Star Wars: Twilight Sojourn, ch.2

Author's Notes: Last time y'all voted for "whatever I want," and while there are a lot of things I wanna take a stab at again, I really wanted to see where this story was headed, it's really intriguing to me. This one's light on smut but has a lot of story, and builds up to a BIG next chapter! Hope you enjoy!

Yadda yadda Disney please don't sue me.

[story] [light f/f] [light drug use]

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“Nura Qan, in the flesh,” a wide, fanged grin shoots my way as I slip into the Slippery Lekku saloon, coming at me from a squat, teal-skinned male twi’lek. I know him, but haven’t seen him in quite a while, not since I took off for Corellia. “Been a while! You still making waves?”

“Well, this whole changing of the guard has certain thrown a gizka into the works,” I sigh, but put on a brave face. “How’s business, Riket? Surprised to see the Lekku still open for business.”

“It wasn’t, for a while,” he chuckles, “but you know I can never give up on this place. Once the capital stopped being a war zone, I did everything in my power to get the place up and running again. What can I get you? You still into that spiked blue milk?”

“Been adding an extra shot to it lately, but yeah,” I smile, taking a quick look at the saloon around me. The bones are much the way I left them – along with the sleazy music, sleazier clientele, and twi’lek lasses dancing in cages, suspended from the ceiling. Biggest difference is how run-down it’s gotten, certain walls and sections of the roof having clearly been patched back up after being destroyed in the war. Nonetheless, word on the streets has told me that if I’m going to find a particularly lecherous theelin on Lessu, I’m probably going to find someone matching that description right here.

I reach into my jacket pocket, tossing a couple credit ingots onto the bartop in front of Riket. “Generous of you,” he shoots a nod my way, sliding a tall glass filled with viscous blue liquid back over towards me. “So, knowing you, you’re here for something besides just a delicious beverage and a glimpse of the local skin. Or are you just killing time ‘til you get a chain code approved?”

“Something between those two, actually. I’m looking for someone, and heard I might be able to find her here.” I slide another few credits across the bar, take my glass, and have a long swig of it – dank farrik, nobody serves up blue milk quite like Riket. “She’s theelin, big cartel egghead, shouldn’t be hard to miss. I’ve heard she frequents the place as of late.”

“I’m not usually one to point people towards clientele,” Riket gives me a serious look, narrow-set green eyes seeming to peer through me as he palms my credit ingots. “But you’re a friend, and as far as I know, all you came here for was a drink and a friendly chat.”

“Right you are,” I play along, nodding and taking another sip of my drink.

“Girl you’re looking for is upstairs. She’s a big fan of the local eye-candy, but a bit on the eccentric side.”

“I just got back from talking with Vaax, so I think I can deal with eccentric.”

“Vaax is alive?”

“They are, surprisingly. I guess all the paranoia and hoarding weapons really paid off.”

“Guess so.”

“Mind if I grab another one of these to take with?” I take another deep swig of my milk, polishing the glass off and setting it down on the bar. Riket slides me a fresh one, and I nod to him in thanks, making my way towards the back of the saloon, where I remember the stairs being. They remain right where I left them, and I make my way through a bead divider and into the Slippery Lekku’s seedier second floor. Here, the dancing girls aren’t just scantily clad, but fully nude. The room is darker and the music is louder, though with a plodding rhythm that suggests it is intended more to entrance than excite. The smell of death stick smoke hits me the instant I set my boots on the floor, intoxicating me even as it shaves cycles off my life.

I take a sip of my drink and scan the room. I’m no detective, but a good scoundrel knows how to keep an eye out for danger. Mostly dancers and courtesans, plenty of half-drunk patrons, and a few bouncers, including a teal-scaled trandoshan I’ll have to keep an eye on. I quickly find who I’m looking for, though – the lone theelin in the room, a topless twi’lek girl on each side of her overstuffed VIP seat, a bright orange death stick clenched between her teeth. Her skin’s a similar color of blue-lavender to my own, though far more pale, nearly white, mottled with darker flecks around the scalp and neck. She sports the two rows of short horns framing her temples that her species is known for, and between them, a crest of wild black hair, though its roseate roots strongly suggest that it’s been dyed. Her garb is blood red, consisting of long, flowing pants and a scrap of fabric that winds in an X-shaped pattern around her chest, barely concealing what appear to be small, high breasts. Her entire figure is remarkably petite, as leggy as she can be while remaining as short and slim as she is. There’s no way this isn’t Kapp Zethri.

“Now, now, ladies, there’s plenty to go around…” she was saying, letting out a giddy little laugh, “though if you two wanna kiss each other, maybe there’ll be a little more, eh? Eh? Yeeahhhhh, that’s what mama likes.” Zethri’s grin spread from ear to ear as she coaxed the two twi’leks to make out in front of her, an visible erection standing up beneath her loose, gauzy pants. “Man, I fuckin’ love Ryloth!”

“Then maybe you’ll be tempted to aid one of its daughters,” I interject, tucking my thumbs into my own pants, shifting my longcoat back enough to show off a bit of my body, while keeping my blaster concealed. “You’re Kapp Zethri, yes?”

I might have startled her were she not already in such a state of euphoria. The theelin’s dark eyes lazily make their way from the lewd display in front of them, over to me. She doesn’t respond for a long moment, instead taking a heavy drag off of her death stick, arching a long, thin brow. “So you’re the one who’s been askin’ around about me. Cuter than I expected. Y’know, I’m not into charity, but for pretty twi’lek ladies, I can definitely be convinced to make an exchange. You wanna death stick, sweetness?”

“Gave them up a long time ago, sadly.” My years on Corellia had been a dark time, all things considered. “But I like the sound of an exchange. See, I have something you want.”

The theelin’s smile becomes vacant, then inquisitive, before eventually fading completely into a look of star-eyed suspicion. The bubbly glide of her voice drops an octave, and her bright, clear green eyes, pupils dilated from whatever the fuck she’s been into, truly meet mine for the first time. “I shouldn’t have to warn you that it’s risky to get involved with cartel business, sweetness. Unless by ‘something I want’ you mean some sweet thing with a nice pair a lekku wrappin’ her thighs around my head, I’d suggest you take a step back and rethink.”

“I’m not an entertainer, Zethri, and I think you understand that at this point. But I need a slicer, and you need this.” I slip a hand into my jacket pocket, palming the weird little pyramid, then finally withdrawing it.

There is no peace, there is only passion.

Words enter my mind unbidden – my own thoughts, my own words, but not in an order I’ve ever conjured on my own. The thought is quiet, but so real, planting itself in my mind so deeply and cleanly as if it were a long-established memory. I resist the urge to visibly flinch, and open my hand, showing Kapp Zethri the curious little artifact. Her eyes flick from my own, to the translucent red shape, showing a quick gamut of emotions ranging from shock, to elation, to rage, to uncertainty, and finally, to fear.

She hesitates a moment before speaking. “Give me that,” she says, her tone more even than I’ve ever heard it, though it still bears an odd hint of reservation. There’s something she’s unsure about, and I’m suddenly very worried that Vaax may have given me poodoo info.

“Ah, ah, ah,” I slip it back into my pocket, folding my arms across my chest. “Exchange, right?”

Fear gives way back to anger – this woman really is an open datapad. “You really are a bad time, you know that?”

“I promise I’m usually not. I need a chain code.”

“You know they’re giving them out for free, right?”

“Seriously? The same joke– you have to know low-hanging fruit when you see it, right? I need a fake chain code so I can get my ship off of Ryloth and into the Outer Rim. You’re cartel, so I’m sure you can sympathize with the desire to stay out of the Empire’s systems. So if you want this little… doohickey, whatever it is, you’re gonna have to play ball, unless your little girlfriends here have blasters.”

“Sadly, they don’t,” Zethri sighs, slouching back into her seat. “He does, though.”

The instant she telegraphs danger, I quick-draw my blaster and let my peripheral vision look for movement, and I find it. That damn trandoshan I scoped out earlier has an E-5C heavy blaster rifle aimed in my direction, and I make sure my own weapon’s pointed back at him before he can pull the trigger. Now, I’m not crazy about the odds of putting him down before he can blow me to bits, so I’m gonna have to talk fast. “Don’t get twitchy, sleemo,” I say uneasily, before glancing back towards Zethri. “Alright, point taken.”

“Didn’t want you to get the impression that you held all the cards in this little Pazaak game,” the theelin arches a brow, and I can tell she’s starting to sober up. Whether that’s to my benefit or not, I’m not sure yet.

“All I want is a fair exchange. Get me a chain code, and you get your little doo-dad. I didn’t get any information about what it is or why you want it – no loose ends, just honest work.” I try to talk as fast as I can without letting myself sound nervous. Stand-offs are not my strong suit.

Through passion, I gain strength.

Kapp Zethri lifts her drink, offering a silent toast to me before knocking it back. With her other hand, she twirls the tip of one of the dancer’s lekku around her finger, leaning in to gently nuzzle the twi’lek girl as she weighs her options. Finally, she looks back at me. “...You said you had a ship?”

“I do.”

“A starfighter?”

“A cargo ship.”

“Big one?”

“Ish.”

The trandoshan shifts from foot to foot. He’s getting antsy. I don’t like antsy trandoshans.

“I’ll get you your chain code. Then I’m coming with you.”

She’s gotta be kidding. “Hutts didn’t get you a ship of your own?”

“Not here, no. I was supposed to get picked up by a… colleague,” she says hesitantly, “but they don’t dare touch down on Ryloth with the lockdown in effect. As much as I like it here, I need to leave, and I’ve needed to leave for a while now.”

“So you want me to bring you, on my ship, to Hutt space?”

“Just the Outer Rim. I’ll take care of the rest. He’ll… he’ll find me.”

“I hope you don’t mean him,” I jerk my head towards the trandoshan, who narrows his eyes.

“Jasst is a bodyguard, nothing more,” Zethri sighs. “He’ll accompany me, of course. He blends in better than you’d expect, I’m sure you won’t even notice him if we decide to… get to know each other better.” She offers a lusty, lopsided smirk much more reminiscent of the woman I’d seen before she started to get serious. I’m starting to miss that version of Zethri.

And here I figured I’d be able to use this trinket to trade up. Turns out, I’m looking at being ten-thousand behind and sporting two stowaways; one that wants to jump my bones, and the other who looks like he wants char-broiled lekku for lunch. Dank farrik!

“You realize how bad a deal this is, for me.”

“From where I’m sitting, it looks like you don’t have much of a choice,” she grins, “though I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time for me to… make it worth your while.” She sticks her tongue in her cheek, bringing a hand to her lips to pantomime fellatio. In all honesty, she is cute, even though I’m sure she’s more dangerous than a kath hound in heat. Still, screwloose cartel lackeys are something I’ve dealt with before. This new Galactic Empire… that’s outside my wheelhouse.

Tragically, she’s completely right. I don’t have much of a choice. “Alright,” I finally relent, “deal. How long will it take you to slice a chain code?”

“Oh, I’ve already got some. I was planning to use them when my ride showed up on Ryloth… until I was alerted that they wouldn’t be coming. So it looks like I’m ready to go whenever you are.”

I let out a slow sigh. “Fine. Tell your goon to lower that cannon.”

There’s a low, clicking growl from the trandoshan, and Vethri lets out a little giggle. “I’d be more polite to Jasst, if I were you. He has a bit of a temper.”

“You don’t say?”

I can’t help but feel like I’ve made a horrible mistake, one that I won’t be able to un-make. Still, I got what I wanted, even if it had a lot more strings attached than I was hoping for – now it’s just a matter of getting past the clones and actually getting back on the Falchion.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

As a smuggler – or any sort of low-life, really – it’s usually a good idea to stay beneath notice. As a twi’lek, this has never been that challenging for me, even on other systems. On Ryloth, it’s a piece of batuu-bon. But walking down the streets of Lessu with a half-drunk theelin and a gun-toting trandoshan makes things quite a lot more complicated.

With my would-be passengers in tow, I make my way from the Slippery Lekku back to the hangar bay where the Falchion remains, approaching the clone trooper checking codes with a faux confidence that I’m hoping will get me through. In all honesty, the clones have seemed a lot less… on edge… than they were right at the end of the war, like they’ve finally stopped seeing anyone and everyone as the enemy. I can only assume Ryloth’s mass-disarming had something to do with that, even if Orn Free Taa’s self-serving platitudes have only served to further agitate the already-exhausted twi’lek people.

Through strength, I gain power.

“Chain codes?” the clone says, nodding to Kapp, Jasst, and myself. We feed the sliced codes into his datapad… and then wait. Kapp Zethri seems perfectly confident that everything’s going to go off without a hitch, while the trandoshan is so difficult to read I don’t even bother trying. It seems like I’m the only one who’s nervous.

After a few moments, the clone offers another nod. “These all check out. You’re good to go. Glory to the Empire.”

“May the Fo–” I begin to say, only to quickly remember that the Jedi were now being considered traitors. Maybe best to keep that one under wraps. “Glory to the Empire,” I force myself to follow up, making my way through to the hangar bay. Everything, it seems, it going according to plan – maybe at least some part of this whole catastrophe will go smoothly.

“Hey, miss!”

Spoke too soon. Fuckin’ knew it.

I take another few steps, pretending I hadn’t heard, but I hear the voice ring out from behind me once again. Can’t miss that accent, either – it’s a clone trooper. “Stop right there! I know you.”

Shit! This isn’t good. What’s worse is that even if I could somehow talk my way out of this, I seriously doubt my little stowaways can. Regardless, I finally turn, and there he is – that same clone from the other day, with the teal pauldron. His helmet’s off now, showing off a weathered face and spiffy undercut, and I gotta say… like, I know all the clones look the same, but I swear this one’s hotter somehow.

“Their chain codes all check out, Howzer,” the trooper who’d seen me through offers a shrug. “This twi’lek a friend of yours?”

“I saw you just the other day,” the one with the undercut – Howzer, I guess – narrows his eyes at me. “I had to turn you away. Odd that you managed to get a chain code this fast…” he glances toward the hangar, and toward the Falchion, a sleek but large ship, “...when the lockdown on cargo vessels doesn’t lift for another ten days.”

Through power, I gain victory.

“Oh, this isn’t a cargo ship,” I lie through my teeth, not expecting the bluff to help much, but hoping to at least buy some time. To my side, Kapp Zethri looks decidedly agitated, as if blaming me for this oversight. “It’s just a sizable… pleasure barge! These two here are my concubines, as I’m sure you can tell. I like the exotic ones, as you can see. Let me tell you, once you’ve had a trandoshan, it’s hard to be satisfied by anyone else. The roughness of the scales… unh! Absolutely drives me wild. I’m sure you wouldn’t–”

“Trooper, run the numbers on this ship and see how it’s classified, would you?” Howzer nods to the newer clone, then lays his gaze back onto me. There’s no malice in his eyes, but a look of genuine duty and desire for justice. It’s almost enough to make me feel bad about trying to give him the slip.

Through victory, my chains are broken.

All at once, the worst possible thing happens. I hear a snarl from behind me – “Enough of thisss.” It’s the first time I’ve heard Jasst actually speak. I turn to look at him, and the world around me seems to slow, as he slings his blaster rifle over his shoulder, aims… and fires.

The Force shall free me.