//------------------------------// // Chapter 4 // Story: Lyra: Lost and Found // by Legofan //------------------------------// The mechanical door to the cage scraped open with such suddenness that it jarred Lyra awake from her rather deep slumber immediately. Her father, too, was awoken by it, but moved more slowly. “Hmm, needs some oiling,” Tozzulo mumbled to himself, then to his captives, said, “Deep sleepers, the both of you. C'mon, follow me.” Without waiting for them to even stand, the Toydarian began flapping away, apparently trusting them enough to comply without his supervision. It was a level of freedom Lyra appreciated, given her circumstances. Wordlessly, she and her father abandoned their cage and did as instructed, as their options otherwise were fairly limited. Tozzulo led them to the main area of his vessel and motioned for them to sit in the seats they had been sitting in previously. It was only after he was seated that he began to explain himself. “We're only a couple'a hours from Coruscant now, so I imagine you're both hungry. Also noticed that you hadn't had any of the water I left with you. Maybe you're wanting something more substantial. Wadd'ya eat?” Food had been the last thing on Lyra's mind while the past day and a half had transpired, but now that it was mentioned, she found herself famished, and her inability to access her stores of magic didn't help her feel any less empty. Having traveled about the land, she had tasted some of pretty much everything Equestria had to offer, and she suddenly craved a tasty sweet from Sugarcube Corner in Ponyville. “Some bread at the least, please, and anything else fit for an herbivore that you're willing to spare,” her father answered for them. It wouldn't quite be a cupcake, but it would suffice, and was the safest way to ask for more without asserting themselves too much and possibly threatening their captor. Tozzulo scoffed, probably picking up on her father's passive-aggressiveness, but he responded to it no further, instead replying to the request. “I think I've got somethin’ that you'll like, then. Give me a moment ta get it for you.” Then he got up and flew to a yet unexplored region of the ship. She and her father dared not leave the room, but Lyra felt brave enough to get down from her seat and stretch. As she did that, Les Paul stayed put, but eyed around, his gaze settling on the table where their possessions had been laid when they had first been abducted. The items were no longer there. Noting where her father was looking, she asked him, “Where do you think he put them?” Her throat was dry and her voice was hoarse as she spoke. He gave her a weak shrug, but said nothing. There was a sudden clatter from where Tozzulo had retreated, followed by a frustrated growl. “This is why droids belong in the kitchen and not on the battlefront,” he mused; to himself, most likely, but loudly enough to be heard by Lyra and her father. Presumably, he had dropped whatever he was doing, and Lyra found it amusing. She chuckled at his misfortune, seeing it as a way of getting back at Tozzulo, regardless of her lack of involvement. Les Paul was not so amused, though, and hushed her immediately with a sharp “Sh!” The glare he directed toward her for that moment was dispelled as quickly as it had appeared. “Don't mock or threaten him; he's already been much more gracious than he ought to have been. Don't get on his bad side now.” “I know, I know,” Lyra replied, getting back into her chair. “It was still funny, though.” “Even so-” Les Paul began. “What was funny?” Tozzulo interrupted as he reentered the room, carrying a plate in each hand and raising his brow accusingly at Lyra. She shied away from his gaze, but answered his query nonetheless, “It was funny that you, um, dropped something,” though her volume diminished as she spoke. When she had finished answering, Tozzulo continued towards them and presented them with the plates. Upon them were haphazard stacks of various greens —some familiar, others not — and a couple slices of bread, though they smelled of some unfamiliar spice that wasn't totally unpleasant. It was meager for sure, but welcome all the same. There was a distant look on his face as he presented them with the food, and, concerned, Les Paul said, “I'm sorry if Lyra offended you for finding it funny that you dropped whatever you had, but please, know that-” Tozzulo interrupted him again. “Meh.” Despite his indifferent tone, Tozzulo's brow creased, though whether in anger, frustration, both, or for some other reason, Lyra couldn't tell. “I ‘aven't broken you yet, have I?” he then asked Les Paul, his voice low. “Broken?” Les Paul repeated, unsure of what the Toydarian meant. Tozzulo didn't elaborate, though, instead humming deeply to himself and escaping back to the room he had previously occupied. Save for the rumbling of the ship's engines, all else was silent, and so the scraping sound Lyra's hooves made on the metal plate as she began scooping her greens onto the bread so as to make a sandwich seemed magnified and thunderous. Before long, the Toydarian returned, this time carrying with him two small cups filled with a blue liquid. As he handed them the drinks, he made no move to explain what it was, and they made no move to ask. Silence between them pervaded as he returned to his spot across from them and sat himself down, crossing one of his stubby legs over the other and stroking the scruff on his chin. The distant expression had resurfaced, and as he sat, he kept his head angled down and away from them, his eyes never leaving some spot on the floor that intrigued him. They sat awkwardly, not speaking, nor eating, nor drinking, for a good half a minute before Tozzulo finally began voicing his thoughts. “Broken,” he began, “in the sense that I mean, is when a slave completely relinquishes the will to resist their master. They give up and become thoroughly submissive.” Affixing his gaze to Les Paul, Tozzulo continued, “Think of me what you will, but I'm no slaver. I'm a trader, and believe it or not, I abhor when a master tries to break their slaves. But, the market for slaves is too profitable for me to keep my hands out of, and that’s why I deal explicitly with this dealer. Now, you're hungry; eat.” Neither Lyra nor her father had yet taken a bite of what Tozzulo had provided them, but at his word, they did, tiny nibbles at first, but once their appetites had been whetted, they ate ravenously, even Les Paul. They finished off their scraps quickly, finding the alien bits odd tasting, but still appetizing. After downing a gulp of his drink, Les Paul thanked Tozzulo for the food, then asked, rather conversationally, “So, what about this dealer warrants him getting all of your business?” The Toydarian redirected his gaze to them and answered, “Heh, it may sound backwards considering what I just said, but I trade with ‘im because he is notorious for being excessively cruel and for breakin’ his wares before selling them. His name’s Cameron, and he attracts a substantial number of buyers. Believe it or not, a good majority’a slave owners are actually sympathetic towards slaves, and are willing to buy them to get them away from vile dealers like Cameron.” Gradually, his distant look began to fade and a more playful one took its place. “Chances are, so long as you ‘ave some practical skills, someone’ll buy you who'll treat you with dignity, or even better, buy you for the sole purpose of freeing you; that's not unheard of. There's no guarantee’a that, but your chances are higher the more useful you seem. So...come on, sell yourselves to me!” Neither of them spoke for a few seconds after Tozzulo concluded his exposition. Having expected her father to speak for them, she looked to him concernedly when he didn't. There was a delicate clink as her father placed his drink down on a vacant area of his seat, then he cast his gaze towards the floor, wearing the most grief-stricken of faces. Never before had Lyra seen her father in such a pathetic state, and she felt a deep rage welling within her. Without thinking or caring of the consequences, she whipped her head to face Tozzulo and berated him. “What the hay is wrong with you?!” she shouted. Caught by surprise by her sudden outburst, Tozzulo flinched, but quickly recovered his cool demeanor. “Despite all the good you say you're showing us, it really isn't seeming like it to us, you hypocritical, contradictory maggot!” “You're right,” Tozzulo agreed calmly. “I am a hypocritical, contradictory maggot. And so far, being so's kept me outta trouble.” He rose from his seat and slowly approached Lyra. “But I tell you what, you are fortunate to have been picked up by me, 'cause it very easily could'a been someone else who did so.” Getting right in her face, he added in a low voice, “And I'm willin' to bet that anybody else wouldn't have tolerated your little outburst right there.” “We're musicians,” Les Paul said suddenly. A small grin crossed Tozzulo's face, and he retreated back a few feet from Lyra. “Ah, see, at least your father understands the situation,” he remarked to Lyra, then to Les Paul said, “Elaborate.” “I play guitar, and she plays lyre, and Mandy played...” He choked up for a second, but managed the resolve to continue. “We play together, mostly folk songs.” “Good, good; musicians are always in demand,” the Toydarian noted. “Is there anything else?” “Um, we’re both unicorns, so we can normally perform magic,” Les Paul added after a moment of consideration. Tozzulo scoffed. “Magic?” Then he began to laugh. “As in, cheap parlor tricks, or do you mean the Force like you’re some kind of Jedi? ‘Cause if the first, that’s not really in demand, and if the second, I wouldn’t believe you ‘cause you would’ve escaped or somethin’ by now.” His amusement faded. “Anything else? And this time, give me something legitimate and believable to work with.” Lyra pondered the query, but as she searched for something to add, she found that there weren't any other practical skills that she or her father had. Music had been their lives, and while they were expertly proficient at that, they lacked in many other areas. Also not helping was the fact that, in this alien space that they had been forced into, she didn't know what truly qualified as a practical skill. Les Paul was appearing to have no better luck at identifying any distinguishing features, and after another few moments, he resigned. “No, nothing else,” he said to Tozzulo, shaking his head. A discontented grunt came from Tozzulo, as seemed to be his habit when being told something he was dissatisfied with. “Well...you're alien, you speak Basic, and you play music; that'll at least start the pitch.” Lyra was unsure of whether to take that as a compliment or not. “I'll have somethin' figured out by the time we get there, and if all goes well, Cameron will make ya too valuable to mistreat, eh? As for now, though, your stretch has gone on long enough; back to your cage, both of you.” Lyra gave him a nasty glare, but complied without hassle. Her father followed directly after her, and Tozzulo a few paces behind him, and in short order, she and Les Paul were once again secured in their little prison.