Chapter Text
The floor fell out from beneath Oola's feet, and she plunged into darkness. Gripped by sudden shock and terror, she released a primal scream that loudly reverberated through the dingy palace walls, and then vanished through the trapdoor. Her master, the vile and lecherous crime lord Jabba the Hutt, raised his fist with complete satisfaction from the button he'd used to dispose of the troublesome, disobedient slave girl, as his throne began to slide automatically forward for a better view of the gruesome show that was about to unfold below.
Oola tumbled head over heels down a long and winding chute. Fearful and disoriented, her mind raced frantically, unable to focus fast or long enough to stop or slow her descent. Her dancer's grace at least granted her a softer, more precise landing than most others would have made in her place, and no sooner had she been deposited in the sand-filled, underground pit than she sprang back to her feet, determined to find her bearings.
The pit was cold and dark, and smelled uncomfortably of blood. An array of fresh bones of all shapes and sizes lay strewn about in the sand, casting a grim atmosphere of death over the entire arena. Oola looked nervously back the way she had fallen to see that a metal grate had been lowered over the mouth of the chute, preventing any possibility of her escape. To either side, the steep, towering walls seemed as if they were closing in on her, directing her focus forward, to the behemoth metal door that stood between them, and whatever might be waiting on the other side.
A sizeable crowd had gathered eagerly in the throne room above, visible from the pit through another grate that had opened in the floor. Oola recognized many of the leering faces peering down at her. She couldn't make out the repulsive visage of her master, but she did notice many of her fellow dancers and entertainers, as well as most of Jabba's recent associates, who had minutes earlier comprised the enthusiastic audience to her rhythmic and elegant performance on the dance floor. Their eyes presently regarded her without a trace of appreciation or sympathy, and their anticipation was of a very different kind than before. But Oola was still the star of the show.
From the moment she had taken her leash in both hands and pulled back when Jabba had tried to draw her towards him, Oola had understood how badly her fight might end. And it still hadn't mattered. She'd fought because she had to, because every fiber of her being had compelled her to resist. Because regardless of the consequences, she couldn't have endured the touch of his slimy, groping fingers upon her soft green skin, couldn't have stomached another night of his efforts to manipulate, control and dominate her. She wore his leash and collar as a symbol of her degradation, but he hadn't broken her spirit, not for an instant. One way or another, she had to assert her own force of will, even if it ended up killing her. Not that she had surrendered to that eventuality quite yet.
The massive metal door started to move upward with a grinding lurch. Oola's whole body trembled in apprehension as she turned to face it, certain that whatever Jabba's intentions for her had become, they were about to be made clear. Out of the shadows stepped a gargantuan beast the likes of which she had never seen, though she knew enough to recall its name. The hulking, beady-eyed figure of the rancor was all tooth, claw and muscle, a predator by nature and in every respect the dreadful nightmare that Oola had heard described in hushed tones as a child. Confronted by the very sight of it, she screamed in mortal terror. The crowd above her cheered, braying in delight as the brutal blood sport that they craved drew ever nearer.
With nowhere else to run, Oola dashed back to the grate covering the chute that she had fallen through. As far as she could tell, it was the only possible way out, if only she could somehow force it open. On some level, she already knew that she didn't stand a chance, but as a potent mix of fear and adrenaline surged through her system, any plan that allowed her to keep fighting for her life, even for a few, short moments more, seemed preferable to giving up and accepting her fate as sealed. But despite a valiant effort, her strength predictably failed to win her release, and within seconds the monster was upon her.
In sheer desperation, as the end seemed all but inevitable, Oola managed to wiggle and squirm with enough vigor to fight her way out of the rancor's first half-hearted attempt to catch her in its giant, clawed hand, though her feeble netted dancing attire and the delicate skin on her twin head-tails suffered significant scuffing in the grapple. The creature's second lunge was a considerably more forceful and concerted attack, knocking the dancer bodily, painfully into the ground and pinning her without mercy, vanquishing any hope she might have had left of breaking free again. Its gangly fingers closed around her fallen form, and she simply didn't have the energy to resist as it raised her high in the air, straight toward its waiting, open mouth and menacing rows of razor-sharp teeth.
Oola hadn't slept in several nights. Worries of what her master, or his equally contemptible courtiers, might do to her while she did had kept her perpetually awake and ever on edge, but exhaustion could only be held at bay for so long through power of will alone. Having been deprived of nourishment as well, and with her nerves under constant stress and strain, the physical toll had finally surpassed her ability to mentally overcome it and continue her fight for survival. Mere meters away from the maw of the beast that seemed poised to decide her destiny, Oola summoned and let loose one more ear-piercing scream, as a final testament to the futility of her struggle. The rancor roared in response and snapped its jaws shut with an audible crunch. Everything for Oola went suddenly black.
The crowd started to murmur and disperse, so certain were they that the willful slave had received her due punishment, though the view into the dim light of the rancor pit had been murky and indistinct at its best, and half of those on hand to bear witness to the execution were suffering from one level of intoxication or another after an evening spent imbibing copious quantities of Jabba's latest beverages of choice. The Hutt himself seemed confident enough that his pet rancor had dependably disposed of the irritating dancing girl, just as surely as it had its countless prior victims. After scarfing down a wriggling snack of his own, Jabba soon turned his attention to the brash entrance of the palace's newest arrival, and neither he nor his guests paid a further second's thought to what had become of poor Oola.
In the pit, as the floor grate continued to close and seal off the underground chamber from the world above, the rancor studied the unmoving prey in its grasp with an intense curiosity, bordering on confusion. It had consumed many meals that had been delivered alive and kicking into its den, but few of them had behaved as strangely as this one. The hunt had begun so lively and enjoyably, only to end with the beast in possession of nothing more than a disappointingly limp rag-doll of a morsel, not even strong enough to keep herself from fainting at the very climax of the sport, and with barely enough meat on her bones to sate any hunger. The rancor gave the unconscious girl a mighty lick of its tongue, trying to provoke any kind of a reaction at all, but she wouldn't even scream, as she had so readily and passionately before. Something deep in the monster's primitive brain informed it that she might prove to be more fun again later on, so it sauntered off with the Twi'lek in tow, to await a more satisfying opportunity to satiate its carnivorous bloodlust.
Oola snapped back to consciousness sometime after that, shrouded in an impenetrable, pitch-black darkness and lying pitifully facedown in the sand. As she spit the pesky granules from her mouth and pulled herself upright to her knees, scattered fragments of the events that had transpired just before she had fainted started coming to her in waves, and soon she remembered enough to realize the only place she could be. At her side there was a small, misshapen object uncomfortably poking her in the thigh. She reached over to dislodge it, only to learn what it was; a humanoid skull, or most of one, and it still felt fresh to the touch. It took her every ounce of concentration to resist the urge to cry out in horror, but if she was where she had no doubt she had to be, then making any noise at all could only precipitate catastrophe. Not trusting her willpower to overcome her fear, she clasped one hand firmly over her mouth, and as her own breathing had become muffled, her ears began to pick up the sound of another, with breaths much heavier and louder than hers. And it wasn't far away.
Her feet carried her swiftly away from the source of the sound, taking her as far as she could go, until her back was tightly pressed against a wall. She could hear other noises in the darkness ahead of her, separate and distinct from the breathing. But each one was short and softer than she expected, a sign that the giant must not be moving very much. Maybe it hadn't noticed her. Maybe it was even asleep. Oola froze in her tracks to see what would happen, if the beast would detect that she had awoken and come to finish the grizzly task of devouring her alive. It wouldn't have far to go, and she would have nowhere to run. But the seconds ticked by and the rhythm of the sounds didn't change. As an overwhelming flood of relief washed over her, Oola deduced that her presence must not yet have been discovered. She still had time to make her next move.
Careful not to trigger any disturbances loud enough to give herself away, Oola crept slowly along the edge of the wall. She couldn't see even an inch in front of her face, but she could follow the structure with her outstretched hands and hope that she might eventually come upon something that would be of use in her dire predicament. After only a few minutes of searching, she found a metallic button embedded in the wall. Though she hesitated to use it not knowing what it would do, Oola realized that she stood no chance at all of escape if she didn't take every opportunity that presented itself, regardless of the risk. She pressed the button with both hands.
A door suddenly slid open in front of her, blinding her eyes with exposure to the first direct light since her fall. As she adjusted to its intensity and began to see clearly, her hopes were immediately dashed, as just like with the chute on the other side of the pit, there was an impassable grate blocking her exit. But its holes were wide enough for her to reach through, and there was always the possibility that someone might be able to see her. Though she was painfully aware of the sort of disreputable character she was most likely to encounter in the rundown, grungy recesses of Jabba's Palace, Oola was still more than desperate enough to try her luck.
"Please," she called out ahead, making every effort to throw her voice solely in the direction of the corridor beyond the grate. "Help me."
There was no response. After a moment of waiting, she tried again, raising her voice as loud as she could while still remaining reasonably confident that its volume wouldn't draw the attention of the rancor, which she was able to see sleeping peacefully only a few short meters behind her in the new light. Just as she started to give up hope, the unmistakable drum of footsteps from outside drifted into her ears. Evidently someone had heard her cries for salvation. All that remained to be seen was who, exactly, would be answering her call.
"Well, well. Look who isn't dead."
The rough, gravely voice belonged to one of the guards. Not a Gamorrean, but a human man in Jabba's employ, which somehow repulsed Oola even more than the pigs did. He was soon joined by another of his kind, slightly shorter than the first, seemingly a little younger and with fewer facial scars. They stood side by side before the cornered Twi'lek, their arms crossed in obvious, unearned arrogance and wearing identical, disquieting grins. From the deliberate and methodical way they were eyeing her, Oola could well imagine what the two men were considering, and a sinking feeling developed in the pit of her stomach. They began to talk amongst themselves in voices too low for Oola to understand, and her alarm started to rise even higher. Not every predator in the galaxy came in a package large enough to swallow her whole, she reminded herself with an uneasy gulp.
The first guard took the lead, sliding the grate open from the outside and charging aggressively into the pit. The second followed close behind, and both men approached the cowering Oola in a decidedly threatening stance. Despite their clear intentions toward the dancing girl, they still made sure to exercise a respectful amount of caution for the pit's most ill-tempered resident, even if the beast still seemed at present to be resting quietly. Oola stood shaking, trapped between the sleeping giant and the two smaller brutes, who she could trust were no less dangerous, wondering which of her possible fates could be more horrible, and cursing whatever governing power in the universe would compel her to make such a distasteful choice.
But as the first guard came close enough to confront her face to face, Oola's eyes suddenly narrowed, her fear turned to anger, and she made the same choice she had in Jabba's throne room before, when she'd been accosted by yet another kind of monster. She chose to fight. Whatever the cost.
"If the beastie couldn't teach you a lesson, I guess it's up to us," the man hissed spitefully.
Oola raised her leg high, exercising the same grace and agility she had exhibited so often on the dance floor, and brought it down hard in a forceful blow that she planted firmly on the guard's chest. Caught totally unprepared by the helpless-looking girl's ability to defend herself, he hadn't even thought to brace himself for the attack and he collapsed pathetically to the ground after only one strike.
Oola turned to run, toward the still-open door, but the other guard quickly leapt into the defeated man's place, reaching to grab hold of her any way that he could, and finding her fleshy head-tail suitable leverage. She suppressed the instinct to cry out in pain as he dug his filthy fingernails deep into her sensitive skin, which had already been inflamed by injury in her fight with the rancor, and swung around in hopes of landing a sufficiently powerful jab with her elbow to dislodge her tenacious foe.
All the commotion had an unintended consequence, as the rancor, not moving an inch from its place of slumber, released a deafening growl that froze all three of the intruders into its domain dead in their tracks. The Twi'lek and her two would-be assailants ceased their own conflict in an instant, and looked on powerlessly in dread as they waited to see if the gigantic beast had been roused sufficiently to join the fray. It was Oola who first determined that it hadn't, and she seized the opportunity to make a mad dash for freedom, sprinting at full speed toward the open doorway and the beckoning light beyond.
Just as Oola was about to cross the threshold, she felt a sudden, sharp pain in her neck, her breath was cut off, her forward momentum abruptly came to a halt and she found herself tumbling backward instead. Gasping for air, she landed with a thud on her back atop a pile of coarse sand. Still very much trapped within the wretched rancor pit, she glanced dazedly, dejectedly over to see one of the guards smugly clutching the end of her leash. And as soon as she had managed to climb back to her feet, he started to reel her in again.
Oola's mistake in her battle with Jabba, though she remained unaware of it, had been to hold on to the leash itself when pulling back against him. The rope that it was made from was largely without fault, and despite her fiery spirit, she couldn't have hoped to overcome her opponent's advantage in size or strength. But the clasp that joined the leash to her collar was another matter entirely. It was small and thin, never had been designed to absorb much punishment, and Jabba had refused to pay the extra expense for a more durable metal. In her short time as his slave, Oola's frequent disobedience had already weakened it plenty. The palace guard, in his ill-considered attempt to use the leash to drag the struggling girl towards him, unknowingly located the weakest point of all. And with one last forceful tug, the clasp gave way, the guard yanked in a loose length of rope, and Oola staggered back, reaching to her neck with a heavy sigh of relief as she confirmed for herself that the awful thing was finally gone.
For no more than an instant, as she was racing through the open doorway and escaping into the corridor on the other side, Oola thought about hitting the button that controlled the lowering of the grate and trapping both guards inside the pit with the rancor, where no doubt at least one of the predators that had tried to do her harm would meet an unfortunate fate of their own. But as she chased the idea from her mind, Oola reasoned that she didn't want to lose any time that could be better used in making her exit. Besides, if even one of those foul creatures raised a ruckus in the ensuing brawl, it could lead Jabba's other minions to uncover her unexpected survival, and the last thing she needed was more of them on her tail. Oola vanished into the depths of the palace, and the guards who watched her go were wise enough to count their blessings.
"What do we do now?" asked the younger of the two.
The older guard scoffed. "Jabba thinks she's dead. Do you really want to be the one to tell him she isn't?"