A close call

Drash dropped a few inches, and squeezed the rope again, catching her breath. Her bare side brushed the smooth wall of the palace, contact making it a little harder to cling on as hard as she was. The lower she got, the more the rope swayed in the warm breeze.

She slipped down a little more. She was starting to feel the strain in her shoulder and thighs, not that there was anything she could do about it now - down and down she went, steadying her breathing, and focusing on nothing but the steady descent.

Until she heard the whir of a speeder, anyway. Eyes wide, Drash glanced back. With the quiet of the location, sound carried easily; there was a battered-looking grey speeder just cresting a dune, no doubt yet another visitor come to pay tribute to Fett. She didn't know if they were close enough to see her as any more than a flesh-coloured smudge against the palace, but she was on the same face of the palace as the entrance - there was no way for her to hide up her.

A little more urgently, Drash started to slip down again. She rotated slowly on the rope by accident, the momentum of trying to look back starting her slowly spinning. She saw the speeder move closer, soon coming to a stop a short walk away from the palace. If they looked up, they'd definitely be able to see her from there, if not in any detail.

Blushing, butt just brushing past the warm palace wall, Drash dropped further; seeing how little distance there was between her and the ground, Drash flailed for a moment, a bare foot kicking off the wall to swing herself sideways so that she could let go above a softer-looking patch of sand: she braced herself and fell.

Avoiding the rock, Drash landed on her feet, bending her knees to limit the impact, and wildly flailing her lone arm to try and keep balance. A yelp escaped her lips.

Then she looked up: the speeder door was open, vertically lifted up into the air. Drash stumbled, crossing an arm over her breasts but with nothing to cover her core, and quickly turned to run around the side of the palace. She moved unevenly, off-balance as it was; in the palace's shadow, the sand was warm if not too hot, but she could still feel it between her toes as she tried to get to a more secluded spot.

The palace was on a rocky outcropping; she kept close to the wall, and crouched low as she passed a more jagged rock, panting. Nervously, she stuck her head out.

There were half a dozen aliens approaching, representatives of some Rodian group. Drash shrunk back, pressing herself to the palace wall.

Had they seen her? She really hoped not, the thought making her face warmer than it already was from suns and nudity both. She'd tried to get down before they were too close, and had run - and they didn't seem to be looking after her, though that might just be because they had pressing business with Fett.

If a group of the gotra's contacts had seen her butt because of Fennec's idea of discipline... Drash ground her teeth, still clutching her breasts, still crouching low, side pressed against the palace wall.

One by one, the Rodians were let inside. Drash lingered. She doubted the speeder was left empty, and didn't want to risk exposing herself for no gain.

But she was off the palace. Maybe she just needed to wait for the Rodians to leave and get in through the gate?

Drash grimaced. If Fennec had locked the hatch, she'd be unlikely to sign off on opening the gate for her, and Drash knew well enough how difficult breaking into the palace was. She'd helped Fett secure it after that business with the wookie.

The only other option she could think was her own bike, parked a little way around the other side of the palace. Mos Espa for sure had a change of clothes for her, in the hide-away she shared with the other mods. Though the prospect of going there was more mortifying than just striding in alongside the Rodians.

Squirming impatiently in the sand, Drash watched and waited for the Rodians to leave, and hoped she'd have the choice.