Fic: Pain Management (Star Wars)
Jul. 4th, 2017 10:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
redrikkiTitle: Pain Management
Fandom: Star Wars, Star Wars Prequels
Rating: PG
Warnings: Slavery, Whipping
Characters: Shmi Skywalker, Anakin Skywalker, Watto
Summary: Anger can get a slave killed. Shmi teaches her son some coping strategies.
“Your damn brat is costing me money,” Watto yelled, whipping the broken antenna down on Shmi’s already red and stinging hands.
Shmi shrilled like a dying thing while Anakin sobbed in the corner as if he was the one being beaten. It hurt her heart to scare him so, especially since it wasn’t all that bad, but she’d found with Watto it was best to play up her pain rather than suffer in silence. The Toydarian was greedy by nature, but not cruel. If he thought there was a risk of damaging her valuable hands, he would stop.
The ploy worked. Watto gave her one last, half-hearted swat with the antenna, then tossed it aside. His shoulders slumped in exhaustion. “If he does it again, I’ll sell him.” He jerked his head towards the door. “Now get him out of my sight.”
Anakin cried all the way home, clinging to her skirts like he expected Watto to snatch him away at any moment. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he sobbed, his face a mess of tears and snot.
Shmi gritted her teeth against the pain. “I know you are, Ani,” she said tiredly. There were those in the slave quarters who took out their suffering on their children, but she knew it wasn’t Anakin’s fault. He was just a curious little boy. She should have kept a better watch.
By the time they got home, Anakin’s hysterics had dwindled to sniffling and hiccups. He opened the door without prompting and guided her to the table like he was afraid she might break. His touch was as gentle as any five-year-old’s could be, but Shmi still winced as he spread the healing balm across her burning palms.
“I hate him,” Anakin snarled, slamming the lid back on the balm jar.
“Don’t say that.” Shmi grabbed his arm, forgetting her hands in her urgency. She hissed in pain, but it didn’t matter. That kind of anger could get a slave killed.
Lip aquiver, Anakin set his chin in a stubborn line. “He hurt you, Mom. I’ll never love him. Never.”
“No one’s asking you to.” Loving a master was its own sort of danger. Shmi had loved a mistress once. Pi-Lippa had been a kindly, older woman who never once raised a hand to her. She had fed Shmi good food, taught her valuable skills, and promised her freedom. All that she asked in return was for Shmi to cook and clean and repair every machine put in front of her loyally and without complaint and, for three years, she had. For three years, Shmi practically worshiped the old woman. Then Pi-Lippa died and left Shmi to her sister in her will. All her promises had been a lie and Shmi had been too blinded by love to see it.
“Don’t hate him, but don’t love him either. Understand him.”
“But…but.” Anakin gaped like a confused little sarlacc.
It was a difficult concept to learn, but an important one. Understanding your master helped you avoid their cruelties and take advantage of their weaknesses. Pi-Lippa had wanted to see herself as a kind woman, deserving the loyalty of her cheerful and pleasant slave. Gardulla, by contrast, was bored and rich and didn’t give a damn about her slaves’ lives as long as she was entertained. She’d once detonated a serving girl’s chip just to see the look on her face as she died. Watto couldn’t afford to hurt them so needlessly. He needed them and they were too expensive for him to replace. Now how to explain that to a child?
“Watt is a businessman,” Shmi said slowly, fumbling to find the right words. “He doesn’t want to hurt us. He wants us to be useful and make him money. If we do that, well, then he wont hurt us any more.”
“Oh, I can do that!” Anakin brightened. He flung his arms around at her. “I’ll be the most useful slaver ever, Mom,” he said earnestly. “I promise.”
“I know you will,” Shmi said and began to cry.
Fandom: Star Wars, Star Wars Prequels
Rating: PG
Warnings: Slavery, Whipping
Characters: Shmi Skywalker, Anakin Skywalker, Watto
Summary: Anger can get a slave killed. Shmi teaches her son some coping strategies.
“Your damn brat is costing me money,” Watto yelled, whipping the broken antenna down on Shmi’s already red and stinging hands.
Shmi shrilled like a dying thing while Anakin sobbed in the corner as if he was the one being beaten. It hurt her heart to scare him so, especially since it wasn’t all that bad, but she’d found with Watto it was best to play up her pain rather than suffer in silence. The Toydarian was greedy by nature, but not cruel. If he thought there was a risk of damaging her valuable hands, he would stop.
The ploy worked. Watto gave her one last, half-hearted swat with the antenna, then tossed it aside. His shoulders slumped in exhaustion. “If he does it again, I’ll sell him.” He jerked his head towards the door. “Now get him out of my sight.”
Anakin cried all the way home, clinging to her skirts like he expected Watto to snatch him away at any moment. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he sobbed, his face a mess of tears and snot.
Shmi gritted her teeth against the pain. “I know you are, Ani,” she said tiredly. There were those in the slave quarters who took out their suffering on their children, but she knew it wasn’t Anakin’s fault. He was just a curious little boy. She should have kept a better watch.
By the time they got home, Anakin’s hysterics had dwindled to sniffling and hiccups. He opened the door without prompting and guided her to the table like he was afraid she might break. His touch was as gentle as any five-year-old’s could be, but Shmi still winced as he spread the healing balm across her burning palms.
“I hate him,” Anakin snarled, slamming the lid back on the balm jar.
“Don’t say that.” Shmi grabbed his arm, forgetting her hands in her urgency. She hissed in pain, but it didn’t matter. That kind of anger could get a slave killed.
Lip aquiver, Anakin set his chin in a stubborn line. “He hurt you, Mom. I’ll never love him. Never.”
“No one’s asking you to.” Loving a master was its own sort of danger. Shmi had loved a mistress once. Pi-Lippa had been a kindly, older woman who never once raised a hand to her. She had fed Shmi good food, taught her valuable skills, and promised her freedom. All that she asked in return was for Shmi to cook and clean and repair every machine put in front of her loyally and without complaint and, for three years, she had. For three years, Shmi practically worshiped the old woman. Then Pi-Lippa died and left Shmi to her sister in her will. All her promises had been a lie and Shmi had been too blinded by love to see it.
“Don’t hate him, but don’t love him either. Understand him.”
“But…but.” Anakin gaped like a confused little sarlacc.
It was a difficult concept to learn, but an important one. Understanding your master helped you avoid their cruelties and take advantage of their weaknesses. Pi-Lippa had wanted to see herself as a kind woman, deserving the loyalty of her cheerful and pleasant slave. Gardulla, by contrast, was bored and rich and didn’t give a damn about her slaves’ lives as long as she was entertained. She’d once detonated a serving girl’s chip just to see the look on her face as she died. Watto couldn’t afford to hurt them so needlessly. He needed them and they were too expensive for him to replace. Now how to explain that to a child?
“Watt is a businessman,” Shmi said slowly, fumbling to find the right words. “He doesn’t want to hurt us. He wants us to be useful and make him money. If we do that, well, then he wont hurt us any more.”
“Oh, I can do that!” Anakin brightened. He flung his arms around at her. “I’ll be the most useful slaver ever, Mom,” he said earnestly. “I promise.”
“I know you will,” Shmi said and began to cry.
