First Reply All That Glitters is Mine

[Barzhura the Hutt]

✦✧ All That Glitters Is Mine ✧✦

Barzhura the Hutt

The palace of Barzhura glistened with gaudy excess, every wall dripping with gilt, polished stone, and thick silks that soaked in the scent of spice and sweat. On her raised dais, the Hutt reclined like a bloated idol, her brownish-yellow hide painted with greasy cosmetics that shimmered under braziers of blue flame. A diadem of hammered gold pressed into the folds of her crownless head, resting just above a pair of great reptilian eyes—eyes that never seemed to blink, only roll and linger hungrily over the throng.

Slaves bustled in the lower court, Twi'leks draped in jewels and little else, pouring sweet liquors into gem-cut cups and fanning her massive bulk. A haze of smoke hung over the chamber, sweet and lazy, curling in the air like the languid strains of a softly played keyboard drifting from the musicians' corner. It was a scene of indulgence, almost dreamlike—

—until the sound tore through it.
From a back room, muffled yet unmistakable, came the dying screams of someone meeting their end behind the curtains. The notes of the music did not falter, the courtiers did not stir; violence here was just another rhythm in Barzhura's symphony of power.

Barzhura exhaled a slow, rumbling laugh that reverberated through the chamber. Her voice, slick as oil and twice as heavy, carried easily over the noise.

"Bring them closer," she commanded, her jowls quivering with the words. "If they have come for trade, for mercy, or for my favor, they will stand in the light of Barzhura and prove themselves worthy."

She shifted, the dais creaking beneath her. Her jeweled fingers tapped at the armrest of her platform, the sound oddly deliberate—like a slow countdown.

Her motivations were rarely spoken aloud, yet everyone in her presence understood: Barzhura thrived on decadence, power, and possession. Those who pleased her would be rewarded with her patronage and protection. Those who failed… became ornaments of another kind, doomed to be swallowed by her greed and her palace alike.

The chamber doors groaned open. New faces stepped into her world. And Barzhura's eyes fixed on them with a glimmer of hunger, amusement, and calculation.

"Every shiny, pretty thing belongs to me… sooner or later."

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Barzhura the Hutt //:
//: Attire //:

What in the Force was she doing?

Quinn had found herself in a situation that she wasn't too fond of. But such was diplomacy and such was exploring the galaxy. The young Princess had taken a wrong turn in the left hemisphere of Nar Shaddaa and ended up on Nal Hutta.

She had heard rumors of the Hutts and the strength of their trade. She could find some wealth in the conversation she could have with one. As she traveled, she came across the name. A Hutt by the name of Barzhura. She had made waves among the other Hutts and had access to valuable information.

For a woman with a bounty on her head, gaining some information on those who hunted her would also prove helpful.

She entered the Hutt's world, and luxury abounded, and Quinn wondered who decorated the place. Everything had a gaudy appearance, but to each their own.

The small Echani wandered further, guided by those who were loyal to the woman. Screams of the dying and tortured made Quinn wonder once more about the reasoning for her request to see Matron Hutt. She waited until the summoning. The Hutt's voice boomed, drowning out any screams of terror that echoed behind her.

As she entered, the lights refracted off her own gold adornments. Like the Hutt before her, the Princess enjoyed her own luxuries.

Alone she stood, her gaze taking in the sight of the Hutt's domain. Slaves and dangers, what seemed to be a court as well, surrounded her.

Quinn was quite in over her head.

Clearing her throat, she bowed her head towards the Hutt.

"I have heard of your beauty, past Nar Shaddaa and into the Empire behind the Blackwall." She figured lavishing the Hutt in compliments was a good way to start.

Her head rose as a pair of vibrant emerald eyes peered into the Hutt's own.

"I seek to see what you have to offer Barzhura. I am Quinn Varanin, Princess of the Sith Empire."

 

[Barzhura the Hutt]

✦✧ All That Glitters Is Mine ✧✦

Barzhura the Hutt

Barzhura's laughter thundered through the chamber, a rolling boom that rattled the very chains nailed into the walls. Spice smoke coiled thick with the scent of heavy perfumes, clinging to Quinn's skin as torches spat green-and-gold light across silks and marble.

But no jewel shone brighter to Barzhura than the living ones she owned. The Hutt's throne was flanked not by guards alone, but by her trophies: women of every stripe. Twi'leks in gauze, Zeltrons lacquered in oils, Echani pale as carved ivory — all chained, all adorned, their beauty twisted into ornament. They were not guests. They were possessions.

And now her bulbous eyes studied Quinn with the same hunger. Her emerald finery, her posture, her pale Echani poise — oh yes, the Princess would glitter perfectly among Barzhura's prized collection. She could already imagine Quinn draped in chains, painted, collared, another jewel in her gallery of the conquered. The thought made her grin, wet tongue sliding across her lips.

A sharp gesture of her jeweled hand set the moment in motion. An attendant shuffled forward, footsteps clinking against the grated floor. He bore a long, gilded box, its sides hammered with grotesque designs of writhing serpents. The lid opened with a scrape, releasing the hiss of shifting sand.

The chamber hushed.

From the dunes within rose the clicking and rasping of claws. Scorpion-like creatures writhed in the sand, segmented tails curling upward, stingers catching the torchlight in gleaming arcs. One snapped violently against the metal, the clang echoing beneath the vaulted ceiling.

Barzhura leaned forward, casting Quinn in her shadow. Her jeweled bulk glittered in the firelight as she spoke, the translator quaking to keep pace.

"You wear gold and speak with silk, Princess. But I know the truth." Her booming voice filled the hall. "You are hunted. Hunted as prey. Your name whispered with a bounty heavier than crowns." She drew in a hiss of breath. "You seek answers. Secrets. Perhaps even safety. All can be bought — if you are worthy of my trade."

Her hand swept toward the writhing box, the scorpions shifting with agitation.
"Prove yourself. Place your hand in the sand. Endure their sting. Show me you are no fragile ornament — but one who belongs at Barzhura's side."

The torches flared, their flames dancing in the perfumed haze. The servant stopped before Quinn, the box angled upward, the writhing creatures nearly spilling over the edge.

Every courtier leaned forward, breathless. The jeweled slaves stood silent as statues. And the Hutt's unblinking gaze bore into Quinn — half a test, half a fantasy of ownership.

---

"Every shiny, pretty thing belongs to me… sooner or later."

Tags: Quinn Varanin

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Barzhura the Hutt //:

Those hungry eyes bore into her as Quinn held her ground. Each of the faces of the women who surrounded the Hutt was a slave; it was more apparent now. Quinn wondered if seeking the information this Hutt held was a poorly planned endeavor. The Princess was not one to be owned, despite the desires of the Hutt and others that came before her.

Her eyes followed the servant who brought the ornate box. Upon opening it, she watched as the scorpions writhed, starved from their enclosure. Curious. She thought quietly. The act in her mind was barbaric, but this was how the Hutt wanted to play.

"You are correct," Quinn responded, her lips curling into a charming smile. One that put even her brightest jewel to shame.

"I do have quite the bounty on my head. I think it's at a hundred and fifty credits?" She feigned ignorance at the amount as she rested her hand against her chin, letting her fingers fan against her jaw, eyes never leaving the Hutt.

"While I'll play your loutish game, Barzhura, but know... " Quinn hovered her hand over the box of sand. She buried it deep, letting the sharp stingers deliver the poison.

"You will never own me. Few have tried, but none have succeeded." She pulled her hand from the sand; it was red, but soon began to calm down. Under the surface of the sand, the scorpions still writhed, but in pain. Not only did the Sith Princess cleanse their poison, she drained them of their life using it to heal herself.

"Now, Barzhura, tell me what you know of the luxury trade you are the Matron of?" Quinn looked at her hand, now flawless, then back towards the Hutt.

"Along with any of the employed bounty hunters you have. If you're honest, I can barter and we can establish a partnership. I have a few friends that might be interested."

The luxury trade was something not many had access to. Barzhura was known to be the matron, the best in the business. If Quinn could establish this, she could bring the information back to the Black Sun.

 

[Barzhura the Hutt]

✦✧ All That Glitters Is Mine ✧✦

Barzhura the Hutt

Barzhura's booming laugh rolled through the hall again, wetter this time, her whole body quivering with the force of it. The glint in her massive eyes was not just amusement but intoxication; she seemed to breathe in the writhing deaths of the scorpions like a narcotic, savoring their agony as though it were a rare spice. Her huge nostrils flared, and her tongue flicked out hungrily, as if she could taste the ending of life in the air.

The torches hissed and spat, their flames bending in the heavy drafts, and smoke from the braziers curled around Quinn's shoulders. It stung her eyes and wrapped her in a choking cloud, thick with resin and perfumes so sweet they bordered on rancid. Every breath tasted of crushed flowers left too long in the sun, mingled with the musk of sweat and fear that clung to the slaves. The air itself conspired with the Hutt, pressing in, cloying, suffocating.

"Marvelous," Barzhura rasped, her voice coated with glee. "You kill, and you drink their end as though it were your own feast. You make death your servant. That is the mark of an assassin of the Force." Her tail slapped the grate, the sound reverberating like a gong. "Yes… you are every bit the Princess. And I…" she inhaled deeply, shuddering, "I am drunk on your spectacle."

From the edges of her dais, several servants echoed their mistress with uneasy laughter. The sound was brittle, trembling, and their jeweled collars chimed as their bodies shifted nervously. Sequined skirts swished, silken veils rustled, and bangles tinkled as they forced themselves to share in Barzhura's mirth. Their smiles never touched their eyes, and every movement betrayed the tension of creatures long trained to laugh when the Hutt laughed, whether they wished to or not.

The great folds of Barzhura's flesh rippled as she leaned forward, lowering her tone. "I trade in what is rare, what is forbidden, what no other can own. Silks spun by wyrm-worms of Ryloth. Star-jewels carved from asteroids still burning from re-entry. Exotic beasts fit for arenas or palaces. Perfumes from the glands of creatures no hunter survives to tell of. Weapons to end your enemies. And beauty—" her eyes drifted hungrily over Quinn, "the kind that breathes, dances, and suffers. Flesh to be adored or broken. I am matron of it all."

Her voice slithered lower, conspiratorial, heavy with menace. "As for my bounty hunters? You will not find them in the polite cantinas of Nal Hutta, nor the glittering halls of Canto Bight. No. They drink blood-wine in the gutter bars of Nar Shaddaa. They sharpen their blades in the rust pits of Ord Mantell. They wait, cloaked and silent, at the edges of Corellian hyperlanes and Hutt Space trade routes. My hunters are knives in the dark, ghosts for hire. They live where death is cheap, and they answer only to the weight of my coin."

She inhaled again, almost trembling with pleasure. "So, Princess… if you wish their names, their blades, their silence, you will deal fairly with me. Or," she smiled, wide and wet, as her servants' forced laughter jingled faintly, "Shall I let them find you first?"


---

"Every shiny, pretty thing belongs to me… sooner or later."

Tags: Quinn Varanin