The neon streets of Nar Shaddaa were pure sensory overload.
Thrumming with life, Arden often struggled to keep her wits about her when work necessitated an audience with her limacine patrons, as if the current of emotion - of wanting, of pain, of life itself - could somehow knock her off her feet and drag her to her knees. They had trained her for it, of course; what use was an easily-distracted Jedi? But lessons learned in a desert wasteland were difficult to apply in a city that seemed to grow exponentially every time she turned away, it's millions of denizens a faceless, writhing mass equally alive in the Force but utterly dead to it's call.
She didn't like spending time on the Smuggler's Moon. And she certainly didn't call it home.
Hands buried deep in the pockets of her coat, the former Jedi kept her head down as she walked, feet familiar with the route that would take her away from the Mezenti Spaceport and into Hutta Town - home of the Grakks, and the Hutt she was scheduled to meet. A quick check of the chronometer on her wrist confirmed she was on time: their appointment was thirty minutes away, and her hurried pace would ensure she made it in fifteen. Her employer was a punctual creature, and the last thing she intended to do was burden herself with another thousand-something credits of debt for any disrespect, perceived or otherwise.
If only the Jedi had fined their students for talking back, too.
Passing through one of hundreds of night markets that crowded the city streets, Arden focused her gaze on the path in front of her. Work was hell. It wasn't glamorous, it wasn't easy, it wasn't fun. But it gave her a place to stay - if one counted their ship as home - and kept her from going hungry. More importantly, traveling the trade routes gave her a sense of freedom she had never experienced before renouncing her former path; being able to make the jump to lightspeed and wind up somewhere completely new was still something of a novelty, even after a decade spent ferrying cargo for unscrupulous slugs. They liked her, she was pretty sure, but Arden knew well enough that a Hutt's favor was hardly immutable. One mistake too many and they'd feed her to the rancors - or worse, she imagined, even if she wasn't entirely sure what worse could realistically be.
A sudden bump to her side was enough to make her tense up, pausing briefly. Deep in her pockets, her hand gripped the weathered hilt of her lightsaber. It was a relic - when was the last time she'd ignited the blade, even to admire it's glow? - but a comfort nonetheless. It set her apart from the rank and file, marking her unmistakably for what she once was.
Certain there was no danger, no curious digits seeking her wallet or the blaster at her hip, Arden exhaled a tense breath and continued on.
Jogging up the steps to the Hutt's palace - a massive, brutalistic structure housing any number of horrors - she relinquished her blaster and crossed the threshold, pace slowing as she navigated the labyrinthine halls. A familiar face gave her pause - that of a blue-skinned Twi'lek, scantily clad - and though she raised a hand in greeting, the woman turned away. A hint of worry, sharp and sour, accompanied their meeting - what was she hiding?
Regardless, Arden pushed forward. The guards to Grakkus' sanctum seemed uninterested as she passed through, making a point of closing the blast door in her wake.
Something was wrong.
Swallowing hard, there was no time to speak before the Hutt turned, his attention fully upon her from his throne.
« Ah, there she is, » the Hutt began, feigning affection in his native tongue. Arms opened wide as if to embrace her from afar, his smile snapped quickly into a frown, expression quietly furious. « My favorite little liar. »
Arden blinked. Her body felt cold, and he hadn't even accused her of anything yet. It was a creeping frost, as though someone had dragged their boots over her grave, and utterly unlike anything she had felt before.
« You've made a fool out of me, Shae. » The Hutt swiveled his head, massive eyes unblinking as he regarded her. « I took you in when no one else would. Gave you a ship. Sent you among the stars. And today, I find out the truth. »
Pausing, the Hutt cast his eyes downward. As if mourning their partnership, without saying another word.
« I know who you are, Shae Deckard. » There was a venom on his tongue that was impossible to place. Arden couldn't help but feel sick - everything had come crashing down so suddenly. But how? Had she really been so careless?
« Or should I say, Arden Marr? »
Fuck.
Taking in a slow breath, the dark haired woman folded her arms over her chest, regarding her employer with a steely glare. Head cocked slightly to the side, she gave it a small shake, trying her best to not let her terror get the best of her.
Speaking slowly, she offered the only rebuttal that sprang to mind. "I have no idea what the hell you're on about."
Thrumming with life, Arden often struggled to keep her wits about her when work necessitated an audience with her limacine patrons, as if the current of emotion - of wanting, of pain, of life itself - could somehow knock her off her feet and drag her to her knees. They had trained her for it, of course; what use was an easily-distracted Jedi? But lessons learned in a desert wasteland were difficult to apply in a city that seemed to grow exponentially every time she turned away, it's millions of denizens a faceless, writhing mass equally alive in the Force but utterly dead to it's call.
She didn't like spending time on the Smuggler's Moon. And she certainly didn't call it home.
Hands buried deep in the pockets of her coat, the former Jedi kept her head down as she walked, feet familiar with the route that would take her away from the Mezenti Spaceport and into Hutta Town - home of the Grakks, and the Hutt she was scheduled to meet. A quick check of the chronometer on her wrist confirmed she was on time: their appointment was thirty minutes away, and her hurried pace would ensure she made it in fifteen. Her employer was a punctual creature, and the last thing she intended to do was burden herself with another thousand-something credits of debt for any disrespect, perceived or otherwise.
If only the Jedi had fined their students for talking back, too.
Passing through one of hundreds of night markets that crowded the city streets, Arden focused her gaze on the path in front of her. Work was hell. It wasn't glamorous, it wasn't easy, it wasn't fun. But it gave her a place to stay - if one counted their ship as home - and kept her from going hungry. More importantly, traveling the trade routes gave her a sense of freedom she had never experienced before renouncing her former path; being able to make the jump to lightspeed and wind up somewhere completely new was still something of a novelty, even after a decade spent ferrying cargo for unscrupulous slugs. They liked her, she was pretty sure, but Arden knew well enough that a Hutt's favor was hardly immutable. One mistake too many and they'd feed her to the rancors - or worse, she imagined, even if she wasn't entirely sure what worse could realistically be.
A sudden bump to her side was enough to make her tense up, pausing briefly. Deep in her pockets, her hand gripped the weathered hilt of her lightsaber. It was a relic - when was the last time she'd ignited the blade, even to admire it's glow? - but a comfort nonetheless. It set her apart from the rank and file, marking her unmistakably for what she once was.
Certain there was no danger, no curious digits seeking her wallet or the blaster at her hip, Arden exhaled a tense breath and continued on.
Jogging up the steps to the Hutt's palace - a massive, brutalistic structure housing any number of horrors - she relinquished her blaster and crossed the threshold, pace slowing as she navigated the labyrinthine halls. A familiar face gave her pause - that of a blue-skinned Twi'lek, scantily clad - and though she raised a hand in greeting, the woman turned away. A hint of worry, sharp and sour, accompanied their meeting - what was she hiding?
Regardless, Arden pushed forward. The guards to Grakkus' sanctum seemed uninterested as she passed through, making a point of closing the blast door in her wake.
Something was wrong.
Swallowing hard, there was no time to speak before the Hutt turned, his attention fully upon her from his throne.
« Ah, there she is, » the Hutt began, feigning affection in his native tongue. Arms opened wide as if to embrace her from afar, his smile snapped quickly into a frown, expression quietly furious. « My favorite little liar. »
Arden blinked. Her body felt cold, and he hadn't even accused her of anything yet. It was a creeping frost, as though someone had dragged their boots over her grave, and utterly unlike anything she had felt before.
« You've made a fool out of me, Shae. » The Hutt swiveled his head, massive eyes unblinking as he regarded her. « I took you in when no one else would. Gave you a ship. Sent you among the stars. And today, I find out the truth. »
Pausing, the Hutt cast his eyes downward. As if mourning their partnership, without saying another word.
« I know who you are, Shae Deckard. » There was a venom on his tongue that was impossible to place. Arden couldn't help but feel sick - everything had come crashing down so suddenly. But how? Had she really been so careless?
« Or should I say, Arden Marr? »
Fuck.
Taking in a slow breath, the dark haired woman folded her arms over her chest, regarding her employer with a steely glare. Head cocked slightly to the side, she gave it a small shake, trying her best to not let her terror get the best of her.
Speaking slowly, she offered the only rebuttal that sprang to mind. "I have no idea what the hell you're on about."
