The door
chimed as as CT-312 slipped inside. The sound nearly swallowed by the noise already filling the noodle bar. Steam clung to the lamps, drifting in thick coils that carried a bit of spice, broth, and frying oil. Conversations and laughter overlapped in waves. Even drowning out the rain outside that was rumbling faintly through the windows.
CT-312 paused just past the door. She was still in her armor that was covered in streaked soot and dried flecks of someone else’s blood. Quickly noting that she wasn’t the only one who had shown up in their post-war state. The Scout’s eyes tracked across the tables. Faces she recognized. Others she didn't. The place was more crowded than she expected.
‘Of course.’ This had Scherezade written all over it. She did send that message.
Bring whoever survived. A small smirk formed at the corner of CT-312’s mouth beneath the helmet. What was it Scherezade always said?
‘The more the merrier.’ A brief soft airy chuckle escaped her, barely audible. The modulator turned it into a faint exhale of static.
Her HUD caught the reflection of a mic set in the corner. Next to a remote and its black screen turned off. CT-312 raised her hand to flag down a passing employee.
“Beers all around.” voice low, but carrying. She nodded towards the mic.
“And we’ll be using that.” Without waiting for confirmation, CT-312 crossed the room. Picking up the mic from its stand and the remote, running a gloved thumb across the power switch. The Karaoke machine and blank screen flickered to life.
From here, she spotted
Jorryn Fordyce
. Silver hair disheveled, elegant dress contrasted by the way she hovered over a giant bowl of noodles at the counter.
Eira Dyn
had already joined the main table. CT-312 lifted two fingers in a subtle nod when their gaze met. It seemed Eira was in mid-conversation with another familiar figure—
Reina Daival
. CT-312 recognized her from Naboo’s masquerade.
The door clattered again. Visor snapping towards it as
Drystan Creed
swaggered in. The man of the hour. Announcing his presence. CT-312 watched as Scherezade came flying across the room, giving him an exuberant hug. Then another came in (
Kaelon Virex
), someone she didn’t know but clearly wasn’t new to Scherezade. The mic hummed in CT-312’s hand.
“Drystan.” Tossing the mic toward him. It was his time to shine. CT-312 was a bit curious whether he’d sing the same song he’d belted out during the Sith Order’s celebration over the Imperial Confederation, especially now that he was on the losing end.
Before CT-312 went to take a seat, she remembered something. Her gaze swept back toward the bar area. Toward Jorryn, and toward the white-haired stranger standing nearby. Boots thudded softly across the tile as CT-312 approached. She gave a small wave to the unfamiliar white-haired woman—
Esmeralda Io
, a simple form of greeting.
“You’re more than welcome to join us.” Pointing toward the long table. Where steam, noise, and Scherezade’s chaos reigned. The gesture shifted into a thumbs-up. Blunt and genuine. Then she turned to Jorryn.
Even through the enhanced filters of her visor, the Scout could tell the handmaiden was drinking. She waited until Jorryn’s slightly unfocused eyes lifted and met her visor. CT-312 jerked her helmet toward the table. Stepping up beside her stool, the steam from the nearby noodle pots curling around the Scout's armor as she paused beside her. Voice low,
“Jorryn.” CT-312 braced one gloved hand gently against Jorryn’s shoulder, steadying her. A test of balance. Waiting. Unaware of the extraction incoming. As soon as the Handmaiden leaned into the touch, that was CT-312’s signal.
In one smooth motion, CT-312 pivoted a half-step to angle herself beside the stool. Her other hand slid down behind Jorryn’s knee, fingers hooking with precise pressure. She shifted her weight, knees dipped, and guided Jorryn forward with the hand on her shoulder. Steering the Handmaiden’s body naturally toward her waiting armor. Then
the lift.
“The more— ”
CT-312 rose upward with practiced ease. Pulling with the anchor hand behind the knee while her dominant shoulder drove forward beneath Jorryn's midsection. The handmaid's body draped securely over CT-312’s shoulder, legs swept cleanly into place as she wrapped one arm around the backs of Jorryn’s thighs. Locking her into the carry, while her freehand braced lightly against her arm to keep her steady.
“—the merrier.”
CT-312 straightened fully, unbothered, her posture solid beneath the weight. The entire motion effortless. A fireman's carry. The sight alone would draw a few looks from the nearby. CT-312 turned and began walking toward the long table.
