C'saa e Nomaani'suurra

[Jaden Luka]

"Sorry, I didn't think to get you one. I wasn't sure what kind of mood you were in."

Jaden allowed a small amount of mock annoyance to inject into his voice, allowing the Zeltron's momentum to guide their escape trajectory from his entanglement with fuchsia frustration. "That is so like you," he challenged, just loud enough for those in the immediate vicinity. He couldn't be certain that they were far enough away to escape the smoking man's earshot - how good was Zeltron hearing, anyway, he idly wondered - but as with most things, it was better to be safe than sorry.

"Here I am, risking my life day after day to protect the galaxy, and you can't even bring yourself to remember my favourite cocktail order."

It was less an ad lib, and more an instance of life imitating art, Jaden suddenly hearing the grating voices of every woman he'd tried to have any sort of relationship with clawing at his eardrums. His mind already filled in the other side of the argument, in all it's myriad forms, from apology, to defense, to condemnation. I'm sorry, babe, there's just a lot on my mind, or perhaps there's a lot of important stuff in my brain, I think we can let one little detail slide, or I can't imagine how I forgot that, since you never shut up telling me the same damn thing fifteen times, or - if they were someone Jaden didn't want to risk entirely jeopardising his prospects of sleeping with again - but then I'd be robbing myself of an excuse to ask you, and hear your beautiful voice again, babe. With a strange hint of curiosity, Jaden wondered what kind of response he might provoke from his fictitious beau.

He couldn't risk taking it a step further, however, one tiny flourish of conversation too far.

"It's like they told me when we were first together. Never trust a pink man with your heart, or your ass: they'll only break it."

[Gunner Rodes]

Gunner trailed behind Kiimi like a toddler being led through the clothing racks of a superstore. He was all lead-footed and mystified as she took charge, making a beeline for the bar. There was no harm in it, he supposed, but he hadn't been prepared to be quite so manhandled. Was that normal behaviour? Was he expected to drag her around all over the place in return or was it a right reserved for the ladies? Was it a behaviour that was unique to the festival, or just unique to the pursuit of alcohol? These were the questions he had lined up for the moment they secured a place between a Bothan couple and a solitary Sullustan. That was until Kiimi produced a credit chit, and all of his thoughts hit a wall.

"What?" he said, his blank expression became conflicted, "No. That's... not how this works."

Already, he was rummaging around in his pockets for the credits that he was going to use to pay for her drink. Rule 2: Be Generous. This was basic stuff. The hand-holding was one thing but this was in direct violation of the rules. Perhaps Kiimiti had not been informed. He helped, holding his own credit chit aloft for her to see.

"I get the drinks. I like beer. You can have whatever you want, as long as it not strawberry flavoured. Or green."

[Kiimiti Taassaurra]

"Huh?" Kiimi was coasting on the wave of momentum that had been building since their second attempted introduction went off without a hitch. Gunner's insistence on paying blindsided her. She stared at the defensively-brandished chit in his hand as if it were a knife.

"But, jI..." she glanced to the side as her brain rifled through all the sociology cues she could think of. Then it hit her. "...oh."

She still stared at the chit in a wary, serious way. She looked to Gunner, who didn't look like he was gonna be talked down from this sticking point. They were at an impasse. A time for serious diplomacy was needed to keep wars from happening.

"Okajy, jyou get the drjinkss, b-b-but jI get everrjythjing elsse. Food, g-gjiftss, thjingss ljike that."

She held up her own chit, pressing its edge alongside Gunner's own.

"Deal?"

[Gunner Rodes]

"N-no," Gunner forced the objection out of himself, and shook his head. His face was creased with discomfort now, and his gaze swept over the offending credit chit, across Kiimi's face, their surroundings, looking for some way to make sense of it all. The cold creep of dread climbed up his back and needled at his neck. Why was she making this so difficult?

"We're doing it all wrong..."

Kiimiti was being friendly. That was the most difficult thing. Gunner saw the way she smiled, and the way she looked at him, and didn't eat her hair. He wanted her to smile more, and to hear her laugh like she laughed over the comm. He wanted to tell her new jokes. But she didn't want him to buy her food and gifts. What did that mean? Maybe it wasn't a date, after all. Maybe she just wanted to be friends. In his panic, he forgot about his maybe-friend for a moment, and searched the crowd for Tristan. He'd know what to do. He winced like he'd stubbed his toe; nothing but a sea of empty faces. Back to Kiimi, then.

She was still holding that stupid credit chit, expectantly. What was that face she was making? Did she have stomach ache? Gunner's clammy fingers fumbled his own chit in furious deliberation. If he didn't act soon, the date would come to premature end, either by inaction or by conceding to the inconceivable demands of his would-be drinking companion. She wanted to pay. He wanted to pay. They both had credit chits full of terrible potential. Oh. The last spike of anxiety pierced the fog of his thoughts and cleared the way to what was, in the end, the only obvious solution to their predicament. With nimble fingers, Gunner snatched the credit chit from Kiimi's hand, and hurled it across the room.

Then he realised what he'd done.

"I'm sorry."

[Kiimiti Taassaurra]

"Ohhhh...."

Kiimi's eyes tracked the glittering chit as it floated through the air, catching light as it tumbled. For a moment she had it, reaching a gloved hand out in feigned attempt to dive after it. But just as quickly, it was gone. She stared into a sea of people in the concourse. It couldn't be helped. Thank Goddess it hadn't been authorized yet, or she'd be out some money!

She turned back to Gunner, eyes serious and thoughtful. Okay, this was an impasse. She'd been a bit of a buffoon to think she could just insist on taking care of the bill in the Cizeri way. Human males often did things in their cultures that Cizeri females did, and it made sense that he'd feel the same sort of obligation. But now what? They were both fixated on this moment, their sacred honor in dispute!

"Okajy." She gulped, returning to stand at Gunner's side. "M-m-majybe we sstarrted too fasst, and therre arre g-g-g-grround rruless that we need to sset."

She unclasped the top three buttons of her jacket, and reached into the breast pocket to retrieve a flimsi and a stylus.

"Ssjit at the barr."

Kiimi hopped onto a barstool with a free one to her right. She got the bartender's attention.

"Two waterrss p-p-pleasse."

She could feel his eyes on her, and Kiimi turned and shrugged.

"Thejy'rre frree. Therre'ss no ssocjial obljig-g-gatjion."

She rolled the flimsi out, and began furiously scribbling in aurrebesh, for the sake of both of them.

"jI'm drraftjing a d-datjing contrract. Non-bjindjing, b-b-but we can take jit to a notarrjy jif jyou want. Thjiss wajy, we can avojid anjy awkwarrd m-m-mjissunderrsstandjingss, ljike who pajyss and when, and alsso who leadss when we d-d-dance."

Oh, she hadn't thought about that. Kiimi's ears skewed.

"Do jyou dance?"

[Gunner Rodes]

Gunner knew it was impossible, but he was fairly sure that the time between him throwing away Kiimiti's money and her talking again was somewhere in the region of 6 and a half hours. His extremities froze in the glare of her unpronounced judgement, and his insides twisted with such nauseous tension it made his ears pop. Kids knew the feeling well. In the sharp silence, he reflected upon his actions and their immediate potential consequences, and found himself wishing he could undo everything that had transpired in the last 5 minutes. Then she spoke, at last, and when she mentioned ground rules, all of the knots unravelled inside.

Kiimiti wanted him to sit, so he did as he was told. He watched, a curious lift in his eyebrows, as she went to work on the sheet of flimsi she had so conveniently saved in her jacket. Suddenly, the scrunched up napkins in his pocket paled in comparison. He leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the contract; her penmanship was excellent, each character brought to life with precision and finesse. From behind a curtain of platinum blonde locks, he caught a glimpse of her profile, and noted there were no harsh lines or any unpleasant round bits. Gunner had once dated a girl with such pronounced cheek bones that it looked like she was storing food in there for the winter - they never kissed for fear she might have tried to share her lunch. Kiimiti didn't store food in her cheeks like a hibernating gobal, but she did look like a razor cat. There were spots all over her skin, a rosette pattern of ink splodges and fingerprints, like her face had been the canvas for a toddler's imagination. No two markings were the same.

She was every part the Cizeri officer, in her handsome uniform. And how she had taken control, cutting through the confusion by not only establishing rules, but with a written contract, too. Clearly, he was dealing with one of those seasoned seducers Tristan warned him about. She was looking at him now, and doing that sexy stuttering thing that he liked. Oh, was that a question? He blinked.

"I can dance," he said, after some consideration, "My mum taught me all the moves, but don't worry, I learned her steps, too. So, if you lead when we dance, then I can buy the drinks."

He gave a nod, pleased with himself and the progress they were making.

"Okay. What about sex?"

[Kiimiti Taassaurra]

The stylus furiously scribbled as Gunner offered his input, and Kiimi hoped she wasn't smiling too much. Because you shouldn't smile too much in a matter of contracts. It might leave the other party to think you'd gotten a leg up on them.

"Okajy good, jI'd ljike t-t-t-o lead. jI've had lesssonss forr b-b-ballrroom dancjing."

She paused to gulp her water, correcting herself into a sip midway as to not appear uncouth. His next question put a halt to that, and she hurriedly put her water aside, setting the stylus down as she knitted her gloved fingers together atop the bar.

"Um."

Was it good or bad that he was broaching the subject exactly like a Cizerack? Should she go with that, or was this a trap? Who would set a cruel trap like that?

"What about what about jit? jIss that a jyess orr no quesstjion orr arre jyou asskjing forr d-d-detajilss, p-p-p-prreferrencess and ssuch? jI'm open to optjionss, but jI keep mjy ssockss on, and d-d-don't touch mjy feet."

Wait, that came out wrong, and she scrunched her face in course correction.

"Therre'ss nothjing wrrong wjith mjy feet, b-b-but jI don't ljike them touched."

[Gunner Rodes]

"I don't want to touch them," Gunner said, flatly, considering the matter closed. While Kiimiti added to the contract, he stole a glance down at her feet. Of course, they were presently contained within a pair of smart boots that robbed him of any real insight as to what potential horrors lurked beneath the leather, but that didn't stop his imagination from taking flight. They looked small, at least. The moment the scratching stylus stopped, he looked up, just in time.

"I usually do the penetrating. During sex," he added, for clarity. Then, recalling an old important lesson, he took on the tone of an educational holovid, "But I appreciate that sex isn't just for my pleasure. What is important to you is important to me, and if you want to lead, I will be... receptive to your wishes."

A beat later, the sincerity on his face collapsed into an apprehensive heap. He squirmed in his seat and helped himself to a long drink of the free water. The moment he resurfaced, he continued, undaunted.

"I like foreplay, and dirty talk. Name-calling is fine, just just just don't call me 'Daddy.' Please. When it comes to positions, I'm flexible, both literally and figuratively. Oral is acceptable. Anal, too, of course. I welcome spanking, dominance, submission, toys. You can dress up, if you want, but I'm not very good at roleplay. It's difficult for me to think of myself as someone else because my cognitive empathy is impaired, which means I can't put myself in the shoes of a doctor, or a stormtrooper, or the holonet repairman. Now, I don't know what your policy on bodily fluids is, but please be warned, if you piss on me, it will kill the mood and I will send you the bill for a bacta dip. I'll have a Smuggler's Run, please. No ice."

For a moment, the gaping bartender appeared to be experiencing some difficulty in taking the order. When Gunner looked his way, he grabbed the nearest glass and reached for the rum. His attention returned to Kiimiti.

"Something to wet your whistle?"

[Kiimiti Taassaurra]

Quick notes. Oral yes, roleplay no. Well it was a classic case of compromise. It was probably best to find out before that he wasn't up for being visited by a randy wizard in the middle of the night with her sorting hat, no matter how many times she thought that would be hot enough to melt durasteel. Dirty talk was definitely on the table though, and as they'd already discovered, they could do that in several languages.

Kiimi stopped scribbling, and just watched Gunner talk. Just the act of him forming words around his lips got her feeling some kind of way. She unconciously leaned forward, drawn in by spoken word magic. She giggled at his aversion to water works.

"Haa-ah-ah-ah-ah, well actualljy, that would be a wasste of b-b-bacta, ssjince urrjine jiss ssterrjile. But jyou don't have to worrjy about me d-d-d-dojing that, becausse..."

Danger! Do not talk about the recurring nightmare you used to have about giving a report at uni and spontaneously and uncontrollably peeing yourself in front of everybody. That's psychiatrist material, not boyfriend material!

"...becausse g-g-grrosss."

Fortunately he'd given her an out, and Kiimi was glad to have something else to think about.

"Oh, jyess pleasse. jI'll have a, uh...c-c-c-Correlljian whjisskejy. Two jice cubess onljy."

[Gunner Rodes]

While their drinks were being prepared, Gunner tested a theory. He didn't speak. In lieu of silence, there was the sound of robust Cizeri music, its traditional roots revealed inside the pentatonic poetry of each phrase and tonal shift, except it was faster, upbeat, and wedded to a lively percussion beat. It was like seeing an antique armchair upholstered in bold pastel rubber and studded with false gems, making it at once gaudy and classical, at once old and new. There was talking, too, a tinnitus buzz of conversation, of rowdy jokes and colourful stories. The revellers were in high spirits. Kiimiti, on the other hand? He wasn't so sure.

He caught her smiling. That was a good sign. And she appeared to be receptive to courtesy, and courteous in exchange. There was the contract, too. That meant she was interested. But what about a comfortable silence? Her gaze drifted to the bartender, she studied his work, and then, her own. A quick amendment to the contract, an errant strand of hair was tucked behind her ear. When she looked up, Gunner was ready. He smiled back, and fought an urge to laugh. He had no idea why; there was nothing funny about flirting. Maybe he should tell a joke. If she felt the same way, like there were bubbles inside, tickling, popping, then maybe they could both do with a good laugh.

Once the drinks were bought, their glasses met with a soft clink.

"I thought you weren't going to talk to me," he confessed, suddenly. It was time to address the bantha in the room, "It was rude of me to terminate our call the way I did. I'm sorry."

Thirty times he'd practiced that line in the comfort of his quarters. During his most recent session with Dr. Jsorra, he'd compiled a list of his transgressions, and had set to discovering the most efficient way to address them. He talked a lot, in the beginning, going into tedious detail about comm protocol and the security pitfalls of a video stream, but that wasn't what mattered. Not really. With the push of a button, he'd allowed Tristan's good advice to go to waste and potentially hurt Kiimiti, in the process.

"I don't talk to women much. Like this. And when I saw how pretty you were, I panicked." Gunner paused. It was a strategic pause to both appear vulnerable, and to resist every inch of him that was railing against the telling of a white lie. It was necessary, he reminded himself, to circumvent the boring truth.

"Did I hurt your feelings?"

[Kiimiti Taassaurra]

Whiskey was a strange drink. She'd first dabbled on an equinox trip to Syragor in her late teens, like a lot of Cizeri girls did. Inside the shelter of the Carshoulis Cluster, Syragor was foreign and interesting. There were of course communities of migrant workers on Prime, but the splash their cultures made seemed to flourish and fade within a city block. Syragor was older and thus entrenched, and for girls with a taste for the new and a small thirst for rebellion, they could find what they wanted.

It wasn't that she'd craved it specifically, but as a voracious consumer of forrda pop culture, you couldn't watch two holos without seeing some dark and broody character in a scenic vista with a small glass of brown potable in hand. It was nothing like the drinks of home, rich with mulled spice or fermented blood. It was made with grain, then married to a mixture of wood, smoke, fire, and time. The first time she'd tried it, she threw up. But she came back to it like a moth to flame, caught in the allure of wanting to be that mysterious person in that holofilm. Lots of her friends tried the stuff, but only Kiimi came back for it.

It was a drink that demanded you respect it, so when Kiimi took her whiskey, she drank like a bird for her first sip. The whiskey turned to vapor on her tongue, curling smoke up the roof of her mouth and out of her nose in a drawn exhale. It took her breath away for a moment, and allowed Kiimi to appreciate where she was and the company she was keeping. Gunner wasn't handsome in the way that models were. He was handsome in that inimitable way that supporting actors were in artsy holos. His beauty had a strangeness that couldn't be stuffed into someone's preconceptions. He wasn't the stuff of tawdry posters you tacked over your bed. He had the kind of look that inspired you to find something truly worthy to say - to put dialogue to the movie scene in your head.

Of course, in those old classic forrda holos like Centerpoint, the lead was usually a man and the support was a woman, so it required a little mental gymnastics for Kiimi to reset the scene in her mind. They also smoked a lot in the classics, and Kiimi hated smoking, but the whiskey was enough to make her feel more sophisticated than perhaps she was. It silvered the scene for her, and made Gunner's heartfelt words feel like those old movies, stuck in the amber but alive at the same time.

"jIt took me a whjile to worrk up the c-c-c-courrage to open vjissual. jI could hearr jyou, jI could ssee jyourr p-p-prrofjile, b-but jI wanted to watch jyourr ljipss move when jyou talked. jI'm n-n-n-not good at bejing sspontaneouss orr c-cassual, and jit t-t-takess tjime forr me to thjink about the rrjight thjing to ssajy orr do. When jyou d-d-d-djissconnected, jI thought jI blew jit. That ssucked."

She took a more confident sip of whiskey, and pushed back a handful of hair that threatened to creep near her face.

"That'ss not how jit happenss jin the holoss. The gjirrl alwajyss fjindss ssome wajy to g-g-get the bojy...wajit, djid jyou j-j-jusst ssajy jI wass prrettjy?"

Surprise blossomed in Kiimi's eyes.

"Wow."

[Gunner Rodes]

I'll come back to this.

[Kes Akiena]

"Codru-ji no have formal dances, like humans. We wander in the music. I learned some dance, from Gradoona and others. It very fun. I like this dance. Very, what is the word... romantic?"

Well, he wasn't exactly thinking along those terms, but he had to suppose that a dance to a slower song would certainly seem as such. He didn't flinch away, but rather went with the notion.

"Depends on the context, Ms. Rakkamar," he chuckled, continuing to lead her across the floor as they fluidly moved past the other dancers, "... I'm too old to know what's considered the 'in' thing at the moment, so I stick with the classics that I grew up with. I hope that's ok... ?"

Still he smiled though, unwilling to mar this moment in time with any ill thoughts. He was here because the Madame had made it no secret that he should attend, and he was here with Ms. Rakkamar because...

... was he here with her because he was afraid of the Madame?

No, not afraid, just... overly cautious.

[Mayael Rakkamar]

"What is 'in' thing? Is something you put in or something that you put in to?"

Mayael asked quizically as she continued to let Kes lead the way through the dance. She was having a difficult time deciding what to do with her two other hands. Taking the Commander's lead she placed them about his body in as mirrored a fashion as she could. Hand, shoulder, arm, and waist. They fell into place without much thought, as her mind was occupied trying to solve this puzzle that had just been presented. Whatever is IN thing was, it was important enough for the commander to mention. No doubt some idiom of basic that she did not grasp. Mayael would ask Gradoona later. Her fellow Engineer had a great way of explaining these things to her. She also had great stories and she loved the sound she made when she got all fired up.

[Kes Akiena]

He still led her in the dance, but the strange turn of his features showed a distinct amount of amusement at her confusion.

"The 'in' thing... it's like... what's popular?"

Her broken basic was endearing and, strangely, had become something enjoyable to hear. Kes continued to lead, and the two moved across the dance floor with ease. His stiff posture had begun to relax, and the redhead allowed himself a bit more of a fluid bearing as he swept her to the right in a veering motion, smooth and unbroken as they kept time with the music. The last time he'd done anything like this had been... well, it had been a while ago.

Ms. Rakkamar was a wonderful dance partner, whether she realized it or not.

"My knowledge of dances is fairly limited to the basics, and even then that was a fair few years ago."

[Mayael Rakkamar]

"I know nothink of your dances. Is new and... exciting. For me. I usually dance alone, in my room. Much better with partner, no?"

There was a big smile on her face and she was having a really hard time trying to even take the edge off. She knew she was smiling too much. Her mother used to say as much. She just could not help herself, not in most moments, and especially in this one. The Commander was just so nice, and handsome, and fun. Yes. This was fun. Very fun.

"Maybe we should learn new dances. Someone must be dance teacher on Jovan. Human dances. Fishy dances. Cizerack dances, too!"

[Kes Akiena]

He let out a chuckle at that, continuing to lead them across the dance floor.

"It might be worth looking into," he grinned.

"Perhaps if you feel the inclination, you can send out some feelers?"

Another bit of footwork sent them into a smooth turn.

"In your free time, of course."

[Mayael Rakkamar]

It took everything she had just to keep up with the Commander. Every time she thought she had the motions down he introduced another. All she could do was let him lead and give as little resistance. She felt like a child in a mother's arms. Powerless to stop from being picked up and whisked away.

"Free time? This is a funny. I am very busy building hyperdrive reactor in room. Ha! That one was a funny. You should see face Commander. Will see if anyone is giving dance lesson. Maybe ask Gradoona. She very good dancer. Look look!"

She used a secondary hand to point across the dance floor to where the large Herglic was dancing in place to the beat.

[Kes Akiena]

Using another turn, Kes sent his eyes in the direction that Mayael pointed. Sure enough, the Herglic was thoroughly enjoying herself. Smiling, Kes returned his attentions once more to his dancing partner.

"It seems that the Cizerack are adept at making sure their festivals are enjoyed by everyone," he couldn't help but chuckle out.

"... though Gradoona seems to have no problem finding enjoyment in most anything."

Again he turned the both of them about, around another few couples before Kes finally allowed his momentum to slow their movements. He led Mayael back to the edge of the dance floor while in the same motion disengaging from her. However, he kept a hold of one of her hands with a genteel grip while gesturing to one of the many brightly colored drink kiosks scattered about.

He gave her an easy smile.

"Might I purchase you a drink?"

[Mayael Rakkamar]

"Yes yes. Please have little umbrella."

The expected size of said umbrella was indicated by the distance between two fingers. It was quite small. The smaller the better. It enhanced the experience, she had found through rigorous testing. Not every drink merchant carried such frivolities, which is why she always took some with her everywhere just in case. Safely tucked away just in case.

"It is fun party, yes. We should have many more parties. Next time we have Codru-Ji party. I make Babalakaka."