Beauty and the Bounty Hunter
Chapter 5: Hungry and Hot to Trot
(Cad Bane x Fem! Reader/OC)
Part 6 >>
*This is a second person POV (reader) fic / OC fic. It's both. I forgo physical descriptions as much as possible, though yes, you/she has a name, and a personality.
This chapter: Our dear reader wakes up hungry, but Todo doesn't know what to do! Cad Bane has left you stranded on his ship, and with a lack of any food. But it's for your own good; he's gone to find the man that kidnapped you.
Warnings: 18+ for dirty humor, nudity, mention of female anatomy, death, murder, gunfights, dismemberment, reference to fertile cycles and alien biology aka horny old man Bane headcanon, and one sassy droid.
Word count: 7.6k
Notes: I could have kept writing as I have so much ground to cover, and it has been nearly a year since I've updated. SORRY ABOUT THAT. Life got a bit in the way. I hope you enjoy this chapter, however, and I plan to keep this series going until the end, no matter how long it takes.
BATBH: Masterpost
Ao3
THIS IS A CRACK FIC! Or, as I like to call it: Slapstick Smut.
You are Aurora Ordel and you awoke with a start; you were faced with a face you could not see clearly. You screamed pure, unadulterated murder, then you were promptly gassed; you passed back out again.
“Ah, shit—”
Cad Bane palmed his face. He had acted on impulse; he had released a cloud capable of putting you to sleep. There was a hidden valve residing beneath his wrist gauntlet.
That had not been his intention, though he did not mind that you were quiet, however considering the circumstances he found himself wanting to know if he should have kept those sleemo’s breathing. Torture, after all, was not outside his wheelhouse, and intel in this case was priceless.
“Mister Bane, maybe I should be in charge of the prisoner-”
“She ain’t a prisner!”
“Sorry. Force of habit.”
“Be out a’couple hours now. Exspectin’ Ah be back b’fore dhen,”
“You are leaving?”
The Duros had paused to lean in close; he could still smell those blasted hooligans all over your damn clothes. A rumble was emitted, the sound tantamount to a displeased grumble; Bane proceeded to rub his rostrum across your neck, chest, and the remnants of your dress.
He had taken to marking you, wanting to replace that putrid stench with his own fragrance without so much as an explanation.
Todo watched on idle, blinking his yellow eyes. All of this was beyond interesting, Bane’s behavioral response absorbed by his many microprocessors.
Cad cleared his throat; he pushed up off you, leaving you to lie there. His brow ridge stitched before he addressed the small metal man off to his left.
“Gonna find dhis Green Hair. Somethin’ don’t add up,” the hunter commented.
“Whatever do you mean? They just seemed like a gang of thugs to me,” Todo followed up.
“She’s too high-profile; jerks like dhat don’t go fer Imps widdout plannin’ on a high payout,” Bane enunciated dryly.
“You mean you think he was coerced to kidnap her, or perhaps even hired?”
Todo looked up as his master checked his gas carts; a quick once over of his gear was common. Even in the middle of a mission, Bane would habitually assess his ammunition, or lack thereof; being put in a tough spot was not something he was fond of.
“Yep,” he affirmed, turning to walk out the door.
“Wait! But Bane, what if—”
“Keep an eye on ‘er!” he interrupted. “Don’t let ‘er out of yer sight,” the Duros finalized, “or it’ll be yer metallic hide.”
Todo groaned; it was a sound usually reserved for humans and other beings. Still, it expressed his feelings, as he was not sure what to do should you wake up.
“This job is among the weirdest yet,” he complained.
Then, he did all he could do. He sat down and stayed watch, ever vigilant.
---
Two standard hours had ticked on by; you heard a few mumbled words as you once more opened up your eyes. This time, you were faced with a droid. You gasped as you scrounged for purchase.
You backed up far enough that you met with the closest wall. Unfortunately, there was nowhere left for you to go. You cursed, wondering what else you had gotten yourself into.
“There is no need to be afraid, we have already met,” Todo articulated, “but just in case: I am Todo 360, techno-service droid, and accomplice to Cad Bane.”
If nothing else, you recognized his voice; your glasses were long-gone. Your vision was blurred at best, though it was difficult to see past his gigantic head.
“Where am I?” you asked, your nails digging diligently into surprisingly soft bedsheets.
““You in a spare room aboard the Justifier, and this is where you will remain. Mister Bane has ordered that you stay put until he comes bac—”
You squealed; your voice was shrill. “You mean he’s not here?!”
The frazzled droid zipped a pace away, clearing himself of your immature display. You had begun to shake, or vibrate, trembling of all things.
“Where is he?” you asked desperately.
“He is away,” he replied simply.
“But what if they come back!” you whined, disconcerted.
“Rest assured, you are perfectly secure,” said the twitchy service droid. “There is no safer place for you than on Bane’s ship.”
You looked around, though you could barely make out your surroundings. “Are-are you sure?” you asked more quietly.
Todo chirped, irritated. “Yes, I am sure. Now, just sit still and wait patiently. I am positive Bane will be back any— Excuse me! Where are you going?” he demanded of you as you had risen to your feet.
“I feel faint,” you admitted, not seeming to remember that you hadn’t eaten in nearly three whole days. Your stomach had begun to gnaw at you, craving food.
“Then why are you standing?” Todo argued, tugging at the edge of your torn and sullied dress.
“You have something, don’t you?” you inquired weakly as you stumbled across the room.
Todo sighed a human-sounding sigh, releasing his slight grip. He had to think about it. “I do not believe you will be interested in what Bane has to eat,” he explained succinctly.
“I don’t care, anything—” you managed, walking out into the hall. You were faced with a row of doors. You were not sure which to try, so you went by one at a time.
“Ah, ah, ah!” Todo scolded you as you entered what looked like a workshop of some kind; it contained within a mixed assortment of odds and ends. You wondered how he had acquired all of this. If you squinted, you could just make out what looked like clone trooper helmets; among those, you thought was a Jedi’s lightsaber.
You opened your mouth to speak; Todo was not having it. “This way, please,” he said, chaperoning you like he might a helpless child.
You weaved to another entry of some sort, this one with locked tight doors. Todo was quick to apprehend you; his weensy body became a barrier. He pushed against your thighs with his tiny hands; they were cold, and the droid was adamant. “No, no! Definitely not in here. This is Bane’s private quarters! He would have both our heads.”
You huffed, exasperated. “Just take me to the kitchen!” Even so, you could not deny you wanted to know what was just on the other side…
“We do not have a kitchen-” Todo corrected you, “-we have a galley, and I am trying!”
“Whatever! Food is food!” you rationalized.
“Yes, so I have heard,” Bane’s droid tittered wryly. “Mister Bane also shares those sentiments, as you will find.”
“Well, good!” you answered in a mood. You would not concern yourself with reading between the lines. Hells, you would take a ration bar—anything was fine!
You continued on your bumbling misadventure; Todo directed you toward an abnormally large lift; you wondered what Bane carried in it. Once inside, you thought that you could smell yourself. Luckily for your inorganic tour guide, he could not tell the difference.
“Oh, my God—” you began, hoisting up your arm to take a whiff. Todo shifted, gazing up at you, emotionless.
“What is it now?” he queried.
“I smell awful!” you admitted.
“That must be why Mister Bane rubbed himself all over you,” Todo conjectured.
“He what?!”
“Truly fascinating, Duros. Although, you ought to know,” the droid complained with attitude.
You gawked at him, not believing you were being sassed by Cad Bane’s companion. Was he angry? Jealous? Protective of his master?
“I’m sorry?”
“You should be!” he explained. “He has been behaving quite differently with you around.”
The door to the lift flew open; Todo hovered out and onward. You had no choice but to follow him.
“How is that my fault?” you dared to ask.
“Well, it is, and it isn’t, you see,” Todo knew there was more to it than that.
You glanced about, finding yourself to be in the bowels of the ship. This was a part of the Justifier you had not seen previously. Not even on the day Cad Bane had dragged you in, keen on being mean, but it had backfired – you were still here.
This area seemed mostly unused, or like a storage space. Every corner was home to an oversized cargo crate. They were quite possibly chock-full of weapons, supplies. Then, on the other hand, there could be ration bars. Your thoughts drifted, as did your feet; you were once more cutoff by Cad Bane’s little confidant.
“This way, this way! Do not go snooping. That is one surefire way to get Bane to despise you,” Todo spoke from experience; he often wondered how young Boba Fett was doing.
“It seems like he already despises me,” you mumbled, hungrily marching forward as you finally approached another set of doors; these were double.
“To the contrary,” Todo proffered, causing your eyes to dart in his direction. He ignored the rise in your attention span, passing through into what you had called a “kitchen.”
It was full of pots and pans, plates, bowls, and numerous utensils. Most seemed unused, set to sparkling as Todo was the one who diligently polished them. There were knives, forks, spoons; there was everything but food.
“It’s so clean,” you marveled.
“You may thank me for that,” Todo retorted.
“But what does he even eat?” you whined, traipsing forward, flinging cabinets open and pulling out all the drawers. There was nothing there! Your mind reeled and your stomach growled. That’s when you finally noticed the conservator.
“Meat mostly,” Todo said offhand. “I assumed you knew everything about Bane,” the feisty droid remarked, “though he also consumes what he likes to call ‘roughage.’”
You could only hope that meant salad; you could do with one right now. Or hells, even a steak would be nice, something big and juicy to suffice you. Though, on the other hand, what Todo had said kept nagging. You spouted off a question just as you pulled the door wide open.
“What did you mean ‘to the contrar-’” There was something wrapped in what looked like foil; you made your move, a bold one, to steal the scraps of Bane’s last meal.
“I would not do that!” Todo blurted out.
You pulled the wrapper back; its contents had a face, and worse yet, eyes. The only thing missing was its fur and guts; it was a chunk of flesh, raw, and oozing blood.
“What the fuck!” you exclaimed as you promptly dropped it.
“I did try to warn you,” Todo highlighted, as if he needed to.
You nearly puked, your diaphragm contracting. “That’s disgusting!” you announced.
“Maybe to you-” Todo rebuked, “-but Bane quite likes it.”
“Well, Bane is a weirdo!” you retaliated.
“You are one to talk!” the droid rejoined.
Your hand had risen to cover your own mouth, but for what you were not sure; it wasn’t as if you had anything in your stomach to throw up. In doing so, you smelled your armpits. That in and of itself reactivated your gag reflex.
You pouted, stomping down your bare foot. The floors were duralloy and provided full resistance. However, you stepped on something squishy. You protested as you almost slipped and fell, your body nearly crumpling.
“Grossssss!” you lamented, having come into contact with whatever that dead thing was.
“I need a shower! Shower. Shower. Shower! Right now!” you demanded, beginning to scamper off without so much as knowing where you were headed. You were in such a rush you collided with a wall; you started crying at the injustice of it all.
“Oh my, oh dear,” Todo said as he came forward, prowling around you as he balanced on his thrusters. “Yes, that might do you some good. Mister Bane always feels better after a long stint in the shower. But it is back upstairs, I am afraid.”
“Take me there,” you pleaded, a hand cupping your bruised shoulder. Todo complied with your request; soon you were back on the lift.
For once, you were silent. You were tired and oh, so hungry. Your body needed energy; you moved more slowly. Todo noticed your decreased speed; he puttered around you in small circles—doing as he was ordered—yet not having the ability to meet your every need. He could only hope Bane would come back soon, as he was not sure what to do for this human woman.
You found yourself once more near Bane’s quarters, being directed to a small refresher. You nearly collapsed just inside the entrance, trying your best to undress yourself.
“Oh, uh—” Todo began, tapping metal against metal as his fingers joined together, obviously somewhat perplexed or even agitated, “—I’ll just be over here,” he stated, leaving.
You had paid the droid no mind, tugging the shreds of your clothes off that remained. You discarded your bra, then the dress as well – straight into the trash bin. Your panties were MIA, but you would burn in hell before you ever wore those things again. Besides, they smelled like others and not just you; you had put two and two together at Todo’s mention.
In theory, it was endearing. It brought you back to Todo’s comment of “to the contrary.” You hummed a little to yourself as you turned the shower on, relaxing against the wall as real liquid started streaming over you.
“Thank fuck,” you mumbled; at least he had the good stuff, sonic vibrations never did quite cut it as per your preference; he must have had a tank of water on reserve.
You let your body slide down, down, until you sat right in it. It was the most luxurious, blissful thing to happen to you in the last three days. You closed your eyes as you tried to regain your peace, but then a thought occurred to you; you had no more clothes to change into. What were you supposed to do?
For the moment, you tried not to let it worry you; the water felt too good. You breathed out a laggard sigh as you finally opened up your eyes.
You stood; your hunger was once more overpowering; you let the water stream down your face and hair, wanting to just stay there, yet the rumbling in your stomach was not a thing to be ignored. Truth be told, you still felt nauseous, finally calling out to Todo whom you thought was just outside the room.
“Excuse me, little droid? Are you there?”
It took him hardly any time to answer you. “I am afraid so,” he said sourly.
You quirked a brow; his tone abruptly changed. He now seemed eager, his programming dictating he was happiest when serving others in some capacity. “How may I be of assistance?”
Your attention had been diverted; you were examining some kind of cleaning substance. It was meant to help slough off dry, dead scales; you would not use it for fear of what might happen to you. Your only hope was for some soap. That, or whatever you could find in terms of clothes; as long as they were clean and somewhat fit, you did not care one bit.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to walk around naked if you can’t find something for me to wear,” you called out to him, your voice being carried beyond the sound of running water and the boundary of the door.
Something sparked in Todo’s droid-brain, causing gears to whorl and whirl; he knew just the thing! Something he thought might be more your size, as his master was tall and gangly. “Just a moment! Wait right here,” he insisted.
You heard him buzz off down the hall, then there was total silence. You allowed yourself a nice long soak, taking your time beneath the warm spray of the water. You drank from it to quench your thirst by leaving your mouth wide open; you were sure you were dehydrated. Then, you allowed it to saturate your tangled strands; it ran through all your nooks and crannies.
This would have to do until you could get back to your roost; the penthouse you called your home, seated in the lap of luxury right here on Coruscant. Or at least you thought…
As a matter of fact, you had no idea where you were or where you’d been; you were now trapped here on Cad Bane’s starship. Wherever it happened to be, that is. You had no way of knowing your coordinates, and the refresher had no viewports; it was just as well, so people couldn’t spy on you.
You waited for what you felt was much too long; you turned the water off. You attained a towel, though it seemed used. You gingerly rubbed your nose in it; it smelled like Duros.
“Ummmph,” you vocalized, happy, horny, distraught, and needy all at the same time. His scent was heady. You felt you couldn’t think straight, having a wicked and troubling idea tickle your jumbled brain.
“Todo?” you tried for the droid once more; he did not answer. You opened the refresher and tiptoed out, buck naked, into the narrow corridor.
You were relieved to get no response, slinking like a tooka toward Bane’s living quarters; Todo had made it very clear not to go in here, but you only knew one thing, the thing that drove you: inside this room behind the door were Cad Bane’s extra clothes.
It did not take much effort; you pried a panel loose. Even without your glasses, this was elementary; you could rewire an automated entry with your eyes closed—too easy.
Once inside, the door again shut tight; you did not pay it any mind, as your eyes went wide, mesmerized by a plethora of mishmash things, and even trinkets. Everywhere you looked was something pretty, shiny, or otherwise unique; Cad Bane had expensive tastes for a rough and tumble mercenary.
There were unmarked credits on the bed, gold coins of unknown origin, an extra hat—which you picked up and put right on your head—and loads of other fascinating stuff.
His blankets were pristine and plush, his pillows fluffy and silky smooth. Off to one side was a box full of random treasures, one you recognized as Durosian if you squinted. You wondered if he collected artifacts from his species’ culture as a hobby, or just because it was worth something.
You blindly plundered through his drawers; there were stolen bounty fobs and palm-sized holoprojectors with secret messages. There was a datapad or two, and a box of toothpicks. You were tempted to snoop more thoroughly, but after what Todo said… You did not want Cad Bane to have your head; you wanted him in bed.
Finally, you found what you came here for—something belonging to the man that you could wear. You had located what appeared to be a dress shirt with long sleeves; it was white with buttons down the front and hit just above your knees. You at once adorned it, inspecting yourself in a full-length mirror; you wondered if Bane often stood right here when admiring himself. You would not blame him.
You sniffed your prize and nearly melted on the spot. Satisfied, you turned around to exit. The moment your hand touched durasteel, a loud noise sent you reeling. You covered up your ears as you had triggered an alarm, a screen descending from the ceiling as a recording of Bane himself played automatically before your bleary eyes.
“Stupid is as stupid does,” the Duros drawled; your breath was heavy as the sirens refused to stop their bleating. You tugged at another access hatch; you began to dislocate and mismatch wires, whining audibly.
“Bane, I’m sorry!”
The recording snickered as if he had heard you through the viewscreen, leaning forward to threaten you with the little piece of wood that perpetually lived between his teeth. “And yer about as stupid as dhey come.”
You found your mouth agape as two more things emerged: loaded blaster rifles, snuggly sequestered on either side of the Duros’ depraved yet smiling face. “Say yer prayers,” he directed.
“Oh, please, oh, no. No, no!” you pleaded, bending low to shield yourself. You threw your arms above your head and squatted down till you touched the ground, pulling up a chair to act as a makeshift impediment. Blaster shots rang out, rebounding about the room and all of your surroundings. You screamed as if you were being murdered, because you were, then everything went silent.
You gasped, feeling yourself up; you were all still in one piece, unbelievably. Standing before the now open door was that pesky, life-saving service-droid. Within his hands there was some kind of drab colored garment.
“What have you done?!” Todo wailed. “Bane is going to be absolutely furious!” the droid proclaimed, golden eyes wide in horror and disbelief.
Todo dropped what he was holding, coming around to push against your back. He shoved with all his might, despite you still being on the floor bent down. You tried to come to terms with what just happened, and all due to a shirt. Your eyes watered as you let the little robot escort you out.
“And give me that!” he griped, reclaiming the hat upon your head that now suffered a distinctive scorch mark. “Do you have any idea what this cost?!”
“A-a lot?” you asked with a quaver to your voice.
“Yes!” he angrily retorted.
The droid stopped to pick up what had fallen, scooping it up within his arms. He stayed his fury to look at you, tilting his large cranium. “And what is that you are wearing?”
“A shirt I found,” you whispered.
“No, no, you must take that off this instant. I brought you this,” he explained, holding out something worn, brown, and understated. Despite being still terrified and near to tears, you took it to appease him.
“What is it?” you asked sheepishly.
“It is a robe, a Jedi robe, and part of Bane’s collection. He has worn it in the past when needed, and it is a wonderful disguise!”
You gave a little start, looking the thing over. “How did he get it?”
“Surely you know Bane is a Jedi-killer,” Todo quipped, leering at you. “And a most successful one at that. It is his— was—his specialty. They are all dead now, you see.”
“O-oh,” you conceded, then made a face that displayed your distress. “I’m not wearing this!” you contested suddenly.
“And why not?” he fought back, metal hands akimbo on his hips.
“What if I’m mistaken for a Jedi?” you whimpered. “What if someone else tries to kill me?” You dropped the robe, not caring that your—Bane’s shirt—was open. Todo got an eyeful as you retrieved the one thing you could use, a belt that was rather rope-like; you inspected it as Todo gawked, though he didn’t have a mouth.
He made a throaty sound, having seen the outline of your form, the curves and dips, the shape of your bare hips. “Yes, you will do quite nicely,” he commented offhand.
“Excuse me?” you snapped, beginning to button up. You fastened each closure one by one, traveling all the way up to the very top. The belt came next; soon had fashioned the bounty hunter’s shirt into a dress.
“Well, it seems you are rather good at that! Nearly getting killed, that is, why if it weren’t for Mister Bane—”
“—No, finish that other thought,” you demanded.
Todo sighed for the second or third time, thinking he should have kept his nonexistent lips shut, but it was too late now; he settled down, then began a rather short but interesting tale.
“Duros have a finite reproductive window, and Mister Bane is getting older by the day,” he explained. You cocked a brow but kept on listening. You tried to give him your full attention, but your stomach growled; you needed food right now.
“Walk and talk,” you said.
Todo followed you as you made your way back toward the lift, this time setting course for the location of the boarding ramp. It was at the Justifier’s rear, but you were all ears.
The only thing you didn’t have was your glasses or a pair of shoes; you would make-do and go barefoot. You were too hungry to give a damn.
“Well, Mister Bane has been rather grumpy as of late—grumpier than usual—and especially since coming into contact with you,” he remarked.
“I see,” you interjected, yet quite fond of this engrossing notion.
“Therefore, I have concluded it is best that he mates with you. Once he gets it out of his system, I believe that—”
You burst out laughing; that had already been your plan. “Don’t worry your big head,” you grinned. “Now, wait here.”
Todo looked around, realizing you had dropped the ramp. He had lost track of your destination, instantaneously switching gears as was his very nature, if you could call it that. He was just a culmination of ones and zeros, but it still felt like he had feelings.
“Where do you think you are going? Bane instructed us to both wait here.”
“To the market,” you answered back, having figured out you were parked somewhere near CoCo Town at a rundown spaceport.
“Come back! You should not disregard what Mister—”
“What’s he going to do, shoot me?” you jested, feeling a teensy bit more like your old self.
“Yes!” he responded, trailing close behind. “Wait! Oh, you—we’re going to be in so much trouble when he gets back!” the droid complained as he endeavored to keep you company.
“Just come with me,” you offered.
Todo bellyached, indignant. “What do you think it is I am doing? He did tell me to keep an eye on you.”
Then, he glared at you. It was rather cute. “I will make sure to tell him I tried to stop you.”
“Mhm, yes, of course,” you simpered, nonplussed, though finding his last confession had warmed your heart; he did care somewhat after all.
---
Cad Bane had assured that you were safe, but at the cost of backtracking, one of his least favorite things. He once more made his way through the Crimson Corridor, headed for the Tusken Oasis as per the Gotal he had killed. He had parked his ship far from this squalid high-crime district, thinking if you stayed aboard the Justifier nothing could go awry—that’s where he was wrong—he had underestimated the power of your stupidity, for however smart you were.
He passed the Green Glowstone Tavern; Bane knew the Bothan bartender who owned the place, yet he would not stop to chat. He had business to attend to, business regarding you.
Still, he tipped his hat; the Bothan waved right back. It was a silent interchange between two men, both busy.
The hunter continued trudging forward; crowds parted for him. Those who scurried he kept an eye on as he traversed the infamous Barsoom Boulevard.
Prostitutes tried flirting with him; a few scoundrels attempted to sell their wares. It was the ones who watched that warranted his attention; they were not clever; the Duros had dealt with all types and kinds of people, and street thugs were no different. He had an inkling that sneaking would be impossible, as these degenerates would most likely run and tell their boss. There was no use hiding—Cad Bane was on the prowl.
This area of town was the Raptor Gang’s main hideout; he had heard from word of mouth, steadily stalking onward, eyes forward, as he could sense something sinister afoot—an ambush.
Bane stalled, stopping dead, slowly but surely turning his hat and head. There was an eerie silence the hunter did not trust, fingers loitering above the holster of one LL-30 BlasTech pistol.
“May as well come out, cahn smell ye from a klick,” the gunslinger taunted.
Three bodies emerged from behind trash and refuse, big and burly, weapons drawn and at the ready, as if they thought they had anything on him. Bane grinned a sadistic grin. “Let’s make dhis quick.”
Plasma flew as shots were discharged; Cad Bane dodged it all, rolling to take up residence behind the nearest wall. He returned his own deluge of blaster fire; his aim was true. Ignorance had been their downfall; the Duros would persist in his pursuit.
“Better luck next life,” he jeered to the corpses at his feet; he stepped over them, disrespectfully. But there was one person that he did not want to disrespect if he could help it: Yanth the Hutt, owner of the prestigious nightclub for which his course was set. Though there would be no stopping him, even if that meant killing all of Green Hair’s men. Bane would try not to demolish the whole bar, but if he did? So be it.
The Crimson Corridor was empty now due to the pathetic gunmen he had encountered, its residents scared away back into their homes or other dens, places of debauchery and sin. Places Cad Bane rarely frequented except for occasions such as this; he preferred the quiet confines of his ship.
He could hear the music from a hundred yards; a Bith quartet had taken center stage. Lately, they seemed to be all the rage, but Cad Bane couldn't care less. He approached the entrance.
A bouncer tried to guard the way, but the Duros was infamous and greatly feared; it did not take him much convincing. All the hunter did was glare until he took the hint and scrammed, the green Gamorrean deciding he desired to live and fight another day thanks to such little pay.
Bane regarded him as he up and left; he tipped his hat again. He strolled on through, being met with colored lights and statuettes of varying hues and species, some mythological in the form of beasts; the Hutt spared no expense for his well-kept business. It was quite impressive if Bane could be impressed. The only thing that had that effect on him were credits, and you had a lot of them.
There were dejarik boards and tables for sabacc, gambling men and dancing girls. There were women dressed to the nines alongside scum and villainy. All manner of people came here, including those that Cad Bane now searched out.
Twi’leks, Rodians, and Zeltrons batted their lashes at him, trying to distract him if he didn’t know better. He slipped on by, giving a flirtatious squeeze to varying rumps and waists. While he was tempted, everything had a time and place. He left a gaggle of smitten ladies in his wake.
Then, the heat was on. Green Hair sat amongst a slew of bodyguards. There was no doubt that it was him; he was a human male, lean with a wiry build. But he also sported the most ludicrous hairstyle Bane had ever seen; his green hair was kept upright by an electrostatic field.
The Duros suppressed a laugh, coming off as composed and stoic though inside he was dying. It looked like he had stuck his finger in a socket, the man assuming he was the epitome of style. Word around these parts was he was nicknamed, “Fashion Plate.”
“Kids dhese days,” Bane mulled internally.
As he descended upon their table—each step slow and full of purpose—Green Hair’s men decided to act like the brutes they were, boxing the Duros inside their little circle. If there was one thing Bane did not like, it was being cornered; his hand returned to rest upon one blaster’s holster. One H'nemthe in particular got right in his face; Bane kept his cool but cockily insulted him.
“Ah’d say ye must be plumb weak north of yer ears-” he heckled, “-but it don’t look like ye got any.”
Cad Bane sneered; he had to be one of the most hideous sleemo’s he had ever seen. A reptilian-humanoid, as was his ilk, but still—at least he didn’t have three fingers or ridges on his face. He figured he had never mated; their women were said to kill them once they did—this one was a virgin.
“Couldn’t get laid so ye took up clownin’, did ye’?” Bane insinuated.
That was all it took; the H'nemthe drew his pistol. Cad Bane laid him out; one shot, and he would precede his brethren in death, but only by mere minutes, seconds. Others were ready to avenge his name, but their green-haired leader finally said his piece.
“Let’s not be hasty, shall we?”
“Tell dhat te yer men, dipshit.”
The punk in charge smiled cordially, pretending to welcome Bane with open arms. Reluctantly, his hired guns made room for him to pass, wary, and with scowls upon their ugly mugs.
“The notorious Cad Bane,” Green Hair began. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Cut de kark,” the Duros seethed. “Who hired ye.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
The man motioned with one arm as an introduction. “We are the Raptor Gang. This is our turf,” he said more firmly. “We work for no one but ourselves.”
“Dhen yer de one who ordered Ordel captured,” Bane growled with a curl of his upper lip.
“Oh, her,” the bottom-feeder said dismissively. “She’s just some Imp who works for the Empire. Why do you care?”
The hunter grit his fangs, remembering the state in which he found you. While it could be said Bane had done much worse, it still was not a good enough excuse.
“Dhat’s my business—” he glowered, “—but Ah’m about te make it yers.”
Green Hair side-eyed one of the henchmen to his right; the tension was so thick it could be cut clean through with a vibroknife. The very air was pregnant with unease and animosity, the Duros’ fathomless red eyes studying his adversary. His intent was mal, Bane past the point of being patient. The human could sense his unwavering hostility, mentally preparing for if, and when, he would have to flee the scene.
The man who had received his subtle signal placed himself between Bane and Green Hair, as was his duty. Bane snidely smiled, taking this opportunity to bruise him; hiding behind a lackey was cowardly. “Didn’t realize Green Hair was so yello’-bellied,” the hunter mocked him.
Green Hair ignored his comment, not allowing it to get the best of him. “We were holding her for ransom,” he explained. “But no one came to collect—except for you,” he clarified.
Then, to add insult to injury, the scuzzball kept on talking; he must have thought he was safe and sound behind the blanket of some odd ten men at his disposal.
“The way I see it, you owe me for damages, bounty hunter. You got the girl, but not without destroying one of my properties and killing several of my crew-” Smugly, he took a drink to wet his tongue before he continued. “-a million credits, and I’ll let you walk away. I just know you’re good for it,” he speculated.
Bane laughed; it was dry and lustless. He had a word of his own to say, hand ever at the ready to pull his weapon should the need arise.
Green Hair had frowned at his response, or the lack of one, knowing that his horde was all eyes and ears and judging him for this. To misstep or slip-up during an interaction could be grounds for reevaluation of his leadership.
“Draw,” Bane said with strong contempt.
Green Hair sat up straight; if his mop didn’t already stand on end, it most assuredly would have. He knew who held his audience and the reputation of this dodgy Duros; it did not ease his fears as Cad Bane stood transfixed, and very serious.
“It’s only fair; I was told she was valuable,” he quickly stated, trying to keep the panic from wholly overtaking him.
Cad Bane’s austere red eyes narrowed. “Told by whom,” he barked the question.
The man dared to shrug, “heard it through the grapevine,” he said simply, so far remaining calm and collected with all his wits about him, but not for long.
“Draw,” the gunslinger echoed.
Green Hair stood up on his dais, one level above the plane on which Cad Bane watched, attentive. He had the nerve to brandish his pointer-finger, extending it to put the blame to Bane.
“Now, wait a minute! You don’t give orders around here, I’m the one who—”
That finger was blown clean-off, the Raptor’s leader staring on in shock. The wound was already cauterized; the intense heat of the plasma shot had staunched the flow of blood.
“Don’t got de patience fer no lily-livered, nuna-hearted, blackguard, disssrespectful sssleazebag,” Bane rasped harshly.
“Get him!!!” Green Hair screeched shrilly, holding his wounded hand with the one that still had all its digits. Bane was closed back in; multiple blaster bolts flew in his direction. The Duros soared sky-high per the activation of his rocket boots. This in turn caused several to drop down dead; they had gone and done his job for him.
“Too slow,” he hissed.
His taunting caused more blasters to start blazing, Bane zipping and zigzagging as he easily avoided their pathetic excuse for aim. He withdrew his second pistol; this was the end game. Not for him, but for the whole of Green Hair’s men.
Multiple rounds were fired; they were continuous. Bane’s LL-30 BlasTech pistols had been modified to suit his needs, they would never overheat. One man went down, and then another; they were dropping like Bahl flies, straight down onto the ornate carpet.
People screamed; innocents, supposedly, though this place was a rumpus room full of crooks and thieves. They dashed about like nunas with their heads cut off, knocking one another over as they scrambled to get out. Still, they had no need to worry; Bane never missed his target, and currently his sights were set on one particular maggot trying to escape his wrath.
Green Hair ran opposite, toward the back of the establishment. Bane assumed there was a hidden exit, or a tunnel he was privy to. With all his enforcers dead, the gutless sack of bantha dung had high-tailed it—too bad for him, he wasn’t faster than Cad Bane’s lariat.
With the actuation of his wrist gauntlet, he let his whipcord launch. It wound around the slimy bastard's ankles, causing him to trip over his own two feet. Bane landed gracefully; he reeled him in, the nails of Green Hair’s remaining fingers digging into the fancy rug.
It was no use; Cad Bane tugged and hauled him back. His quarry hemmed and hawed as he tried to change his story.
“I don’t know anything!” Green Hair proclaimed to ears now deaf, hidden beneath Bane’s insulated cap and his overly large hat.
“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” Bane snorted as he used his other arm to shoot a stream of grisly flames; they ignited the perps pants, setting them ablaze.
Green Hair screamed and yelled, twisted and turned, although he was still lassoed. He managed to bat the flames out, panting, swearing, and now met face-to-face with Bane as he dragged him to square up.
“Who sent ye afta’ Ordel,” Bane asked again.
“I don’t know, I don’t—”
Bane prepared for the smell of burning flesh. “Liar, liar, face on—”
“WAIT!” the asshole bellowed, deciding to change his tune to one more favorable. He breathed in and out, trying to settle himself down as two red eyes, bright as starlight, radiated hatred; this bastard’s luck had just run out—Cad Bane was not merciful.
“Some guy, old guy. Talked with a funny accent.”
“Ah wanna name,” Bane sizzed angrily.
“Don’t have one— he said she was an engineer! Told us to watch the news. Said she’s valuable to the Empire, and they would pay hefty credits to get her back! She’s a brainiac!” he explained hurriedly.
“Yer right stupid, ain’cha. Ye think de Empire ain’t gonna just storm yer lil’ hideout if dhey want ‘er?”
Bane glared deep into his eyes; he would both see and sense his fear. People who were scared often withheld information without the proper motivation, but the bounty hunter found he could be quite persuasive.
“Ye suppose dhey take kindly te extortion?”
The Duros retrieved one holstered pistol, planting it against the side of Green Hair’s spiky head. He bared his fangs; he had no qualms with offing him.
“And she’s Ah brainiac yer men used and abused,” he hissed. “Dhere ain’t no lady who deserves dhat, not even an Imp,’ he spat.
“Now—” Bane’s words took on a darker tone, “—give me a name, or Ah’ll assume yer de one te answer fer all. dhose. sins,” he finished.
Green Hair truly didn’t have one, just a pseudo he had given him, and what he could remember of his unremarkable appearance.
“I dunno, man! He reached out to me; his frequency was encrypted. I shoulda known this shit was a trap!”
Bane shook and rattled him, a threat to do him in. “Now he’s gettin’ it.”
“Said I could call him—call him Willy,” Green Hair imparted. “Maybe, he—”
“Maybe he just couldn’ do it ‘imself and knew ye were an idiot,” Bane filled in the blanks, throwing the so-called leader of the Raptor’s back down upon the ground. If you took the time to put two and two together, it all made sense; it was an inside job, the suggestion made by one of your trusted colleagues.
“Please, don’t kill me,” the white-livered Green Hair begged.
Bane glanced down at him as if he forgot that he was there.
About that time they had a visitor. One unhappy Hutt came slipping and sliding down the carpet, Yanth, the owner of the Tusken Oasis nightclub.
“Explain this!” he thundered in Galactic Basic.
Bane knew Yanth was a Vigo, one of nine, and part of Black Sun’s leadership. He was wealthy and held in high esteem. He oversaw the organization’s operations in this sector of the galaxy. He reported directly to the Underlord; it paid off to know your stuff, as Cad Bane did not want to piss him off.
“Dhis one ‘ere started it,” Bane began, yanking Green Hair up again to toss directly into the hands of one of his two men.
“Was gonna haul him in,” the Duros said all calm and casual, glancing at the shed that lined his fingertips.
“Reckon he owes ye some money,” Bane finalized.
“I know you,” the Hutt informed him. “You’re a bounty hunter.”
“Cad Bane, at yer service,” the gunslinger rejoined.
“Hey, that’s not—” Green Hair interrupted.
One of Yanth the Hutt’s men backhanded him across the face; he was nearly knocked out cold, blood spewing from his lips. He now hung limply in the arms of a four-limbed Besalisk. Bane grinned as Green Hair groaned; he couldn’t help it.
“Then I suppose I should thank you for getting the situation under control before it got out of hand,” the slimy Hutt-lord said.
“Tweren’t nothin’,” Bane said with a tip of his wide hat. “Consider it a gift,” he proffered, pulling out a toothpick from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Sorry ‘bout de bodies,” he added, placing his wooden chew toy in his mouth; the Hutt finally took one long glance around.
“I’ve seen worse,” he commented.
“Ah’m sure ye have,” Bane quipped offhand. Then, he produced a copy of his calling card; he offered it to Yanth as a way to keep the peace between them.
“If ye ever find yerself needin’ a bounty hunta’, give me a buzz,” Bane stated, twirling on his heel for his coat to swirl; he loved making a grand exit; he was known for his showmanship.
Bane walked, alert. He kept his eyes forward, but he was focused on his rear. His ears were sharp, and his senses were perceptive. If Yanth tried to turn on him as he made his way, he would be ready, but the only thing he heard was Green Hair yelling as he was dragged along the floor.
With the Hutt in charge, he was in for his comeuppance; Bane did not pity him.
---
Once outside, Bane was unaware his worries would intensify. His first order of business had been to comm his ship and his little droid, but there had been no answer.
“Todo, how’s de lil’ hellcat doin’. Finished ‘ere,” he started, waiting patiently before he became impatient. He could not think of an excuse to be ignored, unless there was a heap of trouble brewing.
“Todo, where are ye? Answer de comm,” Bane demanded of his companion.
For a few moments, he stopped to wonder; just who among your ranks had it out to kill you? Truth be told, this job was getting out of hand. He had a mind to leave it all behind.
Then, he remembered your annoyingly attractive face, your buxom tits, and all your assets. He would not admit it to himself, but he had somehow formed a slight attachment; he wanted to see you safe if nothing else, you had paid him to do no less.
“Todo…” Bane rang his ship a second time, his droid’s name spoken with mild panic. He should have known better than to leave the two of you alone; his scales prickled as he thought of all the things that could go wrong. He had no idea about your hunger, or the lengths that you would go to get a meal, nor did he realize you had solicited his addled sidekick to go somewhere against his will.
“Ye gotta be shittin’ me,” Cad Bane declared, igniting his repulsor boots again. This time his aim was for his speeder, parked a few blocks off. He only hoped when he made it to the Justifier that you weren’t dead, or worse.
