Private At the Ledge

[Suri Loré]

"... blind-bluff sabacc with a Bothan smuggler and a droid who thought it was a Jedi?"

"Hah!" The notion of a sabacc-playing droid that thought it was a Jedi was in and of itself hilarious.

"Never seen someone go from smug to stunned that fast."

"Please tell me the droid won the round anyway!"

She was sliding lower and forward on her seat, grinning playfully, extending the reach of her legs—and then her thighs suddenly snapped shut and she caught Sira’s knee between hers.

"Gotcha!"

Her grip was quite strong and it would take Sira more than a casual motion to free her leg. It was evident that she was used to doing more with her legs than spreading them.

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

Sira arched a brow, caught somewhere between amusement and challenge as she looked down at where Suri had locked her in. She gave a mock sigh of surrender, the kind with just a hint of a grin behind it.

"Well, now I have to tell you the droid won." she said, tilting her head with a smirk. "Otherwise I'll never get my leg back, will I?"

She leaned in, just enough to bridge the distance, her voice dropping a notch. As she drew closer, her eyes crossed slightly-a trait unoticable before.

"He Force-bluffed the Bothan so hard he folded a winning hand. Then bowed like he'd just bested Darth Whateverus himself."-she spoke out slowly and deeply, like an experienced narrator bringing an epic to a close.

She didn't move to free herself—yet. Just let the moment stretch, her gaze locked with Suri's, like a sabacc hand still in play.

"What about your stories?"

 

[Suri Loré]

"Riiight." Suri let go and crawled back up on her seat, took a sip from her drink, and then put it down and leaned forward, underarms crossed on the table before her.

"So. Mate of mine had some business on Socorro. Found himself a room to rent from a lady for the stay. Turned out to be quite nice, actually more of a suite, separated and across the hallway from where she lives with her family. He arrives, she hands him the key. She's clearly in the sauce. Mid-thirties. Whatever.

He gets spooked, takes his blaster, goes check—and finds the lady sleeping on the couch in her clothes. Must have been so plastered she got the wrong door, he thinks. He's kinda weirded out, goes back to his bedroom, says nothing.

The next night, he stays out late, he's still awake when he hears the door open again. He's had enough of this, goes there, blaster in hand—finds that lady again. She says how glad she is to host him, that he's such a handsome man, and that she made him a special price. He's not, by the way—he's ugly, although... it's the good kind of ugly.

He thinks, okay, she's wasted. Ushers her out the door, goes to sleep. That's where I first hear about it, because he's creeped out and sends me a holonet message. Says he's considering moving out. I ask him the crucial question: well, what's she look like? He says not too bad, so I say, what's the problem?

I hear nothing for a couple days, get a bit worried. Turns out the next evening, she appeared again, in her nightie. You don't accidentally wander into the next flat over in your nightie. She declares if he won't do her, she'll tell her husband he made advances. The husband's the type to do something about that. So my mate had no choice. Went on for four days before he writes me again, saying it's kinda weird. That's where I'm like: 'what now, are you complaining or bragging?!'

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

Sira let out a low whistle as she finished off the last of her drink. She tapped it twice on the table and flagged down Varnak with two fingers—gesturing picking up food and eating before mouthing: “something salty.”

She’d nodded along through most of Suri’s story, her brows slowly climbing as it escalated. “Socorro hospitality.” she muttered dryly, resting her cheek in her hand. “Real warm people.”

The cafétier returned—two fresh drinks balanced expertly on a tray along with a shallow platter of spiced nuts, crisproot wedges, and a few skewers of something grilled and savory with a tang of nerf fat. Sira didn't hesitate; the moment her glass was set down, she snatched it up again and took a quick, grateful sip, exhaling like it was the first real breath she’d taken all night.

“And you’re telling me all that and not showing me what this ‘good kind of ugly’ looks like?” she asked. “Come on, Suri. You have to have a holosnap of this poor guy. For... reference.”

Suri Loré

 

[Suri Loré]

Hoarse laughter erupted from the table of the washed-up veteran, who had evidently overheard Suri's story. She hadn't made a point of speaking quietly, and may have got carried away a bit. Varnak merely grinned brightly, but gave no sound.

"Yeah, I've got one. Remind me later, I'll show you." She didn't have a datapad on her. "But I must warn you, people have intense reactions", she added, laughing. "One way or the other."

Suri looked past her vis-à-vis and for a moment caught the eye of the ex-soldier. She smiled and waived at him. She wasn't waiving him over—just acknowledging him. The young Zeltron felt a pang of pain when his attempt to smile terminated prematurely in a sad kind of smirk and he turned his head away again to look out the window. His pain, not her own.

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

Sira had just shoveled a crisproot wedge into her mouth when the laughter from the corner rolled in. She didn’t look up right away—too focused on chewing—but she arched a brow knowingly at Suri’s comment.

“Inthenshe rheactions, huh? Cha-”-she'd gulp the snack down, smacking her lips-"...can't wait." She was about to dive back into the tray-

Then she noticed.

The second Twi’lek was gone.

Her gaze flicked to the chair where the girl had been.
Bag? Gone.
Seat? Cold.
No goodbye.

Sira sucked her teeth and glanced toward the door, tension coiling faintly in her gut. She could go. Follow. See where that trail led. But then her eyes fell back to Suri, suddenly struck by grief that wasn't even her own.

She leaned back instead, slowly, with a sigh. “Later.” she muttered to herself.

The entrance bell dinged as the door slid open. Two newcomers stepped in.

She caught them before they reached the bar—a thickset Nikto with a mechanic's hunch and a lean Arcona who walked with just a touch too much weight on the right hip.

Blaster. Hip-holstered, compact, but heavy. She didn’t flinch, but the warmth behind her eyes cooled a degree.

They exchanged quite a few words with the cafétier and seemingly ordered a caf each. She didn’t hear their words, but she clocked what followed: one stirred his cup endlessly, round and round like a droid in idle mode. The other lifted his mug twice—never drank.

"Hey, Sur...you ever ordered a caf just to play around with it?"-she discreetly nudged her chin for the counter, letting out a psst to garner her attention.

Suri Loré

 

[Suri Loré]

The atmosphere suddenly shifted dramatically. Suri could feel how Sira had tensed up again and was clearly preoccupied. The Zeltron was disappointed and about to ask what had happened when the door opened and two figures appeared who revealed themselves as alien when they pulled back the hoods of their raincoats. They were not only visually unappealing, but also in a bad mood. No surprise in that weather, as such, but their mood wasn't improving inside, either.

They were, morosely, waiting for something.

At least it wasn't a robbery. Varnak didn't seem like a guy who was amenable to being robbed—Suri would have wagered that he had at least a couple of blasters hidden behind the bar, if he hadn't installed a turret into the ceiling.

"Now this is the bad kind of ugly", muttered Suri. She picked up her almost-dry gilet and put it on, took a gulp more than a sip of her drink, and consoled herself with a helping of the food. If it hadn't been for that, she'd have suggested that they should leave right away. These newcomers had rather killed the vibe, such as it had been.

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

Sira watched the tension seep into Suri’s expression like damp into cloth. She caught the way the younger woman clutched her gilet and pulled it around herself—not cold, but unsettled.

Without a word, Sira leaned in just a little, brushing her knuckles lightly against Suri’s arm before letting her hand settle next to hers on the table. “Hey...” she said quietly, her voice low and steady. “They’re not here for us.”

As if on cue, the two strangers finally peeled off from the bar and moved to a darkened corner near the window—heads close, backs to the room. No sudden moves. No scanning the room. Just... waiting.

She glanced toward Varnak, who was studiously polishing a glass that didn’t need polishing. “You seem to be in his good graces.” she said, turning her eyes back to Suri with a crooked smile. “Think you could ask our new favorite cafétier what kind of company he’s keeping tonight?”

She kept her posture casual, but there was a glint in her eye now. A thread of tension, yes—but controlled. Coiled. Ready.

Suri Loré

 

[Suri Loré]

"They’re not here for us."

"Yeah, I know. But they ain't pretty", complained Suri poutily. It wasn't their appearance, per se, that displeased her, of course. It was the air they had about them and the way they affected the atmosphere in the room, even if none of those present had anything to fear about them. They were not here to participate, they were a foreign element—they weren't enjoying it, either, and as far as Suri was concerned, they telegraphed that fact very openly. There was a mixture of disagreeable feelings they projected—impatience, boredom, frustration, annoyance, exhaustion. None of them pleasant to be around.

"Think you could ask our new favorite cafétier what kind of company he’s keeping tonight?"

Suri just nodded quietly, put down the food and licked her fingers clean. Then she got up to walk over to the bar. "Bathroom's in there?" she asked audibly, nodding towards the door in the back wall by the display that led deeper into the mountain. And then quietly, with a wry smile: "Those your new waiters?"

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

Sira watched Suri move with that easy gait of hers, all casual deflection wrapped in poise, but she knew better. Suri didn’t like them, and Sira liked them even less. She shifted her poncho over her lap, concealing the worn grip of the blaster in her hand. It wasn’t paranoia—it was intuition. You spill blood enough times, you can smell it on someone else.

One of them turned—must’ve felt her eyes. Good. Sira met his look, steady and hard, not blinking. Not smiling. She let her hand rest a little firmer on the grip, just enough so he’d know: you twitch the wrong way, and the Zeltron will not be the one bleeding.

"Those your new waiters?"

“Bathroom’s that way, yeah.” he said aloud, nodding to the back with a tilt of his head.

Then, leaning in a little, dropping his voice just enough for it to blend with the hum of the music, he added with that same easy drawl: “Those two? Came in about an hour ago. Asked if I’d seen a pair of Twi’leks—said they were slaves, escaped, slit their master's throat in his sleep. That kind of story. Real heartwarming stuff.”

He chuckled softly, but there was something flinty under it.

"You planning to ask them to dance?”

Suri Loré

 

[Suri Loré]

"You planning to ask them to dance?"

Suri took her own hair in her fingers and held it away from her head in the place where twi'lek's lekku sprang from theirs, as if to emphasise her lack of such appendages. "Doesn't sound like they'd be into me." She gave a shrug and sauntered off in the direction of the bathroom, perhaps to wash something out of her hair.

She knew she would have to remain there for a few minutes for plausibility, and for lack of anything to occupy herself with just leaned against the wall and waited. She really wasn't in any mood to touch herself right now, which seemed to be about the only sensible thing she could have done with the time.

After some minutes, she emerged again into the main room and made straight for her table. She sad down and leaned forward, crossing her arms on the table before her to support herself. "Apparently" she murmured, "they're looking for some escaped twi'lek slaves. I don't know about you, but I didn't see any today. They might be in for a long wait."

Suri didn't like slavery, but it was also just a fact of the galaxy and there really wasn't anything to be done about it in general or in this particular instance. Varnak had to stay out of this, she understood that much. The status of his establishment demanded it. And you couldn't just go around shooting or poisoning people willy-nilly. And so her feelings about the matter, seemingly unable to express themselves in any action, were bound to fester within. She scowled and reached for her drink.

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

Sira hadn’t moved since Suri left, one hand wrapped around her glass, the other lazily tracing the ribbed grip of her K-12. Her eyes, however, never strayed from the pair in the third booth.

The Nikto did most of the talking—too much of it. The Arcona barely blinked, just nodded, watching the room behind those too-dark lenses.

Muscle, meet brains. Or at least half a brain between them.

When Suri returned, Sira gave her a dry look, lips curling slightly. “Didn’t see any Twi’leks either.” she murmured, raising her glass. “I guess there isn't a dance act up.”

She took a sip, slow and thoughtful. "They seem dumb enough to think their mark’ll just wander back in and sit down for caf." Might be worth checking that fob later.

Suri Loré

 

[Suri Loré]

Suri seemed lost in thought for a while. Eventually, she shook her head and got up in a sudden burst of moment. Screw it, what was the worst that could happen? She reached for a handful of the salty nuts and put them in her vest pocket.

She strode over to the alien pair with determined steps. "Guys", she said plaintively, "this won't do. You're spoiling the mood!" She put her hands on her hips and looked at them sternly. "I get it, you're waiting for someone—but, like, you're supposed to get comfy. Hang your coats to dry, have a drink—that sorta thing."

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

"I get it, you're waiting for someone—but, like, you're supposed to get comfy. Hang your coats to dry, have a drink—that sorta thing."

For a moment, the air seemed to still. Whatever reply or backup Suri had expected from Sira didn't come. If she turned around, she’d only see her poncho draped over a chair.
One half-finished drink.
A cooling plate of crisproots.
An empty chair.

The bounty hunters stood slowly, their shadows swallowing the space between them and her. Behind the bar, Varnak glanced up—but didn't move, just rubbed his jaw as if weighing whether this was his fight.

And then one of them spoke. The Arcona tilted his head, faceted eyes glinting in the light, voice oozing like oil.

"You got business with us, girl?"

The Nikto cracked his neck.
“Cause we don’t remember asking for a hostess.”

They stepped forward in unison—one half-step only, but it was enough to send their message. The slick hand reaching for a blaster was almost redundant.

“Think Gorvassa the Hutt’d take a replacement dancer?”

Suri Loré

 

[Suri Loré]

"Damn right I got business with you! Here I was enjoying my evening and then you two sourpusses come in and stand there all brooding like a pair of Sith that got ghosted by the Force! Well, you've got presence, gotta hand you that. Ever considered changing lines, going into acting?"

"Cause we don’t remember asking for a hostess."

"You know, maybe you should have? What's your plan anyway? Sit here all night until you doze off 'cause that caf you ain't drinking ain't keeping you sharp? Don't be silly!"

"And that"—she pointed at the blaster that was being fondled, undeterred—"ain't gonna solve anything here."

She reached for the breast pocket of her gilet and retrieved the salted nuts she had put there. Holding them in the cup of her palm like she was feeding an anima, she stretched out her hand towards the Arcona. "Have some!" She briefly glanced sideways at the Nikto. He was probably dim enough not to understand the significance of her gesture.

She leaned in towards the Arcona and murmured, conspiratorially: "Don't you tell me you don't lick on the job..."

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

The two mercs froze for a moment—just long enough for the mood to shift once more. The Arcona’s eyes, milky and shifting like slick oil over stone, fixated on the salt crystals. His breath hitched. A hand twitched. The Zeltrons bravado was foolhardy, but yet so unnaturally compelling.

“Those... are real?” he rasped, voice dry as a Tatooine dusk. Then, as if a switch had flipped, he reached—not for his blaster, but for her hand. With reverent desperation, he took the nuts straight from her palm, tongue darting between fingers, trembling.

The Nikto’s nostrils flared in confusion and unease. “What the—” he growled, reaching for his weapon.

But before he could draw, a warmth settled against his back. A second presence—Sira, materializing like a whisper in the dark. Her chest pressed firmly into the back of his armored vest, the curve of her body molding confidently to his rigid posture. Her hand closed around his, stopping him.

“No need to spice things up.” she murmured in his ear through a velvety smirk.

Click.
It was easy to miss in all the commotion. The mag-clamp of her tracker fob sat loosely on the bottom end of his holster, clutching on to the tip of his blaster precariously through the cracked leather. As long as he doesn't draw, it would stick. Otherwise....

Suri Loré

 

[Suri Loré]

Suri giggled happily as the Arcona took the goodies. "That's the spirit!" She had remembered that the Arcona were a bunch of lucky bastards in a way: they had the easiest time in the galaxy getting high. No need for expensive and illegal commodities like spice: through a quirk of biology, all it took for them was ordinary salt. The amount on the nuts was well short of what it would have taken to incapacitate him, but it would be enough to improve his mood and make him relax.

On second thought, maybe it wasn't such a blessing after all: eat at the wrong cantina a few times where the cook has too much of a sex life and forgets himself over his daydreams, and you've got yourself a crippling addiction to salty soups.

When she caught the Nikto's sudden motion for his weapon in the corner of her eye, she made a startled step back and raised her open hands, the remaining nuts falling on the floor. The first thing she saw was the other hand on his weapon, then her eyes slowly wandered upwards until she saw both his face and the one behind him. She looked back and forth between the Nikto and Sira several times, as if the situation were somehow frozen in time and she was wary of restarting it.

"And now we aaaall relaaax..." she said slowly.

"You should take a hint from your partner, try to have a good time. What do I have to do to make your evening better?"

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

The Arcona blinked slowly, the afterglow of sodium-induced bliss still twinkling in his multifaceted eyes. He dropped into a half-crouch, one clawed hand reaching for the scattered floor nuts with a glazed sort of reverence—then paused. A beat passed. Something like shame flickered through his shimmering gaze. With visible effort, he straightened, brushing nonexistent dust from his coat as if to regain composure.

From behind the Nikto, Sira's hand slid smoothly off his, and the blaster in her other hand disappeared into the folds of her holster with a practiced twist of her wrist. A weapon no longer visible, but very much still in play. There’s always a dagger to every cloak, after all.

She stepped forward, her body language transforming in a blink—no longer the shadow behind the threat, but a presence beside her partner, easy, inviting, warm. She flashed a small, knowing smile at Suri, a silent rhythm syncing between them.

“Name’s Kaelari Vonn.”-she said with casual precision, letting the name land like it belonged in any spaceport from Nar Shaddaa to Corellia. She gave Suri a nudge, as if hinting.

The Arcona rubbed his forehead, clearly still trying to remember how to speak. "Vix."-he finally muttered, nodding at the Nikto, who grunted in resigned acknowledgment. “Yanno… Gurrash." He reached into his side pouch and activated a small holoprojector. A blue-tinted image shimmered to life between them: two Twi’lek, as seen earlier in the Ledge.

“Ran into these two nerf-brained slicers back in the Tapani Sector.Wanted for two counts of murder on Calos Station. One of 'em killed a customs agent. Other one set a whole cantina on fire trying to cover their escape. Real bantha fodder.”

Vix licked his lips, savoring either the salt, the Zeltrons fingers, or their story. “You see 'em around here, let’s just say there’s credits in it for you."

Suri Loré

 

[Suri Loré]

The first thing Suri noticed about Sira's presence next to herself was that she liked it. There was a sudden warmth as they seemed to have transformed into a team.

Apparently, they were now playing the game of giving fake names. "Cin Pytrell", she said without hesitation. She was quite sure Varnak didn't mind guests messing with each other in this and all sorts of other ways, and he'd keep out of it. It was shooting where he'd draw the line, or maybe even punches.

"Ooh." Suri winced theatrically as she took in the list of crimes. "See, then it's good you talk to people. Might get a lead. Don't think there's anybody who wouldn't wanna help you catch that kind of people."

She didn't really know what to believe, and didn't want to engage with the question. It was complicated, messy, ugly—and not really her problem. What could she have done, anyway? The girls had left, and she had no idea where to. There was little she could have done to put those bounty hunter on their trail or throw them off it.

"I got no idea where they'd be, though..." She looked at the floor as though disappointed. It was convenient that she didn't actually have to lie outright.

She turned to Sira. "I think our meat must be getting cold."

"Guys. Have a nice evening. Please", she said to the two bounty hunters with a conciliatory smile.

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

Vrix scratched the side of his face, still blinking slow from the salt’s shimmer. “Well… no harm in casting a wider net. Some say they skipped town after knifing that trader on Kinyen—”

The Nikto frowned faintly.
“...Ord Mantell...”

A beat passed between them before Vrix gave a tight smile. “Right. Slip of the tongue. You girls let us know either way.” They both tipped their heads, heading for the counter to pay.

Sira raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more. “Well, good luck with your justice.” she said coolly, offering a polite nod.

Turning away, she slipped her arm around Suri’s shoulders with practiced ease, drawing her in close as they walked. Her fingers traced a light arc at the small of her back as she leaned in, if Suri was receptive of the gesture.

“That went better than it should have...” she murmured, her lips close to Suri’s ear. “And I might have something to show you. You’re going to like it.” She gave her shoulder a light squeeze, her tone shifting to one of a playful rebuke.

“Next time, maybe wait until I’m in position before offering snacks to spice junkies...still, not bad. Good moves.”

Suri Loré