Cards Speak For Themselves

[Neology]

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It was a difficult thing, charming a Jedi. For all that Lidah had done it before, and for all that the Order prescribed how each Jedi should live, they had so many different ways of coping with their upbringing. Of carrying on under the code. She’d met no two alike since her fall, but perhaps there was something in the broad strokes. Would the girl be like Locke? Perhaps. They worked together, presumably by the master investigator’s choice. He had promised and she trusted – that there was just no way would he bring someone dangerous here. Dangerous being a subjective term, of course. Would she be like Vance? It seemed they were acquainted, for reasons that still escaped her. Lidah could feel her former student’s presence several floors below, no doubt as anxious as she felt and concealing it with somewhat less grace. Jedi like them, Lidah could talk to. She wouldn’t like it; it called for brutal honesty and an uncomfortable degree of vulnerability. Show exactly where to aim the knife while making sure that they didn’t want to use it when the time came. But an absolutist, like Levin … She could only keep someone like that on the back foot for so long. It was too temporary a measure. Not that winning a stranger’s trust in an hour over tea was guaranteed, but there was little other choice. It was this or nothing. Permanent, easy solutions had been written off more or less immediately, distasteful and likely to draw further Jedi attention. Beyond that Locke would suspect her involvement, no matter how subtly it was done. No point saving his, well … Not life, but everything else if he came to hate her for it. Lidah Faine waited in the fifth floor solarium, a large balcony that stretched around the front face of The Blind Eye. The windows were tinted, floor to curving ceiling and set into a reinforced frame. The space was brightly lit and dominated by tables and shelves of soil hosting flowering and fruiting plants gathered from a dozen other worlds. She sat at a small table set for two with a silver tea service, her presence in the Force unconcealed both as was her custom at home and as a courtesy to her guest. A leucistic tuk’ata sat silent sentinel by her chair, white skinned and blue eyed like Lidah herself. A sentimental favorite from her personal menagerie, the beast was also a deliberate statement. Here is something once of the Sith. And now no longer.

[Moonfire]

Sleep had come with surprising ease after the Auction, falling asleep the moment Moonfire’s head hit the pillow of yet another new hotel bed. She hadn’t bothered even to rinse to make up from her face, desperate instead to wake from the living dream she’d found herself in.

Thel. Locke. Novus. Zexva. Black Suns. Memento.

The data cylinder sat heavy in her hotel safe, reprogrammed to a custom code. It seemed the safest option with the smoking crater on Nar Shaddaa that held Cerbozz’s den of intergalactic pleasures and debauchery. At least until Moonfire could pass it off to the CSF contacts she had waiting in the wings. And wait they would continue to do, for just a little while longer.

Morning bled into afternoon with little fanfare, Locke having arranged both a meeting and simple transport for more formal introductions. The ride to a sprawling casino, The Blind Eye, was tastefully decorated and sparsely populated at this hour. Clearly more of an evening business Mooney bid Locke an awkward farewell before taking the silent marbled lift to the fifth floor conservatory. The ghost of Vance’s presence just a few doors off, anxious and half-curled about itself in guilt.

A flash of nerves curdled in Moonfire’s throat before better sense stamped those feelings back down. Back into the manageable little box to be unpacked later in private.

Trust was what brought her here. Trust in Locke, who despite their relatively new association, hadn’t felt like the sort to escort his newest mentee into the howlrunner’s mouth. Trust in that if Novus had any inkling of striking her down she would have done so in more convenient circumstances, a skypalace plummeting to the ecumenopolis below was as good a way as any to accidentally kill a Jedi.

The lift doors opened to reveal the unexpected. Brilliant jade greens and the fresh, light scent of foliage. It was instantly refreshing, blue eyes skipping in a reflexive attempt to identify each carefully cultivated specimen. Her eyes drew to the tuk’ata and it’s master, lounged comfortably and open in both the Force and body language.

Settling into the seat across from her-- the former Darth Novus, presumably no longer going by such titles and stylings, struck by the fact she had no idea how to address the woman across from her. Moonfire adjusted the stiff fabric of her sheath dress, more of the staunchly professional attire “Iris” preferred, a hand moving smoothly to the offered tea. An experimental sniff brought a surprising smile to her lips as she sipped the still warm black tea. “Shan Tuyet?”

[Neology]

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Lidah had always been garbage at waiting. There were simultaneously too few and too many distractions up here. The chairs were less comfortable than she remembered and after several minutes she began to fidget in her seat, drawing curious glances from the Sith hound. It crept closer and she fed it a cheese sandwich from the platter. Locke would be here soon, somewhere, if he wasn’t already. For the sake of her nerves, Lidah desperately wished to question him at length about this Jedi visitor. There had scarcely been any time after the auction itself, and most of that filled with awkward company and sleep. Useless line of thought but not entirely without merit; she would have liked to continue that private room encounter sometime, minus the Sith and the spies … Ah. And there was one spy now. Lidah corrected her posture and studied of the young woman in impolite silence. It seemed only fair after all that skulking. She seemed … Rather young, first of all. But sensibly dressed as to not draw undue attention in this particular district, which Lidah chose to take as a promising sign of intelligence. Drawing a clear plastic wafer from her blazer pocket, she then slid it across the table to rest neatly by the tea tray. The milla-flower-and-eye emblem was muted to a faint mint green in the synthetic daylight. ”Lidah Faine, Compeer.” She offered her hand to shake. ”I understand you overheard my conversation with that noxious young man last night. I asked Locke if he would invite you here, that I might have a chance to clear the air.” And, in doing so, hopefully avoid ruining her lover’s career with accusations of long-term Sith collusion. Wonderful. Lidah blinked slowly, finally realizing that the other woman had in fact spoke. ”Wait … Since when do Jedi recognize single estate teas by scent?”