Shaken, Not Stirred

[Fromikeable]

Vance could remember distinctly when he'd really started trying to find decent places to eat on Nar Shadda. He'd really taken to the mission once Lidah had become more secure in her power, which had afforded him more free time to go digging through holonet ads and the unorganized streets of the moon. Many places he'd tried had been awful. A few had flat-out made him sick. Still others had been good, but unimpressive. Nevertheless, a scant few had been truly enjoyable, and Vance had amassed a small collection.

Kilroy's Diner was one such. Decked in chrome and neon to the nines, the diner was a rare open-air establishment, sporting a small diner and a large parking lot. Speeders parked alongside small speakers, and after communicating their orders, waiters and waitresses of every shape and size wearing multitudes of costumes would zip out of the kitchen atop skates, trays of fried food in their hands. It was easy to tell at a glance who their clientele were. Some wore classic, retro outfits lifted straight from centuries-old movies, even going so far as to adopt accents to entertain families. Others barely wore anything at all, approaching their customers with sultry looks and purposefully exaggerated movements, trying to coax big tips from more... adult venues.

Vance could only shake his head as he watched it all from his bench. This place was a classic example of how Nar Shadda could put a criminal, somewhat perverse spin on even the most innocent of establishments.

Still, he couldn't deny that it was the only place he knew of to get a decent milkshake.

Flipping out his comm, he checked it for new messages. The one he had received earlier from his new acquaintance, Miss "Iris Marth", had been a surprise. He had been sure that it was a mistake, a trap, or both until he'd checked her card again, matching up the number. Even then, he'd had more than a second of doubt, unsure of how much skepticism to approach the meeting with.

He had decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. It had worked out fairly well last time, after all.

I'm going to grab us a table. See you inside. Sending the message off with a flick of his thumb, Vance followed through. Staking out a small booth with bright red seats and a miniature jukebox nestled between the salt and pepper, he peeled off his jacket, his shirt today far less rough and a far less grim color of dark green. When the waiter approached, dressed in a white leather, studded outfit, over-sized sunglasses, and an enormous slicked mullet, Vance politely deflected him away, only asking for two glasses of water and a menu.

[Moonfire]

Family friendly fun was never something Moonfire had associated with the Smuggler’s Moon. She’d spent some time as a padawan exploring the seedier districts, spent the past few evenings in the ritzier parts-- But Kilroy’s Diner had managed to remain under her radar. A juke-joint of the highest caliber with retro-decor and the overwhelming smell of greasy salt that left her still shakey stomach rumbling.

And what a shame, that.

A flick of her thumb dismissed the notification from her comm, Thel’s message wiped away in the motion as the young woman tugged the strap of her shoulder back higher up, it’s partner pressing into the swinging glass of the door.

Decked still in the nondescript dark colors and casual comforts of cartel-cantina wear, Iris Marth looked little like the serious and smartly dressed officer the hotel consultant had encountered before. Blue eyes flicked nervously up to his, her presence in the Force pulled and twisted tight against herself as she forced a smile that never quite reached her eyes.

“Sorry about the last minute message,” She offered with a chuckle, sliding into the booth before him. Hands went immediately for the menu, skimming across the various exotic meats and shake mix-ins. In short, jerky motions she flipped through the pages, nervous eyes unable to focus on the descriptions before looking back up at her companion. “What do you recommend? Oh, how’s the hotel?”

The menu fell closed again, completely unread as the shaken woman’s eyes settled on something else, something curious by her elbow. For the first time her expression stretched into something genuine. Adorable, even. “Are these mini-- This is a miniature jukebox? Stars, that’s delightful.”

[Fromikeable]

Vance felt her enter before he saw her slide into the booth before him, the time before spent mulling her concealed presence. It didn't feel like it was trained, to her credit, but even concealed to look non-sensitive, it prickled with stress and anxiety. Perhaps that explained her sudden desire to take up his offer? A really, really awful day deserved a milkshake.

Then again, maybe she was there to kill him dead and was dreading the fight. He wouldn't be put down before his black and white shake was finished, though.

Offering her a small smile in greetings, Vance's expression reset to neutral and the very fake return. Sliding her the menu, he watched her take it, biting back the obvious question of "How are you?" in favor of subtlety. He wasn't even sure "Iris" would be willing to tell him; their entire relationship thus far was built on implication and double speak. They hadn't even explicitly agreed on their co-alignment on this criminal moon yet, let alone enough amicability to warrant idle concern.

Such thoughts faded when the woman's smile changed from obviously fake to wholesomely genuine. Vance couldn't help but blink in surprise at the shift, noting how her real smile could be seen as far up as her eyes. He could swear the look was even making the tip of her nose point ever so little to the side.

He couldn't help but laugh, as if suddenly relieved. It wasn't a hard chuckle, but it was strong enough to close his eyes and grow a smile of his own.

"It works too. Stick in a few credits and pick a song." Relaxing in his seat, Vance reopened his eyes and leaned back. Shaking his head a bit, his voice rang just a little richer as he settled in.

"The hotel will be fine. We managed to get everyone to the hospital in time, though I'm pretty sure that man you rescued from the rubble needed some cybernetics. One for brain damage and new limbs for his right side. That said, I'm pretty sure he's just happy to have lived." He'd been fairly grateful, or at least as grateful as one could be after very serious reconstructive surgery.

"And all the shakes are good except the berry ones. They just use some sugary syrup that tastes like candle wax." Sitting back up, Vance extended a finger to point at the mentioned beverages on the menu, tapping their titles lightly. Withdrawing the hand, he was quiet for a second, clearly thinking about continuing to speak.

It was only after he crossed his arms that he made his decision. "I'm buying, by the way. You seem like you could use a free shake." That was all he'd say if she wished.

[Moonfire]

“What? Not a fan of your candles and your milkshakes tasting the same?” She asked, lifting up the little jukebox gingerly between two fingers. It was wireless, as was to be expected, and a near perfect cube save the over-sized speaker on it’s face, display flashing music titles in glowing green holo. What a clever little thing. Setting it back down the young woman tossed open her bag with a flick of her wrist, withdrawing a credit chit post-haste to ease into the slot. “I’ll pick the first song, you can pick the next?”

Scrolling through the selection her presence unfurled further, emotions coming almost unconsciously to foreground as her mind welcomed the distraction. Nerves still writhed just beneath the surface, buried and held close to her slight chest, but overall it was a moment of genuine. Everything one saw of Iris Marth, for the moment anyway, was exactly as it appeared. A young woman, lacking all moral ambiguity, recovering from a spectacularly shitty day curiously scrolling through a variety of retro-hits and pop hits.

“Forgive me, my taste is terrible-- But I just love this song.” Tapping the interface with a self-conscious chuckle Moonfire turned back fully to her companion and with it her presence tucked itself ever so carefully back. She’d have to get that under control here soon. Snapping back to the menu Moonfire perused the options before settling on the only possible option. “Well, I’m usually berry all the way, but I suppose I’ll have to settle for a jaemian peanut-butter chocolate… And maybe an order of rings.”

Her stomach gurgled, reminding her of the alley way she wretched her lunch into just the hour before. “Maybe.” Patting at the rather unhappy organ lightly the young woman directed all of her attention back to the Exchange… Well, thug didn’t seem like quite the right word? Hotel consultant..

“Would you mind giving me that man’s hospital information?” She asked, not fighting Thel on footing the bill. She’d just have to cover their jukebox for the evening. Perhaps she could cover whatever happened next? “I’d like to send flowers, or something. A lousy replacement for a limbs, but…” A shrug attempted to convey the rest of her meaning.

“How’d you find this place? If you don’t mind my asking. I never expected Nar Shaddaa to have a wealth of diners… Though, I suppose even the criminal underworld has to eat.”

[Fromikeable]

Vance couldn't help but poke her presence with his own as she focused on the menu, taking special care not to impose. He kept his view to the surface, barely brushing their beings together. Even then, he saw enough. Stress. Tension. That immediate need to keep cool and collected, but the desire to take a deep breath, relax, and reorient.

He had known that state of mind well.

"Our Frightful Sir of Mutilated Agency Hospital, Southmoor Village, Room 56A. It's a nice place, the name's just from some old Trandoshan myth, I think." Pulling out his communicator as their white-leather-clad waiter approached again, he sent her the man's entire profile before turning to order. Asking for her jaemian peanut-butter chocolate shake first, he was quick to follow with a cookie dough black and white shake for himself (with color chocolate candies thrown in for good measure). Last on their check was a large basket of onion rings and sauces.

He considered buying them both burgers as well, but he didn't want to presume. She looked hungry though.

"This place is part of what I like to call my 'secret collection'." His fingers flexed into airquotes as he gave an apologetic look, the term sounding a bit sillier out loud than in his own head.

"Basically, when I got here a few years ago, I couldn't find decent food anywhere." Rolling a hand, his expression turned to mild disgust, the memories of barely-edible slop making his tongue squirm. "There's not exactly a health department on Nar Shadda, so most of the restaurants around here serve borderline poison on dirty dishes."

A hand pointed at the roof, indicating Kilroy's Diner itself. "So for... I'd say about the first two years, I'd spend a lot of my free time reading message boards, talking to locals, and trying different places out. I've written every good one down on a list I keep on my comm." Taking it out again, he paused his story long enough to summon the list to his screen, showing it off with a small, almost proud smile.

"Of course, y'know, not all of it is good, but, uh, they're all..." He rolled a hand as a bit of pink snuck into his cheeks, betraying a wave of self-consciousness. Think of the damn word, you moron.

"... let's go with 'not awful'. 'Edible' might be better." Taking his comm back, he scratched his chin, clearing his throat a little. "It's just good to know where you can grab a reliable bite to eat." Their waiter returned as he finished, giving him a much welcome excuse to shut up, their shakes and rings plopping down before them.

"Anyway, what about Coruscant?" Clearly a little eager to stop talking about himself, he leaned into the table a bit as he unsheathed his straw. Using it to give his shake a few gentle stirs, he took a sip before continuing, relaxing a little more as the sweet flavors coated his lead tongue.

"Is the Thistleway Diner still open?" His question betrayed his history; the Thistleway Diner was a well-visited establishment just a few blocks away from the Jedi Temple.

[Moonfire]

A man spending his valuable time on the Smuggler’s Moon seeking out culinary adventures. The thought brought a touch of warmth to the woman’s face. Freed from the menu she leaned forward, the table’s edge digging slightly into her forearms as wide eyes watched his face, nodding slightly. “I traveled a good deal in my teens, finding somewhere with food palatable for humans was always one of my first goals.”

Traveling with a Trandoshan and a Zabrak always made for interesting food stops. Like the one port when Shorza and Master Balkk both completely forgot to pick up any sort of fruit or vegetables. It was a rough two weeks eating mostly ration bars and various preparations of tartare and barbecue. Shorza, of course, had loved watching her squirm uncomfortably after the first week of meals he'd prepared, all classic Iridonian dishes of rare or raw meat. The memory brought the smallest smile to her face as she gazed down at Thel’s lovingly crafted list.

Kilroy’s Diner sat prominently towards the top, flanked by eateries like Auntie Irissia’s Cafeteria and Armory and Fork. it was a wide selection for show, but very telling of her companion.

“You know, I love a good breakfast spot. Nothing fancy, I’ve been craving a stack of waffles since I got in-- Any recommendations?” the woman asked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as she skimmed the list, memorizing the more interesting ones on it.

“Coruscant?” Moonfire repeated, head tilting to the side. I felt wrong to try and blatantly lie to Thel, after he’d been so forth coming in their doublespeak. Even his admission of a shared eatery, a little hole in the wall with excellent sandwiches just steps away from the temple struck her as terribly genuine. “I’m, uh, mostly on Corellia for work these days.”

He could feel in her presence the need to draw away, to put up that rigid wall before she could lie. The shakes arrived with a mountain of sizzling deep fried goodness and set of round plates just as one song played into the next. Snatching up the black and tan shake Moonfire mulled over her options perhaps a touch longer than polite. With a sigh she smiled awkwardly.

Blast it. There was no point in lying now. Not with Zexva knowing exactly who and what she was wandering around. If Thel, the Exchange thug with a penchant for eateries and investigating speederbombs, was willing to admit he was a former Jedi, she might as well give him something to work with. “But last time I was there it was still doing well. I loved stopping over there between classes, best grilled cheese in the galaxy.”

Sipping once more at the shake before daintly picking up an onion ring between forefinger and thumb Moonfire posed a question back. “How long have you been on the Moon? It’s a long way from home.”

[Fromikeable]

"Waffles?" Vance's mind immediately recalled a voracious debate held over just such a food, his face softening. That morning had been accented by the little things. The smell of his omelette. The smiles on Lidah's and Locke's faces. The debate over how Jayec would eat with his helmet on. The feel of the morning sun through the windows. The din of other patrons enjoying a slow morning.

As he recalled it all being erased with gunfire, the temporary levity faded.

"There's the Fork over on Gelroy Boulevard, but it's had some, uh, business trouble." It was the best way he could think of to kindly say that it was a smoldering pile of ash currently being rebuilt by the Exchange. What was more, he probably shouldn't invite a Jedi to the restaurant of choice for the Exchange's Compeer, regardless of how much he liked the Jedi in question.

That was a conversation he hoped he would never have to have. Luckily, "Iris" didn't seem to be inclined to force him to have it.

"I'd recommend The Busted Freighter over in Violent Brick on Yiton Street. It's a big cargo ship somebody landed on top of a foundation. The floors are a little hard to navigate since the whole thing settled weird, but their breakfast is damn good."

When she reminded him that she was from Corellia, however, Vance winced, resisting the urge to smack his own face. He'd screwed up the game, been too fixated on her identity to remember her identity. A careless mistake, to be sure, and one that easily could have done damage. At the awkward silence that followed, he looked decidedly guilty, somewhere between apologetic and worried that he'd just ruined her evening further.

When she settled for a sigh and a modicum of truth, he visibly slumped, his expression thankful. "Sorry, I, uh, get the two planets mixed up a lot." An obvious lie, but he hoped the genuine apology would relay, at least.

With far more motivation to extend olive branches, Vance sipped his own shake as he pondered her question. "I've been here for half a decade, give or take a year. A friend of mine needed a hand with something, and once I was here..." He shrugged with a smile. Taking special care not to mention where he'd come from, he was quick to continue.

"I didn't come straight from home, though. There was a lot going on between leaving there and coming here. The war, in particular." Grimacing a little, he fought off the urge to shudder, settling for a second of grim silence as he sipped his shake again.

"It's been about-" Vance paused, doing a quick count on his fingers before nodding to himself, "-nine years, I think."

[Moonfire]

Nine years. That was a long time away from the Order, but not a terribly expansive time. Nine years before she was what-- Fourteen? Freshly under Balkk’s tutelage after narrowly dodging a lifetime in the Jedi Corps. It wasn’t a spectacular year for sure, but a formative one. An appraising eye made Moonfire feel like she wasn’t far off in age from Thel, he couldn’t have been more than sixteen himself when he left. And the war.

That held more meanings than two people over burgers could possibly unpack. Would even want to. The whole galaxy had felt the rumbled impacts of the Republic and the Empire in those seven years, even her sheltered bubble so far removed from the fighting.

Biting back her own curiosity she unfurled further in the Force, not quite baring everything but giving a touch of compassion, comfort even in her presence. Nearly a decade and a war between him and home. Though it probably didn’t feel much like home anymore for Thel.

Plucking a searing ring, oil still crackling beneath her fingertips in white hot snaps, she popped it gently between her teeth, enjoying the easy silence. “I was actually planning on heading back that way after I finish up my business here, anything you’d like me to check in on while I’m there?”

The doublespeak was oddly genuine here, an offer to help tidy up any loose ends or reflect on any nagging things he might have left behind. That perhaps more than anything would vex Moonfire after leaving the Order, the isolation from everything she’d been raised with. It was an awfully lonely galaxy.

“Speaking of,” She started between a long draw on her milkshake. “I think I ought to be a bit frank with you-- I’m attending an auction here on the Moon next week. I don’t need anything, I’ve already secured an invitation… But you seem rather well connected being in the hotel consultation business, will you be attending?”

[Fromikeable]

Vance blinked at the compassion that was wafted to his presence as lightly as a whiff, the feeling genuine. He hadn't been gunning for sympathy, nor would he ever have expected it. He had learned to live with all the bad parts (and there had been many), to focus on the good parts (which had increased with time), and glaze over all the gray bits in between. The bulk of it was gray, truth be told. Not good, not bad, not easy to sleep knowing, not hard to ignore daily, just...

He wasn't sure. He appreciated the response never the less, however it made him feel. He would figure it out later.

Her question was what made him hum, a finger coming up to rest over his lips. For a second, he squinted hard, staring at the onion rings begin to cool. What had he left on Coruscant that he even wanted to address? The business of his former masters had been settled no so long ago. Locke was still a very present and active part of his life. What else had mattered?

"Nothing important comes to mind." Finally dropping his fingers to pick up an onion ring of his own, he smiled. "Though if you could check and see what the local artists are up to, I'm always interested in their work." A bit of joy crept on to his face as he recalled his lessons among the Artisans. Those had been some of the best moments in his Jedi life, working daily with people that had real passion for what they did. What was more, few of them had simply been Artisans. Every walk of Jedi life had convened in those workshops, over those tiny smelters, among those ornate tools. The art they had created had really shown.

In another world, Vance would have loved to be one of them. Alas, he'd tried to fill in the creative gaps his own way.

As this woman, this "Iris", with her incredibly real personality hidden behind an incredible unreal persona, mentioned the Auction, he gave a tiny sigh and finally began to eat. Between onion rings, he nodded, wiping his mouth before responding with a hearty "Yep." He chewed through another piece of fried food as an excuse to form his next sentence carefully, suddenly very conscience of trying to strike a balance between casual, serious, aloof, and genuine, all at once.

"Y'know, um... for appearances at that thing, people typically bring dates..." Outside, the nightlife of Nar Shaddaa began to pass as two young "business people" chatted away over milkshakes.