Even in her time, Niima had a complicated relationship with the Hutt. Admitedly, it was mostly complicated on the part of the Hutt involved in the Hutt Cartel, since there’s a whole damn Jedi who is a Hutt and Just. Won’t. Be. Bribed.
There was at least one Hutt gangster who tried to propose to her in the hopes of gaining an inside woman in the Jedi. Incidentally, this was also how she ended up with Patricio Andor as a padawan:
Niima Jakati Gala stared at Carme Besadii the Lesser.
“Would be so kind as to repeat what you’ve just said?” she asked, her tone incredulous.
“Ah, I know your kind, lovely,” Carme replied. Niima decided he sounded rather disgustingly smug. “Playing the ice queen, are we? I suppose I understand—here I am, a lowly businessman—offering an exalted Jedi Master and a beauty that eclipses stars his hand and nothing else.”
“That is quite offensive,” a mostly naked young human with olive skin said. He was seated next to Carme, a heavy chain around his neck and a datapad on his lap. He was also, undeniably, Force sensitive.
“Shush, pet,” Carme said. “You busy your pretty head with limericks.”
The young man seemed to be biting back a reply.
“He does have a point,” Niima said, having regained her equilibrium. “Your offer is offensive. And so will the next one be.”
“And how do you know it, lovely?” Carme asked.
“I know how Hutt marriage negotiations go,” Niima said. “And you are treating me like a lesser. Next, you will offer to buy me off with trinkets, and when I refuse this you will offer to adopt me into your family as a subordinate.”
“She’s a Jedi Master,” the young man added.
“Ah, I see,” Carme replied and immediately proved that he saw nothing. “I will make you my partner.”
“Jedi do not marry,” Niima replied. “And I’m certainly not leaving the Order for a minor cartel boss with delusions of grandeur.”
“How unfortunate,” Carme sighed. “Then you will have to die by the hand of a minor cartel boss. Gentlebeings, escort Jedi Master Gala into the next world.”
“That’s not exactly by your own hand, is it?” the young man muttered under his breath, just as the first Gamorrean guard flew through the air.
---
Patricio had perhaps imagined a Jedi rescuing him from Hutt captivity, but it had involved less Hutts. Specifically one less Hutt. Not that he had anything against her—she had rescued him, after all.
“I have no way to repay you, madam,” he said. “Unless you accept poetry, that is.”
“I don’t accept payments as a rule,” Master Niima Gala answered, as she gave him an amused look. “I hope you didn’t try to settle your debts with Carme with poetry.”
“If it had been so simple,” Patricio sighed. “But alas, my lady, I am cursed.”
That earned him a rather unimpressed look, which was a sight to behold, since Niima, like all Hutts, had been blessed with a lot of face to look unimpressed. “You’re Force sensitive, not cursed.”
“I uh… was just being hyperbolic about my luck,” Patricio said. “I’m pretty sure I’m not Force sensitive, though.”
“Are you a betting man?” Niima asked. “Because I will bet you that I can prove you are.”
“Nothing to bet with but my wit, my lady,” Patricio replied. “Besides, I know better than to bet with a Jedi. You can see the future.”
Niima sighed. “I’m not your lady. And I can’t exactly see the future.” She looked at Patricio speculatively. “I do have a good feeling about you.”
