It's The Mileage

[Fromikeable]

Zeltros was always a bittersweet pill for Rase to swallow. Despite all the glamor and glitter that the planet was known for, he could never think of the rock without noting that little section one would find barely sketched onto maps; the ratty little bayous in the southeastern portion of the biggest continent, as quiet as they were unknown. The parties there were not nearly so loud, the smiles not nearly as multiple, and the good sensations and vibrations of Zeltron civilization present, albeit… dim.

Every planet party had a hangover. The bayou was Zeltros’s.

In a rare moment, Rase actually displayed a vacant expression, his sharp green eyes unfocused behind a pair of sunglasses as they gazed in the direction of the sea. His present locale was far from his home; a sunny beach complete with tropical fauna, warm sand, rolling waves, and a gentle sea breeze. The smell of salt pecked lightly at his nostrils, but all he could smell was swamp gas and exhaust. The sun gently bathed his crimson skin in an attempt to make it ever more red, but all he could feel was a usual mid-evening drizzle as the sky ended its fourth day of no sun.

For a place he wished he could forget, the Zeltron remembered it all too well.

But no. None of that. He was far from that… place, and by his own will and doing. Good for him, eh? He’d escaped, no matter who said what about anything. It was long gone, and if he so chose, he would never have to return.

Good riddance.

His eyes slowly coming back into focus, he yawned lightly as he focused on more present things. Flicking his holopad to a side table, he stretched out more completely on his beach chair, his toned, swim-trunk-clad form relaxing in the warmth. Lazily extending a hand to the side, he reached over to the side table again and plucked up his drink, sipping it a bit. Something fruity Novus had brought him. Kind of her, though a small part of him couldn’t help but wonder if she’d put something in it. After their last escapade, he wouldn’t blame her; nothing quite made someone want to drug another like being dragged through a blizzard to a forgotten city of sorrow only to have to compete with an unknown assailant and deceased Dark Lord.

He chuckled a little as he raised the drink, looking over at his companion. Her hat nearly rivaled his skin; a fact easily noted as he raised his glass and pulled down his sunglasses a bit, offering a toast.

”To mystery men and Lords long dead. And then warm beaches with lovely people.”

[Neology]

Taris. She should have died there. Perhaps she had.

One arm, hanging limply by her side, long fingers sifting gently through warm white sand … The strange scent of the ocean: all salt air, tropical sunscreen, and an underlying twinge of something distant and rotting. She wondered briefly what all that might do to a body, a dissolution of sea birds and hungry depths.

No. She was alive and this was real, as evidenced by the tiny grains of sand working their way beneath her lacquered fingernails. Novus let her thoughts scatter and roll, like precious beads spilled from a broken chain. She retrieved the hand, digging one nail beneath the other.

Her companion's melancholy was palpable. She studied him from beneath the brim of her hat, wondering at the source, not yet impatient enough to pry … And it vanished as she watched. Rase seemed to shake himself awake, returning her shameless regard with a chuckle and a toast. She quirked an eyebrow but took up her drink nonetheless. Deep and bowl shaped, the container was more goblet than glass. She clinked it against his, then took a deep drink.

“Of course, though I am less keen on the mystery man bit. I'm not in the habit of toasting my enemies.” Something really would need to be done about him, eventually. Murderous Sith were a fact of life. Murderous outsiders needed to be murdered back, as quickly as possible. Another sip and she set the drink down, rolling onto her side to face her companion.

“Has there been any trouble on Agamar? Since ...” You know, the battle for Taris. She blinked, frowned. “Actually, I don't want to talk about that. Did you like the harp?”

[Fromikeable]

Her comment on mystery men made him huff and grin; he was far from crazy about it either. Truth be told, it bothered him just a bit more than being on Zeltros. He could escape his home, ignore his memories, and forever curse his old accent easily, but the character that had duped them twice now might easily kill them both if shoved to the side. Competition for his treasure had always existed (however rarely), but it had never before been anything worse than a mad dog in search of his nest egg or a clueless academic in over his head.

There had never been one quite so… aware.

That worried him. Where had his newfound opponent learned so much as to dwarf his own knowledge? How much more did he know? How much further along was he? And if Rase viewed him as someone with far more intelligence regarding the Six, how was he regarded?

As a disillusioned treasure hunter. no doubt. The Zeltron didn’t have many fears, but losing his sanity in an impossible quest for a false prize was certainly one of them.

He was about to try and steer his thinking toward Novus’s initial question when she seemed to back away from it, as if the very mention of a time before some point disturbed her. Cocking a brow ever so little, the doctor’s mind instead busied itself trying to discern a cause. What had happened since Mygeeto? That had only been some time ago… the only thing he could think of that might be on the mind of a Sith Lady was the catastrophes at Taris (though he would admit that he only knew her doings so well). That seemed viable; he’d seen the holos. He’d heard the body counts. He’d felt the emanations of doom from both sides as he too had gone about his own business.

Why in the galaxy would anyone ever try to weaponize rakghouls again? Rather than say it, he gently bit his tongue and moved on. No doubt she had enough conflict about the failure without him pointing out now-apparent history.

“The harp is absolutely stunning.” He did his best to make his voice sound soothing and melodious, trying to distract her as much with its tone as his abundant rambling. “I fear they mislabeled it, however. It’s certainly pre-Hyperdrive Catharian, however I find that dating it in the Myopian dynasty-era is a bit of a stretch.”

He sipped his own drink thoughtfully, humming for a moment before looking to his side at her and trying to deceive both of them the best way he knew how; with a dashing grin. “I find it more likely a Trissen dynasty piece. They were known for ornate harps, particularly during their more… questionable moments on the throne. Where did you come across it, anyway?”

[Neology]

“Alderaan,” Novus answered faintly. “The trinket of a long dead Panteer princess. Up until recently, it was in the possession of House Arde.” The auction – no need to go into detail. Rase was a resourceful man; he'd uncover the rest if he wished. To be honest that night did not boast much in the way of pleasant memories, either. She'd played out the aristocracy's demand for retribution, narrowing the bloodshed down to some rough shade of even. The lives of starport workers balanced out by those of the Republic's moneyed elite. Distasteful (as murder always was,) but she'd had little choice. Keeping the aristocracy happy kept Vance safe, let her carry on with some illusion of freedom.

“I'm glad you like it.” Something worthy to replace the trinket she broke. Subsequent visits to Dr. Hyul's ship had caused her to loathe that empty display case. Not quite guilt but one of its cousins, to be sure …

“Believe it or not, last time I was here I was doing research on you.” She dragged her thumb across the rim of her glass, then daintily licked the sugar from her fingertips. Delicious but sticky. “How best to approach Dr. Hyul and convince him to go along with my plans.” She wondered if the prevalence of sugary cocktails owed more to cultural preference or to tourism. Something sour next, for sure.

“Almost entirely useless, but I suppose it worked out alright in the end.” Novus sat up and poured out the rest of her glass onto the sand.

“So. I don't have to check in for a few days. What's the plan?”

[Fromikeable]

“I had no idea that I was such a subject of study.” Chuckling a bit in his usual rich tone, he sipped his drink again as he watched her pour hers into the sand. He decided not to comment on the past owners of his new harp; he’d seen the news, and from what he understood, few had gone to their last auction of antiquities and lived to collect on their prizes.

Then again, he got the impression that not too unlike himself, Novus wasn’t keen on paying for something she wouldn’t receive.

Sipping his drink one last time, he light dropped the glass in the sand on one side of his chair before sitting up, swinging his legs toward the other. Removing his sunglasses with a grin, he gave her a look more in line with his usual demeanor; a sly grin, sharp green eyes, and a subconscious suggestion that he was up to no good.

“The plan, my dear Novus, is far from being depressed on the beach.” He chuckled further, plucking up his holopad for just a moment and checking on a few purchases he’d made.

“Beyond that, I’ve booked us a variety of shows and venues to explore at our leisure.” Several, in fact, with multiple scheduled at one time. They were free to pick as they pleased; if a few masseuses went clientless for an hour or a yacht went unchartered, they were already paid in full. Besides, the irk of a few resort workers was hardly something he’d lose sleep over.

“For the immediate future, however, how does this sound?” He turned the holopad for her to see; a Twi’lek blues singer renowned for her soul was set to have a show beginning in a few hours at the more ornate portion of the resort, with a gourmet dinner accompanying the show. “I might understand a reluctance to don a dress again, though I can guarantee a more relaxed evening than some others you may have undergone lately.” The passing comment on Taris was the only he’d make, the smile on his face communicating that it was made in earnest rather than scorn.

“Plus you’ll see me in my tuxedo. I’ll even let you decide if I wear anything beneath it.” He chuckled richly, half-joking. If both of them were going to be so darkly reflective during their vacation, than he would make it a personal mission to see them both happily distracted, regardless of the medium.

[Neology]

“I had no idea that I was such a subject of study.”

Oh, she very much doubted that. In a general sense, if nothing else. Her prying – not quite as useless as she let on – told her a few things about the over-educated Zeltron historian. He made his first fortune in gambling, very odd. That ancient institution was, after all, close to outright theft, shearing fools of their excess wealth day in and day out. But not Rase. To succeed in such an area, to such a degree … Dr. Hyul was used to being studied, at least as much as anything he kept in those display cases.

And all those dusty ruins and piles of ancient junk had come later. She was pleased that he did not inquire further about the harp. It would have been, well, rude.

“I am not depressed.” Novus responded automatically, perhaps a hair too quickly. That smile drew her in though, and she soon found herself leaning ever so slightly towards him, stealing peeks at the holopad. The schedule seemed interesting, if ambitious. Surely that spa visit was supposed to last more than five minutes?

She hadn't been spoiled to such a degree in … Well, ever. The time and the credits and her focus were almost always needed elsewhere. In those few situations where all of those coincided, there was always something else. Overall, Novus was uncomfortable when idle.

Dinner and a show didn't sound so bad, though. Rase would supply enough pleasant conversation for the two of them, even if she ran out of things to say.

“Very well.” She quirked a brow. It wasn't so much the dresses that were the problem so much as the shoes. Any decent heel would be awful to run in. (Not to mention make her noticeably taller than him.)

“You could try to surprise me.”

[Fromikeable]

“More than you know, perhaps.” The quirked brow, the automatic response (well-hidden though it was), the little glances she stole, even the very tentative “very well”. If he didn’t know better, the good doctor might think Novus was at somewhat of a loss. She was a Lady of the Sith Order; hadn’t she ever indulged in the finer things? Their reputations were slanderous; some said that they ran harems, other dungeons, and a few even claimed both. Rampant rumors, of course.

If these Sith were any like those that came before them, their tastes were far more specific and difficult. He almost suspected that such tastes were why they left the Jedi.

“We’ll just have to find out.”

Three hours later…

To say that he looked dapper was a gross understatement. Rase was hardly a man of poor taste, and even less so a man of little money. Ergo his wardrobe was straight out out of a fashion magazine; sharp, elegant, and complex in its simplicity. His hat absent due to the nature of the event, his hair was an inviting mess, sleek but not quite shiny, sorted but not quite solid. The black in the suit only seemed to make his skin a deeper shade of red, as if every pore bled just enough to dye him.

And to think that this wasn’t even his good tuxedo. Alas.

Knocking at her door with simple rhythm, she would find him smirking, two fingers idly twisting a white rose by its stem this way and that. Giving the slightest of bows, he would offer the lone flower up in his palms.

“A white rose for a white rose.” He was curious to see what, if anything, she would draw from that metaphor.