(How Much Is) That Rancor in the Window?

[Samar St. Maurelle]

The cage was made of reinforced durasteel, so when it rose into the air--at least four feet, if the Rydan slave boy to the left were used for reference--and came crashing back down it made quite a noise. Loud enough, at least, to momentarily overpower the barbaric sounds issuing from inside it.

There were no cables attached to the enclosure, and the platform upon which it rested was simply that--a platform. How the impressively heavy cage had risen was at first inconceivable. After all, there were no mechanics involved. It had seemed almost to possess a life of it's own...

The contents of the cage, once considered, shed light on the deceivingly paranormal event.

The being inside was a disgusting creature devoid of anything remotely endearing or fathomable. It was a man, or at least a male humanoid, that much was made clear by the fact that the figure was stark naked. He was alarmingly thin but not in a way which insinuated starvation; instead, the small, delicate bones gave the impression that at any moment the being was going to take spread his arms and take flight. The skin that stretched tautly across the avian-like frame was very pale. It was almost a uniform white, as though the veins beneath it had been drained of blood, and tinted slightly blue in the dim wash of fluorescent light that shone from above.

The man was crouched in the centre of the cage, hunched over so that his vertebrae stood out along his back like angry knuckles. His head was stooped and lank, greasy hair the colour of pitch hid his face from the gathered crowd. A line of saliva trailed from his open mouth to his knee; there was a rumbling noise.

All of a sudden the humanoid screeched, a chilling sound that was terrifying in its barbarousness. He flung himself at the cage, rattling it mightily, snarling and spitting like a provoked animal. Again the cage tipped, rose a few feet into the air, and came tumbling down. It hit with such force that the man inside was thrown brutally to the ground, where he tumbled against the opposite side. He hissed as his ribs met the bars forcefully. His head snapped backwards, and then the man brought it forward with a wince, turning to finally take in the all of his surroundings.

Set deeply in the pallid, sharp-lined face was a pair of eyes that were in stark contrast to the rest of the creature's deathly visage. They were a startlingly dark blue, shot through with lines of amber. Each iris burned brightly; they were filled with an unfiltered sheen of rage and each face in the crowd that they fell upon turned away, physically assaulted by their intensity.

His lips pulled back in a sneer, and he bared his teeth as he crawled forward across the tiny floor of the cage; a collar around his neck, attached to nothing, became visible. Bony hands gripped the front of his prison, and the man began to trail his head across the bars, creating a muted, rhythmic thumping.

"Har. Mena, sha," The words hissed violently from his mouth, punctuating the drumming of his skull on the durasteel. "Nalitssss."

His name was Samar, and he was for sale. There was never any telling what was available on the black market, particularly at the sentient trade auctions, but it was clear from the precautions--even now the slave boy was nervously clamping the cage to the platform so that it was immobile--that this was special cargo.

Suddenly Samar stilled, his entire body going rigid with tension. His grip upon the bars tightened, and he went silent. A new figure was mounting the stage. Samar did not look up; he did not need to. Even if he hadn't been able to sense the presence, he could never mistake the particular cadence of those footfalls.

In the shadow of a second he erupted. He seized the top of the cage and swung his body with as much force as he could gain, driving his feet into each side repeatedly, trying in vain to break loose. He began to roar, and with an expression of unadulterated hatred upon his face, thrust his arms out through the bars. The Rydan slave boy was knocked back, though he was well clear of the flailing limbs. Samar let fly a demented howl as the figure approached. "Nimad! Levad! Ah l'lek u'io!"

It was clear to all present that the two were on less than friendly terms.

[Sudoku]

"Shut. Up."

The voice rung inside his head, invisible hands wrapping tightly around his throat, leaving him gasping and choking for air. A finger pressed dark rimmed glasses up a slender nose as the figure smirked at the captive boy.

"And do speak Basic, darling. Not everyone wants to be cursed at in that garbley gook you're spouting."

The Force grip tightened, lifting him off his feet a few inches before dropping him. "The auction is about to start Samar, behave or I'll have to punish you in front of all those people."

[Samar St. Maurelle]

He hit the ground with a raw thud, hands coming up to massage his tender throat while his eyes followed the woman's slow progress across the stage. Every muscle in the man's body was tensed and coiled, nearly trembling with the effort of containment.

A low growl issued from him as she drew closer, and his shoulders rose like the hackles of a defensive Nek. Samar hissed and pressed his face to the bars.

"I'll kill you." His voice was a broken edge, scraping and rusted from overextension. "Cut and tear, drain to empty. I'll gnaw on your bones."

He gave the cage another rattle, before pacing hungrily back and forth across it's span, eyes never leaving the woman.

[Sudoku]

"Yes, yes. You've said that time and again, Samar."

Sudoku stopped a few feet from the cage, crossing her arms behind her back.

"Now look at you - caged like the worthless dog you are, about to be sold to the highest bidder. So, please. Behave yourself. You do want to be picked by a nice new owner, don't you?"

[Samar St. Maurelle]

His features turned upwards in a scathing leer, but he did not still in his stalking.

"Kill them too, little appetizers." Samar growled. "Then come after you."

[Sudoku]

His pacing was stilled by the Force, his legs stopping all movement. Sudoku gave him an almost motherly "tsk tsk".

"You'll do no such thing. Remember your dear sister, you don't want to end up like her, do you?" Her smirk became a sly grin. "Poor. Dear. LOST. SISTER. Samar wants to end up in the same awful place as her."

[Samar St. Maurelle]

The words were only half out of Sudoku's mouth when Samar exploded, the struggling fury of grief grinding into his muscles, rooting itself in his bones. The hot flare of anger was a physical pain, and he raged against it and the power which bound him in place.

An anguished roar, tempered by the burning curl of wrath, hummed through the air. Samar's eyes seemed to glow in their provocation, and he pushed out with the Force against the woman, meeting her alchemy with his own sharp and pointed ability.

"Mena! Levad avu'ae har!" His sister's face flashed before him, and Samar howled. There was no room for the agony which churned so wildly in his belly, and so he drew upon it, used it to fuel his spitting, instinctive assault. "He won't be owned, he can't be owned! He'll find her, he and she, they! Then won't you be sorry, won't they make you sorry! Levad!"

[Sudoku]

She nearly stumbled, placing a foot behind her to steady herself against his assault. Sudoku return the push instinctively, and the impact of it nearly sent the cage tumbling.

"They! THEY?! There is NO they anymore, she is gone and you are mine." Her smirk returned, her voice coming out in a sing-song. "But not for long!"

[Samar St. Maurelle]

This only served to further Samar's rage, and after he picked himself up from where he'd been hurled, he resumed his relentless pacing and rushing of the bars. Waves of menace rolled off of him and transmitted to the crowd.

He would give them a good show. No one would waste credits on damaged property.

[Sudoku]

A crowd was beginning to form around the stage, keeping a short distance for the caged boy. Sudoku hopped off the side of the stage as the auctioneer started his spiel in a high-pitched squeal of a voice.

[Sanya Tagge]

It took a certain kind of person to remain in that crowd, after the boy's display of displeasure had begun. Some amongst them had come in search of a slave, finding themselves somewhat disappointed at how flagrantly disobedient the boy was. For those who relished the chance to beat some respect into him, however, his thrashing only made him more appealing.

Sanya Tagge counted herself amongst neither of these two groups of people, and this much was obvious first in the way that she distanced herself from the crowd and second in the way that she looked. She was not, in any way, dressed for the occasion. Then again, she hadn't the faintest idea what the dress code was for such things. Her experience with the black market was limited, given her fierce loyalty to Imperial doctrine, yet she had thought it prudent to stray a little outside of the norm in this instance.

The auctioneer had already begun his sales pitch, but Sanya did not listen. She was watching the cage intently, lips parted in anticipaton as she tried to make eye-contact with the savage beast.

[Samar St. Maurelle]

Above the auctioneer's string of warbled bargaining, an outraged screech rose. It was harsh and discordant like iron grinding through a lathe; he was fueled by the noise, made it echo with the Force. Several in the crowd winced and clapped appendages over their ears protectively.

Samar used his body as a ram to continue his assault on the kennel. Angry red marks bloomed against the white of his skin, fading to a rosy pink; they'd be blue by nightfall. Froth dripped from the corners of his mouth, and the man seemed only to become more provoked by this biological rebellion, wiping at it savagely with an arm before lunging forward again, teeth gnashing through the gaps in the bars.

The auctioneer had raised the volume on his mic to the extreme. Still, those not in the front row had to strain to hear him. No bids were made. Samar did laps, hissing and taunting each and every patron in the crowd.

For the sparest of seconds his eyes flickered towards Sanya, flashing and flinted.

[Sanya Tagge]

The fleeting instant in which his eyes had met hers was more than enough. A gasp of breath and she touched two, almost trembling, fingertips to her exposed throat. It felt as if an arrow had gone right to her heart, his gaze piercing her to the very core – and maddeningly, she couldn't say why. There was something absolutely enthralling and terrifying about him that begged to be touched and understood, like the enchanting dance of an open flame. What use he had, particularly for someone of her station, did not seem to enter into the equation.

“I want him,” Sanya muttered, first to herself, and then louder, her perfectly-nuanced accent sounding crisp above the din.

“Do you hear me? I want him!”