Blue Plate Special (Morgan)

[Sejah Haversh]

The iron rungs clanged as Sejah hastened down the fire-escape ladder, his sneaker-shod footpaws nearly slipping as he hurried. They, like much of the rest of his clothing, were nearly worn out, and he had actually managed to wear a hole through the sole of one of them. A squelch sent water from a puddle into his shoe, soaking his sock—which didn’t match his other one--and footpaw within, and the brown-furred mongoose cursed under his breath. Knowing he could do little about it, Sejah turned and sprinted off down the alleyway, reaching up to push his wool cap back onto his head.

By all rights, Sejah Haversh looked exactly like what he was: homeless. A pair of heavily-faded and much-repaired cargo pants covered his legs, and a stained white tee shirt had been pulled on over a brown, waffle-knit long-sleeved undershirt, a houndstooth tweed jacket pulled on over it all, flapping in the wind as he ran. Over his shoulder was slung a long tube-like item wrapped in cloth. He was late.

The rubber of his shoe soles squeaked over the pavement of the sidewalk, and he clamped one paw onto the pole of a streetlamp, allowing him to swing around a corner without losing speed. A cursory glance up at the large clock on the McKay building mocked his attempt to get to work on time. The Nehantite cursed again, dodging people on the sidewalk with uncanny accuracy. He could see it, now, that dingy little hole-in-the-wall diner on 4’th street, the neon “I” burnt out long before he worked there. It shone like the spur on the heel of a cruel horseman, and Sejah ran toward it with dread.

Fumbling with his keycard at first, Sejah finally burst through the door and hung his pack and coat on the employee rack by the back room before snatching up his apron and gloves, trying to get to work before his boss saw him.

“Dennis!” A deep voice roared from up front.

Sejah cringed, turning to see his employer, Mr. Creznauch, storming toward him, that vein sticking out on his rapidly-balding head. This was not good.

“Dennis,” the name Charles Creznauch always called him since he didn’t care for Sejah’s real name, “You’re late again!” he snapped, getting up in Sejah’s face, or at least as far up as a 5’2” man could manage. “What did I tell you would happen the last time you were late if it happened again?”

Sejah swallowed hard. “You… you said I wouldn’t be working here anymore.”

“That’s right! So I want you out of here as of right now!”

“But, but Mr. Creznauch,” the mongoose pleaded, an act unbefitting a twenty-nine year old man. “I need this job, I need this job so bad, and you know it. Please, I was only five minutes late. I promise, I swear that it won’t happen again.”

Though he was angry, Charles Creznauch could see the fear and desperation in Sejah’s pink eyes, and his heart softened. It was that same look of absolute desperation that had convinced him to hire the mongoose in the first place. Heaving an angry sigh, the balding man grunted, “All right, but next time, no more second chances. Now get to work, the breakfast crowd has been big today, Dennis.”

“Aye, sir,” Sejah replied, thanking his lucky stars that he hadn’t been fired, and he tied his apron strings behind his back before pulling up his sleeves and donning his heavy, yellow rubber gloves. The sink was already full, and he got to work.

How he had ever fallen to such a live, Sejah could scarcely understand. He had been a prodigy with a sword back home, and then a renowned fencing instructor before going on to even win the Rho’istaan tournament. He was the best swordsman on his planet, what was he doing washing dishes and living in an abandoned building light years from where he was born? Three stacks of plates later, he was still pondering that thought when Mr. Creznauch’s voice boomed at him once more.

“Dennis!” he called, “At four you’ll be covering for Nathan, he just called in sick!”

Called in drunk or stoned was more like it, Sejah thought, but he only nodded. It meant he would be pulling an eighteen-hour shift, but he had nowhere better to be, and needed the money. Creznauch knew it, too. That look of desperation had also meant that Sejah was willing to work for next to nothing, just as long as he was paid cash under the table.

Hours passed, stacks of plates, bowls and cups passed through Sejah’s sinks and onto the drying rack. Nine times he washed the chipped plate, he counted, and only the tinny, buzzing speaker of the small kitchen radio kept him from turning into a zombie. His tail swished idly behind him, helping him keep balance as he shifted weight from one footpaw to the other to relieve pressure on his legs. Why he couldn’t have a chair, he also never knew. Not like he was going anywhere or anything.

Finally, four o’clock rolled around, and Sejah was able to give up his scungy dishwasher’s gloves and rubberized apron for a linen apron instead. Stepping up to the grill, he pulled down one of the pieces of paper from the order-go-round, read the number on it, and began to cook. So his evening would go; pulling numbers, cooking the order, plating it, setting it up on the pass-through counter, ringing the bell and then starting all over again. His only relief was that he could now see the patrons come and go. Somehow, watching people through that kitchen pass-through window made the work bearable. Only nine more hours, he kept telling himself. Nine more hours…

[Morgan Evanar]

Nar Shadda was going to become dangerous for Morgan Evanar, so he left. The slicer booked passage on a bulk freighter under the guise of being a crewman. It wasn’t an unheard of practice for the larger ships to have rotating crew. The bulk freighter was nearly a kilometer long, and a corridor ran the spine of the ship. From a distance, it looked tacked on as an afterthought. Up close it did seem to be an afterthought, but a very over-engineered one.

Morgan was instructed to stay in the mess and out of the way. He was perfectly fine with this, and used the opportunity to brush up on his knowledge of Corellia. He had never visited the planet, although Coronet City was supposed to be wonderful. Morgan didn’t care. It had over 17 million beings. It would be a good place to get lost in.

The more Morgan read the more frustrated he got. All of the information he wanted, like normal rent figures and food was not available. Tourist crap. The longer the New Order was around, the less useful the information released. Imp bastards. He sighed, but kept reading. At least it had decent information regarding hotels.

After the Port Authority cleared the ship’s crew with a pat-down and scan for contraband and an ID check, they were free to operate within the confines of the law. Even Coronet was under martial law, although the window had grown considerably, and it only was active for six hours a day in certain areas. Not intolerable. The general sense he got from the Corellian enforcement was that they were pretty tired of it. It meant longer shifts. Besides, the Alliance never touched Corellian space. It was too heavily defended.

Morgan discovered maps were crap, too. The cargo port was full of roads completely left out. At least he had a pile of credits to get him to a hotel. He started walking. There were a few main roads that ran around the cargo zone to other arteries. It smelled familiar, but better than Nar Shadda. Not a difficult feat.

A cab! Morgan flagged it down, dropping the back of the roomy speeder with his suitcase taking up the seat next to him. He could see the traffic in the distance, a straight shot down the mild grade. The rodian driver seemed receptive, and started toward the perimeter road. It was only 5:30 local. Even if there was two hours of traffic, he would still be able to check in.

”Where to?” he asked in Rodian.
“The Six Gates Hotel. It’s downtown.”

Ten minutes into the ride down Perimeter, the Rodian turned the cab off and onto a back road.
“Shortcut.”

Morgan frowned. The cab stopped two blocks off of Perimeter. All of the surrounding buildings were run down. Most looked abandoned. Morgan’s hand pulled the door release, but held it shut. A blaster came up.

“There’s a nice little bounty on you, Evanar. Last words?”
Amateur. “It’s always good to be appreciated.”
Morgan’s body was on the way out of the speeder when the Rodian panicked, firing desperately. The slicer rolled and ran, juiced on adrenaline and the will not to die. He could hear cursing from the speeder as he tried to get the barge into reverse and out of the alley.

Evanar had cleared a fence into a container station yard. He needed to get somewhere populated. On foot, he had a clear advantage of ignoring byways. He vaulted the fence again to exit, and was nearing the Perimeter road. There was a diner a block in, maybe a half-click back. His side hurt. His coat was damp.

He entered the diner and straightened his coat. Morgan gritted his teeth as he sat.

“Andalusian Roast.” The wait staff gave him a blank look
“It’s Nehanite. Just make something Nehanite.”

[Sejah Haversh]

Sejah basketed an order of fried onion rings and deftly placed it on the counter and rang the bell. The chime sounded at the exact moment Morgan entered, so Sejah didn’t look up to see who had come in. But, even over the sizzling deep-fryer and the popping of a few burgers on the grill, the mongoose couldn’t help but hear what the stranger said.

Something Nehantite?

Did this guy know he was here or something? Nobody ever ordered Nehantite food this far away. Finishing up the next order, Sejah waved to the waiter to go ahead and seat the newcomer. Then it was a frantic search throughout the kitchen to find anything and everything he could use. He was sure to get yelled at, but burn Mr. Creznauch if he wanted to complain about being good to a customer. Finally, Sejah was able to scrape up enough supplies to get something decent together. Sure, he didn’t have the right kind of meat, but local beef would have to do.

Fifteen minutes later, the Nehantite finished plating a grilled dish with an improvised, but not far-off sauce, and as close to the standard sides as he could manage with what he had. He could feel his boss’s stare on the back of his neck for having taken so long, so after knocking the bell to signal that the order was up, he quickly resumed his less intensive dishes in order to catch up on the back-log he had caused, sneaking a fry or onion ring here and there to keep him going. He wasn’t going to get a break for at least a few hours, he knew.

[Morgan Evanar]

Fifteen minutes slipped by. Fifteen hours from Morgan’s perspective. The Rodian seemed to be classically inept. Maybe he was lucky.

Fifteen minutes and something that he hadn’t ordered showed up. Morgan was about to complain until he smelled the dish. It was simple and spicy by the smell. It was almost Nehantite by the smell of things. This was surprising, since they were always insular, but since the New Order, unheard of. He took a bite.

The ingredients were wrong, all substitutes for unavailable spices, but the sauce had nearly the correct mix of flavors. The subtleness of the proper spices was missing, but it was a valiant effort. It was also good. Whoever cooked this had visited Nehantish, like his adoptive mother, the daughter of the Republic’s diplomat to Nehantish, or an actual Nehanite.

“Mmmmmm.” It was something enjoyable, after months two months of insanity. Every bite was savored.

Morgan left the payment for the meal on the table, but he got up and glanced into the kitchen. A Nehanite was working the frier and the skillet.

“Hey, Nehanite.” He managed discreetly over the chatter. The furball pulled himself away for a moment, and Morgan handed him 200 credits.

“Thanks.”

[Sejah Haversh]

Sejah was busy grilling a Bothan strip steak when a voice called to him by species from the pass-through. At first he thought he was about to get yelled at, and he had that look of nervous bravery about him, but much to his suprise a wad of credits was pressed into his paw.

The mongoose unfolded it and stared in disbelief. Really? That much money? What did this guy want?

His pink eyes looked back up at Morgan's face, and he stood there slack-jawed for a moment before he snapped out of his stupor and stammered, "Y-you're welcome. Very welcome, thanks! I mean--just--wow!"

That much money meant he could sleep easier that night, and maybe someday get him off that planet and maybe somewhere he could actually do something. Stuffing the credits into his pocket under his greasy, stained apron, he continued to smile. "Did you know I was here or something? Did someone tell you..." A look of fear began to spread across his face and he panicked. "I have papers, I can work here, I can prove it!" Oh, Garfife, this guy was immigration, and now he was busted, and would probably be charged with theft, too, thanks to that money now in his pocket.

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan blinked.

“What? No. Calm down. Kras…” Morgan impulsively grabbed a dirty plate out of a collection tub as the door chimed. In walked a mottled green Rodian who looked rather flustered. He planted his left foot and twisted his body, uncoiling with the plate held against his inner wrist. The rodian only had enough time to start to reach for his gun when the plate impacted against his head and shattered.

Morgan closed the gap between them with an inhuman leap over a booth. He crashed into the Rodian as he struggled back to his feet.

“You stupid sonofahutt.” Morgan hit him with an incredibly violent punch to the face, and then dragged the dazed Rodian back out of the front door. He needed to get rid of him. Evanar dragged the bounty hunter behind the diner, and deposited him into a dumpster.

Morgan walked back in a dropped 20 credits at the cashier.

“Sorry about the mess.”

[Sejah Haversh]

Sejah watched the scene unfold, more than satisfied that Morgan wasn't an immigration officer after all. A smile crossed his muzzle as he heard the telltale thud of the dumpster behind the diner, and when Morgan showed back up again, Sejah flagged him down.

"You're hurt," he pointed to the blood stain on the man's side. "There's a hospital down three blocks, but I somehow get the impression you'd rather not have your name out there." Before Morgan could interrupt, Sejah continued. "Listen, I know something about tending to injuries. If you can hang on for another half hour, I'll see what I can do when I get off shift. By the way, don't order the coffee, it's terrible. Cheesecake isn't bad, though."

He didn't know quite why he felt he could trust the stranger, but there was something about him. He felt... familiar somehow, though Sejah was certain he had never seen him before. He just hoped he wasn't inviting more trouble into his life by offering to help. Still, the man had paid him a considerable abount of money compared to what he was used to, so it was the least he could do to try and help.

[Morgan Evanar]

“Cheesecake.” Morgan ordered. Whatever bleeding there was had stopped, but only because he hadn’t moved in five minutes.

Coagulation is neat. True to his word, the cheesecake wasn’t bad. Either this was the most brilliant setup Morgan had ever seen, or for the first time he was lucky. A Nehanite, no less. He seemed to be down on his luck, though. What was he doing on Corellia, working at a diner, under the table?

The only thing he could figure is that he must have been disgraced from the Nehanite social system, which he didn’t fully grasp, despite interspersed questions during bedtime stories. Either that or he had been terribly unlucky.

Dark times and strange people were the order of the year. There was a greater movement of things that he didn’t understand. The last slicing job had been successful, and Grym had paid the money promised. Aside from a close call here and there, it had been uneventful. Yet it felt so wrong, like the Galaxy was trying to tell him not to be a slicer anymore.

Morgan figured he just needed a vacation. So here he was, on Corellia, in some dive of a diner, with an unconscious bounty hunter in a dumpster out back.

[Sejah Haversh]

Patrons came and went. Sejah recognized some of the usuals and started their food even before they ordered. It was a menial job, but it was a job, and he got to eat things that got refused, or mistake orders, so he didn't go hungry much. At least not on shift. Mr. Creznauch used to complain that he intentionally messed up orders sometimes just so he could eat, but after a heated discussion, that theory was dropped. If nothing else, Sejah was honorable.

Dish after dish, order after order, Sejah's day slowly wound itself down until the night shift cook arrived, and he was finally let go. Washing his paws and putting his apron away, the Nehantite cricked his sore neck, then pulled on his coat once more and picked up the long, narrow bundle he always carried. The two hundred credits in his pocket made him feel warm and comfortable, but as he neared the back door, he recalled what waited in the dumpster. Better not go out that way, just in case. Bidding his employer good night, Sejah pushed out through the front door and into the dining area.

Morgan still sat at his table, apparently having no other plans. Since the man had been so kind to him, Sejah stopped and leaned over, but not so close as to be impolite. "Thanks again, sir," he said, then took off his hat, realizing it wasn't very polite to wear one while talking to someone. He still looked very much like he did when he lived back on Nehantish, though he had lost some weight since his crowning moment as the champion of the Rho'istaan Tournament only a year before. "You sure you're okay, there?" he asked again, indicting once more to the man's wound. "Like I said, I do know some basic medical tratment. I've got a place a few blocks from here, I could try to patch you up if you want."

[Morgan Evanar]

His side ached in a dull way that meant it should hurt much, much more. That was the way it worked: a brief moment of intense pain and then a dull ache. The wound would heal on its own, given a few days enough food and sleep. With the presence of the Bounty Hunter, it would be wise to stay low for a while. Hotels were out of the question for the next day, and hospitals doubly so.

“Yeah, I could use a hand.” Morgan could patch himself up easily, but he could also use the help of someone who knew the lay of the land would be helpful. He was also genuinely interested in Nehanites after his mother’s tails of growing up there.

[Sejah Haversh]

Sejah nodded, then stepped back to allow Morgan to climb out of his booth.

Streetlamps glowed dully in the evening sky, and the sun had already passed beyond the horizon. Sejah held the door for his new friend with one paw, holding his wrapped bundle in the other, a paper bag with some food in it also hanging from his grasp. Once Morgan was out of the diner, the mongoose pointed down the street. "There, that's where we're headed," he said, then reached up to plant his cap over his ears better.

"Name's Sejah, by the way. Sejah Haversh, nice to meet you," the Nehantite introduced himself, extending his paw for a shake. "I don't have much to offer, but at least it's got a roof, heat and walls." A rumble in the sky as the clouds that had been massing overhead began to become darker. "And, it doesn't leak when it rains, which it looks like it's about to right now."

No sooner had he said it than the sky ripped open and began a downpour of rain. Tugging his coat collar up over his head as a hood, Sejah started to run, then turned back and called, "Come on, this way!"

On through the pouring rain they ran for several blocks untilt hey came upon an abandoned office building with a tall wooden fence around it. Sejah pushed aside some loose boards and held them for Morgan as he passed through. The man must have thought he was crazy, but for some reason continued to follow Sejah, even up the fire escape ladder several floors until the mongoose pried open a window and stepped inside.

His shoes creaked on the hardwood floor, and for a moment he disappeared into darkness before the clink of something small and metal sounded, and suddenly a light flicked on from a lamp overhead. There he stood in the middle of his "home," which was actually the fifth floor of an office building. This floor had been an architecture firm, and several old drafting tables and chairs stoos at the far wall gathering dust. "Make yourself at home," Sejah bade his guest as he flipped on a few more lights, then went back to shut the window, which was painted black on the inside to hide the fact that someone was living there. Radiators had been pulled from the walls to ring in a living area of sorts to keep it warm and dry, and an office kitchenette had been relocated to serve as his kitchen. A drafting table and stool comprised his dinner table, and a couch served both as his resting place and his bed. Somewhere he had managed to get a rug, and filing cabinets held his clothes. It was obviously pieced together out of sheer necesity, but still evident that he had been there for some time, as it really did almost look like a home. The stacks of books all over the place gave away his pastime, however, and a row of small, cheaply-framed photocopies of pictures lined what used to be a low conference room table, all having to deal with fencing in some way, shape or form.

Sejah pulled off his coat and hat, hanging them to dry in front of one of the radiators, then pulled off his outer shirt and sneakers as well. He still looked wet and tired, but tried to put on a good face for his guest. After all, he had given him two hundred credits simply for cooking, who knew how much more money the man might have to give. "Hang whatever you like up to dry," he said. "The radiators keep it warm in here, but still, being wet never helps. Hang on, I'll get my medical kit."

Heading off in search of where he had left it, Sejah rooted through one of his cabinets before he found it and returned to Morgan. "Sorry it's not much, but it's all I have. This place, I mean."

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan’s place on Nar Shadda had been nicer than this, but he had lived in worse places the year following his father’s death. He was grateful to be out of the rain and off the radar. Morgan would have to slice his ID again, and get out of Coronet City soon.

For now, he seemed to be safe enough.

“Wood floors. This would be worth a fortune on Nar Shadda.”

“It’s nicer than some places I’ve lived.” Morgan said as he settled into a corner.

“It’s got an air of… craftsmanship.” While worn around the edges, the office building still did have many details that indicated above average care was taken during construction. The floor, while clearly neglected for a time, still fit together tightly. The fasteners were properly flush. The walls were sturdy and fit together perfectly. It was surprisingly clean, too.

He was getting hungry again, but Morgan decided he’d rather not impose on his host. In fact, he felt exhausted, and fell asleep. He muttered something about forgotten luggage. It was in the cab, but it was just clothing and toiletries.

[Sejah Haversh]

It had taken Sejah a few weeks to stumble upon the abandoned building, having spent his first whole week trying to find spots in back alleys or empty stores that weren't already claimed. The office building had been a dream come true. He had running water, and working heat an electricity. Whoever owned it apparently had a long-standing contract on their bills. The only thing it lacked was a refrigerator.

They never got around to having Sejah inspect Morgan's wound, and as the man lay fast asleep on the rug, Sejah wasn't going to press the issue. Setting a kettle of water on a radiator, he then took a seat on his sofa and waited for it to get warm while he picked up a book. How strange it was for a man to come in and order something Nehantite. Sejah wanted to know more about him, and was glad he had the next day off.

When the kettle sang, the mongoose poured its contents into a mug and dropped in a teabag. It had been a long day, and some tea was the perfect way to unwind. As his pink eyes grew weary, Sejah finished his tea, made a quick stop to brush his teeth and then flipped the lights out, making his way back to the couch by feel and flopped down into it. He was out before he even realized it.

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan woke up ravenous, and mostly healed. He looked slightly more gaunt than he did last night, as his body had used some of his body fat for energy and mass. Hungry and unwilling to push his luck, he found a small food shop about a kilometer away and filled up two large bags.

Sejah woke to the smell of an egg and cheese omelet, toasting fresh bread and coffee.

“Hope you don’t mind that me using your stove and cookwear.” He said over his shoulder. He sliced the omelet into thirds, serving Sejah one third and himself the rest. There was a bag of fresh fruit on the table, already set with a pair of new plates and utensils.

[Sejah Haversh]

Sejah woke in the same clothes he had been wearing the previous day. Pulling off his hat, he scratched his head idly before tugging the wool cap on once more. It had been some time since he had woken up and not been alone.

The smells were the first thing that reminded him that Morgan was there. Wow, someone was cooking him breakfast for a change! Climbing up off the old, worn sofa, Sejah glanced over into his makeshift kitchenette, and then onto the drafting table that served as his dining table. Morgan had been busy.

"Oh, no, no problem," the Nehantite replied, straying to grab a second chair and pulled it up to the table. New plates, and forks, and all that friut! Sejah's heart could have leapt for joy, he hadn't had much outside of what his diner could make for over a month. His only hope was that his new aquaintence wasn't a thief, and that he wouldn't bring things down on Sejah if he was caught. For the time being he would remain silent on that issue.

Climbing up onto his drafting stool, his tail swished out of the way as he prepared to dig in, though paused to bow his head and mouth a silent prayer. When he looked back up, he knew Morgan was looking at him, but he said nothing. Nothing but, "Thanks. For all this. I didn't get a chance to look at that wound of yours last night, I'll have to do that this morning." Taking a forkful of eggs, Sejah quickly stuffed his face before saying, "So, um, I meant to ask, why the Andalusian roast? You see me through the kitchen pass-through or something?"

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan shook his head, smiling a little.

"I get hurt and I think of things my Mom taught me, and then I think of the stories she told me. Some include Nehanite tales. I've only seen two or three in person before. As a species you're not common outside of your homeworld."

[Sejah Haversh]

"Unless you're a freighter captain or head a ships's maintenance department, you don't see many of us off-world, that's true," Sejah replied, already halfway through his omlette. Oh, it was good. Sejah was a lousy cook when he cooked for himself.

"So you've never been to Nehantish then, I take it?" he asked, though it was mostly rhetorical. "I grew up there. Well, of course, being Nehantite and all. Ended up here by a series of events, and, well, here I am." Another forkful of eggs was shoved into his mouth, followed by a drink of coffee and then a slice of nectarine.

"Said your mom told you about Nehantish? What, she befrend a mechanic or something on a ship she was on?"

[Morgan Evanar]

"No, not exactly, although she did know several mechanics." Morgan replied between bites.

"But she did know how to cook your food. At least that's what one of the mechanics said. I never fully picked up on how to cook it. I was usually wrist-deep in a droid, helping my dad."

[Sejah Haversh]

Sejah nodded, polishing off the last of his breakfast. "I see. I never was able to get the hang of mechanical work. Didn't get to go to school and all. Still, home isn't the place for me it seems, so here I am."

Swigging down the last of his coffee, the mongoose leaned back on his stool, relaxing as he digested. "So, what brings you to Corellia? Especially with someone chasing you?"

[Morgan Evanar]

"Needed a change of scenery. I made enough money on my last slice that I don't need to work for about a year or so. I've always wanted to see Corellia, so here I am." The omlette dissapeared more between sentences. He chewed mechanically, but quickly. It was assembly-line esque.

"The bounty hunter. I've got a bounty on me and I don't know where from. I probably stepped on someones toes at some point. They seem to show up every few months." Morgan left out Star's End, which was too weird for words.

[Sejah Haversh]

"Amazing how you can make that sound normal," Sejah said, plucking another slice of nectarine from a plate at the center of the table. Then what Morgan said registered.

"Wat, you made enough money to live on for a year?" he asked, his pink eyes going wide. "Holy..."

How much money was that? Did Morgan have expensive tastes, or was he used to places like Sejah's? So many questions, but he had to ask them carefully. "Wow, wish I could boast that."

His gaze falling, he became very aware of his own lack of funds, and that he was living illegally in an abandoned building. Slowly he looked back to the long, thin wrapped bundle lying next to the couch. "Barely made enough to keep clothes on my back and something in my stomach."

[Morgan Evanar]

"I've been there. Lived in dirtier and uglier places than this, wondering where I'd get a meal for the day." He shrugged, making more of the food dissapear.

"I'm on the go most of the time anyway. My appartment was more a place to sleep than anything else, but I moved every month or two. But yeah, I made enough for a year of lavish insanity."

[Sejah Haversh]

"Care for a butler, or maybe even a cook? Admittedly, I'm not a great cook, even though it's what I do now to get by." Sejah said.

"Not too much call for Nehantites for much of anything out here. When you have fur and a tail, nobody takes you seriously. Unless you can rip their arms of, but we're no Wookies."

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan half smiled, leaning back into the chair. His massive egg creation was gone.

"You any good with a blaster? Heh, I bet you're good with a blade." he said, half jokingly. He had noticed Sejah's reaction to danger the brief moment before he tagged the Rodian with a plate. It was vaugely what his mother described as a basic, very adaptive stance used by swordfighters on Nehantish. In truth, Morgan was excellent with a blaster, which is part of why he was still alive.

[Sejah Haversh]

A light smirk traced up Sejah's muzzle as he replied, "Oh, you could say I'm good with a blade, alright. Grew up half the time in a fencing school, and soon I taught there. Not a bad shot in a pinch with a blaster. Why, you need a bodyguard?"

[Morgan Evanar]

"Not really, but I wouldn't mind having a butler who could double as one." Morgan rubbed the side of his face. His body wanted to go back to sleep.

"How'd you end up here? Isn't a good fencing instructor a stable profession?" Morgan was puzzled. Fencing was a very serious tradition on Nehantish and a good fencing instructor was a treasured person.

[Sejah Haversh]

Sejah's face went from pleased to grim in a matter of nanoseconds. His feeling were still raw, despite the time that had passed.

Collecting his dishes, he said without eye contact, "Let's just say I won the lottery and the prize turned out to be hell."

Standing up, he gathered Morgan's dishes too, carrying them over to the sink where be busied hismelf washing them, the sound of water runnign giving him time to think. "For knowing as much as you apparently do about Nehantish, I'm rather suprised. You didn't see the Rho'istaan when it was broadcast, did you?"

[Morgan Evanar]

"I... uh..." It was clear the wind had left Morgan's sails too.

"I watched some recordings with my Mom, when I was little." He did some math in his head "Wasn't it earlier this year? I don't really follow sports."

[Sejah Haversh]

Sejah shut off the water, drying his paws on a towel, then leaned on the edge of the sink, his back to Morgan. Though he wasn't aware of it, the tip of his tail was flicking like a cat's when angered.

"It was this year," he confirmed. "And, if you saw the recordings of the last time it was held, and can remember seventh place, that was my teacher, Master Rej. I was first apprentice at his school."

[Morgan Evanar]

"Rej... beat his first opponet within three seconds. Had an unsually fast counter." If Rej had been Sejah's teacher, than Sejah had been in the last tournament. Top ten fencers didn't just let anyone into their dojo.

"You competed and something happened that got you exiled." Morgan concluded. But what?

[Sejah Haversh]

Sejah turned around, the pink irises of his eyes flaring red. "I didn't just compete!" he snarled. "I won! I went through every round, a hellstorm of slander and backstabbing like you wouldn't believe, and I won!"

Curling his fist, he bashed it against the counter, then in a fit of anger he snatched his cap from his head and threw it across the room. His hackles were raised, and he paced back and forth in fast, jerking strides as he continued. "Evidently the Sultan and that snakepit of a council he and the Empire have constructed didn't like a fourth-class nobody winning their prescious tournament."

[Morgan Evanar]

An act of pure reflex, Morgan's arm shot out and caught the cap.

Morgan's jaw came loose for a moment. He was with the exiled champion of the Rho'istaan, who was living in an abandonded office building on Corellia.

"I heard that things were backsliding on Nehantish but they exiled you for winning. That's sick." He didn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry, Sejah. That's despicable."

[Sejah Haversh]

Calming down, Sejah stopped his pacing and went over to fall into a seat on the couch.

Heaving a sigh, he collected his thoughts, and an akward silence hung in the room. "I wasn't exiled," he finally spoke. "I was sentenced to death. Charges were trumped up and I was arrested the moment after I won the turnament. My beatings were televised and they finally had me worn so far down that I confessed to whatever they wanted me to, because I honestly thought I was going to die if they hit me once more.

"I was left in that cell overnight, and when they came to take me in the morning to be executed, I overpowered one of the guards, and used his gun to shoot the other, then the first. I didn't mean to kill them, but one of them died from loss of blood, I heard later on. I escaped. I ran back to what used to be my home, grabbed what was most precious to me, and ran. Snuck on the first transport off-world and didn't sleep for nearly a week while I hid from the authorities. Three months I lived like that, until I finally ended up here, and I decided to stop running and just hide. You're the first person so far to even know what species I was, let alone know anything about Nehantish."

[Morgan Evanar]

"I spent three days in Star's End, with an assassin trying to kill me." Morgan crossed his arms.

"I was set up by one of my fences, which I have to say is a risk that comes with part of the job of being an independant slicer, but Star's End is not some place you think of ending up."

"I'm thinking I need to find something else to do other than slice, but I have no idea what yet. Maybe we should move to Chandrila and be fisherman."

[Sejah Haversh]

"Fishermen?" Sejah echoed with a hint of dread. "Like, on... water?"

He didn't know how to swim, and had never even been on a boat. His red eyes fading back to pink, he looked at Morgan, worried.

[Morgan Evanar]

"I wasn't being serious." Morgan waved dismissively and then tossed Sejah's cap back to him.

"I have enough money to last for a few years but we should probably do something to suppliment it. Something boring and quiet."

[Sejah Haversh]

Pulling the cap on to at least cover his wild headfur, Sejah thought for a moment, then asked, "Wait, you really mean you'd hire me?"

Turning on the couch to face Morgan properly. "Wow, I, uh, don't know what to say."

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan gave an indistinct shrug.

"Is there any speeder or swoop racing around? Sometimes the noise helps me think."

[Sejah Haversh]

Sejah scratched the nape of his neck. "Uh, that depends. You want legal or underground racing?"

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan thought about this for a moment. An illegal race usually brought with it a crowd that sometimes included bounty hunters. While the bounty on him probably wasn't high enough for an experinced one to even look at, it wouldn't stop an aware opportunist. He was starting to think someone had put the bounty up just to make it hard to sleep at night.

"I'd prefer legal but if there aren't any events today I'll compromise."

[Sejah Haversh]

"Well, there's a speeder race track just north of the spaceport, and then there's a swoop bike arena downtown, but I don't know what's going on at either one. Heh, never had extra money to gamble around here," Sejah answered, waving his paw around the sparse furnishings.

"What little I had went to books. But, if you want to go see some racing, I'm sure that as your butler I can arrange that."

[Morgan Evanar]

Public transport in Coronet City was solid. Not the best Morgan had ever seen, but Sejah knew the system well enough that it didn't matter.

Morgan sat, head tilted back, eyes closed. He had no idea what they were going to end up doing.

"We should probably make fake identies. Aside from the ones I already have."

[Sejah Haversh]

"I've already got one, too," Sejah replied. "But, I know a guy downtown if you want some new ones. Little pricey, but he's the best."

Throwing an arm over the back of the couch, he turned to look back over at Morgan. "So, might I ask what amazing caper set you up so well?"

[Morgan Evanar]

"I'd rather not talk about it, just in case." Morgan looked over at Sejah out of the corner of his eye.

"How about Sam and Max. We can be freelance police." He said, changing the subject.

[Sejah Haversh]

Sejah laughed, "You think I look like either a Sam or a Max? Hah, if that's true, you look like a... oh, let's see here... Guybrush Threepwood. And what in the world is a freelance poloce officer?"

[Morgan Evanar]

"What kind of name is Guybrush?" Morgan looked at Sejah with an eyebrow raised.

"I'd say you're more of a Sam. No one knows what a freelance police officer is. That's the beauty of it. But it sounds vaugely official."

[Sejah Haversh]

Shaking his head, the Nehantite breathed a deep sigh and replied, "How about we find some kind of real job that doesn't require too much actual work. Like, I dunno, but, I don't want to have to carry a badge."

[Morgan Evanar]

"I was joking about the freelance police part." Sejah got up. They had reached the track. Unrestricted engines could be heard echoing in the distance.

"Sounds like they're running a Sorosuub series."

Morgan was right. The stands weren't full, but they weren't empty.

"I hate to sound like a broken record, but do you have any ideas?"

[Sejah Haversh]

Sejah had only been to the races once before, but it had been quite exciting. He hadn't bet anything, but it sure had been fun to watch.

As the tricked-out speeders came into view, he smiled and suggested, "Well, we could always run a race team. Or maybe be a race team."

[Morgan Evanar]

"We could, but don't you think that a human with freakish reflexes and a Nehanite would attract undue attention?" he smiled a little and shook his head.

[Sejah Haversh]

Sejah hadn't thought about that. Slumping his shoulders, he suggested, "Well, um, what about some kind of job where our biggest skill is not being known? Like, stealthy kind of stuff. Security or whatever."