Private Drowning Sorrows, Stilling Pain

[Xiaoyu]

​

The cantina buzzed with the usual evening noise; civilians trading stories, merchants arguing over prices they’d already agreed on, and the low hum of ships passing overhead outside. It was the sort of place where no one paid much attention to strangers.

Which suited Xiaoyu just fine.

She sat at a small table near the edge of the room, dressed in simple layered robes of green and cream, the sort an apothecary might wear. The sleeves had been pushed up neatly so they wouldn’t get in the way, and her dark hair was tied back in a practical style, though a few loose strands framed her face.

In front of her sat a bottle and a small ceramic cup. Rather than drinking right away, Xiaoyu lifted the cup and gave it a cautious sniff, brow faintly furrowed as if she were studying medicine instead of alcohol. After a moment she took a small sip.

She paused, lowering the cup slowly. “…Stronger than it smells.”

The quiet observation was mostly to herself. Setting the cup down with a soft clink, she barely looked up from the table. Her attention stayed on the bottle instead, tilting it slightly as she watched the liquid shift inside the glass.

After a moment she poured herself another cup, studying the color and scent again before taking another careful sip. Someone nearby might have approached or taken the empty seat across from her, but Xiaoyu didn’t seem particularly concerned either way. Her focus stayed on the drink, brows faintly knit as if she were trying to solve a small puzzle.

She took another sip, slower this time.

“…Interesting.”

Only then did her eyes briefly flick upward toward the stranger across from her, more acknowledging their presence than inviting it, before drifting back down to the cup in her hands.​

John Shepherd​

 

[John Shepherd]

POUR ME ANOTHER SHOT

Tags: Xiaoyu​

The rain drizzled across the streets, glancing off ships passing overhead, people beginning to duck into different storefronts and bars as the streets cleared to stay dry from the downpour.

He pulled his hood tighter around his face as he moved swiftly, his boots hitting the duracrete beneath his feet, water splashing with each step. His eyes flashed up as he glanced at the signs around him; he caught sight of a certain cantina, and his feet took him there as he slipped through the entrance.

His feet stomped against the floor a few times as he shook the rain from his person, his eyes taking in the room as he moved towards the bar, sliding down onto a stool as he nodded towards the bartender.

The Rodian moved over to him, polishing a cup as he spoke, "What are you looking for, friend?"

John looked over the bar for a brief moment before he spoke, "Just gimme whatever is cheap." His voice was husky and gruff, as if he was bothered by the interruption of his silence.

Looking around the establishment, he was less than impressed: a few greasy haulers drinking in one corner, a few ruffians in another, nothing he hadn't seen before.

But one caught his observant eye, a neatly put-away woman sat alone, sipping at the cup in front of her, almost absent from the scenery that unfolded around her.

Normally, he would've let it go, but today his curiosity got the best of him.

His hand wrapped around the cup the Rodian provided him as he placed a few credits down on the bar before making his way over to the woman, glancing towards the seat as he gestured with his hand,

"Is this seat taken?"​

 

[Xiaoyu]

​

Xiaoyu didn’t answer right away.

For a moment she simply sat there with the small ceramic cup resting between her fingers, her attention still fixed on the drink as though the man standing beside the table had only partially entered her awareness. The liquid inside the cup shifted slightly as she tilted it, letting the dim cantina lights catch the surface. The scent rose again; sharp and fermented, with a bitter edge that lingered in the air.

Only then did her eyes travel upward.

Her gaze moved over him in quiet observation rather than open scrutiny. First the cup in his hand, then the darkened edges of his cloak where rainwater still clung to the fabric. Droplets slid slowly from the hem and darkened the floor beneath his boots. The smell of wet duracrete and street rain followed him inside. Xiaoyu’s eyes lingered a second longer than most people might consider polite, not in judgment, but in the careful way someone studies details out of habit.

Finally she spoke.

“It is not,” she said simply. Her voice was calm and soft, carrying no particular warmth but no hostility either. It sounded more like a statement of fact than an invitation. Xiaoyu nudged the empty chair outward with the toe of her shoe so it wouldn’t catch against the table. The small gesture was practical, quiet permission if he intended to sit. She lifted her cup again while he decided, taking another measured sip as if she had momentarily forgotten his question entirely.

After swallowing, she studied the drink again. “This establishment waters down their spirits less than most places at this price,” she said thoughtfully, almost to herself. Her brows knit slightly as she considered it, the way someone might puzzle over the ingredients of a medicine. She took another sip, slower this time. “But the fermentation is poor.”

Only then did her gaze drift back up toward him, meeting his eyes properly for the first time since he’d spoken. “…You may still enjoy it,” she added after a brief pause, her tone mild and observational. “If your goal is simply to become drunk.”​

John Shepherd​

 

[John Shepherd]

CONVERSATION

Tags: Xiaoyu​

The chair scraped lightly against the durasteel floor as he pulled it out the rest of the way.

John lowered himself into it with the slow, deliberate weight of someone who had spent too many years standing in places worse than this. The stool at the bar had been temporary. Tables meant conversation, whether he liked it or not.

His coat shifted as he sat, rainwater still clinging to the dark fabric. A few stray droplets rolled from the hem and tapped quietly against the floor before finally giving up the fight with gravity.

He set the cup down in front of him.

The drink inside looked about as inspiring as engine coolant.

John lifted it anyway, rolling the ceramic between his fingers as he glanced at the surface. He gave it a cautious sniff, his brow twitching just slightly at the scent.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

“Smells about right.”

His voice carried that same rough edge as before, the kind that sounded like it had been sanded down by too many years of shouting over engines and blasterfire.

He took a slow sip.

The grimace that followed was immediate.

John swallowed anyway.

“Well,” he said after a moment, setting the cup back down, “you weren’t wrong about the fermentation.”

He leaned back slightly in the chair, one arm resting across the table while his eyes drifted across the cantina for a moment. A pair of freighter hands were arguing quietly near the wall. Someone laughed too loudly near the bar. The Rodian bartender was pretending not to watch them.

Same as every other portside watering hole in the galaxy.

His attention returned to her.

Up close, she didn’t quite fit the room. Too composed. Too attentive to the details most people ignored.

John had spent a long time around people like that.

Usually meant they were either very smart… or very dangerous.

Sometimes both.

He nudged his cup slightly toward the center of the table.

“Not really here for the drink,” he admitted.

A faint shrug followed, casual but honest.

“Just needed somewhere dry.”

For a moment he studied her the same way she had studied him earlier, quiet, patient, taking in the details without making a show of it.

Then one corner of his mouth pulled into the faintest hint of a tired smile.

“John Shepherd,” he said, extending a rough, calloused hand across the table.

His eyes flicked briefly toward her cup again.

“Since you seem to know your way around bad liquor…” he added dryly.

“…I’m guessing you’ve been here longer than five minutes.”​