Seitalla Ona (Star Wars Legacy)
“Fucking FRAK!” Seitalla screamed in raging disbelief as she chucked a rock across the empty hanger. “Fuck!” She yelled, again this time pulling her goggles back over her eyes as the Tatooine sandstorm kicked back up, sand beginning to fly around in well orchestrated patterns. “…Irrandis is going to kill me.” The frightful murmer of a realization coming to mind. As her words were voiced the beep of her commlink illicited a knowing groan as she tapped her ear, well buried under the thick wool of her hood. “Ky’Shan.”
“Can ya not hang on to that Ona idiocy. It’s gone, ain’t it?” The rough aging Corellian accent of her Twi’lek partner quipped over the comm. It had begun as a training partnership, but the natural comraderie kept the two together.
“Look, Leaf, he was cute… he even bought me a Wyhern’s Reserve. Not often ya find tha-“
“For the love of the Force, kid. It only took one drink?” The Twi’leks voice was now filled with a frustrated amusement.
“I’d rather not talk about it; there might have been something in that one drink.”
“Might have? Channel that Testori blood of yours and go find out who the frak took your ship.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“Take a fuckin’ vacation from ya. Come back ta the compound when you’ve got it back, understand?”
“Shiny as a glitterstim high.” Seitalla sighed.
“There’s Tal.” The twi’lek laughed and the commlink went dead. Seitalla shook her head and wandered away from the Mos Eisley starport, making her way back to the Angry Jawa Chophouse. A small cantina in the former Imperial distract, now the hang out for the rougher travelling types. There was history written on the walls there. No one shot Greedo. But Figran D’an played their first show there. The Composite Killers of Mos Eisley formed in one the booths. The Tong Brothers alongside Jaern Vitaro and his bodyguard, Drea Amadeo made the decision to become the Severed Shade there. The 488th Imperial Legion gunned down a battalion of Rebellion pilots out in front as a warning to the sympathizers that were known to be found there. It was the place where every Ky’Shan had met that one, since the meeting of her great-grandparents, the Angry Jawa tended to unlock that uncanny Testori luck that lived somewhere in Seitalla’s genetic code.
A cold glass of Corellian ale and the stereotypical booth in the dark corner and the tall and awkwardly lanky Jiann woman found herself to be happy. She slipped her hood back and slid her goggles up a top her head, glancing over the cantina with the striking blue eyes that her Testori line was renowned for. She took a drink of her ale, her angular Antilles nose twitching from the head. Her mother’s trademark smirk curled at her lips as she set down her glass to look over the seedy looking Bothan that slide into her booth across from her. “Is this where you tell me you have a job?”
The Bothan placed a datadisk in front of Seitalla, “This is where I tell you, Seitalla Ky’Shan, Tal Ona, Sei Testori or whatever your alias of the moment is, that you are taking this disk and doing exactly what you are prompted to do by it.” The smuggler stared at the Bothan, her expression almost unreadable if it wasn’t for that sense of disbelief that surrounded her. “That is…” Her paused to smirk, “Id you’d like to see your ship again, I hear it’s an heirloom of the time of the Rebellion. Such a shame to lose it forever.”
Seitalla rolled her eyes, “And you’re just gunna pull it out of your ass there, Spynet?”
The Bothan made his way to his feet and bowed his head in farewell to her, “It is already in your Benefactors collection. Listen to the datadisk, Miss Ky’Shan.”
Seitalla picked up the datadisk and glanced over it rather than watch the Bothan leave, “Motherfucker…” She whispered.