Arla cleaned off her bloody hand one the skirt of one of the fallen Gammorean. Her allies were lucky to be alive. The Gamorreans had the advantage with their melee weapons in such tight quarters. A good knife or axe was always better than one of their light sticks in such situations. Grasping one of the fallen light sticks Arla turned it around in her slender green hands awkwardly, at one point tapping the metal with one black painted fingernail. Looking at how the others held their weapons she at least knew which way was front and she grasped it in the same manner they would and looked down the top of it. It didn't seem so bad, not too far different from their spear casters.

Her allies seemed fairly typical of the slavers she had met. Murderers and vile to their core. She understood that. They turned on each other all the time. This was well known among her people. The best way to fight those with their light sticks was to turn them against one another. Rushing them as they did during the early days, was near suicide, and then there was the matter of them being protected by other Twi'leks, those that received preferential treatment.

It was the last one though that confused her. He had caught his name, Cor, and he seemed different. The others talked far too fast and she didn't understand everything said but it seemed that he was angered by the killing. Was this not what humans did? As far as she knew they attempted to own everything and what they could not own they destroyed. It was their way. Shamefully, she'd like to say her people were different but they were much the same. The humans had infected them with their greed. Now there was only the tribe. You could trust the tribe and none else. 

"Next time," the Twi'lek said in heavily accented galactic standard, "hide. Shoot lights. Live longer."

Following the metal head woman, Arla padded silently along on her bare feet, moving through the streets. They received plenty of stares, the two warriors, scruffy looking pilot and a nearly naked twi'lek moving in a tight group. Arla meanwhile marvelled at the great expanse of sky that the humans took for granted. It was so large and it bothered her, making her uneasy. She'd been off her home planet for some time but she still hadn't seen much of the sky when she was ushered quickly from the prison ship straight to the slave cells and finally to Teemo's near windowless palace. There were also so many different "things" walking the streets, things she wouldn't even know how to describe and such a variety of clothing and junk... By the gods... there was so much metal! The junk they threw away here was worth entire harvests of Ryll.

When they finally arrived at the junk man's building Arla had to admit she had no idea why the metal head woman was yelling at the old man, nor did she know what they were doing there. Her demands for something, a "hopper mother ig-night-er" meant nothing to her. Then, when the old man went back to find whatever it was the loud angry woman wanted he turned and fired, the light stick almost striking her, missing her by mere inches. She then had to leap away from the collapsing junk.

Glaring at the metal head woman, her head tails writhing behind her head, Arla cursed Ruusaan, letting out a long epithet in the Twi'lekki language.