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electrikworm · 2 days ago

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A debt to pay: Part 5

Relationships: -

Content Warnings: Non-Consensual Touching, Discussion of possible Sexual Assault, Blood and Injury, Dehumanization

Summary:

Whilst forced to accompany Sorc Tormo to dinner, Cal rebels against him despite the threats the Umbaran had made.

Word count: 3’011

Read on Ao3

Sorc Tormo pats Cal's cheek firmly after they've stopped walking, waiting in front of an unfamiliar door. There's a gleeful grin on his pale lips, glint of enjoyment in his eyes. It's strange to see him without the helmet. Cal had assumed that his species can't breath oxygen until he'd met Mersen. After that, he'd guessed it had something to do with Sorc Tormo's cybernetics.

Cal had imagined that Sorc Tormo wouldn't have any hair, but he does. It's white and slicked back. He clearly put additional effort into his looks as well, even wearing eyeliner that matches the colour of his outfit. What ever this dinner is, it must be important. That can't mean anything good, that much is certain.

“I don't know what goes on in that head of yours, so I will put this in simple words.” He pauses to twist a strand of Cal's hair between his fingers before brushing it out of Cal's face. “There are two ways this night can go for you, baby. The first is so simple, it's almost ridiculous. All you need to do, is be good. You will be at my side, having to do nothing but look pretty. You will be fed and looked after.”

Shoulders tense, Cal tries to back away from Sorc. He doesn't trust a word out of that man's mouth, isn't stupid enough to.

“But the second option, now that would be far less pleasant.” Sorc shakes his head as he speaks, a mocking exaggeration of sadness on his face. As if he'd actually care about Cal's well-being. “If you misbehave, your behaviour will be dealt with harshly. I doubt you want to sleep any rougher than you already do.”

Cal sets his jaw, refusing to look at Sorc Tormo any longer, choosing to stare at the door instead. There's no way out of this, so he will just have to go though. The quicker this is over, the better. Cal has a little more of an understanding of the ship now, and would rather spend his time thinking about that then being exposed to Sorc Tormo's games.

“Don't come crying to me if the evening takes a nasty turn. I warned you, baby.” Sorc Tormo smirks, stroking Cal's cheek before stepping away.

“One more thing,” the Togruta growls, grabbing Cal's shoulder. She presses down on it, almost causing Cal's leg to buckle. Roughly shoving Cal's head out of the way, she grabs at the collar that's continuously been rubbing the skin on his neck raw. For a brief, foolish moment, Cal thinks it's coming off. Then the Togruta pushes something under the bottom edge of it at the front. With a hiss, the object clicks into place, snapping to the collars surface. Instinctively, Cal reaches to investigate it, getting his hand slapped away swiftly. He just has enough time to recognize what it is. There's a loop of metal at the front of his collar now.

Digging her fingers into Cal's cheek, the Togruta feeds a chain through the loop and fastens it. A ghost of a smile crosses her lips as she hands the other end of the chain to Sorc Tormo. “Enjoy the party, boss.”

“Oh I will. I'll let you know if you're needed further.” The Togruta nods, moving away.

The door slides open and Sorc Tormo gives the chain a tug. “Come along now, Cal.” The pull of the chain forces him to follow.

The room, easily twice as large as the Mantis' interior from cockpit to kitchen, is void of people. There are high tables meant to be stood around and a few chairs to the side of the room. Extravagant lighting fixtures adorn the ceiling, made from intricate glass. The style matches that of the other rooms Cal's seen, excluding the arena and medbay.

Uncomfortable silence fills the air as Sorc leads Cal across the room as he inspects the tables, then walks back to the door. It's agony on his leg, but he knows the chip will be activated if he doesn't move. Cal's glad when some mellow, lyric-less music begins to play.

They come to a stop once they're by the door, Cal forced to stand at the Umbaran's side. Feeling Sorc Tormo's eyes on him, Cal shifts in place, wringing his hands.

“I know a lot of you, but very little about who you are,” he sighs, voice almost soft. It makes Cal want to run away, or at least scream. Instead, he just stares ahead, keeping quiet. “Tell me, what kind of music do you listen to? I usually prefer something with a little more power, but that does make conversation a little hard.” Sorc laughs. Cal ignores him. He is not talking about karking interests and hobbies with Sorc Tormo.

Huffing, Sorc Tormo gives Cal's collar an unnecessary tug. Cal stumbles, but keeps upright.

“Are people paying for this too? Just to look at me?” Cal knows that that can't be all, that there must be more to this dinner. Cal would at least like a clue about what's going to happen. Maybe he can get something out of Sorc Tormo.

“No, though I'm sure some would. This isn't about money, not directly. It's about power.”

Cal almost laughs bitterly. “So you're going to what? Torture and rape me to prove how strong you are?” As soon as the words leave Cal's mouth, his stomach threatens to turn. Thinking about the possibility of being publicly violated is a lot different then actually speaking those words out loud.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Sorc laughs. “Silly thing, you forget what you are! You're a Jedi and whilst you were defeated by my bounty hunters and your kind were easily killed off, your reputation is still mighty. The fact that I own you, control you, is a testament to my power. It will keep others from getting the foolish idea to go against me.”

Cal wants to spit back that Sorc Tormo will never control him, let alone fully own him. But Cal bites back his retort, deciding to keep his defiance for a moment where it's more needed.

Guests arrive soon later, Sorc Tormo greeting them one after the other. Cal is mostly ignored, observed briefly by a few, but left alone by most. If things keep going this way, Cal thinks, this might actually not be that bad. Besides being lead around like an animal of course, but Cal has to take anything as a win at the moment.

He lets his mind wander as he stands there, recalling what he knows of the ship. If he knew what make it was, perhaps he could find a way to contact his friends about it. But then again, that would drag them right into the mess Cal caused, and Cal doesn't want that. As nice as it would be for them to come bursting onto the ship, taking Cal back to safety, the chances of that are near zero. Cal will have to figure this out by himself.

Shaken from his thoughts by Sorc Tormo dragging him deeper into the room, Cal quickly comes to learn that the peace he'd experienced at the door is over.

The variety of guests is wide, though all look like they have the credits to waste on elegant clothes and jewellery. Sorc Tormo hops from one conversation to another, quickly beginning to display Cal like a prized pet as guests show an interest in him. If he's really a Jedi, some want to know, and how Sorc captured him. Others comment on how they'd have expected a Jedi to be bigger or that they'd never been able to imagine what one might look like. Cal's expression sours at their conversations, but he keeps any comment to himself. Sorc seems to preen under all the attention Cal's getting, obviously enjoying how much he gets to talk.

The first mistake Cal makes wasn't even intentional. When he'd felt a hand on his ass, he reacted instinctively. He shoves the limb away, reaching for the knife that would have been strapped to his belt. Only, it isn't there of course, and Cal is left just as defenceless as before. He barely gets to register the disgusted shock on the face of the human that touched him before the nerves in his back are set alight by the chip.

“He's still in training,” Sorc says, wrapping a hand tightly around Cal's arm.

“I see,” the human huffs, taking her leave from the conversation moments later.

There's a dangerous look on Sorc Tormo's face as his grip on Cal's arm tightens. “Baby boy, what did I say about being good? You have no right to refuse anyone trying to inspect you, especially not by getting violent.”

Cal wants to laugh again. Calling his response 'getting violent' is ridiculous. But the next time a guest puts their hands on him, Cal lets them. He feels disgusting, weak, but he allows it anyway.

Things just get worse when a group gathers around Sorc, amicable conversation breaking out between them. At least two of the guests in the circle seem to have their own slaves with them, one a young Twi'lek woman, the other a human man that looks to be middle aged. Both have distant, worn expressions on their faces. The need to help them in any way is overwhelming, but Cal can't even help himself.

“Go on then, show us your Jedi,” someone announces. Cal is shoved into the centre of their circle, unease settled in his stomach at the eyes locked on him. His bad leg shakes as he tries to block their commentary from his mind. He doesn't want to hear anything they have to say.

“Aww, he's cute,” the man with the human slave says. “Shame about the hair colour.”

“You and your brunettes,” Sorc Tormo laughs. “I wouldn't sell him to you either way, but if you're looking for new stock, I have some you might enjoy.”

Cal glares at Sorc Tormo. Are slaves being transported with this ship? He'll have to get to them somehow, Cal can't leave them to their fate.

“Good thinking,” the man says. “Mine are getting to the end of their life span.” He grins as he pulls the human slave closer to himself. The slave barely looks older than Cere. Cal can't help but wonder if the man will be killed, feeling nauseous at the thought.

“I like his hair,” a member of a species Cal doesn't recognize comments. “How much to fuck him?”

“So crude, Eha, you'll scare the poor boy!” Sorc laughs as he drags Cal back to him by the chain, wrapping an arm around his back. Cal's skin crawls at the contact, the feeling of Sorc's warm skin against his bare lower back driving him crazy. Twisting out of his grip, Cal quickly moves as far as the chain will allow him. He expects the chip to activate this time, dragged back into Sorc Tormo's arms as he writhes in pain.

“One more chance,” he hisses in Cal's ear.

“You're too soft on him,” a voice adds. “I'd have him thrashed for that kind of disrespect.”

“What can I say? I'm rather fond of him.”

After a while, server droids begin offering small snacks and food items to guests. As unpleasant as the pangs of hunger are, they give Cal something other than the company to think about. He doesn't recognize even half of what is being served, but the lack of food in his stomach makes him not care. He's not stupid enough to try eat anything, knowing that will count as defiance. It's better to think about the food present than Greez's cooking though, that just makes him miss his friends more.

A hand on Cal's cheek draws his attention to Sorc Tormo. The Umbaran is holding a small plate of various food items in hand. “You must be hungry,” he hums, briefly interrupting his conversation to focus on Cal.

“No,” Cal lies.

Sorc shows no interest for the answer Cal gave, picking a piece of dark bread with a green paste as well as a piece of vegetable on it off the plate and holding it out to Cal. He really is very hungry, but accepting anything from Sorc Tormo would be extremely stupid. It came from the same platters the guests eat from, so it can't possibly be drugged, can it? As Cal debates whether to accept the food or not, Sorc moves his hand closer to Cal's face.

“Open,” he commands, and it dawns on Cal that Sorc intends to feed the food to him like he's feeding a tooka scraps under the table. Cal pulls a face, turning his head away. If that's the case, he won't be taking any of the food Sorc offers.

“Well then, suit yourself,” Sorc sighs, eating the bread himself, making some of the nearby guests laugh.

His humorous attitude fades fast as Cal keeps rejecting his offers. Every time Cal refuses to open his mouth, Sorc Tormo looks a little more annoyed. He tries not to show it, but it's clear in the lines of his face, the way his eyes narrow at Cal. Perhaps Cal should try not to anger Sorc Tormo, but this is the first time he'd been able to annoy the man. It feels good to spite him, to make things difficult for him and for the effect to actually show. Sorc Tormo may have him confined with no obvious hope for escape, but Cal won't roll over and take everything thrown at him.

“You're playing a risky game, Cal Kestis.” Sorc Tormo exhales right next to Cal's ear. His breath is hot on Cal's skin, smelling of the wine he's been drinking. “Actions have consequences, baby. You should understand that by now. I'm going to tell you one more time: Open your mouth.” Cal turns his head away from the man, only to have it harshly turned back around. Sorc Tormo digs his nails into Cal's cheeks, forcing his jaw open.

He makes it all to easy for Cal to bite him.

Shouting in Umbaran, Sorc struggles against Cal. He only gets Cal off when his mouth is already filled with hot blood, dripping down across his chin. Cal spits it on the floor, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. The coppery taste is near overwhelming, but the look on Sorc Tormo's face is priceless.

“Don't touch me.” Cal's going to pay for his disobedience, he knows that much. But, he made a point in front of a crowd of people, many of which have fallen silent to watch the chaos.

Instead of yelling like Cal had expected, Sorc Tormo is silent. There's a fire in his eyes Cal hadn't seen yet as he rubs at his injured hand. He's breathing heavily, mouth set in a snarl. Cal doesn't regret biting him, but the look Sorc gives him makes an involuntary shiver cross though Cal's body.

The chain attached to Cal's collar is yanked hard, making him stumble as he chokes. Hands flying up to the metal around his neck, Cal tries to pull against the links of metal binding him. Perhaps he'd usually be able to match Sorc Tormo's strength, but starving and injured as he is, Cal fails. His injured leg gives, and Cal's shoulder collides with the floor. Sorc Tormo doesn't slow down, relentlessly dragging Cal forwards. He's forced to scramble to his feet to relieve the pressure around his neck.

Cal collapses to the ground when Sorc Tormo finally stops moving, heaving for air as tears of pain drip to the floor. His arms shake as he struggles to keep himself up, leg hurting so bad Cal worries he tore the stitches.

“Are you proud of yourself, baby boy?” Sorc Tormo huffs, body tense. They're not in the room with the guests any more, Cal kneeling on the floor of what looks like storage of some kind. Glaring at the Umbaran, Cal tries to get up. A boot on his hand stops him, just shy of breaking bone with the pressure. “I'm beginning to believe you're a masochist.” Sorc's hand tightens in Cal's hair, dragging his head back in a sudden motion.

“Kriff off,” Cal spits, voice breathy. “You'll never control me.”

Sorc's laughter is cruel. “Oh baby boy, I already do.” He yanks the chain sharply, jerking Cal's head to the side as he grinds the sole of his boot into Cal's hand. The chip is set off again, and Cal fully collapses. “If it's pain you want, you'll get it. I'm not usually a generous man, but this is something I'm prepared to give you in abundance.”

Cal can't tell how long he writhes on the floor, longer than he's ever been exposed to the chips secondary function before. He barely dares to breath too deeply when Sorc Tormo stops. The Umbaran sighs, intake of breath sharper than it usually is. “When will you learn that I take care of what I own, but only when it does what I want of it? You will give in, Cal Kestis, it is only a matter of when.”

Limbs shaking like leaves in the wind, Cal sits up. It's just Sorc Tormo here, maybe he could run. But Cal can't even stand up.

Sorc Tormo pulls something from a high shelf, placing it on one just a little higher than eye-level from Cal's position. “You'll be needing this,” he smirks, then turns his back to his prisoner. Cal cranes his neck to look at what Sorc Tormo offered.

A bottle of low quality but strong liquor sits on the shelf.

“I warned you, baby boy, and you didn't listen. Don't enjoy yourself too much.” Sorc Tormo winks, then steps out of the door. As soon as he's left, his absence is filled by five guards filtering into the small space. Cal can't even get the curse he mutters out before one of them has grabbed him.

#cal kestis #sorc tormo #cal kestis whump #jfo #jedi fallen order #my writing #sorc tormo continues to be a creep #and it won't be getting better from here on

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electrikworm · 4 days ago

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A debt to pay: Part 4

Relationships: -

Content Warnings: Non-Consensual Touching, Discussion of possible Sexual Assault, Blood and Injury

Summary:

Cal is prepared to attend a dinner with Sorc Tormo. He makes the process as difficult for the Haxion Brood's leader as he can.

Word count: 2’777

Read on Ao3

Chapter Text

Limping heavily, Cal walks between two guards, Sorc Tormo in front of him. He can barely put weight on the limb, the stitches still relatively fresh despite the bacta. But Cal does as told and walks, even if what Sorc Tormo had said about what's to come put him on edge. He'd talked about a meeting, and that Cal has to look his best.

Cal scans the are he's lead through as he walks, trying to memorize it and build on the mental map he's constructed of the place. They're moving somewhere new, higher up than the arena and the lounge. He's unsure where they are in relation to the medical wing he'd been in.

Playing along is all Cal can do for now, as he's outrunning no one with his leg and doesn't know how he'd get off the ship.

They bring him to a bathroom. Not bare like the one in Cal's room, but overly exquisite like so much of this ship seems to be. There isn't even a sonic, but a bath. Cal only had memories of seeing bathes when he was a youngling. Why you'd have carpets on a bathroom floor is beyond Cal.

It dawns on Cal that he'll likely be expected to clean up, and he has a bad feeling that neither the guards nor Sorc Tormo will be willing to leave the room as he does so. Cal frowns. He's herded deeper into the room until he's standing at the edge of the bath. It's filled already, steam coming off of the foamy water. It smells floral.

“Go on then,” Sorc says, “Strip.”

Cal shakes his head.

Sorc Tormo sighs. “I assume you've seen a bath before and know what they're for. Take your clothes off and get in.” The Umbaran's voice holds an unspoken threat in it, but Cal won't cave.

“No.” Cal's bad leg trembles worse when the Togruta guard places her had on his shoulder heavily, but he doesn't move.

“What's gotten into you? I heard you were such a good boy for Mersen yesterday.” Sorc shakes his head, hands rested on his hips. Cal glares at him.

“I was dying.”

“I think you're forgetting your place, baby,” Sorc hisses. “Get in the bath.”

Cal just stares at the Umbaran, keeping eye contact with him whilst keeping aware as to what the two guards are doing. He can't let fear take a hold of him, but Cal can't help the way his heart beats in his chest. Everything about this situation is screaming at him to run.

Living a life on the run, never really trusting anyone, Cal hasn't had any personal experience with sex. That doesn't mean he's oblivious. The way Sorc's been acting, Cal's dreaded him following though on what his behaviour seems to suggest.

Cal's still hoping that it's just a fear tactic or Sorc being overly familiar, but things aren't looking too good right now.

“Are you shy? I can turn my back, if that's the problem.” There's clear amusement in Sorc Tormo's tone. He actually does turn away, which is ultimately entirely pointless, as the two guards are still staring at Cal. “You either get in that bath by yourself or you will be made to.”

Cal doesn't move, can't bring himself to. He's making a target out of himself if he strips in front of these three, shows them that he can easily be threatened into a vulnerable position. Of course, if any of them intended to force themselves on Cal, there is very little he could do unarmed, outnumbered and without the force.

He shakes his head again, pulling away from the guards.

“He's still refusing, boss,” the human rasps, small grin on his lips. The Togruta's expression is neutral, but she clenches her hands to flex the muscle in her arms hard enough to make the visible through the layer of fat.

Cal steadies his stance as well as he can, leg threatening to give out on him. The blood loss has left him feeling dizzy even now, not increasing his odds in the slightest.

Fighting without the force or a weapon is something Cal had occasionally ended up doing on Bracca, even if he usually carried a knife and tried to avoid escalating anything for fear of Stormtroopers getting involved.

If he'd have faced the two guards there, he might have had a chance, even malnourished and exhausted. The Togruta may have size and weight on him, but Cal can use that to his advantage by slipping past her. And the human, whilst muscular, is lean too and his stance is unprofessional.

But Cal is injured, barely recovered from nearly bleeding to death on top of burns. If he escapes this room, he still has a ship full of bounty hunters and other nasty types to deal with. And that's not even considering the third person in the room.

Sorc Tormo is a difficult man to judge based on looks alone. He's tall and always moves deliberately, but he wears big jackets and wide clothes, so his over all condition is unclear. There's also the matter of his cybernetic organs. Cal can't tell of those are more likely to increase his fighting prowess or hold him back.

“Well, we did warn him,” Sorc sighs. He snaps his fingers and the guards lurch forwards.

Like Cal predicted, the Togruta's size works against her as he drops underneath her attempt to grab his hair, connecting his fist with her ribs as he moves past her. Severely slowed down by his leg, Cal's left barely any time to dodge the second guard trying to grapple him, forced to leap backwards suddenly, almost knocking into the bath. Already a lot more out of breath than he should be, Cal catches the Togruta's fist with his forearm, narrowly avoiding getting his wrist grabbed. "Come here," the human growls, swinging an arm at Cal with little coordination. Cal counters by kicking him in the knee, the limb giving out as the man yelps. Narrowly avoiding a fist to the face, Cal's too slow to dodge a messy attack by the human. An open palmed slap lands on his bandaged thigh and Cal nearly blacks out. Nauseous from pain, Cal stumbles forwards, managing to topple the human by blindly slamming his shoulder into his chest. Cal gets some distance between himself and his attackers, but in doing so, moves himself further from the door. The Togruta's expression remains neutral, but there is rage etched all across the human guard's body language. Cal sways as he prepares himself to go again. Then a blinding pain flares along his spine, like a hole is being burned into it and Cal gasps, back arching as he tries to move away from the pain that won't go away. He can barely breath, mouth open in a voiceless scream.

It fades, but the aftershock still wracks Cal's body as hands grasp him, holding him tight. Sory Tormo laughs. "You weren't stupid enough to believe that it's only for tracking, right?" Tears in his eyes, Cal can barely make the Umbaran out. He's still got his back turned but is holding up a hand to display a device. One pair of hands grabs Cal's leg, tugging at his boot. Despite the pain, Cal kicks at his attackers, squirming in their grip. The back of his head hits something, and who he hits with his foot grunts at the impact. Before Cal can use that to his advantage, Sorc's activated the chip again. It's not electricity that's causing the pain, the sensation distinctly different to being electrocuted. Something else causes the agony spreading through Cal's back, taking over every thought in his mind and rendering his struggling entirely useless. Further involuntary tears bead at the corners of Cal's eyes as he squirms weakly. The chip's effect fades once again, but Cal's breath hitches when hands move to his waistband, pulling his trousers and briefs off of his legs. "Let go!" Cal manages to force out, trying to aim for the Togruta's eyes as she picks him up. He's dropped in the bath before he can hit his target. Suddenly being submerged in water is a shock, Cal ending up inhaling quite a bit of water. It's just on the wrong side of too hot, and the soap's scent is incredibly intense. Coughing as he surfaces, Cal spits to get the soapy taste out of his mouth. His wounds burn in contact with the water, bandages becoming waterlogged immediately. A hand brushes Cal's shoulder, making him snarl in response. He's not letting any of these bastards touch him more than they already have. Blinking against the water burning in his eyes, he raises a fist to swing at who touched him. Only, it's not either of the guards or Sorc Tormo, but a Pantoran, shielding their face with their hands as they stare at Cal with wide eyes. A rushed string of apologies falls from their lips near continuously, making Cal freeze. They weren't there before, didn't look like they wanted to be there either. Cal's eyes flick to Sorch Tormo, who's looking over his shoulder with a grin. He did this on purpose. He chose to involve someone Cal couldn't bring himself to hurt, someone who hasn't done anything to deserve it. "This is Arlow, they're going to make sure you're all pretty for my guests, won't they?" When Sorc finishes speaking, Arlow nods quickly, eyes still blown wide as they kneel next to the bath. "O- Of course, sir! I won't fail you," they stammer, inching forwards on their knees. Cal had suspected that Arlow must be a slave, and this only acts to confirm that to him. "You better not," Sorc laughs, then goes to sit down a little way away, still not looking at Cal directly. As if that small crumb of respect for privacy matters at all.

Arlow moves closer to the bath again and Cal raises a hand to wave them off. “I can clean myself.” He tries to convey through his tone that he means no insult, Arlow still seeming jumpy after Cal almost hit them.

Sorc Tormo tuts. “A scrap rat like you can't be trusted to do the job right. Arlow will assist you, if they know what good for them.”

Cal hunches, clenching his jaw. Having a strangers hands on his body doesn't sound very pleasant, especially not given the situation. But Arlow's life must be hard enough as it is. Cal can't make things worse for them. He keeps his mouth shut.

“I'm sorry,” Arlow whispers as they lean over the edge of the tub, apologetic look in their wide eyes. They look to be older than Cal, though it is hard to tell by how much.

Pale hair with a light purple tinge to it adorns their head, cut short, likely to be out of the way of their work. It's common for Pantorans to bear tattoos specific to their family, Arlow having some too. Golden bands span across their cheeks and down their neck, two dots on each side of their face, parallel to the lines.

Cal shakes his head, trying to smile reassuringly. Arlow can't help what Sorc Tormo forces them into.

Despite Arlow being a stranger, Cal doesn't end up hating their hands on him as much as he should. They're careful when they help Cal peel off the wet bandages he can't reach easily, and whilst they are required to help, Arlow doesn't invade Cal's privacy unnecessarily. They stick to running a wet towel across Cal's back or scrubbing his hair.

Against every ounce of common sense, the hot water starts to feel nice and Cal enjoys feeling clean again. He'd gotten so accustomed to regular showers, it leaves Cal uneasy when he doesn't get the option. It's like a betrayal, him finding some enjoyment in the situation. Cal frowns, trying to focus on the pain instead.

As Arlow's rinsing Cal's hair, Sorc Tormo stands up for the first time in a while, wandering off briefly. He returns to stand in Cal's field of view, holding out two pieces of fabric. It's with mounting dread that Cal realizes that those sheer, sparse pieces of cloth are supposed to be clothes.

“Do you like them? Had these tailored especially for you, baby boy.”

Cal doesn't bother hiding the disgust on his face.

Sorc Tormo laughs as he raises the first outfit a little higher, shaking it to make the glittering fabric of the top reflect the light. It's almost the exact same shade of deep purple as Sorc's own jacket. The trousers are short and a little darker than the top, made from translucent material.

The top is held closed at the front by multiple black straps of fabric, woven into a symmetrical pattern.

After a moment, Sorc changes to hold the second set of clothes up. This one is a vibrant green, reminding Cal of Kashhyyk and its flora. It's just as see-though as the first, but the trousers are long and lose.

The top doesn't seem to button at all, left open at the front in the style Sorc Tormo wears often. Neither of the options bear resemblance to clothes Cal had worn in the past. He'd always stuck more to the practical, unsure if he'd even like anything else.

He certainly wouldn't like anything he's forced into, that much is clear.

“Which do you prefer?” Sorc grins, staring at Cal expectantly. Cal looks away from the Umbaran and the clothes he's holding up. This is one game he will not be a part of. “Don't tell me you don't have a preference.”

“Neither,” Cal hisses.

“Oh, how forward of you!” Sorc responds with an amused huff. “I am afraid you will still have to chose, some level of public decency will be required for this dinner.”

Cal plans to not say another word, but then the Togruta raises her hand like she's going to strike Arlow. As Arlow flinches, Cal blurts his response out before he can even fully register that his defiance is risking the Pantoran's safety.

“Green.” At least that way, it doesn't look like he's matching Sorc Tormo.

“Good boy, that wasn't so hard, was it?” Sorc croons. “A very fine choice, matches your pretty eyes.” Cal doesn't look at him, doesn't want a part of any of this. He feels sick and this time, not only thanks to the pain.

What must be conditioner is added to his hair and rinsed out as well a little while later, then Arlow offers him a towel. Cal's reluctant to get out of the water, but it's not just his own health he's putting on the line now.

Complying hesitantly, Cal quickly slings the towel around himself as he steps out of the bath.

The guards stare at Cal as he dries off, Arlow occupied with his hair once again. Cal has to sit on the edge of the bath in the end, for fear of falling over. When he's dry, Arlow helps Cal bandage the wounds that need to be covered. Sorc Tormo interrupts when Arlow tries to address the brand.

“You can leave that. I don't want there being any debate about who owns him.” There's a dangerous glint in his eyes. Cal responds by glaring at him, but remaining quiet.

At least Cal's given a new pair of briefs before being pressured into the reviling outfit, leaving him feeling a little less exposed. To his disgust, Cal notices that the clothes is rather comfortable, light and well fitted to his form.

He doesn't want to know when Sorc Tormo got his measurements. There's a slit in either side of the trouser legs, and the back of the top has a large gap in it, exposing the brand. Cal wants to curl up in a ball as all eyes are focused on him, robbed of even trying to escape when Arlow is in the room.

“That will do for now,” Sorc hums, grabbing Cal's face. “You clean up rather nicely, baby.” Cal tries to subtly move away from Sorc, but the Umbaran wraps an arm around his shoulder and draws him close once again. With what Cal's just been forced into, that feels even more threatening than it did the first time.

“We have a dinner to get to. I hope you're not stupid enough act disobedient.”

Frowning, Cal thinks that just how stupid he'll behaves depends a lot on what Sorc Tormo's dinner involves. No matter what though, Cal has the bad feeling that this won't end up well for him.

#cal kestis #sorc tormo #star wars ocs #jedi fallen order #jfo #cal kestis whump #jedi survivor #haxion brood #my writing #split the chapter in two cause it would have gotten very long #whump writing

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