A/N: One-shot, for now, may add over time. Votes/Reviews are nearly as amazing as Grogu (00)
Age of the Galactic Empire
3 years in
Tatooine
Located on the Outer Rim, orbiting binary g-type stars; twin suns Tatoo I and II, it was an arid, cloudless planet with little source of vegetation. It was a world of dunes, rocky outcroppings, and canyons spread across the desert wastes with glaring, silicate surfaces. Being home to the largest, apex predator: the Krayt dragon, hostile nomads inhabited the lands amongst the rocky crags as the Sand People or Tusken Raiders. Traversing across the glaring plains as scavengers trading junk and scrapped droids for a bargain was the Jawas.
Cities of the planet blistered from heat and were blasted by sandstorms. Rainfall came but once a decade. Only amongst the rural areas were farmers able to cultivate moisture from the parched planet, thus using its source of sustenance and water as a trade for a menial living.
The perfect dwellings for the Hutts.
Slug-like sentient beings, they hailed from their homeworld, Nal Hutta. As Tatooine's crime lords they were a cartel syndicate that controlled the bulk of trafficking, spaceports, and settlements. Their dealings with imports, piracy, and slavery generated much of their wealth. Colonizations they controlled were rampant havens for sporadic criminals and smugglers. Dabbling in retail business for junk dealings which took place in the main spaceport called: Mos Espa. Located near the Dune Sea, it was the ideal locality for a blue, smarmy Toydarian male who often reaped the benefits from impoverished slavers. Such as those in his establishment called: Watto's Junkshop.
Where cheap labor and atrocious pay sufficed.
This was something Ayen would never agree with, no matter how many times he'd drilled this from a premature age and on. By the stars, only from the adobe domed edifices alone had the sun not scorched her skin to leather,a perfect refuge from such boiling temperatures. Thus, it allowed her to concentrate without interference as a bead of sweat slipped down her brow. With teeth embedded in her lip, warm hazel eyes focused on the red wire clenched between her thumb and forefinger. If she could just get it to connect to the monocular photoreceptor the pit droid would be back in business. Then Watto wouldn't have her breaking her back lifting unused scrap far heavier than her limber frame. Especially if she lost another day's ration just to sate his temper and bask in her suffering.
Or worse, he'd threaten to sell her to the Hutt clan as he had over a large chunk of her servitude. Of course, she knew he wouldn't. She was needed. Though his pride would never admit otherwise, she was an asset to his shop and the whole reason he sold any of this junk. That was when he wasn't gambling the earnings away at the Boonta Eve Podraces.
"Almost got it…" She felt the wire hook into the small cavity and finally hold. "There!" The receptor toggled once, twice and she grinned as the mechanics sparked and whirred. Slipping the alloy casing back into place with an audible snap the faint printing of Serv-0-Droid Inc shone visibly as she wiped a tattered rag free of greased fingerprints from the metal. Leaving any excess to be rubbed into russet, rough-hewn pants.
"Good as new." She bent down and tapped the nose-the sensor-and the droid automatically folded. Her grin widened. Too bad she worked under such a ruffian, had she known her parents she was sure they would've been proud. Having been Watto's slave for so long she couldn't remember anything before. Sorting scrap and polishing parts at just four years old, if there had been a face it was blurred from recollection and any voice like a hollowed-out echo chamber. Nevertheless, she was grateful to whomever they'd been for the skills their genetics had provided her. Continuous food on the table and a roof over her head at Slave Quarters Row.
Placing the droid on a wide, luminous circular table next to the register, she made her way up the stone steps. Outside of the junkshop she spotted the azure Toydarian flitting to and from one side piled with engine parts to generators. "What took you so long?! Coona tee-tocky malia?!" He whirled around as he noticed her approaching, using the favored Huttese dialect to layer her with insults. "I got some selling to do stupid! Me dwana no bata wermo! E chu ta!"
Her brows rose at the Toydarian, wiping the sweat from her forehead with one arm. She matched that dubious squint with a glare as his wings beat behind him in tandem with his temper. A data pad protruded from the belt strap looped across his pot belly. Eyeing the pocket welding torch that dangled off one side. She was hit with the temptation of using the device against him. Alas, wishful thinking as her eyes fell across a ratted pouch tied to his holster. Reality. It was where specific slaves' keycodes were kept, including hers. If it weren't for the damned chip implanted as per customed for registration, she'd been long gone.
The last remaining slave Watto held claim to.
The others had been sold off as debts to the Hutts, none she'd been particularly close to. Elders, mostly. But it unsettled her deeply to realize every day Jabbas's grip tightened a little more, like a noose about to constrict. If Watto wasn't careful he would lose her to the Hutts. Especially if he couldn't pay off his debts.
Since the Hutts were known for their carnal pleasures, explicitly Jabba Desilijic Tiure, she worked under Wattos arduous hours. If it meant her boss brought in the peggats, it kept her from becoming a dancing commodity much like the Twi'Leks. To which dignity was far more important to her.
Otherwise, she'd make sure her chip detonated first.
With an exhale she loosed her frustration and replied in Basic, "I just spent three hours working on your non-expendable pit droid, Watto." She crossed her arms. "We both know you can't afford the loss since you just lost another race."
His trunk-like nose wriggled with a snort. "You should be flying my podracer then huh?" He extended his three-fingered hand rubbing one finger against the two. "Making me all the money."
Her brow rose. "Except I don't fly; you know this. I'm a mechanic, not a pilot."
"Ah!" Watto waved one hand in the air. "Peedunkel! Always a cheeky poodoo." His webbed feet skirted around her as the Toydarian shook his bulbous head and aviated back into the junkshop.
Escaping the brutal heat from the twin Tatooine suns much to her relief, Ayen followed watching Watto as he inspected her work. By the tilt of his stubbled chin, she knew he was satisfied. "Ah, good work. Sweep the floor mats and clean your workstation. Then maybe I'll let you off."
She didn't need to be told twice. She grabbed for the broom tucked in the corner, sweeping the electrostatic mats free of sand from the earlier sandstorm that had managed to slip through the hut. Damned sand. It got everywhere and on everything. There was no escaping it. Just as there was no escaping this life or Wattos whip should she fail in her tasks at any point. He was known for treating his slaves a little more human, yet, she had the scars to prove otherwise. He could be cruel under immense pressure and for that, she was given his ire. Often nights she'd go home with blisters and hardened callouses to scrub under the faucet. No doubt she'd need to soothe those aches and sores for another scrub-up in the cramped fresher.
In the background, she could hear Watto fluttering about, counting his totals, and readying the shisha to smoke as he did in the eve. Stars help her if that ever broke. Using an iron brush, she swept her workstation as dust particles flounced into the air. Before placing her welding goggles into the tin, she polished up the lenses in preparation for tomorrow's work schedule. She couldn't help but feel a little proud of how neat and organized she kept her workspace.
Faintly, she heard Watto disappear into the back grumbling to himself. She couldn't help but snort. It appeared the sentient was having a shortage to fire up the shisha. Not surprising. "Short on oil there Watto?" she muttered with a smirk. She sat back in the rickety chair bracing a knee. Mladong's bracelet clinked against the counter as she did so. A deepened frown found its way to her lips reminding her of her place once more. Just another reason she stayed to herself even in the markets unless haggled or bargained. On a planet such as Tatooine, all one could depend on was themselves to survive the harsh weather and hostile sentients abound.
"Appears so. He was never good at reigning in his temper about minuscule things."
A cool breeze brushed up against the nape of her neck causing her heart to practically jump into her throat as she whirled around. A foot fell with a thwack against the ground as she was faced with a hooded, cloaked figure. Instantly she straightened from a slackened posture—to her feet. "Oh, kriff! I mean— I didn't hear any customers come in."
And hopefully, Watto hadn't, or she was in for an earful. Mercifully, she didn't spot him yet the ounce of relief it brought was short-lived as her eyes flicked back to the hooded figure. Looming over her by nearly a head taller, they crossed their arms against their thick, cloaked chest. An intimidating air swirled about them and she felt more than saw their gaze burning into her even if she refused to make eye contact. It made it difficult to swallow.
Idiot, he's waiting for you to speak, say something! "Ah, I think Watto just went into the back. I can grab him for you or—"
"No." The voice had a smooth baritone but a distinct sharpness. Direct and unmistakably male. "I came here for you." Kriffing hell was this ever her luck. Were they coming to collect from Jabba? Was this the end of her employment with Watto? If it was, she just needed to make a run for it. Then poof she was history—literally and physically. Though the gruesome image did not comfort her any.
Sith.
This was it, the hangman. No way she was going anywhere with one of Jabba's cronies. Jabba had teased Watto many times that he'd end up losing her to the Hutt. As a criminal that profited off many tricks of the trade, Jabba would make full use of her skills and fleshy attributes. Didn't matter if the Hutts were asexual, he'd make use of her however he saw fit. A life spent in a chain-link bikini? Or worse, chained and forcibly trafficked to his high cronies. "Whatever Jabba wants I'll double it. Need a ship fixed I'm your girl. A broken droid? Done. But I'm not going to that slimy cretin. I'd rather fight a Krayt Dragon."
"While that can be arranged," he shrugged indifferently. "I have no business with Jabba. I'm here to collect a debt Watto owes me."
She couldn't help the surge of anger that boiled to the surface as he uttered the last of his words. Watto bet on her?! He had to be dumber than a faamba. "That sleazy, greedy—ugh! Incredible! Inkabunga!" She swore a string of colorful words in Huttese as her face flushed! "He had the bantha balls to bet on me. Betrayer scum! Cheeskar nok!"
How long had he known she was about to be sold off? Did he even remember? He'd acted like it was just another day in the shop. As if remembering herself she took a deep breath and swallowed. Well, her professionalism had been certainly shot, the embarrassment prominent on her freckled face. "I—yeah guess this means I need to… collect any personal things too? Should I bring my tools?"
It was rather unnerving how silent he'd remained amidst her tirade. He simply nodded. Then in a severe voice that made her jump, he snapped, "Watto!"
Rummaging in her workbench for the few personal trinkets she had she gathered up her tool pelt, lucky goggles, and a piece of cloth left to her as a child. Reminiscing her thumb grazed over the tattered edge. But just as a rustle of wings echoed behind her upon reaction, she hastily stuffed it in her threadbare bag.
Almost instantaneously the atmosphere shifted. Like night and day. The temperature dropped bringing gooseflesh to her arms, uncommon given the scalding planet. Any colder and she was sure she'd see her breath for the presence that suddenly unfurled then, ghosting across her skin. It caused the hairs to steadily rise on the back of her neck as she realized it was coming from him. "I don't appreciate waiting on you, Watto. My orders were more than concise." The voice, his voice. Even quiet the authority was blatant, Watto clearly on the razor edge of his thin patience.
"Y-Yes of course." The Toydarian stumbled, an un-commonality from such a brute creature. There was a bunch of shuffling before a series of distinct clicks. Then the shrill blare of an alarm before silence. Yet, the silence felt weighted which she was quick to figure out why. "It has been disabled. The chip will uh, not detonate; she can… go."
She noted the bitterness in Wattos voice before realizing she'd remained frozen in place up until now, head turned to the side. Slowly she sat down, not wishing to intercede in the slightest as silent as a lothcat, lest she upset her new owner. Her back automatically tensed though as she felt his eyes rest on her, carrying an entity of its own. Like a ripple effect, it sent a shiver down her spine, her eyes affixed now on the silhouette of the figure stealthily moving across the wall of the enclave.
As she sensed his eyes release her, her fingers curled into the ends of her sandy braid while the shadow closed the gap between himself and Watto. In what felt like a parsec the air abruptly constricted and it was as if the oxygen had been sapped from the room, leaving time in suspension. Her breath seized as the cloaked figure drew within an inch of the being. "Unfortunately for you, I'm a very dissatisfied customer. Does the name Shmi Skywalker jog your... memories?"
Her eyes widened as she watched a shadowy arm raise with a voice as cold and callous as ice. What came next would forever impale her memory. "Wait, Ani? Ack!—"A horrid, gut-wrenching sound twisted her insides causing her to squeeze her eyes shut as Wattos shrill reply severed. A thick, guttural gasp lanced the air as a wet, asphyxiating gargle sounded before there was an audible crunch.
"Mee jewz ju."
A breath was finally pushed out of her lungs, heartbeat erratic as her reality eclipsed. She had just witnessed a murder. A long silence followed before a gloved hand was extended. Slowly, her eyes focused on the black leather of the glove. Sensing this was not a time to question she shakily grasped his hand and was lifted to her feet in an instant.
"Avert your gaze from the mess." He warned as he moved like a silent phantom across the room.
Unintentionally her eye caught a glimpse of a mangled, shredded wing out of the corner of her eye—before he spun around knowingly and instantly blocking her view. "Look at me." He snapped, his meaning clear.
She peered beneath amber lashes, her fear refracting off abrupt, ocher eyes that lit like a struck match beneath the hood. If looks could scorch, Whoa. Being in a din of bustling crime she'd seen about every species of alien or outlander there was from dozens of off-world planets. Tatooine was an epicenter for criminals and the ilk from all parts of the galaxy. Yet, never had she seen eyes of such magnitude or intensity. It was quite startling, and she knew her fate hung in the balance right then. "Are you—"
"If I was going to kill you," he cut in, voice quiet but deadly, "I would've dispatched of you, already."
"…Oh." It was all she could say, recognizing how meek and brittle she sounded. Very unlike her character, it was but again, she'd never witnessed a murder before. And all by a hand. A hand. If recollection served garnered from years of pilots and travelers' gossip, it wasn't the Jedi who exhumed such a lethal ability. But the Sith. Kark. Was she seriously owned by a kriffing Sith?!
Of all the nine Corellian hells!
"Do you know who I am?" His voice immediately slowed her racing thoughts as if she'd been doused in a bucket of ice water. Leather gloves encircled her wrists, his voice rather imploring. Oh, bantha. What did she say? Was he talking about what she knew he was? "A…" She swallowed, bracing herself lest this confession was a stupid move. "Sith."
"Hhm. Yes, but that's not what I insinuated." There was a slight hint of curiosity beneath his tone. "Let me rephrase: what is it you know?"
"Of…?"
"The galaxy."
"That… there's a Galactic Empire and some type of Rebellion. Done by Jedi who betrayed the Republic which I think was on Coruscant I guess some years ago. And they were exterminated? Really, it's not much I—"
"Do you have any loyalties to such individuals?"
"No…? Honestly I'm not well versed in politics, I've led a pretty antisocial life up until… now."
"Would you say you could be trusted then, loyal to our cause?"
"Yes, I worked my hands to the bone for this gamester."
There was a long silence that followed, so long that Ayen started to worry her lip, drawing blood. "Hold your wrists out." His voice was softer then, almost polite. Biting the inside of her cheek she looked up into his fervent stare with a swallow before holding out her wrists further.
He let go of her then, hovering over the manacles that bound her. With a jolt, they began to vibrate and shake. What seemed like minutes were mere seconds before an audible clack resounded. The manacles snapped open like the gaping maw of a Sarlacc before clattering to the ground.
Stunned for a moment she just stood there, tracing the stark ivory flesh that had never seen the rays of sunlight. The skin was smooth and unmarred of raised scars that pocked her arms, stirring emotions up within her. There was not one memory she could recall without the symbiosis of what the cuffs represented in lifelong servitude. It was a simple action, but the liberation from such a gesture was felt deeply. She couldn't help but twist her wrists right to left, noting the web of blue veins barely visible beneath the translucent flesh. Finally, she swallowed rather breathless as the tears swelled, "Thank you."
Warm breath stroked her lips, nearly causing her to take a step back upon realizing he'd closed the distance between them in seconds. The penetration from the repute he held, however, was enough to root her motionless as a thumb gripped her chin. Forcing her to look up into his fiery gaze once more. "I will not tolerate betrayal," he began, a deadly warning beneath the current of his uncanny soft tone. "So don't tempt your fate as I will personally see to it your death is exceptionally slow should you beg for its end."
Well, then. The blood in her veins seemingly froze at his words and an icy chill wracked down the cord of her spine. Tangling her nerves into a twisted knot she gulped. There was no denying he meant every word and the promise it carried nearly choked her speech. "O-Of course."
He nodded and released her slowly backing away shoulders broadened. As if at attention. "I will excuse your lack of authority now. But I expect you to address me as Lord Vader once we board my ship, as my squadron is commanded."
"Right… Lord Vader." She'd have to get used to that; the name was foreign on her tongue. By his declaration, he wouldn't accept anything less and she wasn't a fool. Having witnessed his brutality, she did not wish to be the target of his ire, ever.
"We'll practice on the way." He scooped something quickly up from the counter before gesturing to the door with one rigid arm. Immediately she started for the stairs as he swept in behind her, long cloak billowing out. His steps were sure and domineering as he took his place in front, leaving her struggling to keep up the pace as they traversed through town. Sentients skirted out of this alpha male's presence as the color drained from a sea of faces.
Having a perceptive eye-a handy attribute with her line of work—one thing she noticed as they made way towards a large ship congealed in the distance was this man's exhumed importance. Any being that came within his shadow quickly bowed out in fear.
"You're sure you don't need to stop at your quarters?"
"No, I've nothing of value there other than… food."
"Very well."
Whoever this man was he was a staple in the galaxy and now he had her under the same iron fist. What plans he had for her she only had an inkling of. But there was absolutely no doubt that he was her new Master and she the novice.
