Star Wars: A Stygian Bargain (Quantum Tangle x Lala)

[Quantum Tangle]

Star Wars: The Stygian Bargain

55 BBY | Cha Raaba System
Planet: Ylesia | The Spice Rack Cantina
Mid-Day
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It was common practice for slaves to trade hands in Hutt Space. Ylesia was one of the foremost Spice Processing worlds in the outer-rims, so when Spice Trade funneled through Kessel to Nar Shaddaa many warm slave bodies made the travel. Once transporters made the drop offs it is was simpler to just sell off the slave labor and purchase a new crew that it was to feed and bed them. Those sold off it would then not be uncommon to travel dozens of planets in a years span before settling on single owner or ending up working the Processing Factories on Ylesia where most slaves ended. It was not an enviable existence by any stretch.

The lucky ones were bought by prosperous shop owners in the region the most desireable were bought by the Cantinas to entertain guests. For those with credits their bodies and minds could be cultivated to satiate other desires than simple sight. It was a rough existence but the Outer Rims Territories rarely saw equity among the lower classes.

A pity genuinely, Ebbyn Shaa, thought to himself. For while he might praise constructive cruelty the baseless crushing of sentient will seemed fruitless and disappointing. An individual no matter their capability or status had uses beyond mindless physical labor. A mind and body could be cultivated for so much more, a philosophy he’d earned during his years in a Republic Medical Academy. Indeed the Umbaran was a servant of the Galactic Republic (not that any individual would know this far out). But the value of life had always been a subject that obsessed in his inner most thoughts. Shaa had judged the worth of millions and what determined their benefit to exist at all.

Cold and calculating yes, but the pale man felt it a most pertinent balance to overly sympathetic thought. Wasn’t that the most empathetic approach? To not let emotion and impulse cloud one’s good intentions. And he was a good man, a better man.

A tall figure he practically towered over most as he entered the Cantina wearing a flowing black Umbaran Shadowcloak, and a synthetic uniform comprised of black leathers dressed in white and blue materials. The sides of his head and his face held no hair, but the lengthy strip that he possessed were shaped into tight white braids, with metal jeweled clasps binding them together and allowing the braided tail to hang over his cloaked shoulder. His ghostly gaze practically undressed the room full of merchants and low-lifes.

Shaa held his gloved hand tucked formally in front of him as if a noble or diplomat. His dress and presence spoke of a wealth he may or may not have had, but it was further evidence to his beliefs the individuals reacted upon first seeing him. Despite their judgement whether dismissive, excited, suspicion, or annoyance they made their distance subconsciously away. They could instinctually realize presence of power when it approached. Yet that to the Umbaran was a clever illusion he’d cast through combination of dress and body language.

His surroundings was filled with murk of smoke and the scent of strong liquors and floral aromas coming in from the jungle scape outside. Yet above all else there was a pungent stain of spice in the air. Whether it be from the nearby factories, or those few independent contractors that chose to work those areas, and filtered through the air. The Umbaran’s nostrils almost flared in annoyance at the scent but he kept his composure as his vision settled upon a lightly pigmented Rutian Twi’lek slave girl that had been making her rounds about the floor. What a rarity her kind were this far out. Even the Twi’lek slave trade knew better than to send their stock to Ylesia, when they could sell them to the more profitable pleasure dens elsewhere. That only meant she’d had an unfortunate luck with handlers and owners.

Standing now at the dingy bar flanked by filth and grime laden men, obviously they were the afterhours of a mining shift nearby, the Umbaran pleasantly genuflected with hands spreading open and out. With a thin lipped smile the piqued Doctor Shaa spoke, “I was told to speak to a Treban Brudd about the acquisition of slaves.” Looking down at the man behind the counter he did not break contact as he lightly added in his sharp foreign accent, “It is of certain importance that I make this purchase soon.”

 

[Lala]

The spice-addled band swayed lethargically on stage, bleating out an often off-key tune that warbled to the far corners of the Cantina. It was hazy and dim inside, a respite from the strangling humidity that gripped most of the jungle planet. The hewn-stone walls kept the place cool without the aid of artificial generators, though they remained constantly clammy with collected moisture. Not so different from the caves of her homeworld, Nima’ven thought as she threaded her way past the regulars that reached for handfuls of flesh wherever she went.

Ylesia had been her home for nearly a year now, though she long ago stopped considering any place “home.” The word lost meaning in the constant shuffle from one place to the next, especially considering she had no say in where she ended up. Even Ryloth held no place in her heart these days. There was nothing there for her. Not anymore. She belonged nowhere, and drifted through the galaxy like space dust.

A broad hand swept over the generous curve of her rump, brazenly displayed by the immodest covering her dancing silks offered her, when she sauntered past the miners gathered at the bar after shift. Her top offered little more covering than the skirt, a tiny bikini edged in gold that served to present her pert assets from the outset. The translucent material flashed with an iridescence her skin seemed to share, a very faint blue unlike most of the bold-hued Rutian Twi’leks. Gold bands enclosed wrists, ankles, and upper arms, along with a thicker one around her slender neck where a chain was sometimes placed. Her headpiece was a modest gold band worked with intricate coils and set with moonstones that favored her coloring.

Nima’ven’s lekku vibrated with mild irritation at the brash act of this spice-covered miner, though she saw Master Brudd eyeing her from across the room, so she lowered her lashes demurely and tittered as a comely flush swept over her cheeks. Her face was sweet perfection: all big, beautiful eyes and pouting lips, a delicate chin, high cheekbones. One look from her could turn the gruffest bounty hunter into a quivering porglet. More petite than most of her kind, she had a taut dancer’s body, slender and toned but with ample offerings of hip and rear that never failed to draw the male gaze. Yet there was a reason she was here and not in one of the more popular Cantinas or pleasure dens, a reason she’d been passed around more often than most slaves as alluring as she.

Most seasoned slave owners picked up on it right away when she was on the block: that flash of defiance in sapphire-hued eyes, that refusal to bow her head and bend her shoulders and weep over her fate. Slaves unbroken by their circumstances were dangerous, an undesirable risk many were unwilling to take, or unwilling to train out of them, no matter how attractive the packaging. Master Brudd had obtained her as part of a package deal and, though she was a large draw for the regulars in his Cantina, she had used up almost all of her chances when she broke a bottle over a mine supervisor's head the other night. But what could she do? He'd keep her, or he wouldn't.

She often wondered what might have been if she weren’t discovered, if her parents’ ploy to keep her hidden beneath the floor hadn’t been exposed by neighbors desperate to save their own daughter from the slavers. The screams of ghosts followed her from place to place, the sound of blasters, the stomp of militant boots atop the panel in the floor. Hands reaching, always grabbing, hauling her out and grabbing her breasts as they declared what a fine price these would fetch. She would have been more. What, she could not say. Just more.

A presence caught her attention as she gathered empty cups from a table near the back. A presence, before the figure himself eased into the Cantina. She couldn’t explain it, but certain people triggered a little ripple of sensation down her spine like a chill in the night. This tall, regal man was one of them, and she found herself stealing glances at him as she worked.

Not only did he awaken that strange sensation in her, but he was also rather out of place in this seedy little den. The others saw it too, shifting aside as the man confidently made his way to the bar. It was at that moment that she saw him turn a glance her way, striking at her with those pale eyes. This time when she ducked her chin down quickly and coiled her lekku in close, she meant it. Gathering her tray, she hastily made her way toward the back. Her heart galloped in her chest and she put a hand there to quell the frantic beat. Though others here and there had triggered that little feeling in her, she had never felt it so intensely before as she did coming off this man. She wished she knew what it meant.

A moment later, she heard Master Brudd’s coarse voice bellowing for her. “Nima’ven! Come!”