Chapter Text
The cacophony of music, shouting, and drinks clinking hit you like a brick wall as you walked into the dimly lit cantina. The air inside was heavy with the mingled scents of sweat, musky pheromones, food, and alcohol.
Picking your way through the crowd, you found a seat in a corner, away from all the action, and where you would have your back against a wall; preventing anyone from sneaking up on you, unawares.
Sitting down, you pulled the heavy cloak off of your shoulders, to pool around your hips on the worn, wooden bench. It was far too warm inside the cantina, with all these bodies and activities going on, for you to keep the extra layer bundled around you. And with the humble clothes you were wearing, no one would look at you twice.
A service droid rolled up to your table to take your order, but when you tried to tell it you weren't hungry it started rambling on about policies and that if you weren't going to spend any credits, you had to leave.
"Fine. Can I have some water?" You asked, annoyed at the droid, but more annoyed at yourself for not having stolen just a few more credits before departing the cargo ship you had stowed away on.
The droid beeped a series of times and then rolled off to collect the glass of water for you.
Propping your elbows on the table, you cradled your head in your hands and recalled the last week's events, and your adventure in finally escaping slavery.
You had been kidnapped ten, or maybe twelve, years ago and sold into the slave market. Passed from buyer to buyer, you were never a good "fit" for what they were looking for.
Some buyers wanted laborers, others wanted experienced...entertainers - luckily you didn't meet the physical requirements of either of those. And then there were those who wanted to watch slaves fight for their lives against various monstrous creatures.
It was the latter you'd been escaping, when you stowed away on a scheduled cargo ship.
After being purchased and brought to their secret base of operations, on some planet in the outer rim, you were being outfitted with a new collar and waiting for it to be sized when you saw your chance. The guards had left their post, you don't know why and frankly you didn't care, but that was when you had made a break for it.
Seeing a large freight ship docked, with piles of crates waiting to be processed, you looked both ways before sprinting into the freighter, and climbing inside an empty crate, near the back of the cargo hold.
You held your breath, waiting for something to rip open the crate and drag you out, but it never happened. Sighing a breath of relief, you allowed yourself to relax inside the crate, and eventually you managed to fall asleep.
Waking up much later, and on a different planet, you had crawled out of the crate in search of food, water, and hopefully a change of clothes. Luckily, you were able to find a locker room, with an open locker, chock full of spare clothes, and a bottle of water. You had chosen a loose fitting short sleeve shirt, with a V neck, and strings laced through the V, a heavy winter cloak, and form fitting black pants. With a little more scrounging, you were able to find a small satchel with a couple credits stashed inside.
The droid had returned with your glass of water, drawing you from your memories. You mumbled a quiet "thanks." and placed enough credits on the table to cover your drink.
Someone grabbed your hand before you could pull back, his grip firm.
"Allow me." came his modulated voice. Looking up, you were met with the moss green T visor of a Mandalorian bounty hunter. The fear that enveloped your features was evident, even as adrenaline began to pump through your veins, causing you to begin fighting his hold.
"Easy there, Princess. Wouldn't want to bruise you, or worse."
You stopped fighting his hold, the threat in his words cutting through that Fight or Flight fog that had taken you over. Staring up at the bounty hunter, you cringed inwardly, and involuntarily jerked your captive hand. His grip tightened painfully, but not yet enough to bruise or break anything.
"Stop! You're hurting me!" You cried out, your free hand now prying at his fingers in a feeble attempt to loosen his grip.
The bounty hunter leaned across the table, pulling you up and over it by your wrist, to meet him half way. You were so close to him now that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, though the armor and padding, and your nose was nearly touching his visor.
"What did I tell you?" Came his modulated voice again, this time more menacing. He had an accent you couldn't quite place, but you found it intriguing, despite being terrified by it.
Ignoring his question, you tried pleading once more, "Please, let me go! I didn't do anything!" You couldn't let him take you back to that wretched slave pit, no matter what.
"You have the wrong person." You declare, twisting your wrist again, hoping to break his hold. It doesn't work, his grip tightens painfully again, this time causing you to gasp audibly.
The bounty hunter just stares at you while you writhe in pain from the grip he has on your wrist, and then pulls out a small dark object that is hard to see in the dim light of the cantina. There's a high pitched, rapid beeping coming from the device.
Nodding at it, "That's a tracking fob. You're the one I'm looking for, Princess."
His words sting, and cause you to flush, but only because it's as if he's mocking you, and reminding you of your status.
Wincing, from both the physical pain, and embarrassment, you avert your gaze from his visor and ask, "Please don't call me 'Princess'."
The bounty hunter continues to stare. You could practically feel his eyes boring holes into the top of your skull.
After a few tense seconds, "Time to go, Princess." The hunter states, voice gravelly, with some unknown emotion, as he looks around at the audience the two of you had garnered.
You're not sure if he heard you, or if he just doesn't care - but it's probably the latter, you decide as he drags you through the bustling cantina and out into the cold night air.