
Coruscant.
Level 1313
Mira felt her side being jabbed by something sharp – was it a stick? Or was it a knife? Why couldn't her bai'bur let her sleep a little longer? It was only when she tried to move or open her eyes that she realized she wasn't sleeping and wasn't at home. A smell would hit her, something disgusting like no other. Trash? How did she end up in a pile of trash?
She felt dizzy, even nauseous as she struggled to come to. Garnet colored eyes would flutter open, her body rolling to the right to focus on a Weequay and a Rodian. The Weequay would sneer and reach down, snatching up the young girl by her arm, her body trying to resist but the nausea sent tingling sensations throughout her body and her muscles failed to react. She tried to focus on him – but her eyes wouldn’t adjust properly – instead she’d see a triple set of the being, swaying inwards and outwards towards his true self.
“Wat do we gat heeere?” His accent was drawn out, poor Galactic Basic apparently. His free hand would run down her side and grab away her lightsaber – The Guardian. “A Jeedi bay de looks uf it.” He’d turn to his Rodian partner and gesture to the young girl. “Put them cuffs on her.” He’d laugh in her face, causing her to sway backwards in an attempt to avoid the atrocious smell of his breath – the garbage she was laying face down in smelled better than it. He'd examine her again and look at the glistening Pendant from her neck and pull it free - "This will futch a nice credit too, yuh?"
The Rodian would say something – something she didn’t understand. She had been studying different languages but Rodese wasn't one of them.
“Yah! Them Sith will pey us for her!” He’d sneer again and grip her arm tighter as the Rodian slid on the cuffs and bound them tightly to her. “We gunna be rich!” The Weequay proclaimed loudly and nudged his Rodian partner, letting go of Mira’s arm. She collapsed to the ground on her knees, coughing slightly as she impacted the ground harshly. Her cough would worsen – growing louder as she heaved, soon the heaves turned into productive noises and then, she threw up.
“Stepid Jedi, don’t drink…” The Weequay sneered as he attached her saber to his belt and gestured to the Rodian to lift her to her feet. The darker green being would do so, lifting her by the cuffs and one arm. This was level 1313 – what they were doing appeared no different than any other activity that went on down in the Underworld. A young girl being dragged from the alleyway wasn’t something new, especially cuffed.
Such is the life of darkness on Coruscant.
Her vision was getting better, she’d note, but her speech wouldn’t come to her. Her mouth was dry and caked with that nasty taste of bile. How did she get here? Last she remembered she was with her ba’buir - [member="Strider Garon"]. The noise of 1313 would fill her ears as she came out into the streets against her will, the obnoxious drunkards fighting – yelling of spice vendors and the lot of the criminal Underworld working to make a quick credit.
Her coral eyes would narrow, her head turning from the bright lights that would hit her face – it causing her to cough again in objection – was she drugged? Was she sick? What was happening to her?
Where was everyone she knew?
Welcome to the Galaxy of Chaos Mira – just so happens, you ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.