Private We Do Serve Their Kind Here

[Sarn Ardeskian]

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So, there it was.​

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This morose man hadn't lost just any run of the mill lover, he'd lost thee lover. The one, the only, the mate of his soul.​

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Well, that explains a lot, Sarn was quick to decide, as he set his smoking cigarra down and reached for the nearly empty bottle, refilling his glass without delay and topping Crix's off as well. Regardless of how this conversation continued - although, to be honest, the bodyguard wasn't sure it even should at this point, at least not with this sensitive subject at its core - another strong drink was needed. 'When in doubt, drown the world out,' his older brother had often said, when things hadn't gone the way he had wanted them to, which, in his case, had been far too often to count.​

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That always seemed like sound advice in the moment, but, even now, Sarn could tell that that wouldn't do the trick here. He'd opened a can of slippery space slugs and now he had to deal with it, even if it meant digging his hole a little deeper.​

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"I didn't, sir," is all he had to offer, feeling no need to apologize for something he had little control over.​

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Up until this moment, everyone, including his boss, had more or less skirted around the topic of Toby. Had he thought it a serious matter? Sure, from what he could piece together, it had been a tragic ending for someone far too young; however, had he known just how important the man was, he probably would've avoided this conversation like one does an unruly asteroid field. Going in blind was akin to a death wish, and Sarn wasn't ready to call it quits just yet.​

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"Perhaps a toast is in order, to honor those we've lost?"​

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[Crix Meriet]

There it was indeed ...

A dead body lay between them. Figuratively yes but in many ways literally too. For Crix Toby was everywhere, there was nary a thing in all of existence that he could not tie into Toby in some way. Crix had made large parts of his life about his beloved and many of the choices that had changed the trajectory of his life had been rooted in protecting or caring for Toby. Even his usurping of the crown of Isis had involved some degree of safeguarding Toby. The queen had threatened to hurt him and that he could not allow. Crix had forced himself not to consider that the way the queen proposed to hurt Toby was by revealing something Crix was doing but in casting that truth into the shadows he had forced it to grow monstrous teeth.

Would Toby be dead if he hadn't been king for a year and put a target on their backs? could they still be leaving quietly and happily if not for his pride?

Those were questions which kept him up at night and his answers were likely the reason that he was so Prickley. At least they had whiskey, the bottle was drained and it was plain that another was likely to be required. He regarded the dregs in the bottom of the bottle and the content of his glass as he listened. Sarn swore he had not known about Toby. Crix could not find his way to believing that. It seemed impossible for Sarn not to have heard that Crix had always had Toby and now he did not. Even if nobody on the ship spoke of Toby or his death in Crix's presence he assumed they did behind his back. Then there were the gossip holos. He was certain that Toby's death must have made some of those and Crix's absence from public life now was no doubt speculated upon on slow news days.

All the same what would saying all of that solve? very little. He could accuse Sarn of lying but if he was he would deny it and if he wasn't then nothing would change. It was clear enough in Sarn's face that he had not meant to stumble upon the sore topic. He also suggested a toast. Crix found himself disarmed by that. Sarn knew of Toby now so he would not have the same excuse again and even Crix could rein in his emotions for the sake of the toast. all the same, he was overwhelmed and found himself reaching over for the Cigara Sarn had laid down. Taking it up to his lips if no one stopped him and took a drag before putting it back and nodding.

"Yes" he lay his hands around his glass and lifted it "To those we have lost" he lifted the glass and would clink it to Sarn's if he had too before drinking. It burned all the more this time, perhaps the added significance had become more fiery.

The glass came back to the table with a clumsy thud and Crix wondered what ought to be said next. He daren't risk springing a trap by asking who Sarn had lost. Perhaps he should speak about Toby? he pondered that but opted not to unless asked.

"We need another bottle" he declared.

 

[Sarn Ardeskian]

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Sarn, having got the sense that the savage beast was mildly appeased for now - since his boss had elected to hold his tongue, instead of lashing out about his ignorance on all things Toby - lifted his glass and clanked it, appropriately so. That being said, the request for another bottle meant the morose man wasn't numbed nearly enough.​

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"Yes, sir," he was quick to reply, with a nod, after finishing off his share of the sharp liquor.​

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Taking his leave from the table, which included abandoning his cigarra that Crix had now claimed as his own, Sarn soon found himself not only standing at the bar, but practically rubbing shoulders with the Chiss. Getting a closer look at the fine specimen of a man, the Kuati couldn't help himself from taking inventory of his attributes, both favorable and, well, not so much. While his jet-black hair appeared to be both thick and wavy, it was also greasy. As for his skin, it had looked smooth from afar, especially under the bar's dim lighting, but up close and personal, it was disappointingly pockmarked and pimply. Oh, and, his scent? Unwashed. One could even say sour, which was a huge turn-off.​

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"A bottle of the same," he was quick to order as the serving droid approached, taking care not to make eye contact with the filthy vagrant he now had zero interest in.​

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Was he being too judgmental by going off of looks alone? Perhaps. But once the flaws were seen, it was hard to ignore them, plus, that scent! For the love of all the makers in the galaxy, spend some credits on upkeep!​

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Anywho.​

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Swiftly leaving the bar with bottle in hand, the second it was set before him, Sarn returned to the table. Settling in, he wasted no time in pouring them another round; however, just as he made a move to cap the bottle their crewmates returned. Rambling on about who had actually won, the Kuati simply sat back and enjoyed the show, especially since Sui was doing quite a nice job of dressing Cinna down.​

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[Crix Meriet]

Appeased was probably too generous. Cris' temper was in a lazy stage. He was not going rabid because he was not certain that Sarn was lying whatever he suspected. So for now to spare himself the turmoil Sarn got the benefit of the doubt. The issue was settled by the clinking of glassware and the instruction to fetch another bottle. Cris wondered to himself who was going to be footing the tab. He fully expected it would be him and between ship repairs and this bar, he anticipated a stinging night. All the more reason to numb himself.

Sarn rose from the table with an obedient nod and Cris let his eyes drift back to the poor abandoned cigarra.

He reached for it again slowly. Almost like a child sneaking cookies from the jar before dinner. In some ways he was, he was only meant to have one Cigaraa a day. Certainly, he was only meant to have his own. It was trashy to share and yet ... and yet he needed the relief of a second and saw no need to let the one discarded barely touched go to waste. Particularly as he saw Sarn looking over the chiss at the bar despite all he had said. Granted he seemed unsatisfied with what he found but still. It raised hackles. Self-loathing hackles and seeds were planted which could become resentment. People no longer respected him. Even his hired help did not honour him.

Seeing Sarn turn away and focus upon the droid barkeep he leant back in his seat and inhaled. Thinking to himself of better times and trying to cool his jets. This was his life now and he had to live with it but by the stars, he wished he did not. He longed for release and hopefully, this bottle would bring it. The sound of the bottle touching down on the table roused him and he opened his eyes and sat up "Did you find anything worth looking at on our Chiss friend's body ?" he asked dryly as he pushed his glass to be filled.

When the rest of the crew returned pulling with them the fall out of the latest instalment of the holo-darts battle of the ages Crix sank back a little and just drank. Waiting. Hoping for the buzzer of his com telling him that the ship was ready. His wallet would scream and bleed but at least he could get himself into the safe seclusion of his bed. It felt like hours of droll bickering as cook-hectored butler and Cris just drank.

the pounding buzz of the com on the table was a welcome break and Crix sprang up so fast he almost fell over, snatching up the bottle as he did and stumbling away "The ship is done, Ardeskian come on" The rest could stay if they wished but he was not wondering this crime-ridden cesspit without his guard. He swayed his way to the hanger with little event, whether by luck or the actions of his bodyguard, he did not know but he certainly did not pay much attention. Not still he stood before the ship again anyway. Vitra waiting with a datapad enclosing the bill.

"It's a doozy boss we had a busted ... oh you wouldn't understand but its not cheap, I did go with premium parts though ... I know you would want that"

Cris forced a smile "Of course" he grimaced as he took the bill "Only the best for a former king right?" He sighed looking down the list of part names and numbers. How was he meant to understand this gibberish?

 

[Sarn Ardeskian]

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It wasn't often that his boss moved with any sense of urgency, so when he sprung up from the table, nearly knocking it and its contents over, Sarn lifted a curious brow before coming to his own feet just as quickly. A subtle gesture is all it took to let the others know that he had this. They didn't need to bother tagging along right away. They could finish their drinks and, well, their bickering. For whatever reason - be it honor, reputation or a combination of the two - Cinna wasn't letting the loss go.​

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Following Crix out of the bar and into the dimly lit streets that weren't illuminated much more than the establishment itself, the guard in Sarn swiftly came to the surface. A quick scan with his cybernetic eye gave him just enough info to guide them along the safest path possible. With his enhancement he could more easily see those who lurked in the shadows, waiting to pounce on the unassuming.​

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"This way, sir," he would coax his semi-intoxicated companion as he began to veer this way or that.​

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Making it back to the ship in one piece, the Kuati was glad to see the Twi he considered not just a crewmate but a good friend. Vitra and he went back a few years, which was why he was so willing to consider this position without a second thought. He trusted her and her judgement, which was rare for a man who grew up in a society rife with deception. That being said, that society had afforded Sarn an excellent education in all things technical, so when the datapad came his way, he knew with a single glance how important these repairs were; however, as per usual, he downplayed his experience.​

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He was, after all, a mere merc from Bespin.​

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"How about we get you settled inside, sir?" he offered as he mirrored Crix's confused expression, all the while giving the tipsy man the support he appeared to need.​

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[Crix Meriet]

Crix had been ready and indeed keen to leave for at least the last hour. Probably longer, he had no great love for being amongst people anymore and he longed for the quiet and solitude of his compartment. His bed with its freezing cold left side. A side where love ought to lay but only grief covered. Hiden from public view he could let himself come apart. Perhaps some who had known the old him would say he had already come apart but they did not know or understand.

Even the simple act of sitting and drinking in relative quiet was exhausting, to say nothing of the chiss problem. He certainly did not relish having to sit through the bickering of his valet and chef. It was a darts game it did not matter. Did anything really matter? Crix used to think it did but he wasn't really sure anymore. He certainly didn't plan to stick around and find out why this game mattered in excruciating detail. So yes in leaving he found his speed.

He did not much care who followed but he supposed it was good that Sarn had. His welfare was after all the man's primary concern and they were hardly in the safest of places when one was drunk and ostensibly wealthy. Though Crix would come to see that he was not as wealthy as he used to be. Despite his generally combative demeanour, he was glad of the protection of his bodyguard and when Sarn began to guide him down winding paths he followed instructions without real issue. He had not survived all he had without learning to listen to his security.

In front of his ship and largely in the dark about what exactly he was paying for Crix found no help from Sarn in decoding the jibberish. His guard looked just as confused as he was but that was hardly a surprise, the man was a bodyguard and not an engineer. speaking of his own engineer was already loading things back onto the ship. He seemed as grumpy as Crix was but then he was always in a foul mood. Cris wondered whether he simply disliked his job or whether he was genuinely cursed with a disagreeable resting face.

He was pulled back to his own reality as the shipyard's droid came to secure payment. Its whirring tracks betraying that it was an older model, probably in need of some new parts. Sarn suggested they settle him inside and Crix nodded "Yes" he agreed "I am tired of people and this place but first I better pay this bill" That was not a pleasant prospect at all. As the droid rolled up in front of him he looked through his many varieties of Credit-Chip. Many bore ornate markings betraying that they used to hold large sums. Most no longer did.

He drew out a red chip first and presented it with false confidence. The droid whirred and then let off a grating tone of alarm.

"Insufficient funds" it screeched and Crix grumbled as anyone faced with a defective payment machine would.

"Bloody thing" he hissed and thrust a black chip at the droid. To his relief this time it worked. Crix felt cold all over and realised that his situation was becoming increasingly perilous. He needed a source of revenue soon or he really would have insufficient funds. Wallet away he turned to Sarn and lay a hand on the man's arm.

"Take me inside now" he commanded.

 

[Sarn Ardeskian]

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Paying repair bills was never a pleasurable affair, unless, of course, you were the one doing them. No matter how much one prepared for the worst, it never quite lived up to the reality of the situation. Somehow, someway, additional issues had a way of cropping up like a pack of unwanted mynocks looking to suck you dry, and, apparently, they'd already hit Crix's primary account.

Trying his best to keep a straight face as the droid practically overhead announced the lack of funds, Sarn's brow did raise more than a little as a result of the default.​

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So, he'd been correct in assuming that things weren't as sound as they seemed on the surface. An infusion of credits was needed here - and a serious one at that, thanks to these unexpected repairs - and the Kuati was willing to bet that a handful of produce runs weren't going to cut it. They were going to need something more lucrative - something with a bit more meat on the bone, so to speak - to stay afloat. But now was not the time to broach such a subject. No, in this moment, all Sarn needed to worry about was getting Crix settled inside.​

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Escorting his boss up the boarding ramp, it was only a matter of getting him through the double-wide blast door before he could be deposited in the ship's lounge; however, Crix's comment about being tired of people encouraged Sarn to take him a bit further, directly into his plush, private quarters.​

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"I'm no Cinna, thank the maker, but if you need help with those, sir...," he would kindly offer as he motioned to the man's fashionable footwear, having already settled him on the end of the oversized bed that nearly filled the well-appointed space from wall to wall.​

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[Crix Meriet]

Cris had a liquidity problem that much was unavoidable. If he tried he could no doubt source the money from his family or squeeze a little more from the people of Isis but neither was all that palatable. The people of Isis needed their funds for their grand experiment in democracy and it felt like an affront to Toby's memory to extort them. As for his brother, his money would come with enough strings to make abject poverty look the more appealing choice. He'd give Crix plenty of money but he'd expect some horrid task completed, he'd be assigned to run a prison for unruly slaves filled with horrors or something of that ilk. Not a life he wanted. So Cris would just have to find his own source of funds.

He'd be kidding himself if he tried to claim that some fruit was going to save him but it would be a start he supposed. A foundation he could work up from. Anything to avoid having to beg for money or to give up his lifestyle. The luxury around him was the last thread that had kept him sane. To give it up would probably kill him. If the embarrassment of the damn droid blaring did not kill him first. People that looked when the droid started stopped when Cris paid successfully. Many mutters of bloody old tin can were made and Crix at least managed to hide behind that.

All the same, he wanted to be inside as a matter of urgency. Away from people and noise and the damn smell of motor oil. HE felt a hand gently settle at the small of his back and urge him into the ship leaving Vitra to deal with the rest of the administration and perhaps to gather up the rest. They passed through the nerve centre of the ship and into the lounge. Crix had expected to be left there but he was not. Sarn continued to urge him on all the way to his room.

The bedroom still bore signs of Toby. Items that belonged to him were left untouched from the day he died. It was almost as if he was just away. His clothing still took up a quarter of the wardrobe, his brush still sat on the bedside. He was settled upon the end of the bed, tempted to simply tip himself back in a sprawl to wait for Cinna when he heard Sarn walking across the room. muffled by the carpet. HE raised a brow before the man offered to help him with his shoes, declaring that he was no Cinna. There was no second Cinna thank all the stars. Cris enjoyed his valet but the man could be a handful.

He didn't give a verbal answer at first simply lifting one foot out to Sarn.

"Who knows how long that man is going to mope about before he comes back" he sighed.

 

[Sarn Ardeskian]

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Sarn could count on one hand the number of times he'd been permitted inside this suite, and each of those had been during a swift security sweep that he made as part of his routine. Typically, when Crix and he - or any of the crew for that matter - needed to meet, they did so either in the nearby lounge or, more often than not, within the spacious observation deck, with the panoramic view, located on the upper level.​

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To be honest, if the Kuati had a choice, he'd rather be there than here. Being here felt confining, as well as...intrusive? Yes. That was the right word. It felt as if he were in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and not just because this was his boss' bedchamber, but because it was the very one he'd shared with his lover, whose presence could still be felt in nearly every corner.​

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Wouldn't it be less painful to remove the many reminders, or was it too soon? How long was too long when it came to grieving? How long had it been since he'd allowed himself to...​

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"I'm sure he'll get over it," Sarn managed to reply mid-thought. "Sui doesn't seem the type to ride a win into the ground."​

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Tending to Crix's shoes as he spoke, he was soon standing once more having knelt. That was about as far as he was willing to go in regard to his comfort. Cinna could tend to the rest when he returned.​

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"I should probably take my leave," he then decided as he began to make his way towards the door. "We wouldn't want to ruffle the man's feathers any further."​

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And that was that. There was no need to linger, no need to continue with the small talk.​

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Sarn out.​

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