Fer Sure Maybe

[Moonfire]

“Oh, what the fucking fuck?” Qiki grunted as the small sticky baking of her pasty didn’t line up exactly where she wanted it. The pixel animation of soundwaves, reacting now to her speech in excited squiggles, sat cock-eyed against her skin completely uneven with its sister. “I look like an inbred bint from Dantooine, right now Yo-Yo-- I fuckin’ hate pasties, why do I always think fuckin’ pasties are a look?”

Gritting her teeth the young woman tugged, ripping the triangle patch up and off her breast in a single resolute tug.

“Fuck!”

The rest of Qiki’s look for the evening had been put on, save the iridescent and transparent plasticky mini-skirt she’d slide on just before they left. A long-sleeved shrug that cut just above her poorly placed pasties and exposing an expanse of hollow stomach and ribs before finding dark, strappy speeder-shorts. With a defiant slap of the pasty back on its target Qiki took in her look in the full-length hotel mirror, turning about on tall platform boots to admire herself amidst the scattered clothing of her ravaged room in their suite.

“Spend a fuckin’ year in a tank while fuckin’ mucus and my own liquifying insides try to pour out of every orifice and now I’m out here gettin’ bright ideas tryin’ to be fuckin’ cute with stickers on my nipples-- Like, fuckin’ seriously? The whole fuckin’ galaxy almost went to shit, obviously we gotta party a little, but like-- You don’t think we’re gettin’ too old for this shit, do ya Yo-Yo?”

Picking up the skirt and tucking it under her arm the slicer wove her way through the wasteland of her room service dinner, empty beverage cans, snack packets, and rejected outfits back into the living room of their posh suite of rooms, looking now for Io’an before barging, without knocking, into his claimed space. “What’re you wearing because I swear my guy if you don’t match the level of fuckin’ savage I’m going for right now I’m gonna throw hands."

[Rugs]

“Honestly, I’m not sure.”

Io’an stood among a nest of clothes laid out in a haphazard pile in his claimed area of their large, ludicrously-expensive suite. He was bare to the waist, wearing dark, heavy pants with far too many zippers. A pair of matching zippered boots were on the floor — one upright, the other accidentally tilted over — next to his still-bare feet.

“I think I’m feeling that one,” he said, pointing to a mesh vest. “But that too...” he pointed now to a long, slick leather jacket, meant to hang open in the front. It was an absurdity, decorated with light strips along the back and seams that glowed with random, eye-searing neon colors and, of course, zippers in places that didn’t make any sense.

Io’an shifted his weight from one leg to the other, knuckling his chin in thought. “Maybe both...”

He felt better than he had in... he almost couldn’t remember how long. Not since the Archeri arrived. His skin was, if still a touch pale, closer to normal than it’d been in months, and he’d made some progress in putting back on some of the weight lost to the plague.

“But see, Qiki, the problem is, I could never match the level of savage you bring,” he said, grinning wryly. A hint of mischief flashed in his sea-green eyes, now encircled by a light ring of violet. “Anyone even trying to match that might as well be trying to hold a star.”

Io’an turned back to his pile of clothes. “I think I’m gonna go with both of ‘em.”

[Moonfire]

“Fuck yeah!” Qiki’s hands, criss-crossed with tattered fishnet gloves, clapped in two quick beats, jubilance splayed across her impish face as Io’an settled on his attire. “Slay queen, slaaaay!” Hoisting up the boots in hand the petite woman modeled them against her own garishly buckled platforms. “These are tight as fuck, Yo-yo-- Makin’ me wish I had carnival-big feet so I could steal ‘em,”

The dreadlocked woman tossed them cleanly over to her friend, grin wide as she stretched, all knees and elbows, across his bed to pluck up the slick neon and black number. Her eyes caught the shift of violet in that familiar look of his, that mischevious grin that cut through that bashful and bitchy thing he had going, with a pang of-- Oh, fuck, what did people call it? Worry? Disquiet? Yeah, disquiet felt right. A knife slipping and sliding between her guts at the thought of how much they could have lost. How much the galaxy did lose. Io’an had been sick for so long, she alone was only alive thanks to Lidah’s seemingly endless money and medical equipment keeping her from dissolving the way that guy on Prazhi did.

Thank fuck they were rich and resourceful, eh? Sucks for everyone else.

A little flicker, that breath of something leftover from the plague that threaded every victim across the cosmos together, brightened her further, the pleasure of a vacation-- a real true vacation was just as exciting to worry-wart Io’an.

Slinging the jacket up and around his shoulders, sleeves open for him to slide the slick bit of Coruscanti-trash-goth fashion up and on, Qiki couldn’t help but wiggle and groove in anticipation. “Letsgoletsgoletsgoletgooo!”

------

The shuttle, a privately ordered number all in black, glided across the dark Coruscanti skies towards neon-lights and animated signs. The city-planet was far from unfamiliar to the professional gamer turned holonet troll, she’d grown there. Sliced there. Been molded by it. Hadn’t seen Nar Shaddaa until she was a man woman.

And sure, it wasn’t as scuzzy as she wanted sometimes. Wasn’t the kinda people she wanted to schmooze and hang with, no. Everyone was too eager. Too friendly. Too earnest. Qiki Muir had enough friends. Three was plenty, honest. But for a vacation? For some dancing and drinking and drugs? Yeah. Coruscant was lookin’ a lot better than home these days-- Especially when you wanted your bestie to forget some of the shit he’d seen.

What a month ago had most certainly been a warehouse in the mid-levels of Coruscant now teemed with life, brilliant shoots of green, purple, pink, baby blue pulsed in time with the beat of electronic music. Sliding to a stop their speeder paused, Qiki bounding up and out of it, her hand tugging at Io’an’s as she bounced, half-dancing already.

“Reflex said this is the hottest place in all of Pubby-space, an’ you know Reflex likes to get it on like Dankey Cong, so let’s see if the big fucker’s lost his touch or what?” The blonde mused, shifting back and forth on the tips of her toes as they sprinted past the bouncer with a flip of their wrists, comm’s lighting up in time with the high-priority list.

Inside the warehouse, now a shock of pale blue laser lights and gyrating robed figures, was a sea of Republic pride. Cage dancers dressed as Jedi, donned in robes and long beards that tickled their bare midriffs thrust along to a sickening dance beat.

“Let’s find some fuckin’ drugs!”

[Rugs]

The rhythmic, pounding beat thumping from within the warehouse shook the shuttle as they set down. Io’an half-stepped, and was half-dragged out of the shuttle as Qiki bounded off toward the party. “I’m coming,” he protested as she pulled him along, but he couldn’t help but smile.

After so long sick, after so long with Qiki out of the game and in a kolto tank, it was good to see her lively again. It was good to have a night to just get out and have some dumb fun at a warehouse-turned-hottest-club-on-Coruscant.

“I don’t think he’s wrong,” he said, casting surreptitious glances at the fellow partygoers that streamed in through the big double-doors. There was plenty to look at, to be sure. Maybe more, with some luck...

The interior the warehouse was alive with brilliant flashing lights. The dull thump, thump, thumping bass from outside now shook Io’an’s soul with power. He drew in on himself in the Force, as much as he could — he’d rather not feel the overwhelming crush of people and Force-only-knew-what they were doing if he could help it.

“Let’s find some fuckin drugs!”

Qiki shouted over the roar of the party.

“Yea!” he said, then paused after starting to hurry after her.

“Wait,” he muttered, not that anyone could hear over the music — he could barely hear himself — “drugs?”

“Should we be doin’ that so soon?” he wondered aloud to Qiki. He was a relative straight-edge, compared to Qiki and Reflex, though he’d indulge on rare occasions. “I mean, we just got outta almost dyin’?”

A server — a shirtless Zeltron man in tight-fitting pants swooped by with a tray of glowing pink drinks. Io’an as if ignoring his own concerns, swiped one for himself and one for Qiki. His eyes followed Zeltron's lithely muscular back as he drifted off into the crowd before he turned back to his friend, holding a drink out for her.

“What I’m sayin’ is,” he took a swig of the drink and coughed — it was much stronger than it looked, “maybe we oughta work back up to the hard stuff?”

[Moonfire]

Io’an’s protest, as adorable as it was, barely phased the petite woman. Arms stretched and waved to the raucous thud as the bass was dropped for the latest pounding dance beat. It rolled and moved in her very soul, the frantic movement of people jumping and writhing in unity. Joy, pure and intoxicating all its own blossomed in the center of her chest as Qiki returned to the most sacred of mental spaces, hedonistic nirvana. Uplifting her with every bump of person and shouted conversation, she could nearly taste the ecstasy of it.

Or at least she would soon if Io’an quit being a little bitch. Plucking her own drink from the waiter Qiki turned back, tossing it back with a hiss of satisfaction. “Pffff, as if! This is the perfect fuckin’ time to get high-- A year in a kolto tank and now ya girl’s got the tolerance of a Jedi preteen. It’ll be like doin’ spice for the very first time. We’ve been given a rare gift, my guy. We’ve been reborn.” She grinned, arm snaking it ways up and around the much taller man’s shoulders, giving him a squeeze. “We’re fuckin’ gods. We’re, like, fuckin’ immortal.”

Planting her lips to the sephi’s high cheekbone Qiki’s grin stretched to comical proportions. “So, quit bein’ a downer an’ help me find some uppers’ ya know what I mean? Good? Good!” Releasing her favorite Io’an the human woman pressed off into the warehouse at large, bouncing along to the beat between sips of her drink.

The crowd rolled and parted like the seas of Corellia, each flash of lights and thump of music revealing new and interesting faces. A vartian commander drinking boredly in the corner, a plethora of zeltrons and zelosians, even an echani couple that seemed to be fighting more than dancing with every harsh move of their limbs towards one another. The infectious beat called to her as she wove through the crowd and towards the sitting lounge of wide, comfortable couches and low tables.

Just as they passed a shock of white hair lifted, the blue eyes of a tall arkanian narrowing with suspicious recognition. “Io’an?” Oberyn Starr called, jumping up and to his feet. His own drink clattering back to the table as he jumped up, calling the name again over the thudding music. “Io’an!”

Obie, dressed in a shiny silvered shirt and plain but well-fitted pants, strode over to the familiar grey jedi a look of delighted recognition stretching his chiseled features. “Blimey, look a’ you! I can’t tell you how good it is you see you.”

[Rugs]

“But Qiki,” Io’an called as she kissed him on the cheek and vanished off into the crowd, “don’t you think the low tolerance would be a prob-and she’s gone...” He muttered the last to himself, shoulders hunched as the beat boomed and the crowd danced around him. With a resigned sigh, he threw back the last of his drink--face twisting as it burned his throat--and hurried after Qiki.

At the very least, he could keep an eye out to make sure she didn’t kill herself, even if he didn’t do anything himself. I could maybe do a little, he thought, eyeing the crowd. Qiki’s hair bobbed through the throng up ahead. Io’an hurried after with muttered apologies as he jostled by people. He didn’t notice the broad-shouldered green Twi-lek whose drink he spilled with a poorly placed elbow; the music drowned out the fellow’s shouting as Io’an hurried after Qiki.

“Maybe a little fun won’t hurt,” he said as he rejoined her, just as he thought he heard someone shouting his name over the floor-shaking bass.

“Io’an!”

He looked around thorugh the crowd. For a moment, he saw a flash of white hair but it was there and gone, vanished behind some taller person.

“Io’an!”

That voice sounds familiar...

And then Oberyn Starr emerged from the crowd. Io’an suddenly wasn’t sure Qiki hadn’t badgered him into taking some drug brewed in a back alley somewhere. It had to be an illusion. His knees felt weak.

Yet at the same time, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Oberyn’s face, from his soft blue eyes, from all of him. He wondered, stupidly, if Oberyn could hear his heart trying to pound its way out of his chest.

“Oberyn?” he asked, breath catching in his throat. “I thought...”

As he searched for words, Oberyn pulled him into a hug. Io’an tensed, caught off guard, then melted, returning the hug for a long moment and basking the nearness of him, of his touch, of his scent, of finding this familiar soul in an utterly alien place — of everything.

The lingering aftereffects of the Archeri Plague came rushing to the forefront of his mind. The weight he’d yet to fully regain, his pale skin, the violet rings encircling his eyes — countless tiny imperfections he hadn’t paid prior mind too now seemed, to him, to be shouting their existence.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he finally said after they separated. The tips of his pointed ears felt warm; he was sure they were reddening. “It’s been so long. Since the Auction, I mean. And when the Arch-”

“Hey, you fuckin’ lout!” Twi’lek came pushing through the crowd. Io’an blinked in surprise. A dark wet mark stained the front of what looked to be an exceptionally expensive — and very tacky — blazer and shirt. “You spilled this shit all over me nice clothes with your damn pushin’ and shovin’ like you’re the only fuckin’ person in here.”

Io’an blanched. “I’m... I’m sorry, he stammered. I didn’t mean to spill anything over you. I was after my friend, and there were so many people to get through, and-”

“I got half a mind to take you out back and let me boys go at you til your head in is the fuckin’ pavement, mate,” the Twi’lek growled. “But lucky for you, I’m feelin’ generous, so I’ll give you one chance to tell me what the fuck you are gonna do to fix this.”

[Moonfire]

His hands burned, stinging with the raw force of elation as they clapped on Io’an’s back. They hadn’t been best friends or close friends at all-- Io’an had worked for the cartel as a slicer-for-hire in a less strict sense than Obie’s own service to Cerbozz. Coming and going mostly as he pleased, their association was friendly and more by reputation than direct conversation. Io’an was a calm oasis at whatever bacchanal was popular that week on Nar Shaddaa, polite and consistent. More than anything though at the other boy was familiar, a face like so many others Oberyn had resigned himself to never see again months before.

Holding that tattered slip of a man, the fragile arrangement of too many bones wrapped in patent leather Oberyn let himself relish in a brief moment of relief. The tension he’d carried in his jaw and in his neck for the past year melting. He wasn’t alone. He wasn’t all alone.

When they pulled apart Oberyn’s hands rested still at the other boy’s shoulders, clinging tightly to the reality of him as if he’d slip like vapor between his fingers. “I really I can’t fuckin’ tell ya how happy I am to--”

And then the Twi’lek arrived barely clothed in his open triangle patterned shirt, skin a glowing neon green beneath the blacklights of the club, shouting as Io’an stammered the slightest of apologies. How very fucking dare they interrupt a couple of boys reuniting after a fucking spider war? The voiddamn nerve!

Oberyn’s head twisted, teeth on edge, releasing the Sephi as he moved, puffing his own slender chest up and out at the far more brutish man before them. “Oi! Fuck you, mate an’ your mingin’ drink, man said he was sorry. S’a fuckin’ club-- if you can afford that twa tty shirt you can bugger off an’ buy your own fruity cocktails!” His hand dismissively waving off the hulking creature just moments before the first fist hit him square in the jaw.

That’s gotta hurt.

[Rugs]

Oberyn’s words were lost as the Twi’lek disrupted them. Whatever he’d been planning to say, as much as Io’an deeply wanted to know, would have to wait. Instead, Oberyn turned to Io’an’s defense, telling off the big, bad Twi’lek.

For a fleeting moment, Io’an felt a flutter of relief. He felt a spark of hope — the Twi’lek was a bully. He’d seen the type before; they puffed their chests out, but show a bit of resistance and they’d fold. Alone, and unarmed, Io’an didn’t like his chances against the big green menace — not without calling on the Force, at least.

But with both of them? A smile started to tug at the corners of his mouth.

Then the blow fell on Oberyn.

“Obie!” Io’an yelled. He rushed forward, arresting his friend’s motion and guiding him back, away from the agressor.

“You think I’m scared of a pair of scrawny fuckin punks?” The Twi’lek was shaking the hand he’d used to sock Oberyn in the jaw. “I got boots worth more than the pair’a you put together, lads. In fact-” He grinned darkly. Io’an swallowed, feeling a knot form in his stomach.

“Leave us alone,” Io’an growled. A part of him wanted, direly, to reach for the Force — to call upon it wholly and show the Twi’lek what a scrawny fucking punk like him could do. But he resisted. “Whatever you want for that, I’ll pay it. Just please, leave us alone.”

“Oh no lad,” the Twi’lek said. “You lot have given two offenses. I don’t allow a third.” That malicious smile returned as the Twi’lek started to turn. “You street rats could pay for this anyway. Enjoy the evenin’ boys. You’ve got a debt, and I’ll be collectin’ by the end of the night.”

Three steps into his retreat, the Twi’lek paused and turned an emerald-colored eye to the boys. “Oh, and uh, don’t go thinkin’ you can go leavin’ without my permission, lads. My boys won’t like that.” He turned again and vanished into the crowd.

Io’an didn’t realize he was clenching his jaw in anger. He didn’t realize how tightly he held Oberyn. He didn’t realize how much he was struggling to keep his grasp on the Force under control until a glass on a crooked table next to them shattered.

“Oh,” he said, breathing as if he’d just gone sprinting, “I... sorry.” He looked at Oberyn, concern clear on his face. “Are you okay? I that looked like it hurt. If we need to get it looked at, I’m sure we can find someone...”

[Moonfire]

“Fock you an’ your boys…” Oberyn grumbled, rubbing his jaw. The pale, delicate skin there blossoming with red already, a twinge of scarlet blood dribbling from his lip. Io’an’s arms helped him forward in time to the shattering of glass. An arm moved about the blonde Sephi, half protective half for balance as he stood on shakey legs. A thumb smeared the trickle from his lips with a huff of annoyance, his digits streaky before brusquely brushed off onto his pants.

Oberyn smiled then, watery but reassuring. “M’alright, really, Io’an.” The corners of his lips lifting to try and play it up. Within moments the pair were sitting down, ducking into a narrow alcove of cushioned seats arranged in a semi-circle. Illuminated in swaths of powder blue and searing red that pulsed and moved with a new gyrating dance beat. Physical altercation aside Oberyn couldn’t help the joy he felt seeing Io’an again.

“Haven’t see ya since Cerbozz tanked, mate.” The Arkanian muttered, colorless eyes flicking up to meet Io’an’s blue with a pang of longing. Longing for a galaxy different than this. For everything to reset back to before the palace crashed out of the sky and spider-monsters split the life he’d so steadily pieced together back apart. Raking a hand through his coif of white hair, tongue fussing with the loop of metal through his lip Oberyn laughed. “How-- Blimey, where to even start? What’ve you been up to? I haven’t seen anyone since--”

“Yoyo!”

Oberyn’s words were quickly cut off by high shout as the petite slicer-supreme came tumbling over into their alcove, a tray of faintly glowing martinis clattering before them. In a few short motions Qiki climbed up and over the bewildered Oberyn to settle right between the two boys.

“I got you two some drinks since you’re over here gettin’ fuckin’ cozy without me,” The dreadlocked woman leaned over, giving Io’an a too wide grin, her nose nearly pressing into the boy’s cheek before dipping back over to Obie. “ ‘Ey, you’re StarrBoi, yeah? What happened to your face?”

Blinking sheepishly the Arkanian scratched absently at his jaw. Yeah, there’d definitely be a bruise there late. Shame that. “‘Allo, Qiks. Nuffin’, s’just some bastards runnin’ ‘round, thinkin’ they own the whole bloody fockin’ bar.” Oberyn said. He’d never particularly carried for the screechy bitch, but hell now it was nice to see her even. “You guys know anyone else fro--”

“Shhh. Shh. I have an announcement.” The woman called, quieting all conversation with a wave of her hand a shei flipped off her miniature backpack, pulling out a small glass vial of fine sparkling power. “If you two are done bein’ fucking lame, I got us somethin’ fun! Giggledust? Pubbybois know how to party, got us enough for a real good time, Obie included. Ya’ll in?”

The grin grew wider as she twisted and turned the sparkling dust in the light. Oh yes. It was gonna be a good vacation.

[Rugs]

“Well... alright,” Io’an hesitated but Oberyn’s grin quickly washed away his concerns. “As long as you’re okay.” Next he knew, Oberyn was leading him away from the bar to a set of overplush seats that were a bit more removed from the action. The shattered glass remained behind, dripping bright blue liquid onto the floor.

Io’an forgot about it, and managed to push his concern about the brawny Twi’lek out of his mind after he sat next to Oberyn. He scooted his chair closer to Oberyn’s side. Ordinarily it’d take working up some courage; with adrenaline from the confrontation still rushing through his system and the joy of seeing Oberyn again, Io’an was feeling a little braver than usual.

“Since the Blind Auction,” he said, showing a smile as he finally dared to relax. “Force, that was... a lifetime ago, it feels like.” Sickness, war, death, all come and gone since he’d last seen Oberyn. I feel like a completely different person now.

What all has changed with you? he wondered, staring at Oberyn in the brief silence. He wanted desperately to catch up with Oberyn, to know how the year or so they’d been apart had transpired. To spend time with him and hear of his life and journeys in the time since he saved Io’an aboard Cerbozz’s palace with some quick blaster work.

But before Oberyn could finish talking — before Io’an could get a word in — Qiki reappeared, slipping into the space between them. She seemed, as always, to have a perfect read on him as she leaned so close to him. “I-I-I don’t... We could have used you a few minutes ago, you know,” he started, but Qiki was already talking to Oberyn by the time he finished stammering the words out.

Probably for the best, with the red flushing his cheeks and ears.

“Giggledust,” he said, eyeing the vial as Qiki flaunted her bounty. “Always giggledust.” Qiki liked the stuff. Io’an tried not to indulge too heavily — drugs made for weird experiences with the Force.

But his pounding heart hadn't quite settled down from dealing with that Twi’lek. Or maybe... he thought, looking at Oberyn. The Arkanian had a way of setting Io’an’s pulse to racing. He flashed a grin, in case Qiki or Oberyn saw. He only hoped it looked anything close to confident.

“Well, we came here to have a good time right?” he said, voice playful as he leaned back — still trying to appear confident, of course. “Count me in.”