AN: I wrote this a while back in response to a conversation on Tumblr about the impracticalities of the catsuit Mara is usually depicted in. Like, specifically, what a pain it must be to pee in that thing! It's the silliest thing I've every written. Sorry!
Do Smugglers pee in the woods?
It was late afternoon on their second day of trekking through the Myrkr jungle that Mara called an abrupt halt to their march. Luke put the travois that Artoo was strapped to down with some relief; his right hand was becoming weaker and weaker from lack of full batteries and the strain was really beginning to feel on his shoulder. Luke carefully propped Artoo up facing them. He may just be a droid, but it felt rude to just leave him lying on one side.
"What's the problem?" Luke asked his captor, wondering what latest threat the alien jungle had to offer.
Mara had been scanning the undergrowth and bushes around them, blaster never straying from its continual mark on him. She turned to him with narrowed eyes. "Turn round," she ordered curtly.
"What?" he asked with alarm, wondering what had brought this on.
"Turn round. Now, Skywalker," she snarled, a strange urgency in her voice.
He slowly complied, wondering whether this was it, the moment when she finally gave into her hate and stuck a blaster bolt in his back. Without the Force, he could get no read on her intentions. It only surprised him that she wouldn't have the guts to look him in the eye as she did it.
After a moment, to his surprise, he heard the faint crunch underfoot of her moving away from him. He started to glance round only to get a glimpse of Mara backing slowly away but with gun still firmly trained on him before she barked out; "Eyes forward, farmboy. If I catch you taking the slightest glimpse, I will take even more pleasure in killing you than you can possibly imagine."
Luke did as instructed, frowning slightly at her latest behavior. Then he heard a rustle from behind him as she, presumably, slipped into a bush. Artoo whistled lowly.
"Ah," Luke replied quietly. Well that made sense. He'd vaguely wondered if and when she would finally relieve herself, or whether those stim pills she'd been popping would somehow deal with that problem too.
Artoo whistled again, informing him that Mara was, indeed, still keeping a gun trailed on him at all times. A lot of rustling was coming from the bush though. What was she doing?! Artoo's beeps took on a slightly incredulous tone. It seemed that unhooking all her equipment and survival gear in order to get at the tight black cat-suit underneath was a somewhat complicated affair. Luke closed his eyes tightly for a moment. He'd assumed that the outfit had some kind of clever… hidden access, or something. Not that he'd though about it that much. At least he'd tried not to think about it. Mara was such a contradiction, her no-nonsense attitude being entirely belied by the extremely provocative, and apparently completely impractical, skin-tight attire that incased a body with curves so unfeasible they seemed to defy gravity itself.
Luke heard a number of objects fall to the ground, then the clicking and zipping sounds of fastenings being undone. He tried very hard not to visualize what was emerging underneath, although without the Force his usual calming exercises did nothing to help. And frankly that cat suit had left very little to the imagination as it was, with its painted-on look.
Artoo indicated that despite the complexity of getting out of the outfit, her blaster still remained steadily on them. The rasping sound of leather sliding tightly against skin drifted over. Then Artoo spluttered out a gurgle of beeps and whistles that Luke recognized as the droids idea of laughter. He frowned slightly, trying to make out what the droid was trying to say. It seemed… it seemed that one of the fastenings on the cat suit had got stuck, and Mara was now trying to wriggle the top half of the thing over her head, blaster flailing all over the place as she did so!
It took all of Luke's self control not to turn and look at that point, or offer to help in some way. Artoo's whistles were now no longer trying to stay discreet as he openly droid-guffawed at her predicament.
"Will you tell that droid to shut the kriff up?" came a muffled voice. It sounded like the cat suit must be round her head. Suddenly there was a loud slapping sound and a swear word as though something had come free and hit skin very hard. More sounds of leather against skin. Then a kind of… quick repetitive crunching sound, like someone jumping up and down very fast. Artoo ventured another low whistle. Apparently she was trying to get some kind of restrictive undergarment over her hips.
There was a crash of leaves and the familiar sound of a body hitting the ground. Then wiggling. Artoo twittered urgently – it seemed she had fallen over, trapped by restrictive fabric over her legs, and had dropped her blaster in the process. This was his chance! His chance to grab her weapon and turn the tables of their trek to his advantage!
And yet… for some reason, Luke just couldn't. He couldn't even bring himself to turn and look. Perhaps it was some remnant of the farmboy manners Aunt Beru had once drilled into him. Perhaps it was some other instinct. But for whatever reason, he could not bring himself to bring her down in such a humiliating fashion. Despite her hate, and her dubious dress sense, the woman deserved more dignity than that.
A few more shuffles, and the sound of water sloshing against undergrowth came. Artoo unfortunately took this moment to fall entirely silent, much to Luke's embarrassment. The sound went on for a very, very long time.
Everything back in place (apart from the control underwear – that could rot in the jungle forever, deal or not), Mara stepped back out from behind the bush. The Jedi was still standing with his back to her, hands loosely clasped behind him, exuding innocence. She felt a brief moment of added hatred for him at how very simple it was for him to discreetly relieve himself in the wild.
She would never forgive herself for letting herself get so drunk with Karrde's core team a couple of months back. She wouldn't usually, but she'd been trying to fit in a bit better with the smuggler culture. It had led to an extremely ill-advised drinking game and bet with Aves that she had, humiliatingly, lost. The cost: she had to wear Aves' choice of outfit for a full six months. Then the box with the outfit had arrived. Skin tight black stretch-leather with inbuilt physical 'enhancements' to make her look like an exotic film-star, in place of her real slim-line, flat chested dancers physique. She had nearly gone and shot Aves on the spot, but that would have ended her smuggling career, and anyway, a deal was a deal. But she hadn't counted on Luke Skywalker landing in her lap while wearing the damned thing.
"Let's go," she growled shortly, and he turned round. She gave him a look intended to make clear that if this was ever mentioned to anyone, ever, he was dead, no matter how difficult that made life for Karrde.
He nodded silently, picked up Artoo, and they continued their trek.