The where wasn’t all that important. All that mattered was that, after an unceremonious and sudden evacuation from their secret science ship tour, the party of four found themselves a station with a bar or three. Perhaps Carmen had a sixth sense for places that sold alcohol. Perhaps it was the will of the Force that Blackwood despised, Qor flaunted, and Rue prayed to. Regardless, here they were.
The Ion Dive advertised a neon sign outside that wasn’t broken but was probably on its last (jet)legs.
Staring up at it, Rue cocked his head.
“Why is the ion diving? Ions do not dive specifically. Their motions are not even strictly in a cloud, so to speak, but–”
“Move it,” snapped some other would-be patron pushing towards the door.
Carmen slid to the side, holding the front door open first for the rude stranger, then for the rest of his own party.
“I mean, it’s a name. Most of them don’t make literal sense.”
Bebe raised a hand and her one finger, like a student correcting a classmate, “It likely is a combination of ‘ion,’ as a classical scientific sounding buzzword, and ‘dive,’ meaning a low class and cheap, yet generally positive, resturant.”
Bebe seemed proud of herself, Carmen only stared.
“Aaanyway,” he turned back to the rest, “I mainly picked this one to start because I was hungry and this is the only bar on the station with no reviews that mention… uh, ‘Arxian Hyper-Warp-Roaches.’ Thought that would be a good think until we’re at least a little drunk.”
“Oh, I see! Thank you, Bebe!” Rue exclaimed, and very much didn’t get very much out of the way, as he was instead scrambling for his bag to get out one of his many notebooks. He immediately flipped open to a fresh page with his tail, slapped the thing down on his raised thigh, and curled over like his spine was a Cresh, to write down the definitions while balancing on one leg. The whole of it seemed practiced, like he did this sort of thing a lot.
The Ion Dive crouched at the edge of the district like a wounded beast - loud, leaking smoke, and daring anyone to poke it. Its battered sign flickered in erratic pulses, buzzing faintly as if protesting its own existence. The air smelled of burnt circuitry, frying grease, and the unmistakable tang of cheap synthol served in unwashed glasses.
Qor stood just short of the doorway, arms folded and posture patient, as though appraising a cadaver. The place had charm - a microbial one - and while he wouldn’t touch the drink or the food, he could appreciate the honesty of its filth. Every rusted rivet, every flickering light was a declaration: We are not responsible for your safety.
Carmen, the Hapan male, stood nearby - finely dressed in such a rundown setting, like a diplomatic envoy who’d taken a wrong hyperspace turn but decided to roll with it. Blackwood, all scales and bulk, loomed silently behind them, his Barabel frame coiled with casual tension. The kind of presence that discouraged eye contact from strangers - and probably regulars, too.
And then there was Rue, the Kessurian-Ryn hybrid, lingering near Qor’s shoulder with a cautious gaze. His prominent Kessurian features - soft golden eyes and large, angular horns - gave him a youthful, almost delicate look. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, clearly more comfortable in clean corridors than crusty cantinas.
Qor glanced down at his belt, where his medpack hung like a loyal sidearm. He wasn’t expecting violence - just vomiting.
Someone in there was going to make a poor life choice. And when they did, Qor would be ready to resuscitate them. Probably without saying I told you so.
“If you catch someone repeatedly looking my way with a worried or angry look, let me know,” Blackwood said, eyeing up the location and having a distinct sense of Deja vu. “Spilled beer and vomit I can stand, but there’s always an outside chance I’ll run into an old friend in these places.”
He left out the part that said “old friends” were the sorts of people he would have been putting in stun cuffs only a few years back or dealing with while they were chained up in an interrogation cell. The galaxy seemed to have a spiteful sense of humour, having them stumble back into his life at the worst of moments. Or at least the moments when he was actually trying to enjoy himself.
As Bebe still held the door, Blackwood nodded and walked in first, one balled fist half-hidden in the folds of his coat. It was an old tactic to let the big and brutal looking ones go in first when it came to seedy bars. If everyone was focusing on them, no one would remember those who followed in their wake. It always helped to give people a nasty surprise during bar fights.
The roar of many voices trapped in a confined space hit Blackwood as he headed in, as a rolling tide of conversations, arguments, and boasts surrounded him. There was no immediate dip or hush at their approach - ever a good sign - but the place had clearly seen its unfair share of violence. More steel than wood, most of the walls, floor, and bar itself looked as if it had been reconstructed from spare starship hull plating. Even then the long bar looked as if several skull-shaped dents had been buffed out of it only recently.
“I’ll grab the first round. What’s your poison?” Blackwood asked the others, raising his voice above the crowd.
Rue’s shoulders bent slightly, and his head and head had hunched, amazingly, even more than before. He wrapped his scarfs around his head and put up his hood, then called back to Blackwood, raising his hand as if to be called on.
“This one has been subjected to many toxins and poisons, but it would prefer not to be poisoned now. Please. The alcohols will suffice, no?”
Qor and Rue seemed both seemed trained to escape notice, and Blackwood was just another big guy among big guys here, but Carmen stood out starkly in the crowd as he strutted inside. His lightsaber was hidden away, Jedi shouldn’t be seen getting smashed, after all, but his heavily modified and brightly colored robes could still tip off any in the know about his affiliation.
And of course, he was being followed by his nearly seven foot tall battle droid, who was polished to a mirror finish. Given how common the Baktoid line was, plenty here probably had some run in before. Carmen didn’t see a reason why he should make it known Bebe was almost a protocol droid by this point.
Moving through the crowd, he was waving a hand at random strangers and speaking quietly to them, getting him some odd looks, but it didn’t take long before he slid up on the other side of Rue and waved the barkeep down. He was a huge, but not unpleasant looking dowutin.
“Alchohol is the poison! And gimme whatever your best beer is with a burger or something to start, can’t drink on an empty stomach!”
Carmen waved again, and leaned in as the man shuddered slightly. He spoke, barely loud enough to be heard, “I think you have a short temper with the others in the bar until we leave.”
“I… have a short temper with the others in the bar until you leave…” the barkeep replied, just as quiet. Then, he blinked and turned to face the rest.
“So! I'se gots a pub special and a tank o’ ale, what about the rest o’ yas?”
Rue quietly spoke up again, barely a squeak amidst the noise.
“This one will have what Magister Carmen is having. But not the burger. Is there anything without meat?”
The barkeep peered at the hunched man like he was dancing raving naked in the streets.
“I got the leaves I put on t'burger, make ya a plate o’ that?”
“Yes, Sir Master Barkeep, thank you.”
The hybrid bowed.
“I’ve yet to find a guy who can screw up a Antakarian Fire Dancer, so that’s my drink here,” Blackwood commented but shrugged at the thought of food. A handful of credits clattered onto the bar as he handed over enough to cover the group’s meals and drinks of choice. Then, in a much quieter voice he added to the others, “As for the meals, you two can risk it if you want, but I’m holding off until I see what the others are eating here.”
Lexiconus Qor stepped through the threshold of The Ion Dive and into the low murk of sodium lights and old fuel vapors. The door wheezed behind him, creaking like it had arthritis, then clunked shut with a hiss of escaping pressure.
The scent hit first - stale oil, burnt stim-leaf, and overcooked protein cubes. Then the sound - broken holojazz fuzzing from a wall speaker, laughter too sharp, arguments too quiet.
The bar itself looked like it had been jury-rigged from the wreckage of a Corellian freighter - curved durasteel plates welded into a counter, glowing with uneven plasma seams. Panels still bore scorch marks, and one of the support beams overhead was clearly an old hyperdrive core, still faintly humming. Qor idly wondered if the place had ever stopped moving.
Carmen stood out, like a Hutt in a Jedi Temple. Rue bowed near the bar, deeply respectful. Blackwood was already stomping toward the bar, his tail swishing with purpose.
“First round’s on me,” the Barabel growled without turning, disappearing into a huddle of thirsty locals.
Qor took a slow look around.
A Gotal played sabacc with a pair of humans wearing jackets three sizes too large and patience three drinks too thin. A Twi’lek bartender with mismatched cybernetic arms polished glasses that didn’t need it. None looked like they were winning life.
The patrons here were the usual sort you’d find in the poorer districts of town - freight haulers between gigs, slicers hiding in plain sight, a bounty hunter or two pretending not to look at anyone. A gangly Rodian slouched against the jukebox, nursing something green and smoking from a straw.
Qor didn’t drink, but he didn’t mind the company.
“I’ll just have whatever is on tap. I can take it. But ill be keeping my eyes open.” His shoulders shifted uncomfortably. “Someone will end up unresponsiveness from this…grog.”
He slid a hand across the medpack on his back with wry expectation.
“This one can heal even in highly compromised condition,” Rue said, offering himself as always. He sniffed at the flagons of beer shortly brought to the lot of them, making a curious, nose-wrinkled mrrt. “This is… It smells of grain, yeast.”
Qor took one of the flagons, lifted it to his gills, and paused.
A slow blink. Then a sniff.
“It also smells like regret and foot.” He handed it back to the bar without sipping.
“You’re braver than most kessurians, friend.”
“This one is only partially Kessurian, and also, surely not so brave, Master, Sir,” demured the hybrid, taking a drink. His lips twitched as if to scrunch or spit, but that was his only outward reaction, and he drank again as was the correct action for a bar, it seemed.
“I’m getting more engine oil from this one,” Blackwood commented, swirling his drink before downing most of it in several loud glugs. He set down his glass, seemed to think about things for a second, and then shrugged. “Well, it tasted close enough to the proper thing.”
Blackwood silently reflected that at least it hadn’t been intentionally poisoned. He’d tasted enough of the galaxy’s more terrifying conventional poisons to pick out that slightly acrid tang Fire Dancer’s picked up if someone tempered with the chemical mix. If any of them did end up retching loudly in the back alley, it would be more out of incompetence than genuine malice from the bar staff.
Rue seemed mildly puzzled as he looked to Blackwood.
“This one was informed to never imbibe the oil of an engine. Is this not correct?”
“It’s just the smell. I think.” Blackwood said with a shrug. “Or an indication that someone is attempting to make moonshine and pass it off as proper alcohol. Unless you’re desperate or very brave, stay away from that stuff.”
“I think he means…”
Qor looked at the two in silent perplexion, gauging whether the conversation topic was intentional on both parts.
“Nevermind.” Qor looks at the open space in the tavern. “Im going to find a table. Before we get stabbed. Or worse…picpocketed” Qor shudders as he slowly departs the group.
Rue watched Qor go with growing concern, then turned to the others. “Is this a place for the worry of stabbing?”
<@147021450706944000> <@326457564994994176>
Carmen turned to lean back on the bar, taking his mug and downing half of it in one go.
“Eh, far from the worst I’ve had,” he said, setting it back down, “Stabbed, not likely. Might get punched or whatever, but a good amount of soldiers probably come through here and the big boy in charge doesn’t look like a pushover.”
He waves as Qor leaves, “I gotta wait for my food. Don’t get too comfortable though, we got some more places to be later!”
Carmen lifted the mug to his lips again, only sipping this time as he watched a few people leave with a smug look.
Rue’s concerned look deepened despite assurances of less stabbing and likelier punching. He stood up too and dipped a bow.
“This one will go with Sir Qor then and not get comfortable. One should not go off alone. The Buddy System. It is a rule.”
He nodded to himself and turned to dart after the Quarren, surprisingly fast and agile once he got moving.
“Master Sir! It is dangerous to go alone!” he called as he caught up.
<@204034522033946625> <@326457564994994176>
Carmen chuckles and looks toward Blackwood, motioning after Rue with his now mostly empty mug.
“I like him! Really weird, in a cute way. You know either of them? I’ve met Qor once before, on a job that ended up going nowhere.”
<@326457564994994176>
“Can’t say I do,” Blackwood said, paying for another refill. “I only joined the Brotherhood a few months back after work in Corellia went south, and a job on Coruscant went straight to hell. You probably knew more people in that tour than I did.”
Blackwood briefly considered mentioning that the the Coruscant job going completely to hell was far more literal than the saying usually went, or that the man who recruited him, an ancient Gand by the name Essik Lyccane, had been killed in a rearguard action long before his arrival. Then he just quickly decided against it. Drinking was no talk for such things, especially among strangers.
“I’ve got to ask, is Qor a troublemaker by nature? Rue I can get, and your own interests in that visit gives me something to go on, but I can’t get a read on that guy.”
Carmen waved his hand, not wanting this guy to think him some kind of vet, “Oh, I’ve technically been a member for a year, but I was laying low, sticking to simple mechanic work and out of everyone’s hair. Until that new Knight Commander showed up and decided I had it too nice…”
He paused, scowling slightly, before downing the rest of the drink and sliding it back on the bar.
“Qor? Well, he’s over dramatic, only sees darkness wherever he looks. Assumes the worst of every situation and prepares for knives in every shadow. I’m guessing it’s a Dark side thing. But, he isn’t stubborn, aggressive, or even that bad of a guy, so I imagine we’ll be fine for tonight. Doesn’t speak to me as the scholarly type, but it looks like he has a thing for medicine, so maybe he showed up for botany?”
Carmen stopped as the huge bartender showed up with two plates and another mug in one large hand, sliding the empty one off the counter.
“ ‘ere ya goes. Just make sure ta pay 'afore you leave, else ya’ll have some new friends I’ll get ta visit.”
He didn’t seem angry, threatening, or even concerned. It was like a speech he had said dozens of times a night. Carmen just raised his new mug and thanked him for the refill, the food, and the tab.
“Would you mind grabbing Rue’s… oh, its distressing to call that a salad. We’re going to have to stop by somewhere to get him something more than three leaves of lettuce, a whole tomato, and a slice of burnt bread before we hit the next bar.”
Qor slowed his stride as Rue caught up, glancing sideways at the hybrid with a faint tilt of his head.
“You’re fast when motivated.” A pause. Then, less guarded: “How’ve you been since the tour? You looked like you were holding your breath the whole time.”
He adjusted the strap of his medpack as they walked. “You didn’t get sick on the lab deck, did you? That place smelled like a krayt’s armpit.”
Despite the quip, his tone carried a flicker of actual concern - subtle, but there.
“We’re turning this into a pub crawl then?” Blackwood said, scooping up the food. “Well, I’m game for that. Just be ready to have to carry one or more of us back to the shuttle by the end of it.” Blackwood waited for the bartender to move along elsewhere before he quietly added. “Though you’ve got a point about the food. The burned bread I get, but I’ve no idea how someone can fail to chop up a tomato.”
Taking a swig of his drink, Blackwood shook his head. The “it’s a Dark side thing” stuck in his mind. He could hardly damn someone over being tied to its corrupting energies without being the worst kind of hypocrite. Even so it seemed insane that Jedi, Sith, and every single credit store substitute in between them were all working under one roof without it devolving into civil war. He sighed. To hell with it.
“Alright, even if you’ve only been here for a year, I’ve got to ask, how do you lot go this long without killing one another? No offense but every Sith I’ve met until now doesn’t match that description of Qor. They were all less dramatic and more the type to create the worst kind of drama. The sort which leaves worlds silent or a lot of people terrified of getting their attention. And I’ve never met a Jedi who would turn a blind eye to their antics.”
“Oh! Ah, no, Master, Sir, this one is stable. It can– I can endure a great deal of…” He seemed to chew on his words, as well as his lip, which healed closed rapidly to even the naked eye as his fangs shredded it, …*discomfort. It was not the smell, but the noise. While I am a hybridization of several species, this one’s Kessurian traits include the acute hearing tied to montral echolocation. It was paralyzing. But now is…better.“
True, the raucous bar was down a few decibels from those screeching windshield wipers the size of starships, but it wasn’t quiet.
"Is Sir well? Oh, if the smells bother him, there and here of the foot regret beverage…here!”
Rue pulled a flower from his bag, slightly crumpled from its hasty stay in the Academy’s lockers, but still handled with as much care as could be. Rue stared at it for a blink and it straightened and unfurled and bloomed even further, a sweet, mellow smell rising from the large, curling lobes of brilliant orange petals.
“Ah, yeah,” Carmen seemed to understand what he was getting at, “Well, the Jedi and Sith have had a few wars, actually. They tend to kill off the most zealotous. If you really look at how ‘Jedi’ or ‘Sith’ orders looked in the past, nobody really follows them too… strictly, you know? Jedi partying and getting married, Sith not beating or killing everyone who looks at them wrong.”
Carmen stopped for a second and gave the semblance of a twirl, making his robes more obvious, “I mean, look at me! I’m technically a Jedi, at least in the records. I’ve barely trained in the Force and don’t go to any of the philosophy classes, but as long as I don’t make an embarassment of the Temple and fix up all their ships, they let me keep the title. I think the new Knight Commander has added ‘do missions for the Brotherhood’ onto that list, but nothings perfect, right?”
Blackwood gave a snort of laughter and shook his head. “Nothing’s perfect, but this sounds like building a house over an unexploded bomb. One unlucky moment or dumb decision, and everything you’ve worked for all goes up in flames. Still, if it’s stood this long so far, I’ll not judge until I see more of it.”
It wasn’t just the comment of how the Brotherhood was structured which had made Blackwood laugh, but some of the other points outlined. The idea of Jedi partying or marrying being an exception to their kind just seemed odd, especially when it came to those he had met in past operations. But every Order had its offshoots and fanatics, especially ones as old as the Jedi and Sith.
“I guess I’ve got some reading to do when I get back home, especially on recent events.”
Qor blinked as Rue’s lip healed before his eyes, the motion smooth, practiced - natural.
He gave a low hum of interest. Not disapproval. Not awe. Just professional recognition.
“That’s not just regeneration. You’re guiding it. You’re not a Sith?” he asked, watching Rue’s posture, his breath, his focus. “You don’t just have the power. You understand it.” Coming from Qor, it was high praise. Or the closest thing to it.
Then came the flower.
He hesitated - just for a second - as Rue offered it, the curling orange bloom soft despite its time in a locker. Qor accepted it like he might a sample in a lab: with care, with curiosity, with a hint of suspicion… until the scent hit.
He lifted it slowly to his face, inhaled.
Warm citrus. Salted seafoam. Something faintly spiced - like coral pollen after the tide receded.
His pupils narrowed. A memory flickered. A sun-shimmered morning. Shallow coral beds. Small fingers reaching for a bloom just like this one, clumsily tucked behind a cousin’s head fin. Laughter in bubbles.
Qor blinked. The scent lingered. The silence after it stretched, but not uncomfortably.
“…Thank you, Rue.” His voice was quiet. Sincere. A rare thing.
“You’ve got a rare gift. Not just healing - awareness.” A small pause. Then the usual edge returned, if softer this time: “Use it wisely. Or at least, don’t spend it all on broken lip tissue and clumsy Quarren like me.”
He spun the flower slowly in his fingertips, studying Rue’s reaction. A new kind of talisman.
“Now,” he coughed. “Should we start this bar crawl logically?”
He looks back to Carmen & Blackwood, assessing their drinks.
“I think a water, carbonated, will suffice.” The Quarren slowly twirls his tentacles in thought.
“Oh, no, Master, this one is not Sith– it is not worthy. Such things of God are only for the Masters and Mistresses…and this one is not so gifted, though it does possess healing abilities, yes, both in its Fierrero genetics and in what many here in the Outside call the Force….” rambled Rue, that deferential cringe back to his spine, the gnawing all the harder. His gaze fixed on the floor, mostly missing Qor’s reaction to the scent, but his face lifted again when the Quarren seemed pleased.
As they settled at the table and their other duo joined them, the bar notably quieter now, Rue asked, “What is the ‘bar crawl?’ I have not participated in one before. Do we crawl? This one is very good at crawling, it assures.” Then his gaze landed on their food, and he gasped. “Oh! Thank you, thank you!”
It seemed the ‘salad’ was fine to him. Except…
“Master Carmen, it seems this one’s plate has gotten the majority of the tomato. Would not Master prefer more?”
Carmen laughs quietly, sitting down with his plate and mug, “Nah, all yours. I actually think we should find something more substantial for you at some point. This place isn’t really a restaurant, so I’ll forgive them the lacking menu.”
He took another drink of his beer before picking up the actual meal, eyeing it hungrily, despite the fact it looked like a greaseball… or maybe because of it.
“A bar crawl, my friend, is when you and a bunch of your buddies go out on the town and get a few drinks at a bunch of different places, instead of sitting under one table all night. Gets you a ton of variety. Locations, drinks, snacks, people, plus you never know what could happen on the streets.”
Carmen gave a small grin, obviously a bit excited, before finally tucking in.
The hybrid considered this definition, and whether or not he was allowed to sit under their table here and now or if that was antithetical to the spirit of the thing as it was only the first place, and then slowly began to smile again. His grin bloomed over his face, all but shining, and his tail began to flick happily.
“We are all buddies then? Friends?”
Qor glanced at Rue’s wide grin, the kind of unfiltered joy rarely seen in the darker corners of the galaxy - and almost never pointed in his direction.
His own expression didn’t change much, but the set of his brow eased. The edge in his voice softened, just a touch.
“We are.” A pause. Then, with a slight tilt of his head: “Though if you sit under the table, someone’s bound to spill something acidic, or flammable. Or both.”
He looked back toward the others, then added, quieter - just for Rue:
“You can stay above the table, friend. You’ve earned that much.”
And just for a moment, Qor allowed himself a brief, small smile - barely there, but real.
Carmen swallows, his food already half finished. He gives a small grin at Qors surprising softening, even if it wasn’t very much, and not for very long.
He winks at Rue, “I’d like to think we’re friends, but I guess that’s up to you, eh?”
After that, he turns back to finish what he had started.
A chirrup of trilling excitement chattered from the hybrid, and his golden eyes welled with tears as they crinkled and his smile stretched even wider and his lavender skin flushed rose and shiny gold. Another happy chirp nearly interrupted him exclaiming, “Up to me? Then– yes! Yes, please, this one– I would love this to be friends.”
And so said he looked to Qor first beside him and all but launched himself at the Quarren, wrapping his lone arm around in a hug and vibrating with a purr.
<@204034522033946625>
Qor froze. The sudden press of warmth, the vibration of Rue’s purr against his side - it was… unexpected.
His first instinct was to tense, to recoil. He could almost see the invisible clouds of bar air clinging to Rue’s clothes, and his tendrils twitched at the thought of how many hands had touched the chair they’d just passed.
But Rue’s joy was… tangible. Like a ripple in the Force, bright and earnest, untainted by calculation or deceit.
Sith approved of passion, did they not? Even if it came wrapped in lavender skin and far too much physical contact.
With a slow exhale, Qor’s shoulders eased. His own arm came up - hesitant at first - before resting across Rue’s back in a brief, firm squeeze.
“Very well, Rue.” His voice was low, but steady. “Friends.”
Then, just as quickly, he released him - tapping the hybrid lightly on the arm, as if to seal the agreement without overindulging the moment.
“But next time… I get advance warning.”
“Oh! Of course! Apologies!” Rue didn’t seem too phased by the reminder of behavior and immediately stepped back to sit in his chair. His smile kept shining even as he dug into his three limpid leaves and nibbled at the bruised whole tomato. Given the amount, he was finished much more quickly than even Carmen digging into his burger with gusto. “Would either of you like a hug as friends?”
The offer was directed with shy joy at Blackwood and Carmen, more mindful this time of his excitement.
<@147021450706944000> <@326457564994994176>
Carmen finished up soon after, finishing his second mug and letting out a loud breath as he slammed it back down. Get grinned over at Rue and laughed a little.
“I don’t see why not! If you’re this friendly now, imagine in a few hours!”
He leaned back and put his hands behind his head, looking at each of his new companions in turn, “but we should probably get to know each other, honestly. What’s your stories? Can’t be something boring in the times we live in.”
“Seems fair,” Blackwood shrugged, before adding to Rue, “and thanks, but no thanks. I’ve not shaved today.”
He didn’t mention that “shaved” referred more to the fact he’d not taken a belt sander to his scales that morning. Already having extended to sharpened tips, it would have been like gripping sharkskin. Taking another swig of his drink, Blackwood waited a moment to see if anyone else would step forward before sighing and setting it down once again.
“Mine’s simple, so I’ll keep it short,” he said, with a not unpleasant bluntness which he hoped would make it clear he wasn’t about to broker questions. “And largely unremarkable.” And that was an outright lie.
“I was adopted by a human and didn’t know my parents. Nice people, steered us clear of dangerous places,”
Save for Sith tombs and the Corellian University on a bad day, of course.
“Joined CorSec after growing up, and kept the peace while there,”
Said peace being kept largely by killing things people refused to admit existed. Like the case which had ended his career, murdering a beast from beyond the galaxy’s edge, a creature leftover from a war so traumatic few would even admit it had taken place. Memories of a lighthouse and the cultists who had chained the behemoth emerged unwanted in his mind.
“I dealt with a personal matter on Coruscant with help of a Brotherhood member,”
A ritual disturbed. A screaming revenant of an ancient figure. Dark Jedi being torn apart about him. A vortex seemingly leading into oblivion itself, being drawn forth from a pillar of pure blackness. Something attempting to drag itself into their universe. A thing made of bone, claws, and hate.
“That took a couple of days to resolve. Wasn’t much else I could find to do once I was done, so I came here. That was about a month ago.”
He looked down into his drink again, then downed the last of it, drowning bad memories.
“All in all, I can’t complain. People have led worse lives. How about the rest of you?”
Carmen leans back and taps the table for a second.
“I suppose it’s only fair I say something, given it was my question. Though in all honesty I haven’t met… a colleague with a more banal story.”
Despite his words, he shifted a bit, apparently a bit uncomfortable talking about his past.
“My parents… own a buisness based on Hapes, where I was born. I grew up as a politician and salesman, more or less, but I never had any real interest in it. But engineering wasn’t flashy enough for them, too pedestrian. I did my best to pull apart machines when I could, but there wasn’t much time. But, maybe two years ago at this point, we learned I was Force sensitive. Now, being a Jedi definitely would be flashy enough, I knew they couldn’t stop me from finding a temple. So I went looking for the most lax, corrupt, shady Jedi Temple I could find. There are quite a few in the galaxy now, what with the big boost in popularity from the Empire and First Order. So, I found Odan-Urr, a Jedi group that just straight up allows actual Sith to join. We made a deal, I would work for them as a mechanic and would do some training, and in return, they tell my parents I’m a Jedi!”
Carmen seemed to finally find a part of the story he liked, but the bright in his eyes shifted to frustration.
“But then… I got a new Knight Commander. Guy named Doon. No matter how low I lay, I find myself getting ordered to go on dangerous missions to other planets, sneaking and fighting instead of doing what I came here for. I mean, I’m not a fighter! I can handle a lightsaber well enough, but I only ever did duels in the Temple! This stuffs going to get me killed…”
Carmen ran his fingers through his hair and let out a strained sigh. But, after a moment, he gave a resigned smile and sat back in his chair.
“Ehhh, but it’s not all bad. I don’t have a reason to hide from my bosses anymore, so I can at least hang out with people like you now, right?”
Rue was silent but attentive, the way he sat upright with painfully perfect posture as opposed to his servile stoop and his riveted, wide-eyed stare showing his dedication to listening. His mouth was pressed firmly closed enough to show that healing factor again where his fangs naturally peeped out onto his bottom lip implied he’d be speaking last, once all his betters had gone.
He dipped his head in a nod towards Blackwood, first in acknowledgement of his rejection of the hug and then at this story. A look of recognition swept over his features when Carmen said the name Doon.
“There’s definitely worse company to keep,” Blackwood agreed with Carmen, his serpentine features creasing in a grin. “Gotta admit, I didn’t pick up on you joining Odan-Urr, but I can certainly think of worse reasons for signing up with the clan.”
He was looking at the Jedi slightly differently now, trying to pinpoint if he’d seen Carmen before. Half his time had been spent in a cell, and the other half in an orbital facility, but he’d seen enough Jedi and their associates by this point to recognise a good number of them. He decided to let it pass, making a mental note to follow up on it once he was back.
“That said, if you’re not a fighter, some advice: Learn how to use explosives if you’ve not already. They’re one hell of an equaliser in bad situations. Especially flash bangs.”
Carmen smirks and motions to Qor, “Oh, I’ve learned that lesson already. Just ask him.”
Qor didn’t laugh - but something like it moved behind his eyes when Blackwood finished speaking. He tapped one finger against the glass of water, once. A pause, then a quiet rasp of thought.
“Unremarkable,” he repeated, voice soft and surgical. “Of course.”
He didn’t look at Blackwood. Just the drink, as if it might offer better answers.
“I left Dac when I was a child,” he murmured. “Taken to Home One. Doctors said it was for health. Others said nothing at all.”
A beat.
“I stayed. Schooled there. Top of my class. Became a surgeon. Cut and stitched my way into the ship’s medical staff. Ten years under bright lights and sterile protocols.”
He turned his gaze then, slow and deliberate.
“Eventually, I craved something messier.”
A faint smile, dry as salt.
“I studied pain. Not just how to stop it - but how to listen to it. What it reveals. What it creates.”
He raised his glass - still untouched.
“I’ve saved lives with my hands. Ended a few with the same tools. I offer no drama. Just results.”
Then, with the chill of deep water: “But I suppose you already guessed that, investigator.”
“A Sith is a Sith,” Blackwood said. “Even if most of the Brotherhood isn’t filled with cackling lunatics declaring they own the galaxy, or turning entire worlds to glass with orbital bombardments, I never expected your hands to be clean of blood.” He took a look at the others and then behind him. “Not that anyone’s here are, I’m sure.”
Even accepting his past experience, Blackwood was trying to be polite. The fact that the last several Dark Siders he’d met, even after entering the system, had been the sort of figures parents used to terrify children hadn’t set him at ease. Even so, all of those on the trip had been cordial and had made a point of even avoiding issuing threats when it might have suited them.
“Still, we all find a way to cope with it one way or another. Either a numbers game, fooling ourselves, or with enough booze to get through the day.” Blackwood briefly considered going for another round and then decided otherwise. No one wanted to be the person at a party who had gone through three full glasses before half the people had gone through one. “Still, there are worse ways to live, especially around the Core.”
Qor tilted his head at Blackwood’s words, the edges of his eyes crinkling - not with mockery, but with something dangerously close to amusement. Or maybe respect.
“I would’ve been disappointed if you thought otherwise,” he said with a dry chuckle, “though I appreciate the restraint in tone.”
He turned his gaze toward the bar’s lights, briefly nostalgic. “You’re right - my hands aren’t clean. But I didn’t start with the Order. The Sith didn’t call to me from a throne or a war. They didn’t promise power, or vengeance, or whatever else they dangle before the broken.”
A pause, softer now.
“I chose methods. Control. After too many nights in surgery, with trembling hands and failing vitals, I knew I had to master myself before I could fix anyone else. And the galaxy doesn’t offer many philosophies for that.”
He looked back at Blackwood, more open than before, even companionable.
“You chased truth through the dark and came out breathing. I chased silence - and found something louder than I expected.”
Another sip of untouched water, a smirk.
“So here we are. Coping. You with jokes and observation. Me with discipline and… questionable company.”
He raised his glass just slightly toward the group. “Still. Not the worst crowd to be buried under.”
Rue had kept quiet throughout, still obviously listening, though his demeanor of unbridled and open joy had wilted like a flower plucked from its vine. He didn’t hold himself waiting and ready to speak now so much as he gnawed his lips bloody silent, his knuckles too, having joined the fray of anxious ticks. He stared at his hand when the conversation lulled briefly and Qor toasted, thinking everything said, of blood on hands, on the blood on his hand now.
-# “This one has never…”
It was the smallest whisper, and it died before it really lived, like so much else. Like all his litluns. Like everyone had but him.
And they were all.
And he had, hasn’t he? He’d hurt. To get to her, he had.
“Uhm. This one is–” He thought of his friends. What he’d practiced daily now saying, first person tenses and focus on the future and not the past. How he was making new friends here now. “…was– I. Was. An… experiment. A genetic one. And have only recently begun to explore the Outside– the Galaxy. Ah. My name is Rue. And I am nine and thirty and one hundred years of age. I have had many litluns– children. And they were all the best things in my life. I have two others now who are nine and two and I adore them. And a sister and dear friends and a mott called Alk and a voorpak called Serrulata. Also I was married to a Gand named Gand. We are still thinking about that as it was very… abrupt and surprising. I am a healer. I love plants. I am currently trying to make a greenhouse that will be airtight against the outside atmosphere and contain an atmosphere with ammonia levels identical to the planet Gand so that Gand the person can take off his mask comfortably here and also see flowers…I think this is the summary.”
He nodded to himself, and started nibbling on his knuckles again, looking to Carmen for approval.
<@147021450706944000> <@326457564994994176> <@204034522033946625>
Carmen had been right. Blackwood was experienced enough not to show it on his face, but his eyes had something of a haunted look to them. Qor was the classic mad doctor, and Rue included quite a bit of past tense when describing his children, not to mention his crooked spine and missing arm. Dark pasts, probably dark presents as well. But for now, they seemed willing to smile.
“Ah! Gand. That makes sense,” he nodded at Rue, “that makes things simpler. If your trying to mimic that specific atmosphere, exact mixtures and filtration systems are probably available. To be honest, you might be able to just buy one if you have the stacks for it. I know plenty Brothers have amassed small fortunes for themselves.”
The bar was much quieter now. Not empty, to be sure, but there was now a few empty seats, and the most drunk and belligerent were already gone.
“Um, this on– I would prefer to build it. To the extent that I am able, of course. I have found many more industrious or laborious physical activities to be beyond the scope of my capabilities. It is a failure.” He sighed, resigned but wise of it and soft with time, and went on with a timid smile. “Also, th– I do not have great monies. What unexpected payments accured from assisting the Envoys and such I have put aside in order to purchase the land to put the building on. Though I am still debating if that will be on Selen or Kiast. Kiast is… quite expensive.”
He seemed to be physically unclenching at least, especially as the bar got quiet.
“Depends where you pick, and whose rules you’re living under,” Blackwood said. He’d been tempted to go for a smoke break, especially after taking in the histories of the others, but the last words made him hold it off. “Kiast’s seen a lot of chaos in recent years between invasions, civil wars, and a massive upheaval. Make yourself useful and most Quorahi will accept you with open arms - they’ve got a big Gand population there as well - and Daleem’s in need of good botanists after the planet decided to set itself on fire.”
Solyiat was the other option, but Blackwood had the feeling that Rue wouldn’t settle well there. Blackwood had spent the first month believing the tales of the local megafauna had been tall tales until Nikora Rhan had shown him the skull of the winged bat-like thing she had her comrades had killed years back. That was to say nothing of how readily the Templars had been able to establish homes among Trepus’ townships, defending them in exchange for land rights and occasional tithes.
“Have to admit, Selen is one I’ve never set down on though. What’s its reputation?”
“mrrW?” Rue had chirped at the thought of a large Gand population, pulling out his notebook and scribbling away in it again. He lit up again, if more softly than before, at the question.
“Selen is wonderful! It is so very warm! And! There is sunlight. All of the time!” He spoke with such ardor and enthusiasm that it seemed akin to speaking of being someplace holy. “Of course there is also rain, which is typically heavy and warm – the planet is largely oceanic and tropical. The Arcona lives there but also not there. There are many wonderful people. I live there now with Hunyi who is my friend, we camp on the beaches. Oh! And the flora. Fauna as well but, this one has filled so many journals, and it will surely never fill enough, the library is wonderful, and the ocean is beautiful, I learned to do the swimming there! The ecosystem is still recovering from a spontaneous and man-made volcanic eruption in one of the national parks on the largest continent one year ago, but it is recovering remarkably by all accounts. I assisted at the time…with healing and… suchlike. If nothing else, the volcanic ash is highly nutritious for many plant species. Perhaps I could bring samples for this Daleem’s botanists?” He tilted his head. “Are planets capable of sentience and self-immolation, or is this a the figure of speech?”
“Figure of speech. I’m still trying to pick up on the details, but apparently the entire world had a volcano problem for a few months, and then it didn’t,” Blackwood said, with a shrug. “The only sentient planets I’ve run into, well, they either don’t socialise or they’re downright homicidal. Really, there’s a damn good reason no one comes back from D'vouran.”
Blackwood took a few moments to mull over Rue’s gushing compliments of Selen and then quietly nodded.
“Selen sounds like a decent place though. Might have to try and visit that myself. But yeah, bring a few samples to Daleem or even the right kind of crops to Kiast and I’m sure you could broker an agreement for a home there. Or enough credits to make a start on buying a house.”
“Some of my research did indicate that the proper procedure after marriage included home ownership…” Rue mumbled, and nodding, continued to write notes in a swift script that wasn’t Basic. “Thank you, deeply, for this advice, perhaps-friend Blackwood. It is appreciated.”
Qor slowly sips his water, wondering why the dihydrogen monoxide in his glass tasted more like ferrite, than H20. The Quarren slowly gave a nod of approval to the Hybrid.
“I’ve also heard that before,” he gave up on the water, “on my homeworld, a bridegroom had to build their home first, before a bride would accept him.”
The bar seemed to have quietened down, less traffic through the door. And the bartender was washing the same spot for some time now.
Qor slowly stood in anticipation, “should we find someone more upbeat?”
His thumb points at the general vicinity, “it appears the nightlife has abandoned us.”
<@244244163002892288> <@326457564994994176>
Rue followed that lead, rising also and gulping down his drink to finish it before leaving, as was polite. He looked to Blackwood and Carmen.
Blackwood took a look around, his cranial plating shifting as he approximated a frown. “I’m surprised, these sorts of places don’t normally quieten down. Not unless happy hour is up.”
He looked over, quickly picking out the same barman as before hastily cleaning one of several glasses. The clatter of items being cleaned in the kitchen behind them indicated others were still on site as well.
“Normally I’d say this sort of thing is a bad sign, but in this case it’s just really damn strange. Want me to ask the barman if this sort of thing happens to them often around this time of night?”
Carmen frowns slightly. Did these guys want so have to yell over the crowd and keep a hand on their wallet? Well, at the very least they wouldn’t have to worry about that last one too much.
“Nahh, don’t worry too much about it. Seems like the tired were just leaving and the keeper is just a bit short with it himself. No need to to bother anybody.”
He stood from his chair, stretching a little, “well, I just wanted to come here to eat anyway. We can go somewhere more… bumpin’ next.”
Carmen fiddled with his vambrace as the group formed up and began to move out. In response to an unseen order, Bebe straightened and marched out as the barkeeper was alerted to something on his console, giving a short thumbs up in the groups general direction before going back to his normal duties, which seemed to be a lot of wiping at this point.
It seemed like most of the people Carmen had Tricked into leaving were gone, and the already smashed were gone too, so the flow in was now larger than the flow out. Probably helped that this place was a not-crowded bar. Blackwood was already suspicious, so it would probably be best to leave now anyway.
“So I was thinking the Craxo Lounge on floor eighteen next, since they wouldn’t let anyone in who is already too blasted, but we could also skip to the Three "C” Nightclub, if you want something louder. Thoughts?“
Rue chewed on his lip, fiddling with his hair.
-# “Could we perhaps not go very loud places?”
Qor frowned at Carmen and nodded in agreement.
“What is the point of a club or bar, if you can’t hear your social group? I think you’re leading us into a trap.”
Qor walked around the table and stood in front of the Hapan.
“Explain yourself,” his hand tightened around something concealed on his belt.
“Now.”
Rue just blinked at this, confused and placid.
“Friend Carmen has been kind…”
“Emperor’s black bones,” Blackwood said, rolling his eyes. “Sit down and enjoy your drink. They suggested somewhere else to go if things were too quiet here. Really, if we were going to be led into a trap, there’s better places than a damn night club. The speeder parking lot for starters.”
Carmen just stood for a moment, mouth slightly open, confused. After a few seconds, he gave a laugh, somehow noth surprised and not at once.
“You were the one wanting to ‘find the nightlife!’ What trap do you think I’m leading you into? To rob you? Surely there are literally millions of safer marks. To kill you? Just… to do it?”
Carmen wiggled his eyebrows at Blackwood, an unspoken “told you so.”
“Well, if you’ve done any research of the station, feel free to make suggestions. I just wanted to make a sizable circuit, so as long as they got booze, I’m game.”
Qor looked at Blackwood first, the sinking feeling of logic burning into his sanity. Then he placed himself back on the chair and stared at Carmen, refusing to let go of his belt at first. The Force informed him something triggered in Carmen, something deceptive and assertive, but he wasn’t about to let it go.
“Allow me to buy a round then, as a way of apologising and getting us back on track.” A flat, form smile grew from the Quarren. Straightening his posture as he stood back up again. He pointed his finger each person at a time and nodded towards them. He delivered one question.
“What you having?”
Rue slowly sat back down, just following the lead. He looked at his drained mug of the beer and attempted a shrug that was clearly a little stilted and unpracticed.
“Whatever is next on the menu after the beer?”
“Check the percentage on those drinks before you agree to it,” Blackwood commented before Rue’s suggestion could be acted upon. “I don’t think any of us want to be carrying someone home tonight. That said, if you are buying, Qor, I’ll have the same again, thanks.”
Carmen grinned, but didn’t sit, “Well how about a shot for the road then! I need to cut back on volume before I explode. Tequila sounds fun!”
“Te-key-la,” Rue echoed, trying out the word. He nodded, and smiled to Blackwood for the advisement. “Okay.”
Qor nodded to the trio and smiled firmly.
“Then its confirmed. Two shots of Tequila, a refill of,” he motions smoothly at Blackwood’s glass. “A fire dancer?” The Doctor grabs the empties and walks to the bar.
“Whatever that is,” he shrugged and sighed. “I guess cocktails have changed in the past ten years, since medical school.”
Qor chuckled, as memories flooded. Rushing off in the night to the local cantina. Catching the next match of Slicing Racers. But they’re were just that, memories. He approached the bartender, who was running a wet cloth across the brass draught taps with some exertion; sweat beads and panting evident.
“Another round please for the group? Ill pay,” he pulled out his credits and starting counting.
The friendly enough – to them in particular, at least – bartender eyed the Quarren and gestured as if to say, of what? And upon elaboration got himself a serving tray full of shots of a clear yet slightly green tinted liquid, poured messily and adding something more for him to wipe up. He seemed to just make something up on the spot for “Fire Dancer”, which consisted of pouring more of the beer that Blackwood had called engine oil, adding a shot of spicy whiskey, and finishing it with a whole pepper dropped in.
Once Qor paid for the …assortment…and returned to the table, he was greeting with a chirping thanks and smile from Rue, genuine and sweet.
Carmen grabs his shot and holds it up for a toast, “To a long night for a short day, eh?”
With that, he tossed back the liquid, flinching at the sensation. Somehow, this place had managed to make a sealed bottle of tequila taste scummy.
“Oof, thats rough.”
Rue mimicked Carmen gesture for gesture, toasting and then tossing it back. He wheezed slightly, tears escaping his eyes and mouth pursing, but only a shiver ran down his spine and ruffled his tail.
“It has. A taste,” he tried for something polite.
Carmen nudged Rue and snickered, setting his glass back on the tray.
“Yeah, a taste of week-old moss and rubbing alcohol! Kind of impressive how the flavor of this place can leech in through a glass bottle.”
“Well, mine’s the same as usual,” Blackwood said, taking a swig of his newly arrived drink and taking a few moments to appreciate the favour. “A bad start but a nice kick and aftertaste. You get great Fire Dancers and alright ones. It’s next to impossible to make a bad one though.”
“That was a bad time to come back.”
Blackwood arrived just to see Rue launching himself at Qor and clamping tightly onto the Quarren. He’d had to pause for a brief moment before joining them, checking a curious note which had been left at their table before brushing it off. Seating himself down, he slid Rue’s much-to-be-desired salad over to his now empty seat.
Qor returned from the bar and plonked himself onto the chair, tap water firmly in hand. He has enjoyed his previous time of drinking, challenges, and dancing. But it wasn’t his scene anymore, it wasn’t his regime.
“Water tastes different here. More fluoride,” he sipped, tentacles poking the meniscus of the fluid. He looked to Carmen and extended an open palm.
“Have you found your tastes changed since you were young?” He queried, knowing that Humans do like to socialise and party.
“Alcohol and underwater dont usually mix. So on Dac, it wasn’t an option. At least, not till I joined the ship, MC-80.” He sipped the water again, lips pursed. Theres nothing like sea water, in his opinion.
<@147021450706944000>
Carmen leaned back, waiting for the two with more substantial drinks to finish up. He was starting to feel a bit of a buzz, but it wasn’t really hitting him yet. Good thing, he’d hate to be the first one out.
“‘Since I was young?’ Heh, I don’t think I would classify as beyond that, yet. It would be hard to tell anyway, given how much the flavors available to me have changed. New planet every month, leads to a wide variety, though it’s hard to pin down any ‘favorites.’”
It was a wild time, back then. He had even visited Dac once, he thought.
“Dac, you say? Thats the native name of Mon Cala, right? I went there, once, maybe eight years ago. Just to orbit, not the surface. Though, I do find it hard to believe that there isn’t some party drug on Dac, I’ve heard before that every civilization across the galaxy has independantly discovered fire, swords, and beer. Not I know that isn’t literally possible, but the idea of ‘food preparation thing,’ ‘killey thing,’ and ‘lightly mind altering thing’ seems to have held true. Sure you never had any kind of slightly poisonous fish, or some kind of fermented squid ink?”
Qor nodded as he listened and gave a slight, and translucent, smirk. Dac indeed wasn’t privy to natural order of chaos. He knew, when organisations abd authorities wanted to prohibit something, the people would find a way around it.
“I wasn’t on Dac for long, mostly my childhood, but I,” his shoulders shifted uncomfortably. “I heard stories.”
He placed down a small, rusted datapad and flickered through the notes.
“There was a time when the pops would leave work and find themselves in nightclubs or ‘Raves’ to escape the stress of day to day duties. These clubs were more than open to offer ‘Micro-plankton. Some were used to dye your hair, give it that bioluminescence look. But those same strands, if you ingested them. Gave a string trip into the ethereal.” He chuckled and crosses his legs.
“Then there’s high pressured volcanic spouts, they pop up everywhere. A good way of gaining geo-thermal energy, or melting your face off. The molluscs around those make really good escargo.” He smacked his lips unconsciously.
“The Mon Cala karks love to train with pikes and spears, if you want to call that the 'killy thing’ but,” Qor winked and chuckled. “I think we all know the Force is just more dangerous.”
“Depends on the spell-slinger,” Blackwood shrugged. He’d finished his drink and was seriously considering risking a fourth Fire Dancer, but knew such a venture would be pushing his luck. “Like every weapon, they’ve got one weakness - The guy using them.”
He seemed to consider something for a moment, as a much older memory emerged in his mind once more, and a slight smirk crossed his reptillan features. “Well, two. Point blank annihilation seems to work on most things with a pulse. And a good number that don’t.
Gotta say though, I do like like the sound of that place. Might suggest it to a friend of mine if she ever takes a holiday again.”
“Three. Luck.” Carmen scratched his chin with an arm over the back of his chair.
“Force Sensitives are one in a trillion, something it’s easy for people like us to forget.”
That seemed to make him thoughtful, staring off into space for a moment before he gave a shudder and turned back to the original topic.
“But while I’ve never… landed on Dac, I can say it is a bright jewel from space. I’d recommend the trip for that alone.”
“It sounds of an interesting planet,” was Rue’s mild, sweet comment, listening intently while he’d taken to undoing his braids in order to redo them. His slim, steady fingers flew through the motions, his tail an assistant in place of his missing hand. He titled his head, making The Conversation to the group at large. “What are your favorite planets?”
Qor nodded to Blackwood and tilted his glass in affirmation to the Barabel.
“Sure, as long as they know how to depressurise, they should be fine.” He sipped his water as his fingers danced on the rusty datapad.
“Ive sent you the hospitals notes on how to do it properly.”
Qor’s gills flickered at the question from his now favourite hybrid. It was an interesting topic to discuss.
“That is a simple and a tough question to answer,” he flagged the bartender for a shot of that fermented root water people love to mix and drink. “The simple answer is to say Seraph, because my Empress is there. Or Arx, because the Grand Master resides on that system.”
He reached for the shot from the waiting bartender and quickly gulped it shuddering slightly. He needed to wash that bad taste away.
“But honestly, im a spacer. Raised on ships. Ill usually pick the sanitised corridors of a freighter, over some parcel of grass and valleys.”
“For me, it’s Zeltros,” he said with a growing, mischievous grin, “by day, beaches and booze, by night, the party capital of the galaxy. I spent the month of my nineteenth birthday there, doubt I’ll have as much fun again!”
Noting that the rest now seemed less than eager to leave, he pressed a few buttons on his vambrace, and after a second Bebe returned from the outside. Moving a bit awkwardly, the droid surreptitiously slid a red and white checkered paper tray in front of Rue, a pair of brown cylinders inside and covered in some form of white sauce. Each also had a stick in the bottom, the whole thing giving the feeling of street food.
“Try not to let the bartender see,” he mumbled, leaning in, “businesses don’t like outside food. And don’t worry, it’s all different kinds of mushrooms.”
His voice picking back up, he nodded at Qor, “I guess some might call me a spacer too. I was born on Hapan, and technically lived there too, but most of my life by volume has been on freighters. Couldn’t say I enjoyed it that much, though. Life in space is metal and plastic and uniforms and beyrocracy and blah blah blah… I more appreciate the travelling. Seeing Coruscants ten mile tall skyscrapers one day, then Bespins Cloud City the next, then wrapping up the week in Yavin IVs jungles. The variety is the best part!”
Blackwood was silent for some time, clearly in thought as he listened to the other two described locations far more beautiful than any world he’d visited. After a time he just gave an inconclusive shake of his head.
“I spent most of my life on Corellia, and I’d not suggest visiting there any time soon. Nice place but it needs to recover from some especially bad choices of leader. And even worse choices of allies. Coruscant is nice so long as you stick to the upper levels, and Bastion isn’t bad so long as you don’t upset the government.”
He seemed almost ready to add something else before snapping his fingers, an abrupt memory surfacing in his mind.
“Actually I know one good one - Vortex. I was there only on a crossing flight between a couple of hyperlanes, but got the chance to spend a few days there. Beautiful place, and very purple. I’d avoid visiting there during the winter, but it’s worth it just to see the Cathedral of Winds now it’s been rebuilt.”
Obediently, Rue curled up over the tray as he perched in his chair, sort of like a rainbow, willow-thin gargoyle, trying to shield the food with his body. He whispered like a secret, “Thank you, Sir Friend Carmen, Sir Friend Bebe.”
Thankfully having asked a question meant getting to listen to all the answers while he ate! And then drank one of the ‘shots’ that Qor passed about from the bartender, whom he was careful to extra hide the food from, ducking around so his hair made a curtain. The clear liquor was sharp and biting, but oddly felt cleaner than the previous taykeyla.
“These all seem fascinating places. This one wishes perhaps to see them one day.”
“Well, no reason you can’t,” Carmen suggested with a small wave, “I don’t see it being difficult for anyone like us to get a ship going wherever we want to go. Maybe take a trip somewhere with Gand?”
He then leaned back and sighed, “I’m stuck with work now. It’s hard to find enough time for travelling, what with all the life or death military actions I undertake these days. Almost makes me want to give this all up and go home. Almost. I can just hope that I’ll work up to a position where I don’t have so much oversight. Somewhere I can take vacations and spend my time working on things that are actually important. Buuuuuut none of that is important right now. Waaaaaaaaiter!”
It wasn’t long before he had a small glass of dark brown in front of him, which he rose to the others, “To freedom, whether it’s now, or sometime later!” and took a long drink.
Qor slowly raised his second shot glass and nodded in respect. He smiled and downed the shot.
“To freedom, and choice, whatever that may be,” he smiled and coughed slightly. The sting of the spirit hitting the back of his throat.
Seeming relaxed and slightly care free, Qor looked for the bartender to order another round of shots.
“Oi! This time, make it fire whiskey! And leave the bottle,” he passed more credits to the staff, eagerly awaiting his bottle. He then slowly turned to the others and smirked slightly.
“Shall we play a game?”
Rue beamed at the idea of taking a trip with Gand, even if the idea of so much freedom was deeply terrifying still. He raised his glass too in a toast and then took another drink of this fire whiskey that was not on fire.
“What game?” he chirped. “This one has learned, um…truth or dare, and heard tell of a neverevering.”
“So long as it’s not Ruusan revolver,” Blackwood said, a hollow laugh issuing from in his throat. “Some idiot always tries that after one too many drinks, and leaves the rest of us to clean up the mess.”
“What is this game?” the hybrid queried with a head tilt.
“One dreamed up by sociopaths,” Blackwood said, and then sighed realising that Rue would likely not stop asking. “Take a revolver - a slugthrower with a rotating bullet chamber - and empty it all save for one bullet. Spin the chamber, press it against the side of your head, and pull the trigger. The one who gets a loud and fatal surprise is the one who loses.”
He eyed the last drops of his drink and then pushed it away. “Unfortunately some idiots keep treating it as some sign of bravery.”
Perhaps predictably, Rue seemed horrified by that description, eyes welling with tears and a hiccup in his throat. Nonetheless he nodded and bowed, writing down in his notebook again.
“Thank you for explaining, Sir Blackwood…even if that is an awful game.”
Qor was handed a knobbled, stained tray of shots and a green-glass bottle of whisky. He slowly poured the shots on the tray, with surgical precision, and looked at Rue.
“My game is simple. And is similar to what youre used to. I say a statement, we vote on who is most likely to fulfill that statement. If there is a majority pointed towards an individual, that person drinks. Are we clear?”
Qor slowly slide the oiled tray to the centre of the table, took a shot for himself and downed it for good measure. The sting of the barley spirit flickered like flame on the back of his throat. Qor coughed and sputtered through his gills, as he leaned back. He folded his legs over and twined his fingers, with an elbow on the back of the chair. With his position swaying slightly, he waited with baited breath towards their interest, as his was now piqued in this group.
“Yes, Master, Sir,” Rue said immediately to the check, and took another one of the indicated shots.
Carmen threw back the rest of his scotch to make room in front of him for the shot, and raised the empty glass to Qor.
“Sounds like a plan, Stan. You wanna take the first crack then?”
The hybrid blinked.
“Is your name also Stan, Friend Qor?”
Qor lifted his shot and slowly looked around the room, the Force gauging the intentions and personalities of his comraderies.
“Who is the most likely to throw themselves into a situation, instinctually, and cease to exist?”
Qor turns his gaze towards Rue, his brow furrowing in confusion, shoulders swaying left & right.
“What in the Force is a ‘Stan’?” He replies, words slurring as his gills bubble and form small froth pockets.
Carmen scratches his cheek and shrugs, “Well, I don’t really see anyone here acting particularly rashly. Not anything that would result in death, at least. Buuuuut if you put a blaster to my head, I’d have to say you!”
Carmen pointed at Qor with apologetic smile.
“I mean, you did just claim I was trying to rob or kill all of you or something. Imagine if I was actually a fighter with a short temper!”
“It also depends what’s on the other side of that situation,” Blackwood agreed. “Or how readily you can rig the game before jumping into it. There’s been a few times where people have walked away from certain death by rigging the odds in their favour.”
Rue was quiet, chewing on his lip between shots, unfamiliar and distracted with this slow, creeping tingle in fingertips that was presumably the result of the alcohol and this form of consuming it.
“This one could cease to exist at any moment, as it was never meant to survive. It has always been a sacrifice for God. That is its purpose. In its experience, people on the Outside do not share this thinking, but rather expect, quite vociferously, to live. By this measure, it hypothesizes the candidate would be itself.”
“Kid. No. Just no,” Blackwood said, sounding more exasperated than anything else. “Don’t do down the road of fate, value of life, or that kind of nonsense. It always ends badly and with someone else trying to pick up the pieces. Besides, I’ve met and ended a lot of things which were never meant to live in the first place. All of them were a hell of a lot uglier than you are.”
Glinting eyebrows furrowed at the red Barabel, a mix of genuine confusion and the smallest hint of frustration playing over his features, the sharp flick of his tail.
“I do not understand what prescribed ugliness has to do with intentionality in health outcomes,” he started, picking words carefully, like stepping through a thicket of thorns. “This one is not traversing any roads that presumably are a metaphor. It is speaking of objective data. When this one’s genome was configured and it was grown – one hundred and twenty nine standard years ago, with adolescence being achieved at a standard rate in order to observe the genetic development without rapid growth factor introduced – the Masters did not build for stability. They almost never did. This is why so many of the litluns died before exceeding infancy. Testing was primarily to combine, isolate, and display certain traits across the chimerization of multiple species. For instance, this one is–”
He stopped suddenly on a small burp that tasted of the taykeela, and that pause was enough to catch himself.
“Oh. Oh I began to do the rambling again. I am sorry. You did not ask me anything and the game is not sharing truths.”
His ears folded back, a plaintive look sent about the table seeking forgiveness for the transgression.
“You were, but… Just a couple of things,” Blackwood said, taking some seconds to clearly process what he’d just heard. “First off, ugliness is something at a core of a person. I’m not going to judge a guy unlucky enough to get a bad bout of skin rot or born with a conk too large for their features. Especially when I can’t do anything about it his,” he waved a hand over his face, indicating his own reptilian visage.“ Cruelty, sadism, getting your jollies while kicking someone out of their home? That’s the kind of ugliness that sticks out even if it’s not apparent at first.”
Blackwood sighed, considering saying more as he took into account Rue’s words again, then pressed on.
“As for the second, you’re definitely one-thirty? How many days in a year are you measuring this by?”
“Ah…” Rue’s posture eased slightly at the lack of true adomonishment and simple explanation. “You meant an ugliness of…self.” He nodded, then answered promptly to the question: “The planet upon which we were cultivated had an orbital period of ninety-one and four-hundred days around its star. However, the Master used what he called a ‘standard’ calendar for all his experiments, as was his decree, and this one has found here on the Outside this to match the Galactic Standard Calendar which considers the Coruscanti solar cycle as standard with sixty-eight and three-hundred days.” A satisfied mrrt left his chest. “Much of the research in the library I’ve read so far on various topics uses the same dating system. It is very convenient! Though fascinating when others are used…If this one may be bold, I find myself shocked that the system is quite so standardized to the degree that it appears to be, given the sheer vastness of the Outside, of this galaxy. I am still trying to understand how this homogenization came to be.”