Chapter Text
Hutta stinks. It’s filthy, and humid, and noisy, and Dy’anna hates it. The force guided her here, however, and it has never led her astray before. Her travelling companions opt to stay with the ship, and she does not blame them. If she could, Dy’anna herself would turn around, board the ship again, and fly off. But, no. She has to find the slave pens. The very same slave pens she comes from, where she was born, and where she was sold to the Empire. What she seeks, whatever that is, will be there. She is sure of it.
Dy’anna does not expect for the force to have been guiding her to this hellhole to find a Twi’lek slave, of all things. Force sensitive, obviously, but untrained. The poor girl is filthy – that’s to be expected, on this planet. Everything here is covered in grime and dirt. She stares down at her feet, and Dy’anna feels her rage building up again. She was like that, once. Never again.
Dy’anna won’t buy this girl, she knows that much. Instead, the slavers here all have to die. Dy’anna will grant none of them mercy, and before she can even really think about it they’ve all been run through with her blade, or shocked by lightning, or slammed violently into the ground with the force.
She turns back to the Twi’lek, and offers her a hand. Turning back to the twi’lek, she offers her a hand, ‘Your name. Now.’
‘Atalanta.’ The girl replies, and she still won’t look Dy’anna in the eye.
Dy’anna lifts the girl’s face up with a hand under her chin and smiles at her.
‘Swear loyalty to me, Atalanta, and I can promise you that together, scum like this,’ she punctuates what she says with a kick to the body of a slaver, ‘will never hurt us again. I was like you, once. And now look at me. I have all the freedom and power I want.’
‘I don’t have a choice, do I?’ Atalanta glances down, and frowns.
‘Oh, you have a choice. But I doubt you’ll last five minutes on your own if you refuse me.’ Dy’anna smiles, ‘Trust me, this isn’t something you want to miss out on.’
——
Nar Shaddaa is strange. The smuggler’s moon is busier and louder than anything Atalanta has ever seen, and she grips Antygonne’s hand tightly, terrified that if she lets go she’ll get lost in the crowds of people that are everywhere. Heading to a cantina, they are to meet someone on Dy’anna’s behalf. A zeltron, apparently. Atalanta doesn’t really know what to expect – she’s never met one before.
The two twi’leks find a table in a dark corner of the cantina, and Antygonne orders them drinks. Something simple for Atty - she’s never had alcohol before, and today probably isn’t the best time to start - and something multicoloured and fizzing for herself.
‘Is this seat taken?’ A tall woman with pink skin and blue hair stands in front of their table, hand on hip, and a smirk on her lips.
‘Ah. Merope, I assume?’ Antygonne has a grin of her own on her face and waves a hand to show that the woman can sit down.
‘Yes, that’s me. I’m here to talk business, although I have to say I was expecting Dy’anna to be here, not her plaything and a lackey.’ Merope’s smirk becomes something more sinister, and Atty’s skin bristles.
‘Lord Dy’anna regrets that she cannot be here. Lord Antygonne and I were sent in her place and are to speak and negotiate on her behalf.’ Atty fights to keep her head up, to keep her eyes locked on Merope’s.
Merope looks more serious then and asks, ‘So, shall we begin?’
——
Something hits their speeder and Atty and Merope go flying off. Somewhere behind them, they hear Dy’anna shriek, and Antygonne yell out, but Atty finds she can’t really pay any attention to that as someone pops up in front of her just as she falls to the ground, and she finds what she thinks is a spear pointed at her face.
‘Who are you?’ The accent is hard to place, and Atty’s vision is going blurry, so she can’t make out what the speaker looks like at all.
Coughing, Atty opens her mouth to reply, but Dy’anna appears seemingly out of nowhere to beat her to it.
‘I’m Dy’anna, a Lord of the Sith, and this is my hunting party. I assume you’re Kallisto?’
The spear is out of Atty’s face, now, and is pointed at Dy’anna, instead.
‘How would you know that?’ Atty can see a bit clearer now, and the woman in front of her appears to be a togruta wearing a very ripped tunic, the white and blue striped montrals giving it away.
Behind her, she can tell Dy’anna is smirking, as she answers their assailant’s question.
‘I heard rumours of you and decided to hunt you down. We want to make a... job offer, I suppose. May we talk?’