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Part 1 of Heart Song
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Published:
2022-11-29
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2023-02-16
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Songbird

Chapter 2: Two

Notes:

Thanks for the quick, lovely response! Thought I'd clear up a few things while I have the chance.

The name I gave the frog species comes from a scientific name for frogs, just like all of their given names. I'm sure I'll be proven wrong by the actual Star Wars canon one of these days, but for now, Anuradae was the best I could do.

Schutta is a Twi'leki insult specifically for women, along the lines of...well, another insult specifically for women.

I'm imagining the main character's illness as something along the lines of rheumatoid arthritis. Since people with disabilities are often underrepresented in the media (all kinds), especially invisible disabilities, I wanted to incorporate some actual limitations within Lore's character.

TRIGGER WARNING: this chapter includes some of the really ugly stuff that comes alongside slavery, including threats of sexual assault. It also includes violence against women in the context of said slavery.

Anyway, here we are, beginning to line up with the timeline of Mos Espa, post Pyke Syndicate. Got a few more fun characters involved. Enjoy! Keep that feedback coming, it gives me life.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The air was smoky and thick with body heat, a steady hum of conversation filling her ears as she stepped onto the stage. She drew in a deep breath and let it slowly out through pursed lips, trying to calm her thundering heartbeat. She'd been trussed up like some kind of siren, a red, floor length gown hugging her curves and flaring wider at her knees and full makeup painted on her face. Her short curls had been carefully coiffed and sprayed heavily with what felt like shellac to keep it in place. Beneath the stage lights, it shone nearly crimson, the red tint amidst the dark strands standing out more than usual.

The cantina was nearly full, an array of different species staring up at her as she moved in front of the microphone. She felt sick to her stomach, terrified of being in front of so many people, let alone performing with their attention fixed solely upon her. She'd never even liked having her picture taken, and she rarely sang aloud for anyone but children. This felt like an enormous undertaking.

But she was fueled by spite and anger tonight, and nothing would stop her from sending the message she needed Felo Tazi to hear. The house lights fell low, a single spotlight fixed on her alone, and she wrapped one hand around the microphone and bowed her head as she waited for her cue.

The music began, slow and punctuated by hard beats, and she swayed her hips side to side in time with every strike of the drum. The crowd had grown silent, fixated on the newest entertainer in Mos Eisley, wondering if she was going to live up to the hype.

After four drumbeats, it was time, and she raised her eyes and settled her gaze just above the crowd as she began to sing.

 

You don't own me

I'm not just one of your many toys

You don't own me

Don't say I can't go with other boys

 

“Dank farrik,” Tazi muttered from his seat in the VIP lounge. Her voice was just as good as he remembered, maybe even better in a song like this that could be crooned seductively in a club, and the audience was mesmerized. To every other observer, nothing was out of the ordinary, and she was teasing, tempting, holding them all captive with every sultry swing of her curves.

But he knew better. She was sending him a message alright, and he heard her loud and clear.

 

And don't tell me what to do

And don't tell me what to say

And please, when I go out with you

Don't put me on display, 'cause

 

You don't own me

Don't try to change me in any way

You don't own me

Don't tie me down 'cause I'll never stay

 

The crowd was starting to get excited now, a few cheers erupting as she rose to the chorus crescendo again.

 

I don't tell you what to say

I don't tell you what to do

So just let me be myself

That's all I ask of you, 'cause

 

I am young and I love to be young

I'm free and I love to be free

To live my life the way that I want

To say and do whatever I please

 

She didn't look toward the VIP lounge, refused to make eye contact with anyone, and as a brief instrumental portion of the song began, she let her eyes slide shut, feeling the music flow through her. The band was indeed skilled, and they were playing the music just like she remembered it, just like she was back at home listening to this song on her phone and singing in the shower.

Wait...when did she recover that memory?

She was so caught up in that clear mental image of a blue shower curtain that she nearly missed her cue, but not quite, and she picked up right where she'd left off with the song, slowing her words a bit and opening her eyes to look out over the audience again.

 

You don't own me

I'm not just one of your many toys

You don't own me

Don't say I can't go with other boys

 

As the music sped again, she drew in a deep breath and showed the entire cantina just why Tazi had been so eager to bring her to Tatooine.

 

I don't tell you what to say

I don't tell you what to do

So just let me be myself

That's all I ask of you

 

I'm young and I love to be young

I'm free and I love to be free

To live my life the way that I want

To say and do whatever I please

 

No, no, you don't own me

No, no, you don't own me

No, you don't own me

 

With those last few powerful, lingering notes, she stilled and bowed her head again as the spotlight went out, and the crowd exploded into cheers and applause. This was Tazi's part, and he bounded to his feet, jumping onto the stage and extending his arms to his sides in a sweeping gesture.

“Khandri, everyone!” he announced, and the cheering grew louder. He waved her forward to take her bows, and she did as she was instructed, bending in a half curtsy and bowing her head to the audience.

He turned to her with a very fake smile plastered on his face, thin lips pulled back over pointed teeth.

“I'll see you later,” he growled, loud enough for her to hear and low enough that no one else caught the warning words. She swallowed and averted her gaze from his, turning to step off the stage and toward the back door.

Rik'an was waiting just outside to take her back to her room. Wary of the Twi, she walked silently straight back to her quarters, the two of them never exchanging a single word. She tried to focus on breathing, hoping that keeping her mind busy would stop dread from overwhelming her while she waited for her punishment. Tazi would most likely stay in his club until it closed, which meant that she had hours to wait until he followed through on his threat.

The droid that got her ready had explained each of the toiletries inside the fresher and every jar on the vanity table. There was quite a beauty regimen she was expected to follow, all in the interest of projecting the best image possible to the public and drawing in the crowds. She was meant to be a singing doll, nothing more than a tool for Tazi to get rich off of, and she was suddenly, spitefully, proud of her song choice.

But for the moment, she was just glad to pull off the heels and wash off her makeup and change into one of the simple shifts she'd been given as night clothes. Purely for her own comfort, she massaged one of the lotions into her aching feet before crawling beneath her covers. She was fully exhausted despite her earlier respite, drained by her brief performance. Everything about her short time in the presence of Felo Tazi was exhausting, and she just wanted to sleep until she woke up back in her little bedroom on Trask, or maybe in whatever home she'd somehow forgotten.

Even all her worries couldn't manage to keep her awake, and she drifted into fretful sleep, plagued by dark dreams that stayed at the edge of her consciousness and wouldn't quite let her remember just why they frightened her so.

She was yanked from sleep by a big, cold hand wrapping around her neck, dragging her out of her bed and throwing her to the floor. Her elbows cracked against the smooth stone when she instinctively flung her arms out to catch herself, barely awake enough to register what had just happened to her. Before she had a chance to catch her breath, that hand closed over the back of her neck, hauling her upright before tipping her back far enough to let her see his face.

“Did you think I wouldn't hurt ya 'cause I need ya to look pretty for the crowds?” Tazi growled, his grip tightening until the breath squeezed out of her with a pained squeak. “I'll beat the life out of you, little girl, then throw ya in the bacta tank and do it all over again!”

As if to punctuate his point, he flung her back to the floor, and his boot connected with her gut, forcing what was left of her breath out of her body. Instantly, bile rose in her throat, and she coughed and gagged and tried to hold down the remains of her scant dinner.

“You think you can defy me?” he shouted, kicking her a second time, the ribs that had barely healed from Rik'an's beating on Trask snapping again beneath the force of the blow.

“I...sorry, I...”

“You ain't sorry,” Tazi snapped, planting his foot on her shoulder and shoving her over onto her back. “Not yet.”

She was barely wheezing, struggling to breathe through the pain, her fingers scrabbling uselessly against the floor as if she could tunnel her way out. He caught her by the throat and dragged her up off the floor, slamming her into the wall beside the wardrobe. Out of pure survival instinct, she scratched at his hand and kicked at his legs, her bare toes barely noticeable as they struck his shins, and his expression twisted from anger to wild rage.

“Still got some fight left, huh? Gonna beat that outta you yet. No wonder Rik'an calls you schutta.”

His other fist connected hard with her face, snapping it to the side, and she felt her skin split over her cheekbone. Dazed by the blow, she went nearly limp, her hands dropping to her sides and her head lolling weakly as it grew harder and harder to breathe.

The instant his hand left her throat, she struggled to suck in a desperate breath, letting out a strangled cry when the agony of shifting her broken ribs shot through her body. He'd grabbed her by the hair instead, turning toward the door and dragging her behind him. The pull at her scalp was agony, and she pushed through the pain and reached up to grip his wrist, struggling to relieve some of the pressure. Her feet scrambled for purchase against the floor, but he was moving too quickly, and she never managed to get her legs under her.

Down the hall, up the steps, and into the infirmary, he dragged her all the way. The moment they reached the bacta pod, he grabbed her by the upper arms and hauled her roughly inside, slamming her down on the bottom and grabbing the breathing tube.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered, shoving the apparatus against her lips hard enough to split the delicate skin. “Open!”

She didn't want to be closed up in that tank again, submerged and feeling like she was drowning, but he was already flipping the switch that let the bacta begin to flow, and if she didn't have that lifeline, she wasn't going to make it. Finally, she took the breathing apparatus into her mouth, her eyes wide and terrified as he slammed down the lid.

“I'll do this every night, ya hear?” he yelled from the other side of the glass. “Every kriffin' night till you learn!”

Bacta flooded her eyes and covered her head, and she struggled to calm down, to relax the whipcord tension in every muscle, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She closed her eyes, pinching them tightly shut and sending her mind far away, anywhere but here.

Finally, blessedly, shock settled in, and the blackness that had been wandering in and out of her vision finally claimed her.

* * *

Time passed slowly in Mos Eisley.

Lore decided the moment she woke inside the bacta tank that her first beating at Felo Tazi's hands would be her last. This was her life now, there was no escape, and obedience was far safer than defiance. He'd made it abundantly clear that first night that his cruelty knew no limits, and he would not tolerate resistance.

She simply didn't have it in her to take another beating like that every night. Where would she even go if she managed to escape? All she knew outside of Tazi's compound was Trask and the Anuradae, and she had no way of getting back to them. Her master had been right when he said that she had nothing and no one, and with that one vicious assault, he'd knocked the fight out of her.

After she emerged from her second bout in bacta, she was returned to her little room with the reminder that she had things to lose should she require additional punishment. The dancing girls and servers from the cantina were all housed together, in small, crowded rooms with shared freshers, and she'd been granted relatively luxurious lodging by comparison. The choice was calculated on Tazi's part, because he didn't want the other girls becoming jealous and lashing out at his 'superstar', and he needed her rested and healthy in order to perform at her best. But he made it clear that he would revoke these small privileges should he feel the need, and if she wanted to hold on to them, she needed to behave.

Still, she devoted a portion of each morning to exercise within her tiny room, keeping her hard won muscles strong on the small chance that she might someday have the opportunity to use them to escape. Maybe, just maybe, he would slip up someday, lower his guard, and give her the slightest chance she needed to make a run for it again. Besides that, it helped occupy her mind and her time, and work up at least a mild appetite. It was hard enough to choke down her meals with the stress of her living situation, and all too soon, she began to notice her little body steadily shrinking.

While she had quickly come to fear Tazi's wrath, she still held on to some semblance of dignity, keeping her head held high every night when she emerged from her chambers to make the short walk to the cantina. One of Tazi's personal guards was always present to escort her to and from her performances, and as time passed, some of them grew bolder about their interactions with their boss's merchandise. The Trandoshan was the worst, frequently groping her backside when she passed him to enter the hallway. She always snapped at him to keep his hands off, face burning at his responding laughter, until finally, her tolerance reached its limit. The next time he grabbed her, she whirled and slapped him hard across the face.

His expression twisting with fury, he drew back the gun in his hands as if to strike her, and she flinched but refused to cower, glaring fiercely back at him.

“Nack!” she heard Rik'an's familiar voice call from the other end of the corridor. “You put a mark on her before her show and the boss'll have your head!”

Letting out a long, low growl, the Trandoshan lowered his weapon and grunted at her to get to the cantina, throwing in an insult in his native tongue for good measure. She didn't care what they called her, as long as they didn't touch her.

Rik'an was the next to experience what was left of her fighting spirit. All out groping wasn't really his style; he preferred lurid words and veiled threats, making certain she was always uneasy in his presence. It felt like revenge for the scars she'd given him back on Trask, the behavior he'd realized upset her the most. He liked to make overtly lewd comments about her appearance each night when he saw her, either before or after her performance, liked to laugh in her face when she flushed and glared and looked away as quickly as she could.

One night, when the dress she'd been given cut particularly low, he pushed her against the wall the moment she stepped through the cantina's back door after the show, pressing his knee between her legs and bending close enough that she could feel his breath on her face.

“You looked so good out there tonight,” he said with a leering smirk, “I could just eat you up.”

He snapped his teeth together a hair's breadth from her mouth, grinding his knee up into her, and she tipped her head back and spat in his face.

His fist slammed into the wall beside her head, his teeth clenched and his lips pulled back in a snarl over pointed teeth, but he didn't strike at her, didn't lash out any further.

“Watch it schutta,” he hissed, “you might not always have the boss's protection.”

“Get off me,” she growled through gritted teeth, “and maybe I won't tell Tazi about this.”

It was a fine line between maintaining some sense of independence and avoiding her master's wrath, and she learned to walk it with care. Eventually, the guards kept their hands to themselves, sick of being antagonized without being able to retaliate. Tazi didn't like that trace of defiance, but he also didn't like his men taking liberties with his property, so he let them sort things out among themselves. There were other small slights, such as choosing the wrong song or tripping on her way up to the stage, that resulted in punishment, though not severe enough to land her back in the bacta pod. It was a fist to the gut or between the shoulder blades where bruises wouldn't show, or taking away her pillow and blankets so that she spent the night shivering on a bare mattress and ached for days.

Soon enough, she learned to strive for perfection.

After two weeks of performances without a major hiccup, he finally allowed her to have a datapad loaded with tomes on history and geography, and she devoured the knowledge ravenously, taking in every shred of information she could scrounge up on her new world. Might as well, he'd muttered, because if she knew the culture of the audience, she could play to them more effectively, and he wanted her occupied while she wasn't on stage. A busy mind was less likely to conjure plans of escape.

He'd taken to saying she was lost royalty from Naboo in an effort to make her sound more exotic and unique, and she could see the greedy way the patrons' eyes lit up at the prospect of someone from the core worlds all the way out on Tatooine. There was no way to disprove it, she supposed, but she certainly didn't feel like royalty.

A month in, she asked if there was anyone else who could sing in the compound, because if she had some backup singers, it would open up a lot more material from her vast internal store. Three of the Twi'lek dancing girls were assigned to join her on stage a few nights a week, lending their harmony to the backup vocals in a handful of her songs.

At least she got to wear dresses, revealing as they were. The dancers were barely clothed at all.

The other girls didn't like her. They thought she was spoiled, the boss's favorite, and every time she arrived in a new dress or trinket in her hair or piece of shining jewelry, she could see the jealousy burning in their eyes. She'd tried to talk with them a few times, tried to befriend them, because they were all in the same rotten situation, and she longed for camaraderie and some shred of kindness. But each of them turned up their noses in turn, avoiding her as much as possible and making a handful of snide remarks whenever granted an opportunity.

Once he was certain she was well under control, her master began asking more of her than just her performances. She was often required to stay after the final song of the night, meeting with his more important guests. Her job was to smile and nod and be gracious and charming while he showed her off, like she was some kind of prized possession. He wanted everyone to believe that she was a rising star that he had discovered, not a slave that had been abducted and beaten into submission.

On one of the nights when she'd been informed that she would need to stay after her set, she was performing alone, each song chosen for a solo singer rather than requiring the backup vocals. For once, she felt classy rather than raunchy in the dress she'd been given, a long, sleeveless gown with a slit reaching her thigh on one side. Full length gloves in matching black material shimmered over her arms, a hair pin modeled after some kind of exotic flower tucked behind one ear. The band played a quick, catchy beat, one that was made to be danced to, and she moved her body in time with the music, looking up at the crowd from beneath long lashes with a crimson stained smile.

 

Funny thing is when I look into your eyes

I sense something so sincere in your disguise

You whisper secrets I hear only in my dreams

Then I wake up to your tele-smoke screen

 

I'll wait patiently while you play your game

'Cause in the end I'll be the winner all the same

You'll see clearly when this all comes to a stop

I'll be the one blowin' kisses from the top

 

Tapping her fingers to her lips, she blew a kiss toward the crowd and wiggled her fingers in a playful wave, hearing some of the more raucous guests roar in response. It was easier this way, when she lost herself in the performances, and she was learning to feed off the crowd's energy.

 

So baby stop, you're surrounded

I've got my love all around ya

One wrong move and I'll drown ya

And that'll end ya

You should surrender

You'll never win, unless you give in

So won't you give our love a chance?

 

She'd learned that she needed to play to the VIP's, and she locked eyes with one of the visiting diplomats as she rolled her hips in time with the beat. She could see his eyes grow a little wider even across the length of the dimly lit club.

 

You put your lips very close into my face

And then you run away

And so begins the chase

 

I'll be the hunter, but boy you better pray

'Cause when I want ya, I'll get you anyway

You know what I wanna do

It ain't nothin' new

I'm tired of dropping clues

 

So when I step to you

Will you rise to my occasion?

Or will you make me change your station?

 

Every man in the cantina was enraptured, mesmerized by the suggestive lyrics and the swing of her body, that dress highlighting every curve. She even caught some of the women's lustful gazes on her, and this was exactly what she was supposed to do, draw their attention and make them want her more than they enjoyed her songs. Giving the illusion of desire on her part was key, a show of sensuality that meant nothing to her, but served its purpose in fueling their fantasies.

She finished out the song to uproarious applause, taking her final bow as the spotlight went out.

The visit to the VIP section was relatively uneventful, though that one man did try to cop a feel under the table before she scooted out of his reach. At last, Tazi said they'd better call it a night and walked her back to the bar, and she was just moments away from making it through another day.

A frightfully strong grip closed over her forearm as she passed the bar, bringing her to a jerking halt. Her first instinct was to yank her arm away from the audacious stranger, but as soon as she turned and saw who had caught hold of her, any protest died out in her throat. He was the same species as Tazi-Duros, she knew now-but vibrant blue, with gleaming red eyes. Even seated, he was looking down at her from beneath the wide brim of a hat, taller than any other Duros she'd ever seen. She could see blasters on his hips where his long coat had fallen open, some kind of breathing apparatus attached to each side of his face, and as he looked down at her, his thin, dark lips pulled back into a sneer over sharp teeth.

“How much for a night with your little songbird?” he rumbled in a deep, gravelly voice, and her heart slammed to a stop in her chest. He was talking to Tazi, she realized, who was standing just behind the bar, and there was a long, terrible silence when she thought her master would list off a price.

“Come on, Cad, you know my singers ain't for sale,” he said instead. “Pick a dancer if ya want, I'll give ya one half price.”

Clearly, this was someone Tazi knew, and while they appeared to be on good enough terms, she could feel the danger radiating from this creature. His grip on her arm never relaxed, a low growl of irritation leaving him as he turned to glower at the cantina's owner.

“I don't want used merchandise,” he spat, “I want a taste of the fresh meat.”

Her heart was working again, hammering furiously within her ribs, and Lore pulled back her arm instinctively, only to feel his grip tighten until it was nearly bruising. He turned those glaring red eyes back to her, the weight of his gaze only serving to make her want to escape him even more.

“Hold still, little bird,” he warned in that dark, gritty voice. “We're not done.”

The breath shuddering out of her, she stopped her futile attempt to escape and grew perfectly still. This man could do anything to her, she realized. With that single grip of his hand, he'd shown that he was much stronger than her captor ever would be, and he could take her apart without batting an eye.

“You don't want that one, trust me,” Tazi scoffed, clearly unconcerned by the tone in the stranger's voice. “She's nothin' but trouble. Hacked up Rik'an with them nails of hers the day we brought 'er in.”

Those words only confirmed her suspicion that this man knew exactly what kind of business Felo Tazi was running, and he certainly didn't care. He let out a low, dark chuckle, yanking on her arm until she stumbled a step closer to him. Lore winced, every muscle in her body tensing as he raised his other hand to draw one fingertip slowly across her jaw.

“Feisty,” he remarked. “Sure she ain't for sale? I wager you'd double your profits rentin' her out a few nights a week.”

She felt sick, listening to them talk about her that way, and she pressed her lips shut and swallowed down the sour taste in her mouth.

“Not after the cost of the bacta I'd need to put her back together when she got herself knocked around for that smart mouth,” Tazi stated, flicking a glare in Lore's direction. “No deal, Cad.”

For a lingering moment, she thought the dangerous stranger would protest or argue or even threaten, but he just smirked again, finally releasing her arm.

“Pity,” was all he said, and she scurried away as fast as she could on her stiletto heels, ducking out the back door before he had a chance to grab for her again. She'd never thought she would be happy to see Nack waiting on the other side of the door. She couldn't believe she'd just stood there, rendered mute by fear, while she was haggled over like livestock. She hadn't even tried to fight, had stopped even trying to get away, hadn't said a single word in her own defense. This place really had broken her.

For hours, she lay awake, terrified that Tazi would be convinced to offer her up for sale, eyes fixed on the doorway in the darkness and certain she would see that towering stranger coming for her at any moment. But he never came, and when dawn broke at last, she knew she had dodged one more bullet.

She had to get out of here.

Despite their apparent distaste for her presence, Lore had managed to pick up a handful of whispers and rumors from the other slaves and employees in the compound. There was talk of a new daimyo taking over the palace in Mos Espa not long after she arrived, and she overheard the guards murmuring about how he was a once famous bounty hunter, that he'd killed his predecessor and usurped the throne. Then came word of a confrontation with the Pyke Syndicate, those bizarre looking creatures who often met with Tazi in the VIP section of his club, and she assumed that the new daimyo wouldn't last long.

The next she heard of it was nearly a week after her encounter with the hat-wearing Duros. Tazi was in the club that night while she was rehearsing with the band, muttering to himself and swiping through reports on his datapad.

“Would you shut up for a minute?” he snapped, and the band stopped playing at once, all of them turning to their employer in confusion.

“What's wrong, boss?” the drummer called, much to the chagrin of the others. But rather than the angry, biting retort they had all been expecting, they actually received an answer.

“That kriffin' daimyo took out all the heads of the families over in Mos Espa, along with the Pykes,” he ground out. “Heard he's plannin' a whole lotta changes, to be more 'hands on' than Fortuna. Now I'm gonna have to run my product through him directly if I wanna keep it flowin' planetside.”

Product, Lore thought furiously. What a way to refer to living, breathing people being sold to the highest bidder.

“Damn,” the keyboard player remarked behind her. “Figured the Pykes would've cleared him out by now.”

“Yeah, well, least they managed to clear out Garsa's Sanctuary before they went,” Tazi muttered, going back to his data pad. “An' at least that's brought more people into the club. Now hold up on that racket till I'm done with these reports.”

The Sanctuary, Mos Espa's cantina; Lore had heard its name plenty of times, because while there was no in house singer, the stunning Twi'lek who ran the club was charismatic and popular, and she managed to draw impressive crowds. That place was Tazi's main competition, and she wondered just what the Pykes had done to the rival cantina, but she wasn't about to ask.

She felt Tazi's sharp eyes watching her more closely that night, saw the gears turning in his head, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to know what he was thinking about.

* * *

In the aftermath of the war with the Pyke Syndicate, the Mandalorian Din Djarin only stayed in Mos Espa long enough to receive treatment for his injuries, though the offer to join Boba Fett's crew actually held some temptation. It would be nice to be settled, especially now that he had Grogu back in his life, and he knew it wasn't good for the kid to be constantly traveling. Now sporting a much smaller ship, he would have to stop at ports more often to rest and refuel, not to mention letting Grogu stretch his little legs. Still, after losing everything inside the Razor Crest, it would take him some time to rebuild his cash stores and weapons cache, which meant taking on some new bounties.

He wasn't letting himself think about losing his covert just yet, let alone the looming threat of Bo-Katan Kryze and her irrepressible drive to battle him for the Darksaber. Possessing that weapon often felt like more of a burden than a gift; he didn't want to be Mand'alor, didn't want to try to rebuild a destroyed planet, and certainly didn't feel qualified to lead what was left of his people.

“How's that new ship treatin' ya?” Peli asked before she headed out with her droids, and he nodded his head appreciatively.

“Good. Sorry about your tooth, by the way.”

He still felt a little guilty for not even trying to catch her when that rickshaw flipped, but in that moment, the child had been his only priority.

“Eh, it's alright,” she dismissed with a wave of her hands. “Adds character. Hey, before you go, I got a message for you back at the garage.”

“A message?” he repeated in puzzlement. “From who?”

“Remember that frog lady you took over to Trask?”

He winced at the thought of that disastrous trip, the one that had nearly destroyed the Crest. Of course, the Crest ended up destroyed anyway, so he supposed it was all the same in the end.

“Don't remind me.”

“Well, she didn't know how else to find you, so she sent the message to me.”

“What does she want?” he asked, and the tiny mechanic shrugged.

“How should I know? I don't listen to other people's messages, that would be rude.”

He'd never thought of Peli as the pinnacle of manners, and it certainly would've saved him some time if she could just give him the gist of the message, but he supposed a trip back to Mos Eisley was now inevitable. With a sigh, he bent to scoop up Grogu, who had wandered over to his boots and was reaching up to be held.

“Alright, guess we'll have to make a quick stop at the garage before we head off world.”

The trip was quick in his fighter, and he ended up waiting for Peli to arrive on the commercial flight. But it gave him a chance to catch a quick nap in the cockpit, Grogu curled up in his lap.

When finally he was ready to watch the message, Peli had to step in to translate anyway. Definitely would've saved him a lot of time and trouble if she'd just watched it to begin with. What he did notice immediately was the obvious distress the little frog lady conveyed, even via hologram.

“Alright, she says she's looking for someone,” Peli began, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Sounds like their community had a human woman living with them for awhile, she taught their kids and stuff. A couple months ago, she went out after one of the froglings and never came back.”

“What's that got to do with me?” Din huffed, and Peli frowned over at him.

“Just listen to the whole transmission, will ya? Good grief, always so impatient.”

He just wasn't going to catch a break today, was he?

“She says the frogling told them that her teacher was taken away by two 'bad men', and one had a knife. Sounds like a kidnapping, Mando.”

“That's a shame,” he conceded, “but I still don't see what it has to do with me.”

“Oh for the love of...was I done? No. She also said that they've done all they can themselves, so they want to hire you to track this woman down for them. Sounds close enough to a bounty to me.”

Searching for a kidnap victim was actually very different from bounty hunting, because the average person didn't have a puck to help him locate them, but he wasn't about to interrupt or argue with Peli again. Heaving another sigh, he waited a few beats to make sure she was done before he spoke.

“Let me guess: I need to head to Trask?”

“Bingo,” she declared.

“Okay,” he relented, turning to track down Grogu amidst the piles of spare parts littering the garage floor. “Trask it is.”

Notes:

Songs used are "You Don't Own Me", specifically the cover by Nikki Williams (which is an epic tribute to Lesley Gore's masterpiece), and "Do You Only Wanna Dance?" by Mya.