Opal Lynn (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} tsrii) wrote,@ 2008-03-15 15:58:00 |
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| Current location: | home for spring break |
| Current mood: |  impressed |
| Entry tags: | chapters |
Title: Star Wars Episode II: Rise of the Twin Suns (4/?)
Author's Note: Just a warning, there is a rather gory scene in this chapter. However, since it doesn't involve sentient beings attacking one another I don't think it deserves a 'mature' rating. Just be warned, there's a lot of blood in parts of this chapter, and some lamentable animal cruelty.
Also, there are possibly two of the WORST jokes in the universe in here, but they are intentionally bad, so please enjoy! ^_^
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F O U R
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Once Obi-Wan's coordinates had been transmitted, Anakin and Padmé wasted no time setting off to the south in search of the Palace. The silence was thick between them, apparently Padmé was still a bit put off by Anakin's horrific disguise. She walked at a brisk pace several yards in front of him, and he was finding it hard to keep up. His shirt kept getting snagged by branches while his boots sank unpleasantly in the muck, and even Artoo seemed to be having an easier time of it that Anakin. The little droid was equipped with a startling array of all-terrain attachments which Anakin was beginning to feel were altogether unnecessary for a simple astromech model. Luckily, the awkward silence was made more bearable by the constant maelstrom of forest creatures which seemed to predominate every surface imaginable. Colorful birds of every size and shape sang and twittered loudly, insects of every comprehensible genus and species buzzed and bit at them, and more than one fuzzy wide-eyed creature stared at them from between the tree branches.
With his attention on the rustling canopy above, Anakin failed to notice where he was going and tripped into a sizable crumbling log. It crunched under his weight and collapsed loudly as a dozen animals fled from their now caved-in home, squawking and screaming all the while.
Padmé jumped and spun around, holding her 'spear' defensively in one hand and the shield helmet in the other. When she saw the innocent, startled look on Anakin's face, she had to bite back a smirk. Now that the goggles and breathing apparatus were slung non-threateningly around his neck, Anakin looked every bit his twenty-year-old self again as he slowly picked his way over the log.
"Are you done frolicking with the wildlife?" Padmé drawled, lowering the staff against her shoulder and raising her eyebrows.
Anakin tried to laugh casually as he freed himself from the last limbs of the fallen log, but as he stepped away the remaining timber utterly imploded, sending dust and insects flying everywhere. Then, almost on cue, Anakin's boot suddenly squelched in a deep pool of mud, and his leg disappeared to mid calf.
"I'm not good with forests." Said Anakin, as if this were a reasonable excuse.
Padmé laughed outright, and when Anakin made a genuinely sullen face, she laughed even harder, doubling over and clinging to the staff for support.
"It's not funny!" Anakin whined, trying to free himself of the mud. He yanked at his leg but only succeeded in driving his foot deeper and deeper. Once he saw how truly pitiful his fight against the mud was turning out to be, he couldn't help but giggle right along with Padmé, who was now practically convulsing with glee.
"Stop laughing!" he attempted, but his own giddy chuckling was cancelling out any chance he had of sounding serious.
Once Padmé had caught her breath sufficiently to move once more, she set down her helmet and staff before grabbing his hand and chiding,
"I don't understand how you can be such a natural in the skies yet such a dunce on the ground."
She pulled at his arm, but his foot was in a vacuum hold and would not budge. It took them a few minutes of heartfelt tugging and heaving before the ground finally relented and released Anakin's foot with a very rude sound. Padmé was still wrenching his arm, and he went careening into her. She was knocked back several feet, and she grabbed him, startled.
Anakin's stomach threatened to flip over again as she glanced up at him in surprise, their faces inches apart. He could feel every angle of her body pressed up against him, and for some reason - even though he had seen Padmé hundreds of times before - there was something very different about holding her this close, something infinitely more visceral than any gaze. Her arms were tight around his waist, but they relaxed more comfortably as she continued to look at him, her face molding into an expression Anakin had never seen there before.
He felt strange, almost ethereal. The squabbling of the forest seemed to fade somewhere deep in the distance, and the only thing that retained any clarity was Padmé, along with a nearly painful sensation in his chest. When they had crashed together, his hands had clenched her shoulders, now he lifted one to touch her cheek. He couldn't explain why. It was the same sort of reflexive momentum that drove his piloting, an unconscious move that seemed to happen before he'd even thought it over. Her skin was impossibly smooth; pristine and cool even in the sweltering jungle. For a moment, her eyes closed and she seemed to lean into his hand.
"Padmé, I..." what? What would he say? Were there words for this sort of thing? How could there be words for such a feeling; such an indescribable warmth in his chest? He smiled.
"Are you an angel?" He asked, remembering the first time he had seen her; when he had felt just as warm and just as amazed as he did now.
The smile that spread over her face was as bright and lovely as any sunrise, and he lowered his forehead to rest against hers, trying to calm the manic beating of his pulse. If this moment had stretched on forever, Anakin still would have felt it had been too short. Seconds passed without notice, and Padmé's hands gently clenched his shirt as she pressed closer to him; almost impossibly close now, as if they were going to meld into one person. Happily, Anakin thought. Only too happily.
Unexpectedly, Padmé shifted and tentatively touched his lips with hers, pulling away almost as suddenly. They stared at each other momentarily before sharing a smile. Anakin moved to kiss her again, but R2-D2 chose that moment to interrupt and remind him - in rather petulant tones - that they had a job to do.
Though Padmé couldn't understand the droid directly, she comprehended enough that she untangled herself from Anakin and blushed from head to toe. Anakin was pleased to note that she didn't pull away completely, and she held his hand for a brief moment before collecting her helmet and staff and setting off southward again. Although a warning rang in the back of his head, - an echoing reminder of the Jedi Code's thoughts on "passion" - he couldn't focus on it for very long and it flitted from his mind like a translucent butterfly.
Anakin smiled boyishly, feeling very good indeed. He started after Padmé and pointedly ignored Artoo's robotic giggle-fit.
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"500 units on the acklay!"
"600 on the girl!"
"How about this? 1,000 units on the girl and a private donation for good luck!"
After a seemingly endless maze of forked tunnels and offshoots, Obi-Wan had found his way to what seemed to be the entrance of a large betting enclave. In the room beyond, he could hear scattered laughter echoing over the light pattering of music and the distant shrieks of a caged animal. Voices from the enclave seeped into the warren Obi-Wan was sneaking through, and he caught a snippet of conversation.
"Mondula's really been raking in the cash these days. That Reysuu is something. If I could get one piece of the pot that filthy slug has been collecting, I'd..."
"If I could get one piece of Reysuu!"
"More like she'd bite off a piece of you!"
There was more laughter, and the sound of shuffling feet as money was exchanged. With as much stealth as he could muster, Obi-Wan slid from the dark entrance and into the betting enclave, drawing his hood tight around his face. The enclave was full of excitement and motion, and no one seemed to notice his sudden appearance.
The patrons were being ushered through several large doorways at one end of the enclave, and everyone clambered loudly up numerous flights of stairs to what Obi-Wan could just discern as the various observation levels of a towering arena. Obi-Wan glanced around the enclave, listening cautiously to the distant sound of a palace band playing and the din of spectators in the arena ahead. It certainly had the look, feel, and smell of a Huttese Palace, and unless he was sorely mistaken, some sort of macabre gladiator versus beast spectacle was not far from taking place. He was a little unnerved that the Sith had led him to a gladiatorial arena - being tossed to a rancor was about the most unpleasant thing he could imagine after his long and exhausting tromp though the forest - but he didn't sense any immediate danger. For him anyway.
Obi-Wan's stomach dropped as he spotted the familiar cloak of the Sith woman whipping up one of the arena staircases, her rapid movements apparently unnoticed by the mass of people crowded into the stairway. Bundling his robes tightly around his body, he carefully followed her up the zigzagging passage. The sounds of the rabid arena crowd were gradually getting louder and more ferocious, distracting him slightly from his pursuit. When he emerged onto the first spectator level he was temporarily blinded by the glaring sunshine which reflected off the pale stone arena walls, but he quickly worked to readjust his vision and as soon as he did, he immediately caught sight of the Sith again. Though she was turned away from him, the Sith's characteristic white hair drifted from her pitch-black hood, only to be snuffed out again, as if in a wave of smoke. He brought his hood closer about his face and sat down quickly in the middle of the crowd.
It would be useless to pursue her in the arena without drawing unwanted attention, and places like this were very bad spots to pick a fight. An uncontrollable brawl was exactly the sort of thing Obi-Wan did not need to happen in the lowest rung of an execution arena. And needless to say, being forced to defensively draw his lightsaber and inadvertently reveal himself as a Jedi would be a rather deadly mistake on this particular planet. Better to stay quiet and watch for her; wait for her to try and spring her trap.
Just as he had settled down into his observational position, the crowd erupted around him, and his view was abruptly blocked in all directions by the backsides of various rowdy and unpleasant alien species. Obi-Wan grimaced, but stayed low, using the cheering crowd as cover for a moment, simply collecting his breath. It was still suffocatingly hot, even within the open-air arena, and the copious amount of bodies packed together did not make things much better.
A strange, primal drum sounded in the far corner of the pit below, rumbling like a low roar of thunder; audible even above the mad shrieking of the crowd. Obi-Wan could only see brief glimpses of the sandy floor through the shifting legs of the creatures around him, and so had no real idea what was going on. But suddenly the surrounding crowd silenced and took their seats as if in sudden apprehension. The resident Hutt chose this moment to appear before the crowd, taking his position in a luxurious, shaded box far above the rest of the arena. There he was cooled by a pair of identical slave girls holding enormous ribbed fans. He raised his thick, joint-less arms and hit an embossed silver lever, raising an enormous metal gate on the arena floor. Then, speaking in Huttese which was quickly translated into a dozen alien tongues, he exclaimed,
"She-Who-Spits now hisses for your attention!"
In the arena below, the dark metal gate continued to rise slowly, creaking ominously as the drawchain was pulled back one gigantic link at a time. The great drum sounded again, and the Hutt master clapped his fleshy hands in delight. He took a deep gulp from a goblet offered by a slave and sat back, his glassy eyes on the stadium below.
As the the thunderous drum settled into a bone-rattling rhythm, Obi-Wan turned his attention back to the floor. The gate finally raised completely - locking at the crux with a metallic crunch - and a human girl emerged from the shadows, her hands raised to the crowd. The crowd shouted and jeered as if she were the most ferocious predator imaginable, and she encouraged their attention, her arms waving and calling for their uproarious applause and hisses. After the crowd had tasted its share of wild cheering, a chorus of heavy-handed drums started along with the original, and the girl started to dance.
Obi-Wan's section of the crowd was closer to the floor than most others, and thanks to this he was able to get a fairly good look at the dancer. Her dark blond hair was twisted into elaborate braids and coils, each fixed with jangling metal beads and tiny bells, a sign of a prized dancing girl. Atop her head was a striking horned headdress which made her look all the more ferocious and inhuman as she swayed to the dangerous beat. Her dancer's garb was crafted from fine bronze and deep blue leather, with strands of shining metal beads hanging all down her arms and stomach. As she moved, all of these ornaments rustled and jingled to the beat of the drums, and there seemed to be an almost entrancing sound emanating from the primal and unrefined movements of her body. Like most Huttese dancing girls she was mostly nude, but her many ornaments and violent, predatory dance made her appear heavily shielded, like a warrior.
Just as Obi-Wan was beginning to fit the unfortunate pieces together, Mondula laughed boomingly from his box and released another lever, springing a gigantic wooden trapdoor in the wall just behind the dancing girl. A loud, high shriek spilled over the crowd; not from the dancer, but from an enormous many-legged beast which bolted fearfully into the arena.
The girl continued dancing and turned to face the creature, unfettered. Obi-Wan vaguely recognized the many-limbed monster as an acklay. The beast was enormous, graceful and strong. Its pale cerulean body stood several meters high and twice as wide; a spiked and shielded abdomen was supported by six powerful legs, each outfitted with serrated claws. The creature's head was both magnificent and terrifying; sporting a wide, gaping mouth which teemed with dozens of sharp teeth and a long skull crowed with a crest of flared bone.
The rhythmic jingling of the girl's dance seemed to calm the creature, but the acklay's reluctance to attack only served to enrage the crowd. Playing to the crowd's wishes, the drumming ceased, only to return as a single bone-splintering crash that seemed to wake the acklay from its daze and send it into a sudden, spitting rage. It lunged for the girl, but she dodged the acklay as if it were merely a partner in her elaborate dance. Obi-Wan suddenly realized that the girl had no weapons; there were none put out for her, and she had none on her person. Even if she managed to evade the acklay for hours, he saw no way she could kill it without having a bladed weapon to penetrate it's thick reptilian skin.
Apparently untroubled, the girl danced brazenly around the towering creature, its sharp, talon-like limbs swinging wildly at her in every direction. She was quick and lithe, (and apparently very, very lucky) so she was able to slip between the acklay's legs and avoid its blows with an instinctual accuracy that Obi-Wan found both familiar and unnerving.
Eventually, the dancer managed to work the acklay into such a blind fury that it was trying to kill her without regard to its own safety. Within a matter of minutes, it had accumulated a collection of bleeding fissures where it had mistakenly struck itself in an attempt to kill her.
In a surprising next move, the dancer leaped onto the acklay's back and darted along its thin neck to the crested head; forcing the acklay to lower its neck under her weight. She snapped off a chain of golden ornaments from around her waist and gripped it whip-like in her hands, then sent it flashing down into the creature's three eyes. Obi-Wan couldn't help but wince as the acklay wailed and thrashed in pain, quickly blinded. Once the creature's eyes had been reduced to a pulpy wreck, the dancer slid underneath its head crest and looped her legs and arms around the acklay's delicate neck. She tightened her entire body around the pale neck and squeezed her muscled limbs until the acklay gagged desperately, its legs digging fruitlessly in the dry soil of the arena floor. Though the acklay attempted to crush the dancer with its bony head crest, her human body was just small enough to escape its reach, and she tightened her grip determinedly, forcing its head down to the floor.
In a panicked attempt to rid itself of her, the acklay dashed its strong front claws about its head, and the creature delivered itself a fatal blow to the skull. The magnificent headplate cracked with a horrific sound as the acklay punctured its own brain with a serrated talon, and a mess of gore spewed violently onto a large section of the crowd opposite Obi-Wan. The dancer escaped the blow by inches, the posterior headplate barely protecting her. As she was thrown bodily from the acklay in its death throws, the dancer was glanced at the last instant by a thick, razor-sharp talon, and she plummeted roughly to the hard, dusty floor. The acklay struggled and cried in disjointed agony, its movements becoming more spasmodic as blood surged rhythmically from its head. It let out a soft mewling noise before shuddering a final time and becoming still, crumpling onto its six graceful legs.
For a moment the dancer lay motionless beside the acklay, her wounds oozing dark blood through the sparkling beads of her costume. Her face was pale and still, and Obi-Wan wondered if had actually been finished, even after such a spirited fight. But after a moment's pause, the girl stood shakily and held her bloodied hands up to the crowd.
The arena exploded with a cacophony of hollering as the spectators saw the final outcome of the battle. The sweaty gamblers that were packed in around Obi-Wan suddenly stood up and began clamouring around, looking for their bookies and agents. Through the mess of bodies, Obi-Wan could vaguely see the dancing girl limping off the area floor and back into the dark hallway from which she had emerged, and the heavy gate crashed down behind her.
Just then, a few levels above the dancer's dark gate, Obi-Wan saw a familiar flash of white, and his stomach dropped.
This would be it then. Her trap. The Sith would lead him away from the commotion of the crowd and confront him when everyone would be too distracted to notice a brawl. In fact, there were a number of fistfights breaking out in the crowd while the Mondula watched from his box with amusement. Obi-Wan decided it was high time to get out of the arena, even if a Sith was waiting for him on the outside.
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After another silent but decidedly less awkward period of hiking, Anakin and Padmé approached the border of the forest. Just as Obi-Wan had said, the Huttese palace sat squat and imposing on the edge of an incredible gully. It was not a welcoming sight.
"So, the plan is set?" Asked Anakin quietly.
Padmé nodded and lowered the helmet over her head. Anakin followed her lead, but not before reaching out and touching her arm.
"Remember it's just me in here," he said gently, pulling away and easing his goggles over his eyes. She nodded again and turned away purposefully, preparing herself for the playacting ahead. As she adopted a tough, agile stance, Anakin was reminded that she was more than qualified to don a disguise and pull it off convincingly. Her years of training and implementation probably made her more adept at this than he could ever hope to be.
He adjusted his disguise and hoped that the voice-altering fume mask would be enough to make him seem intimidating. Practicing their new swaggers, they approached the looming stronghold with no small amount of trepidation. Artoo trailed behind, letting out increasingly unhappy-sounding whistles the closer they came to the Palace.
Once at the main entry they both paused and glanced at each other, though the move was made slightly futile by the disguises impeding their view of one another.
Feeling a little ridiculous, Anakin knocked on the expansive duracrete door, nearly jumping back in surprise when a resonating echo greeted him. It was more of a booming roar than a voice, but Anakin could still discern traces of rough Huttese asking him his title and purpose.
Padmé leaned against her staff and drummed her fingers along her hip. If Anakin couldn't sense her overwhelming nervousness, he would have been fooled by her cool demeanor.
Rifling through his mind for the scraps of Huttese he had tried so hard to forget, he responded,
"We are friends to the Hutts, here to offer Mondula this gift and ask him to consider us for his services." He stepped aside and revealed Artoo, who chirped happily, playing along. Anakin winced and hoped it would be enough. He really didn't want to have to make up some kind of menacing bounty hunter title right here on the spot.
The booming voice from nowhere asked what sort of services they wished to provide.
"That depends on how much money Mondula wants to give us." Anakin hoped this smart-ass remark would get him inside, rather that get them both sniped.
The disembodied voice laughed ominously and the door slowly began to rise, revealing the dark, bleak interior of the palace. They cautiously stepped inside, and Anakin couldn't dampen the feeling of panic that rose in him when the door slammed back down behind them.
They edged slowly toward the distant sound of music and laughter, staying close together.
Anakin pulled up the mask just enough to allow himself to whisper to Padmé.
"Remember, Voss is human, pretty tall, average build... last time he was seen he had green hair, if that helps."
Padmé hissed, "We're just lucky he has real bounties on his head! It makes this a lot easier for us; chances are someone in there is after him too, might help us find him."
"Are we still agreed? We split up?" To answer Anakin's question, Padmé nodded, and the shield helmet bobbed back and forth on her head.
"If either one of us finds anything, use the signal: adjust your headgear." She poked at the side of her visor as if adjusting some controls, giving him an example.
"Right," he agreed, showing her how he would re-adjust his goggles if he had to signal her.
They were now very close to a public reception chamber from which floods of people were pouring out; apparently some sort of event had just let out and everyone was trying to exit the compound as quickly as possible. Anakin and Padmé scanned the crowd for any signs of Voss - they had studied his image before leaving the Halcyon and had tried to imprint his visage in their brains - but unfortunately, no one looked familiar.
Padmé knocked Anakin on the elbow and moved away into the crowd, apparently intending for him to do the same in the opposite direction. He sidled away into the mass of people, Artoo following close behind. Anakin watched and waited to see what Padmé did, because he had no idea how to actually go about the task of finding Voss. It seemed awfully insurmountable; there were thousands of sentients streaming to and fro in the large public chamber, and he didn't know where to begin.
He watched as Padmé surveyed the room, looking for those who were stalling, making deals, or queuing to see the Hutt master. She listened in on their conversations, and whenever she seemed to find something promising she approached, showing a picture of Voss and offering to cut a share of the bounty to anyone who helped her find him. Anakin noted her skill at masking her voice and making her body seem much more imposing than it really was; techniques she'd developed from her years as Queen of Naboo.
Hoping to emulate Padmé's success, Anakin turned towards a group of scruffy-looking gamblers. Though rather cut-throat in appearance, the group was laughing and joking to one another, and Anakin hoped their high spirits would encourage them to be receptive to him. He paused at the edge of the group and listened to the latest exchange:
"A gamorrean and a Hutt walk into a bar..." there was a pause as everyone waited for the punchline. "...the bounty hunter ducked."
Though it was about as bad as a joke could get, the rowdy group burst into guffaws, slapping the joke-teller on the back. Anakin stepped in, fishing around in his head for the dumbest bounty hunter joke he could find.
"Here's one for you," he started. Everyone in the group simultaneously turned to look at him; his deep, artificially modulated voice held them all fast. "How many bounty hunters does it take to reinstall a fresher light?" Anakin paused for effect and the men in the group all looked at one another doubtfully.
"None, real bounty hunters work better in the dark."
"HA!" shouted the man who had told the bar joke. He jostled Anakin's shoulder in a friendly way. "Now this man knows how to tell a joke!" The man pulled Anakin aside and whispered to him lowly, "I've been trying to get these idiots to appreciate my brand of humor all day. Now you, here's a man who can appreciate me!"
After being subjected to the man's less than exemplary humorous styling for a few minutes, Anakin felt it was safe to ask him about Voss. He'd been keeping his eye out for Padmé, so far she hadn't signalled him, meaning nothing had turned up.
He ventured, "I'm looking for a friend of mine, good sense of humor. Goes by the name of Voss? Heard of him?"
Anakin's dim-witted companion wracked his brain for a few moments. "Naw, can't says I've heard of any Voss. But hey, if you're looking for your buddy you'll have the best luck asking the Eyes - those pretty things know just about everyone goes in and out of here."
"Who?" asked Anakin, looking around curiously.
"The Eyes. Can't miss 'em. Prettiest damned things I ever saw on four legs. It's them two golden twi-leks working for Mondula. He's got 'em knowing everything that happens in this palace, they don't miss nothing. They'll know your Voss. When you find him, come on over to the cantina in the back, I'll get you both a round and we'll tell some good ones." The joke-teller gave Anakin another hearty slap on the back before gesturing at Artoo and adding, "Nice droid." The man turned back towards the crowd, weaving his way drunkenly to the back of the room to the cantina's entrance.
It didn't take Anakin long to find the Eyes, they stood out sharply against everyone else - their saffron skin was like a beacon in the dark. Catching Padmé's eye, Anakin tugged on his goggles casually, and he saw her slowly start to pick her way over to him. He approached the twi-leks slowly, they were busy serving delicacies to the patrons from wide silver platters.
"Excuse me," he began quietly. His attempt at gentility was negated utterly by the fume mask's voice changing qualities, but in any case his words got the attention of the girls, who swiveled their perfectly coiffed heads to look at him. They said nothing, merely staring at him with their double pairs of piercing eyes, which seemed to cut him to the core. Were they Force-sensitive? The though brushed fleetingly across his mind before he noticed Padmé approaching from the other side, keeping her distance but looking on attentively.
"I'm looking for someone; he's wort a lot... to a lot of people."
With bored, uninterested expressions they turned away from him, clearly they had heard this line many times before.
"If you help me find him I'll cut you in, twenty percent. And believe me, with this man, that's a lot of credits, dear ladies."
This offer seemed to at least peak their attention and they faced him once more.
"No less than fifty percent." said one of them, her eyes flitting over Anakin, sizing him up.
"Fine, fifty percent." The Eyes glanced at one another with skeptical expressions, communicating silently. Anakin knew he'd made a mistake because Padmé flinched and then both of the twi-lek girls looked up at him sharply, their faces dotted with suspicion. He silently admonished himself for being a fool. He should have haggled them more; he gave in too easily. But the situation seemed salvageable, the girls appeared willing to accept him as a desperate (if foolish) man and not a spy.
"A very generous offer." said one of the girls, running her free hand over Artoo's polished metal dome. Anakin stepped a little closer to the astromech, marking his territory. He'd already made the mistake of failing to bargain, and he wasn't going to let them think they could steal his droid too.
"We will help you find your man." said the other, apparently impressed by Anakin's subtle display of strength.
"Many people pass through the palace of Mondula the Hutt." said the first.
"But we are the Eyes of our Master. We see it all." said the second.
Suddenly, they swiveled around to face Padmé, who was still lurking behind them.
"And what about you? You speak very little." said the first twi-lek threateningly.
"It is not good business to make your partner do all of the talking. They make bad bargains." chided the second girl.
Padme said nothing, she simply reached into the mechanic's vest she was wearing and pulled out a pack of emergency explosives - the type Anakin kept in stock in case he needed clear caved-in rubble around crashed vessels. Anakin smirked at her guile; he had forgotten about those. The twi-lek's seemed satisfied by this wordless response and turned back to Anakin.
Together they chimed, "Who are you looking for?"
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Obi-Wan knew this was folly. With every step he took, he was sinking deeper and deeper into her trap. After he had shoved his way from the arena, the Sith had immediately started leading him lower and lower into the palace, through a labyrinthine mess of dark passageways, on and on in a blur of robes... and then he rounded a corner and it was as if she had simply disappeared. She was close, but invisible; he could feel her presence buzzing just out of reach. Cautiously, he inched forward, lightsaber ignited and held defensively in front of his body. By the dim blue light of the lightsaber, he was able to make out a trap door in the ceiling of the low corridor, a rope handle dangling enticingly from a latch.
Feeling ever more like a fish on a hook, Obi-Wan did the only thing he could think of and tugged on the handle. The trap door swung open and a woven ladder unrolled to his feet. The room above was bright and airy, but the details were beyond his reach. The Sith could be waiting for him up there, poised to lop off his head. He closed his eyes and reached out, probing the room with his mind. The Sith was above him, lingering, but she was not waiting to pounce.
Something was very wrong with this entire situation. Why did she not just confront him directly? Perhaps, Obi-Wan reminded himself, it was because she knew she could not best him in a fight.
Resigned to play along with the Sith's ridiculous game, Obi-Wan took a breath - knowing full well it could be his last - and climbed the swinging ladder. He lurched into the room and quickly jumped to his feet, humming lightsaber at the ready. But there was no one there. Only a bright antechamber in which the most threatening thing was a tall window from which there was a perilous drop to the gully below. Now that he was through the trap door, the Sith's presence had all but dissolved, and only a faint trace remained, wafting through the air like an old scent.
Obi-Wan was not convinced he was clear of danger yet; so he slowly pulled back the thin curtain that divided the antechamber from the suite beyond, and he peeked discreetly in. Almost immediately, someone came through the door on the other side of the main chamber, and Obi-Wan quickly silenced his lightsaber and shrank against the wall. It was not the Sith - she seemed to have inexplicably vanished from the palace - but instead it was the dancing girl from the arena. Still limping from her injuries, she hobbled to a small couch and hurriedly washed her blood-covered arms in a basin which Obi-Wan suspected had been set there for that solitary purpose. Then she removed her horned crown and began stripping her jewelry away, hissing with pain as the many metal strings dragged across her wounds. She was quickly joined in the main chamber by a matronly and battered looking woman who cleaned and tended the dancing girl's wounds with cold precision. Obi-Wan could sense that they had done this many times before.
The old woman took a cauterizing tool from her belt and sutured the gaping wound with a blade of light. The dancing girl gripped the couch and made a high keening noise of pain, and from his hiding spot Obi-Wan could smell the unpleasant stench of burning flesh as the wound was sealed. Once her duty was complete, the the old woman turned and left the chamber without a word. After a moment of silence, the dancing girl resumed her disrobing; peeling the jewelry off strand by strand until she wore only the leather and bronze costume beneath.
Obi-Wan hoped that if he was silent and slow, he would be able to slide back down into the passage below without being noticed. Holding his breath, and never taking his eyes from the dancing girl, he started to step backwards, inching towards the trap door in the floor.
"I don't know what you're doing hiding back there, but you can come out."
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Final Author's Plea: If you have taken the time to read this far, please take a few seconds more to leave a comment or two. Trust me, it helps keep me motivated to hear what people think of the story! Thanks for reading, I appreciate it so much!
Author: Opal Lynn (opal . lynn gmail . com) For more updates, spoilers and images from the story, please visit tsrii . livejournal . com
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Anakin/Padmé, Obi-Wan, Darth Nathema (OC), Reysuu (OC)
Category: AU, Action, General
Disclaimer:This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Lucasfilm, Ltd. No money is being made and no infringement is intended.
This Chapter: Anakin and Padmé share a moment, Obi-Wan plunges into the trap, and 'She-Who-Spits' does a lot more than spitting.Author's Note: Just a warning, there is a rather gory scene in this chapter. However, since it doesn't involve sentient beings attacking one another I don't think it deserves a 'mature' rating. Just be warned, there's a lot of blood in parts of this chapter, and some lamentable animal cruelty.
Also, there are possibly two of the WORST jokes in the universe in here, but they are intentionally bad, so please enjoy! ^_^
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F O U R
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Once Obi-Wan's coordinates had been transmitted, Anakin and Padmé wasted no time setting off to the south in search of the Palace. The silence was thick between them, apparently Padmé was still a bit put off by Anakin's horrific disguise. She walked at a brisk pace several yards in front of him, and he was finding it hard to keep up. His shirt kept getting snagged by branches while his boots sank unpleasantly in the muck, and even Artoo seemed to be having an easier time of it that Anakin. The little droid was equipped with a startling array of all-terrain attachments which Anakin was beginning to feel were altogether unnecessary for a simple astromech model. Luckily, the awkward silence was made more bearable by the constant maelstrom of forest creatures which seemed to predominate every surface imaginable. Colorful birds of every size and shape sang and twittered loudly, insects of every comprehensible genus and species buzzed and bit at them, and more than one fuzzy wide-eyed creature stared at them from between the tree branches.
With his attention on the rustling canopy above, Anakin failed to notice where he was going and tripped into a sizable crumbling log. It crunched under his weight and collapsed loudly as a dozen animals fled from their now caved-in home, squawking and screaming all the while.
Padmé jumped and spun around, holding her 'spear' defensively in one hand and the shield helmet in the other. When she saw the innocent, startled look on Anakin's face, she had to bite back a smirk. Now that the goggles and breathing apparatus were slung non-threateningly around his neck, Anakin looked every bit his twenty-year-old self again as he slowly picked his way over the log.
"Are you done frolicking with the wildlife?" Padmé drawled, lowering the staff against her shoulder and raising her eyebrows.
Anakin tried to laugh casually as he freed himself from the last limbs of the fallen log, but as he stepped away the remaining timber utterly imploded, sending dust and insects flying everywhere. Then, almost on cue, Anakin's boot suddenly squelched in a deep pool of mud, and his leg disappeared to mid calf.
"I'm not good with forests." Said Anakin, as if this were a reasonable excuse.
Padmé laughed outright, and when Anakin made a genuinely sullen face, she laughed even harder, doubling over and clinging to the staff for support.
"It's not funny!" Anakin whined, trying to free himself of the mud. He yanked at his leg but only succeeded in driving his foot deeper and deeper. Once he saw how truly pitiful his fight against the mud was turning out to be, he couldn't help but giggle right along with Padmé, who was now practically convulsing with glee.
"Stop laughing!" he attempted, but his own giddy chuckling was cancelling out any chance he had of sounding serious.
Once Padmé had caught her breath sufficiently to move once more, she set down her helmet and staff before grabbing his hand and chiding,
"I don't understand how you can be such a natural in the skies yet such a dunce on the ground."
She pulled at his arm, but his foot was in a vacuum hold and would not budge. It took them a few minutes of heartfelt tugging and heaving before the ground finally relented and released Anakin's foot with a very rude sound. Padmé was still wrenching his arm, and he went careening into her. She was knocked back several feet, and she grabbed him, startled.
Anakin's stomach threatened to flip over again as she glanced up at him in surprise, their faces inches apart. He could feel every angle of her body pressed up against him, and for some reason - even though he had seen Padmé hundreds of times before - there was something very different about holding her this close, something infinitely more visceral than any gaze. Her arms were tight around his waist, but they relaxed more comfortably as she continued to look at him, her face molding into an expression Anakin had never seen there before.
He felt strange, almost ethereal. The squabbling of the forest seemed to fade somewhere deep in the distance, and the only thing that retained any clarity was Padmé, along with a nearly painful sensation in his chest. When they had crashed together, his hands had clenched her shoulders, now he lifted one to touch her cheek. He couldn't explain why. It was the same sort of reflexive momentum that drove his piloting, an unconscious move that seemed to happen before he'd even thought it over. Her skin was impossibly smooth; pristine and cool even in the sweltering jungle. For a moment, her eyes closed and she seemed to lean into his hand.
"Padmé, I..." what? What would he say? Were there words for this sort of thing? How could there be words for such a feeling; such an indescribable warmth in his chest? He smiled.
"Are you an angel?" He asked, remembering the first time he had seen her; when he had felt just as warm and just as amazed as he did now.
The smile that spread over her face was as bright and lovely as any sunrise, and he lowered his forehead to rest against hers, trying to calm the manic beating of his pulse. If this moment had stretched on forever, Anakin still would have felt it had been too short. Seconds passed without notice, and Padmé's hands gently clenched his shirt as she pressed closer to him; almost impossibly close now, as if they were going to meld into one person. Happily, Anakin thought. Only too happily.
Unexpectedly, Padmé shifted and tentatively touched his lips with hers, pulling away almost as suddenly. They stared at each other momentarily before sharing a smile. Anakin moved to kiss her again, but R2-D2 chose that moment to interrupt and remind him - in rather petulant tones - that they had a job to do.
Though Padmé couldn't understand the droid directly, she comprehended enough that she untangled herself from Anakin and blushed from head to toe. Anakin was pleased to note that she didn't pull away completely, and she held his hand for a brief moment before collecting her helmet and staff and setting off southward again. Although a warning rang in the back of his head, - an echoing reminder of the Jedi Code's thoughts on "passion" - he couldn't focus on it for very long and it flitted from his mind like a translucent butterfly.
Anakin smiled boyishly, feeling very good indeed. He started after Padmé and pointedly ignored Artoo's robotic giggle-fit.
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"500 units on the acklay!"
"600 on the girl!"
"How about this? 1,000 units on the girl and a private donation for good luck!"
After a seemingly endless maze of forked tunnels and offshoots, Obi-Wan had found his way to what seemed to be the entrance of a large betting enclave. In the room beyond, he could hear scattered laughter echoing over the light pattering of music and the distant shrieks of a caged animal. Voices from the enclave seeped into the warren Obi-Wan was sneaking through, and he caught a snippet of conversation.
"Mondula's really been raking in the cash these days. That Reysuu is something. If I could get one piece of the pot that filthy slug has been collecting, I'd..."
"If I could get one piece of Reysuu!"
"More like she'd bite off a piece of you!"
There was more laughter, and the sound of shuffling feet as money was exchanged. With as much stealth as he could muster, Obi-Wan slid from the dark entrance and into the betting enclave, drawing his hood tight around his face. The enclave was full of excitement and motion, and no one seemed to notice his sudden appearance.
The patrons were being ushered through several large doorways at one end of the enclave, and everyone clambered loudly up numerous flights of stairs to what Obi-Wan could just discern as the various observation levels of a towering arena. Obi-Wan glanced around the enclave, listening cautiously to the distant sound of a palace band playing and the din of spectators in the arena ahead. It certainly had the look, feel, and smell of a Huttese Palace, and unless he was sorely mistaken, some sort of macabre gladiator versus beast spectacle was not far from taking place. He was a little unnerved that the Sith had led him to a gladiatorial arena - being tossed to a rancor was about the most unpleasant thing he could imagine after his long and exhausting tromp though the forest - but he didn't sense any immediate danger. For him anyway.
Obi-Wan's stomach dropped as he spotted the familiar cloak of the Sith woman whipping up one of the arena staircases, her rapid movements apparently unnoticed by the mass of people crowded into the stairway. Bundling his robes tightly around his body, he carefully followed her up the zigzagging passage. The sounds of the rabid arena crowd were gradually getting louder and more ferocious, distracting him slightly from his pursuit. When he emerged onto the first spectator level he was temporarily blinded by the glaring sunshine which reflected off the pale stone arena walls, but he quickly worked to readjust his vision and as soon as he did, he immediately caught sight of the Sith again. Though she was turned away from him, the Sith's characteristic white hair drifted from her pitch-black hood, only to be snuffed out again, as if in a wave of smoke. He brought his hood closer about his face and sat down quickly in the middle of the crowd.
It would be useless to pursue her in the arena without drawing unwanted attention, and places like this were very bad spots to pick a fight. An uncontrollable brawl was exactly the sort of thing Obi-Wan did not need to happen in the lowest rung of an execution arena. And needless to say, being forced to defensively draw his lightsaber and inadvertently reveal himself as a Jedi would be a rather deadly mistake on this particular planet. Better to stay quiet and watch for her; wait for her to try and spring her trap.
Just as he had settled down into his observational position, the crowd erupted around him, and his view was abruptly blocked in all directions by the backsides of various rowdy and unpleasant alien species. Obi-Wan grimaced, but stayed low, using the cheering crowd as cover for a moment, simply collecting his breath. It was still suffocatingly hot, even within the open-air arena, and the copious amount of bodies packed together did not make things much better.
A strange, primal drum sounded in the far corner of the pit below, rumbling like a low roar of thunder; audible even above the mad shrieking of the crowd. Obi-Wan could only see brief glimpses of the sandy floor through the shifting legs of the creatures around him, and so had no real idea what was going on. But suddenly the surrounding crowd silenced and took their seats as if in sudden apprehension. The resident Hutt chose this moment to appear before the crowd, taking his position in a luxurious, shaded box far above the rest of the arena. There he was cooled by a pair of identical slave girls holding enormous ribbed fans. He raised his thick, joint-less arms and hit an embossed silver lever, raising an enormous metal gate on the arena floor. Then, speaking in Huttese which was quickly translated into a dozen alien tongues, he exclaimed,
"She-Who-Spits now hisses for your attention!"
In the arena below, the dark metal gate continued to rise slowly, creaking ominously as the drawchain was pulled back one gigantic link at a time. The great drum sounded again, and the Hutt master clapped his fleshy hands in delight. He took a deep gulp from a goblet offered by a slave and sat back, his glassy eyes on the stadium below.
As the the thunderous drum settled into a bone-rattling rhythm, Obi-Wan turned his attention back to the floor. The gate finally raised completely - locking at the crux with a metallic crunch - and a human girl emerged from the shadows, her hands raised to the crowd. The crowd shouted and jeered as if she were the most ferocious predator imaginable, and she encouraged their attention, her arms waving and calling for their uproarious applause and hisses. After the crowd had tasted its share of wild cheering, a chorus of heavy-handed drums started along with the original, and the girl started to dance.
Obi-Wan's section of the crowd was closer to the floor than most others, and thanks to this he was able to get a fairly good look at the dancer. Her dark blond hair was twisted into elaborate braids and coils, each fixed with jangling metal beads and tiny bells, a sign of a prized dancing girl. Atop her head was a striking horned headdress which made her look all the more ferocious and inhuman as she swayed to the dangerous beat. Her dancer's garb was crafted from fine bronze and deep blue leather, with strands of shining metal beads hanging all down her arms and stomach. As she moved, all of these ornaments rustled and jingled to the beat of the drums, and there seemed to be an almost entrancing sound emanating from the primal and unrefined movements of her body. Like most Huttese dancing girls she was mostly nude, but her many ornaments and violent, predatory dance made her appear heavily shielded, like a warrior.
Just as Obi-Wan was beginning to fit the unfortunate pieces together, Mondula laughed boomingly from his box and released another lever, springing a gigantic wooden trapdoor in the wall just behind the dancing girl. A loud, high shriek spilled over the crowd; not from the dancer, but from an enormous many-legged beast which bolted fearfully into the arena.
The girl continued dancing and turned to face the creature, unfettered. Obi-Wan vaguely recognized the many-limbed monster as an acklay. The beast was enormous, graceful and strong. Its pale cerulean body stood several meters high and twice as wide; a spiked and shielded abdomen was supported by six powerful legs, each outfitted with serrated claws. The creature's head was both magnificent and terrifying; sporting a wide, gaping mouth which teemed with dozens of sharp teeth and a long skull crowed with a crest of flared bone.
The rhythmic jingling of the girl's dance seemed to calm the creature, but the acklay's reluctance to attack only served to enrage the crowd. Playing to the crowd's wishes, the drumming ceased, only to return as a single bone-splintering crash that seemed to wake the acklay from its daze and send it into a sudden, spitting rage. It lunged for the girl, but she dodged the acklay as if it were merely a partner in her elaborate dance. Obi-Wan suddenly realized that the girl had no weapons; there were none put out for her, and she had none on her person. Even if she managed to evade the acklay for hours, he saw no way she could kill it without having a bladed weapon to penetrate it's thick reptilian skin.
Apparently untroubled, the girl danced brazenly around the towering creature, its sharp, talon-like limbs swinging wildly at her in every direction. She was quick and lithe, (and apparently very, very lucky) so she was able to slip between the acklay's legs and avoid its blows with an instinctual accuracy that Obi-Wan found both familiar and unnerving.
Eventually, the dancer managed to work the acklay into such a blind fury that it was trying to kill her without regard to its own safety. Within a matter of minutes, it had accumulated a collection of bleeding fissures where it had mistakenly struck itself in an attempt to kill her.
In a surprising next move, the dancer leaped onto the acklay's back and darted along its thin neck to the crested head; forcing the acklay to lower its neck under her weight. She snapped off a chain of golden ornaments from around her waist and gripped it whip-like in her hands, then sent it flashing down into the creature's three eyes. Obi-Wan couldn't help but wince as the acklay wailed and thrashed in pain, quickly blinded. Once the creature's eyes had been reduced to a pulpy wreck, the dancer slid underneath its head crest and looped her legs and arms around the acklay's delicate neck. She tightened her entire body around the pale neck and squeezed her muscled limbs until the acklay gagged desperately, its legs digging fruitlessly in the dry soil of the arena floor. Though the acklay attempted to crush the dancer with its bony head crest, her human body was just small enough to escape its reach, and she tightened her grip determinedly, forcing its head down to the floor.
In a panicked attempt to rid itself of her, the acklay dashed its strong front claws about its head, and the creature delivered itself a fatal blow to the skull. The magnificent headplate cracked with a horrific sound as the acklay punctured its own brain with a serrated talon, and a mess of gore spewed violently onto a large section of the crowd opposite Obi-Wan. The dancer escaped the blow by inches, the posterior headplate barely protecting her. As she was thrown bodily from the acklay in its death throws, the dancer was glanced at the last instant by a thick, razor-sharp talon, and she plummeted roughly to the hard, dusty floor. The acklay struggled and cried in disjointed agony, its movements becoming more spasmodic as blood surged rhythmically from its head. It let out a soft mewling noise before shuddering a final time and becoming still, crumpling onto its six graceful legs.
For a moment the dancer lay motionless beside the acklay, her wounds oozing dark blood through the sparkling beads of her costume. Her face was pale and still, and Obi-Wan wondered if had actually been finished, even after such a spirited fight. But after a moment's pause, the girl stood shakily and held her bloodied hands up to the crowd.
The arena exploded with a cacophony of hollering as the spectators saw the final outcome of the battle. The sweaty gamblers that were packed in around Obi-Wan suddenly stood up and began clamouring around, looking for their bookies and agents. Through the mess of bodies, Obi-Wan could vaguely see the dancing girl limping off the area floor and back into the dark hallway from which she had emerged, and the heavy gate crashed down behind her.
Just then, a few levels above the dancer's dark gate, Obi-Wan saw a familiar flash of white, and his stomach dropped.
This would be it then. Her trap. The Sith would lead him away from the commotion of the crowd and confront him when everyone would be too distracted to notice a brawl. In fact, there were a number of fistfights breaking out in the crowd while the Mondula watched from his box with amusement. Obi-Wan decided it was high time to get out of the arena, even if a Sith was waiting for him on the outside.
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After another silent but decidedly less awkward period of hiking, Anakin and Padmé approached the border of the forest. Just as Obi-Wan had said, the Huttese palace sat squat and imposing on the edge of an incredible gully. It was not a welcoming sight.
"So, the plan is set?" Asked Anakin quietly.
Padmé nodded and lowered the helmet over her head. Anakin followed her lead, but not before reaching out and touching her arm.
"Remember it's just me in here," he said gently, pulling away and easing his goggles over his eyes. She nodded again and turned away purposefully, preparing herself for the playacting ahead. As she adopted a tough, agile stance, Anakin was reminded that she was more than qualified to don a disguise and pull it off convincingly. Her years of training and implementation probably made her more adept at this than he could ever hope to be.
He adjusted his disguise and hoped that the voice-altering fume mask would be enough to make him seem intimidating. Practicing their new swaggers, they approached the looming stronghold with no small amount of trepidation. Artoo trailed behind, letting out increasingly unhappy-sounding whistles the closer they came to the Palace.
Once at the main entry they both paused and glanced at each other, though the move was made slightly futile by the disguises impeding their view of one another.
Feeling a little ridiculous, Anakin knocked on the expansive duracrete door, nearly jumping back in surprise when a resonating echo greeted him. It was more of a booming roar than a voice, but Anakin could still discern traces of rough Huttese asking him his title and purpose.
Padmé leaned against her staff and drummed her fingers along her hip. If Anakin couldn't sense her overwhelming nervousness, he would have been fooled by her cool demeanor.
Rifling through his mind for the scraps of Huttese he had tried so hard to forget, he responded,
"We are friends to the Hutts, here to offer Mondula this gift and ask him to consider us for his services." He stepped aside and revealed Artoo, who chirped happily, playing along. Anakin winced and hoped it would be enough. He really didn't want to have to make up some kind of menacing bounty hunter title right here on the spot.
The booming voice from nowhere asked what sort of services they wished to provide.
"That depends on how much money Mondula wants to give us." Anakin hoped this smart-ass remark would get him inside, rather that get them both sniped.
The disembodied voice laughed ominously and the door slowly began to rise, revealing the dark, bleak interior of the palace. They cautiously stepped inside, and Anakin couldn't dampen the feeling of panic that rose in him when the door slammed back down behind them.
They edged slowly toward the distant sound of music and laughter, staying close together.
Anakin pulled up the mask just enough to allow himself to whisper to Padmé.
"Remember, Voss is human, pretty tall, average build... last time he was seen he had green hair, if that helps."
Padmé hissed, "We're just lucky he has real bounties on his head! It makes this a lot easier for us; chances are someone in there is after him too, might help us find him."
"Are we still agreed? We split up?" To answer Anakin's question, Padmé nodded, and the shield helmet bobbed back and forth on her head.
"If either one of us finds anything, use the signal: adjust your headgear." She poked at the side of her visor as if adjusting some controls, giving him an example.
"Right," he agreed, showing her how he would re-adjust his goggles if he had to signal her.
They were now very close to a public reception chamber from which floods of people were pouring out; apparently some sort of event had just let out and everyone was trying to exit the compound as quickly as possible. Anakin and Padmé scanned the crowd for any signs of Voss - they had studied his image before leaving the Halcyon and had tried to imprint his visage in their brains - but unfortunately, no one looked familiar.
Padmé knocked Anakin on the elbow and moved away into the crowd, apparently intending for him to do the same in the opposite direction. He sidled away into the mass of people, Artoo following close behind. Anakin watched and waited to see what Padmé did, because he had no idea how to actually go about the task of finding Voss. It seemed awfully insurmountable; there were thousands of sentients streaming to and fro in the large public chamber, and he didn't know where to begin.
He watched as Padmé surveyed the room, looking for those who were stalling, making deals, or queuing to see the Hutt master. She listened in on their conversations, and whenever she seemed to find something promising she approached, showing a picture of Voss and offering to cut a share of the bounty to anyone who helped her find him. Anakin noted her skill at masking her voice and making her body seem much more imposing than it really was; techniques she'd developed from her years as Queen of Naboo.
Hoping to emulate Padmé's success, Anakin turned towards a group of scruffy-looking gamblers. Though rather cut-throat in appearance, the group was laughing and joking to one another, and Anakin hoped their high spirits would encourage them to be receptive to him. He paused at the edge of the group and listened to the latest exchange:
"A gamorrean and a Hutt walk into a bar..." there was a pause as everyone waited for the punchline. "...the bounty hunter ducked."
Though it was about as bad as a joke could get, the rowdy group burst into guffaws, slapping the joke-teller on the back. Anakin stepped in, fishing around in his head for the dumbest bounty hunter joke he could find.
"Here's one for you," he started. Everyone in the group simultaneously turned to look at him; his deep, artificially modulated voice held them all fast. "How many bounty hunters does it take to reinstall a fresher light?" Anakin paused for effect and the men in the group all looked at one another doubtfully.
"None, real bounty hunters work better in the dark."
"HA!" shouted the man who had told the bar joke. He jostled Anakin's shoulder in a friendly way. "Now this man knows how to tell a joke!" The man pulled Anakin aside and whispered to him lowly, "I've been trying to get these idiots to appreciate my brand of humor all day. Now you, here's a man who can appreciate me!"
After being subjected to the man's less than exemplary humorous styling for a few minutes, Anakin felt it was safe to ask him about Voss. He'd been keeping his eye out for Padmé, so far she hadn't signalled him, meaning nothing had turned up.
He ventured, "I'm looking for a friend of mine, good sense of humor. Goes by the name of Voss? Heard of him?"
Anakin's dim-witted companion wracked his brain for a few moments. "Naw, can't says I've heard of any Voss. But hey, if you're looking for your buddy you'll have the best luck asking the Eyes - those pretty things know just about everyone goes in and out of here."
"Who?" asked Anakin, looking around curiously.
"The Eyes. Can't miss 'em. Prettiest damned things I ever saw on four legs. It's them two golden twi-leks working for Mondula. He's got 'em knowing everything that happens in this palace, they don't miss nothing. They'll know your Voss. When you find him, come on over to the cantina in the back, I'll get you both a round and we'll tell some good ones." The joke-teller gave Anakin another hearty slap on the back before gesturing at Artoo and adding, "Nice droid." The man turned back towards the crowd, weaving his way drunkenly to the back of the room to the cantina's entrance.
It didn't take Anakin long to find the Eyes, they stood out sharply against everyone else - their saffron skin was like a beacon in the dark. Catching Padmé's eye, Anakin tugged on his goggles casually, and he saw her slowly start to pick her way over to him. He approached the twi-leks slowly, they were busy serving delicacies to the patrons from wide silver platters.
"Excuse me," he began quietly. His attempt at gentility was negated utterly by the fume mask's voice changing qualities, but in any case his words got the attention of the girls, who swiveled their perfectly coiffed heads to look at him. They said nothing, merely staring at him with their double pairs of piercing eyes, which seemed to cut him to the core. Were they Force-sensitive? The though brushed fleetingly across his mind before he noticed Padmé approaching from the other side, keeping her distance but looking on attentively.
"I'm looking for someone; he's wort a lot... to a lot of people."
With bored, uninterested expressions they turned away from him, clearly they had heard this line many times before.
"If you help me find him I'll cut you in, twenty percent. And believe me, with this man, that's a lot of credits, dear ladies."
This offer seemed to at least peak their attention and they faced him once more.
"No less than fifty percent." said one of them, her eyes flitting over Anakin, sizing him up.
"Fine, fifty percent." The Eyes glanced at one another with skeptical expressions, communicating silently. Anakin knew he'd made a mistake because Padmé flinched and then both of the twi-lek girls looked up at him sharply, their faces dotted with suspicion. He silently admonished himself for being a fool. He should have haggled them more; he gave in too easily. But the situation seemed salvageable, the girls appeared willing to accept him as a desperate (if foolish) man and not a spy.
"A very generous offer." said one of the girls, running her free hand over Artoo's polished metal dome. Anakin stepped a little closer to the astromech, marking his territory. He'd already made the mistake of failing to bargain, and he wasn't going to let them think they could steal his droid too.
"We will help you find your man." said the other, apparently impressed by Anakin's subtle display of strength.
"Many people pass through the palace of Mondula the Hutt." said the first.
"But we are the Eyes of our Master. We see it all." said the second.
Suddenly, they swiveled around to face Padmé, who was still lurking behind them.
"And what about you? You speak very little." said the first twi-lek threateningly.
"It is not good business to make your partner do all of the talking. They make bad bargains." chided the second girl.
Padme said nothing, she simply reached into the mechanic's vest she was wearing and pulled out a pack of emergency explosives - the type Anakin kept in stock in case he needed clear caved-in rubble around crashed vessels. Anakin smirked at her guile; he had forgotten about those. The twi-lek's seemed satisfied by this wordless response and turned back to Anakin.
Together they chimed, "Who are you looking for?"
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Obi-Wan knew this was folly. With every step he took, he was sinking deeper and deeper into her trap. After he had shoved his way from the arena, the Sith had immediately started leading him lower and lower into the palace, through a labyrinthine mess of dark passageways, on and on in a blur of robes... and then he rounded a corner and it was as if she had simply disappeared. She was close, but invisible; he could feel her presence buzzing just out of reach. Cautiously, he inched forward, lightsaber ignited and held defensively in front of his body. By the dim blue light of the lightsaber, he was able to make out a trap door in the ceiling of the low corridor, a rope handle dangling enticingly from a latch.
Feeling ever more like a fish on a hook, Obi-Wan did the only thing he could think of and tugged on the handle. The trap door swung open and a woven ladder unrolled to his feet. The room above was bright and airy, but the details were beyond his reach. The Sith could be waiting for him up there, poised to lop off his head. He closed his eyes and reached out, probing the room with his mind. The Sith was above him, lingering, but she was not waiting to pounce.
Something was very wrong with this entire situation. Why did she not just confront him directly? Perhaps, Obi-Wan reminded himself, it was because she knew she could not best him in a fight.
Resigned to play along with the Sith's ridiculous game, Obi-Wan took a breath - knowing full well it could be his last - and climbed the swinging ladder. He lurched into the room and quickly jumped to his feet, humming lightsaber at the ready. But there was no one there. Only a bright antechamber in which the most threatening thing was a tall window from which there was a perilous drop to the gully below. Now that he was through the trap door, the Sith's presence had all but dissolved, and only a faint trace remained, wafting through the air like an old scent.
Obi-Wan was not convinced he was clear of danger yet; so he slowly pulled back the thin curtain that divided the antechamber from the suite beyond, and he peeked discreetly in. Almost immediately, someone came through the door on the other side of the main chamber, and Obi-Wan quickly silenced his lightsaber and shrank against the wall. It was not the Sith - she seemed to have inexplicably vanished from the palace - but instead it was the dancing girl from the arena. Still limping from her injuries, she hobbled to a small couch and hurriedly washed her blood-covered arms in a basin which Obi-Wan suspected had been set there for that solitary purpose. Then she removed her horned crown and began stripping her jewelry away, hissing with pain as the many metal strings dragged across her wounds. She was quickly joined in the main chamber by a matronly and battered looking woman who cleaned and tended the dancing girl's wounds with cold precision. Obi-Wan could sense that they had done this many times before.
The old woman took a cauterizing tool from her belt and sutured the gaping wound with a blade of light. The dancing girl gripped the couch and made a high keening noise of pain, and from his hiding spot Obi-Wan could smell the unpleasant stench of burning flesh as the wound was sealed. Once her duty was complete, the the old woman turned and left the chamber without a word. After a moment of silence, the dancing girl resumed her disrobing; peeling the jewelry off strand by strand until she wore only the leather and bronze costume beneath.
Obi-Wan hoped that if he was silent and slow, he would be able to slide back down into the passage below without being noticed. Holding his breath, and never taking his eyes from the dancing girl, he started to step backwards, inching towards the trap door in the floor.
"I don't know what you're doing hiding back there, but you can come out."
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Final Author's Plea: If you have taken the time to read this far, please take a few seconds more to leave a comment or two. Trust me, it helps keep me motivated to hear what people think of the story! Thanks for reading, I appreciate it so much!
