MIRAGE
[ Oh, the ‘great’ Piska? ]
With that thought, she slipped a faintly amused sideways glance at the collared woman. Those words alone said much, the collar did more, and the unease wasn’t at all lost on the half-Zeltron, but she had no reason to take advantage. The current of hatred laced into the slave-woman’s words was much more interesting, but when the other woman outright bought the bottle of vodka her lips curled, and her attention was diverted from the Twi’lek.
She idly watched the dark-haired maven send the barman away, then speak her measure of the enslaved violet women… the way she held herself, spoke, and acted pointed to power. Many men did love a powerful woman, but Mirage knew just as well how easily
other men were intimidated by their mere existence. Threatened by it.
Let them be.
She couldn’t help the smirk and one-note breath of a laugh at the murderous suggestion. Then it was her that was the focus, when the woman turned to her, poured her a shot, and slid it her way,
“No man or Hutt can keep me where I don’t wish to be,” she replied in a matter-of-fact tone, slipping a brief, pointed look at the violet girl as she said it; without another glance towards the small glass that had been poured for her, she pinched it between her fingers.
“And new ventures,” she added in an equally low voice, returning her gaze to Parvati, and also throwing back her shot; at the suggestion that they move to a booth, she tipped her chin at the nearest available one,
“let’s…”
Yet the Twi’lek chose to revert to a servile voice and attitude, speaking up in the interests of her keeper and halting the possible move for a further moment, with dark pink eyes slipping to her again.
Fear. That collar was more than simply an object, and there was the matter of the
droid metaphorically nipping at the girl’s heels. It was hardly her business. But still… returning the shot glass to the bartop, Mirage stepped closer to the violet girl, and reached out with one hand, brushing the backs of fingers down the slave’s arm with the pheromonic urge of calm in her touch, as she looked on the Twi’lek with steady intensity and spoke words laced through with a faint modicum of the power that could otherwise bend one entirely to her will, if not break them completely:
“You don’t need to do that,” she insisted with a slower pace to her words, to inspire confidence in some fashion,
“try to be less of a mouse, hmm?”
Mirage was no slave crusader, but there was something to be said for disgust, and whatever pity could be scrounged up. She knew what it was to be used. To be a
thing, and too powerless to effect change in the situation. Then she pulled back, and gave the Twi'lek girl a pretty smile.
"You're safe here."
She would make sure of it, if she had to.