Phantoms and Slayers
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 Lucus 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.
AN: Nothing much. I just thought that, since I've hit a bit of writers block with my other stories, that I'd try a x-over that doesn't seem to be used that often that doesn't center around Xander. Just something for me to play around with, and I'm not sure how often I'll be updating, so...
By the way, some chapters will heavily use dialogue from the film, just so you all will know and not write me about it.
As for pairings, I’m not sure, but it’ll probably end up being Buffy/Jar Jar…KIDDING. That goes to bad, bad mental places. *shutter*.
There are going to be a few changes to cannon. 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 are 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. Why? Because, that's why. :P It'll be important later on is the real reason, so lets just prentend, okay. :)
Anyway, I hope someone enjoys this and I’ll love to hear from anyone who has anything to say about this.
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 artificial 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 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 soil himself by coming down here where the worst and most stubborn of the slaves go. So why did he find himself wadding 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 gratefully that his Mistress was even honoring the ridiculous bet, yet he had the gall to question her. Disgusting creature.
In order for the other Hutts not to know that she had lost to the Toydarian, Gardulla agreed to let him have one of her other slaves, but one of her choosing as well. He had not been happy about that – Thom had seen him eyeing him – but had agreed nonetheless. When she could come up with no one who was useless enough to her that she could 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. 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 as harmless as a baby Jawa in comparison. However, their methods did work and they produced the best and most subservient slaves.
When they offered to sale his Mistress one, she had jumped at the chance to own a Gythons slave girl. She would be her crowning jewel of her collection. It wasn’t until after did they learn that the girl had lead a rebellion against her former master, had killed several Gythons, and helped a dozen slaves - including the one that killed their Master - escape. If she didn’t give 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 and kill a number of her betters. 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 went to the correctional cuffs and collar she wore. Should she try to attack anyone, he could shock her with enough electricity to take down a banthas, 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 was hidden behind her dirty, matted blonde hair, but her correctional collar reflected some of the light. The cuffs were hidden beneath her shirts long sleeves.
It was hard to believe that this girl who was barely sixteen-standard-years-old could be dangerous. She was small and fragile-looking until one saw her eyes. Then, 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 a she, but he 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 being 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 to 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.