Bid Against the Thunder || ONC 2020

Chapter 5 - Go Hard or Go Home!

 Tabraile kept his face expressionless as Anayera glanced at him from the opposite end of the Parlak table. An inscrutable face was necessary for deception, but a partner with sharp instincts and quick reflexes was essential in winning any game of chance. Especially if it was rigged in favor of the house.  

Anayera raised her chin, took a deep breath, and rolled the dice. As she tossed them across the length of the table, he subtly ran his index finger across his lips. That was the tell. Before the clock ran out, she slammed her hand down on the timer to stop the dice in midair, allowing them to land on the number she had placed her bet on.

"Player wins," the dealer called. "Again."

A raucous cheer swept through the front room of the casino as Anayera added 15,000 credits to go with the 90,000 she had already won.

Adept at playing the table in his favor, Tabraile was certain their deception had gone undetected, but he was wondering how long the casino would let her get away with the Hutt's money. On cue, three Twi'lek guards approached from opposite sides to shut down the big winner. Clutching the warm Rishi honeystix to his chest, he quickly made his way around the table.

The crowd was thick, flocking about Anayera as she gathered her credit chits from the dealer. That made it even more difficult for Tabraile to signal the impending danger or move into a support position before the guards engaged her.

"Get your hands off me!" Anayera shouted at the blue Twi'lek who took her by the arm. Her hand dropped to her waist for the lightsaber on her belt.

"Not a good idea," Tabraile said, speaking to her rather than the Twi'lek in front of him. He pressed the muzzle of his heavy blaster against the henchman's head. Despite the thickness of the colorful headscarf that adorned his head, the Twi'lek's lekku twitched in agitation. Tabraile jammed the muzzle harder into his skull. "I saw that. It's not nice to talk about the lady that way. Pervert!"

"Ootmian?" the Twi'lek said, elaborating in Huttese.

"Tagwa," Tabraile replied.

"What did he say?" Anayera asked, leering at the wary guard. "What did you call me?"

"An outlander or interloper," Tabraile said. "We've been invited to Mol'jattu's private chambers for an audience."

Anayera straightened, dropping her hand away from the lightsaber. "Lead on."

Amid a roomful of weapons trained on him, Tabraile returned his blaster to its holster with a cool grin and took his place beside her. The Twi'lek trio guided them to a reserved lift decorated with strings of glowing orbs. They descended more than twenty meters into a subbasement of the casino. Although the air got noticeably damp and cooler, the level of noise grew louder. A raucous crowd of 100 were gathered around a pit in the center of the lavish room.

The discordant vibration rattled Tabraile's eardrums as the crowd abruptly reacted to activity within the pit. Anayera stayed close to him, while eyeing their escort and the crowd for signs of aggression. Tabraile pulled gently at her sleeve and nodded to a holo projection.

A bare-chested Gamorrean and a Devaronian with a crown of horns were pitted against each other in a bloody brawl. Covered in sweat and breathing hard, the combatants traded powerful blows. The Gamorrean's fist cut across the horned alien's chin. A spray of blood splattered across the duracrete walls of the 4-meter deep pit and onto the crowd.

Above the roar of the spectators, boorish laughter could be heard from the raised dais on the edge of the pit. Mol'jattu the Hutt's body quivered in rapture. Every ounce of his 900-kilogram frame undulated and shook as the Hutt clapped a hand against his heated sand bed in appreciation of the gory bloodsport. Bellowing in Huttese, he waved his other hand in the air and his audience imitated the spastic gesture.