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Thread: Keep Me From Blowing Away

  1. #1

    Open Keep Me From Blowing Away

    Continued from here...




    He sat in a rather comfortable chair on the viewing deck of Jovan station, watching as the strange-hulled ship that his son served aboard pulled away. It was certainly not the more normal-looking ships that he'd seen in his lifetime, but then again he'd never really paid much attention to the transports that flitted over the tops of Myomar's main starport.

    The small table beside his chair held a dark caf, still steaming, and with a lonely-looking stir-stick leaning to one side.

    Thing between him and Quentin were... better. Not great, but they were at least on speaking terms.

    And now, alone in his thoughts, he wondered if the bridge could be rebuilt even further.

  2. #2
    As the gods of ill fortune willed it, the café was slammed full. Mags had retrieved her usual morning staple of dark roast black caf and a few well-buttered toasts. Now, she had nowhere to take them in peace. All around were full tables full of chatting people that she had no interest in crossing paths with. At a glance, the common areas down the concourse didn't appear to offer better pickings, and the Twi'lek didn't relish the idea of gingerly carrying a cup of steaming caf and a plate through a bustling crowd.

    There remained a solitary option. A single unoccupied chair at a table for two. In the seat opposite sat a silver-haired human, too busy staring at null space on the table just past his caf than actually drinking it. Mags' lekku drew up along her collar as she considered her options. Dignity trumped pride today.

    "Ees anyone else seeting at zis seat?"

  3. #3
    Pulling his eyes away from the grand windows that afforded a stunning view of the glittering stars beyond as well as the slowly ambling hulk of Khera'Va'ss'io as it banked away, Quarles looked to the owner of the voice that had posed a question. A half-moment passed before he immediately straightened up in his seat, one hand going out to gesture to the empty chair across from the minimal table.

    "Of course!"

    At the last moment he smiled, a forced thing that seemed to shift into a genuine expression. Here was a woman simply looking for a place to sit and enjoy her morning, and he would certainly not deny her that.

    "Please, sit."

  4. #4
    The Twi'lek's expression held a little wariness. Whoever the human was, he seemed to have the kind of effervescent personality that trended toward cheerfulness for no damned reason. That in and of itself boded poorly. Still, she'd committed this far already.

    Mags hooked a toe of one of her heavy boots under the leg of the nearest chair, dragging it free from the table enough for her to sit. She did so, easing her breakfast down as she sat. Now, she faced a second problem. Without a news flimsi or some other reading material, there wasn't much in the way to set up barriers to what was probably inevitable conversation. She reached into the breast pocket of her jacket, pulling out a rumpled box of cigarettes. The lid was deftly flipped up as she pressed the box up to her mouth, withdrawing with one pressed between her lips. One hand returned the box as the second sparked a pen lighter briefly to the tip.

    So far, so good. Mags exhaled through her nose as she looked at the man across from her, while doing her best to not appear to be looking at the man across from her. Despite the age, he wasn't ugly. There was always that.

  5. #5
    With one last look to the diminishing form of the Alliance warship, Quarles let out a final breath of air, and his shoulders seemed to settle with the exhalation as he returned his attentions to his caf. He'd never really had the stuff with all of the fancy creamers that Bernice loved; instead he much more enjoyed it on its own. There was nothing that a caf bean needed. It already had everything it needed.

    One hand moving to wrap around his mug, the elder Dage sent a brief look to his table-mate.

    "I'd say that that's a bad habit you've got there, but a girl wears boots like that, and she's most likely not the kind to take the advice."

    There was no missing those clod-hoppers.

    Instead, his smile returned, this time a bit gentler as he extended her the courtesy of a nod as he leaned back in his seat.

    "Besides," his eyes returned to the massive panes of transparisteel before them, "... no one likes pithy remarks while trying to have breakfast."

  6. #6
    The inevitable conversation happened, but the silver lining was that the human was self-aware enough to cut out the frivolity. That made him, at worst, better than most humans she knew. Her lekku lost a degree of their rigidity, easing down slightly below her collarbone.

    "Eef zees ees what kills me," Mags held her cigarette for emphasis a moment before drawing on it again, "zen I must 'ave done somezing right. I 'ave plenty of bad habits. Zees one ees innocent."

    She followed his eyes, which lingered on the departing cruiser longer than was probably coincidental.

    "Who ees eet?"

  7. #7
    She was perceptive, and Quarles grimaced slightly as he realized that his need to see any last glimpse of his son's current ship made it apparent that he was a bit too attached to watching a cruiser depart. His hand brought the mug up, and he took a tentative sip. The grimace deepened for only a moment, but it was a strange sort of satisfied expression, manifested in the universal baring of teeth at the end.

    "A son. Serves aboard it," the mug was lifted then, to gesture to the old warcruiser.

  8. #8
    Mags cut her eyes towards the waning engine glow, ashing her cigarette as she began to dredge the corner of a piece of toast along the surface of her caf.

    "'Oo are seeing 'eem off, zen?"

  9. #9
    "Well, in a manner of speaking I s'pose."

    It was a strange thing to consider, and he only dwelt on the notion for half of a heartbeat.

    "Not much love lost between us, but we're trying to mend our fences."

    Again that strange forced-but-not-forced smile, and he took another sip. Turning back to his rather unorthodox breakfast partner, he gestured to the toast that she was still pulling through the top layers of her own caf.

    "Never seen that trick before. Usually I just take a biscuit and dip it into some dewback buttermilk."

  10. #10
    The tension returned to lekku. Mags was annoyed that she was visible enough that her behavior was now a talking point, but she supposed she deserved it for doing the same to him. At least her facial expression maintained, if not a neutral, a resting state of perturbedness.

    "Zat sounds 'orrible."

    She bit demurely into the leading edge of caf-sopped toast, swallowing before continuing.

    "But zen, ze most enduring 'abits come from being used to zeengs, whezzer zey are pleasant or no. Zees, eet was a good breakfast growing up, during ze intifada. Ze caf, eet was barely caf at all. Ze bread, eef it was not stale eet was moldy, or maybe 'alf sawdust eef ze flour was scarce. Ze only zeeng zat was always genuine was ze butter, because eet came from ze blurrgs we rode."

    Mags' frown deepened some, and she washed it away with a sip of caf. Much better than the drink of her bitter youth, but there was something missing from it even though it tasted better.

    "When ze fence was not mended, deed eet upset 'oo less when 'e left?"

  11. #11
    "The last time I was around when he left was when that fence was torn down."

    Words spoken quietly, with a level voice. It was not a scolding tone, just an honest one. His eyes tracked away to look back out to the viewing panels. A few quiet moments passed before he sighed, and lifted his mug up to take yet another sip.

    "But that is in the past," his lips peeled back over his teeth as he swallowed, and the cup was returned to the table as he settled himself a little bit more.

    "Now... now it's different."

    He gave a smile then, sending it over to the Twi'Lek with a sidelong look.

    "Life and caf always changes, no matter how much we are used to how it was."

  12. #12
    The folksy line rang corny, but it was true enough. Mags sucked down another draw from her cigarette, and reluctantly nodded.

    "I learned zat early. My fazzer, 'e said nozzing of eet. 'E put a gun een my 'and when I was five. Zat was one of ze first zeengs I remember 'im teaching me."

    Her eyes downturned, finding a convenient excuse in her coffee, which she sipped.

    "Your son, I think 'e ees lucky ze fence ees on ze mend."

  13. #13
    Life on Myomar was a sheltered one, and Quarles gave the woman a second, sideways look. She had the look of someone who'd looked too hard at too many sunsets.

    "A gun at five, eh."

    His hand cradled his mug.

    "Sounds about how things were for me and my old man. Except, I've a notion that for you it wasn't to put down old and sick shaak."

  14. #14
    Mags shook her head, if only to force her back to making eye contact.

    "No. My mozzer, my fazzer, zey were not farmers. I 'ave ze pictures to show. Zey leeved wizzout want. Until ze droids came."

    She mashed the remnants of her cigarette firmly in the base of the ash tray.

    "I was three years old zen. Like 'oo say, everyzing changes."

  15. #15
    He held her eyes for only a moment, then turned back to the vista of space before them. A long breath in, then out once more.

    "And now? Are things like you thought they would be?"

    For himself, he knew that the here and now was decidedly not what he had expected. Bernice passed on, leaving him alone. His eldest more or less following in his footsteps, his daughter doing her own thing, and Samus firmly entrenched in the Alliance. A year ago, he would have never thought he'd be off of Myomar, still dealing with the loss of his wife in the strangest of ways. Or perhaps they were the ways that were necessary?

    No.

    A year ago, he would've said that his life would be mostly unchanged. Bernice would be on the porch, sitting in her chair with her cup of black caf and a datapad with the latest galactic news reports while he was out making sure that the fences were in one piece. He'd trundle back to the house, up those steps, and she would have a smile ready for him and a kiss to his cheek.

    Unconsciously he lifted his free hand to lightly rub along his cheek, where that kiss would've been given.

  16. #16
    That was a lot to process in a single question, and the Twi'lek leaned back in her chair, unconsciously running the blade of her hand along one lekku as she internally debated what to say if anything at all.

    "Ze droids left. Zen ze Empire came. My mozzer disappeared twenty years ago. My fazzer, 'e ees so obsessed weeth 'olding onto what ees left of our 'ome, I 'ardly recognize 'im anymore. Eef I've learned anyzeeng, eet's zat it does no matter what I zeenk zeengs should be. Zey just are. Wishing zat zey weren't ees just a waste of time. Just like staring out zat weendow, eet won't bring 'eem back any sooner."

    Mags tore at the toast on her plate, but didn't eat any, She just pushed the torn pieces around on the dish as a way to occupy her hands.


    "But I understand why 'oo do eet."

  17. #17
    "It's therapeutic," came the immediate answer.

    "Some might think it unhealthy, but in a way it helps. I used to think that my wife and I would be together until the both of us passed on at the same time - whenever that might be."

    The hand at his cheek shifted then, to scratch at an unseen itch on his chin.

    "But that's not how it worked out for me, so now I'm sitting here, watching my youngest boy strike off on an Alliance warship. Meanwhile I'm still here, waiting for another day before my own flight back home to an empty house."

    He frowned then, eyes going down to halfway focus on the decking below his booted feet.

    "At least I've got closure, in that my wife passed on. I don't envy you the unknown of wondering what happened to your mother."

  18. #18
    Mission creep was real. She hadn't asked for any of this. All Mags wanted was a seat and breakfast in peace. The old man, well-meaning he may have been, was touching on notes that were too familiar.

    "Eet ees easier for me to zeenk zat she ees dead, so zat ees 'ow I see eet. 'Ope wizzout reason will keell me faster zan ze cigarettes."

    Still, the expression on her face betrayed Mags. There was a glint of doubt and something almost sad. She swallowed hard, turning to stone again as she took another drink.

    "I envy 'oo for ze closure. Eet's exhausting to pretend."

    Mags took another quick gulp to finish her caf and stood suddenly.

    "Excuse me."

    She turned to make an abrupt exit, but something held her back for a moment. She grudgingly turned back to the old man.

    "'Oo should write to 'im. Even eef 'e ees too busy to do eet, or too proud to ask."

  19. #19
    It was a recommendation that had truthfully never occurred to him, and the short bout of silence was indication enough that her words had struck a cord within.

    "I'll do that, I think," he finally ventured as she made her sudden departure. A strange one, but not without a smart bit of good advice.

    He watched her leave, disappearing into the milling crowds beyond. Another moment passed, and Quarles returned to the window to stare, occasionally sipping his caf.

  20. #20
    TheHolo.Net Poster

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    Kalleeiha Maillanaarro's Avatar
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    Charley
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    With Mags' departure, a seat was opened in the busy café, which was a hot commodity for the half dozen or so hangers-on with their orders looking to sit. Some came as a pair or as a group, so they weren't interested in a single free seat. However, someone eventually braved the opportunity.

    "jIss anjyone ssjittjing herre?"

    Madame Maillanarro didn't dress in half measure. Even at this time of galactic standard morning, the Cizeri wore the multi-layered silken mantles, belts, ribbons, and trusses of a Rrou'fai above her station. Her chestnut hair was done up, revealing the bangles and studs adorning her ears. Despite being a large woman, her breakfast certainly wasn't befitting. The only items on her tray were a cup of tea, and a poached egg in a cup.

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