#'batran' and 'taab' are ahra

[ryehouses]

AST ask time! IDK who to pick!!!! Cuz I’d LOVE some Noora POV again (Fennec is just an added bonus), I absolutely ADORE the Tusken lore, and that Cobb POV from whenever (time is irrelevant these days) was GOLD!!!!! I love this entire universe SO MUCH 😩 😩 I might be chaotic and ask for a Clan Skirata (Null vode 👀 👀) POV just cuz 😏

hello there!

i have had a lot of requests for a cobb pov, so one of those is queued up for later this week, and there's a little bit of one of the nulls here, so we'll go with a noora pov for this request!

i actually don't have tooooo much noora pov compared to some of the other characters, so here's one set way way back at the very beginning; it's an older fragment, so it might not be as cohesive with ast, but i hope you enjoy!

warning for the usual stuff that happens on tatooine, including slavery, attempted assassination and job advancement through murder.

in which the jabba the hutt’s palace comes under new management. 

Bib Fortuna died quickly. Later, when she’d had some time to think about it, Noora would decide that she wasn’t surprised. Bib Fortuna was hardly a fighter. He’d ended up on the throne only because everyone else had died out, in the Pit of Carkoon or right after, when what was left of Jabba’s court got together and decided to tear itself to pieces. 

Bib Fortuna had survived through luck. Noora had survived through stubbornness. 

And now, Noora thought, looking at Fortuna’s smoking body with a surprising lack of concern, his luck’s run out. 

That was a strange thought. Noora had been starting to think that Fortuna’s luck would never run out. She’d never met anyone so smoo saa vrei – so blessed with good fortune.

It had been infuriating. Assassins coming for Fortuna had tripped on the stairs or missed their first shots. Poisoned food and spotchka and sour Rylish wine meant for Fortuna’s hand was spilled on the floor or eaten by palace guests. Even the pillow Noora had once planned to smother Bib Fortuna with, a gaudy, velvet thing with goldbraid tassels too ugly for anything but an assassination attempt, had disappeared the night before Noora’s planned to work up the courage to use it. 

If Jabba had still been on the throne, Noora would’ve felt better about all of her failed plans. Jabba at least had been clever, in his own way. Bib Fortuna was not – had not been – clever. He’d just been lucky. 

The end of that luck came fully down the stairs. He’d shot Fortuna from the last step – smart, as Noora’d seen more than a few would-be assassins stumble over that last step and miss their shot – and now came across the throne room with a smooth, unhurried stride. 

Noora almost didn’t recognize him. He wore black now, some kind of complicated robe draped over his stocky frame, and his famous armor was freshly-painted a deep, rich green. He had a blaster, but he had a Tusken weapon too. 

She did know who he was, though. 

Everyone had known Boba Fett, back in the old days. It had been hard not to know him. He’d been Jabba’s favorite hunter. His most reliable. Jabba had given Fett the jobs that no one else could do, and Fett had always done them. 

As a result he’d always been in Jabba’s best graces. Fett had had the pick of the palace. He got the food he wanted, the drinks, the rooms he preferred; first pick of tributes from the taabe, the paying towns who scraped together every last peggat and wupiupi they could find every month and sent it on to Jabba to pay for his protection, and first pick of slaves too, when Jabba was in the mood to lend his dancing girls to his favorite enforcers. 

Fett had never picked Noora personally. In fact, Noora couldn’t remember if he’d ever picked anyone. She couldn’t exactly ask; most of the dancers from those days were dead or gone. Fortuna’d had many debts; a lot of Noora’s friends – her vansha, her clan – had disappeared to pay them. 

But he never took Melu, though, Noora thought. She would have remembered, if Fett had ever taken Melu up to his rooms for the night. He never took any of my sisters. 

Her trembling hands curled into fists. 

She looked down at Bib Fortuna. The fat old gutkurr’s face was slack. Surprised. He hadn’t expected to die today. His eyes were still open, wide with shock. The hole in his throat was still smoking. 

Fortuna had sold Melu early on. He liked – had liked – blue- and green-skinned dancers, and Melu’s skin had been pink. Yadna’s had been white. Sinya’s purple. Zansi had been the fine, lovely color of the suns rising in the morning, somewhere between grey and pink, with freckles across her nose. 

All of them had gone. There were only five dancing girls left, now, and Fortuna’d sold another one just the other day. Gida’s new master had been supposed to arrive that very morning; that was why Fortuna had arranged himself in his throne. He’d wanted to look powerful. 

Fett, striding across the floor, looked more powerful than Fortuna ever had. He didn’t even look like he was trying to look powerful, and that was a neat trick. Fortuna’d tried so hard that he’d always looked rather foolish. 

Noora watched Fett cross the room. He stepped over Fortuna’s body without a backward glance. A woman – an assassin, if Noora’s memory was right, though she had just had a shock, and couldn’t be sure – prowled after him, swiping a discarded bottle of spotchka. 

Fett looked around, searching the room to see if any of Fortuna’s bodyguards would object to the change in management, and settled himself down in Fortuna’s throne. 

Noora almost – almost – smiled. 

There were no bodyguards left either, not really. Fortuna’d sold off all of the Gamorreans years ago, and he’d paid the rest so little that most of them had cut and run in the months and years since. The only beings in the throne room aside from Fett and his assassin were a pair of jawa traders in one corner, amusing themselves with bits of scrap they’d found in the depths of the palace, and a deactivated IG-series droid that had sat slumped over in the corner since the day Jabba had packed up nearly his entire court and taken them out to the Pit of Carkoon. 

And me, Noora thought. She was alive. She was still here. 

Fett’s eyes found Noora’s next. 

Trained instinct advised her to duck her head. To avert her eyes. Fett was the master of the palace now, and that meant that he was the master of all who were in it. Noora, Gida, Teeubo, Sienn. The ill-tempered human woman Fortuna’d won in a game of sabacc, who cooked Fortuna’s food and had been all too happy to help Noora slip some neri flower nectar into Fortuna’s Rylish wine, and the three Wookiee boys Fortuna’d bought for a six peggats each so he could bet on them in the fighting pits. 

All of them were Fett’s, now. 

Noora knew she should be afraid. She should be polite. Conciliatory. Strong men liked meek slaves. 

But Boba Fett had never taken Noora to his rooms. He’d never taken Melu, or Sinya, or Zansi. He was no batran, no friend to the slaves of Tatooine, but – 

But he killed Bib Fortuna, Noora thought. He’s the end of Fortuna’s good luck. 

Noora didn’t lower her eyes. She wasn’t sure if she was looking Fett dead-on – it was hard to tell, with that helmet of his. But she thought that she was.

He didn’t immediately call for his assassin to shoot Noora and he didn’t rise to come correct her insolence, either. He just looked at her. 

Noora lifted her chin. “Lord Fett,” she said. 

The man started a little, almost like he was – surprised. Like his title surprised him. Noora frowned a little. She supposed he might have his own preferred form of address. Jabba’d liked to be called Magnificence, after all. But Lord Fett was what Fett was, now. He’d killed for the title; it was his. 

“Were you one of Bib Fortuna’s?” Fett finally asked, his voice a low, rough growl. The sound of it was almost frightening. 

But Noora held her nerve. She didn’t look away. “I was his dancer,” she said. She let Fett sort out what that meant on his own. 

He evidently got it, because he snorted and said, still rough, “You’re free to go, then. I have no interest in Fotuna’s dancing girls.” 

That did catch Noora by surprise. “... Free to go?” she asked. 

Fett waved an impatient hand. “Free,” he repeated. “Go where you like. Fortuna’s dead. I won’t chase you.” 

Noora had no reason to believe him. Fett was a bounty hunter, after all. All he did was go on the chase. 

But – 

But what if he means it? she wondered. 

The assassin – a dark-haired woman dressed in all-black, still sipping spotchka – sighed. “You’ll need to deactivate her chip first, boss,” the woman said. She shot Noora a look that was almost sympathetic. “She won’t be able to leave the palace if you don’t. Right?” 

Noora stared at her for a change. 

Fett sighed back. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll – find Fortuna’s controls, somewhere. Where was he living?” 

This last question was directed at Noora, who was still too surprised by both Fett and his assassin’s easy decision to properly sort through it. 

No one on Tatooine just – let their slaves go. Especially not someone like Noora, who’d danced her whole life. Who had made an art of it. Noora’s dancing had cinched more deals for Fortuna and for Jabba before him than all of Fortuna’s bribes or Jabba’s threats combined. 

And Fett’s just – going to let me go? 

“I’m not the only dancer,” Noora blurted out, as Fett and the assassin stood up and started casting about the throne room like they really meant what they’d said. Like they really did mean to let Noora go free. “There’s – there’s others. And a woman in the kitchens, and the Wookiees, and – ”

“All of you are free to go,” said Fett. He crouched down and started going through Bib Fortuna’s pockets with a workmanlike efficiency that, of all things, made Noora want to smile. “I don’t need dancing girls or Wookiee bodyguards.” 

“Especially not Wookiee bodyguards that want to tear your arms off,” the assassin added, amused.

Noora looked between them, still bewildered. She should be – she should be running already. She should be taking this offer with both hands. If they were serious – 

If they’re serious, Noora thought, then maybe they’ll want to help more than just me. Maybe they’ll – maybe they’ll help all of us. 

The thought was almost too absurd to consider. A master, help the slaves of Tatooine? The lord of the palace? 

It was ridiculous. 

But – 

“Ah,” said Fett, with some satisfaction, rising from Fortuna’s body. He held a remote in one of his hands. Noora’s eyes widened. It was her switch. With it, Fortuna could do whatever he wanted to Noora. Keep her at his side. Kill her. 

“Here,” said Fett, lobbing the remote at Noora. “This is yours, yeah?” 

Noora caught it with numb hands. She looked at Fett, who looked back steadily. 

He is serious, she thought. 

She took a deep breath. Fett was serious, which meant that this was – this was an opportunity. It was a chance Noora couldn’t – wouldn’t – pass up. 

Noora’s sisters were gone. Her vansha was gone. But she still had Gida to look after. She had the other girls. 

Noora met Fett’s eyes again. She closed her fingers around the remote. Her remote. Her life, which Fett had given back to her for no reason that Noora could figure out, other than that Noora had asked for it. 

“I’m Noora,” she said. “Noora Olgkru. I’d like a job.”