violencetobasic | (no subject)

The chant goes up in a dozen languages from the cells and open areas around. Its always the same when new blood is brought into the pits - some just because its their nature. The victims of the horrible cruelties of the Sith, dragged here to fight til they met something stronger, many lived just to channel all that suffering onto others. For others, its a matter of bets - can they make the new blood break down? There's not much to bet - but the resources that exist are precious. Finally, for some, its just belonging - verifying that they're not one of the new ones, they've lived. And want desperately to keep living.

"Fresh meat! Fresh meat!" accompanied by banging on rocks, cells or just the ground. The pits echo with it.

But not the muscular, white haired boy, resting amidst a group of Nexu in one of the cells. By rights and reputation, that should be a death sentence - but they seem to accept him as one of their own.
He just sits up, glancing with curiosity at what the slavers have brought.

The chanting is certainly ominous, but she'll be damned if she'll let that, or any realizations about her condition, show. Son'ja just sets to work wiping the blood -- hers and his -- from her mouth and staring back.

She lets her eyes fall on one she thinks she could hold off if it came to it -- admittedly not an easy target for a fifteen-year-old Twi'lek to find in this pit. "Please. I was born on Ryloth. You'd be considered 'cute'." Contempt was pretty much all she had to on, better than showing weakness even if it would be a fairly accurate showing in this environment. She wasn't stupid.

Her eyes make it to the white-haired boy. She doesn't know what to make of him; she's pretty impressed by his living arrangements, particularly the 'living' part, but she's not going to show that either right now. She draws herself up, arms and lekku crossing just so. "Can I help you?" she asks with cold dignity.

Her defiance gets attention - from some quarters, a bit of grudging respect - or maybe regret that spirit often doesn't last here. From others - well, they may see that as a challenge.

Strength and assurance in numbers, and limited honor here - three of them walk towards her. A Gamorrean, a human and a Devaronian - all wearing the same brand on their right arm, probably marking them as some sort of gang down here.

"Mouth like that." starts the Devaronian, with a cold grin, "is going to get you in trouble. Of course, arrangements can be made for protection, Pretty."

"I'm sorry to hear they've reduced you to selling yourself," Son'ja says, reaching back to try to pry up a stone. "But you're not my type."

Things get a lot quieter at that point, a few people gathering - but not too close to the trio. The Devaronian steps forward, sharp teeth bared.

"That didn't sound much like 'thank you, I'd like to be kept alive, Pretty. I'm sure I just misheard you." he begins, the other two stepping in to either side of him.

The white haired boy has taken further interest, standing, and moving towards an edge of the cell, eying the whole. With his movement, the Nexu pack grows a bit more agitated, a few prowling around the edges of their cage.

Bargaining isn't an option. If it were an option, she wouldn't be here. It's not a fair fight. She's going to die. But she's going to try her best not to be in enjoyable condition by the time she can't hold them off anymore.

"Well, everybody loves a winner," Son'ja swings the rock as quickly as she can at those bared teeth. "So I'll try to take the fact that I don't like any of you as a good omen."

The rock connects, and the Devaronian, surprised, goes staggering back, leaving a couple teeth and some blood behind.

The three start to shift - they've obviously worked together in the arena, moving to flank, looking for openings. A couple feints.

And then there's a pause, at a single word, spoken from the direction of the Nexu cages.

"Mine."

She's at first focused on keeping some balance in the face of the feints, trying to find a chance... and then Son'ja looks over just as the three do, although she soon takes the opportunity to scramble near the cages, though distinctly on the other side of the bars from the nexu pack. Chance to catch her breath while they sort this out.

The Nexu move up by the bars, a couple pawing at them - while the white haired man tenses his legs, and leaps high enough to grab the top of the cage and pull himself over - obviously caged by preference.

"Stay out of this, Dragonson." the Devaronian warns, spitting blood. "You may think you're big stuff here, but we can take you."

Dhrakon eyes the three, gaze shifting from one to the other, and repeats. "Mine."

The Devaronian starts to gesture the other two forward... to discover during the exchange, the human and the Gamorrean have decided something else, completely the other direction, is much more interesting and needs to be quietly discussed.

"What do you mean 'we,' hornface?" Son'ja manages to sneer at the Devaronian's sudden predicament, but her eyes are mostly on the white-haired boy. Trying to hide being impressed again. Sure, she's being 'claimed' haphazardly without being consulted, but at least the boy is clearly willing to work for it a little. Doesn't mean mean she won't sell herself dearly when the time comes, but let the 'Dragon' take out the rat first.

Left on his own, the Devaronian's courage melts. Mumbling something of an excuse, he scrambles away to the company of the others, giving them dirty looks, but his courage is obviously of the mouthpiece for a group sort.

Dhrakon nods to the Twi'lek, giving her one look over. "You were willing to die for your freedom. You deserve to keep it." he replies, turning back towards the cage, apparently content to let her go her own way, if that's what she wishes.

Son'ja smiled at the Devaronian's humiliation, then braced herself to face off against the admittedly more impressive opponent.

And then blinks as he says that, and as he turns away.

She'd known she barely stood a chance against the blasted horned rat, who had obviously not stood a chance against this boy.

...she was at his mercy, so she couldn't ignore him.
...and he hadn't taken sadistic advantage, so there was no reason to despise him.

She looked back on what she'd told the Moff shortly before she'd tasted blood. That you think you're entitled to anyone is the surest sign that no one worth having will ever truly be yours.

Everything has its opposite, maybe. Maybe. She couldn't be positive that this really was his intention yet. She steps closer. "I'm Son'ja." A pause. "Would they eat me?"

"My brothers and sisters will not eat you." Pause. "If I ask them not to." he replies, turning back to look her way again. "There is nowhere safer."

"I would appreciate your asking them not to, thank you." She grabs the bars as high as she can with one hand, then looks to him. She bites her lip for a moment, then holds her free hand out. "Please."

A small smile, and a look at the Nexu. Then he takes her hand - just long enough to pull her in so he can carry her in leaping back up to the top of the bars, pulling both over.

And over they go, and once they're inside, she sits in the cage and catches her breath, takes it all in as she scampers a little more into the corner.

She's still not dead. Not assaulted. ...Safe, as much as the word can be used. She's still sitting in a filthy, dank corner of a filthy, dank pit that she is unlikely to ever leave with not much in the way of food...

A set of rocks right next to the bars catch her eye. Son'ja quietly mutters a little -- the type of rock. The known features of the planet, a few comparisons to Ryloth, the distinctive soil -- and her fingers start digging into the ground to pry the rocks up, then use them to press into the dirt

He waits quietly, crouching among the Nexu for the moment, seemingly curious about what she's doing. He doesn't ask, just watches and listens for a while.

Finally. "You've been educated."

She continues scraping away dirt diligently until he speaks, then looks up at him. She nods a little. "I was going to be a teacher, not a toy." A twitch of the lekku, shruglike. "Somebody disagreed." A pause, a smile. "I disagreed back." More scraping, delving through the dense dirt as much as she could. And then, she reached in and tore at something.

He nods. "They disagree a lot here. In their nature. If you want to live, you will need to learn to fight. Maybe we can teach each other."

She listens. "Maybe." After enough digging and tearing, she pulls out a small, dusty chunk of fungus. "Should be safe for humans." Son'ja rips it in half and hands him one. "Yours."

He takes it, sniffing at it, then takes a bite. "Better than the rations - except near fight days. They need to keep the gladiators healthy. More reason to learn to fight... live longer... and eat better."

She listens as she eats. "Hard to go wrong there. Who are you?"

"In the arena, they stopped calling me 'slave' and began calling me first Son of Krayt, then just 'the Dhrakon'. It has more meaning than any other name I can remember. You?"

"Son'jarar. Son'ja. You've... been here a long time."

"I was a small child, yes. I grew up here, but I was born in space, on a great ship."