Some Rituals Are More Fun Than Others

[DreadPirateMike]

Two Years Ago...


Strange, to find himself in such a place as this. And the strangeness was strange in turn.



This cantina had a decent crowd in most every sense of the term. Enough multitude and diveristy of faces were on display that no one patron stood out too much without a bit of effort going into it, but it was far enough from the main drag to ensure you could still find a seat and turn around without undue fear of elbowing someone in the face. The proprietors obviously cared about what they'd built, at least enough to keep the place hygienic and in good repair, yet few establishments around here catered to a clientele that expected pristine. The lighting was conservative, as the clientele might well expect some dark corners, but not quite dim outside those corners. In other words, it was all just about perfect. Just the sort of place Jaidan Shatani had once eagerly sought out at every zealously sought after opportunity. Indeed, while that young Echani had once regarded Knighthood as the absolute peak of his aspirations for any number of reasons, the sudden freedom and vastly increased prevalence of such opportunities had proven one of the most tantalizing and immediate benefits.



It had begun as something of a long-term mission, oddly enough, though certainly not one that the Jedi Council had or would ever put before him. Twenty years ago, now. Shaken, despite the usual warnings, by a brush with the Dark Side during his Trial of Spirit, he'd been extremely motivated to find ways of protecting himself. Soon enough, his thoughts had turned to the sentient population of the galaxy at large, those lucky trillions who thought nothing of exposing themselves daily to everything he'd been taught to shun, and usually seemed to come out more or less alright for it. Was that simply an innate boon for those who couldn't truly feel or manipulate the Force, or could he potentially learn something from them? He'd traded his Jedi robes for something a bit less conspicuous, and gone into Coruscant's lower levels in search of the answer to that question. And as one night led to another, and many more to follow, he'd found...heh, quite a bit to occupy a young man's fancy, really.



The variety of intoxicants on offer alone had been fascinating. Real, live swoop racing was exhilirating, particularly once he'd worked up the nerve to actually compete, and found a Jedi's reflexes served him well. The gambling which surrounded it and the various games of chance and skill, while he never pursued it to the foolhardy extremes some did, proved even more thrilling in a way. There was something so novel about the idea of risk simply for the sake of risk that left him in awe of how very ALIVE people could be. And of course, there were healthy and young people like him, unattached and interested in still more things which were not a part of Jedi life. He didn't mind saying, that last one was actually somewhat terrifying...until it wasn't. Even at his most indulgent, he'd never quite lost himself to that other world. But once upon a time, he did truly cherish his freedom to visit it. So how did he come to this, back again and feeling like he'd donned an old suit that didn't QUITE fit right anymore?



He was older now, it had to be admitted, and such excesses had naturally been tempered over time. Likely by luck as much as any wisdom of his, he'd always avoided disaster, but there had been a few hard lessons along the way, steadily proving that freedom must be balanced by prudence and responsibility. And while he wasn't prepared to call himself old at 43, perhaps he wasn't young anymore either. He'd regarded Jedi Masters as stodgy old folk once, yet to his mild bewilderment, that honor lay three years behind him now. Could that balance have finally shifted the other way? Then again, there had also been a galaxy-wide war on for awhile. For years, if he visited a place like this it was probably just another mission, and even when he WAS on some reluctantly taken leave, it was a hard thing to really leave all that behind.



But the war was over now, or at the very least on hold. And for him, at least for awhile, it was time to move on. Soon enough, it would be time to book passage to his beloved homeworld, this time to stay for the foreseeable future in his new capacity as Jedi Watchman of the Six Sisters. But he'd not forgotten his youthful desire for freedom so much that he'd simply go from one grave long-term duty to another without pause. So here he was, in a place with nothing to remind him of duty or the weight of galactic civilization, trying to remember what commitment to nothing but his own whims was. And in truth, things WERE coming back to him.



The uncanny Echani ability to read body language was meant for fighting, and mostly that was what Jaidan used it for. But once upon a time, he'd honed the talent in places like this, even well before those heady days of his early Knighthood. Arik Han had often stressed that body reading would do no good in a fight unless the information was observed and processed all but instantly, and that required practice of the sort that surveillance in a crowded cantina could afford in relative safety. A man expecting trouble but not so obvious as to constantly look to the exits could still be given away by the stiffness of their gait, among innumerable other subtle signs. So could a man trying to keep a concealed weapon concealed, one preparing to run out on their bar tab, and so on. It had become something of a game he had in turn become quite good at, and bit by bit, he was indeed finding it relaxing to play the game when what he'd find was not his problem to worry about.



What was unusual in this particular case was watching another play the exact same game. He'd found a good spot from which to observe a game of sabaac well underway, and while he preferred to continue drinking his lum ale in relative privacy for the moment, watching the various players and guessing who had the strongest hands by how their muscles tensed at first glance was the next best thing to actually buying in himself. But Jaidan wasn't the only Echani there, and while his fellow "snowflake" was obviously feeling just a little more sociable than him, he was watching the table with the exact same studious insight that Jaidan recognized in himself. The only thing Jaidan was still trying to determine was how GOOD at it the other man was. He was doing well at the game, if the pile of credits in front of him were any indication, but not EXCEPTIONALLY well; on three separate occasions now, he'd either missed or ignored the obvious signs of blatantly fake confidence and yielded to weaker hands.



Two explanations suggested themselves to him straightaway. First, and hardly unheard of was that while Echani, the stranger was not particularly well-versed in the finer points of their arts. Or, conversely, he was watching a hustle. In which case things has the potential to get ugly in a hurry.



Settling back into his seat for added comfort, he signaled to a server and requested another round.

Rugs

[Rugs]

“Oh, looks like ya got me this ‘round.” Asyr smiled broadly, with just the right amount of chagrin as he pushed some of his credits across the table. This was the eighth round between himself and his Nautolan partner. Or maybe the ninth. That wasn’t really important, to tell the truth.

Nor was the minor bit of credits being traded over to his opponent's pile, even though it represented nearly a third of the Echani’s winnings. They’d play another round, and likely another one after that. Asyr knew that, as he drew cards for a new hand, as surely as he knew his homeworld.

The signs were subtle, but there. The way he leaned forward a little more than he had been some moments earlier. The gentle tension that left his shoulders as his confidence grew, the hunger in his eye as he bet nearly half of his credits on this new hand.

Asyr’s brows rose. An act, but a well practiced one. “Feeling confident, are we?” he asked. “Well I’d hate to be a poor sport.” He pushed an equal amount of credits forward. It’d leave him with a pittance if he lost — when he lost — but that was part of the plan.

And the Nautolan would oblige another round if he won. And why wouldn’t he? He’d clawed his way back to taking nearly all of Asyr’s money after Asyr nearly put him down to nothing in the first three rounds. Yet luck had evened, and so it must surely seem to anyone watching, turned against the Echani these last few rounds.

Why wouldn’t it? The Nautolan was cheating. He was a well-practiced cheater at least. But to an Echani’s eye he might as well have been shouting whenever he slipped a personal card into his hand. That was fine, though; he wasn’t the only one with dirty tricks.

Just hold onto that line, you cheatin’ bastard. Asyr smiled as he studied his hand. This one was truly weak. The Nautolan, by his posture, had gained a strong one.

At least that hand was an honest loss. Asyr stretched it long enough to feel legitimate, then folded. As the Nautolan pulled more of Asyr’s credits across the table, the Echani made a show of looking at his personal chronometer.

“Well, how ‘bout one more round, chief?” he asked. “Won’t be long til the captain’s needin’ me back on the ship, and she’ll leave my ass if I take too long.” Asyr was his own captain these days, but who needed to know that.

“Tell ya what,” he added, pushing all of his credits to the table’s center. “All or nothin’. You win, you get everything I’ve got left. But if I win,” he nodded at the Nautolan’s pile of money, “ well, you know what that means.”

He could tell from a slight reaction that his pitch was bought near the moment it left his lips. But his opponent leaned back, acting like he was thinking it over. Oh, you’re good, Asyr conceded. Just not good enough.

“Sure, white-hair,” the Nautolan said, leaning forward again. “But somethin’ tells me you shoulda quit playin four rounds ago. But long as it ain’t your captain’s money, it don’t matter do it?”

Asyr’s teeth showed as he smiled. “No sir, I guess it doesn’t.”

They drew their hands.

And a few minutes later, the Nautolan looked on in stunned disbelief as Asyr pulled the whole pile of credits over to his side of the table.

“But-” the alien stammered. “You were dead to rights! How’d you...”

Asyr smiled. “You were dead to rights six rounds ago, til you started cheatin’ sir, so don’t go gettin’ all disbelievin' on me.”

Sudden quiet rippled out from their table to the rest of the cantina as Asyr let the accusation fly. The Echani had left his blaster pistol inside his red coat, which was draped over the back of his chair. That was fine. The Nautolan slammed his hands on the table as he stood and glared daggers at Asyr.

Even in a seedy shithole like Farghul, it was a heavy thing to accuse someone of cheating. But Asyr knew a fight, if it happened, wouldn’t escalate beyond fists. If that was all that happened, he’d win that fight as surely as he’d just parted the Nautolan from all his gambling money.

“What did you just say, white-hair?”

The question was soft, through gritted teeth, but sounded like a gunshot in the silent cantina.

[DreadPirateMike]

Definitely a hustle. And while this had been Jaidan's suspicion for some time, the fact that it took him as long as it did to be absolutely certain indicated a great deal about the stranger's skill. Only one intimately familiar with the finer points of humanoid body language could so effectively control his own. Granted, this could suggest nothing more than a particularly skilled and accomplished charlatan; disparate vocations did sometimes require similar skillsets. But Asyr's subdued response to the unspoken threat of violence; the utter lack of concern, gave him cause to think otherwise.

But even the Third Tier of Echani couldn't truly offer countermeasures against every threat. If ever Jaidan had harbored any illusion to the effect, they were rather harshly dispelled by a nearly fatal beating in his youth out on Tatooine's Dune Sea. And as he'd specifically learned in that instance, threats you could not physically perceive were especially troublesome. Which was why Jaidan wondered if the other Echani would be quite so relaxed if he could see the tension in all the patrons at tables off behind him, and especially the odd hands creeping closer and closer to holsters.

That was an illusion surrounding alcohol, one bought into even by many of those who imbibed more than often enough that they should really know better. While it was true that yes, as a depressant it might technically "calm the nerves", it did NOT necessarily calm the person. And a place like this was full of personalities very wrong for this turn of events. Some were on edge by long-ingrained force of habit which had helped them survive illicit fields of endeavor with high rates of attrition. Others were just naturally trigger happy, and now perceived a potential excuse. In short, while it was entirely possible that the Echani was justified in not worrying about his personal safety, his open accusation had created a situation in which SOMEBODY could well get hurt.

Looked like he was having that second round on the go.

"Gentlemen," he interjected calmly as he approached the table, taking a long pull of his beer before continuing. "Please forgive the interruption, but you've been providing me with free entertainment for some time now, and I'd like to offer payment in the form of equally free advice. Cheating is a serious and a dangerous accusation, not the sort of thing to be tossed about lightly. But the same can be said for the accusation of slander. Particular when a witness is willing to personally verify that you were, in fact, cheating."

He allowed a moment for that to sink in. And while the Nautolan's anger was palpable, it was born of embarassment rather than outrage, and thus ultimately empty. Even so, Jaidan silently stared down the man, well within range of a thrown punch, a silent invitation to challenge his newest accuser if he wished. One which was eventually declined with an averted gaze. Finally, a bit of wisdom. Good, even if it must sting its posessor.

"Still," Jaidan continued, turning his head to face Asyr. "I hope you'll be moved to show leniency. Unless you wish to try and claim that your own conduct was above reproach."

[Rugs]

There was a certain way to read a room and tell that things were about to go sideways. Sure, Asyr could employ his mastery of body-reading, but even that wasn’t always necssary. This was a sense, of a sort, honed only by years spent in seedy bars among rowdy folk, that could feel when tension crept into the air in just the right way...

”Gentlemen,” a voice said, calmly. Asyr looked at the source from the corner of his eye. It was, interestingly, another white-haired man. Asyr had noticed him some time ago, but hadn’t paid much mind--not when there were credits to be won.

Yet, the way the man carried himself was interesting to Asyr’s silver-blue eyes. You’re not some run-of-the-mill drunk,” he thought while the man spoke. Who are you?

Free entertainment, the man called their little game, before confirming Asyr’s accusation of cheating. Asyr smirked at the Nautolan, who backed off of his rage after an attempted stare down with their newfound friend. Asyr, figuring the situation handled, began neatly stacking his new credits when the man turned to him.

"Still, I hope you'll be moved to show leniency. Unless you wish to try and claim that your own conduct was above reproach."

Asyr, to his credit, didn’t pause in organizing his money as he lifted his eyes to meet those of the other man. His observations were ticking a lot of boxes — as if his appearance hadn’t done so already.

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d agree with that, friend,” he said simply. “I was perfectly happy to play normally ‘til ol’ fish-face here decided he had to resort to tricks.” The Nautolan bristled at the insult, but a hard glance from Asyr quelled him again.

“Besides, it’s not like I brought anything to the table that’s not mine by birthright,” he went on with a shrug as he stuffed some of the credits into his coat pocket. “Can’t exactly turn it off, once you learn how to read a man’s motions. But,” now he paused, looking up to the other man with a sly smile, “I’m sure you know exactly what I’m talkin’ about.

“Name’s Asyr,” he offered a hand. “Don’t meet many with the talent out this way.”

[DreadPirateMike]

"No you do not," agreed Jaidan, just a hint of stiffness present in his tone and posture as he glanced down at the offered hand. "But I don't imagine that does much to damage its appeal."

His birthright...well, he could hardly argue with that. The first half of Jaidan's life had been largely defined by a stubborn refusal to relinquish his birthright, even when that determination had put him passively at odds with the Jedi Order which had raised him for most of it. It wasn't that the Jedi demanded assimilation and conformity and all things. In fact, they were all very much encouraged to explore their native cultures...later on in life, once it was assured that they were Jedi first, and anything else second. Given the power they wielded and the responsibility that came with it, he understood why the Order would wish it so, but that had never been enough for him. The culture of this man's homeworld was beautiful, as were the gifts that came with it, and he'd not begrudge another the full enjoyment of either any more than he'd been willing to deny himself.

Still, such things didn't exist in a vacuum, and they both knew it. Limited telepathy was a birthright too, if you happened to be a Zeltron. And yet, knowledgeable players were therefore and with good reason wary of sitting across the card table from a Zeltron. That wasn't being unsporting; it was refusing to put yourself at an obvious disadvantage. Echani weren't quite telepaths, of course, but Jaidan had long ago learned that what they did have going for them could be just as valuable. In some ways, perhaps more. After all, everyone appreciated the potential of telepathy. The Echani art, even among those who recognized the species, was not nearly so well understood, believed by most of the uninitiated to be simply an effective method for kicking someone. It made him something of a wolf in sheep's closing, obvious pun accepted. It was for that reason that he'd long made a point of not playing much, at least not when appreciable sums were on the line. This man, apparently, had come to different conclusions.

"Jaidan Shatani. My heart is ever glad at a reminder of the homeworld." In truth, only a moment's delay had passed before he shook the taller man's hand, accepting that he was making too much of this. Yes, it was dishonesty of a sort. Predatory behavior even. But not everyone acted like a Jedi. Wasn't that the entire point of his coming to places like this? And the Nautolan WAS a cheater; hardly a first time offender, at that. Hardly worth launching a crusade over. Even so, he felt the man should come away with SOMETHING of value from this episode. That in mind, he extended his free and open palm in the loser's direction.

"I noted you glancing at his hand early in with some consternation. His literal hand. My guess was that you'd seen the white hair, mistaken your opponent for an Arkanian, and then wondered at the extra finger. To be fair, millennia of self-experimentation have produced countless Arkanian variants, some of whom would be indistinguishable from him at a glance. Nevertheless, he is not Arkanian. I suggest you spend some time reading up on Echani, and henceforth take the hair as a warning."

[Rugs]

Asyr’s white-haired countryman hesitated for a moment before taking the offered hand. It was a subtle thing, something that could pass unnoticed in most conversations. Asyr was trained exactly to notice the little, subtle ways that people acted — when he wanted to, anyway — and that delay was a curiosity.

Probably nothin’ the Echani thought, offering a smile that was ever so slightly lopsided as he shook this Jaidan fellow’s hand. Then again, he had decided to interject himself into a game of cards that hardly concerned him.

Maybe he’s just nosy.

Asyr snickered to himself as Jaidan explained the difference between an Arkanian and himself. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d been mistaken for one, what with his pale features and all. “Also got pupils, friend,” he added with a tap at the side of his head, right next to his eye.

In Asyr’s book the Nautolan was just an overconfident idiot who hadn’t accounted for the possibility of someone countering his underhanded tricks. The Nautolan sulked off from the table with some irritated grunts and muttering under his breath. Asyr shrugged.

“See, that’s the problem with some people,” he said--to Jaidan but obviously loud enough that his vanquished foe might hear, “they just don’t appreciate good learnin’ opportunities.”

He smiled slyly at Jaidan as he leaned his chair back, drink in hand. Normally, he would’ve propped his feet up on the table, but that took moe effort than Asyr Yevor felt like exerting right this particular moment.

“So how is ol’ Eshan, anyway, if you’ve been lately?” he asked, earnest curiosity creeping into his voice. “It’s been a while — a long while — since I visited.”

Because I can’t, he finished silently. That particular detail wasn’t for his new friend, however.

[DreadPirateMike]

This time, his fellow Echani would have no need of guessing at the nature and import of Jaidan’s expression. He made no particular attempt to rein in either the quiet sigh or the exasperated arch of his eyebrow as Asyr sassed the departing Nautolan. The delay would also be slightly longer this time, before he answered the man’s query. First, with no further need to act as the impartial spectator, he would cross over to the other side of the table, and settle in to the chair recently vacated by the vanquished would be card shark. And once he’d made himself comfortable, while some of the exasperation was for himself at going back on his resolution of a moment ago, he found he couldn’t restrain just a touch of Jedi sermonizing.

“By my reckoning, you now have both his money, and what passes for his dignity. I’ll readily admit, I’ve never been any kind of businessman. But I can’t imagine how you profit by antagonizing him further.”

Still at the back of his mind was the possibility of negative repercussions for Asyr’s flippancy, remote as they likely were. Men like the retreating scoundrel were seldom brave on their own, but that was sometimes known to change in the company of friends and after the comfort of strong drink. Jaidan suspected this man had earned the right to be unconcerned with a pack of drunks...but he suspected he’d earned that right the hard way, through difficulty at least partly of his own making. Abruptly, Jaidan’s stern tone gave way to a sudden chuckle.

“But maybe you’re the type who thrives amidst the trouble you get yourself into. I have a friend like that.”

Dwelling on this a moment, smiling in private contemplation, Jaidan finished off his ale before the delay at last ended.

“In answer to your question, my last visit home was...a year and four months ago, give or take. And that visit was woefully brief. The enemies of Eshan were elsewhere, which perhaps is the most profound answer I can give. But my home is in northern Kirshak Province, and I dare say our ancestors a hundred generations gone would still recognize it well. The land is still green, the autumn mornings still dawn crisp and clear, and the great River Kaldru still rolls patiently along into eternity.”

[Rugs]

Asyr snickered quietly at Jaidan’s concern for the retreating Nautolan. He covered a smile with drink from his glass and shrugged. “Just the way things are sometimes, friend,” he said, setting the glass down. He still leaned back in his seat, the chair tilted on its two hind legs. Was it perhaps a bit animalistic to think of it as a show of dominance, to keep the Nautolan from getting any funny ideas? Perhaps. But in the end, that was what it boiled down to.

“He’ll be ok,” he added as the humbled cheater slinked out of the bar.

The type who thrived amidst his own trouble? Yea, that did sound a bit right. Gods only knew Asyr had caused enough trouble for himself. For a few lifetimes, it felt like.

Still, he found himself more drawn to Jaidan’s answer of their homeworld. After so long away, it was something like normal not to think of Eshan or the rest of the Six Sisters. But on those occasions where his mind turned to home, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of homesickness.

He often wondered has his parents faired these days. Not since he’d been exiled had he spoken to them. Being disowned had a way of doing that. Still, they should be getting up in age now.

Asyr made no effort to hide the quiet, longing smile that touched his face as Jaidan spoke of Eshan. His conversation partner shared the gift, after all--it wouldn’t have done any good to try to hide it.

“That’s good to hear,” he said. “Kirshak, eh?” He’d set his chair down properly and with it, his drink on the table. A hand rose thoughtfully to his chin. “Yeah, I remember the place. That’d make you of the Shatani estate, then?” Asyr felt a bit embarrassed to have not put two and two together faster, but then again, it’d been quite some time since he had to think about Echani high class. He wondered what importance this man carried. And what in the world would bring someone like him out to a dump like Farffin?

“I grew up in the south,” he said, carefully. It was true, but he was hesitant to reveal too much of who he was. “Lived in the hills near the capital.”

[DreadPirateMike]

Jaidan nearly pointed out that there were a fair few people living in Kirshak Province yet outside the ancestral Shatani holding, indeed outside Clan Shatani itself. But while technically true, that would all the same be disingenuous. He had, on more than one occasion, been noted as possessing an “aristocratic bearing“. Ordinarily, this was nothing more than an offhand reference to good posture, or precise diction, but plainly, this man had already seen a good deal more. Already knew that he had caused to expect nothing less. Even so, it was impressive. And something of a challenge, deliberately or otherwise.

”Indeed I knew the place well. In another life.“

A life I soon mean to get back to.

The thought was welcome enough, but that was off in the future yet. The present concerned a stranger who had him at a disadvantage. And his nature, only reinforced by instinct ingrained in him over countless battles, did not easily tolerate such a thing, never mind with one who plainly had no compunction about exploiting an advantage. Worse, the man had hinted at a story he might very much like to hear. The way he spoke of Eshan...that was not simple nostalgia, much as that may be all he’d care to admit to. There was real longing there, the pain of loss. And yet, the homeworld was still out there, waiting. What could possibly keep a man like this from something he desired that intensely?

It was a mystery. And as a some time investigator, though admittedly little more than a dilettante compared with some of his peers, that irked him twice. He resolved to learn more, yet he had no reason to believe the man sitting across the table would be forthcoming. If Asyr had wanted to elaborate on his sentiment, he would have. But then, they shared more than one language in common, did they not? And the other was far more elegant and efficient when it came to learning another’s character.

“But if we’re interested in details like that, then as for you…the capital, hmm? That’s not a great deal to go on. Still, I may be able to make an educated guess or two...in the usual fashion.”