Private Float Like a Butterfly

[Annasari]

Local Foundry
Coruscant
Morrow ​

The tour guide's voice droned in the background as the senator endured the sweltering heat of the foundry. Dressed in Jakkuvian linen, she regretted the agenda thrust upon her by Mara. Waves of crimson danced before her eyes, shades darker than even the hottest day on her planet. The market study had already proven the foundry as the right choice, yet here she was, pretending to care about blue-collar workers for the sake of PR. You must show you still identify with the working class, her assistant had insisted. Who she identified with would matter little should her machinations play out. There would be no election for Jakku to host.

“Every station is optimized for yield. There is no more than four seconds between each, and droids are used where able to supplement labor.”

Magma flowed through workstations lkke tiny droplets of destruction, shaping even the toughest materials. Annasari's gaze flickered towards the Mirialan guide, contemplating beyond the superficial tour.

"How do you ensure sustained productivity beyond mere facilities?" she inquired, her eyes scanning the toiling workers.

"We incentivize.” The guide responded, beaming as though they had created the hyperdrive. ”Whilst the employees with the most output compete in a tiered bonus system, those who are proven ineffective must bid for shifts daily.”

Simple, but effective. The fashionably tattered cloak followed as she wrapped around the forges, studying the hands which shaped the galaxy from its lowest level. There was an urgency in each strike, speed to every pour.

“Interesting.” Her tone insisted it was anything but.

 

[Morrow]

Away from the sparsely climate-controlled air of the breakroom, Morrow strode along the foundry floor. A stream of bodies from the previous shift moved against him, eager to escape the boiling temperatures. Overlapping auras of body heat grew malignant under the heat of hyperforges, pulling beads of sweat from his brow before he was halfway back to his station. The flow of limbs gave way to a gradual trickle, and Morrow weaved his way through durasteel egresses to the transparentizing floor.

Consternation manifested at the sight of his station occupied by an unwelcomed interloper. Rathsintagg transparentized sheet after sheet of steel, their four arms working with disgusting efficiency. One of the Troig's heads, Tagg, turned over its two-socketed shoulder to greet Morrow with a shit-eating smirk. Affronted, Morrow stomped forward with a scowl.

"Well well, look who decided to crawl out of the icebox!" Tagg shouted in Bocce.

Rath, the other head turned to see what his counterpart meant. "Hah," he scoffed. "Couldn't take the heat, newbie?"

"That's my station," Morrow hissed plainly. More importantly, the metrics on that station were his bonus.

"Not any more kid."

"Yeah, snooze you lose."

"Get to work... somewhere else!"

The pair of heads laughed, two opposing arms high-fiving one another between machine cycles.

Anger bubbled up from Morrow's chest, and seeped into his volition somewhere through the blood-brain barrier. Surging forward, he attempted a physical retaliation, though the much larger sentiment immediately held him back with two long arms, continuing to cycle the machine with the others.

"Uh-oh!"

"Sit down, kid!"

The Troig's spiked tail whipped out from behind its large figure and swung around the machine levers toward Morrow's skull. A tingle alerted him to the Rathsintagg's intentions. For just a moment, despite the Troig's hands covering his eyes, Morrow could see the bulbous end and the bony protrusions that bulged from it. Inches from impact, he ducked suddenly and freed himself from his opposition's grasp. A quick hand grabbed a soldering rod and swung upward, hitting Tagg across the face.

"Ack!" Stumbling, the Troig leaned and tripped over various levers, locking up the transparentizer.

"You little—!"

Before Rath could pronounce his desired expletive, Morrow snatched the small tuft of hair that adorned his oddly-shaped head. A kick to the creature's thin leg joins brought it to a knee, just low enough that Morrow could hold Rath's face just above a reservoir of molten durasteel.

"Not so funny now, is it?" Morrow taunted in his heavily accented Bocce.

"Okay, okay, relax Morrow!" Tagg pleaded, blood trickling from his nose.

"A-air's hot. Y-you're burning me."

Morrow forced Rath closer to the molten steel. "You ever touch my station again, Tagg comes down with a case of monocephaly."

"I won't, I s-swear! Stop!"

"We won', honest!"

"I want credit for all your fabrication metrics this week."

"But, our bonus is—"

Morrow pushed harder, drinking the surge of fear from the two heads. It beat the hell out of any cantina beverage.

"Okay, okay!" Rath screamed as his eyebrows began to singe off. "Please!"

With a parting shot to the back of the head, Morrow released the Troig's twin appendage.

"Now get out of my sight."

 

[Annasari]

The scene played out behind the guide’s head, leaving him entirely ignorant to the employee’s standoff until Annasari stepped past him. Observant eyes had watched the pecking order established. The sheer brutality of it had proved far more interesting than finishing her tour. Countless times, she’d witnessed the same in the dark recesses of Nar Shadda; and here she too stood, alpha.

“Leave me. I will find you before the speech.”

No explanation was offered. Their host thought it wise to sputter and resist the demand. When he reached out to take her shoulder, a guards own hand met his. Stricken with anxiety, mutters about protocol faded as they enforced her will, ushering the man away. A confident stride carried her to the victors station. A hand extended to hover over the the same pit of magma which he had threatened his peer with. Heat licked her palm, so brutal is felt as though it might catch fire.

“Scrappy.” She complimented with a nod of her head. “I take it happens often? This system of theirs is designed breed competition. They must expect the animosity. Though surely, they have warned you all of my presence today, and urged best behavior?”

Now closer, a reexamination was due. His youth was the most striking thing. His presence alone must have violated a dozen of the child labor laws which the senate had enacted. It wasn’t uncommon, however criminal; poverty ran rampant within the megatropolis, leaving every hungry mouth to fend for themselves. Posture pegged him as more than a street rat. More and more, he came to resemble a previous form of herself. She inched around the station, expectant.

“I think a chat with you would prove more entertaining than what your bosses have to say. I do so hate the groveling. Will you walk with me? I can pay better than whatever crumbs they offer up for a bonus.”

 

[Morrow]

“Scrappy.” She complimented with a nod of her head. “I take it happens often? ”

Morrow's attention was caught by the stranger's first remark. Dropping the controls, he turned around to meet the woman face to face. His machine screeched, locking up from the abrupt release of operation. Industrial clamor drowned much of her articulations, leaving Morrow with only her initial inquiry. "These people are like animals," he stated bluntly. "Sometimes you have to whip them like animals. It won't happen again."

If that was a yes or no, Morrow's allegory wasn't particularly clear. Though, he certainly seemed satisfied with the 'answer'. It was as if, from his perspective, her inquiry had been sated.

“I think a chat with you would prove more entertaining than what your bosses have to say. I do so hate the groveling. Will you walk with me? I can pay better than whatever crumbs they offer up for a bonus.”

Lazuline gaze started for a moment, skeptical. For weeks he'd been formulating a plan to make it out of this magmatic pit of broken dreams. Now some adventitious politician on a tour was dangling money before him like a topato on a string? Too good to be true, yet here it was, right in front of him. Normally, he'd remind himself to be cautious, but getting out of this hellhole had been his sole focus since he got stuck here.

Credits were a ladder, after all.

Morrow approached, body language obliging her request. He threw off utility rags and left them to dangle over levers in his station. Ever forward, he crept up and took her by the arm. His sweat-damp limb locked around the bend in the linens that adorned her much thinner branch.

"Why even come to this place?" he asked, moving forward. "Shouldn't it be below someone like you?"

Annasari ​