Private Elevated Episodes: How I Met Your Mother - Jungle Rehash

[Quietus]

There were always these moments while traveling in the more civilized portions of the galaxy that Quietus wondered if Aver had a split personality. Had to recall the woman she'd been, those many years ago when they first met on Onderon, and remind herself that in this case - that particular woman still survived beneath the surface of the one she had grown to know so well.

Well enough to know this - but given the nature of the time they spent together, easily enough forgotten.

She warred with various emotions at seeing the prideful Criminal Empress strut about her territory. Made Qui wonder if she strutted about the jungles ... no, of course she didn't. Had she strutted on Onderon? In the Beast Tribes? Halcyon Citadel? It had never been in her nature to carry herself in such a fashion, but it could have also been one of those things a person did without fully realizing it.

Sort of like becoming immune to your own stench.

Regardless, there was at times amusement and at other times bemusement. She remarked on it not at all, though surely Aver would feel these things. When they arrived to the machine floor, as cavernous as the gulping caves of Thral, Qui gave herself a moment to take it all in. Technology man.

Terminal, right. She hated these things. Nothing ever worked the same even though the galaxy was full of proprietary tech that all essentially did the same thing. Some faffing about with the lead menus ensued and when Aver inevitably sigh-rolled to come save the day, Des held up a hand to stop her. Nope, no. She would figure it out.

I may live in the wild but I am not completely lost.

Mostly.

Took her a few minutes to find her way through it, but she did eventually find her way. She double checked against a list she'd put together on her datapad before putting in the pull order.

There.

Told you.

 

[Aver Brand]

Proud of you, baby, came from the other side of the shop, where the mercenary stood tinkering in a quiet corner. She’d lain her weapons out on a nearby workbench, cleaning them methodically even though they hadn’t seen use in months.

And wasn’t that a thought.

Find what you need? Aver asked after a beat, briefly peeling her gaze off the fine work in her hands.

What do you get the woman who has everything?

A knife, turns out.

Many, many knives – her lovely mate was responsible for at least half of the collection. Despite their number, all of them were well-cared for: edges free of nicks and sharpened well, the metal free of rust, and not a single cranny crammed with dirt or dust.

She set down the oiled and reassembled handcannon, tracing her fingers over the precious sister blades from Garhall.

Illegally.

Her mouth pulled into a smirk.

The forge is over here if you’d like to come take a look.

 

[Quietus]

All in all, Des was pretty proud of herself. A droll, puckered smirk met the word baby, along with a shrug of sass. How seldom it was anymore that she fought with technology. The void of it in her life had become so second-nature as to be detrimental were she completely alone. Good thing Aver was around to balance out those weaknesses for her.

Leather-soled flats patted across the duracrete floor to join the mercenary, green-apple gaze shifting over the various pieces of metal that made up a most deadly tool in the hands of the firrerreo. Quietus couldn't immediately recall the last time she'd seen Aver use her guns - but most of their time in the last few years had been spent off-radar of civilization.

Yes, toes pushed up, chin met broad shoulder, eyes found Sa Sevai among the weapons placed on the table, you don't have to hone Sevai. She keeps her own edge.

Such were the luxuries of alchemized blades.

Forge? color her curious, Show me?

 

[Aver Brand]

“Might be,” she murmured, nuzzling her mate, “but I like putting my hands on the Queen.”

Her mouth split into a grin as she brushed her lips along a sharp cheekbone, hitching her breath on purpose as she ran her fingers along the alchemized edge on the table. The first memory of the blade in her grasp was certainly a… warm one.

Come.

She wiped her hands in a nearby rag and nudged Qui along by the small of her back.

It was only a few stations over, tucked away in a heat-isolated section of the shop. A pleased little smile settled on her lips as she saw her employees had obeyed her orders to the letter. The forge was blazing, its fires licking against the slab of transparisteel at its front.

Spacious and advanced enough to handle even beskar.

You could bet your ass she’d bribed enough disgruntled dar’manda to buy her way into their secrets. When all else failed, throwing credits at a problem eventually always resolved it.

“Will this do?”

 

[Quietus]

Bemused, the Queen remark got a flicker of an eyebrow. Qui let the hand at her back lead her along and took in the forge with a widening gaze.

I am sure that it will.

Dissero may have gaped at it, much as she was want for gradiose opportunities, but his forges were put to the test with more than simply rare metals. Either way, the beast Aver presented was far grander than Qui needed or was used to.

I work with a brick forge at home, she remarked with an ounce of self deprecation, but you know that already.

She wasn't some forge savant. For certain she had learned how to forge weapons with enough skill to craft something worthy of war and lineage, but she was a far, far cry from anything on Di's level. Hell, she hadn't even made Sevai - that was all Dissero, she'd just supplied the necessary ingredients.

I assume you have access to mold designs for Lightsaber hilts?

 

[Aver Brand]

Aver hummed her agreement, stepping away to lean against a nearby wall.

“A couple, yeah. And if there’s one I ain’t got, I’m sure I can, you know…” she raised one shoulder in a lazy shrug, “arrange something.”

“You know what you want already?”

 

[Quietus]

I don't need anything fancy. Simple will do.

Qui had no mind for the extensive swathe of hilt designs now available. She needed only a single blade and a large enough hilt to house two separate crystals. A quick search through a nearby control panel pad brought up a variety of options, from which she chose the most minimalist design available. The great thing about digital forges? They could do most of the work for you. A mixture of durasteel and titanium would make the main housing of the hilt and in no time at all the forge was smelting and pouring into the chosen mold.

In her mind she was planning for the final stages of the hilt's design: malraas bone plating for lightsaber resistance. Drexl hide leather grip. Perhaps a side trip to Onderon was on the itinerary - after dinner with Mother-In-Law.

 

[Aver Brand]

Simple it was.

They were neither of them enamored with frills. Efficiency and pragmatism and good food and fucking peace and quiet far away from the galaxy. Aver glanced away from the panel as she punched in her phrik construction – personal design, optimised for what little use she found in her lightsaber these days.

Her eyes settled instead on her mate where she stood in front of the transparisteel window, fine features framed in forge-fire. How lovely she looked in that moment. Aver smiled, embracing the pang in her breast as it came.

She knew better now than to mistake it for chest pains.

A few minutes passed in warm silence, quiet threads of thought and emotion spooling between them as they watched the machinery work its magic. At length, Aver spoke – though the fraying line and the smug quirk to her mouth belied the flimsy airs of innocence she tried to put on.

“You know,” she sidled closer, propping her chin on Qui’s shoulder, “there’s this way we could make the wait shorter…”

One street-vendor-fried-exogorth-shish-kebab later – yeah, what did you think this was gonna be? – the pair returned to a pair of newborn hilts. The both of them had been laid out in parts on the exit tray of the giant forge, having cooled down enough in their absence to allow for gloveless handling.

Well, for Aver, anyway.

“Is this where we figure out what our crystals do?”

Because for all their perks, the synthetic Sith crystals definitely didn’t come with personality.

 

[Quietus]

Couldn't recall the last time she'd felt that particular pull from Aver's emotions before. Des hadn't looked at her when the sensation tugged across their blood trail bond, but the faint upturn of her lips spoke volumes. They conversed with one another in full silence, the way two oceans conversed with the ebb and flow of underlying currents.

When chin came to shoulder, the silence was broken and for the best of intentions.

Qui's stomach growled and thusly Aver did provide.


A short while later...

Couldn't recall the last time she'd eaten exogorth, either. It was that sort of day.

She was still working on her own lunch, trying not to make a mess of her civilian clothes. She eyed the finished hilt shell while biting another piece of meat from the skewer and chewing.

It would be, but that's both time and mental energy intensive. Have you heard back from your mother?

And then, as if foretold by the Shamalain ancestors, Aver's comm bleeped.

[Didn't think I'd ever hear from you again. When and where?]

 

[Aver Brand]

Whatever the mercenary was going to suggest as a quality time-passing alternative died on her lips when the tinny beep echoed in the quiet machine shop. She swiveled her gaze at the device on her wrist, a betrayed expression tugging at her mouth.

“Speak of the devil,” Aver murmured, fingers hovering above the holo keyboard in uncharacteristic uncertainty. How rare the moments when anyone would see her like this.

Her frown smoothed out in a few moments, and she sent back the condo location and time.

“All set for eight in the evening,” she said, stuffing her hands back into her pockets. “Grab the hilts and we’ll go ingredient shopping.”

Because if they were doing this, they were doing it fucking right.

 

[Quietus]

Grab the hilts, she says.

Qui gestured vaguely to her own hilt, sending it whooshing through the air and into her hand.

I'm not touching that hilt you phrik-plated fiend.

The smirk grew as she turned and made her way out, still nibbling at her lunch. Grab the hilts ... snort.


Some time later as they collected the last of the evening's necessary ingredients, Qui paused as she followed Aver through the market crowd. Her own comm had buzzed in her pocket, an oddity considering she lived off-grid for reasons. So few had the means to reach her this way, which meant it was something of importance; be it family or business, neither of which she felt compelled to ignore. Business, as it turned out, was still as lucrative as ever.

Enough so to have reached to Wild Space.

Bug infestation on Illyrian Moon. Need cleared for colonization. Wayward of Thral. Called in by King Adron Malvern - interested?

In other words, Volden didn't want to spend the money to send a team so far out. Normally she retained a detached ownership of the business missions, but the premise had her intrigued. A glance up caught sight of Aver looking back at her curiously through the crowd. Quietus gave her a wry smile.

Send details, she returned and pocketed her comm to catch up.

How do you feel about a bit of wanton insecticide?

 

[Aver Brand]

‘Necessary’ was a very flexible word in this case. Nothing they – well, Aver – had bought was exactly a common ingredient. At least a quarter of them were illegal in the Core (extinction regulations were such pesky bullshit) and another half were rare to the point of obscurity. So rare, in fact, that Qui was subjected to not one, not two, but four near-death driving experiences with Aver behind the skycar wheel.

No amount of time would ameliorate that, it seemed.

They finished their shopping trip with the most mundane items on the list, her mate hanging back while the mercenary elbowed her way from stall to stall. She paused as she reached for a block of flour, the blonde’s words echoing in her head.

She turned around and peered at her mate over the heads of the smaller creatures milling on the market. Insectiwhat now?

Her brow arched askance. Are you drunk?

 

[Quietus]

A grin speared her lips as she collected a bag or two from the woman to help carry the items, Volden just sent me an inquiry for a Beastiary job. Some moon in wild space has a bug infestation and the King is requesting aid. ...Are those olives?

A hand dug into one of the containers in her bags, brows lofting as she struck gold on a small tub of fresh olives. One immediately found its way into her fangs. Oh yes ... those she missed from civilized company. Olives didn't grow on Thral.

I've decided to take the job. Want to join?

 

[Aver Brand]

Shock only paralyzed her for a few seconds before she swatted her mate’s greedy hands out of the bag.

“Manners, woman!” Aver hissed as she hastily yanked the bags and their precious bounty out of the reach of those long fingers.

Her glare was implacable as they piled into the speeder and a good chunk of the ride over to the rented penthouse. The nerve.

It was only when she unpacked in the sprawling kitchen that her mood began to cool enough to address the invitation to slaughter. Her agreement, they both knew, was more a cosmetic thing – bar having to deal with a literal rebellion on Nadir, there was no way Aver would deny herself the pleasure of a murderous outing.

Force knew they were becoming fewer and further between with each passing year.

Yes, she thought with lingering spite and speared a wriggling giant lobster with a knife. Bet Puppy’d want to get in on the action too.

She looked up at her mate, then tilted her head to one of the cabinets in the salon. Time to bust out your cocktail skills, Shamalain.

 

[Quietus]

It was Desdemona's turn to wear the shit-eating grin.

Olive-eating grin, as it were.

It lasted for the duration of the ride, in spite of the silence between them, and well into the kitchen. She was at the island, unpacking groceries and grouping them according to recipe needs. Her prior question wasn't even on her mind when the subsequent Yes drifted through her thoughts. Took her a moment to figure out just what Aver meant. She'd moved on to chopping ingredients and separating them into bowls, glancing up at the thought of Puppy coming along.

No reason she can't, that she knew of. At this point if Puppy could hold her own in the Netherworld or on Thral, she could likely survive just about anything. The beast at least knew well enough when to fight and when to run and live to fight another day.

We should take one of your ships, then. Qui slid the last bowl of chopped veggies and herbs to the side and picked up the wrapped red meat because only Aver and her mother could enjoy the lobster without literally dying. Her gaze followed the nod to the bar area, a blond brow arching at the suggestion that the (primarily) non-drinker be in charge of the drinks.

Smirk. She began to clean the slab of meat of tendon and fat, What would you like, darling. Whyren's or Whyren's?

 

[Quietus]

-

 

[Aver Brand]

Wild idea, the merc thought without looking up from her work, use the holonet to find a recipe.

Lenda Thiir didn’t strike her as the spirit type. On the other hand, Lenda Thiir was also a woman who’d seen just as much shit in her life as her daughter. Daughters. Children.

Aver stopped her vigorous knifework, pursing her lips at the thought. High time she checked in again with the mercenary she’d hired to hunt down the missing part of the puzzle. She couldn’t abide having a family member on the loose, an unknown hiding in the dark reaches of the galaxy.

That was her niche.

With a heavy sigh, she dumped the lobster into the pot to boil, then moved to sterilize the knife before starting the main for her mate. Would be pretty shite manners to have her mother meet her wife, only for the blonde to keel over in anaphylactic shock.

As for the ship, yes, obviously mine, her mouth curled into a smirk as she began wrapping the thick cut of meat in cured thranta cold cuts. She’d set aside some string to tie the loaf up before setting it into the oven to simmer in its own juices.

You know… there’s a flamethrower sitting in R&D that needs a field test. Slamming the oven door closed with her foot, Aver slid past her mate with roaming hands, then danced away to throw open the fridge and inspect the appetizer ingredients. Compressed fuel tank, sticky napalm, piezoelectric crystals for ignition so you don’t even need a powersour—

The merc tilted her head to the side, eyes narrowing as she scrutinized the olive jar.

“You didn’t.”

 

[Quietus]

Words words words. Aver's techy talk flew in one ear and out the other, much like her own words on keep-it-simple and go-back-to-basics did with Aver. A bottle of Whyren's, the variety specially requested for the rental, found its way to the bartop counter, an empty tumbler joined it later. Qui popped another olive in her mouth as she browsed through the remaining stock of liquor.

"You didn't."

She sucked the salt from her thumb and pointer finger, whimsical smile alighting on a bottle of white wine, she stretched onto her tip-toes to reach it, I did.

A fang poked out of that grin as she poured a measure of the amber whisky into the tumbler and held it up for Aver to come take. She'd only had a few olives. There were plenty left. Qui waited for the glass to be claimed and held it in her grip to keep Aver's attention just a bit longer, Is she Force Sensitive?

 

[Aver Brand]

She let out a long-suffering sigh and watched it dissipate as a cloud in the cool air of the fridge. A bit, I think.

Preparing the dish with efficient, curt motions of her knife, Aver listened to her mate go through the ritual of serving Whyren’s: the pop of the cork as she opened the bottle; the clinking of the tumbler as she set it on the polished marble; the liquid burble of the amber liquid against the glass.

It was the scent that hit her next, and she faltered in her work, closing her eyes and letting her lungs fill with the aged oak and dusky undertones of peat.

Aver placed the knife at the end of the cutting board and turned to wash her hands, wiping them thoroughly on the kitchen towel swung over her shoulder. She rounded the counter, braced against it with her hip, and finally, finally looked at Qui again.

Unhurried, Aver let her gaze traipse along her figure, taking in the image of her poised just so. Leaning forward, slow as molasses, the firrerreo pressed her lips against the fingers holding out the glass. She paid each knuckle a kiss as she gently extricated the tumbler and replaced it with her own hand, tugging Qui closer until they stood flush.

Raising the glass to her lips at long last, Aver held Qui’s gaze over the brim still, even as Whyren’s burned down her throat. She finished the tumbler in one go and dropped it onto the counter with a satisfied hum.

She caught the last drop with her tongue, lingering only a moment more before she dipped forward and claimed that grinning mouth with her own.

 

[Quietus]

After so many years you learned how to soothe the beast.

Some beasts took blood. Others food. A few liked music. Some liked alcohol. Others could not be placated at all until a certain amount of violence and fury had been extricated from their bodies. Aver required a lot of these things but not necessarily all at once, or every time. It really just depended on the mood. It was a bit of a game to be played, if you liked your chances with intuition - there were very few who could play it and survive to play again.

Today Aver felt tense. Anxious. Years ago she would have fortified the walls around her psyche so hard that Qui would have had a challenge just getting through - years before she would not have even entertained such a flight of fancy.

Dinner with her mother and her mate.

Of course, in those days she didn't even know her mother lived.

Quietus grinned into the kiss, leaning into Aver's lips like a tree bent into the wind, and smoothly wrapped her hands around the woman's waist. She radiated a soothing energy of warmth, calm, like the sun baking the treetops of the jungles on Thral on a balmy summer day. If Aver wanted to gain anything from this evening, she would have to loosen her guard and relax.

This was the part where she was supposed to say something supportive like It's going to be a great evening. or Nothing to worry about, everything will be fine. But Quietus had already confessed to having no skills of fortune telling or Seeing and she'd rather not speak for something she wasn't completely certain. Instead she could only offer her support as she always had; by being a rock in Aver's tumultuous life of growing emotions.

What do you need? she asked, breaking the kiss but lingering just beyond Aver's lips, arms wrapped snugly about her middle. Another glass?