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Thread: More Little Moments

  1. #21
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    Dan shot a look at Lok, as if to say are you kidding me? This wasn't the easiest little talk, and he wasn't gonna do all the heavy lifting!

    Still, it's not quite so easy to fact check tall tales, especially when you're trying to make a child swallow the most benign explanation. He grimaced a bit, working with effort to make that a smile.

    "You see Teagan, when a boy and a girl really like each other..."

    And the grimace was back. Maybe Lok could string that one better than he cared to.

  2. #22
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    At that she threw her hands up.

    "{No! I don't wanna know!}"

    She lapsed backed into Bast'yr unintentionally, the swiftness of her denials overriding anything but instinct. The little Lupine knew the tone of voice that her Father now took, and she wanted no part of it, no matter what. That tone usually meant nothing good, and the sooner she stopped him the better.

    "{Keep your flowers and babies and dirt and seeds. If I was small, then I was small. But don't tell me why!}"

    And turning on her heel, Teagan marched herself out of the main living room and down the hallway.

  3. #23
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    Well.

    The sound of Teagan's bedroom door forcefully closing was enough to break the spell caused by her daughter's brusque declaration and abrupt exit.

    It was also enough to make the elder Lupine lean back in her chair and let out a relieved sigh. For a long moment both husband and wife sat in silence, neither speaking a word.

    But, as was always the case, the calls of duty and work were not to be denied, and s'Il moved to turn her chair back to the task at hand. Palming the hardcopy she'd been 'translating' before all of this mess began, she reached out with her free hand to give an almost absent, light pat to Dan's leg as he still sat atop the edge of the desk.

    "Count your blessings, old man."

    A rueful smile as she retrieved her datapad.

    "Imparting ancient knowledge and wisdom is nothing compared to the power of a child."

  4. #24
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    It was enough cause to de-cork a bottle of wine, which he promptly did and decanted into two glasses. He paused mid-offer to Lok, remembering her condition, and sat back on the desk with both wine glasses.

    "We did good, kid."

    He sipped from one glass.

    "We did real good."

    And then the other.

    "Twinkle, huh? Yeah, you get to explain that one when she's a little older, then."

  5. #25
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    * * *


    It'd been at least three days since the General and Commodore s'Ilancy had returned from wherever it was they'd gone to have their second child, and Quentin Dage found himself in the almost unenviable position of calling on the couple at the stationed home on Bothawui. While he was certainly curious to see the new addition to their family, the underlying reason for his visit was not particularly the reason why he would've called upon them. He'd have waited at least a week, but Alliance Command dictated otherwise, and he found himself in the sad position to not deny what duty demanded. Kori had opted out, choosing to stay away for the time being. The less ire earned from the General the better he'd said, and while Dage surely agreed, he was unable to refuse what those above him wished.

    And so it was that the lanky blonde found himself at the front door of Dan Thrule's 'home', a datapad in one hand and a giftbag in the other.

    At least he could make the attempt to smooth over his intrusion with a gift for his old friends' new child.

    The toe of his polished boot moved outward to tap at the bottom edge of the door, simulating well enough that someone was hoping to gain the attention of those inside.

    It was noon according to Bothan time, but with a newborn, Dage was willing to bet that it was anything but to those inside.

  6. #26
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    The door cracked open, and Dan stood at the aperture, the light from outside aggravating eyes that probably wanted to see sleep instead of sunlight.

    "Yeah? Oh. You."

    His shoulders slumped in some amount of relief, but squared again just as soon. Dage carried a gift bag and a datapad. If he had one without the other, it might seem innocuous enough, but both together meant that there was something up and that Dage was trying to smooth it over with the most clever option he had.

    "Beware Myomarians bearing gifts."

    The General's face was a tired mask, and he sighed, marshaling up what passed for better spirits.

    "Come on in, Quent."

  7. #27
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    Oh it was a brave face the General put on, but both had known each other for long enough.

    "Gods you look like shit," came the unbidden response as Dage stepped inside, waiting until the door had been closed behind him.

    He was damn near the image of proper military fashion, his uniform crisp and his hair combed back into a surprising show of respectability.

    He gave his superior a good looking-over, shedding for the time being military protocol.

    He decided for at least a small amount of offered humor. It was his way, after all.

    "Ain't seen you like this since five days past getting hitched to that she-wolf."

    There was a pause, and he made a slight amendment.

    "... course you had a few busted ribs too, but still."

  8. #28
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    "Well, that she-wolf is asleep, and so is the boy, mercifully."

    Frazzled, Dan gestured to the hall leading to his office, on the other wing of the suite from the master bedroom.

    "Let's mosey this way, out of earshot. Took us an hour to put him down last time."

    In what was becoming his last refuge, Dan stepped gingerly into his office, and after Quentin had followed, closed the door with careful ease, manually trimming the hydraulic speed on the closing mechanism to ensure it did its work whisper quiet.

    "You've gone through the effort to butter me up. Guess I'd better know the hub-bub."

  9. #29
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    "Aw hells," it was said with a bit of bashful overtones, but Dage gave a shake of his head to try and brush off the knife that the General used so skillfully to cut to through to the heart of all matters.

    Thankfully he himself knew how to skirt that knife and avoid its' edge for at the very least a short amount of time. In the end he'd always been unable to fully deflect Dan's blade, but it was usually enough time to make things easy enough to swallow.

    He set the bag and datapad on the General's desk, intentionally ignoring duty for the moment so that he could dispense a small bit of 'cheer'. He made a show of rifling through the pastel blue bag, shifting the contents inside.

    "Got the boy some clothes and such," he started, "... and grabbed Teagan the newest Action Johnny Rebel toy."

    He knew the particular point of perverse pride that Dan Thrule held when it came to his daughter's love for those particular action figures.

    "Got you a little something, too."

    And from the bag, he pulled out a mid-sized box, embossed with a flourishing 'C'. There was no mistaking the maroon and gold markings; a bottle of Coruscanti Y1 was not something that many took lightly, and Dage set the elegant box reverently before Dan.

  10. #30
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    Interest piqued, Dan leaned forward to inspect the piece de resistance. Y1 was a blended whisky, but the story went so much deeper than the method.

    "Where'd you find this?"

    The question came out remarkably genuine, and Dan's eyes were alive with speculations. While Quent could certainly buy it on his pay grade, he might have to downgrade his rations to molecular noodle packs for a month to do so. But even if you could buy it, finding it was another story. It was a singular creature - like every vintage of Alderaanian brandy. Every sip you took, you were destroying history never to be seen again.

    "Do you have any idea what this is?"

  11. #31
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    "I know exactly what it is," came the almost smug answer; though there was also a healthy touch of satisfaction in his tone. He'd been saving it; keeping it to himself for the right occasion.

    "And you wouldn't believe me if I told you how I got it."

    Which was mostly the honest truth.

    At Dan's look, the blonde gave in.

    "I found it ages back." There was a 'helpless' shrug.

    "Way back on Malastare I think. We went through some curio shop; you seemed happy enough with that 'No Apologies' game you'd found, said somethin' about how funny it'd be to make Lok play," a smirk, "... which was I must admit, wonderfully hilarious. But you were so keen on that game that I never felt the need to show you what I'd found."

    A gesture to the box.

    "... which was this."

    Another shrug.

    "All I ask is that you share it; least one glass, at any rate."

  12. #32
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    "That long, eh."

    He examined the box, finding one last triangle of dust remaining on its top contour where it must have been laid up for a while.

    "Considering what you were making back when you weren't making a damn thing, makes it even more of a steal."

    He paused, looking at his subordinate at the realization his turning of phrase might be literal.

    "Eh, I won't ask. But..."

    He carefully worked the seal free from the edge of the box, violating a crypt designed to ward off the ages.

    "Thank you."

    Paused in reverie, the General eyed two glasses on his desk with a of course, you idiot look to him. He peeled the artisanal gold-embossed wood sarcophagus free from its base, hearing the air displace as the lid pulled free.

    "The Coruscanti Distillers Guild makes blends all the time, Dage. That's not the point. You can get those for a pittance in every shop in the galaxy. But this..."

    Removing the lid led to still another layer of intrigue in the form of a silk and gold-threaded pouch, seated into a felt recess.

    "This is a blend from a Year One reserve. This is the essence of a whisky that has outlasted the Republic itself."

  13. #33
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    "Oh come off it now."

    But it was clear to both himself and the General that Dage had taken a healthy amount of pride int he roundabout praise given.

    "You'n me an' the missus, we been around long enough."

    Dage watched as the glass bottle, wrapped in silk, was so gently held in Dan's hands.

    "... Kori too, but he was too scared to come out an' see you. His loss."

    Of course, if Kori had known what Dage was bringing along, he'd have been happy to accompany. It was as it was though, and Dage grinned cheekily to himself before desciding to pre-emptively make things somewhat 'right'.

    "At least save a glass for Kori though," he asked politely enough, "... poor man was too scared to come out with me today."

    There was a moment of silence, as Dan looked at his hallowed gift and Dage looked at Dan. It was a moment that seemed to encapsulate so much.

    "And save some for your she-wolf; I'm willing to bet she's gonna need to have a nip."

    Dan still seemed enraptured by what he held, and Dage gave a gentle rap to the glossed desktop with his knuckles.

    "Oi man, poor us a drink then, eh?"

  14. #34
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    It was a careful thing. With near-religious reverence, Dan undressed the bottle, sliding the silken sheath away from a crystal decanter that seemed to catch every spectrum of light in the room, transmute it into the dulcet caramels of the contents within, and create a creature that was more than the sum of both. He plied the stopper gingerly, listening for the tell-tale rush of air. Though the blend itself was a far more modern creation, he had to give the creature its due. More than just Year One, this was a reserve through the ages, mingling reserves through the centuries of history that spanned the sum of the Guild.

    With the greatest of care, Dan brought the stopper to his nose. The scent was neither brash nor aggressive. A more casual palate might dismiss it for mild and inoffensive. But catching the almost namana-esque graces of fruit mingled against leather, spice, and sweet caramel, you could almost will an ancient parchment to give up its text that had nearly yellowed into oblivion over time. Exhaling slowly, he passed the stopper to Dage. It was an unspoken ritual, and even his war buddy might not have the education to fully understand it.

    "One glass. One."

    The nectar of history burbled forth from the fluted neck of the bottle, a ribbon of twining amber cascaded into a thick-cut tumbler, casting a sultry hue through the crystal in another changeable light. Dan paused through the pour, holding two fingers against the glass - measuring miserly at the graces deigned to be given. Another splash. Another smaller. Done.

    The ritual was completed a second time, and retrieving the stopper from Dage, it was returned to its source with the care of a museum curator. Once more the silken sheath was drawn. Once more the bottle found its home within the felt recess of the box's base, and once more the sarcophagus was sealed. They would not be tempted a second time. Not so easily.

    Dan carefully passed one glass to Dage, and kept a face about him that might indicate he was about to deal in matters of state secrecy.

    "Keep your hands against the glass, and turn it carefully. Now, smell."

  15. #35
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    Dage did as he was told, noting the scented accents and subtle undertones that mingled so perfectly with one another. It was a symphony of olfactory delight, and he had to wonder if that was what s'Il felt whenever she described some scent to him in her honeyed and flowered words. What spoke to him now was a delicate yet primal thing, transcending all but the one who held the glass. His eyes closed as he took it in, allowing his body to conform to whatever the blend wished.

    But still, through it all, there was so much of Dage that had to speak.

    It was through a sigh of contentment that he knew his superior shared however, and was therefor not afraid to voice his sudden thought.

    "Ok, maybe no glass for Loklorien then," his eyes still remained closed, his body stuck in a moment of time.

    "She would never understand this... "

  16. #36
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    Dan raised his glass in an unspoken agreement. This was a concord between men. The only thing missing was the proper occasion, which was obvious.

    "To Markos."

    And with all due reverence, Dan pressed the rim of the glass to his lips, allowing the scarcest quantity to pierce the veil. He rolled the spirit on his tongue, letting it warm him, and letting him warm it. Flavors that appeared on the nose were amplified and transformed, and the maelstrom had all the brilliance of a kaleidoscope. Almost as a regret, he swallowed, and at last remembered to breathe again.

    "Ahh."

    The laws of diminishing returns applied to many things. Engineering, physics, biology. So too did they apply to matters of taste. This was the apex. The first, best sip. From this point on, there would be magic, but in a way somewhat less than the moment before. So once the first act was done, Dan dutifully set his drink on the table. Perhaps neglect might prolong the magic.

    "You've outdone yourself Quent. I'm almost afraid to ask how far the other shoe drops."

    After all, he had come with a datapad.

  17. #37
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    Dage let the taste swell so wondrously on his tongue; let it tantalize and tease. It gave him a brush of everything holy and all things forbidden. And it made him smile. Even as he heard Dan's glass being set gently on the desktop, he let himself partake in just a small bit more of the delight that he'd allowed past his lips.

    And as if after an eternity he set his glass down, eyes finally opening as he brought the 'pad back to the forefront.

    He held it, as if holding back some horrid fate from the man before him who'd just experienced something akin to the best night of his life.

    "It drops a fair bit, I'm afraid."

    Dage extended the 'pad after pulling up the required set of pages.


    What he'd neglected to tell Kori was the level of actual importance to the communique that he'd been tasked with delivering. It was nothing but a requisition acceptance for Dauntless' normal delivery payloads.

    Dage gave a ruefal smile.

    "Least, not anymore than normal."

    A hand reached out to clap Dan on the shoulder.

    "Any excuse to show you up, old man," he grinned almost maniacally, "... not to mention congratulate you; a guy at your age, takin' on a young'in? Brave soul, you are."

  18. #38
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    The deception was complete. Dan read the requisition, and chewed up an appreciative smile at his friend's treachery.

    "Well I'll be damned, then."

    The congratulations were sorely appreciated, and Dan had to exhale the stress of both the expectation of doom and the more-real stress of tending to the newborn.

    "Brave or foolish? I gotta tell ya, I don't know how the ol she-wolf managed it the first time on her lonesome. But maybe you're right and it's just the age talking. I feel a lot older, Quent. But maybe too, younger in spite of it."

  19. #39
    * * *

    The speeder had come to a slow, rolling stop, but the features of Meiers Brecklin were set in a perpetual frown that held distinct worry lines. He did not want to move. He did not want to leave the safety of their transport; not yet at least. And once more he closed his eyes as a hand went up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. He sighed, feeling utterly shanghaied into this - from his perceptions at least - very bad idea.

    Why did no one warn him?

    "Madame Senator, I still do not think that this is a good idea."

    And despite the fact that their destination had been reached, he still tried to dissuade his traveling companion from her chosen path.

    "We should really come back at another time."

  20. #40
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    "Nonssensse." came the matter-of-fact reply from the seat behind the Admiral.

    Senator Meorrrei, resplendent as ever in a mantle of silk arrayed in bright and warm patterns, wore a wig that hung in luxuriant blonde ringlets over her shoulders. Making sure her appearance was as exacting as she intended, the rrou'fai clamped shut her compact mirror, tucking it away into a small handbag.

    "Loklorrjien ss'jIlancjy jiss a dearr frrjiend of mjine, and jit'ss mjy obljigatjion and mjy honorr to ssee the beautjiful ljittle cub sshe hass brrought jinto the worrld."

    It occurred to the Senator that her turn of phrase was archaic in a galactic perspective, but shrugged nonetheless. Again, she fixed an expectant look forward.

    "Arren't jyou gettjing the doorr?"

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