J'eeta Feevah

[Gantuhar]

He sat by himself, in a bubbly tub. His features pinched into a feline sneer as he stared at the ceiling. A mosaic of some Cizerack deity stared down at him, bow lifted and arrow loosed. All around him danced tiny cherubic females, their hands outstretched to him and the impressive woman holding him tightly. Each colored stone was vibrant and bright, made even moreso by the shifting water of the tubs below.

Some of those tubs were occupied by couples enjoying more than just a bath. Grunts and muffled words of ecstasy surrounded him. Whispered cries to the gods before a long moan of pleasure. It all fell on his deaf ears.

Gantuhar was not interested in those things. He was not interested in such pleasures.

His pleasures were taken directly from the water itself, and the simple glass of Hamesi root tea. The j'eeta was nice, calming and enjoyable. It dulled his otherwise quietly roiling manic behavior, turning him into a purring, mumbling creature. Both arms were wide, resting along the top edge of the tub he sat in. Head back, the Trianii kept wide eyes on the mosaic above.

"This one wishes all... a wondrous time," he murmured to the ceiling, lips pulling back in a wide smile to no one in particular.

[Abarai Loki]

It wasn’t fair. Behind the bar, deep within a sanctuary of long reaching palm leaves and flowing ivory drapes, Loki inflicted his anger upon the glassware. Delicate flutes, lofty tumblers, stout rocks, hearty snifters, and the daintiest cups of bone china, they all met the silver trays like they were hammering nails. The barkeep’s disapproval was deflected with a look that bordered on murderous. In short order, the trays were full, and, with one in hand, he sailed through the swishing veils into the perfumed fog beyond.

It was an outrage. On sandalled feet, he negotiated a well-trodden path that snaked between the seething pools and slithering bodies. He stopped at intervals, stooping as best he could, without resorting to indecency, in a pair of shorts that were anatomically belligerent. He’d worn larger utility belts, and every step was a battle to prevent the fabric from making unsavoury advances between his buttocks. As if that wasn’t enough, he was expected to smile, and grovel, and kowtow while he handed out drinks like some common waiter.

He was a masseuse, and a fine one at that. Or, at least, that was his impression before the Madame pulled him away from his usual station to dish out drinks at an orgy. Some nonsense about Kitthaarro coming down with a case of jirra’rou flu – if indeed there was such a thing. And the sights he saw! In the past, the occasional lustful moan drifted into his massage den, just enough to stoke the fires of a healthy imagination, but now, those fires blazed on the verge of inferno. He could ill afford to lose his head, with hunger and homelessness a pay check away, so he maintained an air of cool professionalism at all times, and, at every stolen opportunity, he beat it like it owed him credits.

On the last stop of his journey, he encountered a Trianii caught up in some sort of j’eeta-induced rapture, mumbling gibberish to any with ears to listen. In greeting, he bowed low, and deposited a fresh glass of tea on the edge of the pool.

“A thousand thanks, my friend,” he said in response, trying his best not to sound dangerous, “May the warmth of Saanjarra smile down on you and your something-or-other. Here’s your tea.”

[Gantuhar]

"Ah, Saanjarra," the mumbling shifted to that delightful Cizerack deity. His replenished drink was somewhat ignored as glassy eyes drifted to the young pup of a human.

"The sweetest of lips, This One will never taste again," he finished with a rumbled chuckle. "She is a nefarious one though, will steal a heart whenever she can. The beautiful ones always do though."

A moment passed before he marginally focused on the boy. His gaze went from head to toe, then back up. Not exactly who he was expecting, he'd hoped that the wondrous creature from the day before would serve him now. Letting out a somewhat disappointing henh, his lips halfway pulled back over one side of his muzzle in a strange approximation of a smile.

"This One thinks that you're too young to be working here. Not as pretty as the ladies, either, This One has to admit."

[Abarai Loki]

When the half-baked Trianii started regurgitating poetry, Loki wilted. It was his own fault for mentioning Saanjarra, he supposed, which in turn provoked some sort of artistic gag reflex. Deep inside his blissful reverie, the Trianii mulled over concepts of romance and beauty with all of the vacant grace of a penniless street performer. And he was about to leave him be, to wallow in his own saccharine thoughts, when his age became the next topic of conversation. He stiffened, and turned to regard the sopping wet fool with renewed caution.

"This One is glad you do not sign the pay checks, then." He managed a fraction of a bow, "Will there be anything else, friend?"

[Gantuhar]

At that, Gantuhar burst into a great, rolling laugh that began in his gut, reverberating up to leave lips that had been pulled back in a wide, open-mouthed and toothy smile.

"If This One had the credits to sign your check, Little Bird, then he would certainly still found himself wrapped happily in the arms of the Imperial Princess herself. Such soft, sweet skin," his voice fell to a rumble then, eyes closing at some memory. His body sagged into the pool just a little bit more, unkempt fur untangling itself in the waters.

"Little Bird, come. Sit with Gantuhar. Many beings ignore This One, and company in any form is always preferred."

[Abarai Loki]

The invitation came as a surprise. And Loki, rigid from the indignation of being called 'Little Bird,' retreated an awkward step. Then, he considered the Trianii's proposal. His gaze drifted across the expanse of busy pools, to the even busier bar, where his co-workers bustled about with trays. It was monotonous work, unworthy of his gifted hands. Let them bustle, he thought.

"My name is Wex," he said, deciding to nip the nickname in the bud, "I am pleased to meet you, Gantuhar."

Of course, he was not pleased to meet Gantuhar. He was strange and spoke nonsense, but Loki had met his fair share of oddballs in the past, enough to know that it was the little white lies that made the experience palatable. And, if this particular weirdo was going to insist he join him, and set aside his regular duties, who was he to argue? He pulled up a chair beside the pool and sat.

"Tell me more about this... Imperial Princess of yours."

[Gantuhar]

The Trianii gave an incredulous look to the chair, waving his free hand dismissively.

"No no, Little Bird, you must sit with This One. Here," his waving hand moved down to pat the water's surface with all the softness of Hutt poetry. "... in the water."

There was something to be said about sharing stories while submerged in such warm embrace. It was not to be squandered.

"This One is always happy for company, and for company to be just as comfortable. Come in, and This One will tell you of his Imperial Princess."

[Abarai Loki]

Gantuhar's next request had Loki troubled. He stared at the spot where his big paw vanished, and followed the ripples in the murky water to the edges of the pool. It was a small act of rebellion, to sit and indulge idle chatter with a patron, but to actually take a dip in the aromatic waters demanded a whole new level of commitment. Yes, he was angry, but he also needed a job. With a bracing breath, he considered how to word his refusal, and at the same time, drank in a banquet of fresh aromas that tingled his nostrils. If he was angry, a pleasant bath would do him the world of good. A cautious glance back across the room. The Madame was nowhere to be seen. After all, it would only be for a few minutes. And it wasn't like he could otherwise afford such luxury.

He stood, ready, when an idea occurred to him, "I will join you, Gantuhar, if you stop calling me Little Bird."

[Gantuhar]

"Ah," the crafty glint of madness shone in his eye, as he found the request rather interesting. Most interesting. The acceptance that was conditional was mysterious, and the Trianii gave a silly expression to accompany his next words.

"Then what shall This One call you? Wex is a name many have, including one who This One spent much time with at the End of the Stars." He ran a clawtip over the water, effortlessly puncturing the surface and swirling a finger about the myriad of herbs that danced across the top like Naboo ballerinas telling a story with their bodies. Or, like the crush of beings that constantly surrounded him at Star's End. The memory of Myoka Wex darkened his features then, as he went on.

"Such a depressing old one. Spoke of tears and sorrow and pain, and was a rather boring man. This One wishes not to think of such things."

The crooked half-smile returned as the thought of those old times were banished for now.

"This One has much joy in his chest, and a desire to share wonderful words of good memories."

[Abarai Loki]

"The end of the stars..." Loki repeated, mystified.

Too often, in the past, he had disregarded another Trianii called Kazahan as somewhat touched by madness. It had been an unfair appraisal. Even so, there were times, following their illuminating trip to Brochiib, when the curious padawan had renewed bouts of... peculiarity. And it seemed that, where Kazahan was occasionally visited by madness, in Gantuhar, madness had made a home. Loki tempered his pity, for the unfortunate wretch seemed happy enough. And he took some comfort in being able to make some fractured sense out of his unique word soup.

"My name is Wexley Wallis," he elaborated, sliding out of his sandals. "No-one calls me Wexley, but for you, I will make an exception. If it helps."

Before he removed his shirt, Loki turned gingerly on the spot, sweeping his gaze from left to right, like an alarmed Lurmen. The rest of the pool boys were attending patrons at the other end of the tea house, and the bartenders were far too busy to spare a glance his way. The Madame had been very specific in her instruction: he was not to parade around the tea house like some Iridonian cage-fighter. So the scars were kept hidden. And now, in his new state of toplessness, he felt unusually exposed - like the Madame herself was going to swoop down from the hazy ceiling and send him on his way. And therein, he felt a thrill of excitement.

The hateful shorts put up a stubborn fight, but once unburdened of them, Loki basked in the release, and the quiet but substantial joy of having genitals that could move once more. With his clothes set aside, he quickly lowered himself into the water, and found it was as hot as he had always hoped it would be. A sigh lifted out of him with the rest of the vapour, and he sank lower, closer to the unusual water. The smells became a symphony, and at once, he was transported back to Ossus, where he took shelter from the sun amongst the great looming kingswoods. After a moment, he remembered Gantuhar, and drifted back to their conversation with reluctance.

"So... this princess..."

[Gantuhar]

"Wexley... "

The word rolled around on his tongue in that way that made it seem a strange thing to say. It was an explored word, and Gantuhar said it once more.

"Wexxx-leeeee... "

The refilled Hamesi tea that he'd been given was nearly forgotten, were it not for the words spoken to remind him of the princess. His princess.

"Aahhh, Wexley. Wexley Wexley. The Imperial Princess, she was delicate, like the gentle rains of Alderaan that are no more," a sad shake of his head, and half-lidded eyes went to stare at his new tub-mate.

"This One met here on a planet that This One no longer remembers the name of. But the suns as they set, they made the most beautiful of colors in the sky. Her name... it was Iseria."

A large hand rose from the water then, to gesture at the rest of the patrons who milled about the tea house.

"Iseria was more beautiful than any creature in here. She was quiet and demure, and This One spent many moons clutching her close. She had once belonged to a wealthy Imperial general, but This One stole her love for himself. Her skin, smooth, black as the night, and her voice was as music... though... " a moment of thought, and Gantuhar frowned slightly. "... she could scream like a wailing nebula banshee if one knew where to touch her just right."

The Trianii let his head fall back then, letting out a sigh as his mind took him back in disjointed flashes.

"This One misses her. She took the breath away from so many men."

[Abarai Loki]

When Gantuhar confessed to having forgotten the name of the planet where he met this princess, Loki started to have doubts about the authenticity of his tale. Still, he listened. The Trianii's voice had a soothing timbre to it, and he spoke in such a colourful way that his story enriched the whole experience. The effect was lost for a moment, when Gantuhar alluded to his more elicit activities with the fair Iseria. The corners of his mouth ticked in amusement, summoning cherished memories of his encounter with the Twi'lek beauty, just days previous, in the massage parlour. Not that anything improper had occurred, of course, but from the experience, he'd learned of the intense satisfaction to be gained from making a woman moan with pleasure. But to scream like a wailing nebula banshee? That was the dream.

By the end of it, Loki set aside his doubts, for there was no mistaking the sincerity of emotion bleeding through the words. Idly, he drew a finger across the surface of the water, and watched ripples dance with rainbow colours. All the while, considering the answer to his next inevitable question.

"She sounds like a remarkable woman. What happened to her?"

[Gantuhar]

Head lolling back forward, Gantuhar slowly pushed away from his spot to drift into the middle of the pool. The long, uncombed strands of his fur seemed like wisps swirling in the water, and the Trianii allowed himself the liberty of inhaling deep, pulling the steam and all of its' aromatic blessedness into his nostrils. The j'eeta fired through his senses with a slow, methodical burn that soothed every muscle and tendon in his body.

"Ah, but This One's princess, she is no longer with us. She was taken away when This One was sent to the End of the Stars. This One watched as she was dismantled," downcast eyes focused on a floating bit of an herbal leaf, and lost for a moment, Gantuhar dipped his muzzle into the water, waiting a moment before blowing out a small stream of bubbles. A few seconds passed before he came back up for air, blinked slowly, and looked to Wexley.

"The Imperials... they removed her priming rods and lower receiver. They destroyed her in front of This One's very eyes."

[Abarai Loki]

"Mhm." Loki was sinking into the water like it was a warm bed. Somewhere, in the void of his departing thoughts, a single word protruded, bright and sharp. It hooked him like a fish. "Dismantled!?"

From his cradle of aromatic bath water, he gaped. Had he misheard? Perhaps he'd fallen asleep for a moment. That would make sense of... But no, Gantuhar continued. And, as he did, Loki could feel his face twisting with violent disbelief.

"Priming rods?" He winced to hear his voice echo around them, and proceeded in an undertone that sounded thoroughly scandalised, "Do you mean to tell me this princess of yours was some sort of... some sort of droid? You were intimate with a droid?"

Suddenly, he recalled how Gantuhar had boasted of making his princess scream, and the bewilderment gave way to nausea.

"What kind of a story is that? Seven hells!"

[Gantuhar]

It was his turn to stare now. One half of his upper lip twisted in a crooked approximation of incredulous reaction. One eye squinted even as the other remained open.

The still-dry fur covering his head seemed to poof just a little bit more at the thought of... of... goodness the thought. A low rumble in his chest, and the Trianii slowly rose to stand. His head, in contrast to the rest of his soaking body, seemed hugely over-sized for the spindly frame that now had wet clumps of fur clinging to it. He towered comically over Wexley.

"Iseria," his voice was a rasping sound, grating out from between his teeth, "... was not a droid. She was far more precious than that."

Sopping wet arms went wide, and his eyes tracked up to stare widely at the intricate mosaic that was the ceiling. His chest pushed out, heaving in some strange mimic of ecstasy.

"She was This One's slender, sleek death. She came from an Imperial, and was destroyed by Imperials. Only Gantuhar carries on her memory."

[Abarai Loki]

For a heart-stopping moment, when Gantuhar rose out of the water, Loki thought things were about to take a turn for the violent. What a way to be remembered: the boy who lost his job and/or limbs because he climbed into a bath with a Trianii. Mercifully, Gantuhar was not violent. Nor was he loud. He spoke of his strange and illusive princess in a sort of hushed reverence. And his words did precious little to shed light onto his peculiar love.

Loki followed his gaze, and took in the grand mosaic high overhead, as if, in looking, he could glean some sense from it. The archer, the woman, the cherubs. Was this a reflection of Gantuhar's relationship with... with whatever the princess was? Wait. The archer. Loki's eyes narrowed, half in thought, half in disbelief.

"Iseria... was... a weapon?"

[Gantuhar]

A long sigh, as if in the most tender of releases.

"This One loved her," slowly he sank back down into the murky water, swirling the herbal leaves and aromatic about as he let his body be swallowed once more. A silence, filled by the sounds of so many moans and grunts all about them. Gantuhar gave a dismissive wave of his paw to those that surrounded them, slinging drops of water all about.

"But it is not that sort of love, Wexxx-leeee. It is the true love that needs nothing but for one to pay attention and care. This One cared for Iseria for many, many turns. She was never, ever untrue."

And in a rare moment of lucidity, his eyes became sharp, and he fixed Wexley with an unflinching stare as his voice became a measure more steady and less of a rasping lilt.

"A DC-15A is a solid firearm, Son."

[Abarai Loki]

"It is indeed. A bit ungainly under sustained fire, mind, but if you tickle the trigger, it always hits home."

The words spilled out without thought. It was, after all, the first normal thing his big Trianii bathing partner had said since they met, and Loki latched onto it like a drowning man grasping for a helping hand. Maybe it was the fumes, and how they were starting to fog up his head, or maybe the water, and the way it made him feel inches away from sleep, but there, in the pool with Gantuhar, he felt... well, he couldn't remember when he last felt so relaxed. His guard had to be up if he was going to prevent anything else from slipping through the cracks. Now he had to commit himself to another lie:

"My grandfather," he began, with deliberate lethargy, "We visit his farm, from time to time. My parents and I. He has a collection of rifles and carbines. Sometimes, we go shooting. The DC-15A was my favourite."

Finally. He punctuated the end of his fabrication with a nod, and thought, ruefully, that it was yet another lie he'd have to remember for the remainder of his stay on the station. And it would not do that he left it there, otherwise his companion might feel obliged to make enquiries. So he acknowledged Gantuhar's loss with a polite bow of the head, "You have my condolences, friend."

So he was humouring the big lunatic. But there was a niggling part of him that thought he was, perhaps, being unfair to Gantuhar and his passion for the princess. After all, if someone had ever attempted to dismantle his lightsaber, there would've been no corner of the galaxy that was safe for them.

[Gantuhar]

It was in a flash that the muddled, almost lost expression returned to his eyes, and Gantuhar turned away with a grunt, focusing his attentions on his tea.

"Mm, yes."

A sniff to his drink, a delicate sip, and the off-white mug was set back down. He stifled a yawn.

"This One has had many loves in his life," came the now-murmured words, and as the Trianii felt himself sink lower into the water, he stopped only when the bottom of his jaw was nearly submerged.

"Many, many loves. One cannot limit themselves to just one, you know," again he blew a slow stream of bubbles into the water.

"Sadly, This One cannot fly well, else he would have taken to the sky and stayed there long ago. To explore and discover. Instead," one last forceful blow at the water, "... Gantuhar must rely on public transport."

[Abarai Loki]

That was met with a grimace, "I share your pain."

Without a ship of his own, or the qualifications to fly one, Loki, too, had to brave hellish drudgery that was public transport. When it came to the limits of dignity, there was something crushingly final about resigning one's self to breathing the body odour and farts of a hundred wretched passengers that had accumulated, and stagnated, over the course of fourteen hours in a little tin can. And, despite the threat of future journeys that loomed on the horizon, he knew, in that moment, that he was safe inside his hazy circle of bliss, untouchable.

And so, he drifted. The hot water kissed the back of his head, and bled into his hair, it tickled his ears, and caressed his neck. Above, the intricate mosaic stretched out in vivid colour, expanding the narrative with new characters parcelled off inside their own private domes, wreathed in gold. He'd never taken the time to appreciate it before; the sex was distracting. The teahouse dripped with lust. He wondered if there was a drop of real love in any of it. Perhaps Gantuhar, in his strange... strange way, was the true romantic amongst them. Many loves, he had said. Many loves. It begged the question:

"Gantuhar, what do you do when you're not idling away your days in teahouses?"

[Gantuhar]

His bubble blowing paused as he considered the question posed. It was a weighty one, to be sure, and the Trianii blinked slowly as he let his mind take him through the answer. It was a long time coming, and the silence that hung between the two sharing a tub. A silence that wasn't really silence, as it was filled with the sounds all around; sounds of pleasure and ecstasy, and of giggles, laughter, and groans of carnal satisfactions. For a brief moment he allowed those sounds to fire through his body, fueling a more than active imagination. And while he never sought the more physical serviced provided, he'd never denied his eyes the chance to stare. It was to his benefit that none here seemed to care. If they did, they'd not be here, after all. No, Gantuhar was a watcher who reveled in pulling from the experiences of others.

But, even over the din of a myriad of chatter and other pleasurable noises, he thought. He thought studiously, furred brow knitting as he tried to remember.

"This One usually sleeps," he finally confessed.

"Gantuhar found a respectable domicile on the lower levels, and it allows him time to himself. Much quiet to consider the old times."

And there were always those bygone years to consider.

"It is not often that This One gives thought to the future, Wexxx-leeee," again he lowered his muzzle into the water to enjoy the sensation. No bubbles this time, rather a serene expression. And when he lifted back up, Gantuhar let out a long breath.

"The future, it is an adventure meant to be lived and not divined."

[Abarai Loki]

"Perhaps," he considered, as he drifted across the pool, "I would argue there is something to be said for planning."

Weighty words from someone who had struck out from his home with nothing but a change of clothes, and enough credits to get him to the next system. In this, Loki was not a hypocrite, but merely an unfortunate product of pride and limited means. Yes, there were those who would have provided him support for the first vital steps of his journey, but he felt that rather defeated the object of going it alone. He was, if nothing else, a survivor. A survivor with a compelling taste for luxury, it seemed.

"Your day-dreams and sleep are of no interest to me, Gantuhar. What I want to know is about the... old times. Your many loves. I want to know what kind of past furnishes a man with a pocket for a place such as this." His heard surfaced a fraction from the water, enough to afford the Trianii a measuring glance, "I sense you have led a... colourful life."

[Gantuhar]

A chuckle was all that met the inquiry, and the Trianii rolled his head to one side, hearing as a small series of cracks reverberated down the rest of his spine.

"Colorful lives are hard live. This One has many stories."

His body shifted then, and Gantuhar slowly rose to stand. Water dripped from his sopping frame, unkempt fur saturated with scented water that fell in a shower of droplets before slowly leveling off to a steady beat.

"But this one also knows when it is time to tell such stories."

Yellow eyes stared down at Wexley.

"Now is not the time," his beverage, still in one hand, was lifted and drained in one final go. There was something in the boy's eyes though; a hunger? It was something recognizable that he latched onto, allowing him a bit more lucid thinking. The madness was pushed aside, and given second status as he locked eyes with the Human.

"Perhaps... " his chest rose in a long, inhaled breath before falling once more with the exhale. And the next moment found him sinking back into the water.

"Perhaps one story. Say a word. An emotion. A longing, a desire, a need. This One does not care. But, you must say it if This One is to continue."

[Abarai Loki]

"Survival."

Loki did not hesitate. Though it was an odd game the Trianii played, with unfamiliar rules, Loki summoned the word without needing to think about it. If there was something he wanted to learn from this strange carefree individual, it was how he'd... well, frankly, how he'd managed to make it so far without getting killed, or sectioned. If there was hope for Gantuhar, then there was surely hope, and a future beyond the sordid teahouse, for him, too.

[Gantuhar]

"Survival," the word rumbled out as he repeated it, and leaning back, the Trianii let a tongue travel over his lips. He suddenly regretted finishing the rest of his tea now.

Another moment of silence passed as he passed his hand through the water, swirling the aromatics and flecks of j'eeta. He pulled in the scent of it all through flaring nostrils.

"This One has some inkling of survival. It is an everyday act, though Gantuhar suspects that you may be talking of something a bit more... firing of the imagination, hmm?"

He gave Wexley no chance to answer, and his hand rose to pass over the water's surface, a finger idly flicking out to send drops of water at his tub mate.

"Trianii Rangers are trained to be everything. We are made to know everything. Much years full of hard days and hard nights. No laced pillows or fur blankets or silken... " a casual glance to the shorts that no lay in a small heap (a very small heap) at the edge of the pool., "... clothing."

Idly, his free hand pawed his empty cup, turning it over and over in meaty fingers.

"But like all things, even that life ends. One does not need to die, but nothing lasts forever. This One was sent to the End of the Stars after mailing a hand to his enemies. Well, many hands, really. But that is for another time. You say survival, and that is what consumed This One's days until he was finally freed. Not planned, but This One takes what he can get. None need to be shut away for so long, and to never see the sky again, it would drive anyone into those loving arms of Madness. She is another that This One came to know; she kept Gantuhar's thoughts for herself each night, but spoke whispered words in a thousand voices into his ears."

A lopsided grin then.

"She told This One many secrets, but most importantly, kept This One alive."

[Abarai Loki]

"So, you were a prisoner," Loki concluded, before repeating the words, "End of the Stars."

That had to be the name of the place where Gantuhar was imprisoned. It rang no bells for him, meaning he'd have to research it at the first opportunity. He didn't like not knowing things, and trying to get a full comprehensive explanation from his new Trianii acquaintance was like trying to charm a peko-peko from the sky. Again, there were snippets - exquisite nuggets of information used to paint a picture in the same way an impressionist relied on short vibrant strokes to form an elaborate whole. If only Gantuhar was not so conservative with his paint.

"I knew a Trianii Ranger, once. He was disciplined, patient, skilled." He regarded Gantuhar with newfound respect, and acknowledged it with a nod. "He did not collect hands, however."

According to his tale, Gantuhar and madness did not become bedfellows until he was incarcerated. Something told Loki there was another side to the story. He found himself wondering what kind of enemies a Trianii Ranger could have, and then cast that thought aside when something disturbing occurred to him. His eyes probed the empty spaces around them, half-expecting to see something there.

"Does she... still talk to you?"

[Gantuhar]

A glint in one widened eye, and a toothy half-grin accompanied a snort as the Trianii felt a chuckle escape. The very thought that those delightful sea of voices would ever let him be!

"She strikes up conversation when the fancy tickles her whiskers," his thick brow waggled as if to punctuate his words. "She is far too loyal a delight to leave This One alone for too long. She will not abandon Gantuhar. She loves This One too much."

His empty cup went still in his grasp then, and with a slow, deliberate motion, Gantuhar dipped it beneath the pool's murky water until it was full to the brim. An overjoyed smile transformed his face then, and as if he'd been given another refill, the Trianii lifted the cup up in salute to Wexley.

"This One shall toast the Lady, and sing her praises until there is no voice to sing with!"

And without hesitation, he upended the cup, sending its' contents down his throat.

[Maggewetok]

Lazily sitting in the heated and scented bath, Maggewetok allowed the drifting haze of various herbs carry her away to another time and place. Running through the snowy drifts with her brothers and cousins on Belsavis, their pet drak'tho's running alongside, she could still smell the cookfires. Her father's stories about his great hunts filled the interior of their yarmait, his eyes and hands wide as he described the enormous beast that he speared and their mother's kind smile at the tale. How she missed those days.

Now in her mid-twenties, the Alliance agent had seen much in the last fourteen years since being taken from her home by slavers. She and her cousin the only two that stuck together until her gifts with the Force had been discovered while in the Imperial academy, Maggie hadn't seen any of them since. Two of her brothers were working independently while the third had escaped their capture on Belsavis and was still there, leading a village of survivors. A chieftain in his own right, Asautsiaq would never allow them to be family any longer as Maggie's lack of hearing the Ninuk was lost long ago, in his opinion.

Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly and instead diverted her thoughts on the discussion from the large tub behind her. She needed a distraction all of a sudden and recognized the distinct voices of a Human male as well as the Trianii. Talk of discussions with a mysterious female piqued Maggie's interest and she turned her head slightly to the left to hear them better, hazel eyes now open to the marble rim of her own bath, lightly obscured by the steam. Certain aspects of the Trianii's story fit within her own and regardless of not being on Belsavis, Maggie could still hear her ancestors talk to her at times as well as Qigiq, the winged deity that carried noble hunters and the worthy home when their life here was over. Something she still wanted Asautsiaq to one day understand.

[Abarai Loki]

Before he could respond, Loki was forced to stifle a gag. He could almost taste the foul concoction of oils, herbs, and dirty water washing down his own throat. It took him a moment to stop thinking about all the fur that now probably coated the Gantuhar's tongue, and for his stomach to cease cartwheeling. Once he was right again, he concluded that his unfortunate bathing companion would never be right again. As mad as a box of frogdogs.

"It must be a comfort," he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his pretence, "Having a constant companion... such as that."

His owlish gaze crawled sideways, towards escape, and his pile of delicate clothes. And beyond, through the rippling haze, he spotted a woman. She, too, was stewing in an opulent broth of herbs and scented water. For an instant, he thought he spotted the shimmer of an eye. Had she glanced his way? And in here, of all places? What if she... No. She wouldn't. Would she?

A heat, that had nothing to do with the water, climbed his neck, lending colour to his face. Reluctantly, he returned his attention to Gantuhar, and gave a shrug.

"You must forgive me for not joining you in your toast, Gantuhar. I'm..." Not an insane lunatic? "On duty."

[Gantuhar]

"That is a shame, Wexx-leee. This tea is most refreshing."

A pause, and a strange expression passed over his face as Gantuhar slowly lifted an arm. His lips peeled back to expose sharp, yellowed teeth, and with particular delicate motions he extended a single finger with claw extended.

"Full of floaties, though," he amended while beginning to scrape leafy specks and tiny perfume pellets from tooth and gum. He eyes seemed to wander as he sat back into the inviting, warm waters while still picking at his mouth. His eye caught sight of a woman in another pool over. His motions halted, his body frozen as the only part of him left moving were his eyes. And they wandered. Well, as much as was permitted. She was as submerged as he now was, but her features...

She was an angel. Gantuhar ponderously returned to motion, and his hand fell away to dip back into the water. He slid through the wondrous and aromatic depths of his bath to the edge that was closest to her own pool.

He blinked slowly, making sure that she saw.

"This One has not seen such beauty in a long while," A moment of thought, "... but then, This One has also never seen you before. And This One spends many times here."

[Maggewetok]

Still unsure of what their discussion was about, beyond beginning of some business dealings, Maggie had no clue what she was eavesdropping into, though as the moments lingered the Saami finally realized she was being talked to by the Trianii, so craned her neck farther, then turned her body to eye him. Even through the hazy mist, his features gave her a moment of pause. Grinning lightly, the agent wasn't sure if he was being genuine or playing a role. "Thanks," she finally replied softly, glancing to his bathing partner.

Turning, tanned arms crossed atop the bath's smooth rim, hands under her chin as rivulets of water coursed down each. "Actually, first time here. But, I enjoy it," she grinned as hazel eyes glinted in the soft candle light. "Friend told me to get out more, so I took his advice." Right hand raised slightly toward them, then dropped again. "Sorry, I wasn't listening in," she lied.

[Abarai Loki]

"No need to apologise." In his desperate need to suddenly appear cool, Loki gave a shrug, like overhearing strangers talking about hearing voices was no big deal. Of course, attempting to look cool while keeping everything below the neck hidden from sight was a difficult task. He was naked! They were all naked! And yet, despite his internal horror, his mouth kept moving, "It's not like we were secretly planning to overthrow the Empire or anything."

He managed his closest approximation of a smirk, and cast a knowing look Gantuhar's way, only to watch it sail past his placid face and flop into the water. Damn it. He was supposed to be his... his... there was a word for it, he knew there was. But, instead of fanning the flames of Loki's faltering charisma, Gantuhar had eyes only for the nameless beauty in the neighbouring bath. Curse him and his silver tongue. He had to get back in the game.

Introductions! That was it!

"I'm Wex," he said, falling into rank with the big Trianii, "And the big doe-eyed one, here, is Gantuhar."

That's it, Loki. Nice and cool.

[Gantuhar]

Another dip of his cup into the bathwater, and Gantuhar ambled his 'drink' up to rest it on the edge of the pool, both arms moving to rest on the cool tiles, meaty hands encircling the delicate off-white porcelain. There was no need to introduce himself now, since Wexxx-leeee had done the honors, and so instead the Trianii settled for a toothy grin. His eyes never wandered though, instead staying glued to the woman's face. He studied her features in his own peculiar way. She was beautiful, that much he could tell. He did not need to try and look at the rest of her; her eyes showed her beauty well enough.

"This One thinks that your friend was wise to give you such advice," he finally spoke, "... it is teeming with energies of love and joy here."

His grin remained, even as he lifted his cup to his lips to take the tiniest of sips.

"Never has This One so much class in one place."

[Maggewetok]

Maggie chuckled at the nervous reply knowing anyone could be doing that very thing at this very moment and the fact that he seemed quite socially inept only proved what she could tell about his demeanor and body language. Even if it was only from the neck up. Being an agent she had been taught to read people in a host of ways and all that training had paid off more than once. The only thing that caught her offguard was the fact that their furry companion then drank the bath water. Trying her best not to appear overly appalled, Maggie kept on the words being said rather than the sips taken.

"Maggie," she replied to Max, then turned her attention to Gantuhar as she was unsure how bathing could be such an amazing experience, though she had little exposure to his kind either. "Taking over the Empire would be a feat indeed," she agreed, grinning.

[Abarai Loki]

She smiled at his joke. He smiled, too, broad and toothy. Things were going well, despite Gantuhar's best efforts to damage his cool. Out of the corner of his eye, Loki spotted him drinking the bath water again, and despaired. He froze, as if in stillness he could vanish from sight. His stomach churned at the thought of it.

But Gantuhar tempered his peculiarity with talk of energies, and love, and joy. He said Maggie had class, which she did in abundance, in the way she carried herself with two strangers staring at her. She was nothing like the lithe little animal in the neighbouring tub, who was riding her partner like a ship on stormy tides. Her soft moans drifted up in offering to her Cizerack gods above, and echoed like a chorus off the vibrant domed ceiling. Tension tangled itself up in knots in Loki's abdomen, and his grip tightened around the porcelain edge of the pool to keep himself decent. It was a test, he decided. A test of decorum, of maturity, of self-control.

"So, Maggie," he said, taking refuge in small-talk, "Will you be staying at the station for long, or are you just passing through?"

[Gantuhar]

Oh how he hoped that she was staying longer than a simple few days. She was a creature that sparked fierce curiosity, and the Trianii couldn't help but be drawn in. Propping himself up on the side of the pool, he set his 'tea' aside even as the distraction of the two lovemakers a bath over couldn't help but tug at his own senses. Such sounds were always taken in with particular enjoyment, though more because he simply liked to hear them. He gave a wide grin, teeth on display as his eyes rolled to Wexxx-leeee and he gave a rather obvious jerk of his thumb to the pair as a crescendo began to crest.

"Do you think she will begin to speak in tongues this time?" He half-whispered.

"This One hopes that she does. It was most illuminating the last time."

[Maggewetok]

Hazel eyes danced back to the human and she nodded, ignoring the sounds of lovemaking going on beyond the mist of her own bath. Not realizing that this place was more open than just a bathhouse, she should have expected that such things might happen, especially with those that had little modesty. "Actually, I live here now. Moved in to an apartment and had a friend of mine help me. He's staying on the station for a while, but probably won't be staying because of his job." Not going into particulars, she left it at that.

Taking in the strong, mottled white and grey alien as he perched on the rim of his tub, she nodded quietly at his assessment, wondering if either of the two participants were even paying any attention to anyone else. Though, it was possible that they were enjoying the attention and possibly making a few uncomfortable. Brow furrowed lightly at his statement, "In what way," she inquired, regretting that query the moment it left her lips.

Changing the subject quickly after, "Where are you both from, if you don't mind me asking?"

[Abarai Loki]

"Torque!" Loki blurted, eager to deviate from Gantuhar's astonishing remarks, "Torque. I mean, that is where I'm from: Torque."

It was a lame finish that saw him sink lower into the water, deflating before Maggie's very eyes. Movement at the other end of the teahouse drew his gaze, where Jaarreeo, the most senior of the bar staff, had appeared from behind the bar, looking agitated. He turned left, then right, sweeping the pool area with narrow eyes that shimmered like emeralds through the mist. It seemed his absence had been noticed at last. He lowered himself further into the water, deciding to wait until Jaarreeo returned to the bar before he attempted to slip unnoticed from the bath.

A deep guttural moan reminded him of where he was, and, in granting Gantuhar's wishes, the shameless woman started to utter tongue-twisting Cizeri oaths between every sharp gasp of pleasure. Loki promptly cleared his throat, and picked up where they left off, as if there weren't angry employers looking for him, or someone enjoying multiple orgasms nearby:

"I lived there with my parents. My father drives cabs, my mother worked in a factory."

The Cizerack woman cried out, her partner was grunting, too. It sounded like a natural history holo.

"No siblings," Loki droned, "I'm a droid mechanic, by trade. But, here, I provide various... massage treatments... with oils... sometimes, I serve drinks... nibbles..."

"Goddesss, jyesss! Oh, Goddesss!"

"...all sorts of things, really. What is it you do, Maggie?"

[Gantuhar]

His attention was split between interpreting the gibberish that the Cizeri woman was uttering and the question that Wexxx-leeee had just asked of the woman with so much class. The woman with lovely eyes and a smile that only served to make him smile. The Trianii decided that it was possibly a better idea to ignore the hyperventilating Cizerack and her partner for now, even though he had high hopes of interpreting her strange, guttural words. No, he was taken in by Maggie.

"This One thinks you have a radiant smile, Maggie. This One also thinks that you should never stop smiling."

[Maggewetok]

Now that she understood what Abraki did, she wondered if he was doing more than just entertaining Gantuhar, though the feline-like alien seemed more taken with the Saami now instead. The sounds still emanating from the distant bath was beginning to become annoying as she was trying to listen to their own discussion and then noticed Abraki's reactions. There was a lot more going on here than she realized, then thought it might not have been better just to enjoy her own tub in the apartment instead.

Hazel eyes fixed now on the human, "I work for the Transit Authority here on the station," she lied. "Just got the job recently and still learning the ropes." Not revealing her true profession, the agent grinned at his awkwardness. "Since you work here, can't you tell those two to get a room," she queried, motioning with her head toward the lovers. "Or did I misinterpret the intentions behind this bathhouse?"

She then glanced to the Trianii. "My mother used to say that if you have sunny days everyday, then you wouldn't appreciate them as much." She motioned to their tub, then to his glass, "Whattya you got in that water?"

[Abarai Loki]

"Since you work here, can't you tell those two to get a room. Or did I misinterpret the intentions behind this bathhouse?"

Loki stiffened, recoiled, even, as he contemplated the implications of Maggie's suggestion.

"Oh," he said.

Even if he wanted to, there'd be no point in asking the couple to 'find a room'. The thought of it forced Loki to disguise an amused smirk. From the sound of it, all the efforts of the amorous couple had finally yielded fruit, and their passion was beginning to cool. They bobbed on the water, smiling at each other, panting. It was enough to make him wonder what in the blasted sky he was doing with his life. He shouldn't be sharing a bath with a huge Trianii, and explaining teahouse etiquette to an attractive woman; he should be sharing a bath with an attracive woman, and laying the etiquette on her. Stars, he was horny.

"In Madame Maillanaarro's teahouse, sexual relations are permitted. Encouraged, even." He smiled, now, entertained by the thought of Maggie's shattered illusions, "I am surprised your friend neglected to mention this."

[Gantuhar]

Gantuhar gave a toothy smile then, his eyes brightening as he swept his gaze from Maggie to the pair of lovers a tub over. Each one had melted back into the water, their bodies still close. He could almost hear that delightful, contented rumble in the female's chest, like a soft, satisfied mrrr. It was an act that he had witnessed many times over from the comfort of his own bath, basking in the sounds of joy and ecstasy. Three tubs back, another couple had begun their own soft moanings that would gradually build in volume and ferocity.

Both arms went up then, in a gesture of praise. Water droplets cascaded off soaking fur, and the Trianii lifted his eyes skyward.

"This is the place of pure emotions, of hungry lust, and insatiable appetites."

His display finished, Gantuhar finally returned his eyes to Maggie. He followed her querry with a glance to his cup, then to the bathwater he currently sat in. And in a moment of lucidity, the Tiranii gave a sigh.

"Bathwater, This One suspects. It tastes well enough, but there's a slight tang to it."

[Maggewetok]

Oops

The surprise was palpable as she stared blankly at Abarai, having no idea what she had gotten herself into, though it wasn't the first time that she had found herself in an awkward situation and had to improvise. Though most of those events weren't with two males staring at her as if she was dinner. Hazel eyes then narrowed as the Trianii then tried to defend his strange appetites.

"Ah," she nodded, knowing now he wasn't going to give up on his opinions and not understand another.

She hadn't come here to be harassed, only to relax and get out of the apartment for a while. Turning her attention back to the human male, she wondered now if he was "entertaining" the large, felinoid alien. Right hand up apologetically, "Sorry for interrupting you two then." Turning back around, she moved to the opposite side of her own tub, using the misty fog rising from the hot water to mask her vainly as she moved to her bath robe.

[Abarai Loki]

The apologetic hand might as well have been a slap to the face. Loki recoiled, horrified.

"What? No, wait! It's not like that! We're not... I'm not..."

But it was too late: Maggie drifted beyond the veil of mist like a pale and glistening ghost. In his frustration, Loki drove a hand into the water, which erupted like a geyser, and scattered in rainbow motes through the air. Silence, then, or thereabouts - the telltale sloshing and moaning from across the room obstructed actual silence, and in a way that was becoming more and more irritating - and, in Maggie's absence, it was a sobering sound. At long last, he fixed Gantuhar with a scolding glance.

"Well done. Your High Priest of the Teahouse routine scared her away, and now she thinks we're... involved​!" Another splash of annoyance, "And will you stop drinking the bath water? It's disgusting!"

[Gantuhar]

High Priest of the Teahouse. What a grand title. It was truly the most wonderful thing anyone had ever said to him, and Gantuhar returned Wexxx-leeee's angry look with a wide-eyed, fascinated stare. As though his awareness had been opened to the possibilities, the Trianii allowed himself a moment to bask in the very notion that there could be a High Priest for the Madame's establishment. He suspected that there might be a position available, but no doubt such a thing would go to a female. As it was, that thought did not stop his chest from swelling in pride even while a slow, wide grin began to form on his lips.

"The High Priest of the Teahouse," he rumbled quietly, letting himself fall back into the water, stars shining in his eyes as he stared up at the glorious ceiling above.

"You work here, Wexxx-leeee. Do you think that the Madame would consider a male High Priest?"

[Maggewetok]

Taking in what little modesty was afforded with the other adjoining tubs and their occupants, Maggie slipped out of the warm water and slipped on her bathrobe, knowing now that she wouldn't be coming back here without a solid purpose. In all honesty, she wouldn't be bringing someone for love to a public place, though she didn't blame those that chose to. Free will and all. Her long, dark hair matted to her back and underneath the comfortable, white robe, she made her way toward the dressing room, hearing the male human try and defend himself from what she thought was going on. Given their surroundings, she only assumed.

Meandering through the host of other elegant tubs and surrounding, marble columns, the Republic agent averted her eyes from other acts going on between the bathhouse's patrons. The sounds were enough to fill in the blanks.

[Abarai Loki]

"You work here, Wexxx-leeee. Do you think that the Madame would consider a male High Priest?"

"What? Are you-" Loki paused long enough to reconsider his approach, and, where his voice once hissed with contempt, it now dripped with a sarcasm that would, undoubtedly, be obvious to all except the would-be High Priest of the Teahouse, "No, actually. Gantuhar, I do not think she will ever consider you to be high priest. Unless..."

In a moment of exquisite inspiration, Loki's gloomy train of thought jumped tracks for pastures greener. Sometimes, that was all it took: a slight shift in perspective to see the sun from the shade. The smile that threatened to surface was drowned, and replaced instead by an expression of deepest concentration. A plan was taking shape in his mind, but before it could truly blossom, he'd first have to draw on his own dubious acting talents. There was a real temptation to lay out the bait in its entirety, like a Cizeri banquet for Gantuhar to gorge himself on, but Loki would show restraint. For, if there was one thing he'd learned from Askajian pornography, it was the greater the tease, the bigger the pay-off.

"...ah, forget it."

[Gantuhar]

Pulling his eyes from the wondrous mosaic above, Gantuhar let his body continue to float as his gaze tracked to Wexxx-leeee. The words that the young man spoke were enough to draw him in, and the Trianii slowly moved. Hands churned just below the water's surface to shift his bulk, and soon enough his head was very nearly resting in his tub-mate's lap. Wide eyes stared up, expectant and excited.

"Yes... ?"

A toothy, happy grin.

"This One is keen to know what you are speaking of, and what chances that Gantuhar might have to secure such a prestigious position."

[Abarai Loki]

So thoroughly had Loki committed himself to his portrayal of a man wholly uninterested in his strange bathing companion, that he failed to notice Gantuhar's advance until it was too late. His eyes bloomed with mortification. There he was, the great Trianii oaf, floating in his lap with all the intimate familiarity of an amorous water nymph.

"Yes," he began, attempting to gather his scattered thoughts, "Well. The role of High Priest is typically reserved for a female in high-standing with the tea house. The Madame herself hand-picks the best candidate for the job. And yet, rare though it is, there are times when an employee might nominate a particularly upstanding patron of the teahouse. In these cases, the Madame will take that nomination into account."

Again, the lofty indifference as he turned his gaze to the ornate ceiling.

"I suppose I could be persuaded to forward your name as a potential candidate... but I'm not wholly convinced..."

[Gantuhar]

As though he was a child being told the most amazing of stories, Gantuhar's eyes were wide as he stared up at Wexxx-leeee, thoughts going every which way to connect so many errant dots. He held those dots carefully and gently, winding strands of mental string through the hole in each one. They were like beads in his mind's eye; beatiful, multi-colored beads that the very act of connecting them together was like making the most beautiful necklace of thought and feeling and understanding.

"This One understands the position you are in... "

One of the dot/beads shone like a bright blue light, swirling with yellows and greens. This one he threaded to another of a deep cherry-grained color. Slowly the Trianii shifted. He left Wexxx-leeee's lap to glide into the center of the bath before turning to face the boy. Wide shoulders squared back, and he blinked owlishly before slowly finding his feat underneath and rising from the water to stand. Mercifully, the waterline began just above a rather critical level of his anatomy.

He wasn't overweight, but he did carry a bit of bulk from so many years. Where once had been a flat belly was now a bit of a gut. His chest was still as wide as it had always been, arms thick with old muscle. He was no model of perfect fitness, but he was still strong despite his age. A passing spacer had once compared him to an old wampa.

Y'got mileage, y'ole cat, but I still ain't pickin' a fight 'cause I know th'strength... it's still there. Ain't stupid, y'know. Yer like a damn old wampa. I know issa old sumbitch, but I ain't lettin' them years fool me.

Those words still made him smile to this day. And standing in the most glorious of baths with his new friend Wexxx-leeee, Gantuhar felt satisfaction.

"There are stars all around, Wexxx-leeee. They are everywhere. Have you tried to catch one? It is not easy. This One has tried many times to catch stars, but they flit away so easily. But maybe now This One can hold on to the star that you have offered."

His head tilted back, eyes wide to drink in the beautiful mosaic tiles above.

"Such beauty in one place can only be attributed to the Allmother and Her Divine touches. She creates beauty wherever She goes, you know. This One wishes to someday lay eyes upon her so that he may offer Her his praises and great love."

[Abarai Loki]

While Gantuhar waxed lyrical about stars and the Allmother, Loki followed his gaze into the heavens, as if he could glean a speck of sense from his bizarre monologue amongst the artwork above.

Nope. Not a blasted clue.

Mystified, he returned his attention to the towering Trianii, with one eyebrow left behind amongst the rafters. Perhaps he required some assistance navigating the sane-insane language barrier. Loki wet his lips, gauging his words like a competitive diver, bracing for the plunge.

"So... what exactly are you saying, Gantuhar?" Then, abandoning all pretence, he kindly suggested, "Are you going to order me a drink, or...?"

[Gantuhar]

Staring to the wonderfully tiles heavens above, the Trianii eventually blinked his eyes slowly, his head ponderously returning downward as his gaze swept of the teahouse's patrons, all in some manner of restful repose or fevered, thrusting pleasures. Eventually his eyes fell on Wexxx-leeee.

"A drink... ?"

Another blink, and Gantuhar turned to face his bath mate fully.

"This One will provide all that he can to allow Wexxx-leeee the best chances to plead a case to the Madame."

And again he sank back down, his bulk displacing the water so that it rose.

"A spiritual drink perhaps? With Kybur rose petals and aged Ithorian jasmine? This One has heard that the Fallanassi enjoyed such drinks, and that they fermented sugars to mix them with. They claimed that such a drink helped them to connect more fully with the White Current."

One hand came up then to wave at the air, sending drops of water and flecks of aromatic herbs about in the process.

"The Force, This One supposes you could call it."

[Abarai Loki]

"I have no interest in connecting more fully with the Force. That sort of thing is for mystics, and monks, and men with too much time on their hands. Now, rose petals... jasmine..." Loki's nose wrinkled as he considered Gantuhar's proposal. After a moment, he shook his head, "That sounds terribly... not me."

An ineloquent choice of words, if ever he heard one. And, if he couldn't understand his own words, what chance did he have for the Trianii jibberish machine to make any sense of them? His shoulders dipped with a sigh. They were at least on the right track - that is, to say, on track to acquiring an alcoholic beverage strong enough to purge the strange reality of his day. What was he doing? What was the point of all this? Had his old life been left behind so he could sneak into perfumed baths with lunatics? Maybe life - normal life - was odd like that. It certainly seemed that way. With grim determination, he sank deeper into the water.

"Something strong. Something... hard. No flowers or fruit. Perhaps we should drink until we forget our own names." He glanced up at Gantuhar, "It may do us both some good."

[Gantuhar]

Strong. Hard. So Wexxx-leeee wanted something of a more... bruising nature? Perhaps the boy was simply exhausted from the shifts he pulled, to want to forget even his own name! It was certainly an unfortunate thing, but Gantuhar could understand the reasoning. He too had done much... forgetting... after his escape from the End of the Stars. He had forgotten much, and had no desire to expend the energy to remember. If memories came back, the did so in their own time.

"Very well," the low rumbling of his voice seemed more subdued as his thoughts raced to think of something acceptable.

Both hands moved beneath the surface to swirl about, sending each bit of the bath's aromatic concoctions into mesmerizing circular paths. Each petal and bit of scented 'dust' wound together, bumped along the top of the water, then came apart to find another wondrously-smelling partner. No two stayed together for any longer than they needed, and their intertwining scents melded together for just the right amount of time before moving onward.

"Perhaps you need a drink from This One's world," there was a flicker of memory; of the old days that held harsh realities that he never dwelled long upon. But, int hose memories was a drink that Wexxx-leeee might just like.

"A... very unique drink. This One could never stomach very much of it, but if the teahouse stocks it, then I would say you should have a glass of Karranii. It is strong. And hard."