Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader imagines. Featuring different original female characters and their stories in various settings of the galaxy with the Chosen One, to the Dark Lord of the Sith. From the light to the dark side each fate will be a wild rid...
A/N: All these characters are found on Wookeepedia and are canon:)
A/N: Enjoy ꨄ︎ Votes/Reviews are so appreciated.
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PART I
°:. *₊ ° . ☆
Back straight, shoulders poised, beat off those sentients and humanoid pubescent boys.
It had been her mantra for every odd and end job she'd had since she was 17 standard years. After her mother had passed from an incurable shadow virus found in her Coruscanti blood —it officially became her signature.
Living in the industrial underbelly of Coruscant and its crime-infested cesspool was anything but a luxury. It required one to have thick skin; a backbone that didn't adhere to notorious vigilantes the lower metropolis harbored.
That many of Coruscant's security forces ignored.
From con artists, thugs and extortionists, they often brought their dealings into well established cantinas and clubs. As frequent regulars at the Outlanders Club, she'd learned a thing or two about their trades and deals, a well-oiled machine that worked the easily manipulated and naïve.
From the upper levels that surveilled a wide-open scope of the main floor, she spotted Danny Faytonni, a lower-level con man of Courscant. Aside from perusing the most scantily clad sentients in the club, he was looking to attain a new victim to fill his pockets. The Corellian native thought he was conspicuous of his dealings.
As many times as he frequented the club, it was obvious to her he wasn't working alone.
Neon refracted off the monochrome walls of the club's interior as his hands rested over the rail, dappling his lighter hair. As if aware of an unseen gaze, his dark eyes from above darted to her's, swiftly following her practiced actions as she approached a table occupied by a syndicate he was affiliated with.
"Four starshine specials and a glass of hooch." With practiced ease, she handed out the prism of drinks around the circle of patrons, one of which was her least favorite.
Hat Lo.
The self-proclaimed crime lord who thought himself superior—pathetically so—was nothing more than a chauvinistic thug.
He concealed his full identity under an oversized cowl as a clear overcompensation for his size, "Ah, Vinnic," Those beady blue eyes swiveled to the silver nameplate on her dress. "Thank you kindly, my dear. My poor Ayy Vida has been particularly parched."
Inwardly she rolled her eyes, all too aware the fair-skinned humanoid knew her name. Still, he treated her like a stranger since she'd turned down the "opportunity" to work at his seedy establishment the Tri-forked Tongue. A cantina (brothel) that treated women like paid concubines, such as the one perched on a stool beside him.
