Cafe on the Green

[Narssiska Vraska]

Soirée was a nice enough cafe, the food was decently prepared and sourced from all over the galaxy. Many cultural dishes came together to form an elegant menu for the curious palate. It was not it's aesthetic and flavors that brought the green scaled matron of the Shatterstar Lounge here, but rather it's location just out of the way of the main promenade concourse. While only just tucked out of sight it boasted vastly decreased traffic and was ideal for ducking one's head down away from the rushing, crushing crowds of shoppers and diners in the promenade.

Especially those rather uncouth Cizeracks, with their vulgar ways, barbaric eating rituals, and falsely instated sense of superiority.

Taking a delicate sip from a equally delicate tea cup, Narsisska Vraska looked around the venue for her lunch companion. Their usual table was located on the outside of the cafe. While there was no natural breeze or sunshine save for what the air scrubbers pushed out and the overhead lights provided, it was still better than the tight quarters inside the cafe itself. They even erected umbrellas in the center of the wrought iron tables lending to the illusion that they were, in fact, outside. The illusion was never fulled created, not with the bulkheads coming at you from every direction. Still, one could almost lose themselves to it.

On the table between her and the empty seat was a plate of warm Tanaabian sweet rolls. A favorite of hers for sure, and one that her companion at least claimed to enjoy. They had a buttery taste and needed no condiments. The outside was wonderfully flaky, which would never pair well with her dress made of black silk and lace. A cloth napkin was already strategically positioned over her lap lest she ruin her clothing. What a shame that would be. She only had a single closet of identical black silk and lace dresses.

When one cultivates a certain image it is best to always be in character. Any color would be quite the scandal.

[Mackenzie Tallen]

Mackenzie was late. While there was no specifically agreed upon time for his lunches with Jovan Station's reptilian purveyor of secrets and vice, and yet both of them were acutely aware when the other was in any way tardy. It was not the lateness but the waiting that resonated; while both were cut from the same patient cloth that all detectives, information brokers, and intelligence officers were sewn from, they both also suffered from the curse and burden of busy lives, and the oasis of peaceful civility that lunch represented was not a commodity to be wasted.

Finally surfacing from the undertow of the promenade's tidal currents, Mack immediately felt the weight lifting as he breached the atmosphere of Soirée. A polite wave was offered to one of the familiar wait staff as she noticed him through the doorway; an unspoken request for the same beverage as always. While Vraska always sipped her fancy teas from fancy cups, Mackenzie opted for a robust caf in a recepticle to match. He couldn't be sure if the inelegant choice was in any way irksome to his companion's sense of propriety, but he liked to think so.

Another breach of typical behavior came as Mackenzie settled down into the seat opposite. Most would have removed the course-weave military jacket that Mackenzie wore, hung it over the back of their chair perhaps, but for Mackenzie it served an important practical purpose. As a Mandalorian, and more importently as part of the contingent at the embassy here on Jovan Station, his traditional armour was less a uniform and more of a religious symbol, that would be probably be etched into his flesh if Mand'alor felt he could get away with tweaking the Codex. Not only did it identify him as Mandalorian for all to see, the Death Watch colours marked him as part of Mandalore the Liberator's personal guard. Symbols upon symbols. The jacket was his only barrier against instant recognition, and while he had no shame walking the promenade in armour, the sizeable jacket provided just enough concealment that a passing glance wouldn't make him the center of attention.

He smiled as the waitress quickly appeared, caf placed quickly before him, a glance cast over her shoulder as she retreated back inside. Mackenzie made sure he was looking in her direction when it happened, same as always; he meant nothing by it, but it was always satisfying to see the colour flush to her cheeks.

Turning back to Vraska, his fingers fell to the latches on his gauntlets, tugging off the gloves so that his bare hands could wrap around the caf mug. "You'll have to excuse my lateness," he offered. In truth the reason was tedious and benign, but where was the fun in that? "Yon lost control of some of his produce again. It caused quite the scene."

[Narssiska Vraska]

"Dear me, I hope that hiss deliveriess will not be late ass a ressult. It took sseveral dayss to get my order of Riki the lasst time. How the Commander keepss hiss ssanity on thiss zoo of a sstation, if you will pardon the pun, iss quite frankly beyond me." She said in an exasperated tone that was overly dramatic and overly delivered. Taking a delicate silver spoon she sunk it into the brown water of her tea and began slowly stirring; ever so careful to keep the spoon from clinking against the sides of the delicate tea cup. She looked up and away wistfully, thinking of her Riki. The insect was difficult to come by on this side of the galaxy. Yon was the only supplier. There was not a large demand for insects, live or otherwise, on the Station.

"My own day paless in comparisson to ssuch exccitement. I have been reading the Ssundering of the Frozen Valley, by Ki Katta. It desscribes the taming of Wayland by the colonistss after being cut off from the resst of the galaxy. Harrowing accountss of ssurvival, but for the mosst part dry hisstorical accounts. It iss sstill an interessting read, esspeccially now that Wayland hass been just reccently reconnected to the Empire. How are you faring with the book of Ithorian Proverbss I lent you? Doess not the imagery of Gargamaelk'ss Dawn of Eternity invoke ssuch great themess of rebirth and infinite ccyccless? Sso enchanting."

That was the nature of their relationship. One of them, often Narsisska as she loved to initiate, would put forth bait to draw in the other. A bit of information on a string; the hint of knowing something beyond their station, and then saying no more of it by moving on to another subject. The subjugation of Wayland was fresh news, from the other side of the fence, and she had literature taken from the half-forgotten world cut off since the Clone Wars; and she made mention of it like it was nothing special or out of the ordinary. Rather she continued to stir her tea, her mask of mild, happy amusement never cracking for a moment.

[Mackenzie Tallen]

He understood what Vraska was trying to do. Commended her for her tactics, even. As far as anyone knew, Mackenzie Tallen was a Mandalorian. That was what he proclaimed to be, and as best he could manage, that was all official records stated. There might have been a few classified documents here and there that might reveal that he was at one time a deep cover Imperial Security Bureau operative, but anyone with clearance to know such files even existed - let alone clearance to access them - was firmly on the Imperial side of the boarder, and was unlikely to go sharing such things with a citizen of one of the Alliance's more high profile space stations. True, there was no doubt mention of him in Alliance Intelligence databases somewhere, as part of background checks and record keeping on his sister, but short of a mole in a fairly pivotal position within the ISB, the odds of his anonymity being safe were fairly high. My brother hunts and kills potential recruits was not the sort of thing that Mara was likely to have admitted.

Besides, water under the bridge. He could barely even remember the last time he'd killed a Rebel. He'd even started growing somewhat fond of them, truth be told. It turned out that behind all the uniforms and politics, most people were just people, and there wasn't much of a difference to tell.

Vraska's perceptiveness meant that he had to keep his actions and reactions under careful control. The mention of Wayland was clearly meant to provoke something; but fortunately for him, Vraska had offered an alternative topic for him to focus on, evading her breadcrumbs completely. He shrugged, hefting the caf mug to his lips for a mouthful that was probably too warm for most humans. Someone with a military background like his, though? Rapid response taught you how to down a drink, whatever the drink, as quickly as possible when the time called for it. That was a vague and misleading clue that he was all too happy to dangle in front of his companion.

"It's a little... dry for me?"

He carefully chose as irksome a word as possible. Vraska spoke with such poetry, such eloquence; it amused Mackenzie to counter with bluntness and simplicity, the caf to her tea.

"Maybe I just don't have enough experience with jungle to properly understand all the metaphors. Man-eating plants and tree-dwelling predators aren't really a thing we had to deal with back on Concord Dawn. Find me some proverbs about a planet being cracked in half though, and maybe that'll be more my speed."

[Narssiska Vraska]

"Perhapss a vacation among your Dxun coussins will give you the proper inssight. I hear the planet iss quite deadly thiss time of year."

Her reply came at a pace that suggested she had already chosen it ahead of time. Like Jikamikakoru players thinking three steps ahead she was already pushing her thralls pieces into position even as he slid his priests out. Lifting her teacup, saucer in hand, she brought the delicate container almost to her green lips and then paused, setting it back down in the saucer.

"Although, I've heard rumor that there are very few Mandalorianss sstill on Dxun. The localss claim they ssimply vanisshed, like ssomething out a children'ss ghosst sstory."

The laugh that followed suggested that the story was funny in an absurd sort of way. Vraska would never openly admit what she knew, at least not without being paid, but it was still fun to bait her companion. She had no doubts based on his reputation, and what she had gleamed through her own channels, that he was very well informed as well. Not nearly so much as her, but one had to be when they were in the business of knowing. Tallen was a difficult man to pin down any facts upon, but that in itself only presented a delicious challenge. Her network was always looking, and she was always delicately prying within the game they played.

[Mackenzie Tallen]

The Mandalorians of Dxun. Cousins was an interesting term to choose. He supposed they were, several hundred generations removed, not that the Dxun or Manda'yaim cohorts would ever be anything but insulted by the comparison. When the Warmistress had arrived with her fleet of ships, Mand'alor had welcomed them with open arms, striving to find a way to reconcile their mutated Mandalorian beliefs with those of the New Mandalorians and True Mandalorians. It was a culture shock for everyone involved; but no more so than any of the other former rivals who were expected to coexist in Mandalore the Liberator's new united dominion.

Fascinating wasn't quite the right word, but Mackenzie had certainly watched the interactions and friction with interest. He had been one of the Mandalorians who honoured their pledge of loyalty to the Galactic Empire: first as a Protector, and then as an Imperial Supercommando until Gar Saxon and Clan Wren had seen them become largely obsolete. He had seen how the Empire sought to enforce stability upon the Mandalorians, and how sharply it contrasted with the Liberator's faith in the honour and integrity of his subjects to see them through.

Once again, Vraska baited her trap, seeking to lure an unsuspecting fact or reaction out into the open. He was almost tempted to throw out a decoy, hanging a sodden boot on the end of her line; but he knew that Vraska, for all her patience, was wise enough to know if she was fishing in a pond that would yield no fish.

"The Dxunites I met back on Mandalore were most certainly not ghosts," he offered, a tiny tantalising morsel. It was a truth he categorically knew to be fact as well, as the faint memory of an aching jaw and an armoured fist reminded him. "Though rumour has it a few of them may have got a little lost along the way. Force knows where they might have ended up."

[Narssiska Vraska]

And so the exchange continued. She proposed rumors and stories and he countered with hard facts and circumstantial evidence from his own experiences. It was like flinging cobwebs against a shield. Of course it would not be as much fun if the dance did not continue. She would dare say that there was more often no winner to be found between them. Just a man and a woman grappling for some common ground that they could never find in this sea of secrets and shadows, and yet somehow they continued to try time and time again. It was insanity, no doubt, but there was an incredible lack of anyone she considered to be her equal on this space station.

That means the dance will continue. Forever.

"The galaxxy might never know, but in the meantime I am ssure the localss are relieved. If Izzizz buildss it'ss wallss any higher the Mandalorianss would have to invade from orbit. The very idea! Thosse that remain sshould enlisst the help of thosse renegade Mandalorianss that have been harassssing Imperial sspace. Thosse lads sseem to know how to get thingss done. Indeed."

The spoon went around in his cup again but her eyes did not break from his. It was an interesting bit of bait, but not one that she was going to dwell on. She liked to drop those barbs and change subjects, so that they can fester in the mind. She would never admit just how much she knew about what went on beyond their border, but she would hint at it. More often it was complete lies dreamed up to make her field of influence look larger than it really was. She knew a man like Tallen was hardly afraid of her, but to the average man she knew far more than they imagined she should, and hinting at it had a tendency to leave them looking into corners for cameras and checking closets for spies.

Such paranoia was a weapon in itself.

"Sspeaking of rumorss. I heard a new one the other day. It would sseem that one of the local gonzzo journalistss hass noticced out lunchess and hass begun sspinning quite the yarn. Ssomething about the meeting between a sspy master and an officcer of the ISB. Ssuch sstoriess he sspinss. He even hintss at a romantic connection. Cadris Hhan sshould be much more interessted in hiss outrageouss debtss to the Black Ssun organizzation than sslandering the good people of this sstation."

[Mackenzie Tallen]

"Steady there, Vraska."

There was a chuckle to Mackenzie's words, one slightly echoed and muffled as he brought the caf mug to his lips. What wasn't diminished was the brief flash of mirth and mischief in his eye.

"The good people of this station? If I didn't know any better, I'd almost sound like you're starting to get fond of me."

At first notion, the insinuation - whether genuinely a journalist's, or Vraska's own - that Mackenzie was an officer of the ISB was close enough to the truth that it might have been troubling. While his role with the consulate staff afforded him a certain kind of safeguard against excessive prying from the station's staff, he mostly relied on remaining as uninteresting to concerned Alliance parties as possible. Those who did pay him any mind were, as intended, more concerned about the prospect of a Mandalorian aboard the station; particularly one with Mackenzie's familial ties. Those acquainted with his sister were no doubt wary that the elder Tallen might have a similar temperament; and you could hardly be the son of Alec Tallen, Mand'alor's corporate errand boy of choice, without some amount of encroachment into your business by his long and irritating shadow.

On the other hand, the insinuation was vague, and sounded as much like a generic paranoid fabrication as it did the truth. After all, to call Vraska was like calling a lightsaber a sword: perhaps true from a certain point of view, and yet grossly inaccurate to the extent of largely missing the point. Mackenzie wouldn't have been surprised to hear that every human on the station who hadn't arrived by way of the Rebel Alliance had been accused of being an ISB Agent at some time or another. It was an easy paranoid leap, and an understandable one for people who were only now for the first time in three decades able to breathe easy beyond the scope of the Empire's reach. To them, every shadow might seem like the Imperials arriving to drag them kicking and screaming back to their unpleasant past.

A frown tugged at Mackenzie's brow as he settled the mug back down on the table. "It could be worse," he mused, letting his fingers knit together idly in his lap, letting his eyes drift away from Vraska even though his attention never did. "I heard that one of the gossip broadwaves has it on good authority that not one but two of Senator Meorrrei's daughters was seen consorting with a decorated member of the Alliance's starfighter elite recently. Meorrrei Sisters Share More Than Genes was the headline, or something equally eloquent along those lines."

Another flash of the mirthful smile was levelled in Vraska's direction as his gaze settled on her again, and the mug was retrieved.

"Don't suppose you'd care to comment?"

[Narssiska Vraska]

"I am fond of everyone on thiss sstation, Misster Tallen." Came a reply partnered with a playful narrowing of her eyes as she look at him over the top of her cup; a look betrayed by the upward tug of a lip hidden behind the mug as a twinkle in her eye. "I am a compassssionate ssmall bussinessss owner who caterss to her clientele'ss every whim and fanccy. To mosst that makess me a ssaint, but to Father Kees of the Unification Church I am a heretic, pervert, and corrupter of mindss; but he hass yet to reject my contributionss to hiss church however."

Father Kees was an interesting man. An upstanding member of the community that she had found herself at odds with at every turn. The cause of the conflict was simple and straight forward. He was a man of spiritual integrity and she was a merchant of flesh. There was no reason in a sane world for them to ever get along. Kees was further incensed by her refusal to admit any wrongdoing and maintain nothing but absolute friendliness toward the clergyman. She had even invited him to a sit down meeting for them to hash out their differences and build bridges. However, she had asked him to come to her office, which was only accessible through the showroom. It was an intentional design.

"I'm afraid I know nothing of the ssort. I would ssuggest assking Madame Maillanaarro. I would imagine the Tea Housse would be the ssort of placce the Ssenator'ss daughterss would find themsselves at. A sstaple of Cizerack culture from what I hear. Ssounds abssolutely lovely. Have you been? I have not. I'm jusst sso bussy. One of thesse dayss I'll finally get out and ssee all this sstation hass to offer. Oh my, it ssounds like all thiss gossssip iss getting quite out of hand. Being ssusspicciouss and sspying on our neighborss is the ssort of thing that tearss communitiess apart. Perhapss we sshould bring it to the Commander'ss attention? Ssurely he could put a sstop to ssuch childissh nonssensse."

She stirred her drink again, looking upward thoughtfully, as if reflected upon something, before bringing the freshly stirred drink back to her lips and taking a careful sip despite the temperature of the liquid having long ago passed such need for caution.

"Are you religiouss, Misster Tallen?"

[Mackenzie Tallen]

The flurry of misdirects almost lured Mackenzie off guard, almost robbing him of the ability to hide his surprise at the sudden question.

"Mandalorian religion is... complicated."

It wasn't an answer, but it was disguised as one; a careful choice to answer on behalf of his entire people, rather than him personally. Another sip of caf was taken as he collected his thoughts, trying to compose an explanation of his inherited beliefs.

"There were gods of Mandalore, once. Thousands of years ago. Warrior gods. Trickster gods. At some point though, the Mandalorians started realising that the gods weren't actually doing anything; so either they didn't exist, or they were useless and not worth our attention. So instead, Mandalore began to believe in the manda, a sort of collective oversoul. When a Mandalorian dies, if they've lived an honourable life in keeping the Mandalorian code and traditions, they become part of the manda. Part of Mandalore. We all -"

He waved a hand vaguely, using the other to deposit another mouthful of caf beyond his lips.

"- live on together. Which is pretty exclusionary, I suppose. Only those who live our way are worthy of being remembered by the Mandalorians. But we don't have what other religions have - none of that condemnation for others who don't follow our beliefs or meet our expectations. If you live an unworthy life, that's pretty much your problem, and not ours."

He shrugged, letting the notion hang in the air for a moment. A slight frown tugged at his brow.

"Well, unless you're a New Mandalorian, I suppose. Trues aren't so forgiving of the News, but I guess that's more about protecting the hearts and minds of future generations than anything else. Trues believe it's better to know the old ways and have the choice not to follow them, rather than letting ignorance make that choice for you."

[Narssiska Vraska]

"That ssounds quite lovely. A ssense of brotherhood and connection to a common goal without any of that holier than thou and my god ssayss sso bussinesss."

The tea cup once again raised to her lips, and it's seemingly infinite contents were sipped once more. It was part of the game, a misdirection that gave one time to think, to plan the next move. It's contents were drank slowly, exaggerated sips that consumed little liquid so that the mask could be used again and again. Sip, stir, sip, and stir. It was but a pawn in the scheme of the game, but a strategy all the same.

"I've never been one for religion, but I find it quite fasscinating. I have ruless to live by, ass do we all, but I would rather not have them dictated by an unccertain entity, long dead prophet, or anccient book. To each their own, I ssay. All are welcome within my home."

Sip. Stir.

[Mackenzie Tallen]

"Ah," Mackenzie countered, with a brief flash of an enigmatic smile, "But how do you know that your rules are your own?"

Abandoning his caf, Mack settled back a little in his seat, repositioning himself to find some degree of comfort in his Mandalorian garb. It was true that the imposition of Mandalore's particular brand of rules was particularly overt - a Mandalorian's armour was as much about faith and identity as it was about appearance and practicality - but not all influences and impacts were as honest in their presence as the Resol'nare.

"I had an instructor once - philosophy, psychology; I forget the specific subject - who planted one of those insidious thoughts into my mind that I have never been able to dislodge." A hand gestured casually in Vraska's direction. "Back then, I thought as you do. We have the power to make our own choices, and to build our own morality, something that religion and tradition should have no place in. But then he asked me: why do I believe that an action is good or bad? Where does that interpretation of reality come from? Is it an integral fact of the universe, some underlying true morality that every living being instinctively understands? Or is it something we are taught, a product of our parents and our society - and if so, where did their notion of morality come from? Who was the first to decide the difference between good and bad? The Republic? The Jedi? The Force?"

Mack smiled again, a softer and more nostalgic expression this time as he contemplated the conversation and the knots it had tied his mind in.

"We like to believe that we are all products of our own mind, and yet in truth we are all the result of whatever influences and contributions have combined to make us who we are. So while you believe that your morality is not determined by prophets, or deities, or religious texts, can you really be so sure?"

[Narssiska Vraska]

"I see what you instructor was proposing; of morality and person having been crafted from one's environment. From parents, teachers, peers, and rivals. The Rodian Philosopher Pintostraumus once said that the psyche is a ingot of steel upon which many forces hammer to form. One cannot resist every influence in the galaxy. Some will take hold and others will not. I would posit, however, that the final product, that melding of influence, of ideals and dreams, is an utterly unique experience. A combination that is completely alien from it's individual parts. Can we still say it belongs to someone else? Perhaps, but I like to think it becomes one's own."

As much fun as gossip was, this was the sort of topic that brought her back again and again to this table across from Tallen. Not many shared her penchant for philosophy; and even fewer were well read enough to bring perspective and knowledge that she had did not already possess herself. Her extensive collection of rare texts afforded her much insight into the minds of brilliant, and sometimes insane, philosophers. Rough and unfinished ideas. Never a real conclusion, only theories. That was what separated it from religion where the facts are assumed and faith fills in the cracks. Philosophy will never discover the true answer to life. It will always be nothing but an interpretation. A glimpse behind the cosmic curtain.

"Tan-Ten Hurk believed that modern people are without point and all our qualities have been borrowed from those who came before, and they from their predecessors, and backward traced all the way back to a golden age when ideas were still new. I think he used the word stolen, and used a metaphor about clubs if I remember correctly. Unfortunately Gamorrese does not translate directly into, well, any language really. I think he was simply upset that Basher No-Pants plagiarized theory that Gamorr was a flat disc riding on the back of a giant Mok-mok."

"Truthfully, who is to say where we come from or why we have become what we are. I prefer focusing on the present while taking a cheeky peek at the future now and again. It's a strange and exciting galaxy out there, is it not?"

[Mackenzie Tallen]

Mackenzie could easily have debated longer. It wasn't quite a passion that Vraska managed to ignite in him with her words, but it was certainly an urge to argue, to deconstruct and dissect her proposed viewpoints. Perhaps it even danced on a nerve, an irritation that formed in his Academy days in reaction to lecturers and academics who relied upon the words and wisdom of others to fight their battles for them. Perhaps even back then, amid his days of trying to distance himself from his Mandolorian roots as possible, he had not been able to unsee the interpretation that it was cowardly, hiding behind the opinions of others rather than having the courage to present them as your own. When you cited the musings of others, it protected you from ever being wrong: every argument against you clashed with someone else's thoughts, sparing you from having to concede defeat. Maybe, deep down, that was the crux of it: what use was there in waging an argument if your opponent was never going to admit that you'd won?

Vraska's last words deflected things towards a new trajectory however, and the fixate upon the regurgitated philosophy would have seemed petty, and might have revealed more about Mackenzie on a personal level than he was willing to concede. He reached for his mug instead, letting a mouthful force a necessary pause before he responded.

"Predicting the future has it's place," Mackenzie admitted, "But I find that the more time one spends watching the horizon, the more likely one is to trip over the obstacles they didn't notice directly in their path. Besides, the horizon is broad and stretches in all directions; look too far ahead, and you might fixate on a landmark that your path will veer away from before you ever get there."

[Narssiska Vraska]

"Well said, my friend."

The future was indeed a nebulous thing and predicting it's many pathways was a sacrifice of self. An obsession that had consumed many a mind. Often they looked back and lamented at the price they paid for just a glimpse of might be; the loss of the now. They only saw a wasted life spent dedicated to something that they never truly achieved. From what she had read, it would seem that many clandestine and powerful empires of the galaxy had fallen because of their obsession with some distant goal. And now the galaxy barely remembered them.

"There are some who think that such hubris befell the Empire at the height of it's power. Too busy looking ahead at what they wanted to achieve and not spending enough time realizing how to accomplish it effectively in the now. They built such large armies, navies, and superweapons but were incapable of stopping what was by comparison an incredibly small group of rebels from eventually toppling their regime. Of course, that is all just speculation. We will never know the mind of Skeev Palpatine. We can only watch and see if his replacement can handle her own rebellion."

She was, of course, speaking of Corellia. A planet embroiled in a new civil war as the natives fought to remove Imperial control. It was an interesting event to watch embroil from a safe distance; especially when one hears such salacious rumors of Alliance interference in the conflict, of weapons smuggled in and spies plied through the blockade. It was impossible to know for sure what was going on within a planet so under lock and key. Her own contacts had little concrete to say.