Private The Bantha Conspiracy

[Scherezade deWinter]

Diarch Rellik

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Technically… Technically, Diarch Rellik had said that "Black Sun vessels that enter Diarchy space will be destroyed on sight". It was a sad statement that indicated the Diarchy had the means to tell which ships belonged to the Black Sun, as though they didn't have ways to get basically anywhere unseen. But intention still mattered.

Which was exactly why Scherezade decided to ignore the intent, and take her Giggledust right into Diarchy space, entering from the South and going straight until she reached Muunilinst. There was a spot there she remembered from old times, a small local place called the Wheezing Bantha. It was a place for meats, and bantha was naturally their specialty, and they also had three dozen types of bantha wings to offer. Scherezade remembered some of those options very fondly.

And just to add a wee bit more to her open personal brand of chutzpah, she sent the deets to Diarch Rellik himself, inviting him for lunch. She figured that the worst that could happen was they'd try to take her ship down, or herself in person, but she was prepared for that. Scherezade wasn't going to go down without a fight. Or rather, without lunch and then a fight. Or a fight and then lunch. Honestly, she wasn't picky. She also very much ignored the fact that she'd openly passed a few Diarchy ships on her journey, had waved at them from her cockpit, and they had done… Nothing? Maybe his orders weren't forwarded to them yet. Or her ship still registered as an Agent of Chaos vessel. Or a Confederacy vessel. She really didn't know. She was just... Being her glorious self the only way she knew how.

And here it was, the Wheezing Bantha. A restaurant wedged between two gigantic corporate towers, standing entirely in their shade. A neon sign flickered above the entrance, depicting a bantha wheezing dramatically one moment and flapping tiny wings the next. She entered, and the smell hit her like an angry lover's unwarranted slap with its spiky and smoky richness. People spilled in and out through the doors, everyone from miners to bankers to probably mercs, and she was almost certain a few people with illegal substances stashed across their body had passed by her as well.

Scherezade inhaled like it was a prayer, and smiled. Within moments she'd secured a table in the far corner, and then attached two more tables to it. They were going to need space if they wanted the good stuff, oh yeah.

Gingerly, she took her seat, and ordered everything off the menu, waving a few credit ships to make it also aesthetically pleasing. And then came the wait. She really hoped Rellik would be arriving quickly, her stomach was growling with demand, and if he let her wait too long, most of the table would be devoured before he set foot in the place.

 

[Diarch Rellik]

The Diarch entered wearing a sharp, tailored business coat over a dark tunic, something suited for meetings and trade halls, not dueling floors. His eyes skimmed the room once, found Scherezade immediately, and the grin that pulled at his mouth was instant.

There she was: tucked into a corner, three tables shoved together, half the menu already being marched toward her. The neon bantha wheezed overhead like it was dying of smoke inhalation.

Rellik made his way over, the amusement already in his voice by the time he slid into the seat across from her.

"Force, it's actually you," he said, shaking his head. "After that absolute disaster with the Black Sun? I was starting to think you and I were going to have to share a firing squad wall. Just from different people"

He let out a hearty laugh before his gaze dropped to the wings, piled like trophies.

"So tell me," he said, leaning back a little, "are you planning to ask if I'll approve a bantha-wing chain across Diarchy space again? Because I'm fairly sure I could talk at least one owner into a good sale price. Maybe even convince the Treasury to give you a cultural incentive tax break. Is it 'Diplomacy through food?'"

There'd been a moment, that first time they crossed paths, he'd been seconds from gutting her on principle alone.
Sith, criminal ties, the whole package. And somehow they ended up joking about her opening a restaurant franchise instead. Rellik reached for one of the wings she'd already ordered, turning it once before taking a bite.

His tone softened a notch.

"Good to see you again, Scherezade. Really. After all the chaos, this might be the sanest table we've ever shared."

He took another wing, already settling in.

"Tell me you at least warned the kitchen that you were ordering enough food to feed a platoon."

Scherezade deWinter

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Diarch Rellik was one lucky man. He had kept her waiting, but not so much that she'd started eating. In a rare display of self-control, she hadn't even licked a single wing by the time he showed up, and that had not been an easy feat. Still, despite her stomach's demand for attention, she flashed the man an ear-to-ear grin.

When he began speaking, she stopped holding herself back though. Three wings disappeared into her mouth, one immediately after the other, only to exit with shiny clean bones moments later. Relik mentioned something about sharing afiring squad from different sides, but she just shook her head, still chewing on her food.

They wouldn't have. Scherezade didn't like to rely on other people. If Relik would've given her a reason to undo him, she'd deal with it personally. And with her countless blades. Face to face was how she liked to take trash out, but to be fair, she didn't really see him as trash. The man had impressed her in his own way the first time they had met in Diarchy space, and she wasn't going to take him out on the whims of one bad meeting that ultimately didn't even matter as much as some thought it did.

And then came the offer for a bantha wing chain.

The Sithling chuckled. "No," she answered with simplicity, "but I'm definitely interested in opening a few Molto Morta branches in your space. I think the first one already went through the paperwork approval."

Sanest table? Again she grinned. It was rare that anyone said that about any table she was at, but she'd take the win.

"That wasn't chaos," she said almost sheepishly, "that was just bad table manners. Chaos typically looks better to those who don't die because of it."

Another set of wings. More chewing. Force, she didn't remember which of the bantha wings she'd had so far had come from her favourite pile. Didn't matter, she ordered another basket of every kind offered and considered adding another table to provide the real estate for it.

"If they can't handle me ordering this amount of food, they've got no right staying in business," the Sithling chuckled, "but anyway, what the krak was that? There were more than a few moments where I expected that hairy wookie to chop your head off or something. I thought you people are supposed to be good at all this politics stuff."

Though there very obviously was judgement in her words, her tone remained casual, almost amused. The woman had no interest in telling him off. She'd also had a few similar conversations with others who had been there. A final conclusion had yet been reached by her.

"Also since we're such good friends, I fully expect to maintain my freedoms coming in and out of Diarchy space," she continued, "unless of course, one of your underlings wants to make it hard for me. I'm cool with a champion duel in that case just to keep things moving."