Summary: She's been alone for so, so long. She has no one, and needs nothing more than credits in her hand and a heart in her chest. Until she meets a mandalorian, and everything is tipped on its head.
Hunger and Fury were her constant companions.
Hunger curled up like a lothcat in her belly, scratching and cramping in the small space, reminding her each time she moved or smelled something spicy, that it was always with her. A friend which she never had to doubt would be with her, clinging to her bones and ensuring that anytime she got too comfortable, had a bit too easy a day, it would be there, urging her to give up. To settle down and never recover.
Fury was quieter, softer. Like a blanket around her shoulders, hunched over her head to block out the wind. It washed over her forehead, pressed behind her eyes and colored everything she couldn't have, didn't have the skill to take with a film of bloody, garish red. Until it was all the color she could see, the Fury all she could hear in the thudding of her heartbeat, the rushing of blood in her ears. It whispered to her of all the injustices she faced- goaded with each new bruise, each harsh buffer, or pitying look.
Hunger and Fury were her constant companions, of which she would never, ever run out.
She’s driven to the market by hunger, though the scent of cooking womp rat, the scent of cooking anything is a torture to stand near. When she’d first been dumped on Nevarro barely clinging to life and left for dead, she had avoided the city entirely. It had taken her a month or so to even creep close enough to see the steady stream of bounty hunters in and out. Going into the market after that was a considerable risk, what with the plethora of guns, but that just meant she had to work a bit harder. It was easier to snatch credits, small trinkets, and sell them in the same market that the bounty hunters dealt in than it was to steal from vendors.
