Title: Phantoms and Slayers
Summary: During "Anne", Buffy is unsuccessful in escaping from the 'hell' dimension and instead finds herself passed off to another owner on the world she now lives on. Takes place during TPM of the Star Wars movies.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Joss owns all things Buffy. George Lucas owns all things Star Wars, including the characters, story idea, and some of the dialogue found in this fic. I'm just playing with the characters for my own twisted amusement. Please don't sue me.
Special thanks to my two betas, afterlife and Charlotte Dhark. Say thank you to them because they help a whole lot.
AN: Nothing much. Just thought that this might be fun.
There are going to be a few changes to canon. The big one, Buffy ran away from Sunnydale, she is sixteen, not seventeen.
Also, concerning the dimensional portal in "Anne", instead of one day in the Buffyverse world being equal to one hundred years in the 'hell' dimension, one year in the Buffyverse world now equals about four years in the 'hell' dimension. Also, if the portal between the two worlds is open, they run at equal speeds time wise; it's only when the portal between the two worlds is closed to they run at different speeds.
The last thing, I did not, repeat, did not steal this from Naitch03's story TPM - which is really good and I would recommend that you go read. I didn't steal anything from her story. Don't believe me, ask her or check out our publishing dates on Twisting the Hellmouth. I just wanted to make that clear before I started getting emails about the similarities, okay. :-)
Oh, and if you want to read everything that's posted so far with this story, go check it out on Twisting the Hellmouth. Or you can wait for the new chapters to come out on The difference between the two is that the one on will be the beta version and, thus far, the one on tth is not betaed. So, up to you. Let me know what you guys think, k.
Alright, on with the story. Hope y'all enjoy it.
Thom walked along the lower corridor of his Mistress' home, his steps echoing off the dirty, water- damaged walls. Unlike the upstairs that was clean, well-lit, and smelled of food and artificially fragranced air, the lower part of the palace was dark, covered in mildew, and smelled of urine and fear. From somewhere in the dark came the sharp sizzling sound of a disobedient slave being discipline with a prod. It was soon followed by a painful scream that then dampened to a groan.
He hated it here. It was below him to be in such a place. He was, after all, Gardulla's own personal servant and therefore should not have to soil himself by coming down here where the worst and most stubborn of the slaves go. So why did he find himself wading through filth? Because of a damn Toydarian, that's why.
Watto, a junkyard owner, had won a bet against his Mistress a few days prior and had come to collect his winnings that evening. However, he had not been satisfied with the two slaves that Gardulla had chosen to be his prize. The dirty little Toydarian had taken one look at eight-year-old Anakin and claimed him to be half a slave, not the full one that he had rightfully won. The wretched creature should have been grateful that his Mistress was even honoring the ridiculous bet, yet he had the gall to question her. Disgusting creature.
In order to keep the other Hutts from knowing that she had lost to the Toydarian, Gardulla agreed to let him have one of her other slaves, so long as she got to choose which slave. He had not been happy about that – Thom had seen the Toydarian eyeing him – but had agreed nonetheless. When she could come up with no one useless enough to her to pass off to Watto, Thom suggested that she give him the girl the Gythons had sold her a few weeks ago. Gardulla had smiled – or, he thought she had, one could never really tell when it came to Hutts – and agreed.
The Gythons were a strange race of creatures that lived on the far side of the planet, mining the mountains there. It had been rumored that they had hundreds of human slaves in their possession and had discovered a way to keep a never-ending supply of them. Thom never put stock in such stories and didn't care where they got their humans as long as they stayed away from him. Gythons did not have the best reputation when it came to their slaves; they made Hutts look like harmless baby Jawas in comparison. However, their methods did work and they produced the best and most subservient slaves.
When they'd offered to sell his Mistress one, she had jumped at the chance to own a Gython slave girl. She would be the crowning jewel of her collection. It wasn't until after the sale that they learned the girl had led a rebellion against her former master, had killed several Gythons, and helped a dozen slaves - including the one that killed their Master - escape. If the girl hadn't given Gardulla bragging rights about owning a real Gython slave, she would have had the girl terminated. She had already tried twice to start a rebellion within the palace, killing a number of her betters in the process. Thankfully, the novelty had worn off finally, and she was Watto's problem now.
Thom reached her cell and grabbed the controller that was hanging on a nearby wall. It operated the correctional cuffs and collar she wore. Should she try to attack anyone, he could shock her with enough electricity to take down a bantha, which was usually how much power they had to use.
Maybe that was why she had been such a problem. Gython slaves – the good ones – were fully human. The girl could not be. Not with her strength and endurance. He doubted even a Jedi could withstand the shocks they gave her just to slow her down, let alone drop her.
Her cell door squeaked opened, letting some dull light into the otherwise black cell. She was sitting against the wall across from the door, hugging her knees to her chest with her head tilted downward, her face hidden behind her dirty, matted blonde hair. The cuffs were hidden beneath the long sleeves of her shirt, but her correctional collar reflected some of the dim light.
It was hard to believe that this girl, barely sixteen-standard-years-old, could be dangerous. She seemed small and fragile-looking, until one saw her eyes. Then, the need for the correctional devices were obvious.
"Get up," Thom said. "You're leaving."
"Aww, but I was having so much fun," she said with a strange accent. She lifted her head and Thom just stopped himself from backing away in fear. "What, with the daily beatings and electroshock therapy and all. I was having a real blast."
"Just get up and try to look presentable for your new master, slave," Thom said.
He had no idea that someone could move as fast as she could, but he suddenly found himself standing face-to-face with the now-sneering girl. He was sure she would have had her hands around his neck were it not for the correctional cuffs. They restrained her from lifting a hand against anyone who carried the controller. The stench coming off her body from not having been able to bath or brush her teeth made Thom want to gag.
"My name is Buffy," she said. "Buffy Summers. Got it, Uncle Tom?"
"Indeed," Thom said, then pressed the button that sent the girl sprawling on the ground in pain.
Well, she was that filthy Toydarian's problem now. Thom hoped he enjoyed his winnings.