Womanly Pursuits

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Captain's log.

Entry 3381.

We've completed our final month of interdiction patrol duty along demilitarized space. I am pleased to say that the mission passed uneventfully. Aside from intercepting a pair of pirate runabouts near the Thalassian corridor, this has been the longest that the frigate Novgorod and his crew have gone without battle. There are few things a Captain can ask for than to return to port with a mission accomplished and all hands accounted for. I have seen too much of war's ugliness. I appreciate this lengthy break.

We have made a slight detour from our return to port at Jovan station to make orbit at Ord Deraxa. An old friend of mine from the war has a debt to pay. No time like the present to collect.


Cirrsseeto chewed on his lower lip to keep his rogue smile under control. Humans had a phrase, like the cat that swallowed the canary. It wasn't all that offensive when it hit this close to the mark. He returned from planetside along with MARCUS, in possession of several antigrav pallets full of sealed cargo. To the eternal chagrin of loadmaster Felcher, he inventoried not a scrap of it, making a motion to the complaining busybody to zip his lips as he headed to the lift.

A scant few minutes later, the Captain hauled his mysterious cargo into the galley, where he'd called ahead to muster his senior staff and all personnel not on duty. The small galley was therefore just about full to capacity, with just enough space at the front for the buffet table and the autochef. MARCUS filed behind quietly, betraying nothing but the soft whirr of his processor array's cooling fan. The Captain made his way to the head of the room, pilfering a drink glass and a knife from the dispensary cabinet behind. He clinked them together, creating a polite din to shush down the murmurs and whispers.

"Gentlemen. Ladjies. Crrew."

He looked left and right, now no longer hiding his smile. His tail swayed in an open loop behind him.

"jIt's been a long tjime out jin the black. Thank you forr yourr serrvjice and yourr sacrrjifjice. jI hope that all of ourr tourrs frrom herre forrwarrd can be so smooth."

[Jaden Luka]

Jaden fought the urge to shuffle uncomfortably. When he'd first taken this assignment, people had told him he'd get used to it eventually, but apparently that was a time code they hadn't reached yet. The bigger factors, those he'd been able to adapt to. He'd finally figured out how to sit in The Chair without feeling like he was under interrogation. He could cope with the administrative responsibility, with the performance and and wellbeing of over a hundred souls suddenly being his concern. He'd learn to tolerate the meetings, and the briefings. He was even, grudgingly, coming to terms with only getting behind a set of fighter controls once in a blue moon; though watching Valkyrie Squadron launch without him wasn't getting any easier.

It was moments like this that Jaden struggled with. It was the way members of his crew reacted to him when they passed in a corridor, or when they found themselves in the same place on one of their occasional space station layovers. It was being looked up to, not because of his skill or his piloting prowess, but because of his status. It was the implicit respect that he found hard to accept, and the level of expectation that came along with it. Captain Quez seemed born to this kind of thing, to the speeches, and the sentiment, and to looking the part. Jaden still felt out of place in the uniform, burying it beneath a Rogued and Valkyried flight jacket at every opportunity. His deflector shields, the pilots joked; his protection from adverse exposure to too much navy nonsense. They weren't far from the mark, though it was much a comfort as it was protective. Now, standing here in the galley without it, trying his best to look the way a First Officer was meant to look, he felt naked and exposed. Vulnerable.

The feeling was worsened by the inner conflict that Jaden had wrestled with the last few weeks, knowing that this end to their patrol deployment was looming. Unlike the old days of the Rebellion, the Alliance of Free Planets couldn't afford to leave their ships to fend for themselves. To let the craft patrolling their borders slowly deteriorate would have displayed weakness, underscoring the strain and struggle that the Alliance's limited resources felt as they overextended in every direction to safeguard their new territory. Ships were rotated in and out of assignments on cycles, ensuring the freshest crews and most servicable ships found their way to the front while other crews were relieved and rotated back to Fleet Headquarters for repairs, resupply, and reprieve. That was one of the few aspects of the assignment that Jaden didn't find foreign: the Starfighter Corps had operated much the same way during the height of the Galactic Civil War, squadrons shifted from outpost to outpost, no pilots given the chance to become complacent or overstressed.

Home for the Fourth Fleet was Moonus Mandel, a brief hop and skip from Bothawui. That was where the Novgorod would be headed, after one last fleeting visit to Jovan Station. Some crew and equipment would stay behind, rotating into the station's officer pool, or on to the newly arriving ships. Others would remain until Mandel, joined by officers roting out from Jovan's crew, couriered back to Fleet Headquarters ready to spread out to the scattered corners of the Alliance, taking their experience of this ship and this frontier with them to new commands and assignments. In the grand scheme of things, the Novgorod's personnel losses would be modest, but on a ship this small, any departure was felt. More than a squadron: that was the statistic that Jaden couldn't shake, the one that unsettled his already disrupted comfort. Enough officers to overfill a fighter squadron were departing, and over the last months Jaden had made it his business to learn their names, their faces, their value, and what set them apart. Though there was a distance, though their was the separation of crew and XO holding the kind of squadmate intimacy that Jaden was accustomed to at bay, he still felt every departure as an individual twist of the knife.

That was what this was about, as much as anything else: one last moment of gratitude before the departing few bid their farewells. That was why it left him conflicted, too. For all the strides he had made, Jaden still struggled to accept his validity here. He struggled to feel as if he belonged, but more importantly he struggled to feel as if he was the right man for the job - as if he was the calibre of First Officer that these men and women deserved. If they were to predisposed towards respecting him, then he was obligated to earn it, and deserve it; and that was something that for all his pilot's bravado, Jaden had not yet learned to do. Part of him waited for the other thruster to fire, for Alliance Command to realise it's miscalculation, and course correct it's way into a more suited replacement. He knew whose cockpit he had climbed into, and what vague allusions to his predecessor Captain Quez had occasionally made only corroborated what Jaden remembered from his Imperial days. Glayde was not someone he'd ever measure up to; perhaps it would be best if he forced Command's hand, requested reassignment so that they might think a little harder about a replacement who'd do right by this crew.

That was the dilemma, the quandry that plagued him: because as shrewd a strategy as it seemed, the pilot in him couldn't bring himself to follow through, couldn't will himself to flee from a mission and leave his people behind. Logic or loyalty clashed against each other in his mind on a near daily basis, the same letter of resignation he'd drafted his first week still prepped and ready to be sent if it was needed.

But he hid it. Buried it deep. Wrapped the persona of the pilot around himself, letting it conceal him as thoroughly as stormtrooper armour once had. "Here's to fresh air," he chimed in, taking half a step into the sphere of attention and raising his glass in a toast, "And a few weeks of real gravity for a change."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirrsseeto panned his blue eyes to his XO, acknowledging him with a nod. He was learning to find Commander Luka's assets and put them to work on his ship. John Glade was a tremendous act to follow. He'd been a natural leader, a tough fighter. But in Jaden Luka, Cirrsseeto saw a yearning for empathy. More than a few Captains had confided in him what they looked for in their executives. Well-rounded skills went without saying. Should the Captain fall, the executive officer was to replace him in all duties. But there was something more intangible that was equally important. An XO had to feel the pulse of the crew. He had to be able to talk to them, to hear them out. Live a day in their lives, even if it meant glomming onto that perspective through a conversation. The executive officer was the crew's conduit to the Captain. They could say things to the XO that they either couldn't or wouldn't to their Captain, and that distinction was an important one to recognize.

That said, they weren't there yet. Cirrsseeto had a knack for people, and a tour or two with Commader Luka gave him the impression of a man at the edge of the ocean, still testing the waters with his toes. Whether intentional or not, there was something held back. Earnestly, Cirrsseeto hoped he could bring out that potential. Then there was the other thought. Maybe I'm looking at my replacement.

But back to matters at hand. Cirr clasped a hand over Jaden's shoulder, giving a friendly squeeze.

"Well frresh ajirr and rreal grravjity arre gojing to be njice, no doubt about jit. But jI couldn't brrjing those thjings on boarrd, so we'll have to wajit a ljittle longerr."

The Cizerack cracked a wry smile.

"jI djid, howeverr, brrjing somethjing else."

On cue, MARCUS opened the cargo containers. A hiss and a puff of chilled air revealed the contents within. Stack after stack of prime cuts of dewback and nerf glistened in their crimson and cream colored glory.

"Looks ljike meat's back on the menu!"

A whoop of celebration filled the close air of the galley. It couldn't be understated that deep space rations were...well they were dreadful. Protein isolate drinks, shaped and formed and flavored protein cubes. Reconstituted protein analogue. Outside of maybe the Cizerack Trade Navy, no one took matters of culinary need seriously. It wasn't enough to drive a crew to mutiny, but Cirrsseeto was sure that if every historical mutiny was analyzed, at least one of the reasons for it would be on account of the poor food.

If that wasn't enough, there were even a dozen bottles of wine. Hardly enough for an entire frigate's crew to get rowdy, but enough for each person to enjoy a glass on their personal time, and to come back to feeling like normal people.

[Jaden Luka]

"Steak?"

The slow exhale that Jaden unleashed echoed every positive sentiment from the rest of the crew. While their occasional layovers at Jovan Station allowed the crew a few opportunities to replenish their private stash of dietary suplements - Jaden himself had stumbled across a quirky Gand butcher who had an enticing brand of don't ask; won't tell jerky of unspecified origin that the Commander had taken something of a shine to - trying to find something edible, portable, and storable was like trying to find a viable prom date at a Gamorrean cookout, and a few meat sticks and candy bars weren't enough to convince you that your diet of prepackaged food approximations even vaguely resembled human norms. For the last few days, Jaden had been quietly pining for the Veknoid bread market he'd found across the last time they were on Mandel, but the prospect of a decently cooked flank, enjoyed in the comfort of this ship and among this crew for perhaps the last time?

His eyes met with the Captain's for a moment, a subtle nod of his head and a tilt of his glass saluting the gesture, and the sentiment. Honestly, Jaden had been a little concerned when the crates had come aboard, and had set his expectation threshold to: hopefully it's not still alive. That had become a consistent concern having encountered the Cizerack so much of late; stumbling upon an unexpected living creature in an unassumingly generic container was a lot more common than Jaden had ever thought to expect. This though? This exceeded his expectations by lightyears.

Downing the contents of his tumbler, he set the glass aside and clapped his hands together, fingers massaging themselves with eager impatience. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I fucking love steak."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Dinner proceeded about as orderly as could be expected with a galley full of ravenous crew who were teased by the sight of Porterhouse and Arkanis Strip. MARCUS helped to keep the queue efficient so that the autochef could quickly muster its griddle. Three hours passed in a blur of rubbed elbows, spirited conversations, and a lot of food.

At the end of it all, party wound itself down. Crew who had gotten used to months of miserly protein portions were finding sleep a very attractive pull after steak dinner and enough wine to wash it all down. One by one, they made their exit. Even MARCUS left to return to more pressing duties.

That left the company somewhat more intimate. Cirrsseeto sat across from his XO, and tipped the nearest smoked glass bottle to his Commander's mess glass. The wine burbled into squat cylinder, and the Captain then filled his own. He then turned to his own plate, pawing a thick slab of raw ribeye as he wrenched out a bite.

"Almost feels ljike holjiday alrready."

In a state of epicurean bliss, Cirr sucked a streak of blood off of his knuckles.

"Got any plans?"

[Jaden Luka]

Plans? It took a few moments for Jaden to even register the kind of query that Cirrsseeto was making. Whether it was as a Scout Trooper, a spacer, or an Alliance pilot, Jaden had seldom had the opportunity to grow accustomed to the concept of leave. Sure, there had been downtime and days off, and Jaden always made a point of embracing them eagerly; but it was always modest, always a case of exploiting whatever the latest outpost or starport or secret base had to offer without ever straying too far. Perhaps there was some underlying paranoia, some sense that everything would go wrong if he strayed too far from where he was supposed to be; some concern that he might miss out if Rogue Squadron was called upon to conduct some daring mission while he was sipping cocktails and basking in the sun three sectors away.

Now, things were different. Jaden was still the same, he still exploited the delights of Jovan Station for as many hours or days as their patrol schedule allowed, and relished every landing mission and fighter patrol that let him enjoy a little direct sunlight and starlight from time to time; but this? The Novgorod was booked into spacedock for weeks, and while Jaden doubted it would take anywhere near that long for the requisite repairs and upgrades to be made - Tink rode his engineers way too hard for the Novgorod to ever stray that far from peak functionality - that was still enough wiggle room to go somewhere, to do something, to get away somehow.

Jaden had thought about it, but the options had made his eyes spin. Should he visit Naboo, for nostalgia's sake: see how different the world looked now the Imperials were gone, and without the trooper visor tinting his vision? Should he take the opportunity to experience some of the more exotic worlds and cultures that the Alliance had to offer, rewarding himself with the chance to better know and understand the peoples he was sworn to protect? Should he find some tropical island somewhere, and leave technology behind for a few days, letting himself forget for a short spell that the galaxy and it's woes were in any way his problem?

It was too much choice. Worse, it was too much choice about a decision of minimal consequence. In the grand scheme of things, it didn't matter to him if he went somewhere, or just spent the time enjoying the comfort of his quarters without early shifts and uniform requirements. The vacation gene was just something that his genome composition lacked, he supposed.

"Nothing duracrete," he answered with a shrug, setting his drink aside and leaning back in his chair. With the way his abdomen felt right now, stuffed to capacity, that thought about eschewing uniform requirements seemed like an increasingly logical option. "Figured I'd talk to the Admiral when we get back, see if there's anything I can do to help with Flight School back on the Challenger for a few weeks, something like that. Don't tell my A-Wing I said this, but it might be nice to fly a few patrols as a Rogue again here and there, just for old times' sake."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

It wasn't as if Cirr couldn't relate. He'd always found a peaceful part of his soul in the honest work of tinkering with engines and machines. There was something fulfilling on the most basic level in bringing something to life against all odds. How many times had he stayed with Layla to synchronize plasma ignition timing sequences while Sanis had chased tail or played sabacc? He'd never felt like he was getting a raw deal in that exchange, it was exactly where he wanted to be. If Jaden wanted to trade his chair for a cockpit on his down time, there were crazier hobbies probably.

Maybe what had the Captain irked was that he didn't have that safety valve anymore. Not really. Novgorod was his ship. Not his in an engineer's sense, but as a Captain. And that wasn't the same by far. He already had a cadre of jealous and territorial engineers to deal with - one of which was his wife. He'd tried using port time as an excuse to help in the work before, and it ended up with the two of them in a shouting match that she won. In retreat, Cirr had taken up a hobby of refurbishing speeder bikes in a rented workshop. He spent too much money on a pursuit that he only glommed onto half-heartedly. It wasn't the same.

So what then? Was he jealous? Maybe a little.

"jI see how jit jis. Corrvette ljife's just too slow forr Jaden Luka."

Cirr smiled in a thinly sugarcoated way.

"You know, norrmal people use leave tjime to, jI don't know, blow a few months of accumulated pay on gjirrls, go fjishjing, stuff ljike that."

[Jaden Luka]

"Careful, boss," Jaden teased, with a small crack of a smile. "You don't want Tink hearing you describing anything about the Nov as 'slow'. The last person who did that wound up in the infirmary for about a week, and his hearing still hasn't recovered from the angry Stewjon tirade."

Despite the flippant response, and the joking intention of Cirrsseeto's comments, Jaden didn't find himself disagreeing. By contrast to his own life, as a Rogue, or as a spacer, or even back as a scout trooper, life aboard the Novgorod already felt like a vacation. The baseline level of constant peril was considerably lower, there was structure and routine, you didn't struggle from meal to meal - it was like a care home for the elderly, where the veterans of past wars could pine for the good old days in peace. It wasn't tedious, not quite; but there was a certain sense of surrender to it, an acceptance that the past was gone, and this was the future you were resigned to for as many more days as the cosmos had in store. What possible appeal could there be in time spent seeking out even more of the same?

Perhaps the Captain could relate. Perhaps he couldn't. Despite all this time spent serving together, he still didn't quite have a sense of the man seated across from him. What was it that Cirrsseeto saw in his own future? Was the Novgorod merely a stepping stone, on a path towards bigger and brighter things, with an ever increasing number of rank stripes weighing down his sleeves? Was he content where he was, his own ship where he could be his own man with his wife never more than 195 meters of hull away, like some old soldier spending his august years on a fishing boat in some tranquil ocean? Did Cizerack culture make his priorities different? Was the Captain approaching the age where settling down to start a family became a consideration?

"A change is as good as a rest," Jaden uttered, falling quiet for a moment before offering clarification. "It's something my father used to say. Mom used to say he was just a workaholic who wouldn't recognise a day off if it bit him in the ass, but I dunno, something about that mindset just always rang true to me. I'd always rather be in motion, y'know? If you aren't thrusting, you're drifting, and if you're just coasting on inertia you have no control over what happens to you. Spent too long with the Empire deciding who I was and what I did to ever feel comfortable without at least one hand on the controls at all times."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

"That strrjikes me as a verry human thjing to say."

The Captain let out a big sigh, grinned, and propped on his elbows.

"And as an engjineerr fjirrst and Captajin second, jI'm everr vjigjilant agajinst rredljinjing. But humans burry the needle so often that jit appearrs ljike the new norrmal. jI don't underrstand jit, and maybe jI'm not meant to."

Cirr hoisted his wine glass, tilting the rim slightly to his first officer in an invitation to toast.

"You do you. As long as you come back and you'rre stjill Jaden Luka, that's all jI can ask."

Before Jaden had the opportunity to reciprocate, a voice chimed in on the galley's overhead comm.

"Captain Quez, there's an incoming personal message for you, from Bothawui."

He leaned back in his seat. A personal message from Bothawui made it all but a sure guess as who it was from. Jaden must have sensed it too, because he had the beginnings of a tactical retreat in his body language. Cirr quickly stayed the maneuver, gesturing with downturned palm lowering gently to the table. No sense cutting short a well-deserved meal prematurely.

"jI'll take the call herre."

"Understood, patching it through."

A holoprojector in the corner of the galley flickered to life, casting a lifesized visage before them.

[Taataani Meorrrei]

The image of Taataani Meorrrei filled corner of empty space in the galley. Even in hologram form, she carried aristocratic gravitas. A mane of well-coiffed hair rose up, then fell along her shoulders and back, resting atop an embroidered mantle. The style she wore today was less the bold colors and silken layers of Carshoulis fancy, but rather something more cosmopolitan and pan-galactic. Nevertheless, it drew the eye in the way she demanded. Even when following the vogue of galactic taste, she wouldn't settle for less than being the first woman to be noticed in the room.

"Mjy darrljing Cirrsseeto."

Her ears rose a measure in time with a warm smile.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

The Captain tidied the blood from his hands with his napkin, setting it off to the side.

"Hello Mama."

Cirr mirrored the pleasant body language of his mother.

[Taataani Meorrrei]

"The Admjirraltjy jinforrmed me that jyou would be makjing porrt wjithjin a dajy. jI couldn't wajit that long. How arre jyou, mjy ssweet cub? Wass jit a long vojyage? Hopefulljy not drreadful."

Taataani stilled her hands, turning them over each other as they rested clasped in front of her. The limitations of holograms. She could see her son, but a touch and embrace were still so far away.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Even at a distance of thousands of light years, doting had the same meter and intensity. Cirr felt the heat in his ear-tips. He tried not to glance at Jaden to see the state of his own expression. Not that he was particularly vulnerable to maternal embarassments, but the Captain was aware that there was a line, and that his mother seemed to delight in prowling the perimeter.

"jIt's been fjine, mama. Grreat, actually." he hastily amended, "As uneventful a voyage as jI could hope forr."

He gestured to his plate.

"Actually, we'rre just wrrappjing up a celebrratorry djinnerr on ourr way back."

[Taataani Meorrrei]

Taataani glanced down, then up again.

"Oh, how loveljy. jYou do know the powerr of generrossjitjy."

The Senator gave a glance around the holographic periphery.

"jIss Ljyanjie arround?"

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirrsseeto had resumed picking at his steak. He paused to swallow, and shook his head.

"She turrned jin earrly. Wanted to get some rrest beforre porrt jinspectjion."

[Taataani Meorrrei]

At that, Taataani fixed her son with a pitiable look.

"Cirrsseeto, blesss jyourr hearrt, jyou'rre asss ssjimple asss sspleen ssometjimess. A wjife who rretjirress earrljy jiss telljing jyou ssomethjing jyou ought to hearr. Sshe'ss sspent monthss holdjing thjiss sshjip togetherr forr jyou. Make ssurre jyou sshow herr a ljittle extrra apprrecjiatjion."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Aaand there was the line.

"Mama..."

Cirr upturned his palms plaintively, feeling the tuft of his tail frizz out in an embarrassing tell.

"Can we not talk about my husbandly dutjies overr the comm, please?"

[Taataani Meorrrei]

"jI ssupposse not..."

Taataani tactically withdrew, though she didn't see why the matter didn't merit discussion. Sure, Lyanie might be forrda, but even they had needs to be addressed. Cirrsseeto's union was as far from conventional as could be, but she still wanted it to be a happy one.

That line of thought drifted away though, as Taataani noted the presence of a second hologram at her periphery.

"Who jiss that?"

[Jaden Luka]

It had been around my sweet cub when Jaden had decided to begin his tactical withdrawl. It was one thing for the Captain to motion him to stay; it was another thing for Jaden to stay here and covertly spectate on a conversation such as this. Perhaps it had been intended as a gesture of trust and openness, but the result had been to expose Jaden to a side of the Captain that, under any other circumstances, might have provided him with all manner of embarrassment ammunition for the future. Jaden didn't feel comfortable with that knowledge; didn't trust himself with that power. There were some people you just didn't want to have that kind of weaponised knowledge about; the risk of an accidental misfire - especially with a mouth like Jaden's - was far too high.

Unfortunatey, his escape had not been swift enough, and the barely contained snort of laughter at the accusation of the Captain's marital shortcomings was compounded by the unnoticed chair that his shin collided with, rebounding him off course and into the holo-imager's field of view. Spotted by the shimmering form of Senator Taataani Meorrrei, Jaden froze like a man at gunpoint, allowing himself the briefest moment to duracrete his composure into place before turning to face the matron, and offering his most charmingly understated smile.

"Commander Jaden Luka, mama- ma'am," he quickly corrected, fighting the urge to cringe at the slip of the tongue. He had no illusions of it going unnoticed, but like any good A-Wing pilot he simply jammed on the thrusters, relying on speed and forward motion to blast him clear of danger. "Formerly of Rogue Squadron, and presently your son's first officer. If I'm not mistaken -"

He took a step forward, hands clasped behind his back in what should have been a formal parade stance, and yet somehow Jaden managed to make it seem casual.

"- we found ourselves in similar orbits on the Wheel, if I'm not mistaken, but I never had the opportunity to meet you in person. I doubt that's a pleasure anyone would soon forget."

[Taataani Meorrrei]

Always one to savor flattery in a healthy dose, Taataani's ears perked slightly at Jaden's introduction. She didn't recall the man from her time on the Wheel, but the name was one she was familiar with in a second-hand fashion.

"The talkatjive fjirrst offjicerr?"

She leaned forward slightly, taking in Jaden's visage for seemingly the first time.

"jYou djidn't mentjion he wass handssome, Cirrsseeto."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirrsseeto's ears skewed in flummox.

"Why would jI everr say that?"

Of course, classic mother, but it still never failed to unsettle him. She'd always taken a shine to the supporting men in his life, so why not now?

"And jI wouldn't say talkatjive, morre ljike socjiable."

Still, the damage was done. Jaden's reputation inevitably preceded him as some sort of compulsive interlocutor.

[Taataani Meorrrei]

"Well good, jI thjink jyou need morre ssocjiable colleaguess."

The Senator nodded authoritatively to emphasize the point.

"jIf jyou assk me, therre'ss ssomethjing jintrrjinssjic jin the Navjy that sseemss to attrract the dourr and brroodjy. jI've onljy jusst managed to coax Captajin ss'jIlancjy jinto sspeakjing morre than two ssentencess jin a ssjingle ssjittjing. jYou'd thjink herr a tjimjid mousse, jif herr fearrssome rreputatjion djidn't prrecede herr."

Taataani seemed to leave the rails of her conversation for a moment, her hand drawing up to touch a finger to her chin. She quickly regrouped.

"Sspeakjing of dourr, wjill jyou be meetjing Admjirral Tjyrree on the sstatjion? jI want to jinvjite hjim to djinnerr, but jI don't want the jinvjitatjion to come frrom me djirrectljy."

[Jaden Luka]

"I don't believe so, ma'am."

Perhaps it was out of line, particularly given the personal nature of the transmission, but Senator Meorrrei had been the one to draw Jaden into the conversation, and he sure as hell wasn't going to continue to stand there and wallflower now that he was actually within view.

There was more to it than that, though; the urge to speak didn't come from a desire to answer her question, but rather to react to one of the words she'd used. Dour. While certainly, that was an accurate description of Admiral Vansen Tyree, it's casual usage rankled Jaden, activating his defenses at the benign accusation leveled towards his former CO. It seemed a lifetime ago when a then-Captain Tyree had appeared with his Valiant, saving Jaden and Amos from hostile pursuit and ushering their lives onto the paths they now walked. It had been Vansen Tyree who'd approved Jaden's request for flight training, assigned him to his first A-Wing, and made him a Valkyrie. While Jaden's transfer to Rogue Squadron had diverged their paths, fate had brought them together again, Commodore Tyree taking the Rogues aboard his old-new command, the Challenger, to together become protectors of the Wheel. There were many people over the course of Jaden's life who had influenced him; but few did so for the better as much as Vansen Tyree.

He knew exactly how the Old Man would feel about this situation, too. Damned politicians, with their backroom dealings and roundabout invitations. Why the Force did Taataani Meorrrei want to have dinner with the Admiral, anyhow? Some scam or scheme, probably. Trying to cash in on whatever leverage he had as Admiral of the Bothawui Fleet; or his connections to the Starfighter Corps, more likely, trying to wheedle her way into a better contract for some of the myriad non A-Wing starfighters her corporate monstrosity of a company produced.

Fortunately, Jaden had enough years of experience dealing with Imperial officers to mount a flawless facade, not giving the Senator even the slightest hint that he was on to her and her shenanigans.

"Our final port at Jovan Station is just for crew rotation and succession protocol with the Novgorod's relief. We aren't due to report in to the Admiral until we've docked at the repair platform over Moonus Mandel."

[Taataani Meorrrei]

The Senator feigned her look of surprise, but did so with the delicacy of a sabacc shark. At least Cirrsseeto's XO was playing true to form, not wilting into the periphery while the family talked.

"Oh. Well, that'ss sserrendjipjitjy then. That'ss merre mjinutess on a sshuttle'ss vojyage to the Capjital."

Taataani's tail swooshed in a loop as she glanced to Cirrsseeto and Jaden.

"Could jI trrusst jyou both to excusse the Admjirral frrom hjiss offjice dutjiess and accompanjy hjim to Bothawuji? Both of jyou arre jinvjited to attend, of courrsse. jI want to hearr all about jyourr adventurress. Ssee jif jyou can prrjy Ljyanjie frrom herr dutjiess whjile jyou'rre at jit, we harrdljy everr get the tjime."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirrsseeto made a mildly pained expression.

"jI can be yourr courrjierr forr the Admjirral, but Lyanjie's a bust - agajin. She's worrkjing on the rretooljing mjissjion jin porrt. jI can't even brreak herr out on a day pass."

Sometimes, he wasn't sure who he was most jealous of. Novgorod or Lyanie. He'd love the good company and alone time with either, but they always had eyes for each other. Oh well.

He glanced to Jaden.

"What do you say? jI know jit's not moonljightjing as an A-wjing pjilot, but jit's a change?"

[Jaden Luka]

Apparently the Force was his wingman on this one. Whatever nefarious schemes Senator Meorrrei was concocting, whatever manipulative intentions she had towards the Admiral, she had made the foolish mistake of inviting Jaden to be there, to watch, witness, and have the Old Man's back. He fought the urge not to smile again in satisfaction at this impending victory of the plucky young rebels over their bureaucratic overlords. Take that, you son of a -

A glance in Cirr's direction stopped that thought in its tracks, and forced him to mentally walk back at least some of his automatic anti-political ire. While sure, it was a known fact that politicians had no souls, and were all fiendish monstrosities that had crawled out of the smouldering pits of the Corellian hells, he forced himself to remember that the only son of a in the room was the offspring of this particular she-demon. That was a quandary that he'd be awake wrestling later, he was sure: while certain specific members of the Meorrrei clan definitely had the devilish tendencies one might expect from hell-spawn, the rest of them didn't, and what he'd heard and gleaned about Taataani Meorrrei from Cirrsseeto and T'yeellaa painted a very different picture - not always a favourable one, but certainly something less satanic. Perhaps he should reserve judgement; or at least try to. He'd certainly know one way or the other by the end of this little reconnaissance trip.

"You're lucky there's no such thing as a three-seater A-Wing," Jaden tossed back.

It wasn't as fanciful a notion as it sounded: for different reasons, both the Alliance and the Empire had a habit of trying to squeeze additional occupants into an existing spaceframe. For the Empire it was about economies of scale: if you could squeeze passengers into a TIE Bomber and use it as a boarding craft with a few minimal tweaks, that was far more cost effective than paying for an entirely separate design of shuttle with an entirely separate set of parts and systems; not to mention all the space you could save on the hanger deck of smaller ships. For the Alliance it was more about desperation: they didn't have shuttles to spare, so retrofitting their existing spaceframes to cram a couple more seats into a Y-Wing as a makeshift courier was one of those desperation breeds invention scenarios. No one had butchered an A-Wing in such a way, yet - the two-seater trainer was as close as they got - but all it took was a bad idea and a bored designer, and who knows what could happen?

"If there was, I'd be trying to do both at once."

Turning back to the hologram, he let his smile from earlier return in full.

"I can't speak for the Captain, but personally I'd be delighted and honoured. Is the Admiral likely to come willingly, or should we expect to deliver him at gunpoint?"

[Taataani Meorrrei]

Dimples formed in the matron's smile as she imagined her quarry in his shoes. The nobility of a chased gentleman, undaunted and doomed at once. Vansen certainly adored the visage of a man going down with his ship. And she so loved the chase. The resistance, the surrender, the prize.

"jI don't jimagjine he trravelss anjywherre wjithout a healthjy drraggjing of heelss, but he'ss alwajyss sstrruck me asss a man who ssharress the dangerr wjith hjiss crrew."

She breathed a laugh.

"Ljissten to me. Dangerr, ljike thjiss jiss a Hapan djinnerr. Commanderr Luka, jI'm the mosst hosspjitable of hosstss. We wjill all have a loveljy tjime."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

"We'll make surre to brrjing Admjirral Tyrree along wjith us, mama."

Cirr punctuated with a smile, steering the conversation to a fruitful end.

"Forr now, we've got one djinnerr to fjinjish beforre we can jump jinto another. jI'll call you tomorrrow. Ja irra korra'nai."

Mama Taa gave a small wave of her hand and an air kiss, then disappeared into fading light. Cirr glanced at his first officer, shrugged, then took another bite of steak.

[Jaden Luka]

While Cirrsseeto seemed content to shrug off the conversation as if nothing had happened, Jaden didn't quite find himself with the same liberty. He wasn't sure how to describe the aftertaste that the transmission left behind. An urge to apologise was there, for intruding upon something that should have been private, perhaps; or perhaps because of the visceral reaction the interaction with a politician had triggered. Perhaps there was a little shame there as well, for having succumbed to that kind of a prejudice. In the Alliance of Free Planets, they were supposed to be better than that - particularly the humans, and particularly those who were supposed to present some sort of an example to those subordinate to them. Yet another criteria by which Jaden failed to be qualified for this assignment, he supposed.

There was something more, though. Jaden didn't want to call it envy, but the label fit. Cirrsseeto spoke to his mother with such ease, such casual indifference, that it was almost as if he took the ability to do so for granted. Jaden Luka was far from the only member of the Alliance to have become lost or estranged from family, and he liked to think that it didn't affect him; but it was moments such as this that made the absense sting: the little flourishes of normalcy that people such as him never got to experience. His mother was out there, he was lucky in that regard; he even knew where, thanks to an Alliance charity that sought to reunite rebels and refugees with lost loved ones, particularly in the wake of the Treaty. But it had been too many years; too many birthdays where she'd declined his call, or she'd never reached out. At first it had been disappointment, her shame in how he'd rebelled so hard in his youth that his illegal antics had robbed him of the future she'd hoped for him. From there it became habit, and after all these years it was one that Jaden was still afraid his mother was unwilling to break.

He buried those thoughts, and hid them beneath a veil of humour. Standard operating procedure.

"So."

His arms folded across his chest, his best attempt at something resembling a casual pose.

"Dinner with mama, huh? Does this mean we're going steady now, Captain?"

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

"jYou say that ljike jit's a joke," Cirr quipped in between bites, "but Glayde neverr got an jinvjite."

The Cizerack dispatched his raw cut of dewback with Navy-class expediency. He finished his wine, then began to briskly clean his bloodied hands with his napkin.

"Anyway, that's me forr the njight. Apparrently, mjy wjife jis sendjing me hjidden messages, and jI should be ljistenjing."

[Vansen Tyree]

* * *

Vansen stood as calmly as he could - which, given the circumstances, was not very. He was not a man predisposed to nerves or anxiety, nor one who was inclined to tremble in the face of adversity. He had done battle with pirates, with Confederate generals, with Imperial Moffs, and Bothan dignitaries. Vansen Tyree did not shy away from a fight. But this wasn't a fight. This wasn't some battle that demanded strategy or valor. This was something far worse, something far beyond his scope of experience and skill.

This was a vacation.

True, it was only a weekend: a few days of long overdue shoreleave finally exploited at near gunpoint. And true, he would only be a single star system removed from his usual post; and with a team of capable officers there to compensate for any of the trivial minutiae that might pass across his desk in the ensuing time. But it wasn't the fate of the Alliance of Free Planets he worried about: it was his own. Interactions between himself and Senator Meorrrei - Taataani, he had to force himself to mentally correct, yet again - had grown interesting of late. Or perhaps complicated was the better word. Vansen understood that there was something there, something growing and evolving, something born out of a shared kinship and romantic interest; but this was not his field of expertise, and to show weakness by admitting his confusion and concern was not his way.

Quietly, he reassured himself with the scarce details that Taataani had provided him with. This was simply a gathering. A dinner, or some event to that effect. An excuse to collect family, friends, loved ones, and those she cared for in one place for an evening or two, as a celebration of their collected existence. It was the sort of thing that Vansen might have balked at in the past, but the sentiment was not lost on him. Since his accident, since his near death on Jovan Station, his worldview had begun to slowly change, more willing to show the proper respect and appreciation to the people and details of his life that gave it meaning. He understood why Taataani wanted it, and what honoured to be included within that circle of people for her. At the same time, however, the significance of being introduced to Taataani's family at a shared gathering was not lost on him.

At least this first stage of things was only a minor skirmish. Vansen smoothed down the front of his uniform - something he intended to wear for as much of the following days as he could get away with, like a scared child clinging to a blanket for comfort - and fought the urge to fidget in more visible ways. He reminded himself that this was nothing, and normal. It was hardly the first time he had waited at the airlock for the arrival of the Novgorod, and while it was a little daunting to know that the corvette had also ferried Taataani's daughter back from Jovan Station - the last-minute change to what had initially seemed like a casual affair, escalating it into it's current daunting state far too late for Vansen to find an excuse to avoid it - both T'yeellaa and Cirrseeto were familiar to him; and they were officers, with a protective barrier of protocol there to help them make it through this ordeal unscathed.

Vansen convinced himself of that fact so thoroughly, that when the servos clunked and the airlock began to roll open, he wasn't in any way prepared for the nervous beat that his heart decided to skip.

[T'yeellaa Meorrrei]

The airlock growled open with a hiss of slightly-corrected atmospheres, revealing a small entourage queued up in the airlock. First to debark was T'yeellaa Meorrrei. The K'ohta'rrou of Jovan station was uncharacteristically civilian in her attire. Gone were crimson jodhpurs, the jacket with gold trim, starched collars, and laced cravat. In its place was a dress, a near-treasonous departure. It was plain as dresses went, baby blue with sleeves and a modest neckline.

"Ja irra korra'nai Adm-" T'yeellaa paused mid-syllable. Her ears flicked, then perked. "Well, that'ss damned awkwarrd, do jI call jyou Vanssen when off dutjy?"

She extended an unsure hand to Tyree, an almost-apologetic look on her face.

[Vansen Tyree]

Vansen's one good eye winced a tiny fraction, not out of discomfort, but unfamiliarity. He had been a soldier so long that Vansen had lost it's meaning to him. It served now more as a reminder, a relic for those who had known him before he had withered away into his current gnarled and disgruntled state, an access code that disabled his defenses by remote. Aside from a few exceptions, it was only Taataani who addressed him by that name, and while this was her daughter, and while Vansen understood how important it was to forge a bond and shorten the distance between himself and the rest of Taataani's family, the notion of hearing the name that made him feel so vulnerable and exposed - in a good way - when Taataani uttered it, coming from the lips of her daughter? Somehow, that didn't quite feel right.

Still, the discomfort at the informal address seemed to be mutual, and that sparked off a certain sense of empathy and kinship. That deepened, as he searched his lengthy memory for alternatives, names that had been given to him over the course of his career that felt less uncomfortable.

"I would suggest Ty instead," he countered, returning the handshake that T'yeellaa offered, even managing to muster a small sympathetic smile for the K'ohta'rrou, "But I think that might end up confusing for the both of us."

It was such a silly thing, and Vansen understood that, and yet somehow the simplicity of two shared letters and their mutual discomfort cemented into something substantial in his mind. His mission here - despite all the insistances and reassurances, Vansen's brain was wired a certain way, and so even the most casual and relaxing of activities were understood through the lens of missions and objectives - was to forge a bond with Taataani's family, and in that instant he had decided that with T'yeellaa, these would be the precarious foundations.

His eye strayed from T'yeellaa for the briefest moment, glimpsing another part of the entorage disgourging itself from the airlock.

"Commander Luka there and his compatriots started the habit of calling me the Old Man, and it seems to have caught on in every command I've served with since. I can't decide if it is supposed to be a term of endearment or not, and it's exactly the kind of over-simplistic and uncouth descriptor that I'd expect from a bunch of unruly rocket jocks, but it fits, and I'm used to it - definitely moreso than being called Vansen."

[Jaden Luka]

"Hey!" Jaden countered defensively, peering over the shoulders of the other arrivals. His tone was entirely falsified however: he'd served with the Admiral long enough to understand that insults were the Vansen Tyree equivalent of hugs. "Careful with those stones in that glass house, sir. I know from experience that you're not exactly a savant when it comes to nicknames either."

The illusory annoyance lasted for exactly one point two seconds after that sentence ended - a new record - before it collapsed in on itself and became a grin. A year or two ago, he might have been able to sustain it longer, drawing on some of the genuine annoyance that his callsign of Space Monkey, a gift from an irate Vansen Tyree during one of his first days as a Rebel and a pilot, had filled him with over the years. It was how starfighter pilots operated: for all the perception that callsigns were cool and evocative, the reality was that half the time it was just some particularly creative insult that had stuck around, leeching off the pilot's coolness and reputation like a mynock on the power lines. But, for Jaden, it had become something else - and Vansen had been to blame for that as well. Don't like what they call you? the Old Man had challenged, back when he was still Captain Tyree. Then make a name for yourself, so that people are forced to call you something else.

Jaden had taken that to heart. Within Rogue Squadron, he had suffered the indignity of flying an X-Wing, and had scrambled his way to excellence and leadership, driven by that desire to be known as something more than the burdensome callsign Captain Tyree had lumbered him with. Whether it was convincing people to abbreviate his callsign to Spacer, earning the status of Rogue One, or leaving the cockpit behind to become Commander Jaden Luka aboard the Novgorod, that name, and that man, had been the shove that started it all. Whatever annoyance or iritation had once been there had long ago faded into gratitude and respect.

He couldn't allow anyone to realise that though, especially not the Old Man himself. For starters, that wouldn't be on brand for Jaden Luka, but it was more than that. As soon as Jaden had learned that Vansen Tyree would be taking part in this Meorrrei family get-together, and as soon as he had come to understand the reasons why, Jaden had been immediately filled with questions. Many questions - many of them deeply inappropriate, but Jaden fully intended to ask them anyway. It would be a crime for him not to, frankly, and as far as he was concerned, the Admiral would be disappointed in him if he didn't.

Still, that was a sortee for a later time. For now, Jaden kept his greeting to a curt nod and a few offhand remarks, lingering at the back of the Meorrrei assembly. He didn't need to have a meaningful moment of introduction with Vansen Tyree. This whole thing right here? This was for them.

[Q. Samus Dage]

A few paces ahead of Commander Luka but still a comfortable distance from the front lines, as it were, Commander Dage stood with all the poise of a bored gundark. He also stood a good head taller than most of the lot here, with the exception of Captain Quez. It made for difficult going when one was trying to look proper and interested. After all, this was just a little something-something, a family dinner, as it'd been explained to him. Nothing formal or terribly opulant.

Which was all the better, since his last border route had resulted in a bit of a longer away time than he'd anticipated; a few months spent away from T'yeellaa was - by his count - too many for her liking. Not that it bothered him, as he was mostly of the same mind. But still, it was a longer perioud of time between restocks at Jovan than before, and in the depths of his mind he was already imagining the lurid details of their reunion. Not to mention whether or not he'd find another sajoi tail beneath his pillow.

Now, word of scooping up Admiral Tyree was unexpected, and the lanky blonde had found himself a small bit confused, but he rolled with the punches like any good Rebel fromt he old days, which was where he was now - hands shoved deep into the pocket of old infantry service trousers, and a seemingly older infantry jacket loose over his shoulders. He cut the picture of an old ground-pounder; out of place and not sure how to behave. Only, he was at least aware enough on protocol and what bare minimums he would need to accomplish for the here and now.

His eyes shifted from the side to rest on the Admiral, and Samus Dage found a small bit of comfort in the fact that he was at least in the middle of the pack, as it were.

His head canted upwards only slightly, as he gave the older man a once-over from over the tops of the heads belonging to the bodies in front of him.

So this was the old angry mynock that Lok often talked fondly of.

[T'yeellaa Meorrrei]

T'y listened to the banter between Jaden and Va...the Old Man with interest. It was clear there was deep and rich history there, and though he'd offered, she felt like using the nickname was almost a bit of stolen familiarity.

"We have a terrm called Orru'aki. jIt'ss a terrm of endearrment and rresspect forr an olderr man of prractjical wjissdom."

She volunteered a shrug and a little smile.

"Sseemss to fjit the bjill."

Her tail swayed back, brushing against a lean figure she'd learned to associate by that kind of touch, and T'yeellaa changed tact. "Oh!"

She turned, hooking her hand into the crook of Dage's elbow to bring him up to the front of the line.

"Have jyou met Ssamuss Dage, of the Khera'va'ssio? He'ss mjy gai'tou."

[Rai'faani Meorrrei]

Rai exited the airlock in the middle of introductions, maneuvering into close orbit near Jaden, though she pretended not to notice. With a pair of wireless earbuds stuffed in her tufted ears, the heiress kept her eyes fixed on a datapad as she mashed out a text comm with her thumbs. She glanced up to Vansen, then let her eyes drift back to Jaden for half a beat before pretending to be oblivious to it all once more.

[Vansen Tyree]

An older man of practical wisdom.

Vansen didn't bother to hide the smile that provoked in him. It was flattery, but not of the shallow and meaningless kind, and Vansen allowed himself to accept the compliment for what it was. It was apparent that a way with words was a trait not exclusive to Taataani, and in truth it was perhaps the nicest way anyone had ever described him, as far as he could recall. It was the kind of descriptor that felt like a comfortable well-worn jacket when he slipped it on in his mind. Orru'aki. Hopefully he'd have the opportunity to get used to that.

The moment passed, as T'yeellaa manoeuvred her significant other into the beam of Vansen's attention. Her question was of a type that Vansen had been asked and answered a thousand times over as he moved through the increasingly political circles of Bothawui, and yet for Miss Meorrrei he gave the question far more genuine consideration than he otherwise would have. Not that it took much thought to bring the man in question to mind, of course: between status reports and conversations with s'Ilancy, Mister Dage was unfortunate enough to be well within the circle of Vansen's awareness.

"I don't think we've had the pleasure," Vansen replied, torn over whether or not to extend a hand in greeting, deeply ingrained habits of formality clashing with his desire - and Taataani's insistance - that he try to make it through this entire family encounter as if he were a regular mortal, not an Admiral. Ultimately, it was T'yeellaa who made the decision for him, her hand still wrapped around Dage's arm, and Vansen not having the heart to do anything that might dislodge it.

"We have a common acquaintance who speaks very highly of you, however." A rueful smile settled onto Vansen's lips. "You'll have to tell me how you managed to get Lorien to do that."

[Q. Samus Dage]

"I'm sure we would've gotten around to it at some point, Sir."

T'yeellaa's hold was one that he'd become used to, and even found comforting. He made no attempt to remove her hand from his arm.

The mention of Loklorien was enough to elicit a half-smile and a henh, followed by a slight nod of his head.

"As for the old She-Wolf, that one doles out kind words at the oddest of times, Sir. About the only thing I reckon might make her say nice things 'bout me is that I was her maid of honor."

That half-smile turned crooked then, and Samus rolled his shoulders in a shrug that spoke of old stories not yet told.

[Vansen Tyree]

Maid of honor?

Those words gave Vansen pause, but only long enough for his mind to begin trying to form a mental image of Dage in the requisite dress, before thinking the better of it. It sounded strange to his old, Rendili ears, but then so did most things these days. Amid the Empire, his life had been dominated by procedure and protocol, but here in the Alliance the plethora and spectrum of traditions and cultural variations was dizzying, and he had long ago adopted a policy of simply accepting everything that other cultures threw at him, without wasting too much thought on it. In this case it was even easier, the involvement of Loklorien s'Ilancy allowing Vansen to employ one of his older excuses to stave off confusion: It's probably a Lupine thing.

"Don't think I won't have questions about that later," Vansen said with a chuckle, but talk of Lorien's marriage had put something of a damper on his thoughts, and it was one he was determined not to allow to linger - not without a drink in hand, at least. A similar mindset discouraged lingering by the airlock of the Novgorod as well, and so Vansen wordlessly gestured towards the corridor beyond, and the path that would lead them to the transport he had arranged to ferry them to their final destination. Taataani had provided him with the coordinates, but scant few details beyond that: not a surprise in the slightest, mind you, and something else Vansen was having to learn to adapt to in his old age.

"So how did you two meet?" he asked, leading the cluster of Meorrreis and associates through the innards of the repair station where the Novgorod had docked. He kept his tone light and conversational, a recently re-learned skill that could be somewhat jarring for those who'd known him in his more grim and gruffer days. "Are you a Jovan Station romance? I know we intended that project to be a way to bring the peoples and races of the Alliance together, but I don't think you're quite what the Senate had in mind."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirrsseeto brought up the rear of the procession, laden down with the luggage. Well, the luggage he could carry, as toting all the baggage of his two sisters would have been nearly suicidal. Still, it had been a point of pride that he'd insisted on it, and not simply given his share to the cargo droid that dawdled even further behind, carrying not only the rest of the Meorrrei-Quez baggage, but also the effects of Commanders Luka and Dage.

He smiled to himself at the banter between the Admiral and everyone else. This was, like so many things, likely orchestrated by his mother, as a way of easing transitions into the family. It had ceased to be much of a secret to anyone that she had designs for Vansen Tyree, and Cirrsseeto was intensely curious how the whole thing would happen.

[T'yeellaa Meorrrei]

Recalling the details of their first meeting, T'yeellaa's expression fell into an easy smile that reached her eyes.

"Well, parrt of mjy dutjiess asss sstatjion executjive jinclude sserrvjing asss ljiajisson between the Alljiance sstaff and both Cizeri crrew and populatjion."

She glanced back to Samus, and her smile showed teeth.

"Commanderr Dage, jif jI rrecall, wass lookjing forr rresstaurrant ssuggesstjionss and wanted companjy. Sso jI sshowed hjim arround the sstatjion, and majybe morre of jit than jI orrjigjinalljy jintended."

[Q. Samus Dage]

With a strangely mixed look of partial embarrassment and pride, the lanky blonde gave a helpless shrug in confirmation of T'yeellaa's retelling. She glossed over the particulars in her own special way, but in the interests of expediency he supposed that her words illustrated well enough the events that had transpired without becoming too revealing.

"Ehhh... "

It wasn't a denial, nor was it anything concrete to the affirmative for the benefit of the rest of their party. With Rai hovering in the back beside Commander Luka and Captain Quez coming up with an armful of luggage, this was starting to get a bit crowded even for thinly veiled talk of bedroom activities. It was one thing to drop hints to old war-mates over a drink or two, but with two senior officers present - ones that he'd not really served with for any length of time - some subject matter was left alone for the time being.

Being down in the trenches with a person for more than a few years, being crushed up against them during a planet-hop, rattling each other's teeth out during a shuttle drop... those were what opened the doors to such familiarity. Which wasn't to say that the Admiral's and Captain's experiences were any less, it was just that they weren't shared experiences. And so Samus remained mostly guarded for now, his features mostly neutral with a hint of emotion here and there.

[Vansen Tyree]

Vansen grimaced internally - but not outwardly, an extremely useful talent that he had acquired during his time on Bothawui - in empathy at Dage's discomfort.

One of the first things he had been forced to learn over these last months and years was the vast differences between what different cultures and peoples considered to be appropriate conversation. For the Cizerack, there were few taboos about what could be discussed openly. If anything, Vansen should perhaps have taken it as a compliment, a gesture of conversing with him as casually and openly as T'yeellaa might have done with a female colleague or superior. Certainly, it was a marked difference from Vansen's experiences dealing with other Cizerack, with Hapans, and with the other few matriarchal societies that had become part of the Alliance. On some level, it intrigued him, and it certainly forced him to question his own standards and opinions on what was polite and proper. After all, in the grand scheme of things, sex was perhaps one of the great unifiers between the myriad species of the Alliance of Free Planets: most - though not all, he made a point of remembering - used such a method for reproduction, as an expression of affection, and as a source of physical satisfaction. It was something that bridged their differences, that made them the same, and yet for more cultures than not it was something stricken from the topic of conversation that etiquette allowed.

Such a realisation did not mean that Vansen was some progressive thinker with an open mind who readily had shrugged off all of his cultural and institutional biases and affections, however. Had Taataani been here, he would have displayed the exact same reluctance as Dage did. It wasn't, Vansen supposed, even anything to do with the subject matter itself: intimacy was, for the most part, a private thing among humans, something that gained added symbolism and significance when it was shared between just those involved. Private lives were kept private not because of shame, but because there were only two sets of thoughts and opinions that mattered; or at least, that was how his octogenarian self felt on the matter - a younger Vansen would have, he was sure, been much more willing to brag about his sexual exploits.

He considered his options: a teasing comment directed at Dage, to solidify his allegiance with the Meorrrei's; some comment of solidarity with his fellow human; some warning to Dage to brace himself, because if T'yeellaa's remarks made him uncomfortable, he was in for far worse when the matron of House Meorrrei joined the conversation. Instead he adopted for none of those, skirting over the topic entirely.

"You were looking for food recommendations, and you asked a Cizerack?"

A soft chuckle escaped from the Admiral.

"Brave man. Food that is still moving is an acquired taste that still eludes me, I'm afraid."