Your Obedient Servant

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The lights were dim in the establishment that Tulahi'rani served in. It was a bustling place that never seemed to be quiet and business was always booming. People, familiar or stranger, came and went for business or pleasure; usually the latter. Voices were drowned out by loud music coming from the live band that was stationed at one end of the large room, their sound bouncing off the walls, it seemed. Even if someone was able to hear other people's chit-chat, it would be drowned out by the other multitudinous conversations. Though, this place wasn't a place for talk, it was a place that survived off the lust of many and the suffering of others.

The main room, called The Floor - as in "dance floor" - by those who 'worked' there, had numerous, circular in shape, miniature stages scattered about in a random placement. These stages were for the dancers. Their style?

Exotic.

Tulahi'rani's current master had an affinity for Twi'lek females, as their beauty was renowned throughout the galaxies. Twi'leks were good for business, it seemed. They moved gracefully, their bodies captivating the eyes of many with a single jut of the hip, and they showed what people wanted to see, but just barely left anything for imagination. Many of the Twi'leks received unwanted touching and company as they danced, serviced, or entertained. There were no strict regulations in the establishment save for: no killing, no stealing, no running.

Had it been any other day, Tulahi'rani would be up on one of those stages showing herself off to the galaxy as an expert, knowing how to move each inch of her body to be enticing yet cutesy simultaneously. That was her schtick, the cute, sexy dancer. Tonight, however, wasn't a night to be cute or sexy, it was a night to be obedient and a sight for sore eyes. She was to serve her master and one honored guest of his and was not allowed to dance at all that day in order to conserve her energy. Everything had to be perfect. Tulahi'rani had to be perfect.

Adding the final finishing touches of her usual eye makeup, the pink Twi'lek leaned back in her chair to stare at her reflection. It was no secret that she was a sight to behold. A true, unmatchable beauty, as all Twi'lek women were. It was what got her into this mess in the first place. Twi'lek women were forced into slavery because of heir beauty, grace, and natural sexual appeal. It was more than common and half a step more than expected, it was a way of life, it seemed.

"Tula!" A gruff voice hollered, followed by the sound of a curtain being drawn. A pink curtain covered the entrance of her small quarters. Doors were not allowed for the workers. Immediately, the female stood up with her hands by her side. The harsh face of her master crossed her vision and a fire deep in the pit of her stomach kindled slightly. Oh, how she'd enjoy making that face any bit uglier. "Git downstairs. Now! Dey'll be arroivin' any minute an' I don' want you to cock it up!"

"Yes, master." She replied, following her orders and rushed past him without another word. As she made her way into the back room of the establishment, Tula took a minute to look out at The Floor. Many of her friends were up their stages, others were on the laps of customers, and a few of them had trays in their hands. Was this truly how the rest of her life was going to be? Feigning pleasure, being used and reused daily?

No. She refused to let it.

Now in the back room, Tula placed a silver tray on the separate bar that was located there, preparing to serve any drink her master wanted for his guest and himself. This room was for meetings her master deemed important, such as the one that was to take place, and no one except those he allowed were permitted here. In the time she had to herself, the Twi'lek let her shoulders sag. When will her torment end?

Grabbing a smaller glass, Tula fixed herself a quick drink of whatever alcohol was closest to her and downed it expertly. In her opinion, she needed it. Her master had deemed her one of his favorites and she was given other special allowances most of the others were not.

Taking drinks for herself was one she took advantage of often.

And now, she waited with silver tray in hand, standing in front of the bar, for her master and his honored guest.

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

This endeavor was nearly an embarrassment. Some low brow, no name, bottom feeder with delusions of grandeur had reached out to Blood Hunter's Iron Works to purchase a considerable shipment of body armor. If that had been all the man wanted, Zenva would have happily sent a Dropship loaded down with creates of the product and called it a day. But no, life was not so simple. The useless troglodyte of a customer wanted a meeting as well to discuss retaining the services of a number of mercenaries to fill said armor. If the man had been cooperative this too could have been arranged without the Blood Matron having to step away from her desk. She had chit to do, why could no one understand that? Best to simply get the ordeal over with and forget the man's name again. "Chit. Irons, what's the man's name again?"

The luxury speeder that the Zabrak rented for the day came to a holt outside the club her customer owned, three more cars coming to a stop behind her's. The man named Irons, a Zabrak of considerable size and skill, simply shrugged his shoulder once. "My apologies Matron, I never bothered to learn it." The Captain of The Matron's Elites laughed dryly from under his helmet as he opened the door and stepped out. In moments some twelve warriors from Zenva's personal army of death dealers stood on the street outside the club. There was a few moments of radio chatter before the Captain turned back to the car, his hand held out to aid the Matron as she exited the car. A simple gesture of respect that worked wonders in delivering a message to anyone watching; this woman is important, beware.

The Matron happily took the man's hand and glided onto the street, a warrior's frame made gracefully after long years of practice. She was dressed for war, though her idea of combat attire was wholly different from most people's. Knee high riding boots of dark brown leather wrapped her legs, beneath them were skin tight black stockings that vanished under a black and red pleated miniskirt. Her modest bust was held tight by a black and brown leather corset, most would never guess this to be armored against everything from slug throwers to lightsabers. Over her rather provocative ensemble she wore a leather trench coat of a deep, blood red color. This too served as armor and carried the additional benefit of concealing her multitude of weapons, pistols, knives, explosives. The Matron wasted no time on the street, nodding to her soldiers, and moving inside. "Let's be quick about this gentlemen. I have no desire to spend my evening in some backwater titty bar." A round of restrained laughter boiled through their encrypted comm channel, a vicious smile spread across Zenva's sharp features in response.

Inside was much to the woman's expectations, tables, dancers, drooling imbeciles. Her customer greeted her in a rather boisterous fashion as she entered, her entourage a few steps behind her. That got his attention and provoked a new smile from the Zabrak, her pearl white serrated teeth gleaming in the dim light. After a few moments, some hurried words with a bouncer and some stammering, the man lead Zenva to a private lounge. The Blood Matron glided to the table in the center of the room, not a glance spared for anything within. She didn't want to be here and she was in no mood to pretend otherwise. Her soldiers spread through the room silently and in moments they formed a neat circle near the walls, Zenva at it's center. "Well then, let's not waste my time, hmm? I'm here. Speak." Her tone at once cutting and somehow musical.

[member="Tulahi'rani"]

 

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There was immediate tension in the room as someone new entered the private lounge with several others following at her heels. Seeing her master's authority dwindle down to a meager size on his very own turf settled a sense of satisfaction deep within Tula's belly. The Twi'lek found herself wishing she had that sort of power: to exert firm fearlessness for miles on end without doing much of anything. As their guest sat, she did so regally, sitting straight up with her shoulders back and her chin held high, and Tula half-expected her soldiers to get down on their knees so their heads remained lower than hers. Throughout the entirety of their guest being here, Tula had to stop herself from staring multiple times. Tulahi'rani found herself captivated by her, and she had not spoken for longer than a minute.

Her grotesque master plopped himself into the chair opposite to their guest. They were much like two opposite ends of a spectrum. Tula took her place behind her master's shoulder, holding the silver tray in front of her body, head tilted down so her eyes remained downcast, waiting for her master's word. Her job was to do as she was told without being a distraction, though she felt as if her pink skin contrasted uncomfortably with everything else in the lounge. It was like highlighted words on a page. She could only hope, for her sake, that she didn't draw unnecessary attention to herself. It was a nervous tick to constantly brush her lekku from behind her shoulder to in front of it, but the Twi'lek was too scared of being punished in front of their guest to do so. She dared not even breathe too loudly. All she wanted was to serve and go back upstairs.

For that night, Tula's master allowed her to wear something more modest, surprisingly. Her master was eager to make a good impression on the female sat across from him despite the multitude of scantily dressed Twi'leks dancing exotically just outside the lounge door. Her master spoke to his guest cockily, inquiring about armor and mercenaries. She knew nothing of the sort, so she didn't pay attention. Tula knew him well enough that he was expected to get what he wanted. He never took any heed as to who he was talking to nor their status. His head was so far up his own-

"Tula!" she heard, followed by a snap of her master's fingers. The Twi'lek immediately stepped closer to her master, lowering her head slightly more.

"Yes, master?"

"Git tha lady an' I a glass of tha Avedame. An' be snappy about it!" Tula's master ordered, waving his hand dismissively. The look on his face didn't hold back the fact he believed Tula to be a nuisance. He resumed talking about his business proposition.

"Yes, master." Tula was quick to move back behind the bar, setting down the silver tray and reaching around the bar counter for various items needed to fix a couple of drinks.

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

Yellow-red eyes gazed into the middle distance, watching every little movement before her without actively looking at any one thing. The thousand meter stare, she had heard it called. A way of watching the world without forming an attachment to the actual details. A skill, or so she had been told, that soldiers only got after watching enough of their friends die. More than a decade of combat had left it's scars on the Zabrak warrior, both physical and mental alike. Worse still, she only listened with half an ear. Picking out details and information while filtering out the inane bull chit and self-praise.

Still she picked the man's ideas from the trash around them. The eventual goal was to corner his particular market, men's clubs and the like. Muscle out the local competition and secure his own little slice of the underworld. A goal, a plan, a little outside muscle and he might even pull it off. Good for him. It was impressive to a degree but he's plan was a dangerous gamble that he didn't fully understand. Oh, if it worked properly he would garner himself a fine little territory and could live comfortably for years. On the other hand if he overstepped his boundaries he would quickly garner the attention of certain unsavory organizations. The Black Tie Syndicate and Zenva's honor brother [member="Jarven Zexxel"], for example. If the movers and shakers of her family's organization caught wind of this maggot's little "monopoly erotica" she knew exactly what would happen. The Tin Man or The Runner or one of a dozen other enforcers would be sent out to either secure the Syndicate's share of the profits or replace the management entirely. If that happened the mercenaries she was about to hire out would be locked in a battle against her own Clan. That would be bad for business.

The worm before her snapped his fingers, barking and snarling at his slave. It drew the Matron out of her revery, her eyes snapping into focus, taking in details quickly. She hadn't really noticed the Twi'lek before beyond acknowledging it's presence. Now however, she drank in the sight of the beautiful creature as though the woman was a glass of water held out to a dehydrated catastrophe survivor. Even as the Twi'lek moved away to prepare the drinks the man wanted, Zenva watched her. A hunger burned through the Zabrak that had nothing to do with food.

Zenva's voice cut through the man's continued ramblings, carrying across the room, "Tula." She said, letting the name roll off her tongue. That was certainly a name she would never grow weary of saying. "It is Tula, isn't it? Make a third drink. Please." The Zabrak's gaze stayed on the Twi'lek, roaming over her in a clearly predatory fashion. Her yellow-red orbs came to rest on the woman's eyelids, waiting to see if she would dare look up.

[member="Tulahi'rani"]

 

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Setting down a couple of elegant wine glasses on the marble counter, Tula began to prepare the drinks her master wanted. Avedame seemed to be her master's favorite. She was always having to restock it often. The Twi'lek reached down and wrapped her delicate fingers around a metal drawer handle, tugging at it so the compartment containing chilled wine bottles was revealed. She plucked one of the bottles from the compartment, quickly unscrewing the top and pouring the purple-red liquid into the two glasses needed.

Then she was beckoned again, though it was not her master this time, it was their guest. Tula took note of the fact that she was more nice-sounding and even added a 'please' at the end of her request, something slaves heard very little of during her lifetime. Her request was strange - who was the third drink for? - but she didn't dwell on it for too long. It was not Tula's place to ask questions. Perhaps she was just really thirsty?

"As you wish, ma'am." was her only reply. As if drawn up, her golden eyes flit up quickly from her work to take a glance at the woman through her long eyelashes, only to meet her yellow-red gaze. An inkling of fear shot through her body and she immediately diverted her gaze, making quick work of the third requested glass of wine. Oh no. Had she messed up by looking a superior in the eye? Had Tula offended the woman? Had her master noticed her moment of disrespect? What were the guests' thoughts about her? Oh no. Tula's pink skin reddened slightly at the cheeks in embarrassment. They were probably bad.

The self-conscious Twi'lek placed the three glasses on the silver tray along with fabric napkins. Tula was careful handling the tray, taking precaution even if she had a natural grace and years worth of experience. She could not afford to mess this night up for herself or her master. The consequences, naturally, would be severe. Tula first served her master, placing the finely folded napkin down on the table to his left and setting down the glass of wine on top of it. Nervously, then, she approached their guest and repeated the same steps with one, but was confused as to who the third one shall go to. A moment of hesitation was seen in the slave.

"What tha 'ell's wrong with you, Tula? I said be snappy! Yer standin' there like a moron! Be done already!" The booming voice of her master made her master flinch, making the glass of wine become slightly unbalanced on the tray. Luckily, it and all it's contents remained in tact.

"Forgive me, master. It is just- Well- I do not know who this third drink goes to. I did not want to assume that our honored guest wanted two in fear of offending her." The Twi'lek took a few steps closer to her master to stand by his side. Her body buzzed with fear and embarrassment and she was afraid that the tray in her hands was going to topple over at any given moment.

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

A small, pleased smile lit the Zabrak's sharp features, her coal painted lips peeling away from her serrated teeth slowly. Fear, such an intoxicating reaction to install in those around her. The Matron's gaze remained locked on the delicious little Twi'lek as the slave readied and poured three glasses of wine. Such poise, such grace. No small wonder the ape of a man across the table had chosen this Tula to serve for them.

She waited a few moments longer, delaying until the slave began toward their table with the tray of drinks. With exaggerated slowness, Zenva folded one leg atop the other letting her leather coat fall away from her legs as she did. She watched the Twi'lek carefully the whole time. She wanted to enjoy every subtle shift in the woman's expression, to savor the blush that darkened her pink cheeks. It was the most pleasant thing she had seen thus far and still the slave trembled faintly. How precious, the Zabrak thought darkly.

Ah but the ape of a man she was supposed to be here to see spoiled the moment by snapping and barking at the morsel. Zenva's hand came to rest on the tabletop, black lacquered nails striking the wood in a slightly off rhythm as agitation surged to the forefront of the Matron's thoughts. "Tula, the other glass goes here please." Sweet like flavored ice came the Matron's words. Bitter cold, venomously serious, yet the creature to whom she spoke merited a gentler tone than most would have gotten. One hardened nail struck the table not far from herself. Easily within reach in fact. Her tone left no room for a rebuttal, her stony expression left no question to her conviction.

The moment the glass was set down where the Matron had commanded, she spoke again. "Take a drink Tula." The Matron's gaze settled on those soft eyelids once more, inviting another shared glance.

[member="Tulahi'rani"]

 

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This was not how Tula expected this evening to go. It was all going as planned until she decided to linger for a bit too long. She was stuck between the rage of her master and the power of their guest, and the scene was watched on by her soldiers. All the more people to see her embarrassment the merrier. Fate decided to go against her tonight of all nights, she supposed. She wondered what everyone in the room was thinking about her now. She had the feeling that if she had the power to read their minds, she wouldn't like what she found. The redness that had settled on Tula's cheeks was now spread all over her face, her embarrassment no longer subtle.

The slave was broken out of her hurried thoughts by the woman addressing her once again, indicating with her nail where the drink was to go. "Of course, ma'am! My humble apologies for being so distrait." Tula let out a shaky breath and followed her orders, turning from her master towards the superior woman to place down the criminal glass of wine. The silver tray went back to being held against Tula's body with shaky hands, waiting to be used again. She could feel her masters steely gaze burning a hole through her skull. Tension was rising.

"Take a drink, Tula." Once again, the Twi'lek was caught off guard.

"M-Me..?" she asked, uncertain. Without thought, her head lifted up to meet the other woman's gaze once again in surprise. Had the third drink been for her? Why was she being offered to have a drink? She was merely a slave that had managed to make a fool out of herself that night. If anything, she deserved to have the drink thrown at her. It had happened before. "I do not understand..?"

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

There was a moment, it seemed to last an eternity, where yellow-red orbs simply gaze into the golden eyes of the slave Tula. She did nothing but watch, drinking in the Twi'lek's fear and hesitation. When she finally broke eye contact the Blood Matron turned to her right to look at one of her soldiers. They were near impossible to tell apart, those soldiers. Each wore identical armor, they all stood at perfect attention, carried the same weaponry and none had any form of rank or identification visible to tell one from the others. Zenva knew these men, she had been attended by them for years and could pick out one from the crowd easily. She met the gaze of one in particular, "Mister Irons, when was the last time you have known a slave to refuse to drink liquor when they have been told to?"

The Elite stepped forward twice, every other soldier there stepping forward once in near perfect unison. The soldier she had addressed spoke, his voice cold and hard as steel, "I have never seen a slave refuse Matron. Unless of course they knew the drink to be tainted." His gaze and that of the other soldiers there turning toward the man that sat across from their Matron.

Zenva leaned back in her chair. It had been described by several onlookers now as a glare of pure death, the scowl she wore now was certainly dangerous looking enough to warrant such a description. "I see. Tainted." Her words feel from her lips like stones, heavy and dull.

Quick as a serpent's strike, Zenva was out of her chair. Her left arm swept the Twi'lek slave out of her path with deceptive strength. Her right hand drove a tooth rattling punch square into the mouth of the pudgy troglodyte sitting across the table. The blow drove him sideways from his seat to land in a heap on the floor. Zenva's voice boomed like a raging thunderstorm, "You fat, useless worm! You think to poison me!? Kill this fat piece of chit! Skin him alive for his arrogance!" The dozen soldiers in the room lept into motion, pulling the man to his knees before the Blood Matron.

The hateful glare turned now to the slave who had served the drink. Fear, raw and unadulterated, colored the creatures expression. It was enough to give the Zabrak pause. "Tula." Her words cracked like a whip. Anger, barely contained, left the Zabrak trembling as she stood over the slave. "Were you told to serve me this or was it your own idea? I pray to the Gods you speak honestly now girl."

[member="Tulahi'rani"]

 

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Tula didn't believe that things could have gotten worse, but as her luck would have it, things got worse than worse. It got outright egregious. The girl mentally hit herself. She should have just taken that drink. There was a reason slaves were to never ask questions: it caused too much trouble. There were about a hundred other people just outside the door, yet none of them knew of the happenings that were currently taking place. Now, every soldier in the room had taken at least one step forward and accusations of attempted poisoning were being thrown about. Intense glares were send her masters way, who feigned innocence. He had always been the sneaky type, but even Tula would never guess that he was capable of something such as poisoning a superior.

Then there was yelling, and then Tula was send crashing to the ground by a sudden force of strength, and then there was more yelling. It all scared the Twi'lek out of her wits. The silver tray she held clattered to the floor, the sound of metallic ringing heard as it circled the ground before finally resting. Brief pain shot up through Tula's arm, hip, and back as she hit the ground. Tula realized something then, something her master said to her before she had left her small room. She thought back...

"... Dey'll be arroivin' any minute an' I don' want you to cock it up!"

"Yes, master." she replied, following orders and rushed past him without another word. Before she got the chance to get far away, the larger man took grip of her arm and yanked her back.

"I'm gunna give our guest a lil' surproise." He said with a throaty chuckle. The grip on her arm made her wince.

"Make sure ya git the opened bottle of Avedame, ya understan'?" Tula only nodded before she was released to do her work.

Of course! Surely the poisoned wine was this 'surprise'! The Twi'lek winced from her position on the floor, not daring to stand up in fear that she would end up like her master. How powerless and weak did he look at the hands of their guest. The cold call of her name made her fearfully glance up at the Matron, who approached her and towered over the weaker girl. When accused that the poison was of her own deviation, the Twi'lek shook her head feverishly, her lekku falling over her shoulders.

"P-Please, my lady. None of this was my creation, I knew nothing of it! My master said to me that he had a "little surprise", but I did not know that it would be an attempt on your life! H-He told me to use the pre-opened bottle of wine, but I had assumed it was because he did not want me to open a new one. You must believe me!"

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

Zenva's gaze flicked to the fat man, ensuring her soldiers had him secure. She smiled, pearl white serrated teeth stood out in brilliant contrast to the crimson skin and black markings that covered the Matron. That voracious smile turned on the Twi'lek at her feet. Slowly she leaned forward, looming over the poor frightened slave. She snapped her fingers, one finger pointing sharply to the floor at her feet. "Tula come here, now. Kneel." She waited for only a moment. The Gods help the poor girl if she didn't rush to obey the command without hesitation.

She turned, unleashing another fierce blow to the man that had plotted against her. The Elites held him upright though blood stained his split lips. Again she struck, driving the man back against the bracing legs of her men. A fourth blow rained down on the heavy set man's bruised and blooded face.

When Zenva turned back to the slave she squatted down before the Twi'lek, meeting her golden eyes once more. Her left hand snapped out taking hold of the woman's chin, forcing her to look the Matron square in the face. Her bloody fist came up between them giving the slave a clear view of the split knuckles and blood coating it. "Listen very carefully Tula. Do not lie to me. Do not stutter, and do not hesitate, less I think you are lying to me. Did you know of the tainted drink, Tula?" She paused long enough for the slave to open her mouth to reply before speaking over her, "I know you will tell me what you believe I want to hear in order to spare yourself from punishment. I want the truth Tula. Lie to me and I will skin you alive. Do you understand?"

[member="Tulahi'rani"]

 

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The smaller Twi'lek cowered as the Matron stood above her just as a predator would corner its prey. Fear had struck itself deep in Tula's heart like a jagged dagger. No part of her body would move save for her trembling. The chances of someone walking in were about zero percent. No one entered the private lounge except on her master's command. Perhaps this was where Tula would meet her inevitable end. A life of slavery ending at her very own murder while she was shaking on the floor in a pile; not exactly how a person would want to go. A sharp snapping sound resonated around the quiet room, making her jump slightly, and she was given an order to kneel at her feet.

Tula didn't dare waste another second scrambling onto her knees in front of the woman. Lingering did get her into this mess, after all. The pink Twi'lek saw on her knees, her hands wringing themselves together in her lap in an attempt to keep herself calm. The sound of force against flesh made her look up, and the look of her master taking blows to the face was a shocking sight to behold. Yet, she could not help the small jolt of satisfaction that shot up her spine. Her golden eyes shut as her master was hit once again. She was never one for violence, but regarding where in the social system she was, violence always seemed to be knocking on her door.

Tula yelped as her head was suddenly forced up, feeling a strong grip on her jaw to keep her in place. She let out a shaky breath and looked at the bloodied fist that was shown to her. Was she to receive the same treatment next? The slave glanced at her master, who was beaten to a pulp, before looking back at the Matron. She opened her mouth to repeat the same thing she had said earlier, but she was interrupted, her mouth snapping shut. Tula rethought her strategy, swallowing the lump in her throat. Nervousness rang through her being.

"Please believe me. I knew nothing about the poison." Tula said as calmly as one in her position could. The Matron's fierce glare at her at such a close proximity could have quite literally given her a heart attack, but she remained constant eye contact. As someone in her position, a bit of boldness could be of use. "I am telling you the truth when I say I was used as a pawn in my master's attempt on your life."

The grotesque slaver burbled and fought against the grip of the soldiers. "Ya filthy whore!" He shouted.

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

A smile split the Zabrak's plush lips. She would never grow tired of watching pretty women tremble in fear of her. Every little nuance was delicious in it's own way. The trembling that shoke her was exquisite to behold, causing her soft flesh to quiver. The nervous wringing of her hands was adorable to the twisted mind of the Zabrak warrior woman. Oh, she could sit there all night watching that poor, defenseless Twi'lek. Even the deep breaths before the girl gathered her courage to reply was endearing. For the first time Zenva understood the galaxy's exuberance for the fair females of the Twi'lek people. They were, even terrified, elegant and splendid to gaze upon.

But once more that fat, pathetic maggot of a man quickly destroyed her enjoyment. His vile reaction to the slave's response told Zenva something, either the girl had just thrown him to the wolves or, the more likely, she had told the truth and he was angry she opened her mouth at all.

Zenva's left hand kept a firm hold on the delicate Twi'lek's chin, forcing the girl to watch as her right hand slipped under the folds of her blood red trench coat. Her hand emerged with a frightfully large pistol a moment later. She made a little show of turning the bladed weapon this way and that directly in front of the slave's face. The Zabrak turned, calmly placed the barrel of the weapon against the man's knee and pulled the trigger. The self-suppressed handgun barked softly, a sound completely at odds with the monstrous fifty caliber slug that tore through the man's leg, destroying tissue and turning bone to splinters.

Screaming ensued but Zenva ignored the noise. She stood, pushing the slave away from her as she did. "Flee and you'll be gunned down Tula. I'm not wholly convinced of your innocence just yet, precious one." The Zabrak draped her coat across the back of her seat and returned her pistol to it's holster beneath her arm, just one of more than a half dozen now visible weapons adorning the woman. "Get him on the table Mister Irons. Kil'kae, pray for his soul."

The soldiers obeyed without hesitation, picking the man up and slamming him down on the table. One guard began to speak in their native tongue of Zabraki, a woman's voice emanating from the heavily armored soldier. Her voice was melodic and oddly sweet as she recited prayers to their Gods. The Blood Matron drew a large fighting knife from her hip and moved to stand over the squealing man. "Do you have anything intelligent to say before I send you to the afterlife?"

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Tula screamed not at the sound of a gunshot, but in response to the sound of her master roaring bloody murder (which she didn't know would come later). There was also the gut-wrenching sound of a limb being ripped apart. Her golden eyes were squeezed shut out of fear of what she would see. The Twi'lek had been in a lot of rough patches and witnessed a lot of bar scuffles, but she had never actually first-hand seen life-threatening injuries be inflicted on a person. From what it sounded like, the wound was causing too much pain to be described and Tula found herself not wishing anything like it upon anyone, even her master. Her owner was still screaming moments after the gunshot and she could hear his writing body slumping around. The sounds were hard to drown out, and she knew they'd be in her nightmares for some time. The woman couldn't help but think if this is what karma looked like.

She was on the floor again after her face was released, leaving her to to crumble down onto her side. Slowly opening her eyes, Tula braced herself for what she was about to see. A tiny yelp of horror escaped her mouth when she found the wound, but she covered her mouth quickly and diverted her gaze. She felt herself shaking even more, the intense fear rattling deep inside her bones. She found herself wanting to scream, not for help, but just to exert the emotions she was feeling at the moment. The gore was unlike anything she had ever seen; his leg was practically off. There was blood splattered everywhere. Tula felt herself gag and tears gather at the corners of her eyes, but she held back. She refused to look any weaker than she already did.

Was that how she was going to end up, too? She didn't want to die, not yet, and especially not like this.

Why did the Matron not believe she was innocent?, Tula thought in distress. She just wanted to be let go and left alone for the next millennium. Why couldn't they just understand she was innocent?

There was another loud slam and cry of pain that made Tula jump. Her master was now on the table with someone speaking over him and the woman who shot him now loomed over him with a knife, ready to kill. Her heart beat faster every second that went by. It was inevitable that her master was going to die. Was she going to be free? Was this the moment of her liberation? Through her masters death, would Tula's chains be finally broken? Or... would she end up like her master? Will someone find her bloodied body on the ground, lifeless?

"Y-Ya can have woteva you want, jus' please don' kill me!" Her master pleaded through his pain. "Ya can 'ave some of my girls. Even Tula! Ya can 'ave Tula! Jus' spare me."

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

Zenva simply smiled down at her newest, and shortest lived, enemy. She did not believe her Gods would be pleased by the man's death, he was a coward after all. There had been no battle to test herself against, no visible weapon had been aimed at her to defend herself against. The Gods she and her clan prayed to were ones that ruled over conflict, blood shed and hunting. This pathetic man only offered blood. She smiled none the less, another enemy would die by her hand, and that was worth the time it took for Kil'kae to pray.

The man blabbered his offer, all he had, anything was her's to take if she spared him. Even the sweet morsel cowering on the floor. It was a tempting offer but, it was not enough to quench her thirst for vengeance. Suddenly the Matron's free hand came up in the universal signal to stop. "Hold Kil'kae. What are you doing? That's the wrong prayer."

The soldier known as Kil'kae looked up from her recitation. "No Matron, it is not. He is a coward, caught using a coward's weapon to kill. Sacrificing him this way is an act of cowardice. It will only anger the Gods. I will pray for his soul but I will not provoke the Gods over a maggot."

The Blood Matron roared in frustration, driving her knife into the table beside the man's head. Her hand closed on his mouth, lacquered nails biting into flesh as she held his mouth shut. "Then what, pray tell, do you advise Priest?" The woman growled.

"You have already spilt his blood. Accept his offer as recompense Matron. Anything more may anger the Gods." There was a gravity about the priestess' tone that even the angry Zabrak could not ignore. Even in this age of hyperspace travel and laser technology, those who were truly devout to their religions could not simply disregard a priest's advice.

Zenva turned, her expression hateful and vicious. Her fingers snapped once as she pointed at the floor in front of her, "Tula! Come here. Now!" She had barely finished the sentence before she took a step toward the slave, snapping her fingers once more. "Tula, do not make me repeat myself."

[member="Tulahi'rani"]