon her lip. "I see," she says, half tempted to leave behind a contact number for him to get a hold of her, just in case he had something juicy that needed tending to. She always liked lining her pockets with creds, so to say. Seeing the bait for what it is, there's a knowing smirk that plays upon her lips. "I see," she says again, "I always honour promises I make. I shall see that yours is too." She smiles, her words not insulting, just statements, and as close to confirmation as she'll get that he'll see her again. She turns and starts to head to the door, pausing she turns around, "Though you have fulfilled yours in part," she nods her head in respect to the man then exits the room going down to her's. She'll just leave him a message, given that the first time she contacts him he'll end up with her contact number.