Private Denon Views & Milkshakes

[Mercy]

Maeve Linahan

"Wasted? Hardly. I jus' need to know ya can hold at least a few beers without getting crushed, darling." They lived hard lives after all. Liquor was the least of their concerns and if the girl in front of her couldn't handle a few drinks? Well, that would be concerning for any potential partnership. Or perhaps Mercy just used that as an argument when in reality she just enjoyed watching her squirm just a little bit.

Mercy raised her glass to Maeve, almost forcing her to partake in a cheers, because otherwise it would just be rude.

"Hardly a harem, even if I deserve one." She was thoughtful about that one for a moment. Maybe Mercy ought to procure one. If filth like the Hutts could have one why not her?

She'd have to ask Maijan Paisea what the easiest way was to get a hold of a harem.

"Jus' creatures like yarself, Dyrfinna. Women the Galaxy uses, abuses and takes advantage of, while constantly asking for more." Mercy shrugged lightly as she thought back to Frea Sheplin 's fate in the alleyway. Broken and spit out by a barkeep just because she couldn't pay her debts. Oh, Frea had been a piece o' chit about Mercy's offer first.

But now? Something told Mercy she quite enjoyed having a whole state-of-the-art workshop to work in.

"I take 'em under mah wing. I give 'em purpose, means, I give 'em a lil' bit of fun. And eventually they will go their own way, cutting a path through a Galaxy so cruel."

Mercy shrugged.

"I am merciful sometimes." Smirk deepened. "How's that second beer treating you?" Oh so innocently asked.

 

[Maeve Linahan]

"I can hold my own, thank you very much."

Maeve didn't take the challenge lightly. She held the glass, toasted it in answer, pressed it to her lips, and gulped down half its contents with one swing. That burning sensation in her throat had numbed now to a bizarre satisfaction, and whatever irritation she might've felt from Mercy pressing her patience was gone, replaced by another smile.

"See? Not crushed yet," she boasted. "Just don't go and start expecting a competition. I already know I'll lose."

Like drawing out poison, Maeve would do her best to filter out the alcohol in her system through the Force, but ale this strong was not an easy thing to kill. Already she could feel it in her belly like a newborn star, warming her insides, filling her cheeks with a bright and rosy flush. Of course, she could still function and think. Just not how she, the Jedi Knight and Shadow, would have wanted.

Still, it was hard not to fall into Mercy's words. The tales she spun. She hadn't just helped locals, but women who'd been hurt and tormented by men who thought them easy to tear apart. She helped them. Saved them. Gave them a life worth living.

Was this really the Sith Maeve had been told to fear?

"The drink's treating me about as well as you are," she answered. "All this food and drink and company? This is probably the nicest thing anyone's done for me." A half-truth, but still mostly truth. No one had ever personally taken her out to a diner and plied her with fine ale and bad jokes. Even if it was all built on a lie.

"You're not what I expected, Mercy." She drummed her fingers against the table. "I'll confess, back at the park, I saw you first. Sitting on that bench. Drinking that milkshake. The reason I approached those thugs was because I thought you were going to kill them, and decided I ought to spare them that fate."

"Was I wrong?"

Mercy​

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[Mercy]

Maeve Linahan

"Oh, look at you, downing half a glass in one go!" Mercy grinned broadly and someone else might have sounded sarcastic with those exact words.

Mercy...

Mercy didn't sound sarcastic.

In truth it was difficult to say if Mercy even had the capacity to be sarcastic. She was so blunt and forceful and to the point. Her personality was shaped like a brick to your face. Currently her own face shaped to a frown. No, there was no capacity for keen deception. What she thought she either said or showed on her face.

"Really, darling? That sounds depressing." She reached out with one big meaty loafy hand and grabbed Maeve's hand. Giving it... a surprisingly soft squeeze.

"Dun'get me wrong." Mercy smirked, a shapely grin that was almost infectious in its genuine nature. "I enjoy sweeping ya off yar feet, but s'far as I am concerned everyone's gotta have 'least the base line o' good drinks, music an' friends to fall back on during da tryin' times... and perhaps...." Finally Mercy let her hand go but the heat on her skin remained.

Instead she rose up, pulling Maeve with her.

"Oh, yar not wrong at all." Without even asking Mercy would lead them on the dance floor and pulling her towards her. "I was planning on yeeting 'em off the roof." Murmured in Maeve's ear now.

Like they were sharing a secret.

"Mmm, tho... that's why I waited 'til I finished mah milkshake. By the end of da drink I would'a settled for making 'em crawl home with broken limbssss."

Her arm slung heavier around Maeve's waist to keep her close as she moved with the rhythm of the song.

 

[Maeve Linahan]

When Mercy took her hand, the feeling was different.

A smooth touch here, a soft squeeze there. Longer she stayed with the woman, the harder it was picturing her as the monster she'd been told about. The Sith Knight who murdered countless innocents, or the tank who bulldozed her way through the battlefield on Selvaris. Of course, Mercy certainly looked the part, but how she acted?

Maybe she was a bit of a conceited ass, but she was no monster.

As she rose from the booth, Maeve blinked, barely in time to be surprised when Mercy tugged her away from the table and onto the dance floor. "Hold on a minute," she said, staggering and feeling a little resistant. "I don't really danc—"

She drew in a sharp breath when Mercy pulled her in, hands on the small of her back. Normally she'd have just felt annoyed. Maybe leaned in, played along. But whether because of the drink or something else, Maeve actually… blushed.

No, that was not the right word. She burned. Well, something like that. She couldn't explain the sensation—just a redness in her cheeks and the tips of both ears. An unnatural heat she fought desperately to contain.

Maeve glanced up to the woman, relaxing into her hold and trying not to trip as they shuffled into a dance. "Aren't you merciful?" she replied, snorting a laugh. "Jumping from murder to broken legs. And here I thought I'd been too harsh on them."

She rested both arms around Mercy's shoulders. "I hope you didn't have to break too many limbs trying to get this district under control... did you?"

Mercy​

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