Chapter Text
The underground tunnels were bustling with life with droids and other lifeforms alike. The dark yellow lighting merely shaped the silhouettes of passersby’s, half because of a lack of care for the establishment on the market’s part, and the other so one could not recognize the buyers by glance.
This was a slave market after all.
Grievous walked behind the Count, barely giving a glance at the surrounding crowd around them, constantly moving. Instead, he kept his focus on the man himself, staring as he walked at a slow pace, looking at each well-lit stands, taking his time as he inspected them. Occasionally, his gaze wavered in the faceless crowd, but never for long before he went back to scanning the merchandise. He stopped to look at a stand where a large male Zabrak was displayed in a cage. He was well built, strong, and by the look of the tazing necklace around his neck, volatile.
As suddenly as he had stopped to look at the lifeform, however, he went back to walking again.
The cyborg had heard the Count had his life threatened by the Jedi recently. There were high chances that he was looking for a bodyguard of some kind, however his long life amongst the Jedi order seemed to have made him repulsed to buying slaves; The general had worked with the man in similar establishments and never did Dooku buy anything.
As a shadow passed too close to comfort to the cyborg’s charge, he snapped his attention to the intruder of their personal space. The thing in question had not touched either of them and was out of their vicinity as soon as he noticed his intimidating mask, cowering away in fear.
Good.
Grievous scanned the surrounding crowd on lookout for any potential threats and finally got back to looking at the Count once that was done.
They walked in silence for a few moments before Dooku stopped in front of another stand, actually stepping up to it this time.
The stand displayed a wide array of young male and female Twi’lek attached to a restraining pole by lazer chains. They all wore tattered clothes, the males shirtless to show off their muscle mass, advertising their strength.
Dooku did not seem interested by the merchandise, however, as he walked straight to the seller, adjusting the mask he had put on before entering the establishment.
"Sig, I presume?" The Weequay clasped his hands together, seeming pleased someone recognized him with a simple glance.
As any slave provider, he was well dressed, with a large dark green jacket sitting on top if his shoulders, embellished with black ribbon embroidery along the sleeves and pointy popped up collar. Under the pale yellow light of the stand, the green fabric alongside the buttons, made of a darker but similar material, reflected a slight sheen. Under the fancy apparel, a light cotton off-white blouse hung loosely around his torso, not buttoned correctly, and tucked in a thick black belt, holding up slack pants in a dark yellow shade. Grievous didn’t bother looking lower to take notice of his boots, as he did not really care about the man’s way of dressing in the first place; it just screamed arrogance from his point of view.
"The one and only, my dear sir. How can I be of service?" his face shifted to cocky, a hairless brow raising. The tone of his voice seemed too exaggerated to be real, certainly a tone he faked while selling his merchandise.
The cyborg quickly got bored of listening to the two man’s conversation, seeming as he did listen to Dooku explaining his whereabouts in the market.
Sig was going to die, very soon.
Grievous decided to entertain himself looking at the other stands, leaving the talking to his master. He was far less skilled than the count in such things, and anyhow, the large part of him that was metal and circuits calculated he’d serve no purpose in the negotiations whatsoever. Plus, ever since he climbed down the small freighter they used to travel to the planet of Mygeeto, a state of exhaustion had crept up on him, making the little flesh left in his body ache. The cold had not helped.
Though his body was now almost entirely metal, it seemed it still severed exhaustion from working nonstop for months at a time. He grumbled to himself, thinking maybe he would use his personal funds to upgrade his energy resources once he had the chance. He nodded, content with the decision he had come up with, before staring at the stand to his left.
The stand in question sold children of different races, said merchandise held in small cages stacked one on top of the other. He had turned his gaze just in time to look at the seller exchange a small human child to a cloaked individual for a bag of credits. The entire ordeal was done quite causally, as if it was just like buying some bag of vegetables.
He looked around aimlessly at the other merchandise, pleasure slaves, work slaves, other child slaves… it was all around the same thing by the exception of species and presentation.
Looking over to two stands next to Sig’s, he immediately zeroed in on a vibrant, beautiful shade of blue, before snapping out of it and growling at his loss of awareness. He turned back to Dooku, who was still casually talking with Sig, the cyborg not fully listening to their conversation.
Grievous was not one to like nice things. He has always believed caving in such desires to just stop and stare at something beautiful was weak and useless.
Beauty was something you could do little with. You could look at a beautiful thing, own it, but what was its purpose at the end of the day? Nothing, but a tool to weaken the soul.
Power was more important than beauty.
However, at that moment, in this time and place, he lacked the power to resist looking once more.
Damned be what was left of his organic mortal soul.
Dooku and Sig put in a corner of his mind, he slowly looked back where he had seen the mesmerizing blue. Now that he had some time to fully inspect the object it came from, he realized they were the color of eyes.
The cyborg Squinted, curious; surely eyes could not be that color, it was too…singular, so be such a thing, he thought. For what little care he took in analyzing such features, he was quite certain he had seen that shade before. He couldn’t recall exactly where he’d seen it, but the part of him that still led to illogical conclusions like a flesh bag was certain to point out a replica of the shade should not exist in such a place.
Curious, he strolled to the stand, not breaking away with the ever-curious irises. Maybe it was something from Kalee that made them so familiar. He couldn’t remember if there were rivers on the planet; or what color was the sky, but he quickly batted those thoughts from his mind
No. It wasn’t from Kalee. It could not.
As he got closer, he realized the bearer of the pale eyes was a human woman. She was draped on a small stand, showing off her pale body clad in revealing, heavily jeweled attire. A burgundy veil hid her face, only putting in evidence the bright pigment of her eyes. They looked directly at him, fear steeped through their reflection. Grievous had little to notice it, as this type of reaction was to be expected, but the hint of curiosity glittering deep beneath them took his full attention.
Now, that reaction he didn’t see often.
"Oh, interested in this lovely specimen, I see." An old, gritty female voice called out.
The cyborg looked to his left, this time looking eye to eye with another human woman, old and short. She was well dressed, an embellished cloak hugging to her, and the strange tendril-like ornament stuck in her pulled-up hair seeming to retain her youth, but the illusion was broken once you looked at her hands, the cracked, veiny skin showing the true strain of time on her.
"She’s a bit old, around thirty, but well trained. She can dance, sing, cook and knows how to read and write." She said in a voluptuous voice, arranging a stray lock hanging from her forehead. "And if you’re looking for safety, she’s a great fighter, with a bit of training she’d be a good bodyguard."
Grievous looked back at the woman in question, the curiosity of her gaze seeming to have grown. Whatever she was before becoming a slave, it must have involved some sort of logic; her eyes reflected crystal clear intelligence.
He could respect that. Her intelligence was probably why she survived so long in the slave trade. She evolved for survival. He inspected the dark colored makeup heavily surrounding her eyes, noticing how it had smudged slightly before dipping his gaze back in the twin oceans.
"Are her eyes natural" He wondered out loud. The woman’s head tilted, that analyzing glance never the lesser.
She seemed as interested in him as he was with her, as if he was the merchandise she was buying instead of the contrary. It was almost unnerving to be looked at in such a way, even if he knew he was doing just that himself.
But there was the weakest but persistent thrill to it was well.
"Ahh, yes, her eyes! They were probably what caught your attention, right" The woman sounded quite pleased, rubbing her hands together. "They are, as far as I know. I had her examined, and the guy said there was no trace of modifications. Wait, let me pull out the documents…" she ducked under her counter, the sound of rummaging filling the air.
The cyborg paid it little mind, keeping focus on the girl. Though he was not one to care for attire, obviously as the only pieces of garment he owned were capes, hers seemed to frame her gaze, in this scenario, surrounding it with things as beautiful as itself. The outfit was almost entirely made of jewelry, climbing to her neck, hidden by the veil, to her chest in a large wavelike pattern. In stopped at her midriff, just over her waist. The second piece of her outfit, a long burgundy skirt fully showing her legs, had a belt hugging her hips, embellished in the same way as the top, with a few delicate chains hanging on her hips. Though her neck chain was out of sight, her handcuffs were large, almost impossible to miss.
Seeming to catch on he was now interested in her outfit, she gracefully stood up, walking in small, slow circles to show it off.
It seems his deduction on her intelligence had been correct. No one could mistake that analyzing stare. She moved around, showing every little shiny piece, slowing down when she noticed him linger on a detail.
As alien as it was, he once saw this same stare elsewhere, but he couldn’t put a face on it.
Had his sensors for face recognition bugged again?
Any movement she did made the loose jewelry sing a delicate tune in the air, and it was the first time grievous cursed this place was so public, the bustling crowd was too loud and muffled the little air almost entirely. He could faintly hear bells, though they were not visible to his eyes. The slave, Ever the observant once, shimmied to amplify the sound, the drop-like beads hanging off her outfit dancing on her bare skin.
"would you like to see her dance?"
The old saleswoman had her head out from under her desk, hands lying flat on a holo-screen, the certification for the woman’s eye color being natural, Grievous assumed.
A second passed, before he nodded, turning back to the latter. She had started to gently sway her hips, her head unmoving in the air. Standing on her stool, she was almost the same height as him. The gentle swaying created a melody of their own, and Grievous knew for a fact that it was bells now.
Her dancing was slow and soothing, almost hypnotizing as the loose jewelry danced along with her, empathizing her movements. Through her gaze, the same curious, calculating look pierced through him, seeming to carefully monitor his reaction to her movements before slowly gaining more confidence in the stretch of her arms, which, as she had rightfully noticed, the cyborg saw as particularly interesting to watch, and more so now that she adjusted it just so.
The spectacle, however, was short lived when the woman’s water-like movements suddenly stiffed, her muscles tense. As Grievous looked back to the mesmerizing blue of her eyes, the peaceful ocean imprisoned in them stirring through sudden dangerous waves.
A few seconds passed before she started dancing again, putting more vigor into it, swaying quicker. It was as he frowned disappointingly to the now typical sensual dancing that he had seen millions of times before that he figured out what happened, noticing the dark leather peaking under the overflowing amount of jewelry around her neck. He turned to the old woman, and glared at the little device in her hand.
She tazed her. He told himself he didn’t care, but the amount of offence that rose in him begged to differ, clawing at his back, traveling his circuits.
He had the grave urge to reach for the stun baton attached to his belt and make the old harpy taste her own poison for daring to interfere with his entertainment, but the implicit order of Dooku not to make a scene stopped him from doing so.
He turned once more to the slave girl, watching with less interest as she shook her hips at an amazing speed, making her heavy outfit dance along, the chains on her hips sliding up and down, up and down…
He looked up to the blue sea of her eyes, the offending waves seemingly calmed down, her gaze closer to the initial gleam of curiosity that lit them up so wonderfully. She moved her arms along with her sways, gracefully emphasizing how her head stood leveled as she moved her core. It’s as her hands moved close to her face the cyborg noticed how dainty her hands were, little well-kept nails peeking out from under the stacked rings and the large chains bound to her wrists. Her eyes squinted, once more analyzing him, her gaze brushing the cloak he was wearing and the many details of his faceplate, she was taking her time, never rushing. It was a look he had seen before, she was sizing him, like one would before a fight.
Oh, what a pleasant surprise.
He promptly replied, looking over her build more carefully. She was well sculpted, but small in stature. From what he could tell, she was evenly proportioned, though her hips were a smidge larger than her shoulders. From what the old harpy had said, she knew how to fight, but Grievous would obviously overpower her easily, his own height, modification and experience advantaging him. At that conclusion, he straightened himself, making himself larger. He felt a tinge of satisfaction as the woman inspected his new stance, inspecting it with as much care as she had moments before, understanding their non-verbal exchange.
As she finished, the slave woman’s gaze rose up to his. She seemed surprised and intrigued, raising her brow, her head tilting to the side ever so slightly, shifting from its previously immobile spot in the air.
It seemed she was most interested in her audience, as much as the man that composed it was interested in her. Her eyes squinted, raising. The pools of blue suddenly gleamed with something he had never seen before in them, sparking on the now still sea trapped in her gaze, as if the sky suddenly cleared and reflected itself in the large, endless mass of water.
And as quickly as it was there, as quickly did it leave. The woman had jerked once again, the oppressive waves suddenly back in full view, spilling from their containment and dripping down her cheek.
Grievous glared once again at the harpy, who as before, had electrocuted her merchandise for making a mistake. She was lucky he had orders, because the cyborg would have wasted no time in ramming her skull on her desk. The sound of small metal pieces and bells filled the air once more, tugging at his attention.
He looked over at the slave woman once more, realizing after a moment what she was doing; distracting him from causing a scene. Her eyes, though still caught in a storm, pleaded him to keep looking at her, slowing her dancing down momentarily to the slow, hypnotizing pace she had first stated dancing with.
‘look at me, not her.’ The irises seemed to say.
If Grievous was any more paranoid, he would have believed she had read the very same report he did before landing.
Grievous raised a hand, asking the slave woman to stop dancing. She obeyed, her movements slowing to a still and the sing of her outfit diminishing along with it.
They stared in silence for a good three seconds.
"How much is she?" He was surprised at his own question.
"She’s fifty eight thousand credits. Imperial." He frowned at the harpy once again, noticing how her friendly mask had now vanished.
"Make it fifty." He replied, leaning closer to the old woman. He stood at an angle he knew he would take most of her vision, making him bigger and more intimidating.
The woman winced just slightly.
"Alright, fifty-seven."
"No," He growled. "Fifty one" He put his hands behind his back, glaring harder at her.
"How ‘bout this, you pay fifty six and I give you the necessary grooming supplies, free of charge." The woman crossed her arms, sitting back in her chair.
"Make it Fifty-five." He replied, walking closer and taking more of her vision.
"Deal." The woman grumbled, raising a hand for her payment.
Grievous reached for his belt, taking the small satchel of money he carried around. He opened it, fiddled with the small pieces of currency until gathering the amount, and put it less than gently in the old woman’s palm.
The woman double checked the amount, seeming content when she finished, and put it in one of the large hidden pockets of her robe. She then took her sweet time standing up, waddling to the back of the stand, pulling out a large bag. She then proceeded trot to the girl’s altar, shoved the bag to the red headed woman, and finally detached her retaining chain from the stand, handing it to the cyborg.
"There, all yours. Now step aside, you’re scaring other buyers away." She commented coldly before turning her back to him and reach back her spot behind her desk.
Grievous glared at her one last time before looking down at the slave he just spent fifty five thousand Imperial credits on. Now off her stand, she was shorter than he had anticipated, barely going over his waist. Her eyes were back to the flat calmness of curiosity, the tear that had broken through making the dark makeup around her eye melt in the stream it had created, slipping under her veil. The cyborg reached a claw at her face, persisting though she slightly flinched away, pressing it on the stain. He smudged it away, his claw leaving the soft skin after the deed was done. He looked down at the dirty metal, making his thumb rub against it before turning once more to his new charge. His sensors read the substance as warm and sticky.
The woman, meanwhile, was distracted by the movement of his hand, fiddling with the bag in her hands.
Grievous was about to move them to Sig’s stand, but the soft jiggle of bells reminded of the woman’s outfit; the lavish thing will draw attention to them, and being noticeable would be against them when Dooku would finally decide to kill the Weequay, which, from what he could tell at this distance, was not done yet.
A smaller part of him also didn’t want to show off his brand-new buy to the shady establishment, but he quickly dismissed that thought.
The other many things that made pretty things useless is that one would easily become attached to them.
He cleared his throat, taking the redhead’s attention. He peeled his cloak open, presenting an empty space underneath it.
"Get in."
It took a second, but she did as was ordered, taking the little spot underneath his cloak. She let him put his hand around her shoulders, pressing her closer. Her body heat warmed his sensors. As he started walking back to the stand slowly, as to not let the, well, his, slave slip, he noticed Dooku was waiting for him just in front of it, arms grasped behind his back. He raised a brow at him, but said nothing, gesturing to follow him back from where the entered the murky building.
Sig waved them goodbye, and fell to the floor only moments later, lifeless. Dooku had snapped his neck with the force.
The man’s sudden death was enough of a distraction to make them blend in the crowd inconspicuously.
--
Out of literally everything that could happen today, being bought by kriffing Grievous was not even in the list of things that she would of have thought of in her wildest dreams.
Now Obi wan was hiding under his cape, pressed close enough she felt the cyborg’s armor lightly dig in her shoulder, as she held on to the tote bag with her "grooming supplies" as Effie, the woman who sold her, had called them.
An undercover job involving the criminal clan the woman worked with that had turned awry had made her enter the slave trade as product, just making her further and further away from her initial goal, which was to see if the criminal clan in question sold Republic weapons to the Separatists on Repulblic territory.
It seems Anakin was right when he said her disguise as a slave was stupid, because the clan leader had not like her dancing and got quickly got bored of her signing, and quickly was turned to the market to be re-sold.
She would have broken free, if it wasn’t for her extreme misfortune the clan leader she was supposed to spy on was force sensitive and took the "precautionary measures" as he had called them, which just meant to get his guards to beat her up until she blacked out. When she woke up, she had a force restraining collar around her neck.
She groaned inwardly, thinking back to her former padawan. Finding her would be near impossible now that her signal in the force was muffled.
Hopefully her new owner, being a great enemy to the republic would make her search easier.
Once Ani would find her, because of course he will, he’ll never let it down that Grievous bought her.
She herself was still not over that.
First and foremost, because what was he going to do with her? She was classed as an entertainment slave, surely, he wasn’t going to use her for sparring or body guarding. And as far as she knew, the Kaleesh was not a man of art, her entertainment acts would be useless to him.
Secondly, she was still intrigued by how he eyed her while she danced. It was so different from the gaze of cold bloodlust he usually wore when they met on the battlefield, and for one who she thought devoid of any emotions, he seemed to really like staring at her bad dancing.
And at her eyes.
He really liked her eyes. The amount of awkward silent staring they had exchanged in under ten minutes was far beyond embarrassing.
Even when she tried to make him falter from that calm mood she found almost alien in his eyes by sizing him, he just eagerly replied by sizing her as well, and clearly showing off his massive frame would beat her in a fight any day.
At least that was closer to the death cyborg she knew.
The redhead was pulled from her thoughts as they reached some stairs, light reaching in the cloak hiding her form outsider eyes, and Grievous was nice enough to climb slowly so she wouldn’t trip or fall behind.
Grievous being nice, that was a funny one.
The flight of stairs was quite short, and they went back to their normal walking pace when reaching the outside. The cold ground under her feet made her slightly shiver, feeling the dry dirt getting in between her toes. At least it wasn’t snow. She shuttered, reminded of the walk to the market; half a mile, barefoot in wet snow.
They walked for about two minutes when the ground under her feet was replaced by a ramp, warmer than the dirt. The metal revealed another set of footsteps along with the General’s loud metal ones- more muted, boots, probably.
The surrounding air brought a soft humming to her ears.
A ship.
They walked up the platform until the floor changed once more to a smoother metal surface, typical of freighter floors, signaling they were now inside.
A soft hiss behind her revealed the ramp had closed behind them as she was led deeper in the ship, the rumbling underneath them subjecting the ship was now air bound. She clung closer to the body near her, the cape veiling her sense of direction and making her stumble around like some infant who had never walked on a ship.
He arm laced around her shoulder clung closer, locking her pressed to the lukewarm cybernetic body of her owner. She looked at the cyborg’s torso, the light above making the heavy fabric see through enough to distinguish the silhouette of a long faceplate with two flat, half-moon fins sticking out from each side.
She had single handedly won that running joke of a bet back at the temple on who could get closest to Grievous without getting killed.
"What have you gotten yourself, Grievous?" Her head snapped to the right, to where the voice had come from.
Oh please for the love of the force tell her the second present wasn’t-
The cape opened up, revealing Count Dooku’s face.
The situation had gotten from worse to kriffing terrible.
She thanked the force for her force restraining collar; If it weren’t for it, she would have been dead long ago.
The man inspected her meticulously, a hand rubbing at his bearded chin.
‘’Lovely eyes.’’ The man commented, his gaze as stoic as ever. Obi Wan just stared back, confused at the compliment given by the man that had tried to kill her multiple times by now. ‘’But pray tell, what are you going to do with her?’’ The count’s gaze shifted to his general, finally giving a moment to the woman to breathe. Obi Wan looked up to the cyborg as well, curious about the answer as the Count.
Grievous stayed silent for a long second before replying;
"…It gets… lonely on my ship." Dooku raised a brow, not seeming satisfied with the answer he received. The redhead felt her lips tighten.
Did Grievous, Jedi killer, really buy her on impulse? It was hard to beleive.
If the situation wasn’t so unfavorable she would of laughed at this entire mess.
"And how many credits did you impulsively spend on this young lady?" Another pause.
"Fifty five thousand Imperials." The silver haired man frowned at him, smacking his lips. The redhead felt a metallic hand squeeze her shoulder, prominent, but not hurting.
"It seems your negotiation skills still need refining." Dooku turned around, reaching for a door. "At least make sure she survives a month or two. You wouldn’t want your splurge to go to waste." The automatic door slid opened and shut behind the count.
Obi wan looked at the dull, grey door, dazed. The clawed hand had softened its grip, pulling her along to another door.
She hoped Anakin would find her quickly.