Her companion's explanation to the agents comforted Alythra. Clearly,  this was all a mistake, and he'd have it settled shortly. Too bad this interruption would deny them a chance enjoy each other again, but they could always reunite the next time she returned to Coruscant. That was worth looking forward to.<br/><br/>Ever gallant, Iantho even tried to negotiate for clothing on her behalf. Alythra appreciated the sentiment, even though her nudity was of no concern. The agents seemed more uncomfortable than she was.<br/><br/>That discomfort turned what was likely little over a minute into a drawn-out ordeal, becoming Alythra's discomfort as dripping skin cooled off. The agent checked the robe hanging on the door behind him, and almost moved to hand it to her, when blaster fire echoed in from the adjoining bedroom. Her client and the agent exchanged fire, but all Alythra could do was press herself into the wall. What had happened? There was no time to find out, as a shot hit true and the agent slumped over<br/><br/>Her first instinct was to rush to the injured man, administer first aid, do whatever it took to keep the man alive. BUt he wasn't injured, not in any way she could assist in. Not with the burned hole in the skull.  Nausea roiled in her gut, the scent of seared flesh particularly strong to the sensitive Zeltron.<br/><br/>Her client -which was the only way she could refer to him, given she had no idea who he was- casually laid out his plan, including a nonchalant bit about taking her hostage.<br/><br/>Despite her shock, her training kicked in, keeping her calm even as she feared for her life. He might have assured her that no harm would come to her, but he lied with the same ease as breathing, so it was best to assume she couldn't trust him.<br/><br/>Step one: de-escalate the situation. So long as tensions ran high, the subject was prone to making snap decisions. As long as she provided him with a means of escape, she was safe. So she complied, her dress simple enough to slip into, and she was dressed before he was. Her shoes, stiletto heels, would prove more hindrance than helpful, so she carried them with her, joining him in the agents' speeder.<br/><br/>Step two: active listening, to develop a rapport. "You've got a hostage," she said, in a slow, even tone, "but that's not an escape plan in itself. What do you hope to accomplish in fleeing?"<br/><br/><hr class="bbc-hr bbc-hr--3"/><i><br/>
"Sexy! And I'm not talking about the bike."</i><br/><br/>Nykei snickered, and perhaps even blushed, though she'd deny it to her last breath.  "It was a long time ago. Just some silly pictures I took, so they'd sponsor me. And trust me, that bike was sexy." Now she laughed, fondly. "She'd hit 120 KPH in two seconds, and reached 300 KPM on the track."<br/><br/>The memory turned sour, as she recalled how badly a crash at those speeds could go. And Jiljoo knew, all too well. Dammit, this was supposed to get their minds off tragedy!<br/><br/>"I can show you want I like to wear," Nykei offered, turning away from the bike shop more forcefully this time, "but I only dress this way because I don't have your gorgeous curves. Though, if you aren't interested in showing those off, I understand."