A glass of the Alderani it is then. Casany didn’t feel the need to research whatever that beverage was but it was a popular one. Red wine of one kind or another, however, was bound to be a good enough pour for her. She also trusted Adrikobe enough in his cuisine at least if his deliverance and his reception in this establishment were any indication.
“What’ll happen if they do?” Her gaze roved over the waiters and waitresses as to his statement over them knowing better than to make him and her wait.
“Will someone grab their hand and stick it into a pot of hot liquid?” She grinned at him, her question rhetorical, her mention metaphorical, as much as it wasn’t.
Whatever his answer, of which not even answering would suffice (sometimes not every word or line of dialogue needed to be recognized), she trained her gaze on the stage as he glanced the same way. She imagined live musicians on it as music drifted into the restaurant from ceiling speakers; lone but not lonely piano strokes with liquid lyrics.
As Adrikobe reflected on how long it had been since he had enjoyed eating and having good company, Casany simply listened, gaze unwavering from the stage. She saw no immediate need to respond. Instead, she sat back, arms crossed in her lap, one leg crossed over the other, visage vacant of anything that wasn’t composure.
Miss Praxor. She had been addressed in that fashion more than once before, of course, given the nature of her game. That was if others, Mandalorians or otherwise, knew her name when she wasn’t hiding her face behind the moniker of Anvil to begin with.
Business can wait. Except he was paying for this occasion which meant it was his business anyway.
“And I wish to listen to the host.” Casany met Adrikobe’s eyes with her own, finally breaking from the stage after he did, and she didn’t grin.
“Hmmm.” It was her turn to drum her fingers.
“What is there to tell?” Fortunately, this guy was bright enough to provide her with direction in the tail end of his words.
“Your latest gun for hire is just as much of a duelist. That sword at the back of my beskar’gam, for instance, isn’t just for show.” She pursed her lips, taking a sip of her vodka. It was clean, crisp, peppery, with purity in its finish. Just what a rich beverage like this pick needed to be.
“Blades and blasters are their own charm, Mr. Kellrule.” She smiled with her lips as much as her eyes.
“But I’m also the kind of woman who likes to party in a nightclub from time to time. Those strobe lights have the type of glow that bolts exploding into skulls…don’t.”
Moments later, the Mandalorian's plate of steak and other treats was presented before her face. She had ordered the right course, tasting potatoes and trading the taste of vodka’s potato for tart but not sour wine. It was a perfect fit for game.
“Oh? What’s this?” She beckoned Adrikobe. She wasn’t sure if he dismissed her words with that hand of his but, given the situation, she permitted it. It was his nature as a business tycoon. Light bathed the stage as a woman moved in a dress as red as the wine in Cas’ glass.
The Mandalorian dined, sipped, listened and gave the performance her gaze. To say that she was mesmerized by the display would have been a lie. Enticed enough to keep quiet, however, she was. When the song died, the echo escaping behind closed curtains like a goodbye breath, Casany glanced at her present company with the corner of her eye. Unfortunately, she had been too busy with a fork and knife in either hand to clap.
“I knew a man once,” she spoke nonchalantly before swallowing, washing broccoli away with her wine.
“Mafioso kind of guy. Loved the opera. Had a prime seat on the highest balcony and a private seat behind scenes.” She took a napkin to her lips, never mind her eyes as they searched his.
“Cried every time the fat lady sings.” She meant that figuratively or literally.
“Then cut his victims up in a kitchen, sometimes alive, later that night.” Cas sat back, swirled her wine in her glass.
“Are you that guy?”
Adrikobe Kellrule
