A Chance Meating

[Margaret the Grey]

It's common knowledge among the foodies of the galaxy that the best steaks come from nerfs that live happy, peaceful lives. Stress toughens the meat, and that, in turn, reduces quality. Even the most finely marbled slabs of meat can drop two or three grades if the animals are subjected to stress for any real length of time. With a galaxy tearing itself apart in war after war, there aren't many planets left where happy nerfs can roam free.

One of those planets is Dressel. An unassuming world dominated by grasslands, Dressel lacks much in the way of natural resources, and the local Dresselians have long enjoyed a reputation as isolationist. It's no surprise then that it's avoided the gaze of hostile powers. No one likes dealing with cranky locals without some sort of incentive, and aside from proximity to a major hyperspace corridor, no one really felt the need to bring it to heel.

Good for the Dresselians, then, and good for the highly specialized herds of nerf that roam some of the more secluded grasslands. Known colloquially as Fat Arses, the nerfs here produce some of the most sought after meat in the galaxy.

Only one steakhouse on the entire planet deals in this ultra rare, high quality meat. Most of the rest is exported to the Core worlds, where the rich and privileged pay a small fortune to dine on it. The proprietor of Hubbard's Eatery, one Xenoth Hubbard, lucked out and acquired a stake in one of the herds, and thus far, that stake had yielded a steady supply of steak.

Margaret was passing through Breehara, the capitol city of Dressel, when she caught wind that there was a restaurant here that served the most sought after breed of nerf in the galaxy. Perpetually low on funds, as was typical for a Jedi, she knew she wouldn't be able to outright afford a meal at Hubbard's, but she'd spent plenty of time as a nerf herder in the Outer Rim, and figured she'd be able to leverage her skillset into a meal with a few weeks' worth of work.

Imagine her surprise then when, on her way through the door, she sensed that someone was dying in the kitchen.

Hubbard's granddaughter, Sela, was deathly allergic to legumes. Her allergy was well known to kitchen staff, and when they knew she was going to pass through, they took great pains to make sure it was as thoroughly decontaminated as possible. Unfortunately, the six year old girl was precocious and headstrong, and had sneaked into the kitchen one morning on the way to school to grab a cookie. A peanut butter cookie.

As soon as the Force alerted Margaret to the danger, she rushed back into the kitchen to find the girl lying on the floor, her throat swollen shut and eyes wide with terror. The kitchen staff was frozen with panic, but the Jedi Master had seen this sort of thing before.

There was no time for epinephrine. Sela's lips and fingertips were already turning blue, and it was clear the girl was on the verge of unconsciousness. As per usual, Margaret kept a fairly extensive first aid kit in her travel pack, which included- thank the Force- an emergency tracheotomy kit. Within seconds, the girl was breathing again. She was scared out of her mind, and her throat was still swollen shut, but she could breathe.

And that was how, later that day, Margaret found herself sitting at a table in one of the most exclusive restaurants on the planet, awaiting what was surely to be one of the best steaks she would ever eat. Xenoth had demanded that the woman who saved his granddaughter's life return for dinner that evening. She was to be treated to the finest meal they served, a dry aged prime rib that had spent the last year being lovingly cared for.

His only regret was that he couldn't bump another reservation to make a place for her, but there was a reservation for a party of one that evening, and he assured her that it wasn't unheard of to combine tables to save space.

Hopefully, whoever ended up joining her for supper that night would make for pleasant company. It would be a shame for such a spectacular meal to be ruined by boorish company.

[member="Orion Darkstar"]

 

[Orion Darkstar]

​

Dressel, a planet rich in the natural soils of growth and prosperity. Its grasslands spanned for miles, their vast stretch left the surface a viridescent beauty, beyond measure. The most notable of attractions, rested within the capital, Breehara. Carefully, the Dressellians orchestrated intertwined paths to keep their vital lands untouched by the growth of their most prized city. This allowed easy access to the most useful sets of herds. Nerfs were a common source of meat, and rightfully so. Not only know for their integral concepts of herding, but also the rich supply of grass that facilitated the best meat in most of; if not, all of the galaxy. Of course, one place was known in all of Breehara for the finest, savory slabs of meat that Dressel had to offer. ​

​

That place was Hubbard's Eatery. In normal fashion, Orion had already made his reservation. He had heard the overwhelming reviews, only in days time since his arrival on Dressel. It was his first time on such a world, lavished with proper soils to host some of what he really came for. In fact, by luck he found a tiny shop located in the hearty streets of Breehara, offering exactly what he needed. ​

​

More samples. ​

​

Orion had been recently come into a large purse from a recently exploitative mission, that not only garnered credits, but a well deserved new set of combat armor. Things started looking better and better. The only thing that still evaded him was scientific success. Messing with dangerous floral and creature-based blood samples were unpredictable. Either way, Orion was excited to see what the shop had to offer. ​

​

His pace of walking sped up as he turned the final corner. He slithered between a small crowd of people, before he slipped through and stopped. Orion's emerald eyes shifted upward, the yellow sign showcasing the antiquated shop's name. ​

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Sweet Grass Shop​

​

With his interest piqued, Orion reached for the handle and proceeded in. A small jingle reached him as the door slammed behind him. A rush of dust swept into the air, twirling into a torrent of thick fuzzes. Ignoring the neglect the shop had seen over the years, the young sith crept further in. The dried and cracked wooden shelves stretched narrowly into the shop's deeper plethora of selections. Slowly, the pale acolyte continued on. The floorboards snapped awake with a loud creak. In awe, Orion was fixated on glass jars of endless earthly and decrepit floral, lined up alphabetically. Another sharp creak splintered through the age old store. ​

​

"A customer!?" a shrieking voice quizzically asked. ​

​

Orion remained silent, reaching for a tiny glass jar labeled, Dressellian Death Blossom Cells. His fingers felt the cold embrace of the cylindrical container. ​

​

"Don't Touch! Anything you need, I'll get you myself." The voice grew scratchy and elderly. ​

"Forgive me, May I please take some of these." Orion said, lifting the jar to the air and pointing to it with his lengthy finger. He set down the jar back on the shelf. He turned to find a small woman, rag tagged in her outfit, filled with holes and stained with dirt. "Do you pick these yourself?"​

"For sixty-two years, everyday. My mother was a Botanist. She's long gone now though. Is that all you want? Hmm." ​

Orion observed her closely. The shopkeeper shuffled through the tiny spaces from behind the counter and rose to her tippy toes. Moving her glasses to her eyes, the large lenses confirmed the sample that Orion previously pointed to. ​

"I'll be purchasing more."​

​

"How much more, don't waste my time if you ain't got the credits." She clearly hadn't taken any customer service lessons, judging by the state of the shop, Orion was her only customer in years. Of course, Orion assumed that others rarely saw value in plants and their applicable uses. During all of his travels he came up short in his pursuit for fresh, decontaminated specimens for his work. If dealing with a rude elderly woman was the price, he would happily oblige. ​

​

"Money is no object, would you prefer to write a list and grab the necessary ones?"​

"No, toss out the names or point to the ones you want. I have fresher samples in the back, quickly, I'm busy."​

​

Orion lightly smiled. The thought of procuring enough samples for his travels meant there would be no breaks in his alchemic practices. It would take time and most would end in failure, but everyone had to start somewhere. Orion's edge on the competition was his incredible knack to decipher plants and animals, in all aspects. His mind was calculating, capable of finding an end result that in some way, would benefit him. It was one of many gifts that his mind acquired over time of study and procedural testing. ​

​

With every tap, the elderly shopkeeper mentally kept note. Occasionally she mumbled under her breath, trying to keep up with the young acolyte. Even in her older age she still had it. Orion paused after searching through the stacked samples all the way toward the back end of the final wall. He shook his head, long black hair following in suit. His pale fingers tapped on his chin, until he bent down, turning his head over his shoulder and pointed. ​

​

"This one, Kiss of a Killer. That's the last of it all." Orion said, looking over the counter. The time spelling close to his prior arrangements. ​

"I'll be right back, might take me a few minutes."​

​

What felt like only a few seconds, amounted to an exact five minutes. Orion tapped his foot waiting for the old wretch to arrive with his surplus of items. A small growl reached his stomach. ​

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"Hungry are we?" The shopkeeper paused, before continuing. "So the total comes to six hundred and sixty-seven credits. Everything is carefully bagged and wrapped in the box." She said, pushing the box towards Orion. ​

"Thank you for your time, I'll be sure to recommend this place to others looking for suitable samples from Dressel's own, unique floral."​

​

Orion snatched the box as he paid. He knew the time spent in Sweet Grass would make him late for his delicious dinner. Pushing to open the door, he ran. Crossing street after street he finally made it to the front of the restaurant and sighed. Catching his breath, he checked himself. The image staring back at him showed a nice black ensemble with a collar loosely hung around his pale neck. In a way it hid his muscular physique underneath. At his waist was a nice black belt, with no room for his sabers to hide. Below his belt line, rested sharp grey pants that clearly was part of a different suit, but it worked. ​

​

He fixed his hair, brushing it back and rushed into the doors of the dimly lit Hubbard's Eatery. He slithered passed all the servers, reaching the center of the dining room. Almost forgetting the box of samples in his hand, people stared. Quickly, he found table 55. Setting the box on the ground, he sat. A woman with big brown eyes disapprovingly watched him, sitting on the other end of the table. Slightly confused, Orion lightly laughed. ​

​

"I'm sorry, I think I might be at the wrong table. Is this table 55?"​

​

[member="Margaret the Grey"]​

 

[Margaret the Grey]

"I promise, it is," she said with a wry grin. "The Dark Side hasn't corrupted your ability to count."

She gestured lazily towards the other chair.

"I'm a last minute addition, so the proprietor had to make room. Hope you don't mind company."

Her voice was deep and throaty, clearly damaged by years of tobacco and alcohol use. Or, if we're being honest here, overuse. If it wasn't for the fact that the meal was free, she'd have a cigarette lit right now, the No Smoking sign over the door be damned. She was already on her third glass of bourbon.

"The name's Margaret, roving Jedi Master extraordinaire." She chuckled slightly, as though laughing at some private joke. "Now, before you reach for whatever weapon you've got handy, yes I can tell you're somewhere south of Dark, and no, I don't much care. I've got no quarrel with you or yours, so long as you're not actively trying to slit my throat. So, pull up a chair and share a meal with an old woman. I hear the steaks here are divine."

[member="Orion Darkstar"]

 

[Orion Darkstar]

​

​

Sarcasm. ​

​

It was the one thing that turned him off. In a lifelong process of being a Sith, he found no pleasure in the arts of a wasted tongue. It was odd, the moment he entered the eatery he felt a tug in the force. The irritating plunge of inter-connected pathways led him directly to the source.​

​

A Jedi...​

​

He knew, just like she did after her aforementioned remark. She poked fun at his ability to count, it served him right for his late appearance in such a prestigious restaurant. Then in full transparency, she introduced herself and what she was. ​

​

"The name's Margaret, roving Jedi Master extraordinaire."​

​

Orion remained calm. He extended his arm forward for a shake and stood like gentleman. Their differences meant nothing here. Their ideals of the force lacked influence, instead, each of them were simply visitors from two different worlds. ​

​

"The name is Orion, a faithful Sith to the Empire."​

​

Carefully, he respected his distance and sat. Margaret seemed careless about their circumstance. Although her assumption had to be corrected. ​

​

"I am unarmed. We aren't all savages on the south side." Orion paused, observing the nicely fitted table. Sharing a meal sounded nice. He had originally reserved the table solely for his own pleasure. Instead, he considered such a dining experience, an opportunity. It was rare to have civilized conversation with a Jedi, even more rare, a Jedi Master. "I'd gladly keep you company, Margaret." He couldn't remember the last time he was in good company with a woman. She was well beyond his years, but her features spelled conceptual beauty. ​

​

It would take time for him to decide on the menu. The one thing he knew for sure was that wine was needed. He picked up a small black booklet, the listings showing a grandeur of aged bottles. ​

​

"Do you have a preference?" Orion asked, slowly handing over the selection. ​

​

[member="Margaret the Grey"]​

 

[Margaret the Grey]

"I'm useless with wines, I'm afraid," she said, glancing over the book. "Unlike bourbon, they don't tend to travel well. I'll trust your judgment on that."

She winked, and took a sip from her glass. That was the Force's own truth. After a few months in hostile climates, most wine turned to vinegar, and the really good stuff was more sensitive than most. The same was true for beer. Hard liquor could also take a turn for the worst, but certain ones were hardier than others. She enjoyed a glass of wine or ale as much as the next person, but no one would ever accuse her of being a sommelier.

"I apologize for being glib a moment ago. Most of my kind are used to instant hostility from yours, and I suspect the inverse is true too. If you ask me, that kind of nonsense is why the galaxy is in such rough shape at the moment, but old habits die hard. Still, as my Master used to say, make your enemies by choice, not by accident."

The Jedi woman wasn't used to apologizing. Most of the Orders in the galaxy looked forward to her occasional visits with the same delight as they would an impending root canal. It was funny how much easier the words came when directed to a boy half her age who was, in theory at least, a mortal enemy.

Visually, he was the archetypal Sith: pale skin, the bits of mottling and damage that came with excessive use of the Dark Side just beginning to show, and the long, lean build that dedicated dancers and swordsmen tended to end up with. The eyes hadn't turned yet, but that would come with time.

Given his age, Margaret would have pegged him as an acolyte. Sith were far more independently minded about such things than most Jedi; if for no other reason than to delay the inevitable assassination attempt, they tended to let them roam a lot more freely than Jedi of that age were allowed. Still, seeing him on a neutral world, at an extremely exclusive restaurant, no less, was a bit of a shock.

"So what brings you out this way? I can't imagine it was just for the steak."

[member="Orion Darkstar"]

 

[Orion Darkstar]

​

It seemed Margaret wasn't well versed in the selections presented. It wasn't her fault, the whole process of making grapes into wine involved a lot. Every winemaker had their secrets, but almost all of them followed the same steps. How they utilized such steps was the key to a fragrant and perfect ensemble of divine liquid. ​

​

Orion spent his younger years in vineyards, all across the galaxy. Although, his age was a factoring issue. It forced Orion to lie and cheat his way into some of the most prestigious wine farms he could find. There, he would learn of the choices many winemakers faced. One of them, at least to Orion, was the most important. ​

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Oak Aging Vs. Steel Tank.​

​

Both processes had their own quirks. Having the wine sit in oak barrels resulted in a flavorful vanilla hint. On top of that, it allowed more oxygen into the wine, forcing the tanning levels to drop, creating an optimal fruitiness to the ending result. Depending on the length of time it sat in such barrels, a nutty flavor would grow into the wine. As far as the steel tanks were concerned, instead of allowing oxygen to breach the wines stewing, it would limit the exposure. This allowed the wine to remain fresher, in most cases anyway. On top of that, the steel enclosure granted the wine to build a zesty and juicier aftertaste. ​

​

Both methods were fascinating, but Orion preferred smooth wines. Thus, he preferred oak aging winemakers. He looked over the list one more time before waving the server over. ​

​

"We'll take the Caveu' Du Monte' Classic, please. An entire bottle, if possible." Orion said, smiling back at Margaret. ​

​

Soon after, an apology escaped her lips. It wasn't everyday, that a Jedi Master was coughing up sincerest regret towards a sith acolyte. Their kind was locked into an endless war and just as she mentioned, the galaxy was at their mercy. Everything that remained in the way of both parties would suffer. Even so, without the darkside, Orion would have been lost. It granted him things he never expected and his mind grew wiser for it. ​

​

Margaret seemed to be transparent with him all the way through. If he wasn't with her, that made him the bad guy. Her question was a hard one to answer without spooking the other customers. So as vague as he could allow, he looked into her chocolate eyes. ​

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"I came looking for these." he said, lightly tapping the box below. "They are floral samples for a project I've decided to undergo. I like to..." ​

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He paused. His palm shifted to the front of his chest, a tiny shard of blue glass began to transform into a long icicle. It began to from in a snake like manner. The sides growing tiny petals of see through ice. At the very top a rose began to blossom. He offered it to Margaret before finishing his statement.​

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"Create things. This particular endeavour will be a new one. Something I haven't quite tried. So I came to a neutral world to find well grown samples. Which in turn brought me here." ​

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Orion couldn't help but show off, creating something so small out of ice wouldn't alert anyone, unless they stared. ​

​

"What about you? I believe the roving Jedi Master extraordinaire, as you put it, would have something serious to take care of. Not to pry, I understand there are things we can not discuss, if this is such a case, then I can easily accept that." ​

​

His stomach bickered with him. Orion was hungry.​

​

[member="Margaret the Grey"] ​

 

[Margaret the Grey]

Margaret couldn't help but chuckle. That was exactly the sort of gratuitous display of power she'd expect from a Sith, but the direction it went was interesting. At her age, surprises were rarely pleasant, especially where Sith were concerned, but she could say with some sincerity that she didn't mind this one.

She took the proffered rose and carefully stood it up on the base of the stem in the center of the table. With a slight burst of will and intent, she set it spinning gently. Little wisps of mist curled off the leaves and petals.

"Quite the talent you have there," she said. "I'll, uh, decline to ask what it is you're trying to make."

Her tone was still light and airy, but there was a hint of steel there. She'd been on the receiving end of one too many Alchemist's creations. Best not to ask questions she didn't want answered.

"My motivations are shockingly transparent, I'm afraid. The Force and I worked out a deal long ago: I follow my vices, and it takes me where I'm needed most. In this case, I had a hankering for a decent meal and happened to be in the area. The owner's granddaughter went into anaphylactic shock this morning not two seconds before I walked through the door. I managed to get the poor girl trached before it was too late, and the proprietor saw fit to reward me with a meal."

The Master looked pensively into her glass for a moment.

"I'm sure that's not the most professional way to go about this whole Jedi business, but more often than not, it takes me where I need to go. And if I happen to get a good meal or a stash of rare tea out of the deal, what of it? It's not like I get paid to do this."

[member="Orion Darkstar"]

 

[Orion Darkstar]

Margaret wasn't wrong. ​

​

No one was paid to do their jobs, being a Jedi or Sith meant putting aside all those materialistic things. For Orion, being a sith made him a lucrative business man. Everywhere he went, he managed a way to find financial forthcoming's that didn't only benefit him, but the empire as well. Still, during his early years as a sith, he found solace in the teaching of the dark arts. While painful and tedious, it forced him to grow. Made him responsible for his own direction. It was strange to meet someone from an opposite world, that in truth, sounded more and more like himself. He wandered the galaxy too. Not to do the false bidding of a Jedi, at least in her case. However, for the empire, Orion was a unique additive. ​

​

He wasn't a savage, although his training in Juyo wouldn't reflect that statement. Not to mention the locked away entity that resided in his mind. Of course, that was no longer a threat, for now. Tonight he would relax, enjoying the company of an elderly Jedi. It was odd to put aside his hate for their ideology. His festering disappointment with her societal status meant little. He was open minded, not all of them were mindless followers. Margaret seemed different, almost set free from the constricting laws and rules of the order. ​

​

"So out of all the places you've been, where would you want to be the most..." Orion looked down at the menu and smiled, he knew exactly what to order. "Right now, if you could be there where would you pick?"​

​

Orion was curious, obviously a woman with guidance in the force brought her to many venues. Knowing what truly took her breath away, in all this time would account for something. He almost ignored her initial rant. He felt displaced, usually he was a great listener and even better company. ​

​

"Forgive me, did you say you saved the owners daughter? Good thing, if they closed because of a death..." Orion glanced at the passing food. "I would have been terribly upset." He waved over a different waitress this time. "I joined a bit late, I'll take the Nerf Mignon, sauteed mushrooms on the top will be fine. For a side, I'll go with the Alaghash greens."​

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The waitress took his menu and scurried off. Orion directed his attention back to Margaret. Her brown hair creased over the sides of her head, light strands of grey hinting at her age. ​

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"You know, I could probably make something to help with that." Orion said, a small smile reaching him. He hoped it didn't come off as rude, but in the end, did it really matter?​

​

[member=Margaret the Grey"] ​

​

​

 

[Margaret the Grey]

"Oh, I'm quite fine with the grey," she said with a little smile. "There's a saying, no idea where it comes from. 'Beware the old man in a profession where men die young.'"

Margaret had ordered the prime rib, dry aged, and so rare it was nearly blue. As far as she was concerned, a steak wasn't a steak unless you could taste the moo.

"Your average thug, be they of the street or jackbooted variety, they see a little old woman and assume she's not a threat. Most take one look at the stained and hand-stitched robes and assume that, not only is she not a threat, she's not that good of a target, either. No money, no jewelry, and if I've been in the field long enough, no shower, either. Your really experienced killer, they see an old woman looking down the barrel of a gun and smiling, and that scares the crap out of them. Seven times out of ten, I can avoid a fight without ever having to draw a lightsaber. You can argue the morality of pacifism if you'd like, but honestly, these days, I'm just happy to save myself the joint pain the next morning."

She considered the young Sith's question, about where she'd most like to be. That was a tough one.

"If I had to choose one place in the galaxy, I'd have to go with this little tea plantation on a world way out in the Outer Rim. Doesn't even have a proper name. There are only a few hundred folks on the whole planet. What few there are tend to tea plantations high up in the mountains. Thanks to the peculiarities of the atmosphere, you need a breather around sunup and sunset, but the views are spectacular. It's like the whole sky is on fire."

As the waiter brought out the wine, the aging Master accepted a glass, swirled it around a bit, and took a sip.

"Say, that's not half bad. So, how about you? What's your favorite place?"

[member="Orion Darkstar"]

 

[Orion Darkstar]

It was clear that the two of them understood, full well the situations of a traveling force user. They were treated differently, sure, but in all aspects of their experiences they were the same. Orion could easily relate to her pacifistic nature. Being a Sith meant that people saw him as a tainted subject. Someone who only represented the evil in the galaxy. Labeled a murderer, because of the brainwashing tactics of politicians and the Jedi Order. It was a cumbersome lifestyle. Although Orion sought out the Sith, he had no choice in his gifts of the force. It was his own cross to bear. ​

​

"I won't argue with your choices in life. I find that while I may not practice such teachings. I have plenty of things to overcome, the same as you. While my youth may be a factor in the aspects of your own prestigious career as a pacifist. I deal with the opposite. I'm called a murderer for the things I believe in. My consistent growth is seen as a dangerous development, when in truth I sit before you, capable of being cordial to what is considered by my teachings as a mortal enemy. It's all nonsense, we each pave our own experiences in life." ​

​

Orion observed the wine and swirled it along with Margaret. He quickly tipped the glass upward, the smooth velvet liquid poured from the crystal gap of the pristine goblet. The lingering vanilla touched his buds, the explosive balance of nutty extract and oak lining was exquisite. It was the perfect blend from Dressel's own factories. ​

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"An unknown planet in the outer rim. I like that, keeps it clandestine. Away from all the influences of this constant war between large authorities. Granted, I guess we are both part of that problem." Orion smiled, placing the glass back down onto the table. "For me, I probably haven't seen the same amount of planets you have, but..." Orion looked down at a small pin on his shirt. "Lahn." The planet was located in the outer rim. The tropical temperatures made it perfect for beautiful experiences on the shores. "It's a beautiful place, regardless of what took place there." He paused, the image of Master Ravac and Master Monarch flashed through his mind. ​

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"I highly recommend you visit when you have the time. That is, as long as you don't go stealing it for yourself on me." ​

​

The original waiter approached with two large plates. Their food had arrived. ​

​

[member="Margaret the Grey"]​

 

[Margaret the Grey]

Part of Hubbard's appeal was that, for a high class eatery, it was remarkably unsophisticated. The food was excellent, the wine selection expertly curated, but the decor and wait staff weren't the sort one would expect to see at a place that could cost upwards of a hundred credits a plate. It made the place seem accessible to the middle class who splurged on an expensive meal, and delightfully rustic to the rich bastards.

As a slab of meat that cost more than Margaret would spend on a month's worth of food on some planets was placed in front of her, she frowned.

"No knife?"

The waiter, a Chiss, picked up a spoon and pressed it gently against the prime rib. It slid through like a lightsaber through butter.

"No knife," he confirmed.

The Jedi raised cocked a questioning eyebrow, then shrugged and grunted. She picked up her fork and took a bite. Her eyes grew wide, shock written across her face.

"Oh my Gods," she murmured, awestruck. "This is..."

She took another bite. The urge to wolf it down was nearly overpowering. It took all of her training and discipline to force herself to savor every bite.

"I could die happy, right here, right now," she said.

[member="Orion Darkstar"]

 

[Orion Darkstar]

Orion watched as the food was placed in front of her. The server confirming her inquisitive nature about the setting of silverware presented in front of her. It was impressive to see a spoon slide into the prime rib with ease. The juices sent a fresh, meaty scent into the air, curating saliva within the bowels of Orion's own mouth. ​

​

"That looks..."Orion paused, watching her reaction to that coincided with his assessment. "Delicious." ​

​

Orion felt the slight rumble of his stomach tease him as Margaret ate. She seemed too preoccupied to care for conversation, which Orion understood. After all, they each were getting a chance to try the finest, bloody chow Dressel had to offer. Better than that, it was all locally grown nerf's that formed such renowned stature. The organic tactics of the farmers, all the way to the delicate care of organic ingredients would mean for an explosive flavor. Plus, judging from Margaret's reaction, he would be more than pleased with his food. ​

​

He waited till she slowed down, before smiling and replying to her comment. ​

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"That good?" Orion asked, taking another sip of the smooth wine. "If you die here, you won't have time to compare the food here to other prestigious venues. Plus, let's be honest, the only way you're going down..." Orion considered the thought, it was simply a joke. "Is if I put you down, which in all honesty would be a waste. On top of that, I'll go starving." He said, letting out a small laugh. The alcohol loosened him up. He was, however, by no means drunk. The comment would either backfire, or cause her to laugh. Either way, he was enjoying the company. ​

​

The only thing that really bothered him, was watching her eat as he waited. Then again, it was his own fault. Being late to dinner caused the gap between their meals. In anticipation, he waited. Hopeful to get his food, rather than later. ​

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[member="Margaret the Grey"]​