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When Eden Abren had stumbled across Migs Mayfeld, she had been tip-toeing upon the thin threshold dividing life and death. Her bloodied fingertips had gently brushed against her inevitable end, one that, despite her lifetime of struggle, terrified her. Crimson oozed out from the small gaps between her fingers, her hand gingerly placed against the agonising burn wounds that were pulsating upon her chest. From the corner of her downturned lips, a singular droplet of blood seeps out, pathing a harrowing trail down her paled, cold skin. And, as consciousness finally gave out on her, the last thing her aching eyes gazed upon was the silhouette of another, towering over her.
As the first flickers of the next day's sunrise erupted from upon the horizon, Eden had agonisingly awoken. It had come as a surprise to her, but she had welcomed it with open arms. The gentle sizzle of a dwindling fire is the first sensation to erupt within her ringing ears; the momentary peace it brings her snuffed out by the realisation that another must have lit the flame. Reaching down for one of her daggers, her blaster long lost, she grasps onto the handle as she forces her heavy eyelids open.
"Woah, I'm not trying to hurt you, Kid." A foreign voice erupts from beside her, just barely audible amongst the thunderous heartbeat pounding within her own ears. The tip of her dagger points toward the man, her expression unwavering, even as a flood of pain shoots through her every muscle at the smallest of movements. A blaster hung upon his thigh, the stranger raises his hands in a mocking surrender, a carefulness lingering within his icy eyes. "As long as you put that knife down, we're not gonna have a problem."
"Who are you?" Tendrils of venom seep from her every word. Her aching hand remains still, the hardened glint to her eyes burning holes within the man as she threatens him fruitlessly with the metallic weapon. Cautiously, her gaze wanders across the man's every feature, assessing his every movement for even a glimmer of a threat. "Are you here to kill me, too? You one of Jabba's minions?"
"I'm a nobody." A distant expression glazes over the man's eyes, and the expression hanging from his aging features hardens as if creating a barrier between the war raging within himself and the woman before him. Diverting the attention away from himself, he gestures toward the vaguely healing wound gaping across the woman's chest, though it is obscured by a newly wrapped bandage. "Who did that to you?"
The man's voice is void of concern, curiosity bubbling within its place. A crease forming upon her sweat coated forehead, she watches him, a debate racking her mind. Slowly, she lowers her dagger; but she refuses to release it from her grip entirely. "His name's Boba Fett." Eden watches the stranger carefully for any sign of a reaction, but to her confusion, not even a flicker of recognition flashes upon his face. She opens her mouth to explain the reputation the mercenary withholds, before she scoffs, her words instead shifting to speak of her distaste. "He's just some sleemo dressed in metal armour."
