Public No Sign Above The Door

[Solace]

NO SIGN ABOVE THE DOOR - Nar Shaddaa, Corellian Sector

The teashop opened at the dawn.

At least, what passes for dawn on Nar Shaddaa. There's no pause or lull in the pulse of the Smuggler's Moon; just an ever-present sprawl and flow of life in it's messiest forms. A cadence of chaos, commerce and confusion that never really stopped, just occasionally slowed.

The teahouse had no sign above it's door. It had no name that anyone had written down, nor could anyone remember it. What it did have was a door, left open for passing trade. For those close enough, something emerged that had no place on Nar Shaddaa - a warm, layered and comforting smell that invited one closer. The kind of lingering, gentle scent that made people slow their step without quite knowing why.

Inside, the space was small enough to take it all in at once: six tables with mismatched chairs, each draped with comfortable coverings. The light was warm, just low enough to make it feel like you wouldn't be watched. On the back wall, shelves held more varieties of tea than most knew existed, arranged with a certain level of chaotic care.

The woman behind the counter was blending something, hands moving with a practised ease that spoke of long familiarity with the process. Her concentration was absolute, weighing and proportioning ingredients without having to consult any kind of written recipe. She was tall for a Miraluka, with a dark eye covering and greyish robes, fringed with archaic symbology. Beside her, a creaking droid gently scrubbed clean some gleaming drinkware. Neither of them spoke.

She didn't look up when someone walked through the door. She didn't need to. Instead, she smiled as she moved behind the counter, pottering about in her tea-based efforts. "Sit wherever you like," she offered quietly, smiling towards the entrant. "I'll be with you in a moment."

 

[Kieran Ash]

Nar Shaddaa always smelled different depending on the district.


Some streets carried engine coolant and hot durasteel. Others fried street food whose ingredients were probably best left unquestioned. Kieran found himself wondering, not for the first time, whether anyone who lived here permanently even noticed anymore. Maybe they wondered the same thing about visitors.

With no contract waiting and nowhere in particular to be until his transport left tomorrow, he'd spent the morning doing what he often did on unfamiliar worlds.

Walking.

It was the easiest way to learn a city. Not its maps or districts, but its rhythm. Which cafés stayed busy. Which streets emptied too quickly. Which shopkeepers greeted strangers and which watched them through the window until they passed by. A smell drifted across the flow of pedestrians. Tea. Not caf. Tea. He followed it almost absent-mindedly until an open doorway came into view.

No sign. No flashy display. Just warm light spilling onto the street.
"…Well, that's inviting."
The comment was more to himself than anyone else. Inside, the bustle of Nar Shaddaa seemed to soften. Not disappear, merely become distant. The warmth reached him first, followed by the aroma of herbs he couldn't quite place.

His eyes wandered over the shelves, lingering on the rows of carefully arranged tins before settling on the Miraluka working behind the counter. She never looked up. "Sit wherever you like. I'll be with you in a moment." Kieran gave an easy nod. "No rush."

He chose a table near the shelves, slipping his weathered coat from his shoulders and hanging it neatly over the back of the chair. The movement briefly revealed the practical life hidden beneath it: a heavy blaster riding comfortably at his hip, a utility knife, the edge of a compact medpac tucked into one of countless pockets before the coat settled back into place. He folded his hands on the table. His gaze drifted back to the shelves while he waited. There was something quietly reassuring about watching someone who knew exactly what they were doing.

 

[Olarra Zand]

TAGS: Solace Kieran Ash

To the rest of the galaxy, Nar Shaddaa was a jagged, neon-soaked underworld choking on the toxic fumes of engine coolant, frying street food of highly questionable origins, and the looming threat of the nearest syndicate collection squad. But for Olarra Zand, the Smuggler's Moon was an endless, vibrant playground.

She absolutely loved it here. After weeks of back-breaking forge loops aboard the Fool's Errand, she had parked her Ghtroc 720 freighter in a civilian sub-berth to indulge in a few nights of unadulterated nightlife, spectacular multicultural food, and some high-end shopping. Nar Shaddaa's black markets were a treasure trove; standard galactic corporate inspectors flagged rare planetary minerals as contraband, but the shady dealers in the Corellian Sector would happily sell her raw, unrefined ores and exotic metal scrap by the crate—no questions asked.

She had spent the morning wandering the lower avenues in her casual, off-duty wardrobe, a long dark traveling coat thrown loosely over a stylish space-punk number that would look great under the neon of her favorite dancehall and a pair of glimmering songsteel bangle earrings she had recently forged. As opposed to being tied tightly as it was when working over the furnace, her ivory hair was let down and relaxed. As she strolled one of the bazaar districts doing some window-shopping, she eyed the passing crowds with an infectious, open curiosity.

She was just about to head to one of her favorite street food carts when the ever-present, heavy air of the Smuggler's Moon suddenly parted.

A deep, impossibly comforting aroma drifted across the flow of pedestrians. It wasn't the sharp, synthetic punch of high-octane caf; it was the rich, earthy scent of fine tea, a gentle and inviting fragrance that immediately made the young Pantoran blacksmith slow her steps. Her signature passion quirk instantly flared to life. Guided entirely by her nose, she veered away from the industrial storefronts until an open doorway came into view.

There was no flashing neon display. No flashy marquee. No sign above the door. Just a warm, low light spilling out into the messy street.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Olarra murmured to herself, a massive smile immediately lighting up her cerulean face. "A proper teahouse? Down here?"

Stepping through the threshold, the roaring chaos of Nar Shaddaa seemed to instantly dissolve into a distant, background hum. She paused just inside the small, cozy room, taking a deep, appreciative breath of the herbal steam coiling through the space. Her golden eyes eagerly darted to the back wall, where shelves groaned under a chaotic but meticulously cared-for selection of canisters. As an avid connoisseur, her mind instantly began running through a technical wishlist. Atrisian White. Gatalentan. Surian. Maybe even an aged Cassius blend... She didn't expect a smuggler's port merchant to actually carry such rare, legendary varietals, but given the sheer size of the inventory on display, she tingled with excitement and she hoped she might get lucky. She was always receptive to opportunities to grow her palate and expand the already impressive personal stash on The Fools Errand.

Olarra shifted her gaze toward the woman behind the counter. Tall, robed elegantly, and moving with an absolute, practiced precision that any master artisan could instantly respect, the Miraluka tea-blender was currently pottering about her work without looking up.

Hearing the proprietor's polite greeting, Olarra smiled warmly and continued to look about the shop in quiet amazement.

"Take your time, friend!" Olarra chimed back giddily, her voice carrying a light, bouncy cadence.

As she stepped deeper into the room, she passed another patron who had just laid down his heavy coat as he sat at a nearby table. Once again regarding the shopkeeper, Olarra's intuitive senses briefly twitched. As she walked closer, a gentle wave of energy rippled across Olarra's skin. She had felt this many times before when she met people, and never had much context as to why it happened. It wasn't anything profound, just a warm aura of calmness that seemed perfectly at home in the cozy teahouse.

Olarra slid into an empty chair at a mismatched table close to the shelves of tea tins. She pulled off her gloves, resting her bare blue hands on the covered surface as she tilted her head to read the handwritten label markers on the nearest canister.

The moon outside was dangerous, and her E-B loader droid VC-7 was probably back at the ship panicking over fuel margins, but right now, she was exactly where she wanted to be: on the hunt for the perfect brew. If Roqar Zatt was lucky, she might even bring something back for him too.

 

[Laphisto]

Nar Shaddaa.

More than twenty years had passed since Laphisto first stepped onto the Smuggler's Moon after emerging from the carbonite prison that had held him for millennia. The streets looked different now, storefronts changing hands countless times over, new neon signs competing with old ones, yet enough remained that he still recognized the route without thinking. It was here that he had met the boy who would become his first apprentice. Here that a stolen ship, a handful of strangers, and a chance meeting had quietly become the beginning of something far greater than any of them could have imagined.

His search had led him back. Rather than chasing new rumors, he had spent the last several months retracing the path they had once traveled together, beginning where the trail had gone cold and working backwards through every world they had shared. Every stop ended the same way. Witnesses had moved on. Buildings had changed ownership. Records had disappeared into forgotten archives or simply never existed in the first place. Nar Shaddaa was the last world left to visit the place where it had all started. If fortune had any sense of irony, perhaps the trail would end where it began.

Hours had already slipped by. Laphisto walked at an unhurried pace through the crowds, his armor drawing the occasional glance before people continued about their day. More than once his eyes settled on someone in the distance, only to drift away again as the crowd shifted between them. His hand came up to the bridge of his nose, lingering there while he stood at the edge of another busy intersection. A quiet breath escaped him before he lowered it once more.

"Still nothing..." The words were little more than a murmur, lost beneath the hum of passing speeders. Something interrupted the routine. A faint disturbance brushed against his awareness not urgent enough to raise alarm, yet distinct enough to pull his attention away from the street. He turned his head toward an open doorway nestled between the neighboring businesses. There was nothing particularly remarkable about it at first glance, yet the subtle pull remained. After a brief pause, he altered course and stepped inside.

The change in atmosphere was immediate. His gaze adjusted naturally to the warmer lighting as it swept across the room, taking in Kieran Ash seated near the shelves before shifting toward Olarra Zand . Finally, it settled upon Solace behind the counter. For the briefest moment, gold shimmered across his irises while a thin crimson ring traced their edges. The Force expanded outward in a quiet pulse, brushing lightly against those gathered inside. It was an old habit, born from centuries spent entering unfamiliar rooms where hesitation often proved fatal. The glow disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving him to rub lightly at the corner of one eye before continuing forward.

His LO-58A armor made a slight klinking sound as he approached. his Broad Saber rested comfortably at his hip, a rifle secured across his back, though neither weapon seemed out of place beside the relaxed way he carried himself. Reaching the counter, he rested one forearm against its surface and inclined his head politely toward the Miraluka. "Whenever you're ready, I'll take whatever you'd recommend."

 

[Solace]

It was three, then. Three people who entered the teahouse. Three people who made their presence known to Solace. She offered the merest nod of her head to those that entered as she continued to brew. Steeping these particular tea leaves was more of an art than a science; it rewarded creative experimentation and a ruthless eye for critical detail.

As her assorted clientele made for their seats, Solace quietly dwelled on what she could sense about them, just from the periphery. Was that the giddy tangle of a Force sensitive, on the precipice of discovering their own abilities? The proud riff of someone ancient, experienced and wise? The sharp, subtle tang of a being of experience and control. A brew richer than the one she was already making, it seemed. She dared not probe further with the Force, lest she arouse suspicion. Besides, she considered it poor manners to rely on the Force to interrogate customers.

"Thank you for your patience, my friends," she began, raising her hands from the baroque tea pot behind the counter. "Be welcome. There is no formal menu, besides what you may find on the walls. Each tin represents a different blend of leaves and herbs, and each provides a different experience with the warmth."

She poured from the tea pot into a cup rimmed with dull gold, bringing it over to Laphisto . "My current blend is a mix of Atrisian White and Tetan Pale Leaf. I find it has a delightful amount of depth and a strong character. You may need to sweeten to your liking," she told him, leaning over to place the cup in front of him.

"If you're feeling adventurous, may I recommend this blend?" she suggested, moving towards one of the shelves and tapping on a small, red box. "Dathomiran thorn leaves. A very robust flavour, not for the faint of heart. The choice of the true tea aficionado." She smiled at both Olarra Zand and Kieran Ash , waiting for their orders.

"Or perhaps a simple Gatalentan tea would suffice?"

 

[Olarra Zand]

TAGS: Solace Laphisto Kieran Ash

Olarra sat comfortably at her table, her fingers tapping out a rhythm on her crossed arms. The air in the room was phenomenal. Every time the Miraluka woman shifted a canister or adjusted a boiling basin, that peaceful, unnamable pocket of warmth rippled outward, completely settling the low-level tension Olarra usually carried after a long day navigating the Nar Shaddaa docks.

Hearing the shopkeeper's reply, Olarra took another careful scan of the tea tins on display. She had her wish list, but was not necessarily hunting for something specific. Nonetheless, hearing the woman refer to the tea blends each offering unique "experiences", Olarra's face lit up with a bright, wide-eyed grin as she eagerly slid forward in her chair. The infectious thrill of a dedicated collector had her interest piqued.

"I was actually hoping you'd say that," Olarra chuckled, her voice carrying a lively, excited rhythm that completely ignored the standard, secretive paranoia of the Smuggler's Moon. She uncrossed her arms, leaning her elbows against the covered table surface as she gestured eagerly toward the crowded tin shelves. "I've been hunting all across the Mid-Rim for a vendor who can source some of the more rare types, but the shipyard ports only carry mass-produced industrial garbage. I'd love to try your Atrisian blend, it smells delightful and I've only had a few chances to try it in a blend before. But before I leave, I'd love to see what else you've got. I do a lot of travelling in my line of work and without a good cuppa I'd be totally lost! I've got a few friends in the "acquisitons" business and even they have trouble finding the good stuff. If you had a line on a batch of those floral Surain blends or maybe even some Cassius florets it would really make my weekend."

She leaned in slightly closer, a determined, playful curiosity glinting in her gaze. "I know the Cassius is a long shot, but you can't blame a girl for trying. I pass through Nar Shadaa whenever im in the sector, and I'm really happy to see a shop like yours for a change.

Olarra waited respectfully for her brew, but her mind lingered on the other exotic varietal the merchant mentioned. "I didnt know they had tea on Dathomir." Gesturing toward the thorny leaves, she asked "What can you tell me about those?"

 

[Laphisto]

Laphisto inclined his head in quiet thanks as the cup was placed before him. One gauntleted hand settled around the porcelain for only a moment before he removed the glove, setting it neatly beside the saucer. The warmth lingered against weathered fingers as he lifted the cup, studying the pale steam rising from its surface before taking a slow, measured sip.

The cup remained in his hands as he turned it slightly, letting the warmth settle into his palms. ".Thank you." It wasn't an elaborate compliment, nor did it need to be. The brief nod that followed carried more sincerity than the words themselves. His attention shifted between Solace Olarra Zand the conversation turned toward rarer blends. He listened without interruption, allowing the younger woman's enthusiasm to fill the room while he quietly took another drink. The corners of the cup paused just beneath his chin before lowering once more.

"I've spent most of my life drinking whatever could be boiled over a campfire If there was tea, you drank it. If there wasn't, you made do." A faint breath escaped through his nose, somewhere between amusement and remembrance. "It wasn't until much later that I learned there was an art to it." His gaze drifted toward the shelves lining the wall before returning to Solace. "You've put a great deal of care into this place especially considering teh planet of choice."

There was no need to elaborate further. The observation stood well enough on its own. After another quiet sip, his eyes settled briefly on the red tin Olarra had pointed toward.