Private A Different Night

[Niysha]

As it was old metal, the tube tasted like old metal. Fortunately, it did not explode. Infuriatingly, it changed in no visible way. If Niysha was surprised by this, as with most things, she didn't show it.

Hm. Boyfriend. That might set a boundary. Niysha had been recently reminded that some people were romantically exclusive to a single partner, as bizarre as that sounded. No matter how bubbly, personable, and refreshingly sane Scherezade was, if she already had a date, there was a non-zero chance she wouldn't be open to a second. No need to push without knowing. She'd have to keep it in mind for the future.

"I can't think of anything good," the Miraluka replied with a shrug. "I guess it's not a name that's easy to shorten. I'm kind of in the same boat." Don't say girlfriend, don't say girlfriend. "My friend tried 'frizz' for a while, but I hardly think that stuck." Also it was a solemn reminder of the most uncooperative part of her hair. That might have had something to do with why In had dropped it.

After a moment of letting the conversation settle into conclusive silence, Niysha stood off of her cantina stool and gave a mighty stretch. Within seconds her bag was back over her shoulder, and she took just a moment to tighten her blindfold. "Think I should head out. I don't have a problem with you following, if you want to. I'm just going to check out some of the geegaw shops around here to see if they have anything interesting."

She wasn't heading anywhere without the cryptex, but that wasn't point of stress. She didn't expect Scherezade to try to keep it from her.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Well that was… Uneventful. No explosion. No change in any visible way. Scherezade felt the bitter tang of disappointment that happened even when you had no expectations, and it tasted exactly like old metal. With a grump, she handed the object back to Niysha .

And wrinkled her nose. "You don't feel like a Frizz," she said, nodding with agreement at the fact it hadn't become a thing. The link between the word and Niysha's hair went entirely unnoticed by the Sithling, "and I think shortening to Isha would be super weird since it's one of the words used for female in one of the Sith dialetics. And sha is well… no."

But that was all right. There were only a few people Scherezade used nicknames with anyway, and those had also evolved organically, like the mold you got when you left something outside for too long. And just like with mold, sometimes you could use it to make cheese or antibiotics later.

And now Niysha wanted to get out of the place.

"I'd love to," she said with the biggest, warmest, earnest smile her face knew how to make. She didn't have a bag, so she jumped off the chair without any grand ceremony and just let Niysha lead the way.

And as they did, Scherezade felt no need to fill the silence with any words. They were going to be friends. But she did need something to do while they walked. And so, out came a little simply hum of another Hutteese lullaby, that unknowingly to her, had gone out of the cycle quite some centuries ago.

 

[Niysha]

Tube secure. Niysha zipped her bag up and wandered off into the rust-meat-gas-and-blood smell of the superstructure with a new friend in tow. She had a rough idea of where she was going, and considering Scherezade's general devil-may-care process, the slightly bizarre way Niysha navigated might not have even registered. It was, in essence, a form of dead reckoning using "where" the Force "wanted" her to go as a compass, with occasional radar pings from her sight.

At times, it could have been very easy to mistake her for being lost, but she never stopped moving with confidence.

When the Miraluka heard Scherezade humming, she half-turned her head towards her for a moment to shoot her a grin, but continued walking without breaking her pace. "Do you know how cool it would've been if I could hear, like, three seconds of someone humming a song and come up with 'aha, yes, Lakufta te Chawa Mana Munga, the Krayt-era Desilijic hymn of acquisition.'" She smirked back over her shoulder and shook her head. "No such luck. I'm awful with music. History is primarily a physical medium, and audio recordings don't tend to stand the test of time nearly as well."

Ah, there it was. When they passed within about fifty meters of the trinket shop she was looking for, Niysha plotted a couple of turns to make sure they'd make it there. She was in no rush, didn't pick up the pace, and took no shortcuts. Why would she try to shorten the amount of time she spent with someone who was interested in her stuff and patient enough to deal with it?

"For the record, I am planning on paying for anything I pick up here. With money. I've stolen from curio shops before, but I probably won't need to this time," she explained matter-of-factly, adjusting the shoulder strap of her bag. "And hurting the kind of people who run these stores tends to result in a whole bunch of very interesting things with higher intellectual than monetary value getting reposessed by loan sharks and mothballed for decades."

There were a few things more tragic than that, by Niysha's estimation, but not many.

Scherezade deWinter

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Scherezade didn't know where they were going, and she didn't particularly care. It was sort of refreshing to follow someone else's path for a change instead of having to pretend she was the adult in the room. She was really bad at pretending. Her steps bounced lightly behind Niysha , not quite skipping, but definitely not marching either. She was in good company, the air was thick with the smell of industrial ruin, and things were going well.

When Niysha grinned at her, she grinned back, even if the other woman couldn't see it. There was something comforting in being grinned at by someone who couldn't technically see her face. Felt more honest, in a way.

"I don't know," she replied, voice teasing as she twirled the device in her fingers like it was a baton, "I think you do know the Krayt-era Desilijic hymn of acquisition and you're just trying to avoid giving a live performance."

Of course, if Niysha ever wanted to, Scherezade was absolutely join in on her singing. Whatever it was. The Sithling had a basic grasp of voice singing and she could follow basic harmonies in a not-too-terrible fashion. Unfortunately, the gene that had made so many members of her family be excellent vocalists hadn't passed on to her.

At the mention of stealing from curio shops, she perked up. And then perked down. "You really care about things like that," she commented, and gave it a quick thought. Nah, she didn't share those morals. She didn't care about stealing unless someone stole from her, and wasn't above it when she was too lazy to do things otherwise.

"Do these kind of places take credits?" she mumbled her question as the two made their way inside, "or is it one of those places where you need to barter? A lock of hair, the breath of a newborn space whale, that sort of stuff?"

 

[Niysha]

There weren't many "artifact" shops in the galaxy. To find forgotten history in urbanized areas, Niysha was always left with a few options. The first was, obviously, "just go looking for it." Architecture and city planning could tell you a lot about an area, and an area could tell you a lot about a city. There could be a hundred meters of shining skyscraper on top, but beneath street level there was always generally a slumtown hiding out of sight. City-worlds were that in spades, with miles upon miles of shining skyscraper and unknowable depths of slumtown below.

Another, slightly more boring way was to find the records office. Some cities didn't have a records office, but often there was something like it. Living people yearned to make a permanent mark on something, to make sure someone remembered that they had been there. Somewhere in anything with a spaceport, there was a shut-in little cabinet to which people banished scholars, leaving them with rows upon rows of archived files dictating every minute change that had ever happened. In some really small towns, they were tragically recorded on paper, which was always really disappointing for Niysha.

But, more excitingly, what was a temple or ancient ruin covered in chiseled stone but a X-thousand-year-old records department?

The third most common way to find a place's forgotten history was to find what passed for a curio shop. Things had history; Niysha had no talent for psychometry, but plenty of practice in reading the anthropological evidence left behind by artifacts. Hideous, roughed-up old doll might be made of local plant matter, synth thread, or imported materials. It might be left with an aura of affection or fear. A kitschy statue of a two-headed nerf might be entirely plaster with a fake fur and leather coat to make it look authentic, or obviously and purely artificial, or even actual taxidermy. All of these things meant something, told an vitally important story.

The inside of this tiny landfill of ancient history was extremely cramped, as was every other shop like it in the galaxy. There were a half-dozen counters, each both covered in and stuffed with a completely random assortment of dishware, old toys, and chintzy decorations. The walls were covered floor to ceiling in plaques that Niysha knew to be paintings; though she'd never be able to verify it, she'd heard that most of them were forgettable, gaudy, or of impressively bad quality. To one side of the room, behind a counter covered in locked glass cases, was an elderly Yarkora man who shot awake at the sound of his door opening.

Niysha offered a silent wave and a smile as she walked right past. Whatever she was here for would speak to her in time.

Every crappy, rundown junk shop had at least one eye-catching conversational piece. In this one, it was what might have at one point been a manikin, or possibly just a sculpture of a woman. Whatever form it previously had had been restored as practically as possible, though the head was missing, and the wire cage around its limbs to keep them together made it look not at all unlike a naked, decapitated cyborg prostitute.

Scherezade deWinter

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Scherezade took a slow, appreciative breath as she stepped into the cramped curio shop, eyes darting around to drink in every detail. Junk, relics, and history all mashed together in a way that was somehow perfectly... cluttered. Almost like on her ship! It was like stepping into someone's fever dream of nostalgia, and though a moment ago she'd only been there because of Niysha , she was rapidly developing a taste for it.

She gave a low whistle, nodding toward the mannequin, or what looked like a decapitated cyborg prostitute. "Ah, the subtle art of making the grotesque look practical. I approve." Her grin twisted mischievously as her fingers came up to twist where there may or may not had been a nipple. Because of course she did.

Her glowing eyes flicked back to Niysha, the corners crinkling in genuine amusement. "And here I thought I was just here to find a clue for that Complicated™ schematic of mine. Turns out I'm on a crash course in galactic anthropology."

Scherezade tilted her head, voice dropping a bit conspiratorial. "So, which one of these dusty little relics do you think would survive a Sith temper tantrum? Asking for a friend."

Still, there was something about that mannequin. She didn't have to wait for her new friend's response to know that. The expression that took her face over was one of pure curiosity as she grabbed the doll by the waist, one hand pushing on her back, and bent her down into a headless L-shape.

Some might believe the Sithling was being randomly chaotic, trying to make fun of the situation like any average twelve year old male might.

She was not.

Her fingers curled deliberately before she pushed her fist into what she hoped was a backdoor entrance, digging, searching for… something.