Session export: Oodles of Noodles

Sometime shortly after opening, a yellow landspeeder came to a stop on the landing pad outside the restaurant. Its door slid open and out leapt a large lanky grey-red canid followed by a faintly striped human, presumably the creature’s owner. The man uttered a quick word not in Basic to the creature who came to heel by his leg while he paid the taxi service for the ride. Afterwards, he turned and fixed his Dactillion-leather jacket over a dark maroon shirt, the breeze rippling his grey cargo pants.

Kobign Settgré opened the gate and strolled inside the building towards the bar, stopping a meter away to stare at the flickering holo-menu that was more images than words. His companion came to lay between his legs, attention fixed only on his master as he ignored the handful of staff working. After a moment of deliberation, the half-Selenian approached the end of the bar and turned his hazel eyes to the older woman standing nearby.

“Afternoon, Ma'am,” he greeted with a smile.

A second taxi landed and opened the passenger side door. Stepping out, a figure wearing a large black hooded cloak stood on the landing pad a moment before paying the taxi driver and walking towards the noodle shop. After payment, the taxi then flew away to another job.

“So this is the place. I have heard good things about the food.” As she approached, the Sith watched a man with a grey and red colored canid enter the shop before stepping inside herself.

Inside, she could smell a variety of savory meats, fish, sauces, and broth wafting from the back of the bar counter. Sweet and sour, salty, and pungent fishy scents drifted to her nostrils, along with the smell of fresh noodles cooking. As she looked around the place, Tasha spotted a few planets framed along the wall. She recognized one of them, her home planet, Ryloth. Under her hood, she smiled softly as she began to make her way to the holo menu displayed on the front of the bar counter. Taking her datapad, she scanned the code and began perusing through the holo menu, searching for the type of noodle, broth, and items to add to the bowl. They were correct; this was indeed a very good noodle shop.

“I have not. It’s been a minute since I’ve been in town, don’t believe this place was up and running then.” Kobign gave her a grateful nod for the ordering process breakdown, and had one last glance over the menu. “I’ll have a medium spicy soup with clear-noodles, braised shaak, Li'etan vegetables, topped with antarian peas and onions. And one fizz, thanks.”

A quiet borf sounded by his boots.

The man chuffed and gave the Noodle Matron a half-grin, “And, if all possible, a small helping of whatever non-spicy meat you have on hand?”

“Yes, I do think that I am.” She nodded to the man. “I would like a very spicy broth bowl with clear noodles, braised Nerf tenderloin, Lie'tan vegetables as well, a bulabird ramen egg, and topped with antarian onions. And some sake, please.” She smiled again at the canid giving a quiet borf.

A taxi landed on the pad, the door opening and the frame of the taxi itself seemed to let out a relieved groan as a tall purple furred Lasat stepped out first. He glanced around for a moment before offering a hand to the next being to emerge, a petite crimson skinned Togruta. She took the offered hand and almost bounced out, the lightness in her steps as she took a few paces towards the quaint shop until the Lasat cleared his throat.

“Vam, seriously,” sighed the woman, as the little Tailring that was seated around the the back of her neck and shoulders, stirred a bit. “There are threats that we can’t handle. Jeez, we’re just getting food.”

“Yes, Mistress Tarentae,” his deep voice rumbled, as green eyes darted around the area again, while folding his arms. “I am quite serious. With everything that has happened you can’t be too careful.”

An exasperated sigh escaped Tahiri, but before she could answer, a smooth voice cut through the building tension.

“You both are right,” a third tall and lean figure exited the taxi, after having paid the driver and then closed the door. Turning to them, the Nagai looked between the two of them with slightly tired grey eyes.

“We really can not be too careful, your brother warned us before we left, Mistress. However, whatever and whomever decides to impede will not stand a chance,” he paused for a moment as he caught sight of the glowing menu inside the noodle shop. “And as Mistress Tahiri has stated, we are here for food. And I for one am famished.”

Without another word, he walked forward, passing both of his superiors, and opened and held the gate, his movements fluid as he motioned for them to come. He waited.

“I’m hungry too, besides this is a new shop here, it’s better than that club that Ro had suggested,” Tahiri smiled and walked through the gate. “Seems to me, Vam is more hangry than hungry.”

“Agreed.”

“Hey, will you two stop that,” Vam let out a sigh before following and muttering under his breath. “I’m not hangry. I just haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Tahiri entered the shop first, followed by her two taller ‘bodyguards’. She quickly pulled out her datapad and scanned the code on menu. She made sure it was visible for the other two to look at, as she began pointing at a few things that she knew they would both like.

Kobign paid for his order, dipping his head in thanks as he picked up his tray. He turned and caught a hooded woman giving Canchi a smile. When she looked up and they met eyes he gave her a smile back, noting her blue skin and what looked like lekku draped around her shoulders before moving on his way. His gaze caught an approaching trio – a togruta woman flanked by a tall Lasat and a lithe pale skinned near-human.

“Khaypi, ahli laddu.”

Ruddy grey ears perked as Canchi hopped up, spun and pressed himself against the half-Selenian’s right leg as he turned off to the left of the main walkway. Kobign set their meal down on a table halfway between the front door and the sushi bar, and sat with his back to the former. Another word to the Cythraul had the canid laying at his feet beneath the table – thankfully he was smaller and lither than most of his kin to fit – and facing the main stretch. Kobign offered him a piece of meat, which was eagerly accepted, then turned to his own meal. He watched the ongoings of the restaurant casually and alternatively between keeping his head down and focused on his food, all while raking his brain on why one little crimson lady seemed familiar.

As she waited for Kobign and catching his eyes, she decided to pull of her hood and reveal herself. She let her black tattooed blue lekku sit in front of her.

The left lekku bore a stab scar from a fight, but her gentle emerald eyes and warm smile were calming. As he walked off, she sauntered up to the register.

Already, she could smell the wonderful hot and spicy noodles on the tray.

“This looks amazing, thank you.” She replied to the man at the register. Taking out her credit chip she paid for the meal, but also matched the meal price as an extra tip. She always loved small shops like this one and would definately come here more often to give them business. She then took her tray and set herself down at a smaller table under the Ryloth picture on the left side wall.

Grinning she took out from her side pocket, a pair of handcrafted ornate jade colored chopsticks with small dragons on the sides. It was her favorite pair that she always brought with her as they were the last thing her grandfather had made and given to her besides his blade before he passed. Growing up, Morra'Tel would always take her to a small noodle shop on Ryloth and tell her some of the many war stories he had been sent out to help.

This place reminded her of the fond memory making her smile as she began to eat the noodles.

The seat next to him, on the door side, creaked with a sudden influx of weight. A very distinct vambrace on an even more distinct left arm bearing a hand with only four fingers appeared in his personal bubble, as the bulk of the figure that had just taken a seat next to him was significantly greater than what the furniture was standardized for.

Unblinking red eyes stared bore holes into the assembled guests and staff as well as the door, not deigning to look at Kobign and very much not looking at the Cythraul settled at his feet. A datapad clicked to the counter, an open text prompt addressing him.

Your idiocy is growing beyond a personality trait and into the iconic.

There wasn’t a need to look up at the black marble statue of a man that had joined him, Kobign knew exactly who it was as soon as he saw the gnarled hand and vambrace. Popping the bit of twirled noodles on his chop sticks into his mouth, he rested the utensils on his bowl and pulled his gaze away from the trio ordering to read the datapad. He chuffed and swallowed his food.

“Love you too,” the half-Selenian uttered, gesturing his hand with all but his middle and ring fingers out – one of the slowly growing Galactic Signs he knew. “I thought I had twelve years or so to go before someone called me iconic.”

The gesture got promptly slapped with a pair of chopsticks just on the side of too close to actual stabbing, enough to leave a welt. Kobign saw it coming, tried to pull his signing hand away, but couldn’t quite dodge fast enough. Foxen’s additional middle finger salute wasn’t in need of any studying to understand.

Shut up, his brother-in-law said, another Sign he knew very well by now, courtesy of the current speaker. Then it was back to the pad.

If you came to this shithole of all places for this food and it isn’t up to standard, I’m going to punch you in the teeth. Where are the rest of your weapons? I only clocked the one gun.

Kobign bit back a sharp inhale of pain, shaking it off only a couple times until the tingling numbed. He shifted in his seat and adjusted his leather jacket to conceal once again the DC-17 holstered at his side. Glancing fully at Foxen finally, he quirked an eyebrow before picking up his bottle of fizz.

“You’ll have to tell me if it is, Mister Noodle School Graduate,” the shorter half-Human’s lips twitched and he took a sip of his drink. Setting it down, Kobign shook his head, voice dropping the snark bit briefly for a serious answer. Briefly. “Knife on the belt, right. A puller, leg satch’ – Gotta be a bad shot to need more than one gun.”

He paused, a pensive look ghosting his features, noticeable to the man beside him out of the luxury of one too many cookouts together. “I, uh, actually rather wish I didn’t have it on me, the gun. Makes it easy to escalate a situation. But it made Jax feel better about me coming here…after Cypress IV.”

“I appear to be overdressed,” Nemera hissed. Her grey-gold eyes were firmly affixed on the Twi'lek sitting across from her who, at the very least, had the conscious if not good grace to look embarrassed.

When Sildari had suggested this location for a ‘quick bite’, Nemera had acquiesced. She was peckish, at least, and would be willing to partake. But she was used to a certain minimum standard. Proper seating, for one. Decorum, another.

A bistro, perhaps, would have been acceptable. Refinement in some form.

Yet, that was not the case. And there Nemera was, donning her typical dress with the golden accented trim and similarly shining golden lines streaking down from beneath each eye. It was eye catching and not in a controllable way. No, it was out of place.

“It’s really good, though,” Sildari sheepishly offered as an explanation. “There’s just something homey about noodles.”

Nemera raised one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows, strands of curled hair—the one thing that denied her control—hung loosely and framed her face as it continued to claw into the Twi'lek. “Do I appear to you as one needing a reminder of ‘home’, little one?”

That brought silence. And awkward laughter.

“Just…just try it okay? You don’t have to order! You can try mine! Promise it won’t be poisoned. Unless I drop dead. Then it’s poisoned. That would suck though—”

“It is too late now, little one. We are here. Lead the way.”

With that, the Twi'lek opened the shuttle’s door just as they touched down outside Oodles of Noodles. Sildari slipped out first, doing a quick check of the surroundings before inviting Nemera to follow.

Idly, in one further most corner where they could keep their back wedged to two walls and watched everyone, perched a pale Shani crested in tall, coral, turquoise, and sea green feathers. Their jaw was unhinged, open wide, and they licked lazily at what seemed to be just a solid, soft seaweed-wrappered tube of green paste, the [space] wasabi.

Smiling as she ate about half the noodles, she turned her head and caught sight of this shani perched on her haunches, just eating wasabi in one huge gulp.

It was so horrifyingly impressive, she just couldn’t take her eyes of such a magnificent brazen display of tolerating hot spicyness.

The Twi'lek’s staring was rewarded with the Shani’s free hand lifting to crook a single finger at her, a wave of the mildest proportions. Then their head cocked, something that the feathers made seem bird-like despite those slitted golden snake eyes, and they openly looked Tasha over, lingering on her tattoos before meeting eyes again.

“Do you seek power?” they asked in the gutteral, grimoire syllables of Ancient Sith. “Or just noodles?”

It had been a while since she heard the Ancient Sith tongue; the last thing she had spoken to in Ancient Sith was Ferraso'tah. That Sith spirit could rot in the nine hells for all she cared. She would find a way to remove him from Bentre. She just needed the right moment and time. Shaking her initial surprise at the language, she smiled at the Shani and laughed. “Noodles and perhaps company, just depends, I guess. This place brings some very pleasant nostalgia for me.”

Gotta be a bad shot to need more than one gun.

When the Mandalorian was very much carrying two pistols, 30 knives, and several explosives.

The dark skin under one red eye twitched.

The insulting sign that came next was yet another Kobign recognized, but for all its sharpness of gesture the familiarity of it, and the slightest lean that briefly touched their arms together at the shoulder, conveyed a sort of commiseration.

Jax.

Another shared sign. A huff of an exhale left the massive Nautolan-Chagrian hybrid, and he shook his horned head.

Why do you think I’m here?

That planet. That mess. Jax, lost without him. Barely keeping up on managing their daughter.

Foxen slid the pad back over and then snagged the rim of the journalist’s bowl of noodles with the same smooth motion, extension and retraction. He pulled it towards himself, expertly whirling chopsticks to sample as he was to judge – both the restaurant and his in-law’s order.

“What that must be like?” remarked the reptile, a bit biting, but not without a genuine and bizarre curiosity. They kept lapping at their paste. “Tell me. Are you a hand puppet of the Sith, or can your ass actually sit flat in that chair?”

Tasha laughed amusedly. “Hand puppet of the Sith I am not, as for my ass in the chair, I think my hips are a bit too curvy to sit entirely flat. Though they do amazingly well at shaking if I were to stand up and dance about.”

Thin nostrils slitted even further as the Shani grimaced, elongated mouth wrinkling with disgust. “Keep your seat. But very well then. What’s the story of a noodle-nostalgic, dancing Twi'lek with Kissai Sith tattoos telling ghosts to get bollocked?”

She glanced at her lekku, then looked back. “Well, since I don’t really prefer talking at a longer distance.” She rose and walked closer to where the Shani was perched. Still maintaining a respectable distance so as not to invade her personal space, Tasha leaned against the wall.

“A story indeed it is, as I was 18 at the time on Ryloth. I was dancing as usual, happy carefree young adult Twi'lek on my way to my Grandfather’s Estate. Little did I know at the time that Sith Acolytes had been tracking me for some time and decided at that moment to strike. One moment, happy dance walking, then next, I was bound in a net, blindfolded, gagged, and being stuffed into a speeder.” Her eyes darkened. “Everything black, I was jostled about until after an hour, the speeder stopped, and I was dragged along the ground into what felt like a cave. Finally taking the blindfold off, I saw my captors. Several Sith acolytes.” She paused, then, taking a drink of the Sake glass she took with her.

Before it could really register—both due to the monotony of the act and lack of interest on Nemera’s part—the Firrerreon woman found herself seated across from Sildari and staring at the bowl that had been placed before her. Obviously, she inspected it.

Some form of clear noodles made serpentine coils throughout the vessel, coated in something shiny and suspiciously viscous. Crumbled clusters of nerf could be found, browned to perfection, and tossed alongside stir-fried mixed vegetables that added a splash of colour and texture. Atop it all lay a criss-cross weave of an apparently spicy sauce and seeds of some kind.

Edible? Perhaps. The Twi'lek certainly thought so as she loudly slurped the dish between sucking lips.

Nemera could only blink and stare. Resigning herself to a fate she never asked for and surely didn’t deserve, she reached out with her blackened fingers and grasped the utensil between sharp nails. Gingerly, with a hesitation born of caution, Nemera speared a coil of noodles and meat, bringing it to her waiting mouth.

Okay. Homey? No. Tastey? Unquestionably.

Not that she’d say it out loud.

“They always have to do these things underground and dramatically, don’t they?” the Shani’s tone was deceptively light, yet poised and sharp, like a scalpel at the jugular. They watched her sip, then reached to their hip and pulled off a flask, offering it. “I rather presume bloodshed came next?”

Glancing to his right, the half-Selenian paused at the brushing of their shoulders. Kobign exhaled and nodded once, recognizing the rare contact and sympathy born from their mutual struggle of survival. He saw the familiar name sign and could guess what was typed on that datapad before it was slid over into his reach, confirming. Turning, he opened his mouth to respond when he spotted his stolen food being consumed by the Nautolan-hybrid

Foxen would find the dish was exactly what Kobign ordered. The noodles were tender and near glassy yet their integrity kept intact in the hot broth. The starch absorbed the rich flavors and moderate heat of the soup, whatever lack of spice it had was a matter of his brother-in-law’s preference and not on the cooks’ skills. Flyndt wouldn’t even bat an eye at it but then again the Omwati could stomach spices that would make most mandalorians curl in defeat. The braised shaak was well done, tender and shredded easily, while the Li'etan vegetables added a savoriness to wrap it all together in a solid meal.

It was good food with genuine care put into it and the cultures inspired from. Surely there were notes to be made, like perhaps the flavor and freshness was two-point-three percent lessened by the pure fact of being prepped early and left on warm. But mostly, the opinions likely surrounded the half-Selenian’s taste in general. Like why the kark was there peas?

“If you’re hungry, I can spot you a meal. Well, o'great chef, is it up to standard or is my taste shit?” Kobign joked with a huff. He leaned back into his chair and took the opportunity of his food being commandeered to give Canchi more of his meat bits. “Really though, I’ll pay for lunch. If you’re here to watch my back while I work, then you’re going to be here for a few days. It takes time to track down sources in field.”

“Hmm,” was Foxen’s overall response, a rasp that lilted upwards into the positive affirmation. Red eyes tracked Kobign’s hands, flicking to them every few seconds when not clocking about their surroundings, hyperfocusing on flashes of Canchi’s teeth as he sunk them into meat. Deliberately, he chose to look away, up to the nuisance’s face.

“Deal,” the Nautolan signed, though literally it was just yes. “O-R-D-E-R, order, O-R-D-E-R me the same thing. Even though P-E-A-S, peas, P-E-A-S incorrect.”

It wasn’t ideal to be forcing Kobign to practice his Sign in a hostile setting, but on the other hand (oh,dammit, Jax), it was also the best time.

“Speaking of S-O-U-R-C-E-S, sources, S-O-U-R-C-E-S, what do you see?” He gestured around them, not a phrase, but encompassing the room.

Tasha'vel nodded taking the flask and drinking a swig of the flask.“My force powers awakened and all I had were dead bodies around me. Since that time, ive always trained my body, mind and soul to protect myself. Never again, will I ever let myself be so helpless that I can be easily kidnapped.

Though.” She laughed in a sad tone. “Had this been poison, I would probably be dead for just blindly trusting, but I guess in the world of things sometimes you just have to take a risk to see the result.”

Kobign stared at Foxen for a good few seconds, enough that the Nautolan-hybrid might have thought the man had forgotten how to finger spell. Then he gestured the new signs back a couple times, knowing full well how his brother-in-law was with training expectations, let alone being useful for himself. He shook his head afterwards and pulled his bowl back from the Mandalorian. Noodles curled around his chopsticks and hovered short of being eaten as he uttered a quick response, “If you don’t want the peas, just say so. I’m only here for a bite to eat.”

For a fraction of a moment, peas weren’t peas and potential sources were a test of observational skills.

And karking damn it was Kobign Settgré a sucker for a challenge, even a menial one.

“Okay. Going to…order that for you then,” the half-Selenian announced both verbally and gesturally, pausing to remember the sign for ‘order.’ He set his chopsticks on the rim of his dish and stood. Glancing down at the lanky cythraul beneath the table, he uttered in his reclaimed native tongue, “Canchi, samann.”

The ruddy-grey canine set his head back down with but a single thump of his tail and watched his master leave. Kobign made his way back to the main counter, helping himself to a couple napkins and a few trained, keen idle glances of his surroundings. He noted several sights while he waited to order behind the trio deliberating their final choices. His thoughts didn’t linger much like his glances, replaced by general boredom and a longing to get back to his own meal.

<@375384499770359819> <@186977617356783616>

Tahiri smiled and was about to step forward, before she felt the Lasat next to her stiffened and she caught the sigh from Raz. Glancing over her right shoulder at the two men, she saw him eyes shifting to someone behind her, then glancing over her other shoulder and spotting the person that was getting the Lasat’s hackles up, the Elder couldn’t help but give a small sigh.

“Vam, settle down. He is a friend, not a threat.”

“What?” Vam’s eyes stayed hooked on the hulking figure sitting at the table the half-Selenian was.

“Do I have to give you an order to settle down and be nice? Or are you gonna settle down and enjoy a good meal?”

Vam visibly looked pained almost and grunted a little as he looked back and forth between Tahiri and the Mandalorian. He trusted her and knew that she had friends within the other clans who were Mando’s.

“I will… settle down,” he said reluctantly with a bit of a huff. “You know it’ll be the same as when I saw you with Miss Armis. Any move to ha-”

“Any move to harm me will be dealt with.” Tahiri interrupted him. “Yes, yes I know. Just FYI, Specialist Erinos is Minnie’s brother, and thus is Bril’s brother-in-law. You know what that means, don’t you?”

Vam straightened, realizing exactly what that meant. Both Mandolarian’s were by that exact definition Extended Family. And he knew that was the one thing Tahiri took as seriously as her friends and through that even her subordinates. Which for still the life of him, he could fathom why she ever cared about him or the rest of crew the way she did. But that is was the reason he and the crew cared about her in turn.

“Yes Mistress,” the tall Lasat relaxed a tad, though still wary of the Mando.

Seeing that her bodyguard had indeed settled for the moment, she flashed her bright signature fanged smile and nodded.

“Now let’s order,” turning back to the sweet older woman. “Sorry about that. We’ll get these… and that’ll be all together on the same bill.”

The following order was alot to take in as she ordered for Vam first, making sure to get the large bowl of Uedan noodles, spicy broth, with a double portion of Bantha meat (the second portion could go on the side), a ramen style egg, peas, greens, and onion. The Elder herself ordered the chefs special of sashimi, and small bowl of clear-noodles in medium spicy miso broth, with a portion of Shaak meat, onion, and Li'etan vegetables. She also asked for some smoked Nerf, if they happened to have it for the little one on her shoulder. Raz ordered a large bowl of redglass noodles, light spicy broth, braised Nerf, a ramen egg, peas, and Li'etan vegetables.

While Vam asked for a fizz drink, Raz asked for the house tea, and Tahiri wished to trying their recommendation of Sake.

<@186977617356783616> <@244244400488710155> <@244244163002892288>

The redheaded object: category: Human(?) staring at them and particularly following their hands with an obvious intelligence did not escape Foxen’s notice. Nor did her moving to intercept and isolate Kobign from behind the Tahiri’s yapping xenophobic and/or Traumatized By All Mandalorians Forever At Some Point gaggle of guards she did not need given she could slaughter most inhabitants of the room in ≥4.38 minutes before he stopped her. Foxen’s auditory senses recorded that side conversation, though it was not his focus; the unknown female object was, and while Kobign watched his own hands while he ordered to make sure he was using the right signs, the Nautolan watched her, and his back, poised with the throwing knife currently resting in his palm to execute deployment, distance 1.3989 m, 112° angle, throw 3.35 kg⋅m/s². He is considering which possible poison/toxin compounds could have been or be dispersed into Kobign’s bowl of soup that would likely not be affecting Foxen, given his tolerance to many common market substances, but that would affect Kobign…

Assessment/experiment necessary.

Red eyes briefly clocked down, to the Cythraul. Who has been left beside him with only a wood chair as barrier. He fishes a bit of meat out of his brother in law’s bowl rather than the designated Canchi side dish and drops it on the floor 4 cm from the canid’s deadly mouth.

Waits, and resumes Watching. She is still signing, and there is not yet any drawing of hidden blades or electroshock implements from the female, so that’s positive. Kobign had fortunately put his hands back in his pockets while he faux lounged. Foxen hopes he will keep up the (ugh) intelligent habit of not shaking that served him so well as a filthy fraking aruetii spy amongst goddamn mind-touching jediit in years past.

<@375384499770359819> <@186977617356783616> <@244244400488710155>

Kobign drew his ear from Tahiri and her two companions, missing their conversation as he focused in on the woman addressing him. He nodded briskly and stepped up to the counter before her. Noting her use of sign language, it was easy to assume she had spotted Foxen and his conversation.

“Hello. Uh, yeah, practice does,” the faintly striped human reaffirmed. He shifted with a shrug of his shoulders raising both his cybernetic right hand and fleshy left to gesture as he spoke. Some of the words were broken down into spelling whenever he encountered one he did not know. “I would like to order medium spicy, M-E-D-I-U-M S-P-I-C-Y, soup with clear noodle, S-H-A-A-K and L-I ‘ E-T-A-N vegetables.”

He paused and looked over his shoulder at Foxen briefly before continuing with a half-grin, “Peas and onions too. A F-I-Z-Z drink. Thank you.”

While Tahiri decided to wait for the food, she shooed both Vam and Raz off to find them a table. She’d bring the food over as soon as it was ready.

Vam was about to protest, but went immediately silent once as she gave him a look.

“Go. Find us a table and don’t start nothing,” she then turned to Raz. “Please keep an eye on him.”

Her hand was swifter than his mouth, as two fingers pressed against the tall Lasat’s lips, just barely pressing on them.

“I don’t want to hear another word. We are here for food and a moment of respite. Besides, I’m paying for the meal, so get going. I’ll be over shortly.”

Raz nudged Vam with his arm, before he finally sighed and bowed his head, following the Nagai over a corner table. He immediately took the seat against the wall, facing the door, Raz shook his head and took the across and down one from him.

Tahiri watched the two of them go and finally relaxed a bit. She sighed and a little warble came from her left shoulder, as Eeth'Mireth pressed and rubbed her little nose against the underside of her chin in a comforting way.

Glancing around, she nodded to the sapphire Twi'Lek, not wanting to bother Tasha while she was talking with whomever that was, it seemed like a nice conversation. She glanced at Foxen and decided that she would wait till Kob was back over by him, and she wanted to make sure Eeth was eating at another before doing so. It would not be good to trigger the hulking Nautolan-Chagrian hybrid here of all places.

Seeing as there were a few familiar signatures in the Force surrounding her, of whom she called friend here, she relaxed a bit more. While the food was made, she pulled into herself for a moment, wanting just one tiny moment of peace, for her mind and body. She knew that left her open to not fully sensing if anyone was approaching her, but if there was ill intent of harm, she trusted in the Force and knew her body would react accordingly.

Thus she didn’t suspect the surprise someone that came up behind her.

The Shani was smiling with that unhinged mouth, an admirable look in the tilt of their feathery, scaled brows, barely there on the lovely, serpentine-humanoid face. “Depending upon your definition of poison, it is. Alcohols, shall we speak broadly of the chemistry, of more typically poisonous levels. And a dash of coaxium. For taste.” Despite the airily sarcastic tone, they seemed perfectly serious, and the taste of shat Tasha had drank certainly matched a description like that. “You must be quite the connoisseur of calculated abuse or commingling face-down with the gutter drainage outside to not flinch at this. Cheers on murdering your captors though. It’s a long-term goal of mine. So pesky the list keeps growing.”

As a bowl arrived for Tahiri, someone made the mistake of claiming it was the hottest thing in the galaxy.

The stool beside the Togruta shifted with the faint shimmer of collapsing light. Socorra appeared seated there as though she had been there the whole time.

In a noodle shop with proper spice, she very well might have been.

“Wait.”

Socorra immediately reached over and stabbed the meal with her sticks, pinning a noodle with the same lethal efficiency she might use to sink a blade under a jaw. She slurped up the noodle, expression grave enough to suggest this was official business.

“Let me judge you,” she said around the mouthful.

From her shoulders, Nhar’quis instantly perked at the sight of his friend Eeth'Mireth on Tahiri’s shoulder.

The runt Tailring puffed himself up, wings lifting and fanning wide in what was clearly meant to be an impressive display. His little body swelled with importance. His head bobbed once, then twice, and his tiny claws shifted in careful sideways steps as though he had practiced this moment and immediately forgotten half of it.

Then he vanished with a flap.

A heartbeat later, someone several tables away made a very offended sound.

Nhar’quis returned triumphantly with a stolen noodle dangling from his mouth like hunted prey before landing on her armored shoulder once more. She didn’t flinch, long used to the little Socorran dragon coming and going as he pleased.

This time, though, he sidled closer toward Eeth in slow, deliberate little steps, wings still half-fanned, head tucked in shyly despite his best efforts to look smooth and magnificent. He offered her the noodle with a soft, uncertain trill.

Socorra considered her stolen bite, weighing spice level against the more practical question of whether anyone was stupid enough to poison the new Proconsul in public.

“Hm… definitely not poisoned.”

Her one-eyed arctic gaze flicked back to the bowl, then to Tahiri with a small smirk.

“Acceptable heat. Damn. I had full riot prepared if insult to spice,” she admitted, the sticks twirling between her fingers like throwing blades. “Was very dramatic. Possible stabbing involved.”

Somehow, she made the threatened violence sound almost considerate.

The Twi’lek smirked, showing her sharper teeth to the Shani.

“Well when in a job like mine, you never know when someone might try to slip you something. I’ve spent a decade forming resistance to poisons. I have to say your ratios are very potent. I have no doubt if someone tried to drink that, they would be rolling on the floor from the sheer smell. Probably also be in the nine hells too if they decided to drink it.” She shifted her lekku back as she leaned a bit closer to the shani. “ I will tell you something neat and show you a very rare poison.” She took a small vial of violet colored liquid from her hidden side pocket, showing it off to her.

“This is ten years of perfecting a poison from the rare Rylothian lilies in the Jinxuan desert. The flowers themselves contain a paralyzing agent that when cultivated properly can be quite useful in situations. When diluted, the effect can take a few hours to paralyze an individual, however should you want instant results just give it straight.” She winked as her smile widened.

“If you ever want to learn how to make this as well as experiment to make fascinating new poisons, I do have a small botanical garden and lab on my estate in Ryloth that you are welcome to stop by. Just let me know you are coming.”

Kobign did indeed followed along, piecing the gestures together as she demonstrated again. A quick learner, he picked it up swiftly and managed to order fully in sign by himself.

“Thanks for the lesson, I appreciate it. Rare to find a place that uses it,” the near-human uttered verbally. He watched her finish putting the order together. “This place seems fairly new in the area, when about did you first open?”

Kobign peered over his shoulder and around the shop briefly before returning her smile. “It appears the move has been successful. I hope it continues to be, thirty-eight years and going strong speaks much of their dedication and how good the food is. A family business?”

The Shani’s feathers stood in interest – though notably, not all of them, and those that did moved a bit stiffly – and they gave a pleased hiss and flick of their serpentine tongue as they leaned nearer, inspecting.

“Rylothian lilies…” they mused, scenting again, as if the ghost of the bloom could be smelled through the glass of the vial. “And what price, pray, O’ unconquered flower of Jinxuan, do you demand for this recipe?”

The azure Twi'lek smiled as she leaned in her voice quieter while her emerald eyes sparkled.

“From one Warrioress to a Huntress, War I feel is coming and all the Clans will need assistance for what is to come. I demand nothing, this vial you can keep and if you stop by my estate on Ryloth, I can give you some of these lilies to grow yourself and the recipe for the poison. I believe in unity against a common foe and would rather this come to good use against our true enemies.”

Eeth chirped at her friend, and nodded to his mother, Soccora, then watched Nhar'quis with a curious slightly cocked head at his display. Watching him carefully, before giving him a tiny squeak as he flew off. Huffing slightly, she wriggled her way from under her Alpha’s Lekku and crawled out onto her arm.

Seeing Nhar'quis fly back and then offering his hard fought prize to her, made the little female squeak. Blinking rapidly, she looked to Tahiri, but seeing her caregiver currently occupied, she turned back to the slightly shy, yet triumphant male.

Bobbing her head, she gave him a shy warble, flaring her wings slightly, and slowly stretched out her neck towards him. She paused for a moment as their snouts touched. She trilled before snapping up part of the noodle, bobbing her head again at him. Eeth purred as she sucked the noodle into her maw, coyly eyeing Nhar'quis before shaking her head and then she slipped off Tahiri’s arm and gracefully flapped her way up to an overhead ceiling beam. She trilled an invitation to him, before shyly hiding her head behind her wing.

Looking at the women with feigned incredulous disbelief, of someone who is used to siblings grabbing food off their plate. After a moment a fanged smile spread across her face, and a giggle escaped her lips.

“Well, I’m pleased it’s not poisoned,” meeting that arctic gaze with her grey eyes. “And that it is up to your standards. It is good to see you Socorra.” Smiling, she glanced over her shoulder, and her little Tailring.

“You want to keep sampling my bowl, or order one of your own? My treat.”

Before the woman could say anything, she picked up the second tray with the other two bowls on it, and held it off to the side as Raz appeared on the other side of her. Taking the tray, the Nagai nodded to Socorra and Tahiri, taking the tray back to the table he and Vam had chosen.

“We can sit up here at the bar. Or if you’d like, we can go join the guys at the table? Also, don’t mind Vam, he might seem like he wants to rip your head off, but I think that’s just him being hangry over anything else.”

Nar Shadaa, if there was any planet more against his ethos he hadn’t been there yet. Besides the sheer volume of people who lacked any sense of honor or ethics, there was the sheer number of people. Siorc disliked people in general though he had some he was okay with. But stacked on top of each other like some sort of modernized cliff dwellers made him cringe. His newly acquired credits from his latest bounty at least made the place bearable. Now he needed someplace quiet to eat.

The glowing neon signs all advertised various foods. Nothing sounded appealing to him until he spotted a small noodle bar. It was fairly busy but not swamped with a line out the door. He loved noodles, especially in a spicy dish. He walked into the dining area and didn’t wait to be seated. Generally speaking most places on this trash heap didn’t bother with that unless it was a high class establishment. But he didn’t care either way, his size generally let him make his own rules and he wanted a seat with his back to a wall.

A simple menu was on the table which let him know he had made the right choice in seating himself. He perused the offerings and his mind settled on a dish of hand cut noodles, spicy ronto broth with various cuts of meat and aromatics thrown on top. As he looked around the first thing that came to mind was how much protection money they had to pay to keep the place in business and how they were able to turn any profit with these prices.

The second thing that he noticed was that there was no wait staff. People were walking up to the counter to order and their meals were assembled with a speedy efficiency that he admired. At least he staked a claim on a chair and table before he ordered. It would have been bad to stand there holding a bowl of hot noodles and a beer without a proper table.

He walked past the glass display case full of various raw fish. He liked the preparation that way but his heart was set on noodles. An older woman and younger man were behind the counter throwing dishes together furiously and with surprising accuracy. They were as professional in a kitchen as he was with a blaster. He leaned against the counter waiting to order. He had time and wasn’t going to rudely interrupt their flow by being impatient.

“Lovely, that is,” Kobign uttered with a glance at the young man. He smiled and pulled out some credits to pay for this second meal order. There was a quiet promise made to hit up the noodle shop whenever he was in town. “Well, I wish them luck. Thank you!”

He took the tray and made his way back to his seat. Canchi looked upwards from where his head was resting on the floor, drool streaming from his lips with a piece of meat inches from his nose. Kobign looked at him once, then to the massive Nautolan-hybrid sitting nearby. His eyebrow raised slightly before giving the cythraul the okay. Canchi snatched it right up.

“Eat it and weep, here.” Kobign slid the meal over and returned to his seat. He lowered his voice as he poked around his noodles again. “It’s bad business practice to poison random customers’ food, put the knife away.”

Over the next couple minutes, he relayed casually the various observations he had made since stepping into the establishment with an underlying note of a military report.

“Our azure lady speaking with the Shani kid came in shrouded has a liking for animals and a charismatic air to her. The kid raided the condiments and hasn’t ordered anything. Probably doesn’t have the creds to,” a twitch of his lips gave way to the hyper attentive man beside him a hint of personal experience.

“Tahiri’s here.” The fierce petite fighter he watched face off with a massive reptilian on that planet, and a leader within Clan Plagueis. He raised a hand to wave at the Erinos with her. “Her friend seems a bit hangry. They got her back. Socorra’s joined them.”

“Someone doesn’t know how to use chopsticks,” Kobign twitched his own over his bowl towards a table where another Twi'lek and a near-human – possibly Kiffar with those facial tattoos – sat. “A bit overdressed for Nar Shaddaa, and her friend seems more positive, less apprehensive about the place. Don’t know about him though, attentive though.”

<@244244163002892288>

. He took a sip of his fizz, glancing at the Mandalorian looking individual that walked past.

Foxen didn’t need to open and close his pinched fingers to say no to Kobign; he just used the single middle one to tell him so. But he did at least set the knife down within easy reach to eat. The food was decent, after all. And as demonstrated by the animal, not poison. (Yet.)

Suitable report, complimented the hybrid, having clocked most of what Kobign mentioned, if not all (hrm), while noticing some few different. You’re going to buy that ‘kid’ food before we leave, aren’t you? It was essentially rhetorical, as he knew Kobign would. The man adopted the families around Selen like Bril did random animals he didn’t have a place for and Jax did stupid idea. (Ugh they were made for each other). They’re literally swapping poison, by the by, so nice call there on S-C-H-E-M-E-S, champ.

“I wasn’t thinking it.” And he hadn’t been, yet, but now he absolutely was considering ordering the kid some food before leaving. The mention of them swapping poisons put a grimace on his lips, furrowing his brow in conflict. He sighed, “It’s Nar Shaddaa. Not surprising deals are made in plain sight and mundane shops.”

“It’s…probably not a great idea to go over and try dissuading them from whatever path they’re on, yeah?”

I would literally hold you down, his brother in law informed him with bland finger flicks, noodles disappearing between double rows of shark teeth. We don’t need more Foundlings, and that one… For once, Foxen actually allowed Kobign a flash of vulnerability, holding out his hand flat beneath their table, in the hybrid’s line of sight but out of others. It was shaking. He kept it there a moment before going on between bites. Feel it on my H-E-A-D-T-A-I-L-S even now, thanks so much N-A-R S-H-A-D-D-A smog/humidity, I hate it. Something wrong with that one. Let it burn itself out.

Realizing he was probably only giving Kobign MORE incentive to go play stupid frakking hero to some misbegotten predator in humanoid-shaped skin (oh hello, mirror), the Nautolan-Chagrian attempted redirection.

What’s this about your looking for a contact? We need to find someone?

There was emphasis, if a sneer, on the we.

The Shani’s serpentine eyes slitted, barely threads of gold peering back while their jaw hung open. Their head cocked. They hummed, considering the bottle, the hand holding it, the Twi'lek’s face and her markings.

“You ask nothing but nothing you do not give, and for something equal recompense must be,” replied the creature, reaching into their own sashes. They withdrew a differently shaped vial, of a denser, distorted glass, not machined or clear. It looked more as though someone had plucked a piece of fulminite out of scorched sands and drilled a hollow into it. Something greenish lurked inside. It whispered to Tasha, singing loo lee lie lae to her senses. The portent held some kind of energy, *D*ark and viscous and…laughing. “For your lilies I give you this. Not a paralytic. A caustic. Targets connective tissues. So much easier for a retina or the aortic trunk to detach and hemorhagge then, no? And painful.”

The vial Tasha had given disappeared into nowehere, kept secret and safe.

“And for the knowledge…perhaps, this war you mention, could use a few fewer fighters, hmm? Or a future favor. We shall…see. A bargain, yes?” She stuck out the hand holding the crudely corked bottle as though extending to shake. “You may call me Imopea.”

Eyeing the pair behind the counter the thick Imperial accent put him off a bit. Siorc wasn’t fond of Imperials like most Mandalorians. But he reasoned one couldn’t help where they were born anymore than he could help being from the dregs of Corellia. His voice rang out from behind his helmet as he ordered.

“Spicy noodle soup, and a beer, thank you.” He set down his credits on the counter. He liked to upfront and add a little extra. Sometimes it got him nothing. But he liked to think the geasture might help out on occasion. Maybe cause people to claim he never been there isf asked. Or if nothing else a little faster service and may a bit more food on the plate than normal. So he paid double. “A bit extra for your trouble.”

Hazel eyes glanced down to deliberate movement beneath the table. The shaking hand from a seemingly indomitable stone giant was unsettling to say the least, and with the heavy emphasis on the teen having some sort of wrongness about them. Kobign frowned and glanced once more over to the Shani, his jaw working in thought. There were some things in the Galaxy best left untouched. Regardless on whether he should or should not try, Foxen being so on edge now was a good reason to just not. He sighed and dropped a couple more pieces of meat for Canchi.

“I have a gent that I’ve been warming up here. He’s looking to get out of the gang he’s with and offering up intel to do so,” Kobign answered, taking the redirection hook. “We’ve worked out a way to get him in with the Shroud, news he’ll be happy to hear. I just need some more from him. Any luck and he’ll connect me with a couple other folks to chat with this visit.”

“That is all. Just a light affair today.”

Her left eyebrow arched as she gave a smirk and giggle. “ A potent caustic poison? Oh Imopea, how delightfully naughty.”

She carefully took the bottle, admiring it for a moment as if it were the most precious substance in the whole world before it seemed to vanish as well. Now that it was safely stowed away, the Sith gave her hand a handshake and a large Cheshire grin.

“Poison for poison exchange, oh you are such a lovely lady. Thank you! I can’t wait to use it on some poor sap that tries to mess with me during this war. It will be the most painful and costly cautionary tale not to mess with the likes of us.”

Her communicator then beeped. “Ah of course, well sadly, my time is up and I must go, but if you ever need me, poison, chat, or fighting something, here is my link.” She then slid a small datashard to the Shani and winked. “It also has my estate info, in case you ever want to drop by.”

She then turned back, taking her soup and finishing it, set the tray back to the used tray stand. As she made her way towards the exit, she smiled to Tahiri, giving her a friendly wave before donning her hood and making her way out of the store.

Moving his way down to the register Siorc handed the credits back to the woman as she gave him the total. He doubled the amount she had given again. He didn’t wait for a reply and picked up the tray and moved back to his table.

He released the seal on his helmet and eased it off his head. Instinctually he ran his fingers through his undercut to smooth the hair back into place. The broth smelled divine and the oils from the chili paste were gathering in a fine coat along the top of the broth. He pulled his blaster pistol from it’s holster and sat it beside the bowl. It was more out of practice than anything else. He even did it when eating alone on his ship.

Sipping the broth from his spoon he noted the slight sting of the chili paste and then the spices from the broth danced across his taste buds. This sure beat rations on The Salty Trinitaur he thought to himself and began eating the bowl in earnest. Noodles then broth, he slurped loudly as he shoveled the noodles in. It probably looked like hadn’t eaten in a month as he devoured the bowl paused only by intermittent sips from the beer.

The Smuggler’s Moon stretched endlessly bending around Creon’s peripherals as he cut through the night on his Vandal swoop, with suspended rivers of traffic which wove between monolithic skyscrapers and rusted industrial scaffolds. Acidic rain drifted in thin sheets across the darkened skyline, catching the neon glow of advertisements in red, violet, and blue.

Creon leaned forward over the controls with armored gauntlets firm on the throttle as the bike screamed across the urban canyon. Blue engines flared behind him, reflecting off polished durasteel and the corner of his polarized goggle lenses. His thick dark cloak whipped violently in the wind, snapping and folding behind him like a phantom trying to keep pace. As thousands of lights blurred together below him; advertising casinos, black markets, spice dens, floating billboards, etc. They came as a solemn reminder to Creon that Nar Shaddaa was a city that fed on excess. They distracted Creon not for tonight he had exactly one destination: noodles. He banked left hard, with his engines growling as he slipped between a cargo hauler and a descending shuttle with barely enough room for error. He then found the bright letters flickering unevenly as steam rose from vent stacks beneath it reading “Oodles of Noodles” with a cartoon grinning nerf holding a bowl of noodles. The shop was wedged between a cybernetic chop shop and a Twi’lek music lounge.

Creon eased on the throttle and the Vandal’s engines dropped from a roar to a low mechanical growl in descent toward the landing platform outside the restaurant. He took off his helmet and goggles and stared in silence. Within the moment, surrounded by rain, neon, and the perpetual chaos of Nar Shaddaa, there was something strangely peaceful about it. Though such peace was dispelled at the sight of the cartoon nerf with noodles, causing Creon to mutter to himself, “… Of course it does.”

His first steps towards the entrance slowed until he stopped before the doorway, shaken by the sudden wave of presences in the Force that washed over his mind like a flood of complexly arranged energy signatures. Most would simply drift at the edge of his awareness like passing stars in hyperspace, yet within the walls sat a heavier pressure in his senses. Within were dangerous things… and also familiar?

“Tahiri?” Creon muttered.

The others within he sensed were too difficult to identify. One felt like restrained violence wrapped in iron discipline, another with sharp and focused amusement. Then there was one that simply felt… wrong. It wasn’t so much dark or gave off hostile intent; like an error in a program or a shadow that moved incorrectly that indicated you were actually in a dream. Neural oscillations from the minds within expanded to encompass his body’s bioelectromagnetic field, revealing his presence outside the door to those sensitive in the Force. Creon could no longer stand idle, and instinctively concealed his presence in the Force. He took a breath and stepped inside. The Force then became faces once the sensations sharpened after stepping into this new dominion. Warm broth and spice immediately displaced the cold air outside with quiet conversation overlapping with clinking dishes and scraping of chairs across the floor. Creon’s gaze moved without lingering. He spotted a hulking figure at one table who technically looked relaxed. Nearby sat a half-Selenian with a canid at his feet and the demeanor of someone attempting very hard to pretend everything was ordinary. Another corner held what he recognized to be a Mandalorian methododically consuming noodles with enough intensity to suggest either profound appreciation or open warfare against the bowl.

And there it was again… Creon’s eyes narrowed slightly.

There…

It still wasn’t within his sights, but undeniably sensed in the Force. That presence which unsettled him outside had taken form in his mind’s eye. A feathered, serpentine figure. It was still wrong. Not the Dark Side nor the Light…

Just…

His attention stayed there perhaps a second longer than he intended. Only then did his attention drift farther into the room.

Tahiri.

Creon slowly exhaled through the nose and walked towards where he felt her familiar presence, but stopped at the rumblings of his stomach.

Noodles.

Just at the moment when he felt himself oriented within the presences here, something shifted from within like a sudden silence. The background noise, and even the signals from the Force abruptly narrowed. Creon’s eyes moved through the room, still sorting this sensation from reality. His mind oriented his total vision and all constituents within it as a single system and attempted to discern a structure behind perceived patterns.

Tahiri’s familiar presence was still someone deeper inside. That strange serpentine-like “wrongness” still lingered.

Steam rose and dishes clinked.

Creon then realised that this shift wasn’t from his outward environment, but from within. It was a sensation difficult to describe. The silence became focus as though a thousand overlapping wave currents had suddenly converged into one. Instinct had pulled his vision before conscious thought understood why.

As when her green eyes met his it felt not like he had found someone, but rather realizing something had been waiting. It irritated him almost immediately, but he did not look away.

Hearing the conversation as if was the only one in the room, a short huff left his nose.

“You know,” he finally said with an even voice, “the remaining 0.2 percent is doing an extraordinary amount of work right now.”

He approached in glance to the options at a menu. Then back at her.

“Courage?” The word left his mouth with enough disbelief to suggest she had accused him of fearing a porg.

“Courage would have me continue pretending none of…” he gestured vaguely between her and the Matron, “… this happened.”

“Consider curiosity, for I now walk into rooms filled with things I know to be considerably more dangerous than awkward conversations. Yet I step into it and immediately find myself standing motionless before you amidst it all and not entirely of my own volition. So now I want to know why.”

That inward feeling returned. It wasn’t necessarily more powerful, just closer. Where he once noticed silence now irritation and unease crossed paths. Yet because he now recognized it, the Force had shifted once again from pointing him to listening.

He fell silent to continue the topic for a moment, fixing his thoughts on whether this was a choice or something he realized and rationalized.

“For something we both have yet to fully understand, it would be difficult to walk away from and ignore, wouldn’t you think?”

He held out his hand.

“Creon.”

His eye caught the callouses and recognized them, and her grip made him proud of the strength she showed him. The neurons woven within their musculature linked a connection from shared hands to shared minds. The corner of his mouth moved by the smallest fraction. Creon accepted that the Force, for all its mystery and complexity, decided this moment mattered. That Aurelis mattered, and he surrendered to its will.

“What do you order when you actually sit down and eat here?”

Vance parked his speeder outside before glancing at the noodle sign.

“I like it, hope their food is fantastic as their sign.” He remarked as he grabbed and opened the door, stepping inside.

Once inside, all of the savory,sweet, fishy and bitter smells hit his nostrils immediately before the smell of cooked noodles.

His pointed magenta ears picked up the sounds of whispered and loud conversations from different tables. Focusing himself, as it wasn’t his business to eavesdrop, the weapon specialist leaned against the side wall by the exit door as he folded his arms. His violet eyes now observed the conversation between the red haired lady and the dark brown haired, green eyed man at the front.

Creon nodded and asked if he could order the sniffler special before taking a seat on a stool at the bar counter in idle patience.

“Water, then. Thank you,” he said with a smile after following to the register.

Vance kept watching, trying to stifle a gurgle in his stomach at the delicious food being served out.

Vance uncrossed his covered arms as he sauntered forward. He had worn his longer leather jacket today with a white tank under it. The long leather sleeves hiding his tattooed arms this time. Around his neck was a small silver chain with a striking smaller azure crystal pendant.

He smiled softly to the young man as he stood beside the counter.

“I did have a question, do you also do takeout by chance?”

“Nice, I may have to place a takeout order later.” He grinned as he looked over the menu quickly.

“I think today I would like to try a small bowl of the sniffler special, some Hela and scalefin sushi and some Fizz please.”

From uncertainty to acceptance she had done something unexpectedly vulnerable to him. Between the awkward Force disturbances, sarcasm, handshakes, and the chorus of dishes and steam came a clear path to someone new.

His fingers accepted the card, looking at it briefly before sliding it away in a pocket inside his jacket.

“Oh? You’ve done this before?” he asked amused.

When he looked back to her his face had flustered red to his surprise. He did not shy away but accepted just as she did what felt to be the ties of fate.

Creon looked out towards the landing pad, “How are you and swoop bikes?”

“You’d be in for one wild ride,” he grins.

“There’s a big race known as the Redline. Only the best and craziest compete. Very dangerous, very illegal,” He looks back at her with one eyebrow raised to inquire her reaction.

“It’s why I’m here, on Nar Shaddaa. It’s also where the Hutts make most of their money. Racers get access to the upper sector for free before the big day to relax with some of the finer things Nar Shaddaa has to offer.”

“Actually no, I have a few weeks. The yellow line on Tattooine just finished. Which is good because I have an experimental engine coming in I’m going to have to install,” he said as he walked with her.

Once they had found a table he let the Force from his finger move out the chair for her to take, “A guy I know is working to get his hands on it as we speak. Until then, I’m here to relax.”

Creon shook his head, “No, I have a private mechanic. The more outsourcing you do with this sort of thing, the more you invite trouble or sabotage.”

Creon paused, withholding something and doing a poor job of being subtle with his face about it, “I have a boss who wants something, and I have to win this race to get it. The thrill itself is enough for me to see why some do it as a hobby or vocation. I’m not entirely sure how much I’ll ride after its all said and done.”

The smell hit Thrima first. It had been a fair walk from the landing pad, the place smelled of the usual oil, hyperfuels, spacedust and alien sweat, but that final corner changed a lot. Roasted vegetables, tangy aromatics, the savory scent of good broth. She probably could have found her way to the noodle joint with her eyes closed from there. A few dozen more steps, and she found herself at the bar, buying a double serving and having the worker stack the ingredients precariously high. She hadn’t had good noodles since she had rotated back to the Boss’ home planet, and if this was even half as good as back there, she’d have to mark it as a standard waypoint in her travel log.

Balancing two bowls and a pot of tea on her tray, the Firrerreo carefully stepped between other patrons. Seeking an unattended table, she slipped into the seat, the movement would have been silent, had the quadjitar slung across her back been kept in mind. The instrument groaned it’s loud protest at being treated so roughly, the vibrating strings taking a long time to shut up as Thrima’s cheeks reddened. “Hell of a first impression.” She spoke, not to anyone in particular.

She took a moment, regarding the bowls ahead of her, the steam rising to her face, her nose. She smiled through the steam before diving in. It certainly would beat the ship rations she’d been subsisting on for the last few days. And for that, she would be eternally thankful, even if the noodles were mediocre.

After his tray was assembled, Vance payed for his meal and sat himself near a back wall to eat as his eyes wandered to the newcomer balancing a tray full of good food and tea. As he observed her practically inhaling the food, he chuckled to himself and tucked into his own. He loved a good bit of scalefin sushi and ramen. The fizz drink was always good.

“Might have to take Atticus here later. Bet he would love noodles.But at least I can always get him some takeout after.”