A Fight

The Trandoshan’s smirk widened, his sharp teeth glinting in the dim light of the cantina. He leaned back on his stool, his scaly fingers tapping against the edge of the bar. “You’ve got guts, little one. I’ll give you that.” His voice was low, almost a purr, but there was a dangerous edge to it that made Ahsoka’s skin crawl. She didn’t flinch, her hand still resting on the blaster at her side, her grip tightening just enough to remind him she wasn’t defenseless.

“I’m not interested in guts,” she shot back, her voice steady despite the tension coiling in her chest. “I’m interested in getting off this planet. Can you make that happen or not?”

The Trandoshan chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through the air. “Oh, I can make it happen. But like I said, it’ll cost you.” His gaze swept over her again, lingering a little too long on the curves of her body. Ahsoka’s jaw tightened, but she forced herself to stay calm. She couldn’t afford to lose her temper. Not here. Not now.

“I’m not a whore,” she said, her voice low and sharp as a vibroblade. “And I’m not for sale. But I will make a deal.”

The Trandoshan’s eyes narrowed, his smirk fading slightly as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on the bar. “Go on.”

Ahsoka leaned in closer, her montrals picking up the faintest shift in his breathing, the subtle tension in his muscles. She could feel the weight of his gaze, the way it lingered on her face, her lips, the curve of her neck. She ignored it, her eyes locked on his. “I’ll give you what you want,” she said, her voice a low growl. “But only if you can handle me. I’ll fight you. If you win, I’m yours. But if I win, you take me off this planet.”

For a moment, the cantina seemed to fall silent, the music and chatter fading into the background as the Trandoshan considered her offer. His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise—and something else, something darker—crossing his face. Then, slowly, he grinned, his teeth bared in a predatory smile. “You’re playing a dangerous game, little one. But I like it.”

Ahsoka leaned back, her eyes never leaving his. “Then it’s settled.”

The Trandoshan downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, slamming the glass back onto the bar. “Follow me,” he said, standing and tossing a few credits to the bartender. He didn’t wait for her to respond, striding toward the back of the cantina with a confidence that made Ahsoka’s stomach twist. She hesitated for a split second, her mind racing with all the ways this could go wrong. But there was no turning back now. She stood, her hand still resting on her blaster as she followed him through the dimly lit room.

They passed through a door at the back of the cantina, the air growing cooler and the noise fading as they stepped into a narrow, dimly lit hallway. The Trandoshan led her down a flight of stairs, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the walls. Ahsoka’s montrals twitched, picking up the faintest sounds from the shadows—whispers, laughter, the occasional clink of metal. She stayed alert, her senses on high alert as they reached a heavy metal door at the end of the hall.

The Trandoshan pushed it open, revealing a small, circular room with a dirt floor and a high ceiling. The walls were lined with weapons—blades, blasters, and other less identifiable tools of violence. In the center of the room was a wide, open space, marked by faint lines in the dirt.

“This is it,” the Trandoshan said, turning to face her. His grin was wider now, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Your terms. Your fight. Think you can handle it, little one?”

Ahsoka stepped into the room, her eyes scanning the space, taking in every detail. The weapons, the exits, the distance between her and the Trandoshan. She could feel the weight of his gaze, the way he was sizing her up, calculating her weaknesses. She forced herself to stay calm, her expression neutral as she met his gaze.

“I can handle it,” she said, her voice steady. “Can you?”

The Trandoshan laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down her spine. “We’ll see.” He stripped off his jacket, revealing a muscular torso covered in scales and scars. Ahsoka’s eyes flicked over him, her mind racing as she assessed his strengths, his weaknesses. He was bigger, stronger, more experienced. But she was faster. Smarter. And she had something he didn’t—desperation.

She pulled off her hood, the cool air brushing against her montrals as she stood tall, her eyes locked on his. The Trandoshan’s grin widened, his gaze sweeping over her again, lingering on the markings on her face. “You’re a Togruta,” he said, his voice low and almost reverent. “I’ve heard stories about your kind. Strong. Fierce. But I’ve never had the pleasure of testing one.”

Ahsoka didn’t respond, her body tense and ready as she stepped into the open space, her eyes never leaving his. The Trandoshan followed, his movements slow and deliberate, his gaze never wavering from hers. For a moment, they stood there, the tension between them crackling like electricity.

Then, without warning, he lunged.