Ooh for the ask game Oola. I love her💕
On Ryloth, every type of bender has their own dance. It’s hard to remember, sometimes, that the rest of the galaxy just sees bodies moving.
Oola stays still, careful, quiet, as Jabba sleeps. There are a handful of people left around the main rooms of his palace, but more of the guests and hangers-on are asleep, sprawled out drunk in corners or having retreated to their rooms. The only one still awake is the Ubese bounty hunter in the heavy mask, settled back against the far wall to watch the room.
It’s a problem, but—Oola is too desperate to care at this point.
Only knowing that this was an option got her through the dance earlier. Oola had been tempted to fight back, to resist even if she knows what happens to slaves who defy Jabba. She’d held herself back, though, because Jabba always drinks heavily when he’s pleased, and getting the smuggler as a wall decoration had pleased him.
It means he won't wake up for anything short of an explosion, now, and that’s all the chance Oola needs.
Carefully, she shifts, slowly enough that the clink of the chains won't draw attention. Boba Fett is still in the palace, probably lurking in the halls somewhere, and he’s dangerous enough, clever enough to make her wary. But—
With her body between her and the bounty hunter, she brings her hands up, breathes out, breathes in again. The foundation of any dance is breathing, even more than motion, and she remembers hours in the sun with her mother, training her breaths in Ryloth’s scorching heat. The hand motions are simple, too, muscle memory now, and she turns her hands, slides her palms past each other, breathes. Tatooine's suns are down, and this would be easier in the day, but that’s fine. This is her only chance to get away, so she has to take it.
Light flickers, fire kindles. A flame leaps between her palms, and Oola curls around it, lets the chain connected to her collar fall right through its heart. Harder to hold it while she’s still, but an actual dance is impossible, so this has to be enough. At least for this, it’s all in the breath, at least.
Oola breathes out, in, out again, and focuses on heat. Focuses on Ryloth’s suns, and the feeling of the traditional dance the firebenders use to call up their flames. She knows the steps, knows the guide they give, and like this her bending is stripped entirely of its grace and beauty, filed down into something utilitarian and rough, but—
She’s escaping. That’s the only important thing.
And then, just a little heavier than silence, there’s a footfall behind her.
Oola jerks her hands down, ducks. The chain is glowing white-hot, though it hasn’t melted yet, and there's no hiding that, but if she plays stupid, if she uses the fact that to Jabba she’s just a plaything—
The bounty hunter’s hand slides into her line of vision, careful to avoid her lek, and catches the chain. Then, sharp, their other hand slashes down—
Fire, a thin and blue-white lance of it that’s hotter than anything Oola has ever felt before, strikes the metal and breaks it in one blow, sending drops of molten steel scattering across the sand.
Quick, the bounty hunter pulls Oola to her feet, still gripping the glowing end of the chain so it can’t fall back against her skin. They jerk their head towards one of the halls, but don’t wait for a response, just pull Oola in that direction at a near run, ducking into the shadows, then down the halls, through several rooms and up a narrow set of stairs meant for the slaves. Near the top, there’s a door standing ajar, and the bounty hunter pushes it all the way open, guides Oola in, then shoves it closed behind her.
Fear rises, and Oola takes three quick steps back, unease warring with relief. The Ubese hasn’t shown any interest in Jabba's personal slaves since their arrival, and they have to know what Jabba will do to them for taking Oola even this far, but still an unsteady sort of fear washes through her veins, makes her hands tremble as she raises them. One on one, she can defend herself if she needs to, without the threat of Jabba's retaliation, but people will notice.
Slowly, deliberately, the bounty hunter raises their hands, palms out, then reaches up. They grip their helmet, pull—
Not an Ubese at all. A Human, a woman with heavy braids of brown hair bound up out of the way, clear brown eyes that meet and hold Oola’s without hesitation.
“Easy,” she says, pitched quiet even though they're alone in the room. “You were trying to escape, weren’t you? I can help.”
“Why should I trust you?” Oola asks, as steady as she can make it. “You work for Jabba.”
The woman snorts, like that accusation is ridiculous. “I'm here to save a friend,” she says. “The one in carbonite.” Hesitates, just for an instant, and then meets Oola’s gaze again and says plainly, “My name is Leia Organa. I'm the princess of Alderaan. If you know that, it means I'm at risk, too. So we’re even. We can trust each other.”
“I don’t think it works like that,” Oola says, but—she knows what happened to Alderaan. She’s heard of its princess, even on Ryloth. Even on Tatooine.
The princess of lost Alderaan saved her. It’s like something out of one of the old tales her father loved.
“Why not?” Leia asks, and smiles. “You don’t have to worry. My brother and I have a plan.”
A plan. Oola didn’t have one beyond breaking the chain, and she puts a hand up to the collar, something shiver through her. If there’s really a way out—all the way out, and not just to die in the desert, free but still doomed—someone like Princess Leia would surely know it, or be able to make it. But—
“Boba Fett is somewhere in the palace,” she says, and it feels a little bit like despair. “He’s too dangerous—”
Leia rolls her eyes. “My brother is distracting him,” she says, and smiles at Oola, like sharing a secret. “That’s part of the plan.”
It seems utterly impossible that the prince and princess of Alderaan are both on Tatooine, both working to free one friend from Jabba's grip. Seems even more ridiculous that they would care about freeing an enslaved dancer, too, without any reason to bother, and Oola has to take a breath, close her eyes. It feels like a dream, like at any moment she’s going to wake up to Jabba's touch, a waking nightmare she’s lived through for months now.
It's not Jabba's touch that makes her open her eyes, though. It’s a Human hand, cooler than her own skin, bare of its heavy glove. Leia touches her cheek, light, careful, and when Oola looks up, Leia holds her gaze with a seriousness that makes Oola’s heart turn over in her chest.
“We can get you out,” Leia promises, and her smile is a warm thing, like Ryloth’s sun. “Your firebending is beautiful. It shouldn’t stay in a place like this.”
Oola shudders, closes her eyes. She presses a hand over Leia's, leans in, and when Leia wraps her up in a tight hug, she twines her lekku around Leia's arms, buries her face in the worn pressure suit, and just breathes.
She was just dancing, before. But Leia saw it for what it was. And right now, that feels like the only thing that matters.
