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    Summary

    Draqon felt a stirring in his chest, the uncoiling of power that came before a fight. The Hutt feared him, that was good. Fear without direction made mistakes, fear without a channel was a weapon against oneself. His half-smile was swiftly wiped away at the twi'lek's next words.
    "The girls are beautiful, though. Mighty Whuddle would let them in."

    Clenching his fists until the leather creaked, Draqon fought against the chill prickling down his spine. He could feel his eyes burning hotter again and darkness poisoning the surrounding skin from the well of that fire. 

    "I don't know, Tivva. You want to just go shoot this Hutt in the face?" Vette looked questioningly between Tivva and Feb'Noota, twisting her fingers together and shifting her weight from one foot to the other. 

    OR

    What would've happened if the Sith Warrior went to Whuddle the Hutt with Tivva instead of Vette to take revenge for Diida's death?

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