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11.04.2012 , 02:16 PM |
: Bread and Circuses
: Rixik, not yet a bounty hunter.
Occurs six months before
. As mentioned previously, he’s nineteen here. No class spoilers. Short for me, 750 words. Sorry for double posting.
Rixik’s guiding principles by this time are those two cynical perversions of the golden rule: “He who has the gold makes the rules” and “Do unto others before they can do unto you.” Hence, he’s much less sympathetic than he was as a hungry kid. In the last story, food embodied Sal’s kindness. Here, it’s the opposite.
As far as adopting him as a small, sad kid? Recall
The Scorpion and the Frog
. He’s not completely irredeemable, but it wouldn’t be easy. Ask AU Kirya.
The Twi’lek pulled the sheet and flipped it over them both. He nuzzled in the Human woman’s blonde-and-copper hair. Beneath her perfume was the musky, animal scent of her skin and perspiration. He breathed deep. His movements grew slow and languid. He was almost asleep when she wriggled out of his embrace and woke him.
She scooted to the edge of the bed, “DeeThree?” she said, swinging her legs over the side. He propped himself on one elbow.
The droid came active and took a step forward, “Yes, mistress?” it asked.
She stood and tossed her two-toned hair back, “He pleases me. Have the wardrobe altered to fit him,” she said.
“Yes, mistress,” replied the droid. It crossed the room to meet her.
“Incinerate this,” she continued, pointing at the prison uniform, the pieces lying rumpled on the floor where they’d fallen, “and change the bed.
he bathes.” She started toward the door. The Twi’lek couldn’t take his eyes off her gently swaying posterior. She reached the doorframe and turned back. There it was again, that sweet threatening smile. The I-own-you smile. I–can-do-whatever-I-like smile. She pursed her lips and blew him a salacious kiss.
Ah well. He was neither the first nor the only Twi’lek sex toy. Though that dubious honor more often went to the females of his species. He tossed the sheet aside. Exposed, he arched his back and flexed his shoulders, “Hurry back, gorgeous,” he purred. Huttese was wonderful for commands like that.
While DeeThree stumbled over a polite translation, she smirked and said, “I’m sure.” She turned her attention to the droid, “I want him and the room clean before I return this evening, DeeThree. Make the usual arrangements with the kitchen. Oh, and start teaching him some phrases in Basic. Nothing fancy. Enough to follow orders.”
“It will be my pleasure, mistress,” said the droid
The service entrance door slid open and DeeThree returned bearing a covered tray. The Twi’lek broke off examining the holoterminal in the outer apartment. “Sir,” began the droid, moving to one of the small tables, “I have brought you some refreshment,” it said. It set the tray down. As he approached it whisked off the cover.
Food! Real food! Real
! A medallion of what smelled like bantha steak rested on a bed of some kind of pale yellow paste. Tidbits of braised fungus surrounded it in a puddle of fragrant brown broth. A small mass of tender greens nestled on a second delicate plate. They gleamed with a shiny, aromatic liquid.
He sat and seized the silverware. The steak was perfect. The paste…he wasn’t sure what it was besides delicious. The fungus, the salad—it was a sharp, nutty-fruity-vinegary dressing on tiny fresh plants—perfect. Absolutely perfect. Better-than-sex perfect. He barely remembered the last time he’d tasted food like this. Scratch that. He’d never had food like this, even at Sal’s. It sure wasn’t the synthetic, reconstituted, extruded, freeze-dried crap he usually ate straight out of the package it came in. Even before incarceration. Oh, it was going to be hard to go back to nutrition packets after this.
There wasn’t enough. It was gone before he really got a chance to appreciate it. All that remained was the heady aroma and a bit of gravy. He resisted the urge to lick the plates. Food like this and good sex? Could do worse.
Wiping his hands on a silky cloth napkin, it sunk in that his situation was unchanged, and only somewhat improved. This woman cared no more for him than the prison guards did, she just had different work for him. A pampered pet, but still a slave. She hadn’t even bothered to tell him her name.
More to the point…what had happened to his predecessors? He’d heard rumors of illegal arenas and fighting pits, either organized by or at least receiving tacit approval from the guards. He’d heard
of this. Nothing of anything like this. But he wasn’t the first one. These apartments were long established and expensive. The droid had to alter the costumes in the closets. There must have been others before him, so where were they?
The holoterminal accessed only sports events and p*rnogr*phy. Typical. He was no professional slicer, but he decided to try his hand at the terminal anyway. At least it was something to do.
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