<blockquote><div><cite>Padma wrote:</cite>"I'm not much with horses, but I can keep 'em headed straight. You'd best see to your own while we have a moment's peace."</div></blockquote><br/>"Much obliged," Alyssa replies, handing the reins over to the vanara elder. As Padma takes up his position on the driver's seat, she moves back to the roof to give both of them some extra room while she prepares herself for some messy work...<br/><br/><div style="padding: 3px; background-color: #FFFFFF; border: 1px solid #d8d8d8; font-size: 1em;"><div style="text-transform: uppercase; border-bottom: 1px solid #CCCCCC; margin-bottom: 3px; font-size: 0.8em; font-weight: bold; display: block;"><span onclick="if (this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display != '') {  this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display = ''; this.innerHTML = '&lt;b&gt;Spoiler: &lt;/b&gt;&lt;a href=\'#\' onClick=\'return false;\'&gt;hide&lt;/a&gt;'; } else { this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display = 'none'; this.innerHTML = '&lt;b&gt;Spoiler: &lt;/b&gt;&lt;a href=\'#\' onClick=\'return false;\'&gt;show&lt;/a&gt;'; }"><b>Spoiler: </b><a href="#" onclick="return false;">show</a></span></div><div class="quotecontent"><div style="display: none;">Escape Artist check to rescue driver: 1d20 (12) + 21 = 33, success<br/><br/>Heal check to gauge driver's condition: 1d20 (16) + 15 = 31, success</div></div></div><br/>Alyssa takes a bit longer than she should rolling up her sleeves, eyeing the gaping catgirl mouth beneath her with more than a little apprehension. The image could be straight from one of her more disturbing anatomy textbooks: a wet, pink tunnel into the catgirl's center, rimmed with pearly daggers and thin strands of saliva dripping from its entrance. The feline throat seems to throb with every breath, bathing her forearms with moist air that smells faintly of raw meat.<br/><br/>Reining in her apprehension, Alyssa tentatively leans forward and places one hand, then the other in Big Belly's mouth. The catgirl's loosened jaws slide effortlessly around her forearms, offering no resistance as she pushes inward until her fingers brush the back of the smaller predator's throat. A gentle tug on her fingertips warns her of the catgirl's swallowing reflex, and she pauses for a moment to let the peristaltic action cease before pressing forward again.<br/><br/>It doesn't take long to reach the end of Big Belly's esophagus. In a few seconds, Alyssa's fingers are pressing at the catgirl's cardiac sphincter, then passing through into the sweltering heat and pressure of the active stomach. She pushes in deeper, ignoring the itchy sensations on her bare flesh as she feels around for a recognizable shape in the gastric soup; fortunately, the driver's body is still intact enough to make her search quick, and in only a few seconds, her hands are hooked under the unconscious man's arm. Now comes the tricky part: bringing her charge out of the catgirl's stomach means overpowering the catgirl's peristalsis, or outracing her swallow reflex. One wrong more, and she'll be joining the driver in short order. Taking a deep breath, she steadies herself and counts down slowly:<span style="font-style: italic">three, two, one...</span><br/><br/>Alyssa plants her feet firmly on the roof and kicks off, throwing her entire body weight backward at the same instant. Her arms pull free of Big Belly's throat with a wet sucking noise, dragging with her the battered body of their driver; almost unidentifiable in his tattered clothing an draw red skin. The two of them collapse side by side; one panting from stress and exertion; the other deathly silent and still. Alyssa places a hand on the ravaged watchman's chest, already knowing what she'll find: nothing. No heartbeat, no breath, no sign of life in the battered body of her fellow officer. She was too late...