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The ship does land in one piece. As she'd suspected from the moment she saw it, the stolen ship is a rare Imperial shuttle made for stealth. She leans easily into these controls, quietly whipping through space, even after it became apparent that the patrolling TIEs had been ordered to find the ship's escaped prisoners. Hera had dodged among them, evading their scopes and radars, as she flew the shuttle far out enough to make the jump to hyperspace. In the end, it was only one unfortunate fighter that managed to catch sight of her.

The shuttle's weapons systems are nothing special, she learned. But they did the job.

The jump to Batuu was only about three hours, even with the slightly roundabout route Hera decided to take. The girls, fortunately, seem to be accustomed to space travel. Occasionally they whisper to each other, but otherwise, they tend to stay quiet unless Hera speaks to them. About an hour in, Hera recommends that they get some sleep, and the girls don't object.

It's midafternoon at Black Spire when they reach the planet. Hera is careful on her approach, avoiding likely lanes of traffic – she doesn't want to run into questions about the stolen shuttle she's flying. But then, most who visit Batuu aren't the type to ask questions. But she still chooses to land the shuttle in a clearing, surrounded by dense forest, about five kliks downriver of the outpost.

As the shuttle touches down, she turns to the girls. "Are you all right?"

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The trees thin as they continue to walk, Hera hand-in-hand with both girls. As the trees give way, there's less shade from the sunlight, and the black petrified trees come into view, looming over them as they move closer. It's not much longer that they finally come across another being - a Bothan sitting on the riverbank holding a fishing line between his claw.

He nods to them as they approach - Hera nods in return, but doesn't speak, and turns the girls toward the path in the dust just beyond him. The ground climbs upward, and if the girls lift their eyes, they'll see the tops of shining steel domes, their first glimpse of Black Spire Outpost.

Wrema looks up at the glitter of sunlight off those domes, eyes wide, breath drawn in because it's so . . . there's so much color, and light, and it's all so new and beautiful.

Sucasa, meanwhile, twists around to look behind them, where the Bothan has left the riverbank and his fishing line, and gone off somewhere else. She turns back around to face forward, taking a small step closer to Hera.

Just in case.

"Is everything there so big?" Wrema asks, feeling more nervous than she'd like to admit to.

"It's just a few big buildings," she tells them, as they start to climb up the path.

"We'll have to go in one of them first, Docking Bay 9." She nods toward the rusted tower that's starting to climb into view. "That's where we'll trade what we brought along."

"Should we be quiet while you trade?" Wrema asks, standing on her tiptoes for a moment to see more of the indicated tower. "Because we don't know the prices. Or maybe even the languages?"

Sucasa seems more interested in the trees swaying around them, and maybe also whether that speck in the sky near the tower is a ship, or a bird.

"I don't want to talk to strangers."

So maybe that's that?

Edited 2019-04-18 01:54 (UTC)

"You can always say something to me," Hera points out. "If you notice anything."

Hera's not really sure what they'd be able to contribute, but then, she also knows better than to underestimate them.

"And then we can find something to eat."

Edited 2019-04-18 05:24 (UTC)

"We will," Wrema says, very seriously. "If we notice anything at all."

And not just with their eyes, but she's pretty sure Hera knows that already.

Sucasa starts to ask a question, but the roar of a small, fast ship buzzing overhead interrupts her thought, and she almost falls backward.

"Should we go faster?" Wrema asks.

And --

"Is that about us?"

"There's always plenty of ships coming in here," Hera assures them. "I don't think it's anything to worry about."

Unless, perhaps, they say different. But as it is, she keeps them at the same pace as they climb, and as the ground evens out. The path widens into a lane comfortable enough for a speeder, and she leads them to the side of it, as they pass the first buildings of the outpost.

Now, there are plenty of others moving around them. The streets aren't crowded, but are still fairly bustling, with a mixed crowd of various species, including Quarrens, Trandoshans, Rodians, Humans, Zabrak, and others. Hera spots three other Twi'leks as they move closer to the center of town, but she mostly keeps her eyes ahead, leading them toward the rusting tower that's now not too far off.

Edited 2019-04-19 01:05 (UTC)

There's a flash of blue skin to their left, and Wrema turns her head quickly. Sucasa follows the gesture just as quickly, opening her mouth to say something, and then stops herself. Chiss don't paint their faces, and their eyes aren't ever anything but red.

Except the lady looks so much like one of her people, and she wants so much to go home. Except maybe she just wants home to be more like here, with its immense variety of people, and sounds, and smells, and all the trees, and the sky and --

Wrema, meanwhile, has to fight not to look around, because there are a few people that are almost her age running around, darting through the crowd and seeming like they're very, very busy. They don't look like they're playing, and the adults don't seem to want to be around them much, but she can feel a faint itch in her feet like she wants to join them, and that's --

That's strange. She doesn't tug against Hera's hand like part of her wants to, she just moves closer, instead, just for a second, as if to remind herself of why they're here.

Almost at that same instant Sucasa speaks up. Quietly.

"Someone's watching us. I don't know if it's bad. But it's itchy."

Hera doesn't stop moving, even if she wrestles with that in her mind. But if they've already been spotted, there's not much more they can do. Perhaps avoid empty spaces where they could be cornered, and be ready to strike, in case things do go bad. At least they have a heads up.

"We're almost there," she answers, quietly. They pass a stall draped in red, with large glass globes containing some kind of sweet-smelling foodstuff, and then on the other side, an open shop of various droid parts and other spare equipment that flash in the sunlight.

Ahead of them, it's the tower, and the port below. The enormous doors that climb up the walls of the docking bay are wide open, as merchants and buyers file in and out, stepping from sunlight into the call shade of the halls within. Hera leads them straight to the open door, though she slows as they enter, and then takes them to a side corner, so she can have a chance to look around the place.

It's cooler inside, and much like the stalls beyond, the large space is lined with various booths at which traders are surveying various goods, and haggling with one another. Hera glances around, trying to assess what each seems to specialize in, and with a look at their wares, what they might be missing.

"No one's looking at us," Wrema says softly, moving a little away from Hera -- though still holding her hand -- to study several brightly-colored pieces of cloth hanging off the nearest table. They're mostly just for drawing the eye to the wares, as part of the table's display, but she doesn't know that. It's so pretty . . . but she knows it's better not to touch things.

Sucasa puts her free hand to her mouth, biting on the tips of her own fingers for a moment, an old, nervous gesture from when she was very small.

"I don't think anyone can see us right now." Except for all the people who can, but there's no sense of attention like there was out on the street.

"Should we look for things? That might be like what we have to sell?"

A flash of light across the bay catches Hera's attention – sunlight on glass, that glass being the many bottles that line a stall in the far corner. Standing at the booth in front of it are what looks like a partially disassembled protocol droid, with blue-lit eyes and much of its paneling missing so that its wires are exposed, and next to it, sliding along the top of the booth, are the tentacles of what Hera's fairly sure was a Sljee that must have been behind it.

Hera slides the backpack off her shoulders, and quickly kneels down between the girls, opening the back.

"I think we have a place to start," she murmurs to them, as she draws out the bottle of Andoan wine.

Wrema turns her gaze in that direction, eyes widening a little. Sucasa, too, looks wide-eyed, but less about the tentacles and more about --

"Is that droid okay? Pieces are missing!"

She forgets to keep her voice down for the first part, but drops to a whisper for the second.

"Shhhhhhh," Wrema hisses. They both pull together closer to Hera, just in case they've done something wrong.

"It looks like he's functioning," she answers, closing up the pack again and returning it to her back. "Let's go find out."

With the bottle between her hands, she can no longer hold the girls, but she makes sure they're keeping pace with her as they make their way across the room. The droid's head lifts at their approach, their blue-lit eyes seeming to lock on Hera.

"Selling?" comes her voice, in Basic, somehow sounding clipped for a droid.

Hera comes to a stop in front of the booth, and lifts the bottle so that the droid can read the label. "That's right," she says.

The droid's head snaps down to the bottle, and the clipped voice recites, "Andoan, Namantee, bottled 87 cycles ago, medium-sized vintage known for its supple tar flavors."

"What did they say?" Sucasa whispers to Wrema, who can only shrug. It's not like she speaks Basic, either.

"I don't think it's bad," she whispers back, because given Hera's reaction that seems pretty likely? "Be quiet!"

The droid tilts her head up. "Bottle sealed. Explained how you acquired it."

Hera shakes her head. "That's my business."

There's a pause, and then the droid calls, "Assessment required."

The pale tentacles that had been roaming back and forth along the top of the booth instead begin to climb up along it, and reach out toward Hera and the girls. Hera closes her hands over the bottle again. "What are you doing?"

"Assessment required," the droid repeats. "Allow the product to be verified."

Sucasa and Wrema back into each other a little more, half-hiding behind Hera. All the negotiations are in Basic, which they don't speak, so all they have to go on is actions. And those look . . . not the greatest.

"What's happening?" asks Wrema, and Sucasa follows with, "Are we in trouble?"

Are they being arrested?

Edited 2019-04-20 20:52 (UTC)

She glances down to them, and murmurs quickly, in Meese Cauf, "It's all right."

The assurance doesn't stop her from being hesitant about what she does next, yet she takes the bottle, still held tight between her hands, and holds it out toward the tentacles. The tentacles don't attempt to press her hands away. They first brush against the bottle's edges, tapping at the glass, at the topper, and then motioning for Hera to rotate the bottle, as the deep blue wine swirls slightly inside of it. And then, the tentacles slowly wrap themselves around the bottle.

It lasts a few seconds, and then, the tentacles retreat back behind the booth.

"Verification complete," the droid says. "Product is authentic. Trade or currency? We have three bottles of similar quality available."

"Currency," Hera says, and the droid answers this promptly -

"Eighty-five wupiupi."

She raises an eyebrow. "Two hundred," she counters.

Edited 2019-04-20 21:12 (UTC)

"Who do the tentacles belong to?" Sucasa whispers, trusting Hera's assurance enough that she is peering around both of them to see who is behind the booth.

"One hundred," says the droid's brisk voice.

Wrema makes a token effort at pulling Sucasa back, then joins her in peering. It's something to do.

"One seventy-five," Hera returns briefly.

"You can't stare at everybody that isn't Chiss, Sucasa!" Is Wrema's response, hissed close to the other girl's ear. "It's rude."

But she still wants to know who has tentacles like that. They're neat.

Hera and the droid eventually come to an agreement at 145. As the droid counts out the coins, Hera steps up to the booth to set down the bottle and then looks over, down to the Sljee on the other side. "How are you?" she asks it.

The Sljee snaps a few of its bloom-ended tentacles. "Dazdoj says she is operating within standard parameters," the droid translates.

Hesitantly, Sucasa creeps up to the edge of the booth, shyly waving at the Sljee, even as her gaze is caught up by the olfactory-sensing blooms on their back. They're so pretty.

Wrema smiles hesitantly, moving next to Sucasa and trying not to fidget nervously. It's a task.

"You're pretty," she says, then looks back at Hera, wondering if she (or the droid) will translate the sentiment. Or maybe it's rude.

A few of the bloom-ended tentacles wave closer to Sucasa, while another two tentacles tapped on the counter top.

"Dazdoj expresses her gratitude, and returns the compliment as to your personal odor."

The droid finishes counting out the coins, which Hera gathers together into one of the pockets of her skirt, while Dazdoj raises another tentacle arm to lift the bottle.

"Thanks for your business," Hera says, as she puts a hand gently on Sucasa's shoulder. The droid doesn't respond, but Dazdoj waves a tentacle in their direction.

"Are there more people like that in the galaxy," Sucasa asks as they move away, beaming up at Hera. "And do you get to meet all of them?"

It seems like it would be a wonderful adventure.

Wrema grabs her left hand in her right and holds on for a second, releasing all her tension in a painful squeeze.

"Will the next sale go like that, too?"

"There are others," she says to Sucasa, as they head away from the stall.

(She even manages not to wince when Wrema squeezes her hand, though she's considerably gentler in returning it.)

"I've only seen a Sljee like her once before, I don't think they travel from their world that much."

In turn, to Wrema, she says, "If we're lucky they'll be like that. Sometimes the traders are more stubborn, or dishonest."

"Can you tell?" Wrema asks, looking up at Hera carefully. "When people are lying to you. I'm not very good at it, but sometimes . . . " She trails off for a second. "Sometimes I can. If that would help?"

Sucasa looks back, shoulders tightening a little, because she already knows the answer to her next question. But --

"Will we get to do that, too? Visit other worlds and stay in them, once we go back home."

"I can tell sometimes," she says to Wrema. "But not the way you can. I'd be glad to have your help."

As to Sucasa...

"I'm not sure. I've never been to your home, so I don't know what it's like."

She pauses, her footsteps halting for a moment. Carefully, trying not to weight the question, "Is it want you want, to go back home?"