Some canon-typical slavery over the next few chapters.
It took Rian a few hours to get through to her contacts, feeling every second ticking away like the timer on a bomb. The information was just as bad as she had feared. The cantina would be open to the public, but the auction was being held in a private back room and was by invitation only. The Exchange - the criminal organization that was holding the sale - ran a tight ship, and Rian wasn't a good enough slicer to finagle them an invitation. Kixi probably was, but she had done a really good job of disappearing after Rian and the others had rescued her from the Black Sun on Coruscant. None of Rian's digging had turned up any trace of her and she didn't know anyone on Nar Shaddaa that she trusted to do the job quickly enough without getting caught. Good work took time.
She was unsurprised to find the others in the kitchen when she finally emerged from her quarters. They were all quiet, staring moodily at datapads or into their mugs of caf. Jorgan noticed her first, sharp ears twitching as she paused in the doorway. He looked up, drawing everyone else's attention to her. She took her customary spot at the head of the table with a sigh.
"It's not great news," she told them, and saw Corso's face fall. "We can get into the cantina - it's open to the public - but the sale is in a private room, invitation only."
"Then we need a way to get an invitation," Jorgan said with a shrug.
"What, you want one of us to play a slaver or something?" Corso asked with a laugh but he sobered quickly at the look on Jorgan's face and Xirra made a soft noise of protest at his side. "That's exactly what you're thinking, isn't it?"
The Cathar nodded reluctantly, sharing a glance with Viggota that made a sick feeling start to curl in Rian's stomach. She was pretty sure where this was going. Obviously the two soldiers had been talking tactics while she had been busy. "We don't have time to do this any other way," Jorgan said. "We need to get in there before the auction, and if we go in with guns blazing, we're putting those girls in danger."
"Well how are we going to convince them we're slavers, then?" Corso asked. "Hire a dancing girl to parade around with?" He trailed off as he looked from Jorgan to Viggota and back again, then his eyes flicked to Rian and went wide with horror. "Oh, no. No way. Figure out a different plan."
"We don't have time. This is our best chance." Viggota didn't look any happier than Corso, but he tightened his jaw stubbornly. At his side, Lomning was sitting as though carved from stone. Rian didn't think he liked the plan much either, but Viggota was right. They didn't have a lot of time.
Corso looked over at her and Rian knew he was remembering the conversation on Ord Mantell, when she had told him how she had been kidnapped as a child. She shook her head slightly to indicate that the two soldiers didn't know. It was none of their business, even if Corso looked like he was ready to blurt the whole story out if it would get them to reconsider their plan.
"Fine, then," Corso snapped, ignoring Xirra when she laid a hand tentatively on his arm. "But I'll do it."
Viggota was already shaking his head. "No good. You'd punch the first man that looked at her and you'd blow our cover."
Corso glared but Rian knew Viggota was probably right. "So you're volunteering?" her first mate asked acidly.
"If I have to," Viggota said mildly, ignoring the anger in Corso's voice. "Look, Corso, I don't like this any more than you do. But I can't just sit here and let those kids be sold into slavery. I need to at least try to stop it."
Rian placed both of her hands flat on the table in front of her, glad to see that they weren't visibly shaking. "He's right. We have to try." She looked up at Corso. "I want you and Xirra to stay here. You're our backup if something goes wrong. And I need you to keep an eye on the prisoner, and the ship." She shook her head firmly when Corso opened his mouth. She didn't want Xirra anywhere near this, but she wasn't leaving the girl alone either. As welcome as Corso's gun would have been, she wasn't going up against the Exchange and leaving her ship undefended. If something went wrong, at least Corso would keep the Event Horizon safe.
"Why not just turn him in?" Xirra asked tentatively.
"Who would we turn him over to?" Viggota asked. "Nar Shaddaa isn't Republic-controlled. Anyone in authority has a good chance to be allied with the Hutts - which means they might not care about slavers. And even if we do find someone willing to help, we'd be taking a big risk. Official operations take time to organize, and have to follow procedures. They might end up getting there too late. And a big operation isn't exactly subtle. If the slavers find out, they'd have enough time to clear out with the kids."
"Then why can't we just get rid of him?" Corso asked, jerking a thumb back towards the door.
"Because we don't know if he's telling the truth," Jorgan replied before Rian could. "Not that I think he's clever enough to be able to fool a Jedi, but we can't take that chance. We need to keep him alive until we know for sure."
Rian nodded her agreement and Corso subsided with a scowl. At least she wasn't the only one to think of the worst that could happen. "Viggota, you can play slaver if you think you're up to it. Jorgan, you're his bodyguard." She tilted her head to look at Lomning. "I can't think of a role for you to play, Jedi. We've already seen that you're not great at acting."
"That is true," Lomning said with a shrug. "Let me be just another cantina patron, then. I will enter separately, and keep my hood up. I will be nearby if you need me."
She nodded, swallowing to try to calm her stomach. "So I guess you need to go shopping, then," she said to Viggota and Jorgan. "You'll need to look the part."
Rian escaped back to her quarters after Lomning left with Viggota and Jorgan in tow. Corso had looked at her pleadingly but she had pretended not to see as she had left the kitchen. Her hands shook as she keyed the door open but she managed to keep herself together until it hissed closed behind her and she had engaged the locks. She pressed her back to the door and slid slowly down to the floor, shivering hard. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She knew this wouldn't be for real, but the mere thought of wearing a slave collar again - even a fake one - tied her stomach in knots.
Hidden away at the very back of her closet was a box that held a dancer's costume, out of sight but never out of mind. It had been years since she had last worn it, but it made a surprisingly good disguise. No one looked twice at a Twi'lek dancing girl in a cantina. People would talk about anything in front of one. But playing a server in a small casino was a completely different challenge than what she was facing now.
The costume had been neatly folded and she hung it up to let the wrinkles fall out while showered. She needed a synthskin patch to cover the scars on her face but the rest of the ones that the skimpy costume would reveal could be disguised fairly well with makeup. Subtle contouring made her face look more softly rounded and paint changed the pattern of the tattoos on her lekku on the off-chance that someone might recognize her. But then again, they probably wouldn't spend much time looking at her face.
Her dancer's costume was made of shimmery white fabric and decorative silver chains. She draped it carefully around her body, making sure all the fabric was lying flat and the criss-crossing chains on her back, shoulders, and hips weren't tangled. Silver sandals completed the outfit. It may have looked highly impractical but it was actually quite comfortable. It was designed for dancing, after all, and had to be able to stay put during a performance. She knew from past experience that she could easily run and fight while wearing it.
A tap at the door distracted her and she took one last look in the mirror, barely recognizing the solemn-faced Twi'lek staring back at her. That was the same face she remembered from year ago, from before the Event Horizon, from when she was still a slave. She turned away hastily and moved to the door.
She disengaged the lock and the door slid open to reveal Lomning waiting outside. He had changed out of his Jedi robes into a pair of worn black trousers and a knee-length brown tunic that was faded and worn. A drab cloak was flung open over his shoulders, the voluminous hood hanging down his back. He didn't look much like a Jedi any more. "I have arranged transportation," he told her. "We will need to leave soon."
Rian nodded and stepped out of her room, feeling ridiculously exposed in her scraps of fabric, and followed Lomning down the hall. The rest of her crew was gathered in the common room. They were clustered around the datapad that Jorgan was holding and she was able to study them unobserved.
Corso and Xirra were still in their normal clothes, neither of them looking very happy. Jorgan was wearing a black suit with subtle plasteel plates stitched into the fabric. The cut of the outfit drew attention to his broad shoulders and chest and the high collar and gloves left none of his russet fur exposed. A helmet with a glossy black face shield sat on a table nearby and he would be completely anonymous once he put it on. He had a pair of blaster pistols on his hips that she recognized from the Event Horizon's small armoury. He looked dangerous and competent.
Viggota was wearing blue, a deep navy that would let Rian's paler blue skin stand out against him, his head and jaw freshly shaved. The jacket was open to show a finely-made white shirt and the cuffs and collar were heavy with embroidery. The thick, expensive fabric almost completely disguised the fact that he had light body armour on underneath, and Rian only noticed it because she was looking for it. He was also armed, with an almost dainty pistol that Rian knew packed a disproportionately big punch. She was sure that Lomning had his lightsaber tucked away somewhere too. She suddenly felt very vulnerable, but it wasn't like she had anywhere to hide a weapon.
She didn't know if she or Lomning had made a sound or if Jorgan had picked up their scents, but the Cathar's head came up sharply. Corso, Xirra, and Viggota followed his gaze and Rian wanted desperately to turn away. Instead, she straightened her spine and met their eyes squarely. She needed to stay strong to get through this.
Corso took one look at her and blushed red to the roots of his hair. Everything else suddenly became more interesting - the floor, the holoviewer, the couches, the datapad in Jorgan's hand - anything but the expanse of skin his captain was displaying. Xirra looked away too, dropping her eyes to the floor and chewing on her lip. Jorgan's hand tightened on the datapad but he didn't say anything. Viggota gave her a long considering look and nodded. Surprisingly, his frank assessment relaxed her somewhat. He was treating this like any other mission, making sure everything was as ready as he could make it.
Her sense of calm didn't last long. Viggota reached for a small box on the table and turned towards her and she couldn't stop herself from jerking backwards at the sight of the silver slave collar nestled on a bed of black silk. Lomning steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. If the others hadn't already guessed that she had once been a slave, it must be obvious now. "It's not real," Viggota reassured her, his voice firm. "It looks real, but it's not. There's no shock mechanism in it. It doesn't even lock." He tapped a finger against one of the carved decorations. "Press here and the latch will disengage and you can pull it right off."
Rian's skin crawled but she steeled herself and lifted her chin to let Viggota fasten the cold metal around her neck. The click of it closing around her throat made her shudder and she forced her hands down to her sides when she started to reach up to rip the thing off. She wished for the comforting feel of her blasters on her hips, instead of gauze and bare skin.
The silver chain hanging from the ring on the front of the collar was only about three feet long. She wouldn't be able to get very far from Viggota, which was good. No one would expect her to dance on command with a chain that short. She caught the dangling handle before Viggota could touch it. "There's a knife hidden in it," he told her, pointing to one of the purple gems on the handle though she noticed he was careful to not touch it. "This is the release. It's not a blaster, but at least it's something."
The knowledge that she wouldn't be completely unarmed was comforting but she looked down at it, surprised. "This isn't the kind of thing you just buy in the market. This is custom."
Jorgan cleared his throat uncomfortably. "We called in a favour. This isn't exactly the first time this trick has been used. There's an intelligence agent here that I worked with a few years ago. She was willing to overlook the fact that we're not technically military any more when we told her what it was for - off the record, of course."
"She sounds like someone I'd like to meet sometime," Rian said. It made sense. She knew she wasn't the only one who had realized that people would talk about anything in front of a slave. She wrapped the silver chain around her arm and tucked the handle into her hand. She would let Viggota have it when they reached the cantina, but not now. Not yet. She looked up and realized that Corso was watching her closely but before he could say anything, Lomning clapped his hands together briskly.
"We must get going. I've arranged for a friend to drive us to the cantina." He reached out absently to straighten Viggota's collar, ignoring the bemused look the big soldier gave him, and glanced around to make sure everyone else was ready. Viggota and Jorgan did one last check of their weapons - Rian was unsurprised to see that they both had vibroknives in ankle sheaths as well as their blasters - and nodded. Lomning reached for a neatly folded pile of grey fabric on the table by the door and swirled it open - it was a hooded cloak, one that would cover Rian from head to toe. She turned to let him wrap it around her and fasten the clasps down the front to hide the collar and the dancer's costume when she left the ship. Trust a Jedi to have thought of everything.
Lomning's friend - a cheerful Human named Derel who had a pronounced limp and a local's accent - met them at the spaceport. Rian wasn't sure when or how Lomning had befriended someone on Nar Shaddaa, but she was sure it was an interesting story. Derel was driving an understated but expensive airspeeder and took them on a circuitous route through Nar Shaddaa's vast Undercity to ensure their route wouldn't be traced back to the Event Horizon. Rian sat beside Lomning, watching the city's neon-bright lights flash past through the window. Jorgan and Viggota were talking quietly in the seats across from her and she roused herself enough to listen. It was hard to focus on anything but the feel of the slave collar around her throat. She tangled her hands together in her lap to keep from reaching up for it.
"We'll need to draw attention to ourselves somehow," Jorgan was saying. His blank-faced helmet was on the seat beside him, the neon lights flashing past outside the airspeeder painting it in a rainbow of colours. "We need an invitation in to the sale, without looking like we're angling for one."
"Just having Rian there won't be enough?" Viggota asked. He was fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat, his hands making aborted motions up to his own collar and Rian hid a smile. She somehow wasn't surprised to see that the no-nonsense soldier hated getting dressed up.
"I'm not likely to be the only slave girl in the cantina," she pointed out, keeping her voice steady and clinical. "You're dressed well enough, and having a bodyguard in addition to a slave girl shows that you've got money. It might be enough." She shrugged, weighing the possibilities. "If not, make a scene if someone tries to touch me. Act the part of the rich man who doesn't like people touching his toys. Security is bound to notice that, and hopefully their bosses will too."
Viggota gave her a concerned look but didn't press. "What if that doesn't work?"
"Then we'll need Lomning to see if he can find another way in. Either inside or outside the cantina. There's got to be more than one way into those back rooms."
Jorgan snorted. "I doubt people like this are really that concerned with fire codes."
Rian smiled wryly. "Probably not, but it's really hard to smuggle anything into a cantina that's only got one entrance."
He tipped his head to acknowledge her point. "That sounds like a workable plan. Lomning, scout around outside first before you come in. Stay in contact, though. I don't like the idea of you being alone down here."
"I can most likely take care of any threats I may face in a back alley," Lomning said mildly, though he did tap the nearly invisible communicator in his ear. With his hood pulled up no one would see it. "But I take your point. I will let you know if I find anything."
Jorgan nodded, glancing out the window as the airspeeder started to slow. "Everyone ready for this?"
"Not really, but let's get it over with," Rian muttered, reaching for the clasps on the cloak before she could start to think too much about it.
Lomning gave her a sympathetic look. "Leave that here," he said. "I will have Derel will come back to pick us up afterwards, or return it to the ship, depending on the outcome of the evening." She nodded, sliding the heavy fabric off her shoulders and checking to make sure her costume was still in order. She slowly unwound the chain from her arm and reached out to hand it to Viggota as the speeder slid to a stop on the cantina's landing pad with the faintest bump.
The big soldier gave her a reassuring smile as he took the handle, holding it loosely in one hand. "What do you need me to do?"
"Keep me close," Rian said, using one of the tinted windows of the airspeeder to check her makeup and make sure the edges of the synthskin patch on her cheek were still stuck down. It pulled uncomfortably at her skin, but someone like the character that Viggota was playing wouldn't have a damaged slave. "The chain is short enough that no one will expect me to dance on command, so I'm clearly more of a pleasure slave than a dancer. Touch me, casual absentminded touches as if you're barely even paying attention to the fact that you're doing it." She turned and fixed him with a stern look. "But don't touch my lekku. Got it?"
Viggota nodded, face serious. "I'll do my best. I hope I don't mess this up."
"You'll do fine. Just try not to react to what you might see in there." She turned to Jorgan too. "That goes for both of you. If you've never seen a slave auction before, this won't be pretty. But we're here to blend in and try to come up with a plan to get those kids out. We're going to be badly outnumbered, by slavers, their bodyguards, and security. Keep your head in the game. You can get angry about it later." She could see the wheels turning as they put everything together and turned to Lomning before they could ask why she knew so much about slavers. "We'll see you inside, Jedi."
Lomning nodded and hit the release for the door. Jorgan went out first, anonymous and menacing with his helmet in place. Viggota followed, Rian's chain held in a loose grip. She knew it was because he was uncomfortable with it, but it gave the impression of a man who knew his slave would obey without hesitation. She ducked her head properly and followed him out. She could already feel the heavy bass beat of the cantina's music vibrating through the durasteel plating beneath her sandals.
The interior of the cantina was a riot of colour and sound. Neon lights, pulsing in time with the music, highlighted a dance floor off to the right, a busy bar in the centre, and clusters of tables and chairs to the left. A pair of heavy sabacc tables sat along the wall behind them, crowded with gamblers and their audience. She could smell sweat, perfume, and Spice. Even with her eyes lowered Rian could see a half-dozen different races just from the doorway. They were split nearly evenly between men and women, but the vast majority of the women were slaves or dancers. Very few seemed to have any real power.
"Get a table." Viggota had to lean close to Jorgan to be heard over the music. "Near the back; that's where the private rooms are."
Jorgan nodded, scanning the floor for an empty table. They were in short supply, so he instead set his sights on one with only a couple of people at it. They looked like local thugs, their clothing shabby and their drinks cheap and strong. They were Human, Corellian by the look of them. The sector was named for those refugees, after all, and they were likely to be plentiful here. He strode straight through the crowd like he expected people to clear a path for him, and they did.
Viggota followed, Rian trotting in his wake to keep up with his long strides. Slaves didn't usually move with long, confident steps. She found herself easily falling back into old habits and swallowed against the taste of bile at the back of her throat. She had thought herself far removed from this life, but the ease with which she was able to step back into it was disconcerting.
The two men looked up at Jorgan's approach, taking in his helmet and body armour warily, before looking past him to leer at Rian. "I require this table," Jorgan growled, stepping forward to draw their attention again. The helmet's speaker turned his voice mechanical but Rian could hear the anger in it. "You will move."
"Like hell we will!" one of them retorted, jerking to his feet. His head was shaved and the hair was growing back in unevenly. "You must be new. This here is our table."
Jorgan made a show of looking down at the table, the neon lights from the dance floor flashing against the glossy black visor of his helmet. "I don't see your name on it," he said, dropping one hand to the blaster on his hip.
The man went for a knife but Jorgan had seen the movement almost before it had happened and his free hand shot out in a flash, grabbing and twisting. The sound of breaking bones was lost in the heavy bass beat of the music but the man's shriek of pain cut through the noise. Rian remembered her role and cringed back behind Viggota even though her fingers itched for a blaster. She wasn't used to having other people do the fighting for her.
The second thug grabbed for his blaster but Jorgan already had his drawn and pressed the barrel firmly between the man's eyes before he could complete the motion. "You may want to rethink that," he said coldly. "I believe your friend needs to see a medic. Maybe you should accompany him."
The man's eyes were nearly crossed as he stared at Jorgan's blaster. "I... uh... yeah. Good idea." He scrambled hastily backwards and grabbed his friend's uninjured arm. "Let's go."
Viggota watched them stumble towards the exit as Jorgan made a show of wiping off the table and straightening the chairs. He held one for Viggota, who seated himself and twitched the chain in his hand. Rian went down without protest, tucking her feet under her thighs and folding her hands in her lap, hiding a disgusted face at the sticky feel of the floor against her legs. She knew that the stunt with the thugs would have attracted attention and she had to play her role to perfection. She still couldn't help a shiver as Viggota's hand absently caressed her cheek, though she did notice he was careful not to touch her lekku.
Jorgan took up a position where he could have a full view of the room just as a yellow-skinned Twi'lek serving girl approached. She was wearing even less than Rian, barely enough to even be considered clothing. A shock collar was clamped to the back of her neck. "Can I take your order?" she asked, lowering her eyes and pulling her shoulders back to press her breasts forward. Rian could count every one of her ribs even in the darkened cantina.
"Corellian whiskey," Viggota said, and Rian risked a glance up. He was faking a bored expression but she could see the tightness around his eyes. "The good stuff, mind. You'd better not try to serve me swill."
The girl bowed, turning on her heel and sashaying away. Rian watched out the corner of her eye, noticing that the other patrons were mostly watching the serving girl, but a few sets of eyes were on Viggota and Jorgan, assessing the newcomers.
Less than ten minutes later, a tall, slender Human woman approached them. Her left eye glowed blue and her entire jaw and left arm were mechanical. She was dressed in a sleeveless, form-fitting purple dress with cut-outs that showed the dark skin of her back and abdomen. It fell to her ankles, and she had a dozen tiny silver bells hung from rings that pierced through the skin of her feet. She bowed deferentially to Viggota and pitched her mechanical voice to be heard over the music. "My master wishes to apologize for the trouble that was caused to you when you arrived. He would like to make recompense by offering his hospitality. Will you join him?"
Viggota looked up from the drink that he had hardly touched and nodded. "Yes, thank you." He abandoned the glass and stood, barely giving Rian enough time to do so as well before he turned and followed the cyborg woman through the crowd. Hopefully this was the opening they needed to get invited to the sale. It was in less than an hour, so they didn't really have many other options.
A massive Trandoshan guarded the door to a private room off the main part of the cantina but the cyborg woman flicked her mechanical fingers at him and he stepped aside. She led them past the scaled man and into a quiet, dimly lit room.
"Thank you, Syra. That will be all," a male voice spoke from the dimness. The cyborg woman bowed and left, the chiming of the bells on her feet now faintly audible over the music playing outside. "Please, my friend, sit."
Rian risked a glance up through her lashes as Viggota moved towards a chair. A shirtless, blue-skinned Chiss lounged on a couch, a pair of fair-haired human slave girls curled at his sides, alike enough to be twins. Another Trandoshan stood behind the couch, his green-scaled face impassive. The Chiss' red eyes glowed in the dim room, which was furnished with couches and plush chairs, with tiny tables beside them. Viggota chose a couch opposite the man and pushed Rian down to sit by his feet. Jorgan melted into the shadows behind him. In his all-black outfit, he was nearly invisible. Rian felt the Chiss' eyes on her and leaned against Viggota's leg, stroking his calf with one hand. The muscles there were as tight as iron but he didn't acknowledge her at all.
"Thanks for your hospitality," Viggota said. "This is much nicer than the rest of this dump."
"I am Maroc," the Chiss said. "I am honoured to welcome you..." He trailed off, waiting for Viggota to provide a name.
"Viggota," he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other. Rian wasn't sure it was the best idea to be giving his real name, but they hadn't had the time for airtight cover identities. Hopefully Kixi's work would stand up to scrutiny if Maroc decided to look them up.
"If this place isn't to your liking, why are you here?" The Chiss leaned back as well, absently stroking the hair of the woman on his left.
"I was here to conduct business, but it looks like I've been stood up," Viggota's voice was displeased. Rian was sure it was at the display across from him, but it worked with his cover story as well.
"What sort of business?" Maroc asked. His voice was casual, but his eyes alert.
Viggota's voice tightened just a fraction. "The kind that stays between the parties involved."
"You can't blame a man for asking," Maroc said with a low laugh and tapped one of his slaves on the shoulder. "Fetch refreshments for our guests." She stood quickly and vanished into a doorway in the back of the dimly lit room, with Maroc watching her wolfishly as she went. She was wearing about the same amount of clothing as the serving girl in the cantina, a band of nearly translucent fabric around her breasts and another around her hips, as well as the ever-present slave collar.
"We could have gotten refreshments out there," Viggota said, jerking his head towards the door. "You must have had another reason to send your woman for us." Rian bit back a surprised noise. She knew that Viggota wasn't one to bandy words, but she hoped he didn't insult their host. It seemed likely that he was connected to the slave auctions in the back room, and he might be their best way in.
"You are a direct man, Viggota," Maroc said, eyes narrowing. "It is refreshing." He leaned back on the couch, pulling the other slave onto his lap and sliding his hands along her legs. The woman arched against him in a clearly practiced move but kept her eyes downcast. "I wanted to take your measure. It is one thing to hear tales of your exploits with common thugs, but I am always interested in finding unique individuals to deal with and I wished to see if you were worth my time."
"And what have you learned?" Viggota asked. Rian heard the clink of her chain moving as his fingers tightened. She shifted against him to cover the movement, laying her head on his thigh.
"I have learned that you are very direct. Like I said, refreshing." Maroc paused as his slave returned with a tray. She knelt to serve Viggota first, ignoring Rian and Jorgan. Rian could smell strong spirits, possibly some kind of whiskey. Maroc watched the woman slink across the room towards him and kneel at his feet but he made no move to take the drink from her tray.
"So I'm direct," Viggota said, setting his glass on the table beside him without taking a sip. Rian approved, since she wasn't sure she trusted that it was safe to drink. "I haven't learned anything about myself that I didn't already know. What does being direct gain me here?"
"From some people, a knife in the dark," Maroc said, holding up a hand quickly when Viggota and Jorgan both tensed. "Not a threat. A warning. Not everyone here would find your directness refreshing. You should be more cautious. Is this how you conduct all your business dealings?"
Viggota relaxed with some effort. "If you wanted to discuss business, you should have asked."
"Then I will share your directness." Maroc leaned back, still ignoring the woman and her tray, his fingers slipping higher on the other slave's thighs. She closed her eyes and turned her face away and Rian fought down a snarl. She remembered being in that position, skin crawling at the touch but knowing that if she didn't appear to be enjoying she would get worse treatment. "I represent a consortium of buyers that deal in slaves. We are always looking for interested investors and dealers. Your Twi'lek, for example, would fetch a good price. She is quite lovely and appears well-trained."
"She's not for sale," Viggota said, and Rian could feel the effort it cost him to keep his voice casual in the tension of the muscles under her hand.
Maroc waved him off. "No matter. We have many other fine specimens, if you're interested in a matched set." His hands delved under the band of cloth around his slave's waist. "They do make such pretty bookends, don't they?" Viggota inclined his head, letting Maroc decide what that meant, and Maroc continued. "There is a meeting later. You are, of course, invited. If you are interested."
Rian could feel Viggota's sudden tension in the leg she was leaning against, though he managed to stay looking relaxed. "You have my attention."