Familiar Faces

[Rai'faani Meorrrei]

It occurred to Rai'faani that she'd become afflicted with a terrible boredom. It couldn't be helped, really. Enough time in one place without scenery change could do that. She'd tried to wring every last ounce of novelty from Jovan Station, but it was all becoming very stale. The same Ti'a haa'ko restaurant. The same tea house. The same well-dressed playthings, and the same exact friends with too much free time on their hands.

"jI thjink jI'm about done wjith thjiss place." Rai drained the dregs of her cocktail as she sat along the edge of the heated pool.

Hirraaiya was mid-thrust in the pool with a decent-enough looking human. At least she was keeping the pace easy enough for conversation.

"jI hearr therre'ss a new njightclub openjing wjithjin the week. We could alwajyss check jit out."

"What'ss sso sspecjial about that?" Rai asked, pilfering a sajoi from a server's tray.

Hirraaiya rolled her shoulders in a shrug, steadying herself at the pool's edge with a hand. "jIt'ss ssomethjing new."

"Therre'ss a whole galaxjy of ssomethjing new, Hirra. And usualljy jit jissn't new at all."

Rai snapped the severed tail between her lips and tossed it aside. She sighed, blowing a strand of hair from her face. A whole galaxy out there. And her in here, going nowhere.

"Do jyou have anjy morre jeeta?"

Drugs weren't new either, but at least they opened the possibilities a bit. Hirra gestured to the locker room.

"Mjy handbag."

Rai stood from the pool, letting water drip down her long legs. She wrang the damp from her tail tuft.

"jI'm gojing forr a masssage."

"Don't be long, Rai, jI want to go eat ssoon."

She shrugged with indifference. Another night of paying top dollar to kill something exotic. Whatever.

* * *

In the privy of the tea house refresher, Rai lay out the ritual. Jeeta was just about a part of every day life. It was in tea - whether the literal or figurative sort. You could buy jeeta to smoke or to chew. There were jeeta candies. But the experience between those and the pulverized white sap of the jeeta plant were entirely different universes.

ssssssniffff

The euphoria and sensory load hit like electricity as Rai sighed against the mirror, her breath leaving a fog against it's cool surface. Cooler than the most perfect bath. She kneaded against its impossible smoothness. Everything felt a little new through jeeta. Sounds sounded clearer. Smells were more rich. Conversation picked up poetic meter. Obviously the sex was spectacular, but it was the portal that Jeeta represented, an entry into a world that was similar but a little different. That excited her.

Rai licked at her lips, feeling the buzz of pleasurable tactile passing between them and her tongue. She hastily cleaned the residue away from the counter, and made certain to do the same at the edge of her nose.

A moment later she was back in the world. The humidity of the tea house hugged her like a Neffon-wool robe. She smelled the salt and funk passing of a tray of fish. As she headed to the rear of the tea house, she paused before the bead curtain. A smile crept on Rai's face as she slowly passed through, feeling each and every bead and bauble pass over her naked body.

[Abarai Loki]

Halfway through his shift, rinsing the sweat and scented oils from his hands, Loki's mind started to wander. It wandered beyond the privacy of his ornate and fragranced massage parlour, beyond the epicurean delights of the teahouse, out into Jovan Station itself. The place where, these recent months, he had established for himself an unforeseen new life, amongst the travellers, and the traders, the spacers, the military man, and the common man. It was just a pit-stop, that's what he kept reminding himself; a stepping stone on the way to greater things. He divided his time between two jobs, and little else, providing his services as a droid mechanic for Anauri, and playing the unlikely role of part-time masseur in Madame Maillanaarro's teahouse.

Jovan Station was a crucible of cultures, a convergence point of people from every corner of the galaxy, of every faction and alignment, coming together out of necessity, but remaining for... something else. Loki didn't quite understand it all. He didn't care. For him, his time on Jovan Station was a numbers game. Presently, his dual incomes were divided between the expense of living on the station, and the small fortune it would cost to ferry him across the next leg of his journey, and, potentially, the next. He arrived by necessity, and, by necessity, he remained. Each day was the same. Perhaps, he was missing the larger picture. He left Ossus to be free to experience the galaxy for himself, and to find his place in it. And yet, in routine, he had made himself a prisoner.

It wasn't all bad, of course. Working for the teahouse was a luxury. It boasted the richness of experience he had come to associate with the likes of Taataani Meorrrei, which was not unexpected, he supposed, considering it was a Cizerack establishment that prided itself on debauchery and excess. Unlike his humble stall, tucked away in the main engineering subsection of the station, his work space in the teahouse was immaculate, comfortable, and tidy. The smell of jeeta-infused oils was obnoxious, to begin with, but, after an hour, it blended into the background, just like all the nudity, and the sex. The work, itself, was a particular high point. It turned out, that when it came to touching naked people, he was especially gifted. Man, woman, Herglic, or Bith - it didn't matter - he enjoyed them, all the same. Yes, there was the lurid appeal of nudity, but there was also the sense of accomplishment, too. His job was to seek out and eliminate the symptoms of stress or physical exertion - in the teahouse, it was typically the latter - and, in doing so, bring his clients a sense of relief. Even pleasure. There was an intimate kind of trust that developed between client and masseur, and, the client's satisfaction was his satisfaction. It was also the most sexually-frustrating job he'd ever had.

On cue, the bead curtain snaked and jingled, marking the arrival of a new client. A beauty, this one: young, with exotic markings, brazen in her nudity, shimmering from the kiss of steam.

"Ja irra korra'nai, rrou'a," he gave a courteous nod, and gestured to the table, "Welcome. Please, make yourself comfortable."

[Rai'faani Meorrrei]

Rai paused the moment she'd passed through the threshold and blinked hard. Was that? It couldn't possibly.

She laughed. A tinkling sound that she reigned in too late with a hand to her lips.

"What arre jyou...moonljightjing? Kallum the massseurr?"

He looked a note more elfin in appearance than usual. Was that makeup? He wasn't so old that he had to hide his years, not by a long shot. Rai'faani took a few steps toward him, a hand on her hip as she appraised the her mother's majordomo and his newfound second life.

"That'ss an awful lot of efforrt forr vojyeurrjissm, don't jyou thjink?"

[Abarai Loki]

"I beg your pardon?"

The accusation fell upon Loki like a downpour of ice water. He blinked, owlish with shock and indignation.

So he derived pleasure from the sight of naked beauties, such as this presumptuous creature? That was as much a crime as salivating at a banquet. It was as natural as breathing. Who was she to question his intentions? He was reminded of his first encounter with another rare beauty, Mags Sondeeta, who had expressed a fleeting doubt regarding his suitability for the role of teahouse masseur. How he had proven her wrong. Perhaps his uncouth new client was in need of a similar education.

If the madame was present, she would disarm a customer of their objections with charm and humility. As such, the tension bled from his muscles and he donned professionalism like battle armour.

"Rrou'a, I assure you, this is a private chamber. My services, and my discretion, are at your disposal. Please..." This time, his gesture was slow and deliberate, to prevent any further confusion, "Make yourself comfortable."

[Rai'faani Meorrrei]

Was this some manner of roleplaying? Rai's eyes narrowed on Kallum with a hint of amused suspicion. He'd been her mother's creature for so long that it escaped her comprehension that he was a man of his own tastes. Peculiar ones, given that he was stubbornly refusing to break character.

"But of courrsse." she replied, her patrician lilt more metered and deliberate than before. Perhaps it was the jeeta, but she felt more amusement than ill temper. After all, Kallum was still rendering her a service, even if it was in service of his kink.

She traced fingertips along the masseur's table before gliding top it to straddle the apparatus.

"jYou'rre qujite the mjimjic. Anotherr accent, ne? Fjirrsst Corrusscantji and now..."

Rai paused with a smirk. They were still maintaining the charade, weren't they.

"Of courrsse. Mjy apologjiess. That'ss an jinterresstjing accent. Wherre arre jyou frrom, mjy handssome massseurr?"

[Abarai Loki]

Great. Another weird one.

Loki supposed it made sense, in some ironic and inevitable kind of way. One does not get to look like that without accruing some drawbacks, over time. There was a blind portrait artist who festered in the depths of the promenade. He had a favourite expression, that Loki believed was applicable to his new client: too much paint on the brush, and none in the pot. Perhaps he was just being cynical. A scientist would look for a common cause, and there was jeeta. Yes, jeeta, the tide that washed many a senseless nude upon his needy shore. Part of him wished to explain away the bizarre with such a neat and convenient answer, but, he knew, in his heart, that there was truly no explaining the likes of Gantuhar. And it remained to be seen if this new contender was a true match for his unique brand of lunacy. Still, she was off to a promising start:

"My accent?" he said, stifling a sigh, "I'm from Torque."

He had been to Torque before. It was one of the few planets he'd visited, prior to locating the Wheel. They didn't speak like he did, and, in truth, it was not something he had ever given much thought. The people of Torque were all teeth, and spoke like they were chewing a mouthful of durasteel screws. Not that this oddball would know the difference. Hers was the sort of accent instantly recognisable to him: she came from wealth, and she probably didn't stop to notice it. That was everyone else's job.

And, on the subject of jobs, he busied himself with the prep work. A pea-sized dollop of oil was squeezed into his palm, and he proceeded to rub his hands together to make them warm and slick.

"And what of you, rrou'a," he said, dredging up his manners, "Are you a daughter of the mother world?"

[Rai'faani Meorrrei]

His fiction was awfully obscure and specific.

"Ah. Torrque."

Rai plied her tongue around the name of a world she hadn't the wherewithal to know of or care. She was as indifferent to the reference as she might be to a mote of dust on a shawl. She leaned back slowly, propping on her elbows as her tail lazily flipped between her knees.

She'd expected backstory - something. But no, just the name of a silly world she'd never heard of. Goddess, Kallum's fictions were so vanilla. And that was damned confusing, considering his proximity to mother. She above anyone valued the artful bending of truth. She could turn a priestess of the Sun Goddess into a pazaak cheat given enough time.

Maybe she had him wrong? Maybe Kallum's value to mother was less for his guile and more for what rested between his legs. At least he had no shortage of company in that fraternity.

In lieu of fleshing out his backstory, Kallum put the sajoi into her dish instead. Unlike him, she had no trouble spinning a colorful - if not believable - lie upon demand.

"Of the motherr worrld bjy bjirrth," her ears perked, "but adopted bjy desstjinjy jinto the Jedji Orrderr."

Suitably ludicrous, but sold with attitude. Rai raised an eyebrow.

"Am jI jyourr fjirrsst Jedji, then?"

[Abarai Loki]

"What?" He said. It tumbled out, not as a question, but more like an unspoken statement of 'bantha shit.' If this ditsy kitten was a Jedi, then Loki was a dancing dewback.

"If you are going to fabricate an identity, you should at least make it believeable." His indignation had melted, in the wake of his client's absurd claim. There was no point in being angry about it. Besides, what right did he have to object to someone pretending to be something they were not? Escapism was a huge part of what the teahouse had to offer, perhaps the pretence was an extension of that.

A fresh pair of incense sticks were lit. With one finger extended, Loki silently instructed his client to turn over; they would start with the neck, back, and shoulders until she instructed otherwise. Before she moved, he offered her a smile of consolation.

"Very well, then. Please, tell me about your arduous life as a Jedi Knight."

[Rai'faani Meorrrei]

Kallum's incredulity was worth a smile. Good enough to shake him up, but Kallum quickly returned to his bit role. Rai still played along, easing down to the table on her stomach. Obviously the Madame hadn't run him off the premises with a bayossa switch, so Kallum's recreational lie probably held a small amount of merit. More than a small amount, given mother's interest in him.

He'd asked her to elaborate, and Rai could tell by that way in which he chewed his cheek that he expected her to founder in her creativity with him calling the bluff. Rai took a moment to recollect, mining the stories that mother had told of her ridiculous experiences among that strange cult of monks.

"jIt'ss not the place of a Jedji to boasst. jI sspend mosst of mjy dajyss ljivjing ssjimpljy on Osssuss, jin ssolemn medjitatjion on the..."

Eyes unseen by Kallum, Rai afforded herself a sidelong glance to think of the right way of spinning this tale.

"...mjyssterrjiess of the Forrce. jI commune wjith trreess, the anjimalss of the woodss, and rrajisse sstoness wjith a thought."

[Abarai Loki]

"It sounds exhausting!"

Loki's emphasis was on the mark, straddling the tenuous point between sympathy and ridicule. His imagined disbelief was expelled in a huff. He was enjoying this, more than he cared to admit. And, what struck him about his client's imaginative remarks, was just how accurate a portrayal of Jedi life it was. Inwardly, he winced. It sounded so pretentious and silly, coming from the lips of a layman, like that. Was that what people truly thought of the Jedi? He supposed, in a way, they weren't wrong.

The oil, jeeta-infused, of course, was an exotic blend of Felucian jungle frond and pashie kernel oils; a fitting choice for his client's patrician sensibilities. Once it was warm, he started to apply it generously, in broad strokes, across the small of her back, and climbing towards her shoulders. Her skin was soft, and supple to his gentle touch; he enjoyed following the pattern of her bold stripes, as he worked. There was not a scar in sight. In no time at all, a new scent filled the air: the sharp jungle frond cut perfectly through sweet smell of pashie oil.

"And what is it they say to you? All the trees and the woodland creatures."

[Rai'faani Meorrrei]

She smelled the resin and the spice as it warmed on his hands. Already in the sensory throes of jeeta, it only served to turn the volume up at it's own presence. When Kallum laid his hands on her, she shared his warmth. Rai's breath deepened. She salivated, swallowing hard. Each ounce of pressure he kneaded into her, something wicked wished he'd double it.

"Thejy tell me ssecrretss kept between handssome men and Ssenatorrss. jIt'ss qujite funnjy, rrealljy. Naturre hass an honesstjy wherre men and women do not."

[Abarai Loki]

"Senators? That's... specific."

There was something in the way she said it that momentarily substituted his confusion for concern. Something knowing. Loki's rhythm faltered, and he decided to change things up, prematurely, graduating from the pinching and folding technique, to a deeper, more penetrating, circular motion with his knuckles. It would perhaps provide enough of a distraction for his client, while giving him time to think.

At first, her words were dismissed as more fanciful nonsense, but then, upon closer inspection, Loki thought he caught a glimmer of truth amongst the fiction. This eccentric, well-to-do Cizerack just happened to saunter into his workplace, making references to Jedi, senators, and handsome men. My handsome masseur. That was what she called him; it had not gone unnoticed. Was she making allusions to his storied association with Senator Meorrrei? Was this some fumbled attempt at a secret message, or, worse, a threat? He'd have to dig deeper:

"So... what kind of secrets are we talking about?" Here, he made a passing attempt at good humour that felt like having his spleen removed, "Or is that a violation of your Jedi Code?"

[Rai'faani Meorrrei]

"Thejy wouldn't be much jin the wajy of ssecrretss jif jI djivulged them, would thejy?"

Her reply came unevenly as Kallum changed tact with his handwork. Ahh...she smiled. Had she touched a fresh nerve?

"jIt won't do, jI'm afrrajid. jYou'd have to beat jit out of me."

Unseen by him, Rai's eyes cut to the side with lascivious intent.

[Abarai Loki]

In the privacy of the parlour, it was not uncommon for clients to unburden their thoughts, worries, or desires on Loki's sympathetic ear. A full body massage had a way of untangling tongues, as well as knots. But this was, by far, one of the strangest conversations he'd ever had at his table. Part of him felt foolish for taking his client's words seriously, if only for a moment. Let her prattle on about her fantasy life on Ossus, and the talking trees, and the secrets of senators; Loki would just continue to be his usual charming and professional self.

"Fortunately, for you, I am untrained in the fine art of interrogation," he kept it light, while he worked on her shoulders and neck, "Besides, I expect Madame Maillanaarro would take issue with the screams."

He frowned. There was no stiffness, there were no knots, and not a hint of stress or discomfort from his client. It made him wonder if she had experienced a single day of honest work in her life.

"Are you experiencing any stiffness? Tension?" he asked, slipping into auto-pilot, "Is there any specific treatment you would like?"

[Rai'faani Meorrrei]

Rai smiled her secret grin at the interrogation talk, but that smile waned once Kallum returned to something a bit more procedural. He was like a mountain goat. You had to constantly keep pressure at the leash or the idiot would find the nearest cliff.

"Sstjiffnesss? Tenssjion? jI sshouldn't thjink sso."

What about you? Are you experiencing any? came the perverse inkling as she brushed her tail against his side.

"What to do, what to do..."

Rai drew herself up on the bench, propping with her elbows to get a look at the masseur's work station. A flickering gold array of lights on the counter caught her eye.

"Wax."

[Abarai Loki]

Loki took a step back, while his client considered her options, with the idle air of someone browsing a buffet. Blasted Cizeracks and their overly-familiar tails. He waited it out, eager to just do his thing, and send her on her-

"Wax?" he repeated the word like it was foreign to him. His thread-bare patience was rolled up, and his face creased with irritation, "What do you mean... wax?"

[Rai'faani Meorrrei]

Rai pivoted on a hip so that she could look back at him. Kallum's stubborn streak was fast losing its novelty.

"Hot wax. Frrom the candless."

The heiress head-nodded toward the array of flickering flames.

"Pourr jit on mjy back, of courrsse."

With that, she eased back onto the table, snugging her face back against the aperture at the head.

"jI ljike the feel of jit."

[Abarai Loki]

There was a beat of silence, then, "No."

There was a spot, in the corner of the room, about six inches from the ceiling, where moisture liked to gather, and run, turning the terracotta paint a disappointing shade of brown. Presently, Loki allowed that spot to hold his gaze, like an anchor, to keep him from being swept away on a tide of utter stupidity. It was his private place, to which he pinned every absurd request he'd ever received, like an invisible notice board of the strange and the downright horrifying. Burning with hot wax was, perhaps, not the most bizarre of demands inflicted upon him, but, with each eye-opening exchange, he had discovered himself slowly developing something of a callous to it all. In the past, he was shocked, embarrassed, aroused, even. But, now?

"You appear to be confusing Madame Maillanaarro's teahouse, for Madame Maillanaarro's torture chamber. And, as much as it pains me to inform you that we are not actually in the business of scalding our clients with hot liquids, here, I must decline your request."

Now he just deflected with charm, and a tactful measure of sass, to take the edge off. His tolerance levels for the more saccharine aspects of customer service were somewhat lacking, and he failed to see- His gaze flitted over to the flickering scented candles, and then back to his languid client, and something snapped inside.

"In fact, can you just piss off, please?"

[Rai'faani Meorrrei]

Rai slowly adjusted herself, drawing up to sit upright. The ear nearest Kallum perked, and her face took on an expression as if she hadn't quite heard. But she certainly did. She half-laughed, leaning towards the masseur.

"Pjisss off, jyou ssajy?"

[Abarai Loki]

"Yes." Loki gave a nod, quite matter-of-fact about it all, "It's another way of saying 'Get out, you annoying-"