Disclaimer: As always, does not belong to me. Lucas owns all, including Jedi Quest.

Notes: This could be considered the start to a longer series of stories between myself and a co-writer, but stands alone. It's just an AU look at Granta Omega's life. Just to warn you, this does deal in underage sex and prostitution.

Deals Done

It was getting bitterly cold.

Shivering, he continued on, bright blue eyes searching the street, desperation clearly hidden under their far too old depths, for such a small child.

Though eleven, he looked to be eight. Body slender and small from irregular amount of food, it was a wonder he could survive, wrapped in rags as he was, though he seemed cleaner then many of the orphans that roamed the streets. A tiny marvel, but he had been lucky that his last customer had wanted him to wash before using him.

Swiping back a lock of silken black hair that kept getting into his vision, he scowled a little. The threatening icy weather was keeping him at a disadvantage, it kept the customers in their warm places of stay. And left him out in cold, money having been spent two or so days ago.

He was worried. There had been talk that this would be one of the coldest nights of the season. And his previous place of possible residence had been taken over by a scavenger gang. Perhaps, he could find another place before nightfall, before the clouds rained down their white death.

But that didn't mean he would survive.

Something grabbed him. Reacting on instinct, he twisted, but didn't scream as he looked over. To find a human hand, male from the size, locked around his forearm. Frowning vaguely, he then gazed up to meet gray eyes, as the man looked back down at him. Somewhat handsome, possibly mid thirties, dark, earthen brown hair. A few too many wrinkles about the eyes and lips for his age, signaling stress and more under the skin. Swiftly, the boy smiled, as coyly as he could, relaxing as if he trusted him with his entire life. When it was quite the opposite. But if he could...

"Yes, sir?" a little more widening of the eyes, they usually went for the innocent look the most.

Yet, those eyes merely pierced him, looking intently long enough to make him nervous, though he struggled not to show it.

"You're one of the little whores around here, ain'tcha, kid?" the tone warned him to be quick about his answer.

He thought again of escaping, but refrained. Money was money, which meant at least a night in some place that had enough warmth to keep him alive till morning.

"I am," he felt it best to be blunt. "What's your pleasure?"

"What's your charge?" the grip loosened a little on his arm, and he breathed a bit easier.

"Hundred for a job, three for sex, six for rape," he reconsidered his opinion briefly on the money issue when the man's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Pretty steep on the rape," he commented, and the boy felt himself mirror his expression.

"Covers the damage," because there was always damage.

"You know, you look like someone I know. What's your name, whore?" that took him by surprise. No one asked for his name, he was just there for their pleasure, or so most thought.

"Granta Omega," it was a slight pause, before the second tumbled from his lips, "or Damon Crion, your pick."

There was a spark of something in those dark eyes, something that made his skin crawl, and his stomach twist, "Crion... Who was your father?"

Excitement started to pound in him, even though he knew that he might as well sign his own death warrant with the same breath, "Xanatos Crion, of Telos."

The man took a step back, letting him go. Shock was in those stormy eyes, disbelief, then possibly anger, before it simmered into thoughtfulness, "Interesting. You're not lying, are ya, kid?"

Jaw tightening, he shook his head, "Of course not, why would I lie about that?"

"Xanatos Crion is pretty high in the underworld. You might be thinking you can claim something if you're some offspring of his. Besides, why would a kid of his be whoring?"

"I know I can't claim anything off that," just as he knew much about the father he had never met, of how influential he was, "He doesn't know about me. My mother and I were abandoned here by my grandfather. She never told him about me." Or so she had told him before her death...

"Is that so..." the thoughtful look again, as he waited, trembling again in the cold, "Let's make a deal."

"What sort of deal?" suspicious, he couldn't risk being too trusting.

"I'll see if you really are his kid, by blood test. If you are, I'll personally take care of you, as a favor to your father. We're good friends you see. But if you're lying..." that glint of danger again, "I'll rape you till you're gushing blood, then leave you to die in the worst gutter I can find, for slandering his name."

The next shiver that went through him, wasn't all due to the cold, "How can I trust you won't do that anyways? For all I know, you're an enemy of his." He had no doubts that the test would prove he was his son.

"Guess you won't know till then. But here's a bit of persuasion. I'll take you with me. You share my bed till we get the results, I'll treat you good. You won't freeze to death tonight. Sound good?" something that he guessed might have been a charming smile spread over the man's thick lips.

He merely felt sick, but it was brief, a flicker of a time before he had started selling himself to survive. He really had no choice. It was getting too late to find another patron, even if this one let him go... "Alright."

"Good. Let me give you my name, then we'll go. It's Tibirus Renth, don't forget it," at that, the hand seized his arm again, and off they went, to the ship yards.

Damon let himself be dragged, unresisting though he vaguely feared what would come. It would most likely mean his death, yet... Glancing back through the dirty streets they passed, he started to accept it. Either way, he was going to die. At least... perhaps, he might have a chance with this strange, deadly man.

He could only hope, with whatever was left of his tattered soul.