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A Hutt's prison would, by the standards of most sentients, be the last place anyone would want to find themself. Between the stench, the gloom, the impending threat of gruesome death and/or torture, not to mention the company- Suffice it to say that the Hutts have not remained the kingpins of the galactic underworld for so long because they are nice.
Still. In this moment, Elesse Vendar, twenty-five years old and as of six months ago the youngest person to attain the rank of Master in the last thousand years of Jedi history, feels no desire to be anywhere else. Her bag, lightsaber, boots, and cloak have been taken from her, leaving her barefooted in only her tunic and pants. She sits crosslegged in her dank little cell, meditating, hovering an inch above the rancid water pooling on the floor. Her presence here, now, is important, she can tell that much, even if the exact reason thus far eludes her senses.
So she waits, to see what will unfold.
