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ACT 2: DEALS


 Alora may hate Tatooine, but it sure beats the cold depths of an Imperial prison ship.

It has been a while since she has had any meaningful human interaction. The last time was when Peli caught her in town and bought an old starship from her. Alora had found it during her search for a place to live removed from popular society.

But that recognition scared her, just a bit too much to be normal. Peli is wonderful and has a relatively good heart. Alora wishes she could bring herself to trust the woman, even a bit, but she knows that Peli also has loyalty to others. Mainly the bucket-headed Mandalorian currently out of his depths.

She thinks about him all the time. It's a pain she hasn't felt in so very long, not since she left the New Republic to find Grogu. Her heart yearns for them both in different ways. Companionship, family, a sense of belonging. She lost all of it the moment her fears decided to take over.

It has been difficult recently to fight the voices in her head whispering about every little thing that could go wrong. Maybe the Jawas steal her food supply or the Tuskens happen upon the small repurposed hut she takes shelter in. Maybe she'll never see Mando again. See Din again.

It's not like it isn't her fault. It is. She knows that. That doesn't stop the pain from creeping up her spine each night as she lies in bed, staring out the hole that acts as a window to see the night sky. It chokes her and puts her into a restless sleep that leaves her worse than before. Then the day comes, and it never dulls.

She does not hear much news, but she can sense something coming. Maybe her Jedi senses or small connection to the Force is good for one thing. At least, she has the chance to prepare this time, something to take her mind off of the aching heart in her chest.

There is no particular day she feels something shift, but she knows today will be different. Gathering her lone saber and the blades she had taken from Mando, Alora makes her way through the canyon, sticking to the walls and covering herself to keep from prying eyes. Through the day, she counts the Jawas that pass and the Tusken hunting party dragging their dinner home.

By sunset, she thinks she may have been wrong. Just paranoia at its finest.

Then, she sees him. A lone hunter wandering the terrain, bazooka on his back, armor glinting under the sun. So, she pounces.

His voice, that of hundreds she has heard in her nightmares, echoes through the canyon as her sword slices over his chest plate. Both may be older, but she still remembers the last time she fought Boba Fett, remembers how he was just better. So, this time, she is prepared.

He stands no chance as she knocks him onto his back, blade ready to cut through his throat. His hands fly up in front of him as he shouts, "Alora Naftiri! I'm here with a proposal! Just wait!"

Her face is covered with a cloak, though it is no surprise he knows who she is. "I have no reason not to kill you," she replies.

"Unless you'd like to be the Daimyo, I'd rethink that decision."

Her blade pauses hovering above his throat. With a sigh, she pulls back and shakes her head. "I should kill you."

Fett must be rolling his eyes as he climbs to his feet and takes off his helmet. It's the first time she has seen his face, scarred as it is. She feels her muscles lock up for a moment as she takes a step away, keeping her blade between them. "I thought we were even," he says.

"I hold grudges."

He glances around. "As I said, I have a proposal for you. Would you like to go somewhere more private?"

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