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Thread: C'saa e Nomaani'suurra

  1. #21
    If Jaden's smile had been artificial before, now it was wholly genuine. Rodes seemed so pleased with himself and all the information he'd just regurgitated like a malfunctioning protocol droid, and damn it if it wasn't infectious. Tristan had forewarned him that the kid was a little eccentric, but this?

    Perhaps other people might have found it a little odd to hear their life paraphrased as interesting trivia, but Jaden's last few months or weeks - honestly, he'd lost track - on the Challenger before reassignment to the Novgorod had been filled with interviews. Journalists were tripping over themselves to write think pieces about the new Alliance of Free Planets, and the military forces assigned to defend them, and Kelly had always been more than happy to delegate interview responsibilities to his XO. It wasn't that Jaden liked the attention, but he'd grown accustomed to it; and besides, any journalist who learned in advance how awesome he was saved him a whole heap of seduction groundwork.

    Subject aside though, the fact that Gunner's mouth lacked both a filter and brakes was the opposite of eccentric, as far as Jaden was concerned. For him, it was ships: get him talking about that and you'd need a blaster on stun to get him to stop. It was like meeting a fellow A-Wing pilot, amid a sea of brainwashed idiots who falsely believed that X-Wings were the greatest thing ever. There was nothing wrong with Gunner, or Jaden; it was the rest of the damn cosmos that needed to rethink it's stance on things.

    "Because I have an important mission for you, Tick-Tock."

    Jaden reached out to his side, an arm wrapping around Tristan's neck and dragging him awkwardly into the conversation he was trying to occupy the back seat of.

    "This idiot here was planning to wuss out on the festivities today. I find that unacceptable, and frankly I think it's potentially damaging to the reputation of both Rogue Squadron and the Starfighter Corps as a whole. There is a concourse full of ladies out there, waiting to exercise a vital facet of their culture. We have a responsibility as officers of the Alliance to respect that culture, and it would simply be disrespectful and undiplomatic if we didn't make an effort to provide those ladies with the most eligible selection of men this station currently has available."

    The pretence of patriotic obligation collapsed all to quickly into another grin.

    "Sort version, Tristan's been acting grumpy, and I need his copilot's help to get him laid."

  2. #22
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    One of the reasons Agatha had been drawn to apply to a position on Jovan Station was the hub of diversity the place was, beside the fact that her political views aligned with the Alliance's mission and vision. She hadn't attended a festival of sorts in a couple of years, and when the opportunity happened on the station, she found herself both curious and quite excited at the perspective. She had wondered whether she would be on call, but it happened she wasn't, which meant that she could spend several hours celebrating and mingling with others. It was a treat for she had a tendency to be a workaholic and a homebody between shifts.

    She had dressed for the festivities, grateful she still had a few "fancy" pieces. She was unsure of the dress code, but based on her previous experience, she knew that it should be fine. At least, it was probably better than showing up in professional attire, or running gear. Her black dress was an oldie but one of her favorite clothing items. Dressing up every once in a while was also a nice feeling. After quick pets to her two Jaxs, she headed out towards the area of the station dedicated to the festival.

    There were already quite a few people and she saw that as a good sign. She wasn't so fond of crowds but she didn't fear them. And what mattered most to her was experiencing new events and cultures, so she ventured towards the merchant area rather than the bar, as a starting point.


  3. #23
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    "Ah. Doctor DeLaTour."

    Vek Vek turned at Agatha's approach, his nictating membranes doing a quick flick as he regarded his colleague. The Durwi was impeccably dressed in a slender white tuxedo, topped with a red bowtie which only seemed to accentuate the amphibian's bulbous head.

    "Likewise found Csaa'e'Nomaani'suurra to be a bauble of curiosity. Cultural anthropology more a (sniff) hobby, than profession."

    The stall merchant returned to Vek, thanking him for his business as she handed him a gift bag.

    "Pleasure reciprocated. Price reasonable and curio of a suitably interesting nature."

  4. #24
    Reddish Wood was the name of Gunner's high school friend. He used to wonder if his parents had deliberately named him for his blazing ginger hair and looming appearance, or if it was just a happy coincidence. He never asked. Red didn't like to be asked about his family, he preferred to talk about vegetables and fish. He didn't eat meat, so Gunner supposed it made sense, and he had three large fish tanks full of different species from Corellia, Kamino, and Naboo. That had been his favourite thing about visits to Wood Farm, the worst being the family dinners.

    Although he was neurotypical, Red was considered weird by the other kids in school. It was because he was smart, and didn't like sports, and preferred to talk to blueblossoms than girls. He loved making things grow, and being in the sun. Gunner never cared for plants or vegetables, and he hated the outdoors, but he liked Red, and he missed him when he went outside. Before Red came along, he drew speeders, and tried not to look out of classroom windows. Before Red, he stayed at home, and avoided crowds, and never went to parties - except that one time, for Kari Meyan's birthday, when he locked her Great Aunt Mimm in the closet for having loud jewellery - he never received invitations, after that. Then Red came along, and none of that mattered. It wasn't until he met Red that Gunner understood what loneliness was. Then Red was gone.

    It took years of encouragement, and countless hours of therapy, before he braved social environments alone. The rules helped, but there were so many of them, and, sometimes, they conflicted with each other. There were even times when the rules made no sense, at all. But that was girls for you, his dad said. He didn't want to meet new people, in the beginning. Until, one day, his mother told him about the Peko Peko, from Naboo: they nested high, in the cliffs, beyond Theed, and, when they thought their chicks were ready, they pushed them from their nests, and allowed nature to take its course. In the minute it took to reach the rocks, below, most chicks discovered they had been able to fly, all along. And, once his mother had firmly denied any intention of pushing him from a cliff, Gunner understood.

    He still liked to think of himself, from time to time, as a Peko Peko learning to fly. That was why he was going to the festival, today, even if it meant going alone; he owed it to himself, to his parents, and to drowned Peko Peko chicks, everywhere. But he wasn't alone. Seeing Tristan standing outisde his door, dressed in his whites, it filled him up inside like sunlight. He could feel it shining through his face. Tristan and his cool friend, Jaden. They were waiting for him.

    Quote Originally Posted by Jaden Luka View Post
    "Sort version, Tristan's been acting grumpy, and I need his copilot's help to get him laid."
    "I can help," he blurted, with a leap of eyebrows, "We have already established that I am the funny one."

    For a hesitant fraction of a second, he considered his partner, then took a step forward, and patted him on the arm. He grinned, pleased with how it turned out, "Don't worry, mate. I've got some killer new jokes. You're going to love them!"

    On the unceasing emotional roller coaster that was Gunner Rodes, his mood suddenly changed. The smile collapsed in on itself, and by the time he glanced at his chrono, the colour had completely drained from his face.

    "Oh, no." In his fresh state of panic, all sense of etiquette and propriety was cast aside, as Gunner placed his hands on the larger men, to start unceremoniously ushering them in the correct direction, "We have 6 minutes to get to the festival, but we can still make it if we take a shortcut through Trader's Alley. Just just just don't make eye contact with anyone, especially the Gamorrean, or we'll never get out of there in time!"

  5. #25
    Tristan's partnership with Gunner was still somewhat new, but he'd come to understand his idiosyncratic counterpart to at least some small degree. He knew the kind of thought spiral this kind of reaction warned of, and knew how quickly Gunner could corkscrew his way down into problems if it wasn't addressed swiftly. Fortunately, Tristan had learned a few basic techniques that seemed to help, at least in the short term. The simplest was merely talking things through calmly and rationally. There was a disconnect almost, interfering with Gunner's ordinarily rational and analytical mind; by acting as a bridge to link that mindset with the part of him tangled within his own thoughts, Gunner seemed capable of resolving any panic or anxiety for himself.

    A hand was placed gently against Gunner's upper arm, eye contact made, and his most reassuring tone of voice adopted.

    "The festival lasts for hours," Tristan soothed, "And we don't need to be there on time. In fact, most people probably won't be. I'm no cultural expert, but it seems to me like a romance festival works best when there's a crowd: the more people there are, the better the odds of finding someone compatible. These dress uniforms aren't exactly subtle either: even if we arrive late, we're going to attract plenty of positive attention. We can spare a few minutes to make sure we're cool and collected when we arrive, rather than in a flustered hurry."

  6. #26
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    Quote Originally Posted by Shuvin Undhi View Post
    "Come on, come on, come on!"

    Shuvin practically danced around the entry ramp, loving the feel of her dress swaying in the filtered air. While she was a bit self-conscious about it — the dress was the one she'd got with Eluna during that whole date-fiasco on Cato-Neimoidia — she didn't have anything else that she felt was nice enough to wear around a party like this. The backless black dress swayed around her smoothly, and she absolutely adored the fact that she got a breeze 'round her chest; no boob sweat for her today, thank you very much! A pair of more functional than decorative boots, buffed to a shine if still looking a bit worn in, completed her outfit.

    Yes, it wasn't much. But she liked it that way. Hell, she was perfectly happy lounging around stark naked, as Ben was reticent to testify. He'd walked in on her at least three times, and seemed to be more embarrassed on each occasion.

    "Come on!" she shouted. "B — er, Rox! Lacy! Let's go!​"
    "You know, I can always just —"

    "If I have to go, Rox," Cerie levelled a glare at him. "Then you have to go too."

    Ben grimaced at the nom de guerre that Shuvin had so helpfully applied to him when they'd first docked at Jovan, and tugged at the loudly tropical shirt he was wearing, though since Shuvin had picked it up for him, instead of comfortably roomy it was a perfect fit. 'Somehow it works with those trousers,' Shuvin had said when he drew the line and insisted on wearing his cargo trousers. 'Good thing they're black.'

    He trudged down the entry ramp to where Shuvin was waiting with her arms crossed and tapping her foot.

    "That mustache..." Shuvin sighed. Ben twitched and stood straight.

    "Is classy," he finished for her. "Distinguished. Upper crust. Dashing. Debonair, even."

    "No," Shuvin giggled. "It isn't."

    "Cerie likes it," Ben maintained. Shuvin rolled her eyes. "Right, Cerie?"

  7. #27
    Following after Ben, Cerie couldn't help the restless hand that smoothed out the front of her dressiest fancy-shirt. It wasn't really very fancy, it was just the nicest shirt she owned, to be honest. Sleeveless, low-ish neckline, nothing glamorous but it got the job done. Her black trousers had been ironed, at least, along with the muted green and yellow patterned skirt that she'd wrapped around her waist over the top of her pants. Some of the short fringe-like tassels had been long ago pulled off, but it was still a serviceable bit of clothing.

    "You look like you have a furry caterpillar living on your face," she answered idly while moving her hand up to fidget with the hawkbat charm necklace she wore. Over the years it had become a treasured possession, and she'd added bits and pieces to it as time went. A thumb ring that was too big, a few discarded locking nuts that Shuvin had given her, and other trinkets had been fixed to the thin leather cord that held it all together.

    Her boots (she'd not even bothered to try and cover up the silver steel that had begun to poke out through the over-worn leather over the toes) hit the deck as she cast a teasing smirk to Ben.

    "Still, I guess it's kinda cute."

  8. #28
    Quote Originally Posted by Tristan Tahmores View Post
    "The festival lasts for hours," Tristan soothed, "And we don't need to be there on time. In fact, most people probably won't be. I'm no cultural expert, but it seems to me like a romance festival works best when there's a crowd: the more people there are, the better the odds of finding someone compatible. These dress uniforms aren't exactly subtle either: even if we arrive late, we're going to attract plenty of positive attention. We can spare a few minutes to make sure we're cool and collected when we arrive, rather than in a flustered hurry."
    In the beginning, Gunner rocked under Tristan's hand, shifting his weight from foot to foot, with restless impatience. He couldn't make eye contact. Every second lost felt like needles pricking his skin, all over. But Tristan was using that voice he liked; he wasn't rushing or panicking, like Gunner, instead he gave his words the time they needed to sink below the turbulent churn of thoughts. He found himself nodding, and became still, again. What he said made sense.

    "You're right," he said, mostly to himself. He met his gaze, and brightened, "Yeah. I hadn't factored into my schedule the possibility that I would be going to the festival with anyone, and that changes things substantially."

    With an air of satisfaction, he brushed the creases out of Tristan's jacket, and took off at a more leisurely pace. As he walked, he played with the chrono on his wrist.

    "We need to make allowances for the introductions, and small talk. We can talk tactics, you know, to prepare, in case we meet some hot girls who have a fat friend. Like fat fat. You should know, I have a maximum weight threshold that I am not prepared to cross."

  9. #29
    Jaden fell into formation behind Gunner and Tristan, both amused and quietly envious of the exchange he'd witnessed. People were always so quick to collect pilots into a neat little box of personality types and cameraderie, but there were as many varieties as there were designs of starfighter, and as many variations on those themes as there were stars in the sky. All pilots had a few basic traits, true: it took a certain kind of confidence and recklessness to think that strapping rockets to your ass and screaming your way through the heavens was a smart idea. But that was like saying that all Rebels were the same, or that all librarians and secretaries were hot - things that were demonstrably untrue in many cases. The bond between wingmen was different to that between squadmates, and the bond between copilots was something else entirely; different even from the small crews that formed around shuttles, gunships, ARCs, or K-Wings. When they were out there, Gunner and Tristan were utterly reliant on each other. Not in got your back sort of way like a wingman; more in a if you screw up, we both die sort of way. Gunner needed to trust in Tristan's ability to fly right, and Tristan needed to be able to respond to Gunner's guidance and telemetry without even a fractional hesitation. That kind of trust was so all-encompassing that it inevitably spilled over into every facet; and here it was on display, without a starfighter anywhere in sight.

    Jaden missed that. His frendship with Amos hadn't been quite so codependant, but they'd become brothers of a sort, in a way that couldn't be undone. The absense of someone so utterly trusted was a void Jaden couldn't plug, no matter how close he had got with wingmen and crewmates since. A crushing tug of something that wasn't quite loneliness, and wasn't quite isolation, wrapped itself around Jaden's chest. He adjusted his face into a grin, and did his best to ignore it.

    "Now here is a man who has got his shit together," he chimed in, nodding approvingly at Gunner's clear concept of his wants and limits. Sure, the phrasing was the kind that would probably get you punched if it was overheard by the wrong person, but Jaden had a sense that perhaps that was just something you had to get used to and accomodate with Gunner Rodes. That didn't stop a mischievous thought from forming in his mind however, which took root as they strolled off down the corridor towards the festival.

    "Y'know, Rodes, there's a Lieutenant in engineering I met a little while back, who might be exactly your sort of woman..."

  10. #30
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    Surrounded by smiles and merrymaking with the sounds of happy chatter floating all about, Samus Dage couldn't help but be impressed by it all. It was a colorful event to be sure, and wholly new while at the same time feeling a touch familiar. A group of vibrantly clothed Cizerack men passed by gossiping and casting their eyes about at those around them. A Rodian couple were sharing a drink at one of the compact bar kiosks, tended by a smiling human who was managing to keep up a conversation with one of his other patrons.

    He'd chosen to wear one of the more dressier shirts that T'yeellaa had picked out for him on one of their previous outings - a deep red button-up, tucked into a pair of comfortable fitting slacks. It wasn't the height of formality, but it certainly wasn't casual, either.

    Sidling up to the temporary watering hole, he flagged a second bartender who'd just finished handing off the drink she'd made.

    "Old Rebellion, please."

  11. #31
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    The bartender cast a wary glance to Samus, her earrings jingling slightly as her ears skewed.

    "jI'd love to, beautjiful, but jI'm afrrajid jI don't know jit."

    A voice rang clear behind Samus in response.

    "A demji-drram of Correlljian whjisskjy, a dassh of Nasshurra bjitterrss, and ssjimple ssjyrrup. Sshake, decant jinto a rrockss glass wjith charred mejiloorrun rrjind forr garrnjissh."

    Kalleeiha made a submitting gesture with her hands as Samus turned to face.

    "Ssometjimess to tasste. jI deferr to a betterr experrt ssuch asss jyourrsself....Commanderr Dage?"

    She held him at a disadvantage, but that was far from unusual in her work.

  12. #32
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    A single eyebrow rose as he turned about, eyes meeting those of a woman he wasn't entirely familiar with. But, she did know her drinks, and it brought an easy smile to his face.

    "Well then," his voice rumbled out good-naturedly despite the constant hum coming from all directions.

    "Nice to see the classics aren't all forgotten."

    With a genteel bow, the lanky blonde confirmed her question-that-wasn't-really-a-question.

    "Samus Dage, Ma'am."

  13. #33
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    "Kalleeiha Maillanaarro, at jyourr sserrvjice. jI am the Madame of the tea housse of the ssame name, and hosstesss of the f๊te."

    She glanced to the bartender, flashed two fingers, and nodded. With that done, her attention quickly returned to where it ought to be.

    "jI'm pleassed jyou've come to enjojy Nomaani'ss fesstjival."

    There was, however, something amiss. A certain someone wasn't attached to his arm.

    "Arre jyou herre wjith K'ohta'rrou Meorrrei? Forrgjive me forr bejing forrwarrd, jI trrjy to keep trrack of the matrronss jin mjy communjitjy and thejirr loverrss."

  14. #34
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    "Ah, yes... "

    A long inhale as he couldn't help but wonder on the Madame's level of attentiveness. Being so mindful of the station's staff as well as those who they spend time with was a strange notion to him, but one that he supposed he didn't need to think too hard on. His lips pursed in the beginnings of an apologetic look.

    "I don't think she'll be able to attend," there was a slight shrug in helplessness as his smile became strained.

    "Scheduling conflict and all."

  15. #35
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    "Oh, sso ssad." The Madame commiserated politely with a hand across her bosom.

    She'd developed a keen understanding of the differences between Human and Cizeri custom. She'd had to, in order to survive in this place. Were Samus a Cizerack, she might have intuited that his presence at the f๊te so unaccompanied was due to the Kree'Arr rut. A touch tacky, but not unheard of. But humans had no such exception. He'd given a professional excuse. Plausible on it's surface, but Kalleeiha figured that K'ohta'rrou Meorrrei would have to be exceedingly neglectful, Commander Dage would have to be ignorant - or both - for it to be the real reason.

    No, this hinted at some manner of trouble. These two doves had flown together for too long to be a passing fancy. They ought to have both shown up at the moon festival together - or neither of them. How sad.

    The drinks arrived, prepared in the manner the Madame had previously described. Ever the lady, Kalleeiha served Dage first before taking her own.

    "No matterr, jI'm ssurre jyou wjill have a loveljy tjime. Do jyou dance, Ssamuss? jYou have the look of a dancerr. Good possturre and eassjy on jyourr feet."

  16. #36
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    His smile returned, though a bit dimmer than it normally was. A nod in thanks as she handed him his drink, and Samus lifted the glass up a small bit in salute before taking a first sip. It was well made, and he swallowed with little fanfare.

    "Eh, I'm certainly no professional, and I have to admit that the last time I danced was back home, years ago."

    Looking past the Madame, Dage let his eyes go over the milling crowds, and he briefly wondered what cringe-worthy holo T'yeellaa had decided to watch for the evening.

  17. #37
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    The event had said formal dress recommended, but they didn't exactly go into detail. Exactly how formal? Like wear a dress formal? Ehhh...

    Not quite her shindig. So Gradoona took a liberal interpretation. Her nicest button-up top and the best pair of dark denims she had. Heck, it was the most dapper duds she owned! And the pinstripes on the shirt were slimming. So the look was a little on the unisex side? That's what waterproof makeup was for! If that didn't sort things out, her jeans had a flower made of rhinestones on the butt...so there!

    Okay, who was she kidding? She wasn't a man-slayer tonight. Well, unless a handsome Herglic beau happened to take a passing fancy at a feline moon god festival at the same time. If that happened, hoo boy all bets were off.

    Barring that, though? This shindig had a bar and a buffet! Consolation prize for missing hot cetacean studs was finding a steam table full of penguin hotdish.

    Penguins...

    Penguins!

    Gradoona's blowhole squeaked in surprise as she quickly turned her head away from the feathered fascist in charge of Human Resources. He'd already cornered Kiimi...she was dead already. No time to mourn. Only time to escape.

    "Hey fella, yaa waanna cut a rug oor what?" she propositioned the first conveniently-male body in her path, hoping to keep away from Bar Atoch's line of fire.

  18. #38
    As one of the ranking Cizerack on the station, Kijirra had been encouraged to join the festivities. Anyone who truly knew the Wing Commander would have realised how foolish that encouragement was. There were some matrons of the Pride that the moon simply did not smile upon, and the Ta'ihta'rrou was one. To her, the urges that drove so many of her sister Cizerack were a weakness that she refused to indulge. To her, the military was all, and her dedication came at the willing cost of all other aspects of an alleged normal life. To her, there was little that the moon festival could provide that she wasn't already accustomed to and satisfied with achieving in solitude.

    Yet, there was a certain sense of duty and obligation about being here. More than that, it was a matter of Pride, in every sense and permutation thereof. It was the Cizerack Pride who had plucked Jovan Station from the Goridan Reach and dragged it lightyears across the stars, and yet it was the Alliance - and worse, humans - who dominated her leadership, her staff, and her corridors. There were exceptions of course, overtly alien examples scattered throughout the ranks as a token effort towards affirmative action, but they were a meagre afterthought, an ineffective garnish atop a bland stew. The humans needed reminding to whom this station belonged; and this festival, uncomfortable as the subject made her, was a loud and proud statement from Jovan's landlords.

    As uncomfortable as attending a moon festival made her, however, it was nothing compared to the discomfort she felt allowing herself to be seen in this dress. There was nothing wrong with it, in and of itself. Though sleeveless, the neckline was modest, enough to hint at her femininity without displaying her chest like a buffet. The fabric was simple but elegant, cut so that it hugged the slender feline curves that her military lifestyle kept toned and intact without clinging, and the combination of naval blue and black highlights subtly alluded to the military uniforms that Kijirra found infinately more comfortable. Even Kijirra had to admit, she looked good: and yet she felt exposed, deprived of the comfort and convenience of the flight suits and fatigues that she usually wore like armour. In an environment such as this, surrounded by unenlightened races that did not understand how civilized society was supposed to function, her dress painted a target on her back - and her thighs, shoulders, and everywhere else. She was a lone freighter, dangled out amidst a swarm of pirates like bait, and the dress left her deprived of all her usual defenses.

    A grunt escaped her as she parked herself in proximity to where the drinks were being distributed: deep enough into the festival for casual attention to notice and note her attendance, but close enough to an exit to allow for a speedy withdrawl once an appropriate amount of time had passed. The man behind the bar looked as if he was about to speak; Kijirra refused to give him the opportunity.

    "Whateverr alcohol jis clearresst and strrongesst. Leave the bottle."

  19. #39
    "- oh, Gunner. Buddy."

    Jaden could feel the festival in the air, vibrating like an energy field the closer they got. The music, the ambiance, the rumble of conversation, the slight uptick in the whine of the overhead air coolers as they struggled to cope with so many hot bodies in such proximity: it was like stepping out into the wilderness of a verdant world at night, feeling the heat and humidity of a hot summer still lingering in the air, and hearing the chirp and rattle and resonance of a million tiny creatures in the leaves around you screaming out into the blackness in desperation to get laid. It took all of Jaden's willpower to keep his throttle dialed back to match the less eager pace of his companions, especially with the painful story of missed opportunity that Tristan and Gunner had just recounted.

    "I can't believe I have to explain this," he uttered with a shake of his head, "But if you want to dock yourself in someone's fighter bay, you don't end the transmission without setting up rendezvous coordinates. This is rookie mistake territory, Rodes."

    Luka's mind was already three hyperjumps ahead, plotting out the trajectory and course corrections he'd need to make once they dropped back into the festival's realspace. This changed things, altering the mission parameters dramatically. This wasn't just about getting Tristan laid anymore: apparently Jaden had to reunite a pair of comm-crossed lovers while he was at it. Force sakes, this was going to be a busy night.

    "Okay, here's the plan."

    Jaden's demeanour shifted, miggrating from conversation into command, voice tumbling out with thrusters on full burn.

    "Your girl is Cizerack. That means she's probably here, somewhere. You guys have seen the picture from her personnel file, and you're recon experts, so you guys start mingling, see if you can't get eyes on Gunner's objective in the crowd somewhere. I'll go to ground, see what I can find out from the lonely folks hanging around at the bars. Set your comlinks to zero-two-one-zero, and maintain radio contact: once we've found her, we'll figure out how to line Rodes up for the best shot we can give him."

    A grin spread across Jaden's face. "Fly safe out there, Tick-Tock," he offered, clapping Gunner on the back, and without even a half-second offered for comment or feedback, peeled off from the pilot formation, and sped off towards the festival at a pace that would have made an A-Wing proud.

    Fortunately, finding a bar at a Cizerack party was like trying to catch fleas at a Bothan orgy: all you had to do was walk in and then bam, there you are. Jaden set a direct course, weaving effortlessly through the crowds in his path like he was dodging asteroids, subtle course corrections and the occasional near miss with an added "Oh, excuse me," and flash of a smile whenever he accidentally-on-purpose brushed against a cute someone's arm. One such miss turned into a full gravity assist slingshot, flipping Jaden bow-about-thrusters for an added parting glance as he moved away.

    It was then that Jaden reached the bar, orientated backwards; but enough practice at such long, lingering looks with beautiful women ensured that he avoided any embarassment or catastrophe. As soon as the bar stool pressed against his firm and fancy-panted cheeks, he slid effortlessly onto it, one foot settling onto the lower rung that he'd scoped out from a few meters away. He waited, just long enough for his continued attention to solicit a slight bashful smile from the woman in question, before flashing a quick wink, and then gracefully spinning in his seat to face the bar.

    His arms came to rest on the counter's edge, a deliberate action that allowed him to bury the slight surprise at how quickly the barman reacted to his arrival. There'd probably been an inquiry about what he wanted to drink that Jaden had completely missed; that question certainly persisted in the man's eyes as he established eye contact, absently polishing the glass in his hands. Drawing a blank on every form of beverage that had ever been invented - alcoholic or otherwise - Jaden glanced about himself, eyes settling on the colourful pink and gold of the drink being nursed by the dashing Zeltron to his left. Not the usual drink of choice for a starfighter pilot perhaps, but Jaden could get himself a beer or a whiskey anywhere. In situations like this, at bars, or clubs, or otherwise, there was more adventure to be had in trying something a little different. Besides, this wasn't an exercise in getting drunk: he needed his wits about him, and a drink to help him blend in, and cocktails would provide that with an added dash of flavour and style.

    "I'll have what he's having," he said, with a subtle gesture and a smile. "But put mine in a conical glass, with one of those little umbrellas, and -" He trailed off, hand swaying vaguely as he thought, transitioning into helpful gesticulations to emphasise his descriptions. "One of those fruit slice doodads on the rim. Oh! And one of those cherries with the little pointy stick to eat it with."

    Jaden looked particularly pleased with himself over the instructions he'd provided; the barman merely looked tired, which was probably a bad sign at this early stage, given how long the festival was supposed to go on for. Never the less, he wandered away dutifully to rustle together Jaden's awkward request. The pilot waited a few minutes for him to disappear from earshot, before leaning over to the Zeltron beside him, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

    "So... what the hell did I just order?"

  20. #40
    Originally posted by Gradoona Pod-Floewander
    "Hey fella yaa waanna cut a rug oor what?"

    Startled, Gantuhar snapped his head to look to the side and... up. It was not often that he found himself on the short end of the conversation. Wide eyes blinked slowly as his mouth fell open slightly, and the Trianii was speechless for a fraction of a moment, his already dazzled mind trying to make sudden sense of the question asked of him. It was a terrifying prospect on its' face, and the felinoid couldn't help but allow a bit of the old worry show in his tawny yellows. How often had he heard such things at the End of the Stars? Well, he sometimes recalled that he did. The memories came and went as they pleased, after all.

    In this place was something different though. Something new and amazing to him. As if the Teahouse was not amazing enough! He'd found a proper bath, and spent hours coming his stringy fur until it behaved. He had even managed to find an old 'suit' in one of the secondhand vendor stalls. It was simply regal, with the frilled undershirt (like the space pirates of old!) and bright teal jacket with matching slacks that flared out at the bottom. He felt like a king, with his wild and usually unkempt mane now thoroughly brushed.

    This was a festival of love - best to make sure that one was in proper form. Just to imagine - a festival that celebrated the heart and all of the good things that come with passion. The Teahouse was but a taste compared to this! Brightly colored dresses and jangling adornments, lovely faces and smiles all around. It was simply wondrous.

    Until the voice broke the spell, and Gantuhar found himself looking up to a Herglic.

    "This One... "

    Another blink as words were slow to come.

    "This One does not... cut rugs."

    A hand came up to his chest then, thick fingers winding into the tufts of fur that poked out from his puffy shirt's neckline.

    "This One rather likes his pelt to be attached to him."

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