Descending

Drash looked back at the locked hatch, making a face. She didn't want to wait up here. Even if Fennec went soft and let her in - and soft wasn't a word she associated with Fennec, she doubted it would be for a while, and the nights on Tatooine were cold. She usually tried to stay inside for them, or at least in among the city and its sporadically placed heat-lamps.

Locked out naked wasn't something she wanted to try for. Drash crouched, then lay down lower, pulling herself to the edge of the rooftop while showing nothing more than her face. Someone was walking out of the palace just then; blushing, Drash pulled her head back.

She pressed herself to the rooftop, doing her utmost to not be seen. Attention was the last thing she wanted just then. Her breasts pressed against the baked-warm surface, a slight obstacle to trying to be as flat as she could.

A lot of people visited Fett, making tribute or making requests. Drash waited until they'd walked away before peering out again, quickly looking over the sides of the building. With Fennec having taken her arm, she wasn't looking forward to climbing, but it didn't feel like she had any choice; there wasn't much to work with. The lip of the roof she was on wasn't all that huge, and the sides of the palace were smooth, likely to prevent anyone from scaling them.

Still, there was one thing that stood out to her - a later addition, likely by Fortuna, of an old rustled metal pole, currently swung inwards over the roof. At a guess, if it was extended it would serve as a flag, something that had likely appealed to the vainglorious former owner. While nothing was attached to the mast just yet, a rope was still threaded through, keeping it ready for use.

Squirming, still laying on her front, Drash wriggled over to the pole. She tugged on the rope a few times, seeing it vanish through a gap in the roof to somewhere inside the palace. It felt secure. Grimacing, she pulled out as much as she could, and flung it over the edge of the palace, hearing it clatter against the side; she looked down, glad to see that it looked to have gone most of the way down, then drew back, face warm, and tried not to dwell on the feeling of the sun's rays on her butt as she waited to hear if anyone had reacted to the noise.

The flag was positioned to stick out beside the palace's normal entryway, no doubt for setting the scene for new arrivals. That much was a relief; the sand that side of the palace looked like a softer drop than the rocks on the other side.

Drash took a breath, looked out again, and at the seeming quiet of the desert, awkwardly adjusted herself.

She straddled the length of rope that was on the top of the roof, grabbing it with her one hand, and began to slowly shimmy her way over the edge. First her feet crossed the tip, then her shins, and knees, then her legs; she made sure to squeeze her knees tightly around the rope as more and more of her passed by the lip of the roof. With just one arm to cling on, she kept her grip as best she could, slipping inch by inch.

Her core passed the edge of the roof, then her abdomen, her breasts, and finally her head, until she was left nude and dangling with her legs squeezing the narrow rope tightly and her hand barely moving. The rope was taut, but it held.

Her grip was far from perfect, but it sufficed; rather than inch herself down, she didn't dare loosen her grip at all, and let her weight ever-so-slowly slide her down the rope. Rocking back and forth alleviated the minimal friction, but her movement was slow enough that her biggest worry was impatience.

The wind whipped up again. Drash yelped, swaying a little, yet more heat rushing to her cheeks as the air rushed by her - it was hard not to feel exposed, technically in the shadow of the palace but with a vast open area behind her, and so little freedom of movement. She slipped down a little more, debating whether to risk trying to go faster.

When a few minutes passed and she'd scarcely gone by the first floor, Drash's impatience proved too much. For a moment glad of the palace's otherwise-gloomy lack of windows, Drash fidgeted, lowering her hand to the middle of her chest with a little careful effort, then momentarily adjusting her thighs. She dropped, almost crying out, but squeezed again with hand and legs both; her hand was suddenly far above her head.

Okay. Terrifying, exhilarating, but faster - besides, you didn't join a bike gang if you couldn't handle a little adrenaline. Drash nervously looked back over her bare shoulder, paranoid that there was almost nothing she could do if someone did approach just then.

Still empty. Murmuring a silent plea, Drash shifted again, and dropped a little more of the way. Almost halfway.

Mentally she went over Boba's schedule - sometimes she was asked to be an escort, or to watch them, depending on if Fett wanted to show respect or caution. There was always a steady string of arrivals, but she wasn't sure how long she'd been up on the roof. More visitors could be due any time.

Drash muttered a curse directed very pointedly at Fennec, face blazing, as the nude mod continued to slowly shimmy down the side of Jabba's Palace, pale skin stark against the dark bronze of the wall. She looked up, convincing herself that she'd made progress, and tried not to think about how much further down she had to go, and how long it would take.