A Quiet Drink

[Vhiran Antilles]

Open. Strike. Flick.

Vhiran stared idly into the air in front of him, eyes focused on some arbetrary imagined point that remained constant within the swirling clouds of smoke and fog that polluted the cantina's rancid air. It was hardly the kind of place that Vhiran liked to frequent; but it was the kind of place that you came to when you wanted to pick a fight. That wasn't Vhiran's thing, but for the woman he was looking for? She'd be here. No doubt about it.

Open. Strike. Flick.

The lighter was a hideously archaic design. It relied on the vapour a pressurised reservoir of liquid fuel, lit by a crude friction trigger. There were so many more efficient ways of lighting deathsticks, with electric sparks, far more efficient gases; if you wanted to start a fire, there were a million more effective ways of going about it. That wasn't the point. The lighter was about the tactile sensation: about the feeling of the metal as the heavy lid swung open and impacted his fingers; about the ratchet scritch of the flint as it struck, and the furrows the warmed wheel imprinted into the tip of his thumb; the satisfying clunk and click as the lid swung closed, starving the flame of oxygen, and killing it once again.

Open. Strike. Flick.

With a flourish, he let the lighter tumble around his fingers, disappearing into the pocket of his jacket. He grabbed at the glass, left near-finished on the bar, and downed the last dregs as he rose from his stool. His steps were calm and controlled, and despite the constant current of sentients flowing too and from the bar, he cut a path through them with ease.

His eyes settled on the woman he'd been waiting for; his arms folded across his chest, though casually and without judgement. Crystal blue orbs focussed on her, a good foot or so below his eyeline. The vaguest hint of a smile ghosted across his lips. "I heard you got shot," he stated, a trace of mild amusement in his tone. "I've gotta say, Dana, I'm a little disappointed."

[Andana Callax]

It was stupid.

No sooner had they gotten back to Nen's flat and dropped their gear into a pile, then she had picked a fight with him. Even now, fifteen minutes later, she couldn't remember what she'd gone on about before she'd stormed out.

It didn't matter. She did what she always did best and ran off instead of facing the real matter at hand.

And what, pray tell, would that be?


Dana narrowed her gaze as she took in her reflection in her mirror, having stripped out of most of her clothing to survey the damage. Bruises and minor cuts would heal and didn't need worrying about. The ragged hold in her side, however, was a bit of a cause for concern, but not enough of one to halt her inner voice from arguing with her.

Oh shove it...now is not the time to discuss my feeli...mental issues.

You've still got his hoodie in your hand, and you're standing there half naked thinking about him.

Blinking, Dana tossed the soft red hoodie aside and set her hands on her hips before she realized how ridiculous it looked. A growl of frustration passed her lips as she pulled on a pair of fitted denim pants and layered two soft tanktops over one another.

He's my best friend, and...my...partner. Nothing more.

Her inner voice snickered wickedly at her as she laced up her boots and grabbed the hoodie and its companion leather jacket once more. She was going to drink that inner voice into a stupor, and then...then she'd take herself off to get the slug pulled out of her. Being numb was just what she needed for that...and the other thing.


Dana hadn't even noticed that her path had taken her to her favorite bar, Deckerts. Notorious even by Nar Shadda's standards, it was her absolute favorite hang out. But it wasn't, however, Vhiran's first choice, but there he was, arms crossed, standing right in front of her.

Handsome bastard, she muttered under her breath.

"Word travels fast. And I'm sorry to dissappoint you, Vhi, but when your dead brother decides to shoot you with a slugthrower, let me know how it feels." Dana replied, plucking the lighter from the pocket he always kept it in, and lighting one of the deathsticks from her pocket.

[Vhiran Antilles]

Vhiran fought down a playful smile, throwing a casual, offhand shrug towards the Echani. His mind tumbled through the various logical inconsistancies in what she'd said - dead brother? - but given the tension wound tight across her irresistible, petite curves, he decided not to press.

"No brothers," he admitted, softening his tone slightly, adding a hint of swagger into his voice and stance. "I did have an ex-girlfriend who stabbed me in the gut one time. And I was maulled by a Krayt Dragon." A flash of something mischevious sparked in his eye, the corresponding eyebrow twitching with allure. "Maybe I'll let you see the scars some time."

He drew a little closer to her, the toned muscles of his slender frame trapped beneath clothes that were intentionally a size or two small. He gazed down into those deep silver eyes, towering over her; every inch the strong and handsome warrior that had made many a woman melt into his arms, night after night. He rose a hand, fingers creeping gently towards her face -

- then they diverted, plucking the lighter from her fingers, and letting it tumble into his palm. A grin that radiated pure charm spread across his features, as he played with the lighter once more.

Open. Strike. Flick.

"How about," he offered, a note of tease in his words, "I buy you a drink, and you tell me about how that blundering sidekick of yours managed to screw up this time?"

[Andana Callax]

"I remember that ex-girlfriend...wasn't it your boss' wife?" Dana arched a brow, meeting his mischievous look with a pale, lofted brow.

The faint wisp of a smile dashed across her lips, as she wondered for all of two seconds if she should take him up on that offer one of these days. Scars were rather sexy, she mused, and on a physique like his? Mmm.

She was distantly thankful as he plucked the lighter away from her fingers instead of touching her cheek. The last thing she needed was for him to think he made her all hot and bothered, when in reality she was hot for other reasons.

Not that he didn't have that effect on her, because he did...but...

A long drag from her deathstick settled her, silver eyes slowly sliding up Vhiran's chest to settle on his face once more. "A drink would be great. And...believe it or not, it wasn't the bumbling idiot's fault this time. At least, me getting shot wasn't. Falling into a sewer pipe? That was his idea and his fault."

Dana turned and plowed through the throng of sentients to her favorite table, a shadow-shrouded booth towards the back and only a few steps away from the end of the bar 's counter. Shrugging out of her jacket and hoodie far slower than usual, she pressed a hand to her side as she slid into the booth, finishing the deathstick alot faster than usual.

[Vhiran Antilles]

Vhiran's jaw clenched as a knot of frustration and distress grabbed hold of his insides. He acted casual and blasé about the whole thing most of the time, but in truth the incident with Ellen was far more sensitive an issue than he cared to admit. "Ex-wife," he countered, his voice not quite as confident as it usually was. "Well, she is now, at least," he ammended.

Vhiran followed Dana as she led the way to her table, gesturing non-verbally to the barman for their drinks. He apparently recognised Dana; her usual choice already poured from the moment she'd walked in. Vhiran's choice was a simple refill; both were slid down the bar towards him, and a few credit chits were flicked back. With a moment's pause to reestablish his swagger and arrogance, he covered the last few paces to the table in confident strides.

"One Lomin ale for the lady," he stated, settling the glass down in front of Dana. He didn't deliberately imply the lie that he'd known what she'd want; but if Dana was the kind of girl who was impressed by that sort of thing, and if her mistaken assumption was going to earn him bonus points, who was he to correct her?

A trained hunter, Vhiran was highly skilled at studying his prey; and right now, the way Dana was moving and acting told him a hell of a lot. She was clearly in pain - that in itself wasn't profound, but her choice of deathsticks over the medication that the insufferable Nen would have insisted upon was telling. You can't have alcohol when you'e on those kind of meds, he mused; and from the way that Dana carried herself, she definately looked like the sort of person who could use a good drink.

"Normally, I'd get a few harsh words, or maybe even a threat of violence for making fun of that walking disaster pet of yours," he mused aloud, watching her carefully for a reaction. He was slow to reply, acting as if he was actually being uncharacteristically sensitive for a change. "What did he do this time?"

[Andana Callax]

She offered him the ghost of a smile by way of thanks, plucking the glass up and taking a long drink from it. Normally bright eyes were dull with...well, pain, among other things, their silver muted even more by the swirling smoke from her deathstick.

Silence hung between them as she savored the ale, finishing the glass in record time for her just as a passing server brought her another. It was possible, she mused distantly, that she was in this bar a little too much. But really - was there such a thing?

Putting out the tiny stub of deathstick left in her fingers, she met Vhiran's gaze and finally replied. "The job was his idea. His baby from the beginning, and I was just along for the ride and half the money. The plan was good - his usually are, believe it or not - and it was going smooth up until I got shot. I'd taken out six of hired thugs and turned to eye the last two...they were standing there all kinds of calm, which sent up a warning flag, one with a modified E-11, and the other with a slugthrower. Damn thing looked familiar, so I took a second look, and then the bastard looked familiar too."

A sip from her fresh glass of ale elicited a sigh as her fingers withdrew the pack of deathsticks and laid them on the table. Dana held one between her fingers while she fished in her jacket pockets for her lighter. "Turns out my brother's not dead after all. I'd have recognized his blue skin and crimson eyes anywhere. I don't know why or how or anything...but there he stood and then pulled the trigger. He walked away after that. Suppose I should be thankful he didn't aim anywhere else."