Private At the Ledge

[Suri Loré]

The heavy rain pummelled the ship's hull so loudly that it drowned out the hum of the repulsorlifts as Suri's battered freighter descended through the clouds. She wasn't used to being alone on the ship, but when she had kicked her last boyfriend out after his distinctly lacking performance in that incident on Rhen Var, he had taken even the maintenance droid with him.

Once again at the end of her credit and nearly broke, Suri had done the natural thing: she had followed a dubious lead to Veridian Prime, where someone had supposedly recently discovered ancient installations in the mountains. She had learnt that so far, the small planet was only known for one installation in the mountains, a cantina of sorts that fancied itself a bit of a spaceport for the handful of travellers that made their way through the system—or those who wanted to get away from everywhere else. It was a terrible place to hide because you couldn't, really—but it was also an excellent place to hid because approximately nobody ever went there.

The stormy weather made it impossible to conduct any scans of the planet's surface. The only reason she had any hope of finding the cantine was because she actually had the coordinates—if the guy who gave them to her was trustworthy. Supposedly, the place made a point of not running a beacon, which was a really strange approach to attracting business.

The ship had already been struck by lightning once while in the air, but that wasn't a problem as such, although the loud rumble had given Suri quite the fright. The real challenge was the strong winds which were capable of displacing a ship this size by dozens of metres in seconds. Not the best conditions for landing on a mountain slope, if you thought about it, which was why it was better not to think about it.

The visibility was abysmal to boot. But somehow, the strong upwinds along the ridge were ripping a hole into the clouds and revealing her intended landing site, and Suri hurried to put her ship down there before the winds could change their mind and slam it into the side of the mountain. One by one, the various familiar sounds of all the different systems stopped after Suri flipped their switches off, leaving only the metallic droning of the rain.

The sound changed its quality when the ramp lowered with its characteristic swooshing noise and revealed the unfiltered outside. The wind was strong enough to blow the rain even underneath the ship. Suri had the quixotic idea of trying to run to the door as quickly as possible. But then, the alternative was to don an EVA suit to stay dry, which was just ridiculous.

She descended down the ramp hesitantly, and when she could feel the first raindrops hitting her, she pressed the button on the lock's remote to close it, jumped onto the ground, and sprinted off.

Within seconds, she was completely wet, and not in a good way.

—

The Ledge was an enclave of something like civilisation in the middle of nowhere. The place was in effect underground, built into the side of a mountain. All around it were a bunch of landing pads that didn't really deserve the name: they were just spots of relatively flat ground, some grassy, some muddy or gravelly, that may or may not have been created by a bit of half-hearted landscaping. It wasn't really clear what you were supposed to do if all of them were occupied—probably you were just screwed. But according to the proprietor, that never happened.

From the disjointed landing areas, footpaths led through the rocky and grassy terrain to the entrance, a round blast door leading into a rock face. It was illuminated from above by yellow-ish lights. A single transparisteel window was likewise built into the stone. The place fancied itself a café, and consequently had a sign saying so in aurebesh letters next to the door, which was illuminated from below by a lamp built into the ground. The label was actually not entirely inappropriate—despite the remote location, the 'Ledge' didn't have rooms. It was assumed that visitors would sleep on the ships they came on.

The circular door of the Ledge slid open and momentarily let in a rain-loaded gust of the howling wind before sealing shut again. The storm had spit out a soaking-wet Zeltron girl.

Suri felt her nipples painfully chafing against the fabric of her top. This wasn't one of those times where wet clothes clinging to your skin made you feel sexy. This was just really damn uncomfortable and miserable.

She looked around as if hoping to be saved.

The main room was circular, with tables and seating on its sides recessed into the wall. Its central feature was a massive bar counter, behind and above which was located not only a varied assortment of bottles from across the galaxy, some containing liquids glowing, smoking or shimmering in impossible colours, but also the kitchen, such as it was. In the middle of it stood a swivel chair that looked like it had once been the pilot seat of some starship.

In general, the furniture was eclectic, and some of it seemed to be transplanted standard-issue interiors of various common lines of freighters.

Behind the bar stood a towering devaronian man with a cybernetic eye. He looked up from the glass he was polishing and put it and the cloth down to signal his readiness to receive a new guest.

On the far wall, there was a door leading deeper into the mountain, and besides it a large holodisplay that said 'ALL FLIGHTS DELAYED' in several languages, apparently entertaining the facially ridiculous notion that flights here obeyed any sort of schedule at all. But who could know—maybe some particularly idealistic pilots liked to advertise their planned departures.

A tiny chadra-fan had installed himself at a circular table in a wall recess that was littered with electronic parts. He was engrossed in his tinkering with some contraption or other and didn't even look up at the newcomer.

The table by the window hosted an aged human male nursing a glass of liquor that he had barely drained in hours. He was wearing what looked like a military uniform, perhaps of a past age, but stripped of any rank insignia or unit identifiers. "Nice landing, miss!" He raised his glass to the newcomer.

At a table further in the back sat a lone, unusually pale-scaled trandoshan with a crude-looking prosthetic arm. He had a deck of sabacc cards laid out in front of him at the table, but nobody was playing with him right now. He looked up as Suri entered, perhaps hopefully, but bid his time as any patient gambler had to.

Two twi'lek girls, one pale blue, the other a deep indigo, were engaged in a lively, but hushed conversation. Of all the guests, they were the last ones who should go outside in this weather, because they were sure to catch a cold.

Finally, a human-looking woman dressed in inconspicuous earthy colours with a much less inconspicuous bust was leaning back in her chair and looking at the new arrival.

The thick door and window significantly dampened the sounds of the storm, reducing it to a light pitter-patter that did not mask the music recording that was playing. It was surprisingly well-chosen to create a cozy atmosphere.

Suri walked up to the bar. Before she could say anything, the devaronian threw a piece of cloth at her. It was only a kitchen rag, suited for drying dishes more than heads, but it was fresh. "Here, dry yourself up." Suri caught it and began rubbing her face and hair with it. "Thanks."

"Say, weren't you here a month ago?"

"You know how to tell apart two Zeltrons?" She pointed at her face, to which some streaks of damp hair were still sticking. "Look here, not"—here she pointed at her chest—"here."

"Naaah... Hers were bigger, now that I think about it." He was the consummate publican with an uncanny knack for matching his patrons' energy. Suri squealed in delight at how the devaronian held his own in the face of her joke/poke, immediately lifted out of her misery and cheered up. He gave her a well-meaning smirk. "Now get yourself over there next to that lady while I fix you something up. Warmest spot in the house." A menu wasn't a thing in this place—you ate the dish of the day, and if you were a picky type, or species, you'd find yourself out of luck unless you really turned on the charm.

He pointed towards the table where Sira was sitting. The vents of the climate control system were directly behind it. Suri nodded and dragged herself over while drying her arms. She stuffed the cloth into her cleavage and pulled it out again, then brushed the hairs out of her face with her hand before taking the chair on the other side of the table from Sira.

"Hey."

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

When you're an agent, when you start changing faces more often than you change socks—you begin to see the galaxy differently. Where once there was only the static hum of everyday life, you start spotting edges, hindrances, fractures in the façade. Life becomes an ever-shifting matrix of staying tense while appearing relaxed.

And the golden keycard to it all?

Preparation.

The lonely sabacc shark brooding in the corner?
Harmless—unless your pockets are heavy with credchips you're willing to part with. He was good: the way he cradled the cards, the casual, dull-eyed stare he'd perfected, luring in hotshot sabaccjacks who fancied themselves a cut above the rest. The cards might be flimsi, but he was playing with hubris—and in this galaxy, that was a currency more dangerous than credits.

The pair of twi'lek girls whispering under their breath?
The most dangerous ones in the room—even more so than the old Trandoshan bruiser. That lizard only wanted to part vainglorious fools from their creds. But the girls? They had secrets, and they wore them openly. That meant only one thing: they were prepared for whatever storm was coming. From experience, they were likely runaways—and if they were, they had either been ridiculously lucky to stumble into this dead-end outpost or frighteningly clever enough to plan it.

The drunk soldier nursing his regrets?
A relic of a blood-soaked era. Still armed, still willing to die for what he thought was "the right thing." The galaxy had drowned under the blood of men like him. The only thing remarkable was that he was still breathing after all the dust had settled—a fact that smelled more like dumb luck than destiny.


The weather today? Cloudy with a high probability of nerf-burgers.
It was a humble prognosis from a local holonet feed—worth its weight in gold compared to the polished lies from the core world forecasts. She had gone through the trouble of slicing into the backwater bulletin rather than trusting the sterile, extraplanetary Imperial Forecast. Always trust the locals—that was an old agent's mantra. A semester of Imperial Psy-Ops training had drilled it into her skull: trust the common folk, distrust the official line.

It had served her well. Without the bodyglove and poncho, she'd have been soaked to the bone — and she couldn't afford slip-ups, not here. She'd arrived on Veridian Prime via a public freighter line, not for lack of credits, but because it was the smarter play. These days, everyone had a ship. People expected it. And in a pursuit, security would scan hyperspace lanes for scrambled drive signatures and cloaked freighters in a frenzy. They'd pour over landing manifests, desperate to catch the extraordinary — so desperate they'd overlook the cargo hauler full of nuna livestock, or the weary passengers disembarking from a commercial off-planet charter.


Blending into the herd had its advantages. But it also had obvious downsides. She could only bring a single, inconspicuous knapsack — a battered, boringly beige thing that had to carry everything: a scatter of untraceable currencies — wupiupi, flan, barter scrip — a rudimentary survival kit, a compact K-16 blaster loaded with just enough charges to win herself a better weapon in a pinch, and a handful of personal effects chosen as much for their sentimental camouflage as for necessity. The second glaring downside?
No ship.

Surely, she thought with a wry twist of her lips, the solution to that little problem wouldn't just come waltzing through that gloriously demodé circular door...

The human woman sat alone at her recessed table, a study in deliberate appearance and ruthless function. Her storm-wet poncho had been draped with casual grace over the back of her chair, leaving her in a sleek, matte-black bodyglove that clung to her athletic curves like a whisper of intent. It wasn't vanity; it was armor of a different kind. The bodyglove, breathable and thermally adaptive, offered unrestricted movement in a fight, while its shadowed color palette blended effortlessly into crowds or alleyways alike. It was tight because it had to be — no loose fabric to snag on gear or betray her in a scuffle — but it had the added benefit of turning heads and clouding judgment. Distraction was a weapon, and she carried it on her skin.


The low cantina light caught the faint blonde streaks running through her dark hair, framing a face designed — trained — to be memorable or forgettable depending on what the situation demanded. Sharp cheekbones, a decisive chin, and full, slightly parted lips that seemed frozen mid-thought. Her long legs crossed elegantly under the table, body language careful: approachable without being inviting, composed without seeming cold. She traced a fingertip lazily over the battered table's surface, a motion that looked aimless but was really a slow mapping of possible weapons, vulnerabilities, exits.


On the table in front of her, signs of her meticulous preparation were scattered like breadcrumbs: a worn keycard, a caf mug cooling untouched, a slim datapad with its security protocols already cycling in sleep mode. A crumpled local holosheet still glowed faintly with the weather forecast —

"Hey."​

She couldn't have planned for this, not even with twice as many years at the Academy.
The wet slop of fabric against leather was almost nerve-grating, drawing a sharp, invisible wince. Her nostrils flared the slightest bit — just a subtle, instinctive tell — and her chest rose an inch higher in what was the closest she'd allow herself to a startled gasp. She had trained herself to be unapproachable to anyone she didn't intend to beckon — yet now, here she was, face-to-face with an unfamiliar Zeltron.

Or... had she seen this one before?

She snapped her eyes upward, swift but controlled, before the newcomer could catch her distracted sizing-up. Her damp figure, glistening under the lights, was an uninvited ripple through the room's subdued atmosphere. She arched a brow with surgical precision — a polite, predatory challenge — as if daring the drenched stranger to reconsider if she had the wrong table.

"Hey — rough landing?"

Her voice was velvet-wrapped steel as she casually placed a single, gloved fingertip atop the holosheet hosting the local weather forecast. With a subtle push, she slid it across the table toward the Zeltron.

"Next time, pack a shellcoat.
Forecasts up here don't make promises — they make threats."

Suri Loré

 

[Suri Loré]

Suri felt the disturbance that her appearance sent through the other woman's being. She had an uninviting air about her, not in a prickly sort of way, but because she gave an impression of self-sufficiency. She was minding her own business and clearly expecting to be left alone. But Suri was undeterred. She wasn't a Zeltron if she couldn't put a stranger at ease.

"Yeah, quite the breeze outside! Glad I got it down in one piece." She laughed at her own foolhardiness.

"Can't be surprised if you're not prepared", she said, grinning. Whether it was just a joke or whether she actually believed in the perverse logic of it was hard to tell from the innocence with which she delivered it.

Suri leaned forward to inspect the holosheet. It wasn't the next hours that mattered to her, it was the next days. She studied the geographical views for the next two days—a longer time frame wasn't included. It would be until after tomorrow before the storm cleared up at least in some regions that were worth scanning, and for the rest, she might have to wait longer, it wasn't clear. That was a bummer, and her dismay was written on her face.

She pushed the sheet back across the table. "Thanks."

She leaned to the side to put her hand directly in front of one of the heating vents as if to reassure herself that there was really warm air coming out of them. Satisfied with what she felt, she withdrew again and leaned back to loll in her seat.

Suri had a feeling that her vis-à-vis wasn't ready to talk about herself. Fortunately, there were plenty of others to talk about. "So what's everyone here up to? Waiting for better days?" She gave Sira a look that somehow managed to be both innocent and conspiratorial at the same time.

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

Sira let the silence linger a second longer than needed, her gaze tracing the arc of Suri's posture as the Zeltron leaned toward the holosheet. Her brown eyes flicked down—not quite a full lookover, but enough to clock the cling of the rain-damp top and the confidence woven into the other woman's casual grin. The appraisal was practiced, subtle, but intentionally unhurried—like tasting a drink you weren’t supposed to want. When Suri leaned back with that conspiratorial glimmer in her eye, Sira didn’t match it, but she didn’t ignore it either.

“Preparation is overrated until you’re the one soaked through.”-she chimed quietly in response to the naive rhetoric with a soft smirk, rubbing her thumb and index finger togheter while taking a sudden feinted interest in her own motion.

She let the other woman’s question dangle a moment, then exhaled, almost a laugh.
“Waiting? Wasting? Not quite. Let’s say… waylaid.” Her voice carried the light rasp of amusement, but the cadence was careful. Intentional. “My survey team won’t be thrilled. Weather delay wasn’t in the budget or the brief. Neither was me getting stuck without a ride.” She said it as if the idea amused her, but her eyes flicked to Suri’s jacket, then toward the entrance she’d come from. Probing.

Without breaking the line of conversation, she raised two fingers toward the bar. “One Delta Sunset for the drowned tooka.” she said quietly, the Devaronian nodding. A favorite in certain Outer Rim cantinas—sugarfruit, starfire rum, and something cold and blue that kicked like a swoop bike. She didn't ask if Suri would like it. Suri seemed like someone who liked being surprised.

"You planning on hankering down to brave the storm?"

Suri Loré

 

[Suri Loré]

Her survey team wouldn't be thrilled. Suri perked up. Now that was an interesting bit of information. Had this woman come for the same reason she had? Sure, information travelled, but if she'd heard of it, she must be quite clued-in. On the other hand, how was she planning on surveying anything when she was, as she said, stuck without a ride? Well, she'd find out.

"... for the drowned tooka."

"That bad, eh?" said Suri, laughing. "I'm Suri."

"You planning on hankering down to brave the storm?"

"Dunno yet." Suri tried to sound casual and indecisive, but she was not that good of a liar.

As if to momentarily extract herself from the conversation, she took off her gilet and laid it out next to her to dry. She leaned back into her seat and spread her arms out over the backrest of the bench. For a moment, she tilted her head back to look at the ceiling. But she didn't get to remain like that for long, as the publican, or cafétier as he would have preferred to be known, approached, bearing her drink and a bowl of stew.

"One Delta Sunset coming up, and the house's speciality. We call it the Void Traveller's Stew. It's been simmering for four days, you won't find a greater variety of meats anywhere." It was doubtful that after what those meats had been subjected to, there was still the slightest perceptible difference between them, but that remained unspoken. "Fortified with essential vitamins and minerals for most species, too. So your skin still has that pink glow after long-haul travel."

"Yeeeah... Thanks", said Suri, chuckling.

The stew did have the one quality that was of preeminent importance right now: it was hot. Suri took a spoon, blew on it to accelerate its cooling to an edible temperature, and began to eat. It was also, sensibly, spiced quite well. After swallowing the second spoon, she looked at her vis-à-vis over the bowl.

"So, like, what—your team dropped you here and just buggered off?" She was prepared to say something very unkind about those people.

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

Sira nursed her own drink slow, letting the heat kiss her lips as she watched Suri with the kind of gaze that could be mistaken for idle interest — but wasn't. The Zeltron's casual warmth, her almost guileless curiosity, it struck an odd note. Out here, people wore their caution like armor. But Suri?
She was… charming.
Too charming.

Sira let her gaze drag over her again — discreetly, but not so much that it couldn't be noticed. Intentional. She let it be seen, just enough, like she was weighing her. Not just the curve of her smile or the way she shrugged off tension like it never stuck — but the timing of her questions, the gaps in her story. "Sira. I'm Sira."-she spoke out to the introduction, the corner of her lip twitching with a soft smirk. The uncanny semblance almost made her wish she had gone with an alias. The mock-uncertainty however, as cute as it was, was a glaring edge. It shone bright like a blaster bolt. She leaned slightly forward, lacing her arms under her chest and dropping her shoulders as she waited for the exchange between her and the so-called cafétier to pass.

"Yeeeah... Thanks"

Her gaze persisted as she allowed her to take a spoonful-letting your mark get comfortable was key to these strategies, and she had to bring her best foot forward. She hadn't let someone get under her guard like this since… well, too long. She combed an errand strand of blonde hair behind her ear, mixing it back into the current of black hair, closing her eyes and unleashing a torrent of lies:

"They were rerouted." she said at last, tone casual but practiced. "Got a priority hail just before touchdown — seismic spikes out near Veltross Six. Half the team had to divert, reassess for instability. Protocol stuff." She stirred her drink idly, then let her gaze drift toward the window, the storm-smeared horizon barely visible through condensation. It usually felt good to lie, but now it just felt mean.


"Left me to hold down the fallback location. Not glamorous, but…" — a flicker of a smirk — "…I get first scan rights on any anomalies. If something rare shows up in the outcrop bands, the claim code bears my tag. Everyone else gets to play catch-up. That is, if I find a vessel sometime soon...." She raised her glass slightly in mock toast before taking a sip, the caf in it long cold. She liked it that way. "Survey work's funny like that. Half the battle's just being where you said you'd be when everything goes sideways. You always stroll into a storm with that kind of optimism, or is today special?" A tease on the surface… but a probe underneath, wrapped in velvet.

Suri Loré

 

[Suri Loré]

Suri ate her stew while she listened to Sira's explanation of her situation. Only once did she punctuate it with a sympathetic "hm". She couldn't say that she entirely understood the situation, but it seemed that this woman was on to some of the same things she was after, and so she had a choice to make of whether to make a competitor or a collaborator of her. It didn't really occur to Suri that that choice might not be entirely hers to make.

"Sounds like a mess", she concluded.

"You always stroll into a storm with that kind of optimism, or is today special?"

"Every time, of course!" laughed Suri. "What did you think?"

She noticed that the music had changed to a different track. The lyrics were in Huttese and easy enough to understand. Suri wondered if the whole thing was an allusion to lady-boys or if that was just an association she had come up with to find something of interest in the very lackluster text.

All of a sudden, there was a loud zapping sound and a shriek. Suri's head whirled around and she saw a column of smoke rising from the table of the chadra-fan mechanic, who was nowhere to be seen. Only a moment later did he crawl back on his chair from which he had fallen, cursing profusely in a language Suri didn't understand. Suri craned her neck to get a view of what was going on at the other table. Apparently, some kind of electronic device he had been assembling had malfunctioned. "Hey! You alright?" The chadra-fan waved irritably in her direction as if to tell her to go away while he had eyes only for his exploded creation. He jumped on his chair with one conclusive curse. Suri shrugged.

She reached for her drink, then hesitated as she realised that all Sira had was a mug of coffee. You couldn't clink glasses with a mug of coffee. She also couldn't buy Sira a drink now, that wasn't how round buying worked, it would just be weird. She was momentarily at a loss until her usual abandon prevailed and she just took a sip from her drink.

"So what kind of scanner are we talking about?" It was unlikely that anything Sira could carry with her came close to what Suri's ship was outfitted with when it came to scanning for density changes in the upper crust of a planet. Not that she had a full prospecting suite, of course—you couldn't install those on a small freighter. But she didn't need the same kind of depth penetration as someone looking for natural resource deposits. What she had was more than enough to detect hollows near the surface from abandoned mines or other underground structures.

But the fact that Sira had some kind of legal assurances was interesting. Suri had definitely never worked with an assurance that anything she did was legal.

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

Sira had leaned in — just slightly — not to seem keen, but to signal she wasn't just waiting out the storm anymore. When Suri quipped: "Every time, of course." Something in her shifted. Not a smile, exactly, but a crack in the surface — the kind that came with the quiet realization that the Zeltron's reckless charm might be more than just surface gloss. For a heartbeat, the song changed and so did the room: her mind pulled back to a smoke-choked dive on Nar Shaddaa, basslines vibrating through grimy floors, her boots light, her grip tighter on a hidden blaster. She could almost taste the deathstick haze, could almost see someone smiling just like this before things went sideways. Her pinkie tapped the caf mug in rhythm before she blinked, letting the grin bloom just enough.


"It's always a mess." she said, voice low. "But that's how you learn to move fast. And something tells me you don't slow down much."

The loud pop, fizz, crackle and blow sent her diving for the concealed holdout holster under her armpit in a second, her foot pressed up against the base of the table ready to either knock it over or send herself rolling back for cover. She could feel the pattered texture of the blasters grip under her gloved fingers as slightly bewildered eyes counted exits and attack vectors. Then—nothing. No follow-up. No suppressed shots, no telltale footfalls, no coordinated panic. Just smoke curling from a workbench and a pint-sized technician shouting what she could only assume was profanity. Sira exhaled, slow, inaudible, and let go of the grip beneath her coat, easing back into her seat with practiced calm. She let her gaze linger on the Chadra-Fan just long enough to pass as curiosity, then retrieved her coffee, masking her tension behind the rim of the cup. Her voice came low, dry: "Well, at least someone's having a productive day." She sipped, hoping—half convinced—that Suri hadn't clocked how close she'd come to drawing steel over an overloaded power cell. A curio did however catch her eye: one of the whisper Twi'leks used the commotion to slip from her companion, leaving the paler one alone, and scuttled for the bathrooms discreetly. Far too discreetly then anyone should.

She smirked slightly at Suri's aborted toast and didn't mention it. The drink would've been fine — but she appreciated the gesture left half-hanging. Better than posturing. Better than most.
"So what kind of scanner are we talking about?"
"What kind of scanner do you need for anomalies? They're anomalies. If you could count on finding them, they'd be infrastructure. I just need to peel back the rug a bit and take a gander of what's underneath. The important thing is that we do it fast, before anyone else. Tag it, bag the creds and split them."-she'd speak slowly and tantalizingly, nursing the prospect of profit and adventure alike in hopes either one would catch her attention. If she could just get in the air as soon as possible, she'd handle the rest of the 'plan' as she goes-including trying to 'solve' the Zeltron herself and why she was here in the first place. With that demeanor? Shouldn't be hard.

Suri Loré

 

[Suri Loré]

Suri was being enveloped by warmth. The heating air from the climate system did its part in drying her, and the hot stew warmed her from inside. She felt herself relax and grow slightly drowsy, and sank lower on the bench, almost, but not quite sliding off it. Her head came to rest at the top of the relatively low backrest, her gaze angled slightly upwards, but if she rolled her eyes down, she could still look at Suri. She plucked her drink off the table, carefully took a sip, and then rested it on her tummy, cradling the glass with both hands. She reflected that she had probably been unwise to eat the stew first—now it would take much longer before she'd feel anything from the drink, and it would be much mellower. Not that one cocktail had that much of an effect on her in any event.

"Relax. Ain't no scanner that works in this kinda weather, anyway", she pronounced languidly. She was evidently determined to lead by example.

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

Sira leaned back further, the heat finally coaxing her fingers to the collar of her bodyglove. She unzipped it partway with casual precision, revealing the smooth line of her upper chest and the firm curve beneath—undeniably striking, and worn with the quiet assurance of someone who knew exactly the effect she had. She had nestled deeper into the booth with the languid grace of someone surrendering, if temporarily, to warmth and stillness. Her frame, lean and long-limbed beneath that utility jacket, folded into the curve of the seat like it belonged there—sprawled just enough to say she wasn't going anywhere soon. The caf mug rested in her lap, cupped lazily between both gloved hands. It had gone cold a while back., but she swirled it once anyway, as if the motion alone might coax heat back into it, then took a sip with a shrug that said she wasn't picky.

"Do you think that friend of hers is coming back?" she asked, tone light, almost offhand and nudged her chin for the twi'lek before returning her eyes were back on Suri —watching, measuring and checking for a potential link. "Or is she just shy around storms and strange explosion?"

She tilted her head slightly, letting her voice relax along with her posture as she interjected a second question before waiting for an answer. "You bunking in a room somewhere or staying aboard your ship?" The way she asked it was casual, but the subtext was clear: she was still drawing a map of this woman, piece by piece.

Suri Loré

 

[Suri Loré]

Suri drifted off and turned her head to look into the room pensively. Her gaze fell on the bored Trandoshan with the sabacc cards. She was a decent player herself. It helped if you were good at reading people, but she wasn't good at concealing her own feelings, so that often made up for it. It was great to start playing with no money if you could get the party to accept other wagers—more than once, Suri had simply stripped off piece by piece until she'd won a round for some actual capital. But that wasn't going to work here—a Trandoshan wouldn't see the value in what she had to offer. Bummer.

Sira, however, directed her attention further, to the twi'lek girls—or rather girl, as one of them had momentarily disappeared. Suri gave a shrug. "Dunno. What do you think?" She wasn't being challenging, it was just casual, but genuine interest in her conversation partner's view.

Suri sat up straight again. "Plenty of room on the ship." She could just have put it down and stayed there altogether, without going out into the rain. But that would have been boring, she had been alone already long enough, and it didn't agree with her. "I suck at cooking, though", she explained with a light self-deprecating laugh.

She took another sip from her drink.

"You should get one of those, too. What're you doing with the caf? Makes no sense", she declared earnestly.

"It'll help you be less on edge, too", she added casually. She had noticed very well that Sira was no longer as uncomfortable as when she had initially disturbed here, but by Suri's standards, the current state of things still very much did count as 'on edge'. Then she added with a mischievous grin that made clear she was just fooling around: "Who knows, might even find your peace with being stuck on this absurd rock. Or with the universe at large."

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

Sira's eyes followed Suri's for a moment, then drifted back to the twi'leks. One was still missing, but the other lingered just long enough to make an impression. "Runaways, maybe," she said quietly, almost idly. "They've got the look—fluid posture, long lines. Dancer types. Or trained like it. Not local, that's for sure."


She glanced sidelong at Suri, catching the brief flicker of interest in the sabacc table. "Don't..." she advised with a low chuckle. "That Trandoshan's working old rim sleights—thumb cuts, marked sleeves. Real vintage. You're good, but not that good with claws in the pot."


The smirk lingered as she reached again for her cold caf, then reconsidered and leaned back instead, arms stretching briefly behind her along the bench's top before pushing the mug to the side. She's been taking drinking exactly half of the leftover caf for a while, leaving an ever smaller smidge each time. She rose a pair of digits to beckon the cafétier over. "I guess if someone's going to drag me to cosmic enlightenment via sugar and synthspirits… you're not the worst candidate."

Another pause. Her voice dipped a notch. "So… how many would it take to convince you to let a storm-stranded near-stranger shack up aboard your ship until the weather clears? If you're down for business, we can get the preliminaries out of the way to pass the time. Contracts will cost you less then a cheaters sabbac. The inn's got character, sure, but I'm pretty sure I just saw a womp rat crawl under the bunk."

Suri Loré

 

[Suri Loré]

"That Trandoshan's working old rim sleights—thumb cuts, marked sleeves. Real vintage. You're good, but not that good with claws in the pot."

"Don't worry, not tempted by what I can't tempt", Suri remarked with a wink.

"I guess if someone's going to drag me to cosmic enlightenment via sugar and synthspirits… you're not the worst candidate."

"Was that a compliment? Oh my! You're really letting your hair down", Suri teased laughingly, then finished her drink.

The devaronian arrived. "What'll it be, ladies?"

"Two more of these", said Suri and handed him her empty glass.

"Coming up."

Suri reached out to feel her gilet, but found that the denim had still not dried fully. "No enlightenment forthcoming from those, I'm afraid", she said casually. "I don't think they infuse them here."

Then she looked back at Sira. "So you're telling me I've got first dibs to snatch you away from all these"—she made a gesture with one arm to the room as a whole—"well-beshipped characters?" She laughed at her own joke. "Yeah, let's team up, sure." She was acting more casual than she really felt about it. She was quite keen to have company again, she wasn't used to being alone anymore, if she had ever been, and wasn't going to get used to it anymore, either. Even if it meant giving up some of the money—but then, if she went alone, she might just end up with empty hands. Or they could end up with empty hands the two of them, in which case she'd be giving away nothing.

"So. I've got a ship alright. Which, as it happens, has a scanner that's better than whatever you can fit into that knapsack of yours. So this isn't fifty-fifty."

The cafétier arrived with their drinks, allowing Sira a moment to think.

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

Sira exhaled slowly, almost like she was releasing something heavier than breath. “Temptation in the untemptable.” she mused, her voice low and dry. “Don't you think there's something in that?” Sira slipped the poncho from her shoulders with a slow, fluid motion, letting it slide down her arms before draping it over the seat beside her.

Her lips quirked into a lopsided s

mirk as she reached up, undoing the simple tie in her hair and shaking it loose, dark strands tumbling around her shoulders. She gave the bartender a lazy tap on the bar as he turned away. "Keep 'em coming. House limit." she said, before adding to Suri with a sideways glance:

"—unless you start talking politics. Then I'm cutting you off."
​

Sira leaned back slightly in her seat, one arm stretched along the back of the booth and along the cracked imitation leather, fingers idly drumming—a casual posture, but one chosen. Her boot brushed Suri's again, not by accident this time, and didn't immediately pull away. Her hair, still loose, caught the low cantina light, and she tucked a strand behind her ear with a slow, deliberate motion as she met Suri's eyes.

She smirked, but beneath it her thoughts ticked over. She's quick. Disarming. That smile could crack durasteel—but so could a vibroblade if you get too close without watching your angles.

Sira tilted her head at the scanner remark, raising a brow. "A real scanner? You've got my attention. That brings us to—" she held up a gloved hand and counted off fingers: "—standard salvage clause 48-C, subsection 2: 'In cases of shared venture between an equipped vessel and an unencumbered operator, recompense shall be apportioned forty-forty-twenty.'"


She arched a brow, daring Suri to challenge it.

"I'll let you guess who's getting the twenty."

Suri Loré ​

 

[Suri Loré]

Suri looked at her vis-à-vis in confusion. "Taxes, or what? That makes no sense. Ain't no-one to pay taxes to out here." There was a tone of frustration in her voice at the turn things had taken. Bureaucracy was the last thing she expected to have to deal with in a place like this.

"Besides"—she crossed her arms—"this technically isn't even salvage. And you're assuming the vessel doesn't know what it's doing. The vessel knows very well what it's doing, thank you very much."

Her mood had palpably soured.

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

Sira gave a soft exhale, let her shoulders ease just a touch, like she was conceding—not in truth, but in image. The truth was, her job didn’t allow for full honesty. Her real job, not this facade. Not with someone she might have to burn later. The hard barter was the right play, though. It gave her legitimacy.

“Alright...” she said with a feigned sigh, eyes meeting Suri’s again, softened at the edges. “Tell you what. I’ll smooth those little costs out of my end. If you promise to make caf in the mornings—real caf, not that swill I had earlier—you’ve got yourself a sixty.” A faint smile curved her lips, half-earnest, half-performance. “I’m generous like that.”

Suri Loré

 

[Suri Loré]

Suri brightened up immediately. "That's better!" she pronounced. "Deal." She stretched out her hand over the table to seal it.

She raised her glass and winked at her new partner. "To salvaging the unsalvageable!"

Taking a sip, she looked around in the room. There was going to be a lot of sitting around on board her ship tomorrow. Sure, there were some repairs she could do, but it wouldn't fill the whole day, or rather, she couldn't fill a whole day with it. Now that she was already in this place, and even reasonably dry by now, it was best to make something of it.

Her gaze fell on the now-lone twi'lek girl, the light blue one. She was growing tense, it was quite visible. Perhaps she was just anxiously awaiting the return of her friend. Suri considered for a moment going over to her, but thought better of it. Instead, she ended up waiving to the proprietor to summon him.

There was little going on at this time, and he had arrived at the point of re-polishing already-polished glasses. It appeared to be some kind of reflexive action, designed as much to cultivate an image as it was to achieve a material objective.

"Say, I'm Suri. What do I call you?"

"Varnak Dross, at your service", said the devaronian with a twinkle in his eye. There was a certain amount of self-irony in his pretentious act. It was obvious to Suri that he was, in reality, anything but subservient.

"So what's with the famous-not-famous act of this place?"

"We prefer it that way." The conceit that this place had some sort of dignity was both absurd and, therefore, amusing.

"Who's we, anyway?"

"The establishment", he replied playfully.

Suri had a strong suspicion that it was really just him all by his lonesome out here. He probably hadn't got any in months, she thought as she sized him up. She liked his colour, it was a vibrant sort of red, not the brown-ish tone of so many devaronians. But he wasn't really her type. The eye was an issue, frankly. Besides, he probably had a policy about guests, and he struck her as the kind of guy who might just keep to it.

"Well, you certainly are... established."

"If there's nothing else... I have some cables to solder. Make sure your asses don't get cold." Suri laughed. She wondered if that was the real him. She thought so.

Sira Veyne​