Just run for it

It was so close. A little way along, on the other side of the street, was the small metal door with painted symbols and slogans on the metalwork and the stone all around it. A couple of brightly-coloured bikes were parked outside, for just that extra touch of home.

And Drash was a floor up, on a different building, and naked in front of the Mos Espa street. Barely any hiding up here, and no cover around the building she was staring at. Drash faltered despite herself, lingering in place for a moment.

Then her embarrassment surged, and she **** herself to at least move closer. She reached the next corner of the building, and thankfully glimpsed the rooftop beside it; it was a mod place, another skylight providing warmth and light to people getting ink or metal in the open area below. Still, it was outlined by opaque stone, which Drash gratefully made the leap to, curling up into a ball and glad for even the temporary lack of exposure.

They'd seen. The street had seen almost everything. Barely even high enough to crawl, Drash edged out to look out, and gulped.

Still too many people. Her cheeks stayed flushed, the idea of what all those strangers had seen staying with her. Still, she was so close now, even if the idea of having come all the way out here from the palace in absolutely nothing was dizzying to her.

There was a small statue by the mod-place below her, a decoration to adorn the entrance. If she leapt down, she could land on that, and then the ground. Descending was safe enough. It was just the crowd that gave her pause. The streets were never exactly empty, but more than a few had followed to gawk at the city's streaker.

Dropping down into the crowd wasn't on her to-do list, for all kinds of reasons. That left her at a loss, for a moment. Was waiting for them to disperse really her only option?

Then Drash swallowed. No. No she had another choice, she just didn't like it. Then again, she'd been making a lot of decisions like that today.

Slowly, Drash started to move, crawling inwards rather than outwards. Shaking a little, face burning, she crawled over the skylight far slower than she'd have liked, suddenly baring her naked body to those below.

She saw people in chairs, getting marked by dewback-ink, or others browsing through cybernetic modifications - eyes, limbs, organs. Suddenly attendants and guests both were distracted by a ruckus. A few people were wandering in among the chairs, to look up through the skylight - and then those already down there were looking up too.

Drash squeaked. She knew some of those faces. She hadn't meant to look but, well, she needed to stare down; if there were people in the crowd that just wanted to look at her, then she could draw them in here, and away from the street she wanted to cross. At the very least thin the crowd, and get rid of the people most likely to be handsy.

That was as far as she'd thought. She hadn't thought about the fact that, well, she knew a lot of Tatooine's mod subculture. She'd helped that woman pick out a leg, and that guy had helped her pick a paint-brand, and she'd helped that guy drive, and that woman she'd bought a bike from, and that was an ex...

Drash somehow managed to go even redder. She didn't linger over the skylight for a second longer.

She pushed herself up, trying not to think about the full-frontal view she'd seen, face and core and chest and all, and instead ran back the way she'd came.

She'd dropped down onto the statue's head before anyone had left the parlour. She was running barefoot over the desert sand a moment later, getting cries and curses hurled at her as she barrelled past travellers and merchants.

Her arm was crossed over her breasts, again, until she at last made it to the door of her home, and urgently pushed it open.

She stumbled inside, quickly closing it, and turned.

"Er. Drash?"

The place had always been small - cosy, they called it. The mods, or at least her friends within the movement, hung out and talked, played games, all around the floor there. For now, Skad - the one with a cybernetic eye - was skimming the blueprints of the latest cutting-edge stuff from Skako.

Drash yelped, looking around jerkily for a moment, before grabbing a loose poster and hugging it to herself, the Modal Nodes mostly blocking out her bare body. She managed a bright-red smile.

"Fennec," Drash said. "Before you ask."

"...I don't think that answers the question I was going to ask," Skad said.

"Trust me. It does," Drash said.

She sidled awkwardly, back to the wall and poster clutched to her body.

She shared her room, but most of the mods would be out at this hour. She could dress, and go back for her bike tomorrow, and probably get her arm back from Fennec. If nothing else, she ought to be able to convince Fett to make Fennec hand it over, argue that she needed both arms to be at her best, if Fennec was going to be obstinate.

She wasn't sure. Still, Drash ducked into her room and threw the poster out behind her, glad to reach the jumble of clothes she had on the floor. She didn't know how she'd face certain people, but at least it was over. And nothing like it would ever happen again. She hoped.

No. Drash shook her head. No, it wouldn't. She wasn't going to doubt that.

Still, it was a long, long time before her blush went away.