The Hands We're Dealt

[Fromikeable]

The Blind Eye's private venues were a refuge whenever not in use. Upscale, small halls with their own bars, each could be transformed from a giant dance hall to a classy parlor filled with leather upholstery at a moment's notice. Today, the fourth floor venue just so happened to be dead empty, filled with comfortable leather chairs reminiscent of a smoking hall, and fine glass coffee tables. Along the far wall, the sun peeked in at an angle, offering the room enough light to be visible, but enough shade to be cool.

That left plenty of room for Vance and Locke to stretch out.

Vance sighed heavily up at the ceiling as his limbs splayed out further. With both legs spread out as far in either direction as they'd go, his arms hooked across the back of his chair, his shoulders being tugged apart by the posture. With his boots tossed inelegantly to the side and his socks bared, it was apparent to see that he lived just a floor up. His elegant bronze mask remained from the night before, slightly melted on one side and tossed onto a side table. His suit had been swapped for the simplest outfit he could muster, a worn old T-shirt and beaten old shorts betraying the look of a man that had barely even wanted to get out of bed today.

He looked just about as exhausted he felt.

"Force..." For a second, Vance held his breath, squinting at the ceiling as he tried to string together the words that were rattling around his head. Lidah and Mooney had found out about each other. A Sith had blown Lidah's cover. The Black Suns were making moves into Hutt Space. The Hutts were more disorganized than ever. The Exchange still hadn't taken a definite stance in response to anything. The hackers still hadn't checked in. Vance had no idea where any of this put poor Locke as a Jedi Master.

Oh, and he'd fought his first Sith in five years.

Exhaling heavily, Vance just shook his head lightly. Finally sitting up and bringing his gaze back down, the Grey Jedi gave Locke a silent, weary look of exasperation. For a second, he tried again, doing his best to pick a topic, any topic to breach, to start with. Anything that could get the ball rolling...

... fuck, they'd need some help if they were going to talk about any of this.

"Want a drink?" Vance slumped in his chair, rubbing his eyes gently. "'Cause I think I need one."

[Rugs]

The world wasn’t entirely unknown to Locke. Though he reclined in an overly-plush chair, arms spread along its wide arms, head tilted back and eyes squeezed he could feel the weariness that stuffed the air. If he could just... cease to exist in that impossibly-soft chair, he didn’t even think he’d mind.

”Force.”

Locke huffed a laugh at Vance’s exhausted exclamation. “Right there with ya, bud,” he muttered.

The return from the Auction hadn’t offered much chance for rest. Too much had gone awry--even if the Blind Eye crew had, on the whole, made out well--and too much still had to be deciphered. Why had the Black Sun attacked the Auction? Surely they had allies in attendance. How many people had the sky palace’s collapse hurt or killed?

How was the fact that his ex-Sith love and very-much-current-Jedi ward-of-sorts now very concretely know of each other’s existence?

The last was, selfishly, his biggest worry, and he’d promptly offered to help set up a meeting. That meeting was now underway, or would be soon. Locke could feel Lidah’s presence, up above. Moonfire pinged nearby in the Force as well.

His stomach seemed to lurch in place.

“A drink?” Locke cracked an eye open, looking at Vance. “Don’t have to ask me twice. Go for it.”

His eye closed again. This couldn’t be any better for Vance. He knew Moonfire somehow--those details weren't really clear to Locke yet. Did he know she was a Jedi?

“Y’know, could have that shitty stuff I brought for you brought in.” Locke forced himself to sit up, running a hand through his hair. “Guess that depends on how self-loathin’ you’re feeling at the moment though.”

A clever smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Me? I could go for some, truth be told.”

[Fromikeable]

Locke's agreement set Vance into an almost mindless motion, peeling himself up and out of his chair. With a shuffling, lethargic step, he made his way over to the bar, digging around underneath in one of the small shelves propped there. After a few clinking bottles were moved to the side, he found what he was looking for, buried in the back with a note forbidding its use. Grabbing the bottle, Vance yanked it out, appraising the label.

"Vintage Corellian Whiskey." Inspecting aloud, he set it on the bar counter before bending down again for two glasses. "Sounds just self-loathing enough for me today." Setting them beside the bottle, he poured them both a generous portion. Hesitating for a moment as he wondered how he'd carry three objects with two hands, he sighed lightly with resignation before calling upon the Force to levitate everything over to the table between their seats.

Shuffling back over, he collapsed unceremoniously back into his chair. Summoning his glass to his hand, he raised it in a tiny toast. "Pardon my etiquette." Without a second thought, he brought the glass to his lips, trying to knock it back.

The moment the drink began to burn his throat, he lurched in surprise, coughing hard. Covering his mouth with an elbow, his face was a bit pink by the time he managed to stop, his eyes shut tight. Placing his glass back on the table with his free hand, he finally wiped his eyes, shaking his head.

"I've got to-" Another cough cut him off, a hand waving to dismiss the sentence. Taking a deep breath, he tried his drink again, taking a very small, very cautious sip.

"I've got to wonder what they're talking about upstairs." Clearing his throat, his eyes flicked toward the ceiling.

"More importantly, how're they talking about it?" Vance hadn't heard or sensed any clean-up teams being sent upstairs to clean up any "messes". Either they were still talking, or the conversation had never started to begin with.

He wasn't sure which was more worrying.

[Rugs]

“I like the way you think.” Locke grinned as Vance stepped away to retrieve the whiskey. He tipped his head back again, eyes closed as he let his mind wander. Some whispering of the Force brushed across the edges of his perception as Vance used it to help ferry the drinks and drink ware over to their tables.

He cracked an eye open as Vance settled back down beside him and give a dismissive wave at the mention of his etiquette. “Look, this is a no-judgement zone if we’re gonna be drinkin’ together.”

But Vance was already kicking back his head and pouring the drink down his throat as Locke reached for his glass. A momentary urge to warn Vance quickly gave way to a stifled laugh as his drinking partner hacked a lung up and turned red as a Sith’s lightsaber.

“Easy there, killer,” he muttered as he picked up his drink and returned Vance’s toast. Locke’s own drink from his glass was more measured, more even. It still burned, but it was good. “It’s a marathon, not a sprint. We still got a long way to go.”

Locke took another drink and cleared his throat at Vance’s question. “What they’re talking about?” He shrugged. “Well, Moonfire’s a Jedi. Lidah’s a former Sith who’s identity I may not have ever clued Moonfire in on.”

His eyes turned up, thinking as he rolled his wrist with the glass, swirling the amber drink around. “Of course, I guess you had the same opportunities. If I had to guess, they’re probably making small talk about how we’re both idiots.”

That same rogueish grin flashed across Locke’s face as he raised his glass. “They wouldn’t be entirely wrong.” He lifted it to his lips for another drink.

Best to push the conversation elsewhere, maybe. They’d worry themselves to death worrying about the conversation upstairs. “So you and that Zeltron threw down at the Auction, huh? How’d that go?”

[Fromikeable]

Moonfire. So that was her real name. Made the whole "get off of my moon" line sound a bit creepy, now that he thought of it. He hadn't known, sure, but presumably that Sith had. Vance had always known that "Iris" was a fake name, but he had fully expected their time together to go on as simply "Thelonious" and "Iris", the investigative duo that chased hackers through the Nar Shadaa skies and had awkward slow dances watching out for intruding Sith knights.

... kind of a weird relationship overall, really.

Quietly resolving to tell her his name now that he knew hers, Vance sipped the whiskey again, taking Locke's advice. The burn flared as the drink ran down his throat, but this time it was far more manageable. Enjoyable, almost.

"If I had to guess, they’re probably making small talk about how we’re both idiots.” Vance couldn't help but smile a little at that. Being regarded as a dope might have been a new feeling for Locke, but it was old hat for him. How many times had Lidah excluded him from plans, or kept information from him, knowing full-well that letting any of it slip would doom it all failure as he stumbled across it stupendously? What was worse was that he actively sought it out, nagging her with questions, letting his curiosity get the better of him constantly. In the world of secrets and feints, the world Lidah had come to dominate, Vance was and would always be the honest, frank buffoon.

He liked to think she quietly liked that about him. In all reality, it probably grated on her endlessly, especially on days like today.

Raising his eyebrows at the mention of the Zeltron, Vance shifted in his seat, a sudden sense of discomfort washing over him. "About as well as you'd expect, really." Clearing his throat, he let the scene replay in his mind, his march down to dancefloor looking especially comical to his mind's eye. Scratching his neck a little, he avoided eye contact as he spoke.

"I, uh, punched him in the mouth and told him to leave. He tried to fry the side of my head with lightning." Pointing at the assaulted ear, he shrugged lightly. "I, um... well I used the thing that Lidah helped me figure out. Y'know, the whole 'absorption' thing." Dropping his hand, he cleared his voice again, a hint of pride sneaking its way into his voice. That Sith had used the exact same technique Jess had on Taris, and whether or not Vance wanted to admit it, he'd stopped it dead in its tracks.

He may have been an idiot, but he was a learning idiot.

"Then I pushed him away. Before we got any further, Io'an came over and turned the floor to ice." Taking another sip of his drink, he glanced up. Forget his stupid power; the way Io'an had used the Force to do that had been mesmerizing, in retrospect. For a guy with an informal education, he clearly knew much more than he let on.

"So I don't think I'd really call it a 'throw down'." He broke a small smile. "It lasted maybe ten seconds."

[Rugs]

“Careful now Vance, you’re letting some pride show,” Locke said with a wry grin. “What would your old Jedi masters have to say about that, I wonder?” Ribbing, of course. Locke was, in a way, proud of Vance for handling the Sith. And having the focus to absorb a blast of lightning in the heat of fight was no small feat. Vance had grown, from that doubt-plagued, unsure former Padawan to a young man with his head straight and an eye to pursue his goals with a steady confidence. Locke still regretted some of the steps it took to get Vance there, but he couldn’t deny his pride in the change.

“Maybe it’s for the best that Sephi broke you two up,” he mulled, sipping thoughtfully on his whiskey. “Force knows that could’ve turned into a giant fucking mess.”

A pause to drink. Locke’s expression changed slightly, turning thoughtful again. “Well, more of a fucking mess than it already was, I suppose.” With the last of his drink gone, Locke set about getting more for himself. He could feel the faint beginnings of a good, warm buzz settling in, at the periphery of his awareness.

“Still, gotta wonder what a damn Sith was doing on Nar Shaddaa, and how he got in the Auction,” he mused as he poured. “I mean, I guess they’d be doing the same thing the Jedi are--seeking out threats to their government, helping to prepare for when the war resumes.” Not if. Locke had no doubt hostilities would turn hot again. The Empire and Republic simply could not compete for Galactic hegemony for long without coming to blows. Something would give, eventually.

When was anybody’s guess.

“But who would’ve thought they’d be interested in that data cylinder?” Locke shrugged, letting the line of questioning go. “And who would’ve thought the Jedi would be, I guess.”

He settled back into chair, again gently swirling the glass of amber liquid as he stared into it. A surprising number of lines from across the Galaxy seemed to converge on the Smuggler’s Moon. From the heart of the Republic to the innermost depths of the Empire — and that didn’t even get into the messy gang war politics that dominated Nar Shaddaa.

Speaking of...

“So what’s the deal with the Black Sun?” he asked. “I mean, I know who they are obviously, but attacking a gala with a big Hutt and Exchange presence seems pretty damn ballsy.”

[Fromikeable]

Locke's jest made Vance's smile grow, forcing him to look down at his drink in a desperate bid not to enjoy it. After all, it was terrible, wasn't it? This guy, this madman, this stalker, even, had blown Lidah's cover, pressed his persona onto an unwilling Mooney, and had forced Vance's hand. The Grey Jedi could count on his hands the number of times he'd actively started a fight with another Force-user. He had mastered Soresu, for Force's sake. Of all the things he was or is, Vance Asano was not aggressive.

None of that changed the fact that he'd gotten away with getting two good hits on a piece of grade-Z Sith garbage. Fuck, if that didn't make him want to hold his chin up.

"Honestly, that's my top priority for the next couple of weeks." Relaxing back into his seat with a tiny sigh, Vance did his best to forget the pride and focus on his new favorite topic; impending galactic underworld war. Today hadn't seen any real response to the attack on the Auction, what with all the chaos. Few of the assailants had survived the sky palace's destruction, and little had been heard from the organization since. The Hutts were, understandably, shaken, their forces and employees across the moon scrambling in a mad frenzy. The Exchange had elected for a less panicked response, overall unhurt from the sudden powerplay. From most of what he'd overseen, Vance had only really shored up defenses and told everyone to expect the worst.

Yet nothing had come. That was almost worse.

"The Black Sun typically stay away from Nar Shaddaa. It's our house, and it's the Hutts' backyard, so they don't really have a beach to land on." Placing his drink on the table beside his chair, Vance crossed his arms lightly, thinking aloud. "That's less of an agreement and more of the environment. In the five years we've been here, I think Lidah's had to deal with them..." He paused, counting on his fingers as he glanced upward at the ceiling. "... fffffffive times? Maybe four, I might be remembering wrong. Point being, the current Underlord's never been crazy enough to try and muscle in."

Dropping his gaze back down, Vance was quiet for a second, mulling it over. "It could be that they just wanted something specific at the Auction, but the damage is done at this point. If they don't flat-out go to war with the Hutts, then the Hutts might go for them first." Retrieving his drink, Vance took another sip, blinking in surprise to see that the glass was nearly empty. This was the first time in a while that he could recall drinking and enjoying it.

Must've been the company.

"Both of those scenarios assume neither one of them guns for us, too. And I don't think either of them is dumb enough to give us that kind of opportunity." He sighed, shaking his head.

"If they do anything, it's gonna' be felt across the galaxy. I hope you've warned the Order." An underworld war didn't just mean criminals killing criminals. It meant a good chunk of the galaxy, particularly the poorer chunks, being caught up in the aims and ambitions of some of the worst scum the galaxy had to offer.

[Rugs]

“Yea, I’m on that. Don’t worry about it.” Locke knuckled his beard. A brewing war between the three biggest criminal syndicates in the Galaxy would be a problem.

To put it lightly. And where do the Unseen fit in all this?

“Do you ever feel like we’re on the precipice of something great and terrible?” he asked, glancing over at the younger man. “Like you tell yourself if you just take one step closer to the edge, you’ll be able to see what’s waiting below before you jump, but you can never quite get close enough to see what’s coming.” Locke paused to drink. The whiskey was losing some of its burn, it seemed. That or he was getting used to it as a gentle warmth filled his head. “Next thing ya know, you’ve taken one step too many and you’re falling, and all you can do is hope the landing doesn’t crack you open like an egg.”

Too many lines seemed to intersect on the Smuggler’s Moon. Locke could see too many threads weaving together, but no matter how far he tried to pull back, the pattern remained murky. A Hutt attack on the head of the Exchange, and her seat of power, in broad daylight. A traitor in the Compeer’s ranks. Scheming by the Unseen. The Black Sun arriving on Nar Shaddaa in force to wreck the Blind Auction. A Sith conveniently appearing to confront the ex-Darth Novus out of thin air...

“I don’t like it,” Locke said. He sank further into his chair, expression turning grim. Nar Shaddaa always had the potential to be a powder keg, with countless dueling ambitions overseeing the lives of some 90-plus billion people. Now, more than ever, it felt like they were all just waiting for the spark to set it off.

Or maybe that spark had already lit, and they were all waiting for the explosion.

“Whatever has held this peace, I don’t think it’s going to stay for much longer,” Locke said. “I know the Botto situation is... dealt with, but that’s enough of a reason for the Hutts to come gunning for the Exchange if they decide they want to hold a grudge — and if there’s one thing those fuckers can do, it’s hold a grudge.” Locke set down his glas after emptying it. Rather than immediately go for a refile, he left it there, his fingers rap-tap-tapping on the wooden table as he thought. “But if the Black SUn decides to come butting in, that could upset the whole order of things here.

“And the thing about criminal empires and understandings between them, as you oughta know plenty well by now, is that the whole thing relies on clear-cut order — even more than a normal government, sometimes,” he said. “If someone comes and takes a hammer to it, then,” Locke imitated a pile collapsing with his hand and accompanying sound effects.

“And I got a feeling we’ll all get caught up in whatever is coming.”

[Fromikeable]

“Do you ever feel like we’re on the precipice of something great and terrible?” The question caught Vance off-guard, his drink hovering above the side table mid-motion for a second as he listened. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard Locke be quite so prophetic. The man had never struck him as someone who put much stock in feelings predicting the future, much less as someone prone to doom-saying.

Yet he had a point. Vance had lived on Nar Shaddaa for seven years. Seven long years. Each had been longer than the last, the first a shotgun course in survival, the second a gauntlet up the Exchange ladder, and so on. Yet even with all that, he couldn’t recall seeing a climate quite like this. Lidah seizing the title of Compeer had been tumultuous, to say the least, but even then, as Locke had noted, a clear-cut order had been present. The other factions had made their moves and waited to see what the newest player would do. When Lidah had responded deftly, a new balance had been struck, and with only the occasional change, maintained.

Now? Fuck, who knew by this point. The scales had been tipped so hard and so quickly that they were spinning in the air, the entirety of the underworld watching to see how they’d land.

”Maybe. I think I’m a little too used to it all by this point to tell.” Huffing a small chuckle, Vance sat back. Resting his hands on the chair’s arms, he regarded a small ornament on the coffee table, some sort of elaborate ashtray, as he spoke.

”It’s all strange, I have to give it that. I can’t tell yet if it’s something from the outside though. This place, these people, they’ve all got a knack for surprising me, I guess.” Shaking his head, he grimaced a bit. ”Whenever they do things like this, when they really start trying to tear out pages out of the thin rulebook, I’ve got to wonder. Is it some twist of the Force, or can life really be just so… so…”

He rolled a wrist, glancing at the ceiling as he tried to summon the right word. ”... deadly? So opposed to itself, I mean.” Vance made a face, dissatisfied with his own description. ”It’s like the old story about the snake eating its own tale. I always wondered if it had a reason, or if it was driven so insane with gluttony that it just didn’t care anymore.” With a sigh, he waved a hand, abandoning the line of thinking.

”After a while, the question starts driving me insane and I have to remind myself not to think about it.” Growing a little distant, Vance’s voice reduced to a murmur. ”When you start doubting the nature of people itself, you just, y’know…” Catching himself, he cleared his throat, refocusing and adjusting in his seat.

”Point being… I don’t know. I’ve felt like we were on the precipice of something great and terrible a few times by now. Yesterday’s a good example.” Cracking a smile, he finally grabbed his drink, polishing it off.

”We’ll make it through. Whatever it is.”

[Rugs]

Locke settled into his chair, watching Vance sidelong as the younger man spoke. His response was thoughtful, and measured, even with the frustrations it conveyed. Locke couldn’t help but smile a bit. It was refreshing, to hear such words from someone Vance’s age, even if he admitted to some answers eluding him.

It reaffirmed something Locke had known since their first encounter in the Jedi Temple, in what felt like another life--Vance had a good head on his shoulders. Hard times — and Force only knew the young man had seen more in his 20-some-odd years than most people had a right to in their full lives — hadn’t changed that.

“We’ll find a way,” he said. “Once we find out what it is.” Criminal wars were nothing nice--but they were nothing new, either. So why then, did this unforeseeable, unknowable something fill Locke with dread?

Perhaps some meditation would answer his questions. Or perhaps he’d have to wait and see if this shadowy danger ever truly reared its head.

“Try not to lose faith in people though,” he said. Locke looked sidelong at Vance. “Yeah, there are some shitbags out there. We both know that, but people--believing that I can help make a change for good, even if it’s one person at a time,” he laughed and shook his head, “it’s the only thing that keeps me going, sometimes.

“I know we wear different hats, these days, but hey, you’re not nobody.” He smiled warmly. “You’ve got a say in a lot of things — quite frankly more than you probably would as a young Jedi Knight. I know it’s a cutthroat world out here, but make life better for someone if you can, when you can.” He shrugged. “Never know how it’ll pay off, or how small favors might one day be returned.”

Locke paused, realizing he’d emptied his cup again, and decided that his conversation with Vance had gotten entirely too serious.

“So,” he said, pulling the bottle of whiskey to his hand with a tug of the Force. “Whatever happened to that dog?” The drink poured of its own accord and the bottle neatly resettled itself onto the tray when Locke decided he’d poured enough. A flangrantly disrespectful use of the Force for some Jedi, perhaps, but Locke didn’t care at the moment. “Yknow, the one Lidah got at the Auction? Is it being added to the collection? Should make it a mascot for the casino, if you ask me.”

[Neology]

[googlefont="News Cycle"]

”Put a green costume on a big red dog?” Lidah sealed the door behind her with one hand, carrying a plate of finger sandwiches and other dainties in the other. ”That’s ridiculous. Maybe for Life Day.” Striding in, the compeer glanced from on man to the other, then took speculative measure of the bottle they were sharing. Between time differences, irregular schedules, and the prior evening’s events … It was hard to say whether it felt too early or too late for drinking. But it had to be one of those, for sure. ”The howlrunner should make a full recovery in time -- with antibiotics and rest. I’ll be talking price with the Hutts soon, I suppose, if Cerbozz made it out.” Lidah set the tray of leftovers down beside the whiskey, then settled down on the arm of Locke’s chair. She kissed the top of his head, eyes flickering closed momentarily as she changed mental gears. No show to be put on here, as if Vance in his laundry day best wasn’t proof enough. ”It went … Okay-ish. We’re probably safe from your Jedi friend, at least for now. Though she did not accept my invitation to this esteemed gathering.” Which was just fine with Lidah. The others could speak for themselves, later and more freely, and try to make amends. Assuming Moonfire didn’t change her mind, and assuming that Lidah hadn’t misread her. Speaking of all due groveling and forgiveness ... ”I am sorry for doubting you, last night. The both of you.” Lidah exhaled and stretched, getting as cozy as one could on the edge of a piece of furniture. ”But kindly don’t put me in that position again, if you can help it.”

[Fromikeable]

“Try not to lose faith in people though.” Vance could only nod at that. He'd had to tell himself as much more than he'd care to remember over the past few years, particularly on Rhen Var. The worst thing about dealing with awful people had been the simple fact that there were still good ones out there, almost sort've teasing at one's hopes.

Happy to abandon the line of thinking, Vance perked up as Lidah appeared at the door. Tracking her with his eyes for a minute, a stress filled his shoulders as he realized that she was alone. Where had Mooney gone? Was she dead? In a speeder tied up with chains? He resisted the urge to chew her tongue as she spoke, listening with a little too much focus.

”It went … Okay-ish." The stress instantly melted, causing Vance to slink back into his chair and rub his forehead, sighing heavily. Of all the disasters and missteps that had occurred at the Auction, all of them but a punishment for the Jedi could be excused. That Zeltron Sith could be put down. The Black Suns could be counteracted and repelled. The Hutts could be dealt with as they no-doubt scrambled in a panic.

But a Jedi dead because of Vance's reluctant tongue? That would have kept him up at night.

"Thank the Force." Rubbing his eyes a little, Vance managed a tired smile. Sitting up, he took a cue from Locke and looked to the bar. After a moment's worth of clinking, an third glass came floating over toward the whisky bottle, joining Vance's. The bottle again moved of its own accord, filing both glasses halfway before the cap screwed back on. Vance's glass departed back to his hand, while the third sat beside the whisky as an open invitation to Lidah.

Etiquette be damned.

"It's not your fault. I... probably should have told you both that I met her at the hotel right after." Shaking his head, Vance sighed a bit. "She was really helpful with that bomber, and I wasn't thinking about the consequences as much as I should have been." Between her history with the Zeltron Sith and her investigation, Vance had little doubt that Mooney would have found her way to the Blind Auction without having met him. But he had to wonder if the evening wouldn't have gone differently, and ultimately better for everyone involved.

What had he been thinking about? The conversations, mostly. Getting onion rings and milkshakes had been the most relaxing thing he'd done with someone outside of the Eye in months. He hadn't been thinking about the Exchange or the Hutts or the underworld or the Exchange, just... the Thistleway Diner four blocks from the Temple.

When he realized his silence, Vance cleared his throat. "So thank you for, y'know, giving her a chance. I don't think you'll regret it." Extending a finger, he swirled it as well as a drink, taking a sip before continuing. "The other loose ends are gonna' be much more simple to deal with."

[Rugs]

“There are worse combinations than red and green, you know,” Locke said with a sly smile as Lidah entered the room. “But I like the way you think. I’m not a businessman, but a live mascot for Life Day? Think of the crowds.” He clicked his tongue and winked at her. “And that’s why you make the big bucks.”

Lidah’s sudden arrival, for as much as Locke and Vance had dreaded what sort of trouble they might find themselves in, was reassuring. All seemed well, and Locke felt himself relaxing as her lips brushed briefly against his forehead. Lidah seemed at ease, and there had been no sudden spike of emotion from Moonfire as an alarm that something had gone terribly wrong.

“Hey, it’s understandable that you’d be wary,” Locke said. “You had every right to be. Honestly, I should’ve told you that she came to Nar Shaddaa with me, but, well...” he laughed, smiling sheepishly, “this particular visit has gone a lot different than we expected when we arrived.” It was just a short stop, or it was supposed to be at the time. All those weeks ago. They felt like a short lifetime, with all that’d happened since.

Speaking of telling people things... How much did Moonfire know about his relationship with Lidah? And how much should he tell her? Moonfire might not force the issue — at least not so quickly — but a part of him knew it’d be better to say something about it than to let it linger for Force only knew how long.

But it would have to wait, for at least a while longer. Moonfire was not here, after all.

“She’s a good kid,” he said, glancing up from his thoughts. “Smart, trustworthy. She’ll do right by you.”

Locke glanced at Vance as the younger man spoke, nodding. Vance’s last words, combined with the general topic of Jedi poking around the Exchange, sparked another thought.

“Say, speaking of loose ends,” he started, turning his focus from Lidah to Vance, “your old Master was poking around a while back. Talau. Before the Auction. She had mentioned being drawn to you, but not being able to get close to you, for some reason.”

Locke’s brow creased slightly. “I suppose it’s hardly my business, but did she ever reach you?”

[Fromikeable]

The twitch in Vance's lip preceded his change in posture. The relief that had made him slump in his chair gave way to a much more formal, measured rigidness as he sat up. Opening his mouth to speak, he just exhaled, his voice catching for a second before he had to clear his throat.

"Yeah." Taking a significantly bigger sip of his drink, Vance polished off the glass before setting it down. "She reached me alright. She snuck up on me during breakfast one morning and started going on about her civil war, her planet-" A hand rolled to indicate the rest as his shoulder tensed, his presence swirling as mild irritation started fermenting into genuine anger. For a second, he seemed like he might boil over, his cheeks getting pink, his other hand fidgeting on the arm of his chair.

But a ragged sigh interrupted the swell as Vance reminded himself to breathe. Shaking his head, he seized a split second of silence. It wasn't worth it. None of it was. He shouldn't have even gotten as worked up at the deli as he had. That had been different though; he'd been just as shocked as he had been hurt. That woman had single-handedly torn open a wound he'd thought long-since healed.

Glancing at Lidah, he reminded himself that it had. Talau Firians and her memories only had as much power as he elected to give them. By the Force, he was done giving them any.

"I expected an apology, at least. When I didn't get one, I yelled at her." A tiny smile broke out on his face, more tired than anything else. "Maybe that was selfish, but, y'know. It was one of those conversations I'd imagined a thousand times and never expected to happen at all." He shrugged, his shoulders relaxing with the motion.

"She got close enough to touch my hand and zap memories into my head. I think she thought it'd make me drop everything and help her." His glance at Locke paired with a sarcastic smirk indicated that it hadn't been enough at all. "I told her to go bark up the Republic's tree and not to talk to me ever again." Vance nudged his chin toward Lidah.

"I don't know if that qualifies as a 'reason she couldn't get close'. If not, Lidah talked to her too."

[Neology]

Lidah nodded, accepting thanks and nearly-there apologies both with an air of distracted grace. The tension and sudden relief that lit Vance’s face gave her pause. Come on, Vee. You must know me better than that by now. Even as Darth Novus, she hadn’t killed Jedi on a whim. Present company proved as much. So it was a lack of trust all around, then. She picked up the whiskey tumbler and considered the rather generous portion within. The aroma wasn’t as bad as she feared, vanilla and wood with a hint of smoke. ”I really hope you were exaggerating about this. Hairy chests and the like.” Hair tonic wouldn’t be the strangest alcoholic inclusion that she’d ever heard of. She sat up a little straighter as the conversation veered suddenly. Moonfire was one thing – perhaps she might even live up to all Locke said of her – but Firians was quite another. ”She was after you too? Huh.” Lidah reached over herself with her free hand, taking Locke’s. He must have received the same recruitment speech as Vance and Jazen. ”I’m glad you didn’t go,” She whispered. It all combined to fill in a missing piece, a strange feeling after so many years despite the rather mundane nature of the information. Locke and his padawan had known Firians and hers. That was why he’d been so shocked to see Vance in the interrogation chamber that day. Lidah sipped from her glass and digested that information. Whatever all that shared history meant, Vance at least did not seem to regret his present circumstances. That helped to soothe her ruffled feathers. ”Yes. I set up a meeting over lunch, framed myself as the irritated employer only. And to be fair, Thel and Forte do have contracts with me.” Lidah frowned briefly at the memory. Firians had not deserved any further emotional context after ambushing Vance in public. ”I offered to pay her to go away, to obey Vance’s stated wishes. Either in mercenaries or credits to hire them with. She refused my help – and Jazen’s when he tried to offer the same. So I guess it must not be all that desperate, whatever else she might say. Plus she was rude, and not in a way I find amusing.”

[Rugs]

Locke listened as Vance and Lidah spoke of their encounters with Talau.

The first was unsurprising but disappointing all the same. But Lidah had met with her as well? Didn’t see that one coming. It made sense; of course Lidah would know if someone was sniffing around on her turf.

“So she didn’t take that offer?” he said, allowing surprise to show in his voice. “From either of you?” Or from Jazen, from the sound of what Lidah had to say.

Locke frowned. “When she came to me, she mentioned that conflict — the same one that she surely talked to Vance and Jazen about,” he started, thinking back through the whole affair. She’d found him near the Eye, and after saying she couldn’t meet with Vance — yes his explanation for what happened made that bit fall into place at least — they’d met in a quiet cafe a short walk away.

They’d caught up, and while his heart hurt for her people, as it would any torn apart by war, the Galaxy was full of suffering, on a scale that hadn’t been seen in centuries. “I offered to send a good word to the Council, if she went for help, and suggested she reach out to the Republic.” He nodded to Vance, who’d apparently made the same suggestion.

“But she seemed concerned about the Republic absorbing her world?” Locke’s brow knit. “I dunno. Regardless, we had a pleasant enough conversation and she left. I assume she’s long-since offworld.”

“Not that it’s my place to apologize for another’s actions, but I am sorry about the... memory zap or whatever it was,” he said to Vance. He then turned to Lidah. “And I’m sorry she... may not have handled that meeting well.”

[Neology]

Offworld? Lidah was certain of it. The Rilan had snuck from her hotel to her ship twice a day, followed discreetly by hired agents after the first touch off. An easy job, all told, when the target ran around in robe-shrouded armor and a distinctive feathered headdress. Lidah had been fully prepared to enforce her threats – and rather more vigorously than simply denying Forte his wages. Strange and a little loathsome that that was the bolt that stuck true. Credits flowed through the Compeer’s hands freely; she would happily have paid any sum to keep these few people that she loved away from war altogether. Locke and Vance and even bizarre, perplexing Jazen in his way. Alas, that was usually out of her power. Fighting came to them each often enough, even in those rare moments when they stopped running headlong after it. ”Yes, well. She threw out my cookie bouquet, so apology not accepted. I see it was all a terrible Jedi plot to make me waste forty bucks.” Lidah flicked off one flat and then the other, shifting herself from the chair arm to Locke’s lap, dainty stocking feet hanging off the other arm. ”Lunch too, I suppose. Eighty bucks.” She sniffed and drained her glass, abandoning the empty tumbler with the shoes. ”I wont make that offer again.” Lidah’s jaw worked a moment as she thought to say more, then let it go with a puff of breath. She looked away from Locke, feigning interest in an upholstery seam gone slightly shabby, a handspan or so from his neck. Teasing at the thread with her nails, she made it worse. Some slight guilt pressed, for while she had not hurt Ms. Shae … Well. It would be terrible to burden Vance with that, and Locke could hardly fly to Firians with slightly redundant warnings without exposing himself. Might he feel the need to anyway, if she said more? Perhaps. For all her morbid curiosity, it seemed a poor trade. Memories, happy or not, weighed against the living, breathing present and all possible futures. ”I found Moonfire much better company, by comparison. And though I judge she held more of the truth altogether, I did not add to it.” Her fingers wound slowly into Locke’s hair, near the nape of his neck. It was so much more intriguing now, in the warm, safe light of day. ”Why don’t yo follow up with her, Vee? Immediately, if you don’t mind.”

[Fromikeable]

Vance had forgotten that Lidah had offered to pay Tal for her absence. He knew their lunch had gone without incident (which had struck him as amazing, given what he’d thought of Tal after their breakfast), but the fact that Lidah had be willing to go so far as to enterprise that woman surprised him. He wouldn’t have given the ex-Jedi a single credit; what had motivated Lidah to go so far?

You, moron. Vance’s lips pressed into a line as he realized just how much an ass that made him. Here he had been restraining himself from gnawing at his glass of whiskey with worry about Lidah’s handling of Mooney when she had let his final master, a woman she knew he hated and had no reason to placate, walk free without consequence. Moonfire had both he and Locke vouching for her, not to mention being utterly trustworthy and completely cooperative. Tal, on the other hand, had been dismissive, actively tried to lure most of Lidah’s immediate “family” away from the Eye, and had been brusque in their dealings.

Yet Lidah had let her go scot-free. His worry about Mooney seemed, by contrast, almost insulting.

Resolving to apologize later, Vance blinked out of his thinking as Locke apologized. Shaking his head, Vance huffed. ”I’ve had worse things happen to my head than an influx of memories about some civil war.” Crossing his arms, he tried not to dwell on the images she’d shown him. Had they been bad? Sure, no civil war was good. But none of it had been anything he hadn’t seen during the galactic war. All of the same anguish, heartbreak, and sadness, just with far fewer rakghouls.

””Why don’t you follow up with her, Vee? Immediately, if you don’t mind.”

Vance’s face scrunched. Resisting the urge to “ew” at her, he settled for a ”Yeah” before summoning the bottle of whiskey to his hand again. Pouring himself one last drink, he got up and stretched, his back cracking slightly. Taking his first step toward the door, he raised the glass at Locke just a smidge.

”Thanks for the beertalk, Master Nemsee.” Grinning a little, Vance brought the glass to his lips as he walked out, free hand in his pocket, amber liquor flowing down his throat. His and Locke’s drinking talks had come far since that rundown Coruscanti bar, evolving to much different topics (no more career advice) and much better drinks (or maybe Vance just wasn’t choking on beer any more). Granted, their new problems seemed much bigger than choosing a profession, but in a way…

… well, if Vance had become an Investigator, wouldn’t they be talking about underworld wars much the same way?

It was food for thought as he meandered down the hallway, a scan for Mooney’s presence revealing that she was already gone. Pulling out his comm, he pulled up her contact and hummed, trying to figure out how to even begin.

[Rugs]

Locke clicked his tongue and snapped his fingers with an oh darn sort of look as Lidah rejected his apology on his Jedi peer’s behalf.

“Well, I tried,” he said, voice playful. “But what are some words compared to 80 bucks?”

Despite his words, he couldn’t deny the very serious undertone the conversation carried. Lidah kept her word, and he rather much doubted her second offer to Talau, should it ever need to be extended, would be much less kind the first.

In the men-with-blasters-shooting-at-you sense, anyway.

Well with luck, that won’t be a concern, he told himself. Who knew?

There was, at this moment, not that much use worrying about that particular strand of a possible future, Locke decided. Not with so many other conflagrations seemingly a stray spark away from setting the underworld ablaze.

“Oh that feels nice,” he muttered as Lidah’s hand worked into his hair. He nearly laughed aloud at the flutter of expression that flickered across Vance’s face as Lidah suggested he go find Moonfire. Instead, he put on a satisfied smile and raised a hand to wave the young man goodbye.

“No problem,” he said to Vance’s retreating back. “We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

The door hissed shut behind Vance. Locke laid his head back, looking to Lidah with a warm smile. Now there was just the two of them. No prying eyes, no worries about the Galaxy’s outside pressures pushing down onto them.

“You know,” he said, pulling her gently down into the too-comfortable chair with him, “I think this is just the perfect way to spend an evening.”