"Master, are you sure about this?" Ryn asked. The Twi'lek looked surprisingly miserable, and her lekku were twitching limply. She was standing naked in the middle of their barracks, her gaze shifting between him and the garment on her bunk.
Skira paused in his practicing, glancing at his slave. It had been months since he'd picked up his bes'bev, and despite himself he wanted to be equal to the task of playing for the beautiful Twi'lek's dancing. The flute was about a foot and a half long, made of beskar, with the end sharpened to a point like that of a quill pen, and like most things Mando'ad, it was a fully functional weapon that could both stab and bludgeon someone.
"Yes," he said firmly. "Why? You've never had a problem dancing before. There's even been times you've begged me to let you."
Ryn looked at the ground.
"I know," she said softly, "it's just, those were strangers. What if people look at me different here?"
"What do you mean?" Skira asked.
"They don't treat me like a slave here," Ryn said sadly. "I mean, some of them still look at me like they want to use me, but they don't treat me like one. Professor Kaarz even talks to me about ships and helps me learn, even though I don't like to..."
"You don't like studying mechanics?" Skira asked, slightly surprised. He'd seen Ryn spend hours studying the systems of the Bes'bev.
Ryn was shaking, her lekku thrashing about with stress, and she refused to look at him.
"I study ships because it makes you happy," the Twi'lek whimpered. "I study ships because you want me to and so I can be useful, even though it makes my brain hurt and makes me feel stupid and clumsy and it gets me dirty and ugly. Because I love you and I want you to be happy."
Skira kept his expression blank. Ryn didn't love him. Not really. She was trained to say that, trained to feel something like it for her Master. It had been beaten into her. But she didn't really feel it. Not towards him.
Raana didn't love him either, he reflected. Oh, she liked him, found him attractive. Because he was a good and proper Mando'ad and did what a Mando'ad should.
That was okay. He didn't love them either, regardless of what Shada thought. Not really. He was with Raana because she was a good Mando'ad woman. He was with Ryn because she needed a Master to keep her alive and take care of her. It was proper. It was what needed to be done, so he did it. Raana was a chance he didn't think he'd have, so he was taking it because that's what a good Mando'ad did.
He didn't deserve love, and he didn't receive it. You could only love someone if you knew them, and if they truly knew him they would never love him. It was as simple as that.
"I just don't want them to see me as a slave," Ryn whimpered. "I don't want to go back to being less than a person. I want them to keep seeing me the way you see me, the way they see me now, Master."
Skira let out a sigh. He sympathized, he really did. But he owed Ordo, and that meant he owed Shada, and Shada wanted into the lab and this was their best distraction.
"I'm sure they won't, Ryn," he said softly, though the words tasted a bit hollow. "All you're doing is dancing while I play. These Republic'ad like to pretend their enlightened and respect all cultures. I'm sure they'll see you as just another artist practicing her craft and not a slave to be bought and bred. Professor Kaarz will still talk ships with you after tonight."
Even if he had to put a blaster to the woman's head, she'd do it.
"Now get dressed, it's almost time," he said, his voice firm. "And stop pouting. I want you to put on a good show. I'm counting on you to keep everyone's attention so Shada can complete her mission.
"Yes, Master," Ryn said. She shook herself, no doubt slipping into the slave-space her teachers had beaten into her. A slave was to appear happy, sensual, and carnally lustful at all times for her Master. He hated making her go back to that place. Hated himself. But you did what you had to do for the mission.
Sensually, Ryn started to dress. Her dancing outfit was one she had picked out for herself, begging and pleading for him to buy it for her early on when he'd first obtained her. The bottom half consisted of something that mostly consisted of silver chains attached to a tiny silver plate over her pubis that did more to draw the eye than it did to hide anything. Attached at the apex of her hips was a transparent kama, or half skirt, of black silk trimmed in silver that barely covered her shapely ass. The top consisted of a bra made of silver plates shaped like three waves crashing inwards, one on the outside framing her azure flesh, one over her nipples, and one on the inside almost touching its opposite number, that cupped, lifted, and barely covered her breasts. Silver slave bracelets and anklets decorated her hands and feet, the metal glittering softly in the artificial light. A silver slave collar wrapped around her neck, and the last thing she put on was a head harness of black and silver leather, with slim silver chains wrapping around the upper third of her lekku, terminating in silver bands that wrapped around her head tails.
Dressed, she wrapped a hooded robe around herself, hiding the costume away under dark navy fabric. Without waiting for him, she padded out of the barracks on bare feet
Skira watched her go and tried not to feel guilty.
Shada stepped inside, casting a glance behind her, before sealing the airlock.
"Everything's ready," she said. "Food and drinks are set up, everyone's already gathering."
"And you're not going to have a problem getting back there?" Skira asked.
"I'll manage," Shada said. "So long as Ryn keeps their attention."
They'd tried to get the event set up in the mess hall, but Meld'an had insisted that they hold the event in the central hub where there would be more space for people to spread out and sit comfortably. Unable to protest without potentially giving themselves away, Shada had agreed.
"She will," Skira said, his voice flat. "She might never forgive me, but she'll do her part."
Shada tilted her head, curiosity evident in her expression.
"She," Skira said. He paused, trying to find words for things he wasn't sure he could ever understand. He hung his head and looked at the floor. "She feels that they respect her here. By showing off herself as a slave and dancer, she's worried they will come to see her as less than human again. Perhaps I've been too indulgent, too kind, in trying to help her not be what she is. Allowing her to glimpse a world she was taken from and can never truly get back too. Now I may be taking away that glimpse from her for the rest of our time here."
Shada was silent for a long moment.
"I hadn't considered that," she said softly. With a thoughtful expression, she stared at the hatch, but Skira knew she wasn't seeing. She was looking past it, to immaterial things.
"I best get out there," he said, standing up. The bes'bev felt strong and sure in his hand. Weapons he could understand. Women, people, those were hard.
Shada followed after him, sealing the hatch to their quarters. In the central hub, they could hear the clamor of people excited for something different after months of monotony, the same food day in and day out, and a complete lack of non-work related stimulation. The archaeological teams had a steady influx of things, but the engineering, agricultural, and medical people were left with digging holes, tending hydro-ponics, or wishing someone would get injured, offset by weekly movie nights that had a series of double features that always left people wanting.
Entering the central hub, Skira found most of the scientists already spread out on cushions or folded blankets on the floor, working to get the best view they could of where he and Ryn would be performing, their backs to the airlock. Off to one side, a table had been set up with a large keg containing netra'gal, and beside it, a large stew pot with tiingilar was already half empty. Nearly everyone had a mug and bowl of the spicy stew in front of them, but their eyes were on the robed figure of Ryn, as she stood beside the chair he was going to be sitting on.
Confidently, he made his way to her side and sat down, letting his eyes roam the crowd. Everyone had sat down more or less with their group, though he saw a few people breaking ranks. After several months, it wasn't surprising that some people had started hooking up. He and Raana had come across more than a few embarrassed couples in their own search for some privacy, though with their own barracks it was easier for them than everyone else.
The black ale was already having an effect, the first cups loosening people's nerves. He knew with the heat of Shada's tiingilar, they'd be desperately refilling those cups soon, and when the ale was gone and they were well on their way to intoxication, they'd have zero attention to spare for Shada going missing. Especially with Ryn dancing in front of them.
"Republic'ade," Shada said, drawing everyone's attention as he blew a few experimental notes for one last warm up, "I hope everyone enjoys tonight's entertainment. I'm sorry we're not able to do anything more elaborate, but anything is better than another Garik Loran holo."
"Here here!" several people yelled, raising their mugs in agreement.
"Just remember," Shada said, her tone serious. "Ryn'ika is showing us something special tonight and I expect everyone to be respectful, or you get my blaster in your teeth, understood?"
A series of nods and nervous laughter broke out.
"Good," Shada said. She turned to him. "Skira, Ryn'ika, please being."
The lights were dimmed, leaving him and Ryn as the center of attention in the darkened hub. Drawing in a breath, he placed the bes'bev to his lips and began to play. Most Mandalorian music was bombastic, aggressive, songs of war for warriors, but not all of them. As he played, the alto sounds of his flute were caressed by Ryn's voice.
For whatever reason, either because she was born with the natural talent, or like much of her skills it was beaten into her, Ryn had a beautiful soprano voice that matched her angelic looks. Hidden in the robe, with only her mouth occasionally illuminated by the dimmed lights, she began to sing the Dha Werda Verda, an ancient epic poem about the people who had given rise to the Mandalorians tens of thousands of years ago, in perfect Mando'a.
The expedition crew sat enraptured. The historically minded of them no doubt knew the poem, or of it, but he doubted they had ever seen it performed like this. From behind the crowd, Shada beat a steady rhythm against her beskar'gam, matching the beat he tapped out with his boot. Slowly, the crowd began to keep time with him.
Finishing the portion of the poem that told of the Taung's great last stand, he began to play Vode An. The war chant, usually bombastic and prideful, instead became a haunting melody under his fingers and Ryn's mournful voice. Even without knowing the words, the emotions were evident and he saw several of the crew brushing at their eyes.
Fifteen minutes in, with everyone's eyes locked firmly on them, Shada slipped silently away.
As Vode An ended, Skira began to play a song Ryn had requested. She'd only provided him the music, not the words though. After the first few bars, she began to sing in Mando'a and he nearly froze, only years of battle discipline keeping him from stopping.
"Look into my eyes, you will see what you mean to me," Ryn sang, her voice filling the room, as she turned and faced him, still hidden in the dark and her robe. "Search your heart, search your soul, and when you find me there, you'll search no more."
His flute played the song as the audio-file had presented it, but Ryn's voice added something utterly heartbreaking and full of longing to the melody. At times, she seemed overcome by emotion and paused to let him play parts of the melody as a solo and he found himself unwillingly adding an air of longing to his playing.
Skira doubted a single person there except for the Mando'ad understood a word the Twi'lek was saying. All the same, he saw several of the female crew's faces crumple, including Professor Kaarz. They clearly knew it was a love song, and one full of heartbreak and unrequited feelings.
By the end, he could almost have sworn that it wasn't a performance. That Ryn meant every word she'd just sung for him and only him. Skira pushed aside the feeling, because he knew it wasn't true. It was just Ryn putting on a performance because he'd asked her too.
He started playing the next song, this one also chosen by her, but far more sensual. Slowly, almost sadly, Ryn turned from him back to the crowd and started to move. Each movement was sensuous, almost inhumanly graceful. As he reached the crescendo of the first chorus, she made a luxurious, impossible movement, and the robe fell like silken rain from her body.
Gasps filled the room as silver metal glinted in the lights like starlight against the blue of her skin. Every part of her was grace personified as her legs, arms, and lekku swayed and spun in time with the music. Even used to her and having seen her dance before, Skira found it hard to not to be distracted, and redoubled his focus on the bes'bev.
Her feet fell like fresh snow on the floor in time with the beat he drummed out with his boot. Her body swayed like a reed in the wind of his music. Her arms twined around herself and an invisible lover, and he knew that everyone watching had to imagine that they were the one she was holding, because he was helpless to imagine anything other than himself in those arms. Her lekku moved as sensually and gracefully as any woman's hair, flaring out behind her like her skirt did when she spun.
Eyes desperately drank her in, wanting to look everywhere at once, and feeling lost because they couldn't. Male and female, or otherwise, it didn't matter. One could record a holo of the dance and watch it for a hundred years, and feel one had never truly seen it all.
Ryn had feared they would see her only as a slave.
As he played, Skira, even as damaged as he was, knew they would never see her as anything other than a Goddess. A goddess in chains, because if she was free, her mere existence would destroy them with her beauty and grace. None would be able to resist her slightest whim.
The song ended and they moved on to the next. This one was faster, harder. She had professed her love. She had made love to her lover. Now she was fucking them. Her movements were faster, the spins tighter. Instead of swaying, caught in the breeze that was the song, now she was rolling her body, her hips, her breasts, her shoulders. Her head practically swung back and forth, at the mercy of her body's movements, her lekku whipping about with the force of the hedonistic dance she was lost in.
She was starlight, dancing her bewitching dance in the moonlight, performing the ancient rite one more time. Her violet gaze burned across the room, capturing every person there as surely as her dance did, before she tore it away to look at the next person, leaving them empty and wanting, hollow without her.
Ale and stew were forgotten. Each person there had eyes only for the Twi'lek. Even lovers seemed to forget each other.
As the song ended, Ryn arched her back hard, legs going stiff as she rose up on her toes, arms and head thrown back in a wordless cry of climax, her lekku shivering and shaking out of control. With the final note, she fell to the ground like a puppet whose strings were cut. Gasps filled the silence.
She lay there, breathing hard, like everyone else. In the lights, one could see her closed eyes, lips smiling in sweet satisfaction. The silence stretched and he saw someone start to raise their hands to clap.
Skira began the next song, making the room still. This one was slower, relaxed. Ryn drew herself up sensually, still half sprawled on the floor, legs twisted around each other. In languid, graceful movements she stretched, as is awakening after hours of sated slumber. Note by note, bar by bar, she arose, taking her audience with her, helpless to resist as she danced of pure happiness. Yet, even as erotic as the dance was, there was an pure innocence about it, an essence of hope for the future. One that left people blushing, as if they had seen something private and personal, far more than the animalistic sex of the dance before.
Glancing towards the back of the crowd revealed that Shada wasn't back yet. Hopefully nothing had gone wrong. Meld'an was still there though, staring at Ryn with an expression Skira knew all too well. There was going to be trouble, one way or the other.
He slid into the next song. It had more of a military air to it, but a mournfulness as well. Sadness and worry were reflected in Ryn's dance, as the lover she had finally found was called away from her. She pleaded with her invisible lover, the dance begging him to stay. Till at last he left, leaving her reaching out for him, following him weakly, till her arms fell away and she collapsed in on her self as the song ended.
The final number began. It started with hope, Ryn rising as if her lover had returned. The music turned though, mournful and sad as she was told of his death. Haunting notes filled the still air as she she looked for her lover. Staccato barks filled the air as she thrashed in anger when he didn't come. The music pleaded along side her as she bargained with whatever power out there, lekku trembling like falling tears.
Sobs filled the room as the music took its darkest turn and she collapsed again, body rolling and shaking with sobs as she finally realized she was alone all over again. Skira watched as several people swiped uselessly at their eyes. His gaze caught sight of Shada as she returned, the Mando'ad woman pausing to stare in shock at the crowd and the Twi'lek dancer.
The music lifted slightly as Ryn accepted the truth. She rose slightly, reclining on the floor. One hand rose to her mouth as she shuddered, then trailed sensually down her body to her stomach. She rose to her feet, the movement impossibly graceful as she used only her legs her arms coming to cradle her belly, as if it carried the new life born from her lost lover.
The final note trailed off, leaving the room in silence.
Slowly, hesitantly, afraid to break the stillness and draw attention to themselves, the crew began to clap. Within moments it was a thunderous applause, combined with whoops and cheers and whistles. Ryn blushed and curtsied, her confidence lost in the face of something she'd never had before.
Whenever she'd danced before, it had been to arouse her masters, who then used her. When she danced for Skira, he praised her skill, but never lost himself in her art. When she danced for a mission, it always ended in lewd catcalls and occasionally blaster fire.
This honest praise was new and overwhelming. Tears glittered in her eyes as she curtsied again and again. Skira watched, feeling something like pride and happiness for her, as it got to be too much for the broken girl and she swept up her robe, threw it around her, and fled back to the barracks, thanking everyone as she raced past.
He left the party shortly after, accepting as much praise for her as he could. Already couples were peeling off, and everyone seemed to be giving him winks as he made his good byes. Shada was gone, off to patrol and keep up her cover.
Ryn was in their barracks, standing frozen, waiting for him. He placed his hand on her head and gave her a small smile.
"You did very good, Ryn," he said softly, "I'm very proud of you."
For a moment, she looked scared. She chewed her lip, as if trying to find the strength, or words, to say something. With a shudder, and tears of frustration in her eyes, she simply moved. Her arms and lekku wrapped around him a she kissed him with every ounce of her heart.
He spent the next several hours rewarding her, making her shudder, gasp, and cry out. She clung to him, as if lost, as if he was the only thing in her world that she understood. Maybe he was. So he held her close, and used her the way she needed to be used. Gave her back what foundation he could, even if it was the wrong one, till at last she fell asleep in his arms, still clinging to him like a drowning sailor lost as sea.