4 - Interest & Allies

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      Yazasha had never really had a friend or even an ally before in her life, at least not one she ever saw herself getting along with or trusting. That changed the day Graal Fyr decided to open his big mouth and bring about his own fate.

    The morning was as bright and early as usual on Yinchorr, something they had all become accustomed to over the months they had lived there. Graal Fyr was a large man, one of the best fighters in the competition, but he was the last to share his story, and it was not one that was received well by Yazasha.

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    Kroydon, a thug from Coruscant, turned toward Graal, still chowing down his breakfast.

    "Graal! You haven't told us what you did before all of this." Graal gulped down whatever liquid was in his cup this morning, and chuckled.

    "Well you didn't ask! I'll give ya a hint, Jabba loved me." The others frowned, thinking. "Oh, come on, what is Jabba's favorite thing to buy?" Kroydon smacked a hand to the table.

   "Slaves! You sold to Jabba?" Graal sat back in his chair, smirking.

   "I sold the best. Got plenty set aside just in case. Ships full of surplus stock all through the outer rim. Collateral, I suppose." There was a scrape of a chair along the floor, and the group looked up to see the generally silent woman walk past them, an angry look on her face. Kroydon scoffed.

    "What's her problem?" Graal watched the woman walk away, eyes narrowed.

   "Dunno." Of course, that was not quite true. Graal remembered seeing the woman in Jabba's corrals, where he would deposit the new slaves Jabba purchased. He remembered her piercing stare, blank and yet full of fury at the same time. She had stood still and strong, not reacting at all to the whips snapped at her as her gaze had locked with his. He had no doubt she now remembered him as well, and a smirk made its way to his lips. Graal had always thought her too proud for a slave, not knowing her place like she should. Jabba may have tolerated it, but it made Graal angry. She was below him from birth, she had been a slave all her life, and he was looking forward to crushing her and returning her to Jabba.

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      Perhaps it was a coincidence that the day Darth Vader decided to observe their training was the same day Yazasha was paired against Graal, but Vader himself never believed in coincidences. The Force had been pulling him here for weeks, but this time the pull was too strong to ignore, and he heeded it. Looking down at the potential candidates, there were many who had some level of sensitivity to the Force, but the presence of the tall woman with familiar auburn hair and blue eyes nearly knocked him back a step. He had not felt a presence like that before, the strength of it was almost tangible as it swirled with a mix of emotions. This was the reason the Force had pulled him here, he was certain.

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    Graal and Yazasha faced each other in the center of a ring of their peers. Graal wore a smirk, his ego as inflated as usual. Yazasha simply stood still, watching him with those same piercing blue eyes. But anyone looking closely would have seen the rage swirling in them as she watched the man across from her, a slaver who had sold thousands to Jabba, from children too small to hold a pike to the elderly too frail to do the same. As soon as Lagor, the man overseeing their training, dropped his hand, Graal launched himself forward. 

    He lunged across the circle, putting his full force behind his fist, only to be met with air. He had thought he would be too fast for her to get out of the way, as he had always prided himself on his speed, but clearly she was at least as fast as he was. He let out an aggravated growl as he turned to face her where she stood now to his left. He noticed she had not wrapped her hands, something he now realized she never did. Of course not, she was a slave, wasn't she? It was likely she had not been given anything to wrap them with before. But now he was thinking too much, moving too slow. Even a poor fighter ought to have landed a blow on him by now, and he cursed himself for his distraction, returning his attention to the match. 

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