I've been wanting to write a Ziro prison 'fic ever since I saw the season finale of Clone Wars. I don't understand Ziro-hatred at all - it honestly baffles my mind. I love Ziro - I love him flamboyant, and flouncing, and FABULOUS~. This is dedicated to the cool kids over at LJ's capslock_cw community, if nothing else for the line, "Can I borrow that pool noodle?"

Cad Bane: Well, Hutt, it doesn't look like prison had too adverse an effect on you.
Ziro: Oh, you can't imagine the unspeakable things I saw! The horror! I doubt I'll ever really recover!
- Clone Wars 1x22, "Hostage Crisis"

Payment in Kind

Despite his best efforts, Cad Bane found himself alternately curious as to what had transpired during Ziro's imprisonment, and bored, if he were to be honest with himself. It was a long flight to the Outer Rim, after all. "So what DID happen?" he asked gruffly, eyes fixed ahead.

Ziro gurgled behind him. "It was wretched," he lisped, and the transport lurched as he shifted - the bungee cords were likely not entirely comfortable, but Hutts were kriffing huge. Not to mention, honking - Bane was privately thankful that the open-air arrangement kept Ziro downwind. They'd have to switch to a larger ship eventually, but for now, this would have to do.

"Oopsie," he giggled, and Bane clenched his teeth. "Well, for one thing," Ziro said, finally ready to talk, "The cells were FILTHY. Who knows what they've been used for. And they were so dark and gloomy. It made me miss my palace so badly. It's such a shame I won't be able to return until my name is cleared," he lamented, sniffling dramatically.

Bane pursed his lips. "I wouldn't bet on it," he said flatly.

"Hmm," Ziro gurgled. "In any case, they were awful and dingy, and I could hear everything through the walls. EVERYTHING," he emphasized. The sound of Hutt tongue sliding itself across Ziro's gaping maw made Bane shudder inwardly. He'd heard several rumors about the nature of Ziro's "palace", to say nothing of his practices. It was ironic that he was complaining about the filthiness of prison and the illicit activities that accompanied it - Ziro's night club in the Orange District was reputedly just as bad, if not worse.

"Did you make any ... business connections?" Bane queried, suppressing the urge to gag.

"Oh, yes!" Ziro exclaimed, and the transport rocked again. He settled again heavily. "They were all there - all the poor souls imprisoned by those nasty little Jedi."

"Who?" Bane asked curiously. It would be the first bit of useful information that the Hutt had provided him.

Ziro gurgled thoughtfully. "Well," he drawled, "There was this nice fella by the name of Lok Durd. Had him a nice lil' super weapon that he tried to use on a barren planet, but those meany-poo Jedi came and took it away."

Now it was Bane's turn to hum thoughtfully. He'd heard of Durd - the information he'd received from Count Dooku was limited, on a need-to-know basis, of course, but ... he had other, less-tight-lipped conspirators.

"And then there was this sweet doctor," Ziro gushed. "He made me Sangria in the 'fresher. All they fed me was bread and water while I was there," he moaned. "I'm practically wasting away!"

"Right," Bane muttered. "What was the doctor in prison for?"

"Mmm, something about a virus," Ziro shrugged. "He worked for a scientist who made some tasty little mind-control substances. She was there, too."

Bane's mind whirred. "Was her name Zan Arbor?" he asked.

"Oooh, that was her," Ziro agreed, and then snarled. "There was a beauty pageant in prison. She actually thought she was prettier than me. She's just an old lady with bad hair and an ugly smile."

Bane rolled his eyes. "Are they planning anything together, now?" he asked.

"Mmm, don't know," Ziro said petulantly. He knew the value of the information he had, Bane noted to himself. Begrudgingly, he had to respect that. Still, it didn't help him one iota. "Are we going to stop soon?" the Hutt whined a moment later. "I need to refresh."

"We have a long way to go if we want to get you safely out of the authority's airspace," Bane told him shortly. He heard Ziro huff. "So what sort of customers does your pleasure palace cater to?" he asked, trying to keep Ziro talking.

"Oh, anyone who's looking for a good time, sugar," Ziro boasted. "There are cages, and music, and some pretty lightin' that shows off my body art. It's a very people-oriented business."

"I'll bet."

Ziro ignored the sarcastic tone of Bane's reply. "There are lots of regulars, too," he said, his own voice taking on the edge Bane had recognized when they'd first arranged this whole holding-the-Senate-for-ransom plan. "Regulars whose ... patronage might be frowned upon if word were to get out."

Bane raised an eyebrow. "How very ... interesting," he said, grinning back at Ziro with approval. "Go on."

"Well, I happen to employ one of the Jedi Order's very own," Ziro lisped. "Their very own Hero of the Republic."

Bane snorted. "Surely you don't mean Skywalker?" he said dismissively. Admittedly, what he'd seen of the boy's abilities were impressive, but ... what a karking asshole.

Ziro giggled. "He's a very talented boy," he grinned, slime pouring from the corners of his mouth anew. "Very flexible." The Hutt flexed his own claws for emphasis. "When he's all slicked up and dancin' in that lil' cage and those tiny undies, ooohh, I just wanna squeeze him!"

Bane shuddered visibly. "I'll pull over at the next planet," he interjected. "It's neutral enough that five minutes there shouldn't hurt anything."

"Ooohh, goody, I'm starving!" Ziro bubbled.

Bane stared blankly at the fast-approaching atmosphere of their next destination, not sure if he'd ever eat again.