Ill-Treated and Superstitious

[Squee]

The door usually whispered when it opened. To Nezda, it may as well have screamed. Peering cautiously into the hallway, she breathed a short sigh to see it empty. Groggily, with a throbbing headache, Nezda staggered to the cockpit, toes dragging along the floor and trousers slipping off one hip. Collapsing and clinging to the back of the seat, she squinted at the console.

“Shit.” The fuel gauge was blinking a low warning. Nezda drew a hand down the side of her face, trying to rub some of the fogginess away. With a frustrated groan, she briefly fumbled to clasp together the front of her trousers. The chair swiveled under her weight and her head collided with the console in an audible thunk!

“Shit!” Nezda clutched her head, bursting stars behind her eyelids. “Stupid chair!” she snarled vehemently. She went to hit it with her fist, and managed to successfully crack her elbow into the console as well. With a defeated groan, Nezda hugged her arm close to her body and rolled into a ball.

The sharp throbbing from her elbow went to her shoulder. She liked to pretend the waves of pain exited from the top of her shoulder, dispersing into the air. The pulse in her head, however, seemed to swallow the entirety of her brain with its painful buzzing. With a rather pitiful whine, she held her head with both hands, feeling the veins in her temple thump beneath her palms and hoping she survived with her brain intact.

Thoughts and memories of events long past to the more recent past swirled nauseatingly with the pulsating pain. You’re supposed to be finding the ball. Nezda laughed, a bitter and broken noise. Responsibility? Now? Really? Oh, hand me a bottle. I don’t care how cheap. She’d been drowning in an alcoholic stupor for days now, since she and Ximo had left Agamar. In a hurry, too, but not in so much a hurry for Nezda to purchase some near dozen bottles of alcohol. She had a high alcoholic tolerance. She’d told Ximo so.

Patting around her hip, Nezda found her pocket and fished out a round, wooden object. She placed it in the curl of her body, tracing fingertips the three hundred and some carved notches in its surface. Fool. She should have thrown it away on Agamar, instead of keeping it. But she liked the feel of the marks when she rubbed it with her thumb. Three hundred and forty-six days. She’d nearly managed a year sober. Now you have to start over again.

She opened her eyes finally. Carefully sitting up, she could feel the floor had warmed with her body heat. With awkwardness, Nezda pulled herself into the pilot’s chair. Ignoring the flashing lights on the console, she stared at two objects resting on the console shelf. The first, a bottle of something alcohol, and the second, a disc of polished wood she’d purchased before leaving Agamar. It had originally been an ornament but Nezda had stripped it of its decorative ribbon. The choice of the day was once again before her.

The nav-computer woke when she touched it. Choosing an asteroid facility within a couple hours flight. That decision successfully made, Nezda slumped in her chair and pushed stray hair strands from her face. A second later, she leaned forward and picked up the wooden disc while still twisting the notched one in her other hand.

Almost a year. Even the “anniversary” of her capture had passed without her remembrance. Five years now? She laughed dryly, twisting her hands to inspect the scar tissue where her small fingers used to be. Sometimes, when she squeezed things tightly, Nezda could almost feel her missing fingers. She supposed it was nice the interrogators hadn’t taken her index fingers. Sure, they had meant to, eventually. But they had thought to torture and dissemble her one day at a time.

Nezda shivered violently but not from being cold. When she thought about it, everything seemed like it happened yesterday. The dripping sound of her blue blood falling onto the floor. Her severed finger left upon her thigh to grow cold overnight. Jerrod’s fingers being dumped over her head and splattering her with red blood.

Not today. Her heart was racing and her chest was filled with panic. By the stars, if that had happened to Ximo? If he had been tortured? If she had been responsible for that? She exchanged the wooden disc for the alcohol bottle, twisting off the cap. With a sigh, Nezda stood and shuffled toward the galley. She should probably eat something while she drinks.

[Meira]

--Several Hours Earlier--

She was asleep again.

Ximo closed the door and tiptoed his way back to the engine room. He didn't need to be so quiet. When she was like this, nothing could wake her. The first time, it had scared him to death. Since then, he'd begun to grow thankful. He didn't like that he had, but the deathly silence was preferable to the screaming.

It terrified him, mostly because he didn't know why, or what to do. Ximo might have guessed at his first meeting with Nezda that there was something beneath the surface that she kept hidden -some vulnerable part- but everyone had something like that and she seemed like the type that could hold her own. She WAS the type that could hold her own. After the insanity on Agamar, something had changed.

He had assured her he was fine. The crazy lady had only held him, threatened violence, but had never actually hurt him beyond a few blows. The whole thing hadn't felt very real to him. It was more like some kind of prank. He'd even joked with his captor about how the situation didn't entirely rule out what they'd originally gone to the hotel room to do. It didn't work, but he thought it was funny at the time. But Nezda was different after they were reunited, he could see it immediately. Buying ghastly amounts of alcohol was also a red flag, but he'd foolishly thought it was some kind of cover cargo for whatever it was that they needed to do.

That was what bothered him the most, when he actually thought about it. All of this trouble and he didn't really understand what was going on. All he knew was that the crazy lady wanted that cursed ball and was willing to go to holodrama special extremes to get it. If the lady had been a man, Ximo wouldn't have been surprised to see him twirling his mustache in evil glee.

He sighed, slumping against the engine room wall. No, he was wrong. What bothered him most was not knowing what to do. He'd assured Nezda countless times that he was fine, but he could see in her eyes that his words didn't help. Whatever pain she was feeling now, it wasn't because of him. He was only the boja that somehow managed to open the old wounds. She raged and wailed in equal measure, and there was no approaching her. He'd learned quickly to keep his distance, much as it pained him to do so.

When he could, he helped her around the edges. He cleaned up the messes she left behind and made sure that the ship continued to run as well as it could with a captain that only handled her sporadically and haphazardly. La nau was running low on fuel now though, and he'd have to confront her about it. That was why he'd gone to Nezda's room, only to find the woman passed out.

Ximo picked up his multitool and set about the work of finding that rattle he kept hearing in the engine block.

---

“Shit!” The word echoed from the front of the ship. She was awake.

Ximo was in the galley. Their food supply had run a bit low, like their fuel, and he was working on making the only thing he was good at making; soup. The humani were no strangers to food shortages and creative cooking. They even had a whole holiday centered around just that. In those desperate times before their ancestors were saved by the fabled drac espai, the food rations had been reaching critical lows. But even in their darkest hours, the people came together, sharing what they had and making what came to be known as sopa conca. It was not a uniquely humani concept, the words roughly translated to "kitchen sink soup". The idea was simply to take what you have and make what you can. Sopa conca was a staple and traditional food to be consumed during hard times. Most humani made it during the week or so leading up to the celebratory Junta to remember the trials and tribulations before the ships and clans were reunited.

Ximo was making it now. Nezda was estrani, but she knew some things about the humani, and one didn't have to be one of the people to be shown care. Even if she couldn't appreciate the cultural significance of the meal, Nezda probably wouldn't be able to keep anything more substantial down, even if she wanted to. He was just ladling some of the soup into a bowl to take to her when she appeared in the galley.

He instinctively smiled, the corner of his mouth jumping up slightly, but there wasn't much to smile about when looking at her. Her skin seemed pale and her hair was limp. The clothes she managed to don were ruffled and hung off her emaciated frame. The skin around her eyes was dark and puffy. He set the bowl down on the table and turned to serve himself a bowl as well.

"La nau is moving differently." he said as he lowered himself into a seat. "We will be landing soon?" It was the best way he could think ask if she was finally pulling herself together enough to properly take care of the ship.

[Squee]

"Um..." Nezda paused just inside the galley. Her eyes moved from Ximo to the stew pot to the bowl resting on the table. "Yeah," she finished slowly, her voice rough.

Shuffling to a cabinet, Nezda found a clean glass and carried it to the table. She placed the alcohol bottle in front of her as she slouched and picked up a spoon. "Yeah," she repeated. "Low fuel. Stopping at a little fuel depot. Not far."

Nezda pushed the soup around in her bowl. She wasn't hungry but knew it would be in her best interest to eat. Glancing at Ximo as he sat across from her, she quickly averted her look downward. The warm feeling of embarrassment crept up her neck and cheeks. She self-consciously swept her hand over her shoulder, pushing the strap back up. Though by looking down, Nezda was very aware of her haphazard appearance. She needed a shower. And a toothbrush, she thought, as her tongue tested the back of her plaque coated teeth.

She twisted the spoon in her hand, keeping her eyes low, and then dipped it into the soup. The warm liquid soothed her liquor saturated tongue.

Shifting uncomfortably, Nezda moved forward to wrap an arm around the bowl but halted when there was a small thunk from the floor. Leaning back, she picked up her scarred piece of wood. After brief hesitation, Nezda set the wooden cylinder on the table in front of her, next to the alcohol bottle, and then resumed her position to slurp up more soup.

A question and its answer hung in the air above her head. He was confused. She always saw it in her brief moments of sobriety. He wouldn't ask it now, though - she'd screamed at him a few too many times. But she felt the question there, hovering like a thick cloud, waiting to rain on her but storming in his dark eyes.

Her fingers rested lightly on the wood and she cleared her throat. "It's... How many days since I... Last touched a bottle. Since I was... Like this." Nezda plucked at the stretched camisole in demonstration. Then she poured a glass of amber-colored brandy. "Three hundred and forty-six days. Gone! Again." She gave him an appraising look as she took a large gulp.

"You know now. Just a... Former Imperial agent, recurring alcoholic... Hiding memories in a bottle and running away into the stars on a stolen ship." Glass clinked as she poured more brandy. "I'm good for swindling and lying and getting people in danger!" And the pain in their eyes shines back at me. The blood running down his chin in rivulets, spluttering with each cry of pain. It's up to you, the voice says, smug and malevolent, into her ear. The cruel hand weaved in her hair, forcing her to watch, and the flesh peeled away from his palm.

Nezda slammed an empty glass back on the table. Her spoon rattled against the edge of the bowl. Dropping the utensil, Nezda closed her tremulous hands into fists and tucked them against her sides. Breathing shakily, she looked at Ximo through the curtain of her hair. What if that had been you?

"I want to forget."

[Meira]

His eyes followed her as she slowly entered the galley. Usually, Ximo would not be discreet in his gaze. He'd never made such a habit for himself before. If he was looking at something, it was because he wanted to see it, and there were rare few situations where he might feel shy about that fact. But since they'd left Agamar, Ximo had by necessity of peace and his own sanity learned to watch Nezda from the corners of his vision. He'd also learned to hold his features to avoid causing her to assume he was making judgements. For example, he wanted to knock the liquor bottle out of her hand.

Ximo was, by no means, opposed to the consumption of alcohol. He enjoyed the act very much. He wasn't even opposed to the over consumption of alcohol, as that often lead to many of his other favorite activities. What he was opposed to, however, was self destruction. That went against every hedonistic bone in his body. The quandary he currently found himself in was that any attempt to prevent, or even slow, Nezda's self destruction brought with it the possibility of her destructive tendency being turned against him. Such an act was, basically, his own self destruction and must needs be avoided.

So, he did not directly confront her about her bad choices. Since he didn't understand, he did not attempt to directly stop her. Instead... he made soup. The only thing he could do was try to give her opportunities to put something other than liquor in her stomach. He watched her, from his periphery, and relaxed slightly as she took her first bite of the soup. His lips twitched in the faintest smile of accomplishment as he lowered his head over his own portion and began to eat.

The small thud on the floor was accompanied by a noticeable shift back to guarded on Nezda's part. Again, he feigned nonchalance as she seemed to inwardly debate something. Then, she leaned down and picked something up from the floor, placing it on the table. Ximo allowed himself the natural curiosity of looking at this object she was choosing to allow him to see. The thing, some wooden bauble, didn't present any obvious purpose. But the Humani were aware that the value of a thing might not always be readily understood. The crystal he wore around his neck, for example, was far more valuable to him than what it might sell for to an estrani. He was intrigued to know what this thing might mean to her. If she was showing it to him, she was bound to share, so he allowed the question to remain unspoken between them as he ate.

Her explanation came soon enough. It sounded more like a confession. With her opening up, Ximo chanced a direct glance at her. She was looking back, but there was no lashing out... at least not yet. She began to ramble out what pained her. No, she would not speak what really hurt her. She was talking about what the pain made her do. She slammed the empty glass of the table, and when she looked back up at him, another confession. And now, he understood... at least a little.

"Ah, veig." he said. "And this," he gestured to the bottle, "is making you forget?" He took a couple bites of his soup. "I am thinking it makes you remember." he added.

The silence that hung between them now was dangerous. She had opened up, perhaps she was coming around, but he was dangerously close to pushing her back in. He could feel that. But at the same time, he couldn't help himself. "You are not forgetting by telling yourself to forget. If I say to you, forget that soup... are you forgetting? Or are you thinking of the soup?

"I am not knowing what you want to forget. Maybe you are afraid. If you are afraid of a thing, you will not forget it. You will think of it all the time. You are giving it power over you. This is not how you forget." he finished, then turned his eyes back downward and ate in silence.

[Squee]

What do you know of forgetting! Nezda wanted to scream at him, but she folded her teeth over her bottom lip. He made the soup. And she was so tired of screaming. Instead, she turned her head and lay it on the table beside her bowl.

Her face was hot and the table was cool. A bead of sweat escaped her hairline, tickling down her neck. The bowl, not an inch from her nose, emanated a small warmth. The center of her brain throbbed steadily with her rapid heartbeat. The muscles in her back quivered in small degrees, as the last of her sudden shaking subsided.

“It’s about stupor.” Nezda mumbled, afraid to speak much louder. “Not forgetting exactly. You’re drunk enough, you don’t care which way is up or down or if your ship is running low on fuel. Distorted reality. At the cost of my livers.”

She rolled onto her forehead, seeking another cool spot but not finding one. Nezda eased her arm onto the table, around the soup bowl, and touched her wooden cylinder. “Seems like a small price to pay. Just right now.” She spoke barely above a murmur. Nezda rolled her head back onto her cheek, so she could see her bauble through her strands of hair. “I didn’t think so the other three hundred and forty-six days. But the week before? I thought so then too.”

She closed her eyes against a wave of overwhelming fear. Her insides slithered. She wanted, both at the same time, to speak and to escape his presence through evaporation. The likelihood was he wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t understand. Why would he? He had so little investment. He wouldn’t wantto understand. Most people didn’t, holding the Republic on a shiny pedestal as the paragon of freedom and salvation from evil.

“What do you think of the Republic?” Nezda looked at him. Her hand curled tightly, protectively over the top of her bauble. “You’re not angry I was an Imperial agent? If it bothers you, I’ll find you a place to get off. I won’t blame you.” That was a good a place to start as any. Since the war began, and even the neutral territories having to choose sides, her former and current allegiances made a difference in who employed her. While Nezda claimed no allegiance (at least, not willful allegiance) to the Sith now, she knew it made a difference in how people viewed her. Besides avoiding haunting memories, Nezda typically just avoided the conversation, or even lied about it.

But Nezda wouldn’t blatantly lie to Ximo. He was the only passenger she’d had in years. While she wouldn’t blame him for leaving, she would miss him. Even if she’d only been shit company to him.

[Meira]

He waited for her to rage. He could almost feel it bubbling up inside of her. But it never came. her features shifted, but she just put her head down on the table. He breathed a little easier, but he still wasn't sure what to expect. For lack of anything better to do, he ate. When she spoke again, he felt no immediate need to respond. Her words came as further explanation. At most, he could only understand that whatever it was she was trying to mute, it must have been very bad. Ximo had his painful memories, but there was nothing in his life that could drive him to the state Nezda was in now.

“What do you think of the Republic?”

Ximo paused, mid scoop of his soup. He didn't exactly expect the conversation to turn to politics. He set the spoon back down into the bowl and scratched his chin.

"La República?" he repeated, his features pulled into a slightly confused scowl.

“You’re not angry I was an Imperial agent? If it bothers you, I’ll find you a place to get off. I won’t blame you.”

A touch of realization dawned on him and Ximo let out a quiet snort of indifference. He supposed that in all technicality, if the Humani were to claim allegiance, it would be with the Republic. But the Humani had never been known to do much of anything collectively, aside from the Junta. There were some clans who held strong ties to various Republic worlds, others who refused to work anywhere near the core, and so on. Most, like himself, cared very little. As long as they were free to live their lives and ply their trade, what did it matter who made the laws?

"I am not caring, nuvi." he said, leaning back in his seat. "I am not even a ciutadan... eh... citizen, si? We can choose. But I never did. It is making no difference in my life."

He sat back up and spooned the last few bites of his soup into his mouth and then stood to take the bowl to the sink to clean it. "If I am ever having a problem with you, Nezda. I will say it to you." He turned back to face her. "Per exemple... I am not liking this... stupor..." his mouth formed oddly around the word, "you are making yourself. It is bad for you and it is bad for la nau. I am not saying do not drink. You know I like this. But not in this way. This is why I might leave la nau if I choose, not this other thing. D'acord?"

He moved to leave the galley, but paused at the door. He sighed, not wanting to leave her thinking that he was mad at her. He wasn't mad at her, not really. "I am not wanting to leave la nau." he said, then added in a quieter voice, "Tampoc em vull deixar-te."

[Squee]

When he explained he didn’t care about her previous employment, Nezda felt the tension in her muscles ease. She nodded. Well, the best she could with her cheek sticking to the table. Her thumb petted the marks in the wood. She closed her eyes again, letting silence settle besides the soft scrapings of his spoon against his bowl.

Then he stood and walked away. Nezda heard water running but didn’t lift her head. Carefully, she slid her free arm beneath her head to act as a pillow. The bowl was just past her nose still, and she pushed at it gingerly with her fingers as he spoke to her.

She didn’t like her stupor either. But that didn’t matter when she felt like this. Haunted. Terrified. Guilty. Regretful. It was bad for her. Nezda knew that. She didn’t need Ximo to tell her. But that didn’t matter. All that mattered was she didn’t feel the way she did, almost on a daily basis, for some period of time. There was a reason she kept track of how many days she didn’t drink – to know how many days she could live in this ugly, joy-sucking prison she had created only for herself.

Nezda sighed loudly, pretending the depressing thoughts and emotions rode out on the wave of her breath. From the direction of his voice, he was standing at the doorway. He said his final words and the corner of Nezda’s mouth, hidden from him, jumped slightly in a quick moment of happiness.

“Ximo?” she hoped he was still there. “Thanks for making the soup.”

She stayed resting with her head down a while more, until she was sure he was gone. Then Nezda sat up and poured a glass of brandy.

---

Nezda sat with her feet pressing against the console. She’d showered a bit ago, put on some fresh clothes, after eating the soup. The brandy, after that glass, had been left in the galley. The water cup beside her rested untouched. She had also gloved her hands. While it did not remove the sensation of missing fingers, she at least couldn’t see the scars on her hands.

She stared out the viewport, at the twist of hyperspace, and absently rolled both the old, scarred wood and new, unmarked wood bauble up and down her shins. She couldn’t feel the nicks of the old one or the polished surface of the new one. They felt the same beneath her palms.

An alarm twanged, warning they needed to drop from hyperspace. Nezda sat upright, abandoning her baubles in her lap. There was only a small jar as La Nau left the hyperspace jump, a small feat Nezda took silent pride. The refueling station lay within the viewport. She could do this. A few shots of brandy did nothing on her.

Minutes later she had them cleared and docked. Nezda found her jacket and stood to find Ximo.

“Does La Nau need anything?” She spoke softly, shoving her hands deep in her pockets. “Well… what… do we need, exactly?” Nezda wasn’t sure about the stock on the ship, let alone what mechanical issues may have needed resolved. “And… can I go with you?” If she stayed here, alone, she would drink. That she knew for certain.

[Meira]

After leaving the galley, he'd gone and gotten himself cleaned up and changed. He trimmed up his beard, leaving it short and neat, little more than stubble, and pulled his hair back tied it in a bun. Leaving behind the coveralls, Ximo opted for his less worn, but still comfortable black pants. He completed the outfit with a dark grey long sleeved shirt, bunching the sleeves up to his elbows. In the engine room, he cleaned up the mess he'd made while calibrating the the thermal exhausts. They'd need a new capacitor, but those were easy to find and they could probably get one at the station. The other things on his list might require at planet-side stop, but they could do without any of that for a while.

When he returned to the galley, Nezda had gone. But he saw that she'd left the brandy behind. He smiled. It was a step. From the refresher, he could hear her moving around and was pleased. Maybe they could put this unpleasantness behind them. Scraping the remains of the soup into a container, he stowed it away in the cooler, he waited until he heard the shower stop before he cleaned up the dishes he'd used. It would be terrible if he ruined the progress they'd made by stealing her hot water. When he was done, he went to his room and laid down on his bunk. He hadn't slept well the past few nights, and it might do him to get a little rest in before the inevitable haggling that would come when they arrived at the station.

---

The movement was subtle, but Ximo had lived his whole life on space ships, and knew all the different ways they moved. They'd arrived. Rising from his bunk, he slipped some of his stash of credits into a pocket and went out to prepare for docking. When the ship had nestled in to the base, Ximo set the engines to run a full diagnostic for while they were gone. It was something they'd as yet not had time to do since he'd made his modifications. With that running, he made his way to the airlock, where Nezda met him.

"A capacitor." he replied to her question. "I am not thinking she will need anything else right now. And we need food. I know you are thinking la sopa was meravellosa, and it was, but... I cannot be making even that anymore."

He looked down at her, seeing more clarity in her eyes than he had in days. He smiled, placing his arm over her shoulders. "Si, nuvi. They will be giving you a better price than me, I think. I am having a pretty face, but not this pretty." he winked and moved them through the airlock when the panel indicated the pressure had equalized.

---

The station was like many others he'd seen. They'd gone through the customary payment for docking and buying fuel with one of the dock hands, then made their way up a lift to the commons level where other travelers mingled in the small cantinas and shops. There were all sorts here, and Ximo would be a liar if he said he didn't feel completely at home.

"Mira." he said, gesturing toward a small stall covered in parts and tools. "He will have what we are needing." Ximo steered them toward the stall and began to pick through the various parts until he found what he was looking for. He argued with the merchant for a few moments, his accent becoming more apparent until they'd reached an accord and Ximo handed over the credits. The capacitor went into a pocket and he turned back to Nezda, smiling.

"It was a good price." he said, once they were out of the merchant's earshot. "I got him down to almost half. Now..." He looked over the heads of other the other travelers milling about. "There should be... Ah! Per allà." he pointed toward a sign over the far wall that read Commissary.

[Squee]

“I think your pretty face won that haggle.” Nezda worked hard to find that balance between volume and privacy, fearing her words were getting lost in the garble of the community noises and multilingualism. She hadn’t done much talking since following Ximo into the station. The buzzing of her headache nagged at her and impaired her ability to keenly observe their surroundings. She hovered over Ximo’s shoulder, his smokey and solemn shadow as he weaved happily through small crowds. “Because I could barely understand you by the end of the conversation.” Nezda smiled, showing she meant no harm by the comment. “And pretty sure he thought you were cute.”

She followed in his footsteps toward the commissary, removing her hands from pockets to activate one of the hover sleds. Inside the shop was quieter than outside. The sounds of voices and noises quieted, replaced with affirmative beeps at checkouts and indistinctive conversations between staff and customers. Nezda sighed lightly, feeling a bit more at ease. Pulling the sled behind her, she turned for the aisles, walking past the checkout stands.

“No, I will not accept them,” said a voice, a little louder than the ambient voices.

“But, uh, our credits. They are just as good as everyone’s.”

“No, they would be from leeches.” Nezda identified the bothan employee as he thrust his chin outward. “Which is what you space rats are.” A small heat ignited in her chest. A bigot. She knew the type.

The customers were a family of three – a father and two daughters. It had been the father who had spoken, and the whole family looked annoyed. The eldest girl, probably well into her teens and with exceptionally short hair, crossed her arms, which were decorated from wrist up to her neck – the temporary tattoos Nezda had seen other Humani use. “Which is it?” The girl taunted, her accent apparent. “Leeches or rats?”

The father glanced at the girl with annoyance and a face that could be translated to say ‘you’re not helping’. The nostrils on the bothan flared and he puffed his chest. “Not purchasing here. Go away.”

Having enough, Nezda let go of the sled. “Hush,” she told Ximo before casually walking over. The youngest girl glanced curiously at her as Nezda openly inspected the sled.

“Mmm… if you won’t sell to them, would you sell to me? They picked up almost everything I need.” The father’s jaw dropped, and his face flushed almost purple with instantaneous fury. Nezda leveled him with her best stare. She removed her hand from her pocket long enough to flick her credit chip at the nodding bothan. Infuriated, the eldest daughter’s mouth worked soundlessly, almost the same color as her father. After several moments of frozen rage, the father grabbed his daughters’ shoulders and turned away to leave.

Seconds later, the bothan handed her back her chit.. Grabbing the sled, Nezda hurriedly stepped after the family. “Esperar! Heu… uh… deixat… ah…” Force, she couldn’t remember the words. The furious father stared at her with all the heat of a sun ready to explode. “Just… Aquí.” She gently pushed the sled toward them and tried to explain. “Tu i jo. Ah… Som del mateix cor, Humani i Vahla. Lost homeworlds.” She looked at Ximo, remembering their first meeting and how he’d eased when she’d mentioned her species.

“A slight of hand,” she said, apologetically. “To convince the bothan to accept my credits. Because I am not human.” She gestured at the sled, containing baby food. “And one does not let babes go hungry.” Nezda pressed her lips together, having nothing more to say.

Giving them a small, jabbing nod of her head, her eyes flicked to Ximo and she turned away from the family to collect her abandoned sled.

[Meira]

“And pretty sure he thought you were cute.”

"Eh?" Ximo looked over his shoulder, back toward the vendor stalls. He could not see the one they'd come from through the crowd though. He looked back at Nezda, giving her a shrug and a wink. Maybe she was right. Though he preferred to believe it was his expert haggling skills that had done it for him, he wasn't about to refute when a woman called him pretty.

The quiet order inside the commissary was a stark contrast to the chaos of the main area of the station. Ximo wasn't really sure he liked it. He had nothing against quiet. There were few things better than lying back on a bunk and hearing nothing but the soft hum of a ship's engines as it moved through hyperspace. But there was something so exciting, so alive about the press of people in a market. He supposed it just made him think of the Juntas. He realized that the next one was fast approaching. While perusing some sacks of rice from Agamar, he wondered if Nezda would like to go to la Junta. It wasn't entirely strange for a few estrani to be seen there. Though, those were usually spouses and the like.

"Hush

"Hmm?" Ximo turned in time to see Nezda moving toward a Bothan worker and a few humans. A moment later, he recognized them as Humani and almost followed to speak with them, but then he noticed the Bothan's posture and the purpose with which Nezda was moving. Something was up. And since she had told him to hush, he supposed he would listen. So he stayed put and watched.

The exchange was brief, but by the end Ximo believed he'd riddled out what was going on. He moved in Nezda's wake as she followed the man and his daughters. When she spoke, Ximo couldn't help but smile at her efforts. Ben fet, nuvi. He thought to himself.

The man, who had been on the verge of exploding at this infuriating woman, faltered as she pushed the sled toward him. His mouth, which had opened to detail to her that her insults would no longer be tolerated, hung slack for a few moments as his eyes moved back and forth from her to the supplies he'd thought he'd lost. His older daughter, however, did not seem to have lost her tongue.

"We don't need your pity." she said with a sneer.

"Yanessa." the father managed, the reproach evident in his voice. The girl rolled her eyes, but turned away. The father looked back at Nezda, his eyes now more studious of her, but she was moving away. Ximo stepped in.

"Ben ateses." he said, holding his hand out to the man. "Ximo."

"Igualment. Sóc Guillermo. She did not have to do this thing. There are other shops. We can find what we need."

Ximo looked at the sled. Some of the items, yes, they could find elsewhere. But the infant food and the like... that would have been very hard, he thought. "It is nothing." he said. "Nezda, she cannot be watching that and do nothing. Es seu sang."

"You will thank her for me, sisplau."

"I tant."

"She is your..." he did not finish the question, unsure and so leaving it for Ximo to fill.

"Meu capità. Bé... sòcia." he shrugged, but Guillermo seemed to understand. He moved to hand Ximo some credits, but Ximo waved it off. "I do not think she would like me taking it." he said, by way of explanation. Guillermo frowned.

"Are you here long?" he asked.

"Just getting fuel and supplies." Ximo replied.

"Sopar amb nosaltres. You must let us thank you."

"Ehmm..." Ximo hesitated, knowing that Nezda might be reluctant. But she had done this kindness, and Ximo knew that Guillermo would be deeply insulted if they did not let him at least try to repay. "Si." he said, nodding. "Of course."

Guillermo, having regained some of his honor after this whole ordeal, stood a bit taller as he shook Ximo's hand. He told of how his wife made the best peix amb arròs in the galaxy and gave Ximo directions to where his family's ship was docked. Ximo promised they would come by after they got all of their own supplies purchased and taken to their ship, then made his way back toward Nezda.

"You have made us a new friend." he said, sliding up next to her along a shelf. Guillermo and his wife Ursula will be making us dinner to thank you for your generosity. Are you liking fish?"

[Squee]

Nezda glanced briefly back at Ximo when he moved closer to speak to the Humani. He could find her when he was done talking. Grabbing their empty sled, she pushed it away to a nearby shelf, so Ximo would not have the search for her long.

Pity? The young girl was just that: young. And stupid. People did not buy entire sleds of goods out of pity. What would make her say pity? Nezda snorted and pushed away the irritation. What was done was done. And she knew her reasons for helping out the Humani. Nezda knew what it was like to tolerate brands and bigots, either by her Vahla nature or from her time spent in the Imperial Intelligence Agency, where humans and their close species cousins reigned supreme. It was frustrating. Inexcusable. Unnecessary. Still, the lines of speciesism were hard in some individuals, such as the Bothan.

“You have made us a new friend.”

“Mmm?” Nezda placed a box, with packets of dried fruit, onto the sled. As Ximo explained further, Nezda let out an annoyed sigh. “Uh. Well, okay. I get it. Just… if that’s the case, I need to go get… the mouth stuff that makes my mouth feel like it’s on fire. I don’t want to smell like I’ve been aged in a whiskey casket.” Thrusting fingers in her pockets, Nezda turned away.

It had been a long time since she’d had fish.

---

“Ximo.” The Humani ship was in sight but Nezda had halted. About half of her had anguished over this dinner date since Ximo had told her about the invitation. Throughout the shopping, throughout storing their supplies, she had said little and gone about business, trying to treat this like another job. She’d bathed again, scrubbed her mouth raw, and groomed herself to meticulous perfection, as she had always done before this week had occurred.

She had one hand deep in her jacket pocket. Her thumb stroked the smooth piece of new wood. “Ximo, I haven’t done this in years. About five, actually.” Even then, the gatherings and family dinner dates had been part of the job. Part of the cover. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, while eating dinner with the neighbors, she had known at any point she could be ‘activated’. Nezda shifted her weight, and looked down as she opened and closed her fist. “Maybe… even closer to ten.

“I’m… not sure I can. I’m not sure if… if I can people. Do you get it?” Nezda briefly looked at him, and then the Humani ship. “I’ve been alone, in space. For a long time. I do my job. I don’t make attachments. I don’t do things like this, even if I was invited by clients. I just don’t.” She reached up and nervously grabbed the back of her neck.

“Plus, I hate children. Like…” She gestured wildly, throwing her hand aside carelessly. “Vahl bless the people who do but I find children about as tolerable as a rock in my boot. I know it would be rude not to go over there. I haven’t had good fish in a while. But I… I am not made for people.”

[Meira]

“Ximo.”

"Si, nuvi."

They'd made it almost the whole way between their ship and the one that belonged to Guillermo and his family without her getting too jittery. Ximo smiled at her, reassuringly, as he scratched at his scalp. After they'd returned to their ship and stowed their supplies, they'd both decided some personal hygiene was in order. Ximo had showered and put on his nicer set of clothes, dark pants and a light gray shirt, and tied his hair back into a bun so that it would not be in his face all through dinner. Nezda had brought herself back to her pre-Agamar state of cleanliness. The whole while, she'd moved quick and precise. She was entirely businesslike. But now, she stopped short and he could see her nerves.

“Ximo, I haven’t done this in years. About five, actually.”

"You have not done what, Nezda? Eat? This is not true." She continued, but Ximo just kept smiling and shaking his head. "You are thinking people are different than they were five years ago? People are not changing, nuvi. Persones són només persones."

“Plus, I hate children..."

Ximo laughed at that. When she finished, he tucked the bottle of wine he was carrying under one arm and reached out with the other to take her wrist and lower it back down to her side. "Nens són només petit persones. You are not worrying about gangs on Druckenwell, but little children are scaring you?" He clicked his tongue against his teeth as if to chastise her. No es preocupi, Nezda. I will be protecting you, eh?"

Winking at her, Ximo put his arm around her shoulder and gently guided her toward the ship. Though he knew there were some people who preferred solitude to the company of others, Ximo could never really wrap his mind around it. Sure, there were times he wanted to be alone, everyone was like that. But the dislike people so much that it had such an affect? No, that would always be strange to him.

As they approached the ship, Guillermo descended the ramp to greet them. Ximo made sure that he and Nezda stopped short of the bottom of the ramp. "Bona nit, Guillermo."

"Benvingut, Ximo." Guillermo replied. "Y..." Guillermo glanced at Ximo for a reminder.

"Nezda." Ximo said quietly.

"Si. Benvingut, Nezda. Please, come in."

The greeting satisfied, Ximo gestured for Nezda to walk ahead of him up the ramp as Guillermo led them inside. The ship immediately felt like home to Ximo. There was something about the way that the Humani lived within a ship that was very different than most other beings in the galaxy. Some people spent almost all of their lives on ships, but even they often still saw their ships as a means of transport. Few beings truly saw their ships as a home. But the Humani did, and it was something you could recognize immediately. The ramp led them into a small corridor that then brought them to the common area of the ship. Here, the rest of Guillermo's family had assembled to greet them.

"Ximo, Nezda, this is my wife Ursula." Guillermo put his arm around the shoulder of a short, stout woman, her olive skin beginning to show the slack of age. But her hair was still a dark, rich brow, a riot of curls barely contained with a head scarf. Her smile was warm and wide. "And this is Bernardino." he said, gesturing toward the baby she held on her hip. "And you are remembering my daughters..." he moved to where they stood, the younger bright eyed and excited to see these visitors, the elder looking bored and put upon just to have to be there. They both closely resembled their mother. "Yanessa y Francesca."

"Encantada, Ursula." Ximo said, stepping forward. He exchanged quick kisses her, one peck on each cheek. "Per a vostè." He added, holding up the bottle of wine.

"Gràcies, Ximo." she replied with a smile. "Yanessa, take this to the kitchen. We can have it with dinner." she said turning back to Ximo and Nezda. "And bring our guests something to drink now please." she called after the reluctant teen.

"Please, come sit." Guillermo said, gesturing to the couches that lined the common room.

"Nezda," Ursula said as they sat. "Guillermo tells me that you are Vahla, yes? I had a friend when I was young who was Vahla. She was the daughter of my father's trade partner."

[Squee]

Nezda sighed loudly through her nose as she allowed Ximo to guide her forward. Her cheeks were warm from his teasing. "Don't like children..." She grumbled one last time. She had a horrible feeling the Humani kids hadn't been ready to sing her praises either.

She remembered too late to stop at the foot of the Humani ramp; Ximo's hand pulled back on her shoulder and she rolled onto her heels, effectively halted. Nezda glanced quizzically at him before knowing splashed across her face. The greeting! Of course! Standing patiently, the Humani conducted their greeting to their satisfaction and, at Ximo’s silent insistence, Nezda walked up the ramp after Guillermo.

Nezda stood near Ximo as Guillermo introduced each member of his family. The wife smiled normally enough. The baby stared at her with what could be construed as confusion furrowed on his brow, a thumb stuck in his mouth. The eldest daughter was pouting and the brightness of the younger daughter’s eyes would put a star to shame.

“Hello,” Nezda said simply as Ximo stepped forward and embraced Ursula as if he known her like a sister or aunt or something. The corner of her mouth ticked as she caught glimpse of his smile. His mood had improved since the moment they had been invited to dinner. If he was so happy around his own people, why wasn’t he traveling with them?

At the invitation to sit, Nezda chose a spot with an armrest on the shortest couch. "I am Vahla," Nezda confirmed, her fingers pressing the seat cushion beside her legs. Then she rested them on her thighs. "“At least I don’t think I’ve grown horns in the last hour.” Yanessa returned with the something to drink and Nezda felt a spot of panic before she realized it was not alcohol based. It would do no good to challenge her sobriety resolve before a full day had passed. Damn it, she would have to ask Ximo how rude it would be to turn down the wine later during dinner. “This friend of yours didn't have a strange red-haired woman with an equally bizarre red-haired son, did she?"

[Meira]

Yanessa, unable to fully express how put upon she felt with her usual eye rolling, trudged off to the kitchen with the bottle of wine that the two visitors had brought. She managed a decent enough groan as her mother called another order after her. Meravellós... two strangers show up and suddenly she's a servant. Well, she supposed Ximo would not technically be a strangers. He was Humani. But the estrani he was with... she was weird. Why would he be traveling with that woman and not his own family? Yanessa pondered this as she retrieved clean glasses from the cabinet and filled them with the juice her mother had made earlier that morning. Maybe she'd get to have a glass of the wine with dinner. This thought was enough to keep the worst of the scowl off her face as she brought the drinks back on a tray.

"Gràcies." Ximo said, as he took the cup offered to him. He was watching Nezda out of the corner of his eye as Guillermo showed him the new holotable he recently had installed and the various games it supported.

Nezda had been effectively enveloped by Ursula. Ximo had known this would happen, as it was the typical way of things among the Humani; the women and men tended to gravitate to their own clusters. But Ximo knew that there was only so much of this that Nezda would be able to take, not only as an estrani, but also just as Nezda. So Ximo remained interested in the holotable so that Guillermo would not feel the need to take him on the tour of the ship Ximo knew was next on the agenda.

"No... no, I am not thinking so." Ursula replied to Nezda, her eyes focusing inward as she thought back to her childhood friend. "She was an only child. Her mother had died when she was young. It was just her and her father."

"Are you a captain?" Francesca was suddenly right at Nezda's side, standing next to the armrest of the chair the Vahla had taken up residence in. The young girl was fascinated by the estrani woman's smokey skin and two toned hair. Beyond that, Francesca was entirely wrapped up in the idea of Nezda as some kind of ship captain. "I'm going to go live with meva tia soon. She's a captain. She said she will teach me all about flying big ships! How big is your ship?"

"Cessa..." Ursula chided. "You are being rude, asking so many questions. I tol-" A chime from the kitchen cut Ursula off in her scolding and she looked around to a chrono on the wall. "Ay. I am forgetting." She stood quickly.

"Girls, come set the table." she said, and then seemed to remember the baby boy she was holding. She clicked her teeth at the little burden, and then looked to Nezda with a smile. "You will hold him, yes?"

She didn't exactly wait for an answer. Bernardino was transferred into Nezda's care and Ursula disappeared quickly after her daughters. It was all Ximo could do not to laugh.

"How old is your son?" Ximo asked Guillermo as he took a few leading steps toward Nezda so that Guillermo would follow.

"Almost a year." Guillermo said proudly.

Ximo squatted down next to where Nezda sat, holding the boy. He smiled and waved to the child, who's big brown eyes studied him for a moment before popping his thumb out of his mouth smiling back, the tiny nubs of his first teeth showing through his pink gums. Bernardino reached for Ximo, leaning precariously off of Nezda's lap. Knowing she'd appreciate it, Ximo scooped the boy up and jiggled him slightly, eliciting a shriek of laughter from the child.

"Please, come and eat." Ursula said as she reappeared at the doorway to the kitchen.

Ximo glanced down at Nezda, and gestured with a flick of his head to follow. The grin on his face was equal parts relaxed pleasure and mischievous understanding that she was bound to only become more uncomfortable as the night wore on.

[Squee]

“… It was just her and her father.

“Oh,” was the only thing that Nezda could think to say. She clasped her hands in her lap and looked at her knees, willing her mind to think of something else to say.

“Are you a captain?” Nezda jerked her gaze from her knees to the youngest daughter. Francesca. The girl’s bright eyes flickered over her, glittering with interest and excitement.

“Ah… Yes.” Nezda answered carefully, stealing a quick glance toward Ursula. That was an appropriate response? It was okay for women to be pilots, yes? She thought so. “I pilot a-“

”I’m going to go live with meva tia soon…” The little girl babbled. Nezda fell silent and just listened to the girl speak at hyperspeed. Despite her excuses as a child despiser earlier, Nezda smiled at the barrage of information and questions. Maybe she could like this girl.

Ursula reproved the small girl. Nezda glanced over and said, “No. That’s okay. I don’t mind.” She didn’t, it was nice to have someone drive the conversation. She turned to answer the small girl when an alarm went off and Ursula summoned her daughters.

“You will hold him, yes?”

“Well-“ Nezda opened her mouth to protest, but was too slow. Nezda felt like she was catching the small boy as Ursula swept away. Stabilizing the boy in her lap, she sat stiffly with her hands on either of the boy’s sides. What do I do?! This was what she meant when she said she didn’t like children! Ursula was as bad as some of those women she made neighbors with while undercover as a wife. Why was there an assumption she knew what to do with a child? How to hold it, how to keep it occupied? It gurgled and swayed and Nezda gazed fearfully over where Ximo was chatting with Guillermo.

‘Help,’ she mouthed at Ximo. He said he would protect her from the children! He had a huge grin plastered to his face and she frowned deeply. Even so, Ximo walked over and squatted before her, holding the child’s attention. With relief, Nezda allowed Ximo to take the child. She grimaced when it squealed, the sound driving a spike through her ear drum.

“Thank you,” she murmured lowly to Ximo. He held the boy easily and she was grateful for his expert assistance.

Then Ursula called for dinner and Ximo just continued to smile. Within that smile she read playfulness and she tilted her head at him. Standing, she followed and caught his arm. “The wine?” she asked privately. “It’ll be all right to refuse it? I know we brought it, but…” Nezda really didn’t want to offend these people. While she had known Humani, she didn’t know their customs, their superstitions. For all she knew, refusing wine would summon demons.

After obtaining the answer, Nezda watched as everyone found a place and followed suit more slowly. She took a space beside Francesca. This was okay. She could answer the girls questions now, and maybe Francesca would ask more.

[Meira]

“Is alright.” Ximo said, settling the boy into a one-armed grip. “These things are dangerous, eh?” He shook the boy slightly, eliciting another squeal of laughter from the toddler.

“The wine? It’ll be all right to refuse it? I know we brought it, but…”

“Si. No es preocupi. But do not be refusing water.” Ximo turned his attention back to Bernardino then, singing quietly to the boy as he dance-walked into the dining area.

“En Dino petit quan balla
Balla, balla, balla
En Dino petit quan balla
Balla amb so dit
Amb so dit, dit, dit
Així balla en Joan petit”

He moved the boy’s fingers as they shuffled along, ending the procession next to Ursula who took the boy back into her own arms as Bernardino clapped his approval. Looking around, Ximo saw two places as yet unclaimed and moved toward the one close to Nezda, seeing that she would not take too kindly to being abandoned, but also because the other was at the head of the table. Normally, that honor would go to Guillermo as the head of the family, but Guillermo was already situated at the spot to the right of the head.

“Yanessa, ajudar a la seva àvia.” Ursula said quietly. The girl complied, this time without any visible complaint.

Ximo was just settling into his chair when Yanessa returned, her arm out to support another. She was almost half Yanessa’s height, doubled as she was by age and frailty. Her pure white hair was tied back into a tight bun at the back of her head, pulling the somewhat loose skin of her face back to smooth the wrinkles slightly. By the set of her jaw, she appeared to have few teeth, but her dark eyes still sparkled with an intelligence unmarred by her many years. She wore a simple black dress, but a vibrant red shawl, trimmed in gold drew the eye. Her only other adornment was a single chord necklace, which held a clear crystal similar to Ximo’s though twice as large. Ximo froze, then stood, his hand finding Nezda’s arm and gently nudging her up as well.

“Allow me to introduce la meva mare,” Ursula said, the pride evident in her voice, ”Dama Mariona del Aquelarre.”

Ximo stood, transfixed for a few moments as Yanessa guided the elderly vident toward the table. The crone seemed not at all bothered by the presence of two strangers at the table. In fact, she seemed hardly aware as she negotiated herself into her chair. Once seated, she took her napkin and placed it on her lap, smoothing it out.

”Que ve, Guillermo?” Dama Mariona finally said, looking at both Ximo and Nezda for the first time.

Ximo swallowed as Guillermo introduced them both to Dama Mariona in Humani. The vident continued to study the two of them as Guillermo detailed the kindness that Nezda had shown at the commissary. Dama Mariona nodded at the end of the story, waited a moment, and then gestured for the two to sit down.

“Benvigut.” she said.

The jovial nature soon returned to the collected group as the meal began. Ximo quickly righted himself out of the shock that the vident’s presence had created in him. He did his best to explain to Nezda what a vident of the Aquellare was, but it was difficult to get a word in edgewise with Francesca dominating his captain’s attention. He had never met one of the Aquellare before. There were only six on them, after all, and they were so revered it just never seemed to be a possibility to him. Sitting at the table with one now, however, was a relief. Dama Mariona quickly demonstrated herself to be like any normal person Ximo might hope to meet, though she was exceptionally funny. He would have imagined a severe old woman, angry and short with any who dared to speak to her. Such an image most definitely came from the common childhood threats mothers would throw at their misbehaving children. Every Humani child, at some point in their life, had been told they’d be taken to the Aquellare for punishment. Ximo was pleased to shatter that image.

With Nezda otherwise occupied, Ximo regaled Guillermo with tales of his journeys. Guillermo was a trader and had worked on family ships his whole life in a relatively small area of space compared to Ximo, and so was naturally drawn to the tales of other species and far flung planets. Ximo, ever the entertainer, was happy to oblige him. Soon enough, however, the meal came to an end. Yanessa pried her sister away from Nezda to help clear the table and Ursula faded away to put litter Bernardino down to sleep. Dama Mariona pulled Guillermo close and the two whispered to each other for a few minutes. Ximo took the time to smile at Nezda, silently asking how she was doing.

“Meva sogra, la Dama,” Guillermo said, turning to the two, “would like to be speaking with you… to be thanking you for your kindness.”

“Meva Dama,” Ximo said, turning his gaze toward the vident, “seria un honor. Nezda té poques paraules. Puc traduir?”

”No. Dama Mariona said a solemn authority in her voice. ”Meva néta es traduirà. Yanessa, vine. Vostès, anar.”

Ximo stood and began to obediently vacate the dining area. He paused to explain that Yanessa would help Nezda speak with Dama Mariona.

“When you speak to her, you say meva Dama, yes? This is very good, Nezda. Es bona sort to speak amb una Dama.” He smiled, tapping the underside of her chin with the knuckle of his index finger before walking out of the room with Guillermo who wished to show him around the rest of the ship.

“Please come sit closer.” Yanessa said once the men had gone. She was pulling out the chair that Ursula had occupied during dinner to Dama Mariona’s left. She then sat herself in Guillermo’s chair at la Dama’s right. Gone was the teenage angst the girl had demonstrated earlier, replaced by a humble reverence for her grandmother. Dama Mariona began to speak in Humani and Yanessa fluidly translated.

”You have given this family a gift.” came Dama Mariona’s words through Yanessa’s voice. ”I will be giving you one in return. Give me your hand, cousin, so that I will be seeing what you carry.”

[Squee]

Ximo’s hand on her arm pulled her attention away from Francesca. “Mm?” She turned, looked up at him, transfixed on a old woman. Not understanding his problem, but understanding the way his hand lifted her arm, Nezda rose beside him. Apparently, this old woman deserved respect worth standing. Like royalty?, she wondered, where they would sit after the old woman was seated?

Like a switch in her brain, Nezda began critically analyzing postures, expressions, and words. The title Ursula gave the woman, Mariona, meant nothing to Nezda. Yet the way it was spoken endowed the title with reverence. Honor. Respect ten-fold. Briefly glancing to Ximo, she saw the honor of being in Mariona’s presence inspired both excitement and nervousness.

Mariona sat at the head of the table, and it put Guillermo to the right. Therefore effectively symbolizing the old woman was primarily heeded first, and Guillermo second. This Mariona was special, if she could oust a man as head of the Humani family, which Nezda knew to be important.

Mariona may be old, but those eyes were sharp. They saw. They knew. That made the hair on the back of Nezda’s neck stand. She saw her crazy aunt and cousin in her mind’s eye, with suspicious spirituality swirling around them, as she now saw with Mariona. She heard Ximo swallow, and she didn’t like that. Her hands tensed in preparation. For what, Nezda wasn’t sure specifically, but she would react appropriately as what was best for her and Ximo.

Then they were motioned to sit. With a confirmation glance at Ximo, Nezda lowered into her chair. She listened to Ximo’s explanation of a vident and purposefully kept her expression neutral. An uncomfortable knot twisted in Nezda’s chest, one of uncertainty and distrust for anything that resembled superstition, religion, and cultist.

Francesca seized any open opportunity to pepper her with questions. The ship, how long she’d been a captain, why she was, and more on the ship itself, in a way that Nezda wondered if Ximo was better suited for the conversation. She did her best to answer the questions to the girl’s satisfaction. Slowly, as the conversation flowed and she began to understand each individual, Nezda’s aloof reserve dissolved. She liked the fish and pointedly complimented Ursula and her kitchen help, with a slight smile flashed Yanessa’s way. Sometimes, she would stop chatting with Francesca to listen to Ximo’s stories, enjoying the opportunity to learn more about him. Nezda relaxed, comfortably full, as the meal ended and the women swept away the kitchenware. She shared Ximo’s smile and nodded. She was all right.

“Meva sogra…” Nezda turned her head when Guillermo’s voice rose. She sat still as words were exchanged, understanding only about speaking to her being an honor, her name, Ximo inquiring about something, and the vident’s stern refusal and the summoning of Yanessa. Probably for the hundredth time already, Nezda looked at Ximo for guidance.

“All right,” she complied. When he smiled this time, though, she did not return it. The tap on her chin surprised her and she grimaced momentarily in response. Watching him leave, Nezda drew in a long, quiet breath before heeding Yanessa. That uncomfortable knot had reformed. Gazing at Mariona, Nezda could only envision her as an elderly version of her crazy aunt, if only with white hair instead of red.

The old woman was asking for her hand. The seconds slowed, as Nezda did not automatically respond or move, only clenched her hands into fists against her thighs. When her aunt had asked similarly, it had been to cut her arm in sacrifice to Vahl. Mariona did not worship Vahl, though. As far as Nezda knew, Humani did not perform blood rites. However, it would more personally reveal her missing fingers. Nezda avoided bringing attention to their lacking.

“Si, meva Dama,” she said at last. In confirmation, Nezda lifted and placed her hand on the table. It was gloved, and the empty pinky finger space was pinned so it did not flop. She paused, and then asked, “Without the glove?” as she undid the strap and began pulling from the fingertips.

[Meira]

Dama Mariona’s sharp eyes watched the Vahla woman, noting the purposeful neutrality that her features held. La Dama had been a student of behavior longer than this Nezda had been alive, however, so neutrality told her more than it would tell most. She could feel the woman’s nerves, her anxiety as well. Though this was normal, as most who encountered a Dama of the Aquellare tended to be nervous, Dama Mariona noted that this emotion struck a deeper chord within the Vahla woman. Best not to play that chord too much, then.

“Si, treure-se’ls.” she mumbled.

“Yes, take them off.” Yanessa echoed.

Yanessa was not officially apprenticed to her grandmother; the Aquellare Vidents did not take apprentices, but rather sponsored vidents who might succeed them on their council. Yanessa was too young for such a sponsorship, but there were benefits to being related to a Dama. When the Junta came, Yanessa would not have to prove herself to any mentor. No, she would be the one to have her pick. Until then, she absorbed every drop of knowledge her grandmother deigned to impart.

As Nezda complied and removed her glove, Dama Mariona took the woman’s hand and began to run her wrinkled, bony fingers over the lines of the palm. Whatever note she took of the missing finger, she gave no outward sign. She began to murmur her commentary and Yanessa scrambled to keep up.

”No family.” she began, blushing at the blunt way her grandmother read. ”Clever and strong, but damaged…”

Dama Mariona chuckled, tapping the scar of the missing finger.

”Obviously.” Yanessa translated, her blush deepening and her eyes avoiding contact with Nezda. ”la deriva… ehh… no anchor.”

Dama Mariona let go of Nezda’s hand and shifted her focus up to the woman’s eyes. She gestured for Nezda to lean closer, squinting as her own dark eyes studied.

”You are an egg.” Yanessa continued as Dama Mariona spoke again. ”Hard shell, strong against pressure, but weak when struck...ehh… when struck in small place?” Yanessa struggled with the metaphor.

Dama Mariona noticed Yanessa’s hesitancy and spoke a quick order to the girl. Yanessa stood and fetched an egg and a bowl. Dama Mariona gestured at Nezda, then at the egg. She squeezed it, then showed it had not been harmed. Then, she tapped it quick with one of her long nails. The egg made a cracking sound and a thin line appeared across the surface.

”Your shell has been cracked.” said Yanessa, picking up the translation again. ”How are you mending it?”

[Squee]

Revulsion pulsed thickly though her body as Mariona took her hand. Even knowing that would happen, Nezda resisted snatching her hand back. She didn’t like her hands touched. Lavender eyes watched old, bony fingertips glide across her palm and flicked up to see the crone’s face. Her spine prickled coldly. Even so, her willpower won over as she forcibly relaxed her arm.

“No family.”

Nezda tilted her chin, sliding her gaze to Yanessa. Well, that much was true. She’d abandoned them years ago. She squinted at the teenager’s blush. What was there to blush about?

The crone’s tap on her scarred nub earned Nezda’s attention in a snap. No anchor? The hell is that supposed to mean? Looking at Yanessa, the girl was not looking at her. Hell, if one missing pinky finger was missing an anchor, what did two mean? That she was floating aimlessly in space? With a bitter snort of laughter, Nezda recoiled her hand from Mariona and flexed her remaining fingers.

At the old woman’s beckoning, Nezda remained quiet and still as she met brown eyes, brimming with both knowledge and mystery. Once Mariona seemed satisfied, Nezda leaned away. Silently, she tugged on her glove.

An egg? One black eyebrow raised. An egg. This was her comparison. Perhaps it could be considered strong, but Nezda rather thought… it was helpless. An egg couldn’t take care of itself. Nezda watched the egg demonstration with neutrality, glances passed between Mariona and Yanessa.

At the question, Nezda remained silent. What should she say? Her hands twined together. A chill still iced her spine, unwilling to thaw. She was hesitant to reveal much more to this old woman, through eithers words or actions. There was nothing mystical about this conversation; it was only strange and freaky the Humani may believe so.

This is very good, Nezda. Es bona sort to speak amb una Dama.

All right then, Nezda resigned and drew visible breath. She would cooperate so as not to embarrass Ximo, among his people.

“I don’t,” said Nezda, bluntly. “It can’t be mended. I have to live with it. But I don’t like doing that and so sometimes I drink.” Reclining into the chair, she dragged her hands from the table into her lap. She was committed now. No need to hide anything. “I’ll drink… a lot.” Nezda put emphasis on the last two words. “Then I’ll get tired of the drunk I become and stop for a while. I count the days.

“I forget for as long as possible.” Nezda settled her gaze on Mariona. She was unhopeful; Mariona probably couldn’t do anything more than the Imperial’s best shrinks. “Have you ever tried putting eggshell back together?”