Bedtime Stories

[Uncle Atton]

Years From Now

Atton braced himself as the counter on his nav console scrolled it's way through the last few digits before zero. The jolting transition from lightspeed to realspace always struck him like a hammer blow to the chest, and with the amount of unkindness the years had shown to his heart, he considered it an all-too-prudent precaution.

When his eyes finally braved the starfield again, Susevfi hung before him like a pristine jewel, suspended above the turbulent rusty storms of the giant Suarbi VII. From this far out, the rippling bands of raging gas looked like the mottled etching of marbled stone. It was strange that something so devastating and dangerous could appear so beautiful and peaceful from a distance; so strange that nature had provided such a perfect metaphor for galactic politics.

He sighed as his gnarled and weathered hands worked the controls of his ship. His ship. He had not had the heart to abandon the Crimson Tide name that Captain Vittore had bestowed, but beneath the moniker and the crimson red paint was the same craft that had been stolen from him all those years ago. It was strange to think how that one event, that one shift in the fortunes of his younger self had helped throw his life onto the course it had eventually taken. An idle thought meandered through his mind, wondering what course events might have taken had that connection never been forged. Would this same future have found a way to exist, fate or the Force nudging towards the outcome that they desired; or would the absence of that single crime cause ripples to propagate and deprive him of the riches that awaited him on the surface below?

At a glance, Atton Kira did not appear to be a wealthy man. Despite his station, despite the prestige usually associated with his placement amongst the Galactic Senate, he did not bundle himself in the trappings of importance. To the untrained eye, he appeared to be a simple old man; and to the trained eye, he seemed exactly the same. His clothes were smart, tailored, but simple; force of habit more than anything else kept him dressed in Okar suits. His eyes peered through prescription spectacles, compensating for his failing sight with the same means as the common man, not the laser solutions of those with money to burn. His face was entangled with runaway growth; not the kind of beard that enshrouded or concealed, but rather one that amplified each and every smile, softened each and every expression.

It was not poverty that dictated his actions; a lifetime of thrift and financial responsibility had carved out a nest egg large enough to hatch a fully grown krayt dragon. He simply spent what he needed to, and nothing more: saved the rest for those whose needs exceeded his, or whose wants he was all too glad to provide for. It baffled some, but what they failed to realise was that credits aside, Atton Kira felt like the richest man alive, purely because of the treasure that waited for him on the planet below.

The Tide swept low over the eastern sea, a wake spraying up beneath the gentle caress of repulsorlifts. The blackness of a night unmarred by overzealous population stretched out in all directions, broken only by the twinkling lights of Yumfla spread across the coastline ahead. From the way the surface winds nudged insistently at his ship, it felt almost like the Tide herself longed to dive beneath the waves like the sleek aquatic creatures that had inspired her design. Atton resisted the urge and steered into a lazy starboard arc, sailing gracefully towards the silhouette of the Governor's Palace that loomed tall against the inky sky.

Often, Atton had wondered by the looming structure had been allowed to remain standing, considering all it stood for. Had the Treaty all those years ago not chased the Galactic Empire away from this sector, their imperialist heel might still have been upon this world's throat. The one time Atton's wonderings had become words however, the Saarai-kaar had responded with the same elegant simplicity that he always did:

Our memories make us who we are. We must keep them, no matter how dark they may be.

The Crimson Tide swept over the cluster of outbuildings that surrounded the lower courtyard, nestling herself with familiarity atop the same cobbled stones that so often bore her weight. Atton's eyes peered at the palace that towered above him, but despite his proximity it was not his destination. It had been two decades since anyone had claimed the residence as their own; since then it had been converted into a seat of government, a city hall, a library, a school, a temple, a clinic; everything it could possibly be aside from a seat of oppression. Yet again, the Senator mused, another metaphor for galactic politics: the endless quest to rebuild a pure society inside the shells left behind by the Empire.

He abandoned the cockpit and strode for the ramp, the tiredness that usually marred his gait a little less pronounced. His head told him that it was the gravity here, lower on this moon than on the core worlds he was used to; but his heart told him that it was home. Perhaps, he supposed, it was a little of both.

Three figures waited in the stone courtyard, each one a striking archetype of everything they were: the Jedi in his cocoon of robes, wizened by years that had been unfairly kind; the Jensaarai in his cortosis plate, looking more like the knights of old than any Jedi Knight ever had; and the Mandalorian, the beskar of his people born across the broad shoulders of a warrior. More than that, these men were part of the treasure, the riches that Susevfi kept safe for him: friends. Family.

"Hello, boys."

A smile broadened across Atton's features in stark contrast to the familiar, though dulled edge of harsh sarcasm in his words.

"I take it the I don't need an escort speech from the last few dozen times hasn't sunk in yet? I may be old, but I can find my way home just fine on my own, you know."

[Master Ath-Thu'ban]

For a moment, just a small one, one fraction of insignificant time, the man in the Jedi robes looked - not shocked, but maybe, just slightly offended. "Who said anything about an escort?"

It was with no small amount of flourish that his arms went from being comfortably crossed over his chest to suddenly drop to his sides as an exasperated sigh left him. "What? You think we get paid for this sort of thing?"

The Jedi Master knew he was pushing his luck, but the sarcastic tones felt far more comfortable to encase himself with than the garb of an Order he still felt somehow unworthy of rejoining the ranks of. It had been years since he had dedicated himself towards the Light Side, feeling that the trapeze act over the line that some of his associates did was far too risky for one that had strayed so completely at one time. It was all well and good for some, but Master Ath-Thu'ban had learned the hard way that sometimes you had to go back to basics before you could begin exploring the infinite possibilities. Commander Nil'vak would probably find some way to harp on him about the near vacuousness of imposing such limitations at some point later, as he always seemed to manage to do whenever he was not lost in his endless studies. It was a lucky thing that now was not one of those times.

It was also the same luck that had to thank for his current position, shaking his head at the Senator that stood before him and his two associates. A few even steps were taken towards the - endlessly amusingly - older looking man before the Jedi Master clasped a hand to Atton's shoulder.

"When will you learn that greeting family when they arrive isn't seen as an obligation?"

[Commander Koine]

"You're a Jedi."

If there was such a thing as a good-natured growl, that was what tumbled from the gruff vocals of the Mandalorian. After all these years, Amos Iakona would have thought his sentimental attachment to that word - Jedi - would have faded completely, but it still lingered like a flickering ember in the darker recesses of his mind. It was not that he considered Ath-Thu'ban unworthy of his title; he had proven himself worthy of it countless times. Nor was regret for the chosen path that had led him away from his mother's legacy, and into his father's. He felt proud to bear his title; honoured by the responsibility of being Clan Koine's patriarch and chief protector. And yet, the tiniest flicker: not jealousy for what was lost, but rather a lament for the things left behind.

Something subtle occurred; the slightest shift of expression, tugging at the corner of the Commander's mouth. It might have gone unnoticed were it not for the fact that it was so foreign. The smile was for the nigh omniscient Senator rather than anyone else; Amos had learned a long time ago that attempts to hide things from Atton Kira were futile.

"You don't get paid for anything."

[Inyos Starwind]

The Saari-kaar felt his emotions tug him in two; frustration at the bickering, and yet an odd stab of joy. One inspired the urge to frown, the other to smile; his expression fought to maintain it's mask of neutrality between the two, but Inyos couldn't help the faint tug of smile that snuck to the corner of his lips. It was Mal'achi's words that had clinched it; or rather, his word.

Family.

Inyos stepped forward, finally allowing the pretence of emotionlessness fall away. The smile spread across his features eagerly, the expression extending to his eyes as a good natured hand settled itself upon the Senator's shoulders. He considered his memories of the man, the experiences they'd shared at the times their paths had crossed, lifetimes of change seeming to pass between them. The impetuous youth; the master of secrets; and now the doting uncle.

When people thought of Susevfi, their minds so often turned to the Jensaarai: wielders of the Force defying mainstream philosophy by juggling the lightness and dark inside themselves. What people failed to realise was that every being that had ever lived, Force sensitive or otherwise, was confronted with that same challenge every single day: every emotional impulse held back or let to flourish; every restrained swell of anger, or indulged moment of rage. It was less about balance, and more about choice: Susevfi was a place where people came to learn how to be who they chose to be, surrounded by people who had shared the same struggles. Fallen Jedi, redeemed Jedi, friend, foe, family: everyone was welcome here, invited and embraced; the only thing unwelcome was judgement.

"If you want to be able to sneak in and out with anonymity, Old Friend," Inyos offered in a tone with more softness and warmth than his younger self could ever have mustered, "You should stop doing such a good job of earning everyone's affection while you are here."

[Uncle Atton]

The old Atton might have scowled, acted the grump at having been verbally outmanoeuvred. He might have had some scathing comeback to reassert his intellectual superiority; might have drawn from some secret he'd gleaned or bought to thoroughly put the lapsed Knight and his entourage in their place. The old Atton had worn his loneliness as a badge, driving others away in self defense and because it added to his mystique. No one person could take all the credit for convincing him otherwise, but those who had contributed to him becoming a better man were family now; flesh and blood be damned.

"I think I liked you more when you were stoic," Atton countered, but there was no effort into turning it into sarcasm.

He heaved out a sigh, but all it served to do was purge his body of anything even remotely negative, and leave behind a sense of warm, comfortable relief.

"Well I suppose, since you're here," he muttered, still clinging on to the last vestiges of a false front that no one really believed any more. Another smile tugged at his features. "Hurry up and get my things off the ship, will you? I'm exhausted."

* * *

One of the things Atton Kira respected most about the people of Susevfi was that balance was not merely a philosophy; it was a way of life. From the perspective of the outside galaxy, Inyos Starwind had every right to dwell in the palace whose shadow Atton had just walked from; but in the opinion of Inyos and those who shared his beliefs, he had no more rights than anyone else. To him, leadership of the Jensaarai was a honour and a privilege; something he felt obligated to earn and justify with his words and deeds each and every day. It entitled him to nothing; it was it's own reward.

Like everyone else in Yumfla, and in the settlements beyond the capital, everyone was afforded the accommodations they required, based on their needs. As young men and women came of age, apartments were made available, if they wanted them. New couples were found a suitable home; new families a home with rooms in which their children could grow. When nothing could be found, they improvised; annexes were built, buildings extended, new homes constructed if they needed to be. Materials were provided by the state, labour came from volunteers; the Mandalorians of Clan Koine were particularly prolific in that regard. Their code of ethics had bled into and bred with the Jensaarai beliefs: whether it was labour, war, or anything else, on Susevfi those who could did for those who could not. Currency still existed; craftsmen still sold their wares and were compensated fairly; but this world was one community, several thousand sentients strong, and they would with complete willingness ensure that everything needed was catered for.

As such, Atton's home was simple, and yet also vast. It had not always been so: the courtyard at it's heart had once been surrounded by numerous homes; but after one too many times crossing from house to house in torrential rain for the meals the occupants shared, the dividing walls had disappeared, the spaces between had been bridged and annexed, and the complex was now a sprawling network of interconnected rooms; some private; some shared; all one home.

He paused as he reached the archway that separated the courtyard from the street, fingers lingering over the letters HOUSE ATH-THU'BAN carved into the stone, the same bittersweet smile as ever ghosting across his features.

Tearing himself away, and bidding his farewells to his escorts, Atton entered through the doorway closest to his room and private study, tucked away in one of the corners closest to the street; and not for the first time he made the mistake of considering himself safe. It took the gentle nudge of an instinct to draw his attention in the direction of the corridor that led to other rooms; fortunate timing for his old eyes to catch a glimpse of the two plumes of hair peering from around the corner before retreating in panic at the prospect of being seen.

Atton turned, arms folded across his chest, staring directly at where the children were concealed in anticipation of their next covert attempt at reconnaissance. First one head peeked and then the other; the higher of the two recoiled in surprise, stumbling onto his brother who collapsed under the unexpected extra weight.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" Atton asked, trying his best to sound stern rather than pleased at the prospect of the infants breaking curfew to welcome him home.

He had no idea how they moved so fast, but an instant later the tangle of brothers had extracted themselves from each other, raced down the hall, and clamped themselves around his legs so tight that he couldn't have pried them off even if he'd wanted to.

"Mom said you might come see us if we were still awake when you got here," the eldest blurted out, a well-conceived and well-prepared excuse instantly ready to go, the same as ever.

Atton arched an eyebrow. "Mom should have known better than to set you up with a loophole like that," he countered.

The elder brother just grinned.

It took more effort than he would have liked, but Atton ignored the protests of his tired and aching joints as he bent down, the boys allowing themselves to be transferred from legs to arms as Atton shifted them onto his shoulders. With long determined strides he marched his way down the corridor, ignoring the wide-eyed look of surprise from Inyos as he passed through his kitchen, and trudged on through the labyrinth to the children's room. With a heave he deposited one on each bunk, and retrieved the hat that the younger brother had stolen in transit and was using to cover the majority of his giggling head.

More reluctant stern was injected into his voice. "The sooner you sleep, the sooner it will be morning," he insisted, "And the sooner you can tell me all about everything that has happened since I've been gone."

Atton wasn't sure that even Commander Koine could have withstood the desperate, pleading face that the boys threw in his direction. "Story?" the younger asked, hopefully.

It was an old game, but an effective game; request a bedtime story to stall for time before sleep, and make the adult who refused seem like the monster because of it. Atton might have been annoyed, if he could shake the frustrating sense of pride at their resourcefulness.

He faked another sigh. "A story?" He shook his head, more pretend reluctance as he strode to the armchair that the boys' parents had graciously left waiting for the victims of this routine. He ran a thoughtful hand across his forehead, pushing the hat he'd just reclaimed back onto the crown of his head. "Let me see -"

He racked his mind for something appropriate: something short, something light, something with monsters, with heroes, with thrilling heroics, a happy ending -

"Ah!"

A smile split across his features. "This," he said, easing himself in the cushions to become more comfortable, watching the boys wriggle into position to listen, "Is the story of how I met your mother."

[Atton Kira]

Cloud City - 10 ABY

Atton Kira strode through the corridors of Cloud City with purpose. Determination furrowed his chiselled brow; frustration bunched the muscles in his chiselled jaw. He was on a warpath, but instead of marching towards battle, he was parading away from defeat. A string of expletives tumbled from his lips, cursing the bad news he had received.

Working at the Ison Lounge had been more than just a source of income. The bar made him easily accessible to clients, and provided a convenient public place that was secure and frequently swept for surveillance where clandestine meets could take place. Being a barman not only made him approachable to drunken residents of Cloud City who wanted to vent their frustrations and secrets; it also allowed him to move about unseen, easily overhearing conversations without those speaking even knowing they were being observed. The lounge wasn't integral to his work, but it was convenient; so many corners cut, so many solutions found; and under the casually indifferent scrutiny of Black Sun, he'd been left to his own devices.

Not so any more. For reasons he had thus far been too enraged to uncover, ownership of the Holiday Towers casino and resort had passed from the paws of Arriana Rezner into the greasy, slimy hands of a Hutt. Atton was not as prone to racism or xenophobia as most of the members of his species who languished under Imperial rule, but the Hutts just left him feeling like he badly needed to shower. It wasn't their appearance, wasn't even the literal oozing residue they left on everything they touched; but rather the figurative slime that coated their every dealing. It felt weird to favour one cadre of corrupt, immoral, murderous gangsters over another but there it was. Perhaps it was the Hutt's reputation for meddling; perhaps it was their lack of subtlety; perhaps it was something high-brow, like an aversion to being affiliated with any sort of politically-aligned group. Whatever the explanation or justification was, the reason for his current anger; and his current unemployment.

His words from last night lingered in his mind.

You can take your damned job, Ambassador, and shove it up whatever orifice it is that you slimy bastards excrete out of.

The worst part of his explosive exit from Holiday Towers was that it also robbed him of the opportunity to drown his sorrows in the Ison Lounge. His apartment didn't offer much in the way of an alternate venue either; when you spent all day with just about every alcoholic beverage in the known galaxy within arm's reach, there didn't seem to be much point in keeping his home stocked with booze. He'd had half a mind to storm down to his private landing bay and raid Vittore Montegue's ship for alcohol; but with the amount of time the bounty hunter had been hanging around twiddling his thumbs these last few weeks, he doubted there was even a drop of anything drinkable left aboard.

Apparently something else his apartment was sorely lacking in was caf. Atton was not a morning person per se, but he possessed enough strength of character that on the days where he had worked the morning shift he was able to motivate himself out of bed fast enough to collect a bucket the size of a small child of the stuff from Stratobucks on the way; and on the days where he hadn't worked the morning shift, why the hell would he want to be awake anyway?

This morning was different though; and a sleepless night of frustration demanded copious quantities of caf; and possibly also cake. To cater for the latter, he changed his usual walking autopilot course to the Stratobucks on the corner of 8th and Nimbus, and instead aimed for the much larger bistro on the shopping concourse. It would be crowded yes, but tables were scattered across that section of the promenade; and the prospect of standing glowering in a queue didn't seem like quite the same hell it normally did so early in the mornings.

What he didn't factor into his plan was the notion that familiar faces might be lurking in Stratobucks' promenade bistro; in particular a certain morally ambiguous half-Zeltron who looked about as pleased at the prospect of being awake at this time of day as he was.

Ordinarily, Atton might have avoided her. The most she would have received was a passing grunt as he continued on his way. He didn't dislike people, or social interactions per se; but there was a time and a place, and that time and place was usually opening hours at the Ison Lounge. Today though, he felt like talking; or at least grumbling; and Emelie Shadowstar was as good a person as any to be on the receiving end of that.

"Excuse me," he asked, trying to sound as far from aggressive as he could muster. "Is this seat taken?"

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Mornings, as far as Emelie was concerned, were one of the worst inventions ever. There was no reason to not simply allow ones self to sleep in until your body naturally woke itself up, had time to stretch and lounge about in bed until it found the proper motivation to leave, and then get on with the day. Oh sure, not everyone could have that luxury but Emelie was pretty sure she'd paid her dues enough to earn such a right. The real problem with mornings sometimes though, was that they didn't actually count. Not when you actually hadn't gone to sleep the previous night. Emelie enjoyed a good cup of caf as much as the next person but sometimes, sometimes you just had to settle for less than best and go off of what would just keep you functioning. Now was such a time. While she had managed fairly quickly to stock her new apartment on Cloud City with all the necessary amenities and desirables that could begin to sooth a broken heart and a bruised ego, there just wasn't enough stimcaf in the entire verse to begin helping cope with the long lonely nights. Well, no where except Stratobucks, apparently.

So it was with mediocre cup of liquid stay-awake in hand and rather dour thoughts in mind that she found herself suddenly interrupted mid-self pity by one Atton Kira: shady information broker and recently unemployed barkeep. Of course Emelie had heard about that. She tended to keep tabs on just about everyone she considered an acquaintance. Something told her that Kira wouldn't exactly begrudge her curiosity. Not that she was the type to bring it up and parade around with what she'd found out. Not this damned early at least.

She nodded towards the empty seat across from her. "By all means, make yourself comfortable. You know, as reasonable as possible at this hour."

[Atton Kira]

"When you're used to spending as much time on your feet as I am," Atton countered, with what he hoped would be playful sass but came out more like frustrated sarcasm, "Even sitting down at all counts as comfortable."

Realising his failure to achieve polite conversation norms, he gave the effort another shot; tried to muster a friendly smile as he sat, but ended up looking more like he was in pain. Clearly this was not going to be a good day, and he elected to abandon all pretence of being in anything but an utterly foul mood, and let his face settle into an expression that was equal parts annoyed at life and annoyed at being awake.

Even fatigued, his brain was still active; his eyes observed the scale of the caf cup Emelie was nursing, larger than she would normally have ordered based on what he'd discerned from casually perusing her financial records; and cheaper too, a drink of convenience and necessity rather than deliberate choice. Subtle glances picked up other cues: lids a little heavier than normal; slight darkening beneath the eyes; a hint of a slump in her shoulders; casual, disinterested fidgeting from her fingers; the same jeans as yesterday but paired with a top picked for warmth and comfort rather than style. There were more, and they all pointed to one thing.

"Trouble sleeping?" he asked; he didn't need her to answer, and he wasn't particularly interested in her response one way or another; but a single proximate source of noise would make it easier for him to drown out the asinine prattling of the patrons at the surrounding tables; that was enough of a perk to tolerate a little small talk.

[Emelie Shadowstar]

"Could ask you the same question." A half smirk accompanied the words before it dropped as she brought the cup of caf to her lips. A not entirely pleasant drink later and she found the strength the shrug one of her shoulders. "Of course the same could really be said for anyone in our professions as of late in this town."

And just like that she steered the conversation away from anything personal. Getting into that sort of discussion with Atton was like willingly throwing yourself into the Pit of Carkoon. Which, Emelie reminded herself, was exactly what she had been trying not to do in some sort of metaphorical cryptic nonsense that still frustrated her to no ends. Regardless, she knew very well what the former barkeep could pick up about a person without them offering anything extra and to be honest Emelie just wasn't in a sharing type of mood.

She frowned at the cup in her hand before setting in on the table between them. A few quick movements later and the flask she had in a pocket had been marginally emptied into the cup, a small swirl as it returned her hand was given an an attempt at mixing the contents. Another more satisfied drink was had before she held the flask out in Atton's direction in a casual manner. There wasn't a lot of good to come from mixing stimulants with depressants but she figured neither one of them really gave a damn about the counteracting effects at that point in time.

"So... Hutts, huh?" It was a more generalized question, but Emelie knew Kira would take it how he wanted. "Guess I just picked a great time to move into the neighborhood. This place is becoming all sorts of popular."

[Atton Kira]

Atton offered a non-committal grunt.

Hutts.

That was a tirade that Emelie didn't want to provoke, and out of courtesy towards her tiredness and her own unpleasant situations, he expended far more effort on keeping it at bay than he otherwise would have; the additive that Emelie had shared was more than a little helpful in that regard.

What frustrated him most about the Hutt was the way he had sprung from nowhere. Rath Ouishii Dae; the entire Ouishii kajidic; they were minor, off his sensor screen, not known for more than some minor business investments in out of the way corners of the galaxy. They were wealthy, but relatively harmless in the grand scheme of things: not worth the effort of investing or cultivating the infrastructure to exploit them for information.

Then the Treaty had happened, and suddenly harmless and out of the way transformed into perfectly poised and opportunistic. With the collapse of the Corporate Sector, and with so much of the Outer Rim being declared either Alliance or neutral territory, many of the staunch Imperial corporations had lost access to holdings and subsidiaries in half the galaxy, and were being forced to cash out: either through sale to private investors, or to the new Alliance government. It had taken surprisingly little for Ambassador Wrath to convert his middling investments into controlling shares; it hadn't quite happened overnight, but the relentless expansion of the Ouishii Kajidic's portfolio had caught the entire business world off guard. Ubrikkian Industries had been the first, lifted gently from the hands of Kuat Drive Yards almost as a sympathetic kindness to the board of directors; now, without access to his data feeds, Atton was struggling to keep track.

Perhaps what frustrated Atton the most was that, given all of the finances and resources he'd tucked away instead of squandering, he might have been able to do the same had he possessed the foresight. Being out manoeuvred by a Hutt was painful to his pride.

With exactly the amount of intense effort that one would expect of a creature so large and ungainly, it took considerable effort for Atton to shove Ambassador Wrath from his mind, but he succeeded; slammed the door behind him; and barricaded it with a swift tangent.

"So you're staying?" he asked casually, though it was a question he didn't need an answer to: the recent charges on Emelie's credit account weren't those of a woman just planning to be on Cloud City for a short visit.

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Emelie allowed a small nod of her heads to come just seconds before she spoke. "Seems that way. Really I only had three options; Return to Coruscant and deal with a bunch of 'I told you so's, stay here, or..." She allowed herself a slight shudder. "join the Family Business over on yonder party planet."

A beat passed as she took another sip from the cup of caf before her eyes widened just slightly before a playful smirk formed. "Not that kind of business."

A deep breath was taken as she forced herself to try and push more of the continuous fog from her mind and actually wake up. The fact that Atton was sitting across from her wasn't exactly an entirely unwanted situation. Truth was, her remaining on Bespin did come with a bit of a problem. The other two options came with a certain amount of guaranteed fallback, genuine opportunities to pick up either where she left off or let someone hand her something new. Cloud City wasn't just the less shameful of the three - it was the one that posed the greatest challenge and for some reason that appealed to her. If anyone was going to help her understand how to get a foothold or find that special niche that she could edge her way into, it was Kira. Loathsome as she found the prospect, Emelie had realized that the information broker was her golden ticket, her one possible source of advise that would actually understand where she was coming from and where she wanted to go. Gods how she hated relying on others.

"What about you? Planning on sticking around as well? I mean, really, if you're going to skip town at least let me know so I can try and find a new place for our little mutual friend." She looked away for a moment, letting her fingertips idly drum against the side of her cup. "Of course if you're staying that would be good to know as well. Lets me know I don't have to try and get as much information about this place out of you as quick as possible. Much rather take my time, more enjoyable for everyone that way."

[Uncle Atton]

* * *

"No way."

There was more indignation in the elder brother's protest that Atton had even realised the small creature could muster. It was enough to make Atton's eyebrows climb; he pushed his spectacles into a better position in front of his widened eyes.

"No way?" he echoed, defying the boy to interrupt again.

Unfortunately, the boy had too much of his mother's stubbornness to back down. The scowling frown was hers too, though the arms across his chest reminded him of someone else entirely. "There is no way," he insisted, "That Auntie Em tried to flirt with you, or whatever you're trying to hint at. No way."

Atton mirrored his expression and posture. "And why not?" he challenged, trying to inject a little hurt into his voice.

"Well for starters, you're like, a bajillion years old." To hear the boy's tone, it didn't even sound like an exaggeration; even so young he was so sure of himself, so sure of the absolution of every believed fact that tumbled from his mouth. "And two, Auntie Em is way too pretty."

The boy's eyes widened in horror as he realised the words he had just uttered. The tips of his ears took on a decidedly pinkish hue. "I mean, she's okay looking. For an old person."

"Of course she's pretty," the younger brother contributed helpfully, with so much exasperation in his voice that you didn't even need to see his eyes to know they were rolling. Wriggling to the edge of the top bunk, he hung himself over, suspended upside down to deliver a slack-jawed stare of judgement over his brother's stupidity. "She's a princess! Or somethink."

The younger brother's certainty faded at the end of his sentence, and the elder saw his opportunity to strike and exploit. "She is not a princess," he insisted.

"Then what is she?" his brother countered, throwing himself back onto the mattress with a theatrical sigh.

The elder boy's eyes narrowed, willing laser beams to shoot out from between his lashes and burn a hole into the back of his brother's head. "Shut up, Danny," he grumbled.

Atton tried his hardest to conceal his amusement. "Are you two done?" he teased, "Or would you like more time to discuss? I can always finish the story some other time."

"No, no!" the elder brother replied, with frantic terror at the prospect of their sleep avoidance strategy being thwarted so soon. "Keep going," he insisted. "Just, skip the boring stuff and get to the cool part with the guns and the monsters."

"The cool part?" Atton huffed, exaggerating a scowl. He shook his head. "Uncle tells the story," he insisted. "Nephew shuts his cake hole."

He sighed.

"Now, where was I...?"

[Atton Kira]

* * *

Was he staying? That was a question he hadn't even begun to let himself contemplate, because it raised so many others in it's wake. Why had he even come here in the first place? Why had he abandoned Nar Shaddaa, the hub of all things seedy and underworld, in favour of a sleepy little backwater out near the unfashionable edge of the galaxy? What would he do if he stayed, to while away the dull and monotonous hours that constituted far too much of the space between sleep? If he left, where would he go? Back to Nar Shaddaa? Back to the Core, to try his luck on Corellia? Somewhere in Alliance space perhaps, to take advantage of the mistrust and opportunism amongst their new Senators? One of the handful of neutral worlds scattered beyond the edges of borders?

Part of him wrestled with the notion that leaving Nar Shaddaa in the first place had been a mistake. Certainly, the part of his mind that advocated blame for Sadie K'Vesh's situation was a strong supporter of that sentiment. He'd left to try and cultivate connections with the Alliance, which had failed. He'd fallen back on the good graces of Black Sun, and look where that had landed him. His ventures collapsed even before he could establish them, the galaxy apparently refusing to allow him to extend his reach any further than it already stretched.

Then, there was the biggest question of all: was there even space for a man like him in the galaxy that the Alliance and the Empire had created? It was only a matter of time before the two extant powers turned their attention away from paranoia towards each other, and focused instead on the insidious criminal elements that infected their worlds. Was there space amid that much scrutiny for an old man selling secrets from behind a bar? If not, then what purpose was there for Doctor Atton Kira?

His attention refocused on Emelie Shadowstar. She was everything he was not: beautiful, endearing, charismatic, corporate; she had made a career out of the illusion that she belonged in the well dressed world of galactic business, while at the same time dabbling in the underworld with reasonable success. The fact that she was here on Cloud City instead of in an Imperial prison cell was perhaps more luck than skill, and as recent events had shown her actions hadn't endeared her to everyone; but there was a legitimacy to her that Atton simply lacked the genes for.

Mind streaming through possibilities already, he ignored Emelie's question and posed one of his own.

"If you could make a career out of anything," he asked, as casually as he could muster, "Legal or otherwise, what would you do? Assuming money were no object."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

An eyebrow arched as she let a sidelong glance linger on him. It wasn't a question she really had considered, which was strange given that most of her life Emelie seemed to know exactly what she wanted. There were so many things she'd simply fallen into because they worked. The conflict between the Empire and the Rebellion had made all sorts of opportunities crop up. Sad thing was, they hadn't ever been her passion. Oh sure, there were credits to be had in gunrunning and spice dealing, but neither was exactly one of those things you woke up in the morning and felt good about. Not that she exactly had qualms with them either.

"Oh, little of this, little of that..." It was a stalling answer and she knew it. More to the point she knew Atton knew it. Before he could call her out she let out a small sigh and slouched somewhat in her seat and ran a fingertip along the edge of the cup in other hand. "Never really thought about it, I suppose. I like... getting things for people. For all I've ever dealt with moving before, I do have to admit that it's always been the more unusual requests that have been the more satisfying. Exotic items, one might say. There's always the thrill of finding the hard to find, getting your hands on it before someone else..."

"High-end imports... I guess you could say." Emelie gave a small satisfactory nod, not entirely pleased with her answer but figured it'd be about the best a sleep deprived mind could come up with on demand. "Of course, I've always wanted to own my own series of night clubs and bars as well. But I think that must run in the blood or something..."

Her words trailed off as the unspoken ran by her thoughts. Another always wanted that for a time had been filled. Lynaria... a vineyard, a private villa... Emelie forced herself to choke the memories down with another drink of caf. Those details still hadn't been sorted since it technically wasn't under Silenus' assets, but Emelie had the rather unpleasant sensation that she'd never see her vision of perfection ever again. Not like she used to, at least. Another wave of discomfort came over her and she quickly redirected it with another question shot back at Atton.

"Why you ask?"

[Atton Kira]

Atton's features mustered an enigmatic smile. "Can't a man in the presence of a beautiful woman make a little small talk without any motive other than wanting to prolong the encounter as long as possible?"

He tried to keep up the pretext a little longer, tried the same old dance with the same old honeyed words, tried to mask his intention behind a veil of deception and misdirection; but he was tired, not just in his head and his eyes, but in his soul. He was tired of dancing. Tired of evading. Tired of this stupid game, this stupid pattern, this stupid routine and it's stupid rules. The galaxy had changed, almost unrecognisably so, and he was too weary and set in his ways to change with it. Adaptation was the forte of the young; and from what he knew, both learned in person and dredged from his comprehensive efforts to scrutinise her background, Emelie was his opposite in almost every way. If he could not adapt himself, perhaps it was time to change the game entirely.

His brow furrowed into a frown. "I'm old, Miss Shadowstar." It wasn't much of an admission, but for the first time that he could actively remember, Atton heard his voice escape his lips in frank, honest, and direct words. "I am old enough to remember the Republic as a status quo, not just a distant memory. I made myself into what I am under the boot heels of the Empire; but the galaxy is a different place now, and I am too old to make myself anew all over again."

Frustration escaped as a heavy sigh; his brow deepened, his posture shifted, his gaze studied the table between them before locking sight on Emelie's eyes. "I have a proposal for you: a partnership. Your vision, your ventures; my money, my connections. I match every investment you make, credit for credit. I float the liquid capital, guarantor the loans, cash in the favours to secure the approvals; and for the next ten years, that buys me an even fifty percent of everything you do. A decade from now, I cash out and retire, and you get left with everything."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Ten years. Everything you could ask for for ten years. That was more than enough time to make her own connections, or even reconnect with some lost ones. That was well beyond the time it would take to actually get things moving enough to stand on their own. Frak, if you played your cards right ten measly little years could actually buy a person enough that she could up and retire on a bed of credits herself; not that she would of course, but still. And what would it cost? Practically nothing that life hadn't already cost her. She wasn't going to be the one putting her credits on the line, she wasn't going to be the one funding anything. All there was to do was take her cut and run with it. Fifty percent may have sounded exorbitant when you looked at it for face value, but fifty percent of even the smallest take was still free credits in your pocket.

It meant getting into bed with Kira, though. And not in the fun way. Okay, maybe it could still be considered fun. There was a reason Emelie hadn't even entertained the notion of slinking off to Zeltros to find herself just another pawn in someone else's game. She wanted to run the game, and Kira was practically handing her the board and pieces. Only problem was, she knew practically nothing about the man.

Practically. Aside from the fact he obviously knew far more than he let on about practically anything, Emelie had learned a rather important piece of information from her short association with him. It all boiled down to one thing; Atton had refused good credits, tossed aside a decent payday, all at the mere mention that someone he knew was possibly in trouble. There had been no way of knowing the extent of the reality and Emelie had to admit she wondered if Kira had known just how bad the situation was if he wouldn't have tossed credits towards getting the kid the hell out of the mess she had found herself in. But the fact remained, he could have profited and instead he offered up what he could to help out a girl that didn't even know he existed as far as Emelie knew. It was the kind of thing Emelie would have done for any one of her crew, those sorry bastards of the galaxy that she'd come to be connected with. The group was small in number but she knew there was nothing she wouldn't do for her little dysfunctional family of miscreants. Seemed that family was destined to become a little bit bigger in recent days.

"So what's the catch?" Emelie had to admit she almost felt bad for asking, but only an idiot didn't. There was always a catch to something that sounded too good to be true.

[Atton Kira]

For an idle moment, Atton wondered just how much of a catch he could get away with. People did all sorts of things for a lot less money than he was potentially offering, and it certainly seemed like he was giving everything and asking for almost nothing back. There were things about Emelie's reputation that have rise to some very interesting possibilities in that regard. She was an undeniably attractive and desirable woman; and truth be told, it wasn't every day that Atton met such a prospect who wouldn't make him feel the need to shower immediately afterwards.

There were several problems with that course of thought though; not least of which was the odd set of morals that Atton operated by. Intimacy wasn't a marketable commodity in his mind: he refused on principle to pay for it, and refused to accept it as any sort of payment. It was hardly the right sort of foundation to build a business relationship either; and at the end of the day, that was what he sought. There were many kinds of loneliness, and while the loneliness in his bed seemed the simplest to quickly rectify, it did little to assuage the fact that when every day was spent dealing in secrets, it was hard to find anything to share, and anyone to share it with. The kind of friends that money could buy weren't the kind that Atton wanted; but a business partner was better than nothing, and Emelie presented a rare opportunity for such a partner whose morals and mentality weren't too distant from his own.

More than that though, more than the morality and practicality and logic of it all, there was something else that stopped his catch from being anything of the sort: the fact that there was only one thing it possibly could be. He let out a brief sigh, wary of what else he might reveal as he explained what it was.

"The catch? Miss K'Vesh ends up on your payroll, and you take steps to keep her safe and out of harm's way."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Emelie raised an eyebrow as she took another drink from her cup of spiked caf. Of all things she had expected Atton to lay out that one simple request was about as far from expectations as one could possibly get. She knew the kid meant something to him, he'd made mention of knowing the girl's mother, a little factoid Emelie had shoved into the back of her head, but to have him ask for Emelie to keep the slicer safe? Out of harm's way? That was going to be like asking a bantha to not be harry and huge.

"You realize putting her on my payroll on a more permanent basis almost completely undoes those other things?" The matter-of-fact tone she took was probably far more harsh than necessary, but it was the gorram truth.

People didn't live a long life in their line of business unless they were the one pulling the strings and even that wasn't a guarantee. Of course Sadie wasn't exactly the type you put on the front lines, she had others who were called in for that sort of thing. But still, you crossed the wrong person and who knew what could happen. That little tidbit was something Emelie had become quite familiar with.

She let out a heavy breath, thinking of all the stupid things the little slicer had done for her and of the state the girl had been in once she had been brought back "into the fold" so to speak. Kira's concern was legit, but thankfully Emelie figured she may have had an ace up her sleeve anyway.

"I am going to need someone to help me get a better handle on everything going on here, though. I'm sure you've got your own system set up, but I need it expanded. I don't want a single kriffing person on this damn colony breathing without my knowledge if I'm going to set up shop here. I want info on the gangs, what they are doing, what they are supplying. So, guess I'll be needing someone who can get me into their systems without being noticed. Sounds like a position our little mutual friend can fill nicely."

Emelie took another sip of caf, far glad for the extra bit she'd mixed in. Of course she'd planned on using Sadie, but keeping the girl tethered hadn't been on the docket and if rumor was to be true the slicer was having a hard enough time staying put for her own good. Too many trips off to a certain ship that had stayed in dock for no damn good reasons that she could figure out. The half-Zeltron was glad for her grip on the cup as it prevented her from either twisting a strand of hair around a finger or wiping her entire hand down her face in some show of annoyance.

"You realize that sort of dren brings heat though, right? Don't matter how good the girl is, someone's going to trace that back. A datapad and a hotel room aren't going to keep her safe and if I go setting her up with an apartment it'll be the same sorry story. Don't suppose you have any ideas? That's not a 'No', I just want to make sure my investment is well taken care of." Emelie paused, a fingertip tapping on the edge of the cup in her hand "Koine, maybe? Though I'm guessing he wouldn't exactly be keen on playing babysitter, even if he is good company."

[Atton Kira]

Atton fixed Emelie with a look: the penetrating stare of a man who knew the person he spoke to - deliberately or not - was missing the bleeding obvious. "You and I both know," he said with a sigh, more tired than frustrated, "That there's only one man on this gorram city good enough to keep her safe, and who would make Sadie -" He flinched ever so slightly at having referred to her in such a personal way; it was so much easier to feel objective and detached when he thought of her as Miss K'Vesh. "- feel safe."

He reached out across the table, plucking the cup of caf from Emelie's fingers and sliding it towards him. Casually, he rotated it enough to aim a different section of the rim towards him, and helped himself to a mouthful - the difference a few degrees of rotation made were negligible in terms of avoiding any fluid transfer from Miss Shadowstar, but it seemed like the civil thing to do, all things considered - fifty percent of everything was their deal, after all. The hint of alcohol was perhaps more welcome than it should have been; idly, Atton wondered if he'd be able to talk her into letting him collect his fifty percent of the rest of the bottle.

He managed to muster a small smile as he set the coffee back down, a mix of smug and sympathetic. "The problem is," he explained, with a slight grimace, "That Mister Montegue isn't exactly the stay put, settle down, work for a salary kind of person either. That is why this is my one and only catch."

With a shove, he scooted the caf back across the table towards Emelie, and leaned back in his chair. "Hire Sadie, and hire Vittore to keep her safe; and for the next ten years, my money and I are all yours."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Emelie felt a groan trying to work it's way up her throat. She'd been expecting that little add on somehow, as if it were the inevitable unspoken part of the agreement given the slicer's preferred location. Still, she had been trying to avoid it. Not that Emelie could come up with one single damn reason that made any sort of logical sense as to why. Vittore had proven himself more than a capable and valuable asset, he'd saved her damn life even.

Trouble was... He was trouble. The kind of trouble she liked a bit too much and reminded her of other types of troublesome men she had on her payroll that always tended to make her life a bit more interesting than they needed to be. Not that she was worried about Montegue being another case of shouting match turning physical, but the fact remained he was one of those types and given her current situation it was probably a good idea - yes, miraculously even one she was thinking of listening to for a change - to keep the boy at arm's length. Adding him to her damn roster on an official basis was not a step in the right direction as far as that was concerned.

Still, it wasn't like he was being hired on to keep an eye on her, and there were undeniable benefits to having a good hunter at your beck and call.

Emelie picked up the cup from the table and took a long drink, reveling in the gentle burn of the alcohol that she knew damn well she wouldn't really feel the effects of. And appraising look was cast at the man across from her as a slow smirk formed across her lips. "All of you, Mr. Kira?"

Her eyes remained fixed in him just a second longer than was necessary before she let her attention drift away towards other passing patrons of the cafe. "You said he's not the type to go for that kind of gig, though. You really think I can use her as some sort of bargaining chip to make that happen?"