Private One More Night

[Shade]

There had been a time when Shade would have crossed half the galaxy without stopping if someone had told her where to find Cassian Abrantes. She had crossed considerably more than that when she hadn't even known whether he was alive, following fragments and reopening questions others had decided were answered. Now, after a year of searching, she finally knew exactly where he was. Cassian had been rescued, or he escaped and returned, and Corellia was one of the last stops between Shade and the man she had spent so long trying to find.

Nothing particularly significant about stopping here. Cassian didn't know she was coming, which meant no appointment to miss and no one expecting her at a particular hour. She could continue tonight or tomorrow without technically being late for anything. Shade had found the logic perfectly reasonable when she'd decided to stop for a drink, although the glass resting between her hands had lasted long enough to suggest that practicality might not have been the only thing keeping her on Corellia.

She had taken a stool at the far end of the bar, where the angle gave her an unobstructed view of the entrance without requiring anything more conspicuous than occasionally lifting her eyes from her drink. The choice had been automatic. Shade wasn't working tonight, but apparently nobody had informed several decades of habit. She had left her armor behind along with the more obvious evidence of her profession, trading it for black pants and a blue shirt beneath a dark duster. Her black-and-silver hair was drawn back, keeping its familiar weight out of her face, and nothing about the Chiss woman sitting quietly at the bar advertised the weapons concealed beneath otherwise ordinary clothing.

The establishment itself had been selected with similar care, though not because she expected trouble. It was respectable without being expensive and busy without becoming crowded, the sort of place where pilots and travelers blended easily with locals finishing their day. Conversation carried beneath unobtrusive music, drinks appeared without ceremony, and strangers came and went often enough that nobody needed an explanation for being alone. Shade took another sip as her crimson eyes wandered toward the entrance, then across the room, observing without looking for anything in particular.

Perhaps that was what made the evening feel strange. For once, she had nothing to discover before she left. No investigation required another piece of evidence, no contract waited for completion, and nobody in the room had been reduced to a collection of movements she needed to understand. The next difficult thing waiting for her was entirely personal, and no amount of intelligence work would make walking into a room with Cassian for the first time in a year predictable.

Shade turned the glass slightly between her fingers and regarded what remained, then took another drink. She would go. There had never been any real question about that, and she wasn't interested in pretending otherwise. Apparently, though, after spending a year trying to reach Cassian, she could allow herself the minor indulgence of not rushing through the final few hours simply because the path was finally open.

For now, Corellia had a decent drink, a tolerable bar, and nowhere she was required to be until she decided otherwise. Shade found she could live with that for a little while.

Desmond Cartyom

 

[Desmond Cartyom]

Bliss. Ecstasy. Nirvana. Desmond's high reached a crescendo of which he had felt many times before but never got tired of. He was peaking, and hard. He exhaled and a ghostly wisp of smoke escaped his thin chapped lips. He threw the butt to the ground despite that a square rather foul trash compactor sat next to him. He extinguished it with the heel of his black combat boots and peered out the alley searching the coming and goings for any signs of authorities. Satisfied he was in no immediate danger the addict left the confines of the small passage and drifted in the crowd. His brain whirred with cybernetic efficiency. The cogs within his mind churned unabated despite the fact that his biological gray matter was swimming in a concoction of more than a few illicit substances.

The Chiss spied a bar in the distance, and the idea of a drink excited his already intoxicated mind. Then his mood grew sour at the thought of his ship's interface chirping its usual warnings about getting black out drunk and retching all over its restroom floors again... The day grew bleak and Desmond looked to the skies for any signs of precipitation. A fat droplet landed square between his brow, and it seemed fate had decided his lot. He sighed and knew he was probably going to sleep in the dumpster he spotted while smoking in the backstreet.

He wore a gray jumpsuit with its leg cuffs tucked inside his boots. His black bantha leather jacket reeked of several unpleasant odors, but Desmond refused to remove it. With the shoulders peeling and a few mismatched patches the Chiss looked every part the spacer wasteoid. He knew eventually the old Imperial bank accounts he had tapped into while he was in service would give out or be frozen by their new governing bodies. But he didn't need much. A shot of Corellian brandy and a glitterstim cigar were always only a few credits away. Who needs to eat out whenever your ships food processor is ran with a self-aware trash compactor's coding.

He sighed at his miserable state and remembered the good days. Flying through battlefields with Inferno squad in the name of the Empire and his dear friend Moff Tanomas. He entered the bar and spied something that caught his interest. Another Chiss. He paid the azure woman no mind for now. First things first. A drink. He approached the bar and tapped the counter. The bartender stared at him duly and Desmond slid a credit stick toward the man "Hair of the dog please," he said masking his Imperial accent flawlessly. The bartender smirked and eyed Desmond carefully. Deciding he wasn't trouble the human grabbed a glass and filled it with an amber liquid that made the Chiss mouth water. He set the glass before the alien and the Chiss lifted it to his nose.

He smelled the sharp odor of its pungent fiery ichor and placed the glass to his lips. He drank greedily and felt the burn of its sweet ambrosia. He slid another credit stick to the bar tender. This one longer. Much longer. "I'll take the whole bottle," The bartender took the stick and observed it carefully. "It's good... I promise," Des finished with a devilish grin. The bar tender took a brown bottle from an unseen cabinet beneath the bar table and handed it to the smiling Chiss. Desmond was old. Very old, but perhaps if he put on a good enough show for his target he wouldn't need to sleep in the dumpster after all. He slowly stalked over to his prey and eyed her cautiously. She was very unassuming. Desmond didn't think twice about her as he continued his hunt.

"Care for a drink kinsman," He asked with a Corellian drawl accentuating the drink "The names Desmond, but you can call me Des,"

Shade