Chapter Text
It was a dark and stormy night. Well, it had been. Jaster Mereel had taken shelter in a den of scum and villainy - otherwise known as the local cantina. His job here was done, but he had no desire to go traipsing through the dark woods in the rain to get to his ship.
The smell of spice was strong in the air, strong enough that it made Jaster's head spin slightly until he acclimated. That wasn't a good sign. Spice meant heightened emotions and lowered inhibitions, which made fertile ground for bar fights and murders.
As usual for these types of places, there was a sabacc game going on. Three people sat at a table, two of which had brows furrowed and the tall, long haired man who looked utterly unruffled.
Jaster immediately hated him. His "unruffled" look was just on the edge of condescension, as if he was above the ruffians he associated with. But the thing that solidified Jaster's hate was the young boy who stood submissively behind his chair. Shoulders curled and head covered, the boy was trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible. There seemed to be an air of "don't notice me" that Jaster felt oddly familiar. Or not so oddly, he thought, as many a slave had given off that same feeling.
The hut'uun had a boy slave, a rather good-looking, fair skinned one, and nothing good could come of that. The long-haired man won the hand and the other two snarled in disgust.
"You have to be cheating," one snapped.
"You have been watching me," the long-haired man said, "I have not been cheating." The words seemed to ring a little too loudly and forcefully, but the angry one sat down with a nod.
The boy had flinched at the long-haired man's words and looked around nervously. The man was cheating, the boy knew it, and the boy was afraid.
Jaster walked to the table.
"Can I join the game?" he asked casually.
The three looked him over and Jaster was glad he had his armor hidden under layers of clothing and a waterproof poncho. Mandalorians made people wary, but a bulky middle-aged man was fair game.
They agreed and he tossed in some credits. He was flush with them, having completed his job just an hour ago, and he was out for blood. Jaster bared his teeth at the long-haired man across the table in what could be misconstrued as a smile. The man looked unruffled but the boy's eyes widened.
The game progressed, and Jaster knew the angry one had been right. The sleemo was cheating, although Jaster couldn't tell how. Some sort of mental talent, Jaster thought, perhaps the man wasn't as human as he looked.
With that in mind Jaster fortified his mental shields and kept his thoughts deep and clouded. This was not the first "mind-reader" he had come up against and undoubtedly wouldn't be the last.
He knew it had worked when he won the next pot and a spark of surprise came into the stoic man's eyes.
The quiet person to his right bowed out and then there were three.
Some time later it was just Jaster and the long-haired man, who the boy had called Master when he leaned down for instructions.
The boy had left for a few minutes and Jaster tried not to be concerned. When the boy returned, Jaster had won another hand and the boy was damp and panting slightly.
He passed a bag of credits to his Master, and whispered something in his ear, looking around nervously.
Jaster suppressed a grin. At last, the long-haired man was running low on funds. The pile sat high at Jaster's side and the other man's expression was growing increasingly grim.
As the last pot grew, Jaster watched the man closely. He was getting angry and frustrated and his eyes were on the money more than on his cards.
Jaster won this last hand, but didn't stand.
"One more round?" the other man asked.
"With what?" Jaster asked, eying the man's empty purse.
The man gave a deep sigh.
"Maybe we can make a deal," he said at last, and gestured towards the door.
It was late enough, or early enough, that most of the patrons had either gone to bed or passed out at their table.
Jaster stood and nodded, his hand slipping down to the blaster at his side.
It had stopped raining, and a dense gray fog clung to the muddy red soil. The three of them - Jaster, the boy, and his Master- stood under the cold blue light common to this planet and started haggling.
"I need the cash," the man said.
Jaster snorted.
"Doesn't everyone?"
"Surely we can make a deal," the man continued, his voice smooth. Jaster wanted to punch him.
"I need the cash for just a short time. Perhaps I can put my ship up as collateral until I can return it to you. With interest, of course.”
"I'm leaving tonight," Jaster said just as cooly, "As a matter of fact I was just on my way, so if you will excuse me."
Jaster started to walk away, keeping a wary eye on the taller man. Jaster knew he wouldn't be leaving with the money. He wondered why the man needed it so badly, but that was his business. Jaster knew he could use that for leverage to get what he really wanted.
The larger man reached out as if to grab Jaster's arm, but Jaster spun and brought up his blaster.
"You have a problem I can take care of?" Jaster asked, keeping his voice mild as he met the man's eyes.
The man huffed and took a step back.
"You must have something you would part with the money for. Tell me and I will get it for you."
Jaster tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.
"There is one thing I want."
The man let out a small breath, relieved, and nodded.
Jaster looked behind him, at the little slave that had been watching, wide eyed and worried, through this whole conversation. His eyes were on Jaster's blaster now, and he looked like he was having trouble breathing. Jaster suppressed a frown.
"I want the boy," Jaster said, gesturing towards the man's slave.
The boy jerked and looked at his Master fearfully.
The large man pursed his lips.
"You will take the ship as collateral." he said, his words sounding strangely warped.
Jaster bared his teeth.
"I will not." He said firmly, "Sell me the boy or I take my money and leave. Now."
The other man eyed Jaster, blaster still pointed, and nodded.
"Very well."
The boy jerked and looked up at his master in horror. He reached forwards and grasped the sleeve of his Master's worn-looking cloak.
"Master?" he whispered, his voice high and pleading.
"Go with him," the Master said, never looking down at the boy, "I'll buy you back after my job here is done."
Like hell you will, Jaster thought.
The man took the boy by the shoulder, ignoring the small sound of distress the boy made, and pushed him forwards.
They traded a full purse of credits for one small, scared boy. In a slave market, Jaster would have overpaid. Here and now, all that mattered was getting the boy away from his master.
Jaster kept his blaster pointed at the man until he vanished into the fog.
The boy stood, arms wrapped around himself, staring at where his master had walked away from him.