Everybody's Sin

[Safara Oles]

She never spent much time in front of mirrors before, but now every peak and gully of her face wants scrutiny, needs exploring. She can send the flat of her fingers across her mouth, then watch them curl and drag beneath the hard angle of her jaw. She can feel the silk-puckered skin of her scar, see the blossoming purple edges of it, and she can reconcile the sensory data, like aligning tumblers inside a lock.

She looks and looks and looks, and she doesn’t think you can see where she’s been.

It's a week after they leave the colony on Kerilt when she comes unstuck in the tiny 'fresher of their motel room.

She can’t hide. Sisera's already hammering on the door. The mirror’s in pieces at her feet, and there’s enough blood that it’s tracking in rivulets down her arm. She twists her elbow to inspect the damage and crimson drizzles from her fingertips like coulis. She knows that should be a problem, but she can’t seem to bend her mind beyond an odd sense of relief.

She can’t hide any of this. She leans on the sink and waits while Sisera blows the door panel with a well-placed blaster shot.

“Oh, frell. Oh, no.” Sisera's voice is wild, but her hands are strong and swift and sure. She snatches a towel from the rail. “Sit down. Get on the floor.”

Safara buckles obediently at the knee and drops to her rear on the tiles. She holds her arms out straight in front of her, so Sisera can press the towel where the glass has cut deepest. Safara submits to her sister’s frantic one-handed inspection with closed eyes and pursed lips.

“You’re alright,” Sisera decides, when she’s catalogued the collection of lesser slices and nicked knuckles. She turns her attention back to the gash, jostles Safara’s arm until she opens her eyes. “Hey. You okay?”

And Safara thinks she knows how to answer that. She nods and makes the word “yes”.


***


Table nine was slow. Excruciatingly, mind-bogglingly slow. It had taken them twenty minutes to decide on appetizers which was a feat and a half at Humdrum's; they'd been serving the same Bothan rice cakes and stuffed mushroom caps for ten years.

Safara had already pushed six tables while they debated on whether or not to order coffee- she was tempted to take them a pair on the house, and just eat the creds herself. They were costing her far more in wasted tips by slowing turnover. Bloody tourists; some people were trying to make a living, after all.

"Miss? Miss!" She set down table two's dessert and swivelled smoothly to face four. A sour-faced Rodian lifted his plate. There was a ring of grease on the tablecloth where it had sat. "My burger is well-done. I asked for rare."

"Sorry." Safara managed a stuttering smile. He hadn't asked for rare, actually, but if she had a credit for every time a customer insisted the mistake was hers, she'd have been way the hell outta this joint.

The Rodian sniffed as she took his plate. "And no lettuce, either. I asked specifically."

"Right. Got it." Pausing to refill the water glasses on three, Safara bustled back to the kitchen, dropping the plate on the main line. Beads of sweat gathered on her forehead and she wiped them away wearily with the back of a hand. Safara glanced at the clock above the door; another hour on her shift.

"Hey Alley, I need a special on a rail - keep off the grass and make it live!" She had to shout to be heard over the kitchen din. It was a hotbed of movement and vapours. "Alley! On a rail!"

"I got ya Fee!" Alley yelled back, his four arms a single, constant blur as he worked the griddle. "Up in four!"

Safara nodded and left through the swinging doors, relishing the comparitively cool air just beyond the kitchen. She slipped to the checkout counter and grabbed her water from the shelves below. Barely half a sip had passed her lips when a prod to her shoulder startled her. Safara choked. She turned to find Cole, the on-duty manager, grinning.

"How you holding up?" He asked. Safara shrugged.

"Got another hour in me, thank the stars."

"About that," Oh hell, she could hear it coming in the wheedling pitch of his voice. "Llorn can't make it tonight and - "

"No." Cole's face fell as he was cut off. Safara shook her head. "No way. I've worked late every night this week."

"It'll be a great paycheck."

"I have plans with my sister."

"Change 'em - you can buy her a fancy new outfit with the extra creds from tonight." Cole rubbed at his face. "Look, Fee, I don't know what else to do, it's a busy night and you're the fastest at keeping things moving. Please. Please."

Safara let her knuckles rap along the low wall and tracked a series of clumsy bangs back to the kitchen; table four was up. She groaned and nodded slowly. Rent had gone up and the credits would come in handy. "Fine. But I want a two-day break next week!"

Cole nodded and kissed her cheek, placating and gratefully as he edged backwards in the direction of his office. "You got it babe, anything. I owe you!"

Oh yeah, you do, Safara thought as she went to retrieve her order. She carried the plate over to the Rodian who inspected it carefully before nodding.

Safara glanced down at her wristchrono; seven hours left, then.

[Ira]

The table was lit. Life was lit along with it; people were ordering. Ira was stuck. His tongue moved a long his upper teeth, tasting the food he still hadn’t ate or ordered. While everyone was in drive, he parked his rear and pondered. His glassy-eyed stare torched through the menu. No one sat across him. No one was going to rush him. The food wasn’t what was on his mind.

There were bigger fish to fry.

His creds were running low, bringing the ends of his lips with it. Ira was, and always has been, a man of smiles, jokes; a jester of sorts that never let the galaxy’s troubles faze him and his world. Now, all he looked like was a serious clown with no punch-lines. The humorless sigh only made matters worse. He couldn’t even hold it back. He was getting close to the edge. Soon, Ira wouldn’t be himself anymore.

These were bad times.

“Let’s see, let’s see,” he spoke to change the subject. No one sat across him.

The menu wasn’t very dynamic. He had to add energy to it. As it often would, his imagination allowed him to riff. Each meal was cooked in his thought bubble, only to be grabbed up for a quick taste. In a way, he had become a food inspector. At least, he was a food inspector in his own little world. The very same world he swore not to be broke by the ruined galaxy that was.

Out of all the meals he pictured, he liked the burger best. Of course, he didn’t know how to pronounce the word, but he knew it was a burger. That in itself meant that it couldn’t be so horrible.

At least, he hoped it wouldn’t be.

Before he gave anymore doubt to it, he raised his hand. Action always spoke louder than words, even the ones in the back of his head. And Ira had a lot of words jumbled in the back of his head. He had to keep it quiet, for now.

Someone would come over soon, and he could get lost again in someone else instead of himself. The plan was full proof, and it had better work for his sake. Whether he knew it or not, he was still close to the edge.

[Redik]

Tap tap. Tap tap.

The footsteps outside hardly registered on anyone inside. Had anyone paid attention, it would have sounded much like someone limping, though that would have belied the condition of their maker.

Tap tap. Tap.

'Humdrum's.'

It wasn't much of a name by any standard, and the virtue of its potential anonymity made it doubly appealing to anyone with no sense of the highbrow. Or anyone looking to not be noticed.

Or for that matter, anyone looking for those trying to avoid notice.

A man stepped through the door, moving with complete casualness. He was promptly (surprise) greeted by one of the staff. "Sit anywhere your butt can find a home, darlin'," she said.

The man nodded in response and moved to the closest empty table, which was an out-of-the-way two-seater to the side of the bar. In another miracle of promptness, a waitress appeared mere moments after he'd opened the menu. "Hi there," she began. "What'll it be?"

It was wrong, all wrong. He'd had no time and wasn't ready for the question. And who was she to ask anything of him anyway? She should know her place and wait.

"You filth," he growls.

The pleasant smile of the waitress vanishes as the patron's hand latches onto her throat. The other hand snatches a glass from a nearby table and smashes it into her face. The woman's eyes roll back into her head and she limply tumbles to the side, eventually held up by nothing other than a noose of fingers. With no further resistance from the wretch, he calmly begins to smash her head against the table.

"Water please," he requested. "In something close to clean"

[Safara Oles]

"You got it." Safara winked instead of rolling her eyes, which was what she wanted to do. Sure, she'd been planning on giving him his drink in a grime-coated glass, with maybe a little stim ash floating on top for presentation. She was just that desperate for a good laugh.

With a winning smile the woman turned. Her section was full-up and there was a small crowd beginning to develop in the foyer. It wasn't helping sell the glamor of a double shift.

Safara practically jogged to the back, pouring a glass of water for the newcomer and grabbing a bottle of fizzyglug for the kid at the table adjacent to him. Her shoes squelched on the tile floor as she bustled back.

"One water and a clean glass." Safara slapped a coaster onto the table and set his beverage down with a sturdy clunk. She grinned, bone-white teeth glinting in the low light. "Washed it myself hon, it's safe. Be back in a few to take your order."

Then she was gone, whirling from table to table before arriving at the side of a man with his hand raised. Safara's lips quirked; she was suddenly nine again and the restaurant had shrunk to that tiny little classroom where she'd blossomed and learned to voice her opinions.

"Ain't a schoolroom, buddy, you don't have to raise your hand." She whipped out a worn cloth and swiped at his table, sweeping crumbs to the floor. "Just holler loud enough and I'll be over in a jiffy."

"Miss!"

The Rodian bellowed again. Safara spared him a look over her shoulder then jerked a thumb in his direction and lofted a brow. She hunched closer to Ira, conspiratorially. "See? He's got the right idea. Now: what d'you want tonight?"

[Ira]

Ira's eyes flutter with suspicion as she leaned in, only to grow curious as he heard the Rodian's distinct voice. Beside the fact that he was a spacer, an outlaw, and sometimes even Rebel scum, he had manners. Plus, he didn't like screaming...that much.

For a second, he just took her in. She was close. When her hands swiped over the table, doing away with the scraps, he was startled. He almost jumped back. Ira was on edge. He played it cool though. Ira never was made the fool.

Hung over in his seat, he cocked his arm over, and spread his legs. The eyes that fluttered had turn into slits of confidence, peering. She did not seem to intrigue him. The distance he pitched between the two with his lean made for a silent tension as he stared. For some odd reason, he liked that.

Then, finally, he spoke his dialect.

"M'mama never tol' me to call out people I aint kno' like dat...Its rude, y'kno?"

A smirk slid across his lips. Then, he avoided. There was no want for eye contact anymore. His mind strayed, and his lips eased. Their was nothing serious about him. The syrup drops mistaken for eyes danced off passed her at the others at their tables. He was surrounded by a weird, bustling bunch.

"I wan' d'burga thang-thing-o' whateva. Its good, right?"

Ira blinked at her, wondering what this girls name was...He also wondered why Rodians sounded so disgusting when they screamed.

[Safara Oles]

"Everything's good here." Safara replied automatically. It wasn't far enough away from the truth to bother her conscience - nothing would get anyone sick, at least, and that was a feat, considering the quality of their nearest competition.

She sorted his order out without bothering to write it down. Safara'd been doing this long enough to remember even the smallest details without making notations. Besides, it was considered a cop-out in the waitressing world to actually make a cheat sheet.

"Be right up, hon." She promised as she took his menu and flitted away to send it in to the kitchen. As she made her way back she did a cursory glance of her section - everything seemed fine, table nine would be ready to clear off in probably ten minutes and they'd been real friendly; Safara was expecting a big tip, there.

On the loop-around from the kitchen, she stopped again at Clean Glass' table. Safara tilted her head, gave him a coy smile. "Alright handsome, you ready to order yet?"

[Redik]

'Handsome?'

"You bet I've decided," his face smiled slyly. "I'll have the 'hot waitress' with a side of under the table sex."

"Comin' right up!" she smiled, and straddled his chair. His mouth reached for hers, met delicious softness and such warmth, and everything fell sideways...

"I think so," he said, winking slyly. "But I gotta ask: is there anything that doesn't come 90% grease?"

The waitress returned his smile with a wry one, then leaned in close and whispered in conspiring tones. "We do amazing things with that grease," she said. "You ever seen deep fried salad?"

He whistled. "Now that's a good trick. Guess I picked the right place for a meal."

"MISS!"

The waitress stiffened, losing some of her good humor. A sidelong glance past the waitress' thin frame caught the furious waving of a Rodian. "That one's not your friend," he said seriously. "He's out to screw up your night, I think. Put in an order for a Credoran sausage with the fixings when you can."

The smile returned to her face, making it obvious that the little extra understanding in his order went a long way. "I'll get it coming right up."

"Hey." Before she could withdraw from the table, his hand touched hers. "He gives you any trouble tonight, let me know."

[Safara Oles]

Safara lingered, a half-smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. It wasn't the offer - she got a handful of chivalrous-protector volunteers every week - but rather the way it was delivered. Off-hand, quiet, without a hint of flirtatious intention.

"Thanks," She finally said. She reclaimed her hand and reached back to secure some escaped hairs into the bun at the nape of her neck. "He's all talk, nothin' to be worried about. There's one or two every night."

A wry grin ghosted across her face before the Rodian hollered again. Safara turned around and gave him a look, one that she normally reserved for people who talked loudly during holovids. He squawked indignantly; probably ask for the manager the minute she got close enough, and that was just fine by her.

"Sit tight, I'll be back." Safara's eyes glittered mischieviously. "Look menacing - maybe he'll settle down if he thinks I've got an overprotective boyfriend eating in tonight."

[Redik]

"I think I can do that."

Her hips sashayed away and he watched them until she went back into the kitchen and out of sight.

Now that she was gone, he could do what needed to be done. Snatching a knife from the table, he stood and bullrushed the Rodian. The green-skin uttered a squawk that ended in a gurgle. He never stood a chance.

'Stop! Stop, this is wrong! Why are you doing this? Why?"

He stopped, stood and turned. A woman stood back by his table. She was familiar, but with a hint of alien to her features.

"What have you done?" she sobbed, collapsing to the floor and then melting into a bright white light. "What have you done to me?"

He jerked back to himself. Something had gone wrong, but for the life of him he could not remember what.

Setting the knife in his hand back on the table, he made imposing faces in the Rodian's direction, eventually catching the other's eye. All it took was a slow shake of his head and the Rodian seemed to think twice about whatever complaint he wanted to voice this time.

Clunk! The waitress had returned with his food. "That was fast," he commented.

She winked. "Asked the cook to rush this one. Thought it was the least I could do since our friend clammed up good after you spent a good five minutes glaring vibro-shivs at him."

"Thanks," he smiled and chomped on a bite of the sausage. He was suddenly ravenous, as though he hadn't eaten in days.

"Need anything else?" she asked and- was there a hint of suggestion in that voice?

It was best to keep playing the game until he was sure. "Not right now, but maybe in a few minutes some dessert would be nice. Any suggestions?"

[Safara Oles]

"You won't regret the Namana mousse - although, it tastes better with two people." This time there was more than a hint in her tone. Safara leaned against the table casually, the curve from hip-to-waist accentuated by the small movement. "You could always get it to go. Take it home, surprise your girlfriend."

One of the only perks to working in the service industry was this anonymous flirting. It was like slipping on a new suit every night, tailoring it for each and every customer, just to see what there was to be had. A little shimmy here, an anecdote there. Sometimes it was catch-and-release and other times more honourable sport. Occasionally Safara worried about how much she enjoyed it. Was it some sort of attention disorder that made her do it, some personality deficiency that required constant gratification?

Mostly though, she just enjoyed the ride.

Straitening, she nodded as if the man had agreed with her. "In fact, I'm such a big fan that I'm gonna insist you try it."

[Redik]

He smiled, both outwardly and inwardly. The attraction definitely existed, lingering in the air between them like a cloud of potent incense. The game would draw them together and then, then what would happen is she picked up the knife and licked the blade, drawing a spread of bright red along it. He reached out and clasped the knife hand in his own, licking it himself and tasting the brilliant bloom of life she'd left while leaving his own. She tasted it again, this time letting her tongue caress the flat of the blade where their bloods mingled.

He let go of the hand they smiled at one another.

The two of them stood as one, walked from the table as one, chose victims as one. The first to fall was the Rodian; it was not he but she who cut him down. An older gentleman nearby was his choice, dying so smoothly and easily it was like diving into still water. They chose others then, slaughtering everyone. No one moved, reacted, they did nothing other than die to the ensuing massacre.

"No! I won't let you do this!"

Redik turned. The alien woman was back, glowing a fierce bright white. One of her hands lifted and a brilliant shaft of white extended like a pole. She marched towards him and he backed away, not certain what was happening. Tables and limp bodies flung themselves from her path - somehow, he knew this was something he could do too if only he could remember - and then she stood before him. Clasping the beam of light with both hands, she raised it and he knew she intended to slay him.

Then the warrior jerked and stumbled. She and Redik both looked at her abdomen where a brilliant crimson stain was spreading outward from where she'd been stabbed.

The waitress smiled at Redik as she twisted the knife. The warrior went still, transfixed somehow except for her eyes. The crimson spread and spread, staining the entire length of the warrior's glowing figure, though her eyes remained untouched. The waitress reached around and turned the warrior's chin to kiss her on the mouth. The warrior breathed in, and again, and the last vestige of white in her eyes bled away. She turned from the kiss, from the waitress, from Redik, knife still embedded in her back, and began her own path of carnage through the remaining patron statues.

She looked into his eyes, and he into hers. Neither moved, nor did anything other than stare at their companion. Somehow, whispers within the locked gaze spoke of a similarity, a kindred spirit that the other had never known existed. They continued to stare into each other's eyes, the look therein speaking volumes.

Redik blinked and broke the gaze in a shy sort of way. Then he grinned. "Tell you what," he said with a wink and a whisper. "I'll have what you're having."

Then the back of his head began screaming that there was danger.