The Flyboy (Kes)

The galaxy slipped by in streaks of blue and white as gravity itself became visible in hyperspace. At the controls of a brand-new, black-painted T-65AC4 X-Wing fighter sat an equally new pilot. Asleep.

Jofar "Joey" Rabeak sat slumped in his seat, head tilted back, mouth open and snoring lightly while his ship hurtled beyond the speed of light via autopilot. And why not sleep? His course listed a flight time of seven hours, and for the past three the brown-furred Nehantite pilot had been dead to the universe, lost in a land of pleasant dreams whilst en route to his first real post as an Alliance fighter pilot.

What a journey it had been, becoming one of the first Nehantites in the Alliance military in a non-engineering role. Not the first, but there had been few enough that Joey often felt like it, despite his best efforts to feel anything but different. To join the military is to partially give up yourself and become part of something larger, more important than just you. Being surrounded by so many different races was a culture-shock to the Nehantite at first, but he did not let himself be tempted to request special accommodations or treatment due to his species, aside from necessary things such as clothing with a hole for his tail, and shoes or boots that would fit his footpaws. And CC-30, though that was provided to him without asking, much to his relief. In the Alliance, Joey hoped to prove himself not as a Nehantite, but simply as a man.

Such a goal turned out more challenging than he cared to admit. Other students at the academy had vastly better education, or more experience off-world than he did, and it was easy to feel depressed and want to hide away in his first few weeks away from home. But he didn't hide away, he didn't allow depression to get the better of him, and instead Joey used his charm to befriend those better at certain subjects so that he could learn from them, and learn cultures from those he'd never met. An easy smile and playful nature enamored him to his fellow students, while his instructors could not deny the camaraderie he built in any of his classes.

Sadly, camaraderie did not always lead to the best of scores, and despite his best efforts, Joey Rabeak found himself struggling in his second year at the academy, and on the verge of washing out. All the best intentions in the galaxy didn't seem to come to his aid, as the depression and loneliness he fought so hard to keep at bay his first few weeks not only found him, they beat him into the corner. Alcohol, parties, even various boyfriends, Joey tried to find things to bring joy back to his life, yet all seemed empty the moment they were gone. Tasks were done mechanically, tests taken with little focus, and the desire to be part of something greater turned into nothing more than a distant memory as his thoughts turned to having to explain failure when he would inevitably be forced to return home.

Deliverance came in a most unexpected manner, as he was given the task of delivering a damaged and decrepit old Y-Wing to another station so that it could be torn down for scrap and any usable parts. A "take out the trash" run designed to be more punishment for poor performance than an actual assignment. Already stripped of its weapons, hyperdrive, and R2 interface, the Y-Wing was little more than a spaceworthy chassis that Joey climbed into, slumping down with a thud into the collapsed pilot's seat. The controls were sticky. Joey didn't want to know why the controls were sticky, and nor did he have time to worry about it as he cinched his gloves tighter and engaged the engines. Moments later he was being waved out of the docking bay and his vision became filled with nothing but stars. Nothing but stars for the next two hours, and it was only then that he learned that the radio and comm system had also been removed, leaving him with no entertainment or companionship beyond his own repertoire of showtunes and pop songs he could sing to himself in the acoustic hell that was the cabin of a Y-Wing. So sing he did as he plugged along as fast as the craft's crippled old engines would carry him.

About an hour into his journey, and halfway through the second chorus of "What He Say," even peppy, syncopated rythym failed to lift his mood, and Joey was left in silence, considering his options. Option one: he could continue his current decline in the academy until he washed out, where he could at least say he did his best, then go become an engineer somewhere. Option two: he could try and play the race card, and maybe get transferred to some other sort of position where he might find things easier, but he would have a difficult time living with himself if he did so. And option three: ...he had no idea, so he sat there quietly, cruising along and pretending he had some sort of game plan while he counted down the minutes on the clock - one of the few instruments left on the dashboard.

The following hour was one of excruciating boredom, until at last hope appeared in the form of a white speck in the distance which wasn't a star, but a station. Sitting up in his seat, he angled the nose of his Y-Lemon toward it and smiled. In but a few short minutes, his torturous road trip would be at and end.

The crew aboard the scrapyard station were doing anything but smiling, however. Angry red screens blinked out warnings of an incoming asteroid swarm which would pelt against the station's shields and likely obliterate the lone Y-Wing on its approach. Comms were opened on all channels to warn it, yet Joey failed to alter course as he had no onboard comm unit to receive their direction to change course. It wasn't until his own shields flared and his ship rocked from the impact of a hurtling asteroid the size of a football that he even realized the danger he was in.

And then it was on. Joey's Y-Wing had too much momentum to hook around out of the way, and the brakes were... well, after an application of them he wasn't convinced they hadn't been removed already either. Panic coursed through his veins like ice water as he plowed straight ahead, mind fumbling over what to do. A glance up showed that there would be no avoiding the fast-moving rock cloud by sheer luck, so Joey took a deep breath and decided it was better to go out in a blaze of glory than to just be space roadkill.

Strong paws gripped the sticky control yoke, yanking it back while his booted footpaws worked the pedals controlling pitch and yaw, angling himself straight into the oncoming storm. All shields were focused forward as he began a dangerous game of chicken with space rocks. Rolling, diving, spinning and ducking through them, each new asteroid presented its own challenge. Smaller ones unseen until it was too late hammered against his shields, the flash of impact temporarily blinding his vision, but still he managed to evade his geological assailants. For the better part of five minutes, Joey Rabeak threw every maneuver he'd ever learned in simulation or practice at the asteroids, as well as a few new ones born of panic or sheer luck, until at last he found himself free of the storm.

Only then did he turn back to the station, his right engine screaming and throwing more warning lights than his control console had lights left to illuminate, but he still managed to bring the junker in for a mostly soft landing inside the main hangar bay of the junkyard station.

Shaking and thanking Garfife and anything else he could, Joey opened the hatch to screams and claps of praise and disbelief, and he peered over the edge of his cockpit to see a crowd of ground crew pumping their fists in the air or clapping their paws while someone thankfully remembered to bring him a dismount ladder. No one thought the poor fool was going to make it through that mess alive, and yet through skill, determination and luck, Joey had.

It took only minutes for reports to head back to his superiors of his astounding agility in a Y-Wing of all things, and footage from station cameras was fed as well. What had started out as a punishment mission turned into the saving grace of Joey's career, and he was immediately plucked from strategic planning to be thrown into the X-Wing pilots class. From there, everything felt right, felt natural, and the aptitude he'd displayed in the asteroid swarm went on to serve him well as a fighter pilot in a truly agile craft. Joey found himself in that role, and threw everything he had at it. In the end he still didn't quite graduate at the top of his class, but his vigor and drive was undeniable. His reward upon graduation was a real assignment, Jovan Station.

Sensors beeped inside his cockpit, rousing him from his in-flight nap. Smacking his lips, he could taste the musty-sweet flavor of bad breath, and he sighed while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "How long we got, Deebs?" he said aloud to his astromech, R2-DB, whom he affectionately called Dat Boi, or Deebs for short. The astromech beeped and whistled, displaying a countdown clock before him.

"Cool, hope the can isn't too far off the hanger," Joey chuckled. "I am bursting for a piss." A wriggle of his backside brought his rump to life, and he sat up in his seat. "Three, two, one, p-shooo!" the Nehantite said, and with that he dropped out of hyperspace.

Jovan Station loomed before him, looking every bit like the picture postcard he'd been shown of it, and much to his relief there was no asteroid swarm detected anywhere in the area. Taking up his T-65AC4's comm, Joey cleared his throat, then clicked the button. "Jovan Station, this is Alliance X-Wing pilot Joey Rabeak approaching, do I have permission to land?"

Permission was granted, as the Nehantite was right on time, and Joey swung his black X-Wing into the assigned bay with ease, and touched down lightly before popping his canopy. Out was tossed a duffle bag before his legs swung over the edge and he dropped neatly to the floor, helmet remaining in the cockpit. "The john?" he quickly asked the approaching landing tech with his ladder. Given a quick point, Joey snatched up his pack and dashed off, grateful for a refresher after seven hours of flight.

Two minutes later he felt vastly better, and found R2-DB waiting for him by the refresher door. "Heya, Deebs, we make good time?" the Nehantite asked.

Dat Boi beeped twice, then wiggled slightly. Joey grinned. "Dang, I knew this bird was fast, but I didn't know she was that fast," he laughed. "Looks like I've got time for a sonic shower and change before reporting in. You go let 'em know the fuel mix ratio for our ride, okay? I'll be back later."

With Dat Boi rotating to head off, Joey scanned the hangar for the typical "truck stop" area, and sure enough he found it. Three credits bought him a five minute sonic shower and a private place to change. Flightsuit and gloves were shoved into his duffel while his duty uniform was pulled out and given a quick de-wrinkle in the sonic shower as well. Dressed, and ready, he made a brief stop to put a bit of product in his hair before styling it "just so." Making a good first impression was critical, especially on his first posting. With bag slung over his shoulder, Joey Rabeak headed into Jovan proper, and followed the guide signs toward central command. Over the last four years he'd been on enough stations that Jovan didn't really impress him all that much, though he was glad to see there was a decent variety of private enterprise, as that often meant good food and drink had to be available at least one of them. And maybe some attractive men, if he was lucky.

No, he told himself. It wasn't time to think about things like that, it was time to be professional, and present himself like the skilled pilot he was. Despite Jovan's size, it was only a matter of minutes before he reached the administration desk and presented his ID chip.

"Pilot Joey Rabeak, assigned from the Alliance Flight Academy, reporting in," he announced to the person behind the desk.

The man behind the desk looked up, a slightly disinterested look passing over his features as he let a sigh out. He didn't seem exactly bored, but he also didn't seem to be particularly bursting with excitement, either. He'd seen his fair share of pilots reporting in, and this one was no different. About the only thing that was different was the fact that the kid was a Nehantite. They had one aboard the station already, having another wouldn't be anything new. Reaching out, the officer took the ID and plugged it into his terminal. Verification came a moment later, and ejecting the chip, handed it back.

"Head up to command," came the dry tone. He'd said these words many times before, that was evident.

"You can check in with the Commander, and he'll get you started on situating yourself."

Still that monotonous tone, but at least the man offered an encouraging nod while lifting a hand to gesture to the bay of turbolifts behind the Nehantite.

"Head to deck 14, then grab one of the hub lifts to take you to command."

After four years of intense behavioral scrutiny and adherence to protocol at the Academy, Joey seemed less than impressed by the humdrum manner in which he was checked in. Still, check-in was check-in, and from the sounds of things this was a station whose commander liked to be in the know of all the details. He'd expected to be directed to his squadron leader, not the station commander.

"Thanks," he said, perfect smile gleaming. Hitching his bag up on his shoulder, the Nehantite executed a perfect heel-turn and marched right back on out of the admin office.

"Deck 14, hub lift to command," he repeated to himself. It was easy to become distracted by all that Jovan had to offer, and the more he looked at her, the more she felt like a small city in space instead of a station. Weaving through crowds of countless races, Joey tried to keep track of places he'd like to return to, all while following the signs to the nearest lift. He wound up sharing it, crowded in and packed shoulder-to-shoulder as a massive Herglic decided she needed on, too, after the lift was clearly full. Crammed in like a sardine, Joey maintained his composure, and took a deep breath when at last the lift cleared on the fourteenth deck.

Deck 14 was decidedly less interesting than the main promenade, utilitarian and simple, and from the looks of it, mostly housing units. Smoothing out his jacket, Joey carried on, and scanned his ID at one of the hub lift terminals. He only had time to hum three or four bars of "Girl Done Got It" before the doors parted and he was treated to an empty carriage, where he could swing and sway as much as he liked all the way up to the command deck. It turned out that not much swinging or swaying was necessary to the Nehantite as he moved only a tiny bit before the doors opened once more.

Central command appeared much different than he had expected, so it took him a moment to get his bearings. "Commander's office?" he asked someone in uniform. All he received was a finger pointing toward a door across the way, and so he nodded in thanks and followed the path around a hubub of activity in the middle of the room to reach the closed door. Once more he smoothed out his jacket after pulling his bag from his shoulder, setting it on the floor. "First impressions," Joey whispered to himself, and with a deep breath he calmed his nerves before pressing the door buzzer.

The buzzer to his office sounded with its' normal pitch that seemed to have the ability to generate piercing headaches. Depending on who was on the other side, of course. Usually it was T'yeellaa, or any number of the other officers under his command. Thankfully those were the majority of his visitors during the times that saw him on duty. It was all very much the same, and it was a welcome existence for the time being.

Buried in the contents of a flimsi file, Kes looked up towards the door and the vague shape that could be seen behind the heavily frosted and criss-crossed framed glass. He blinked, then set the file down before and leaning back in his seat. He wasn't exactly expecting anyone at this time, but as of late the redhead had been swamped, and it wouldn't surprise him if he'd forgotten something. An untouched stack of datapads still rested on the corner of his desk where he'd placed them the morning before. Even a host of comms had gone unanswered until he could find the proper time to address the ocean of requests from the merchants on Jovan.

Kes let out a perplexed hrmph.

"Enter."

"Enter." The voice could only be faintly heard through the door, but Joey did hear it. Taking up his duffle in his left paw, the Nehantite pressed the door control button with his right, and the door slid open to reveal a tidy office, and a desk stacked with datapads. Stepping neatly inside, he made sure his tail was out of danger before the door closed behind him - a lesson he'd learned the hard way many times at the Academy.

Once inside, he carefully dropped his bag, placed his ID chip on the desk, and stood in a prompt and perfect salute. "Commander, sir. Pilot Joey Rabeak reporting for duty, sir. Fresh assignment from the Academy, sir." he stated with the sort of absolute precision which had been drilled into him, and those like him at the Alliance Military Academy.

It'd been a long time since anyone had stepped into his office with such a straight back and stiff arm. It was a little bit jarring, and Kes stared up at the Nehantite for only a moment before he slowly rose to stand. He knew with the vaguest of recollections that a new pilot would be along at some point today, but the sheer backlog of work that he'd become buried in had pushed that particular knowledge far to the periphery. Another bit of surprise came from the fact that this particular pilot was a Nehantite; oh, they were common enough, but the name this boy spoke was enough to strike the redhead into momentary silence. He covered his mild shock with a deep inhale, hands slowly going around to clasp together at the small of his back. A blink, and Kes finally gave a respectful nod.

"Mr. Rabeak."

A gesture to one of the chairs in front of his desk, and lowering himself to sit once more, Kes let his eyes break to the side, one hand reaching out to one of the unchecked datapads stacked atop a few others.

"I'm afraid that work has not given me much time to go over your transfer files," the 'pad was switched on, as he thumbed through its' contents.

There.

The addition of one pilot, Jofar Rabeak, to the squadrons posted to Jovan. It was a hell of a thing to be unable to tend to.

"Your trip was uneventful, I take it?"

Leaving his bag where it lay, Joey took the offered seat, grateful it was softer and more broken-in than the pilot's seat in his brand-new X-Wing. "Yes, sir" he replied, then smiled. "But of a snooze, if must say."

His pink eyes took in the stacks of datapads again, then studied his new CO. Small in stature, but Joey had learned stature meant little in the Alliance. "And, as far as not having time to review my transfer files, heh... I wasn't exactly expecting to meet the station commander on my first day, sir."

Joey's smile was easy and disarming, but under it all there remained the unmistakable cockiness of a rookie pilot.

Kes offered a smile at that.

"I like to meet as many of my staff face to face if I'm able."

There was a moment of silence as he indicated the state of his workspace with a rueful laugh.

"Unfortunately, oftentimes duty has other plans for my state of readiness."

Gods but the boy looked like his father. It wasn't overt, but for those looking, it was certainly there. A small amount of quiet fell over the two, as the Commander used the lull to study his new pilot. There was youthful energy and a sense that everything around was seen with hungry eyes. It was tempered with the usual training from the Starfighter Corps. He wondered if General Brecklin had purposefully recommended the post change. It wouldn't surprise him; the old man often had a quiet penchant for sending along little surprises.

His eyes went back to the datapad he held, skimming over the dossier.

"Is there anything you hope to accomplish here, on Jovan?"

Joey swallowed to clear his throat, finding the air aboard the station a little dry. Might have to suggest something to the maintenance crew about how to better regulate humidity, but that would come later.

"Really, this is my first assignment, sir," he replied. "My first goal is to learn how to best integrate with my squadron. After that I can think about personal goals, if you don't mind me saying."

It was a bit of a canned answer, but it was better than, "I'd like to be the best pilot in your squadron! Pew pew pew!" which was really running through his mind.

A frown at that. He'd heard such answers so many times. The delivery was usually varied, but the intention and meaning the same. He'd heard that same sort of response so many times; even when he was posted to Dac. The redhead set the datapad down gently atop a stack of flimsis.

"Mr. Rabeak, I want to know about what you hope to accomplish. What you hope to gather from this posting. Not necessarily the pilot. The pilot is a facet, yes, but it is not all of who you are; it is not the whole being of you."

A reassuring smile.

"Oh," Joey said. That level of inquiry was not what he had expected, and for a moment the cocky pilot melted away, revealing a young man who'd just stepped out into the "real world" as it were. His brow knit in thought in much the same way as his father's did, puzzling over the best way to say what was on his mind.

In the end it just sort of seemed to tumble out. "Well, sir, it's a new start for me. Culturally it's been made clear to me that I can't go back home, there's no future for me there. My father used to say that he found his life in space, and I need to know if it'll be the same for me. So far it has been, but I need to know how to define myself. Find who I really am. The Alliance seemed to be the best opportunity for me to do that, and it has done well for me so far. Jovan Station wasn't my choice - I wasn't given one, sir, I was assigned - but it may be for the best, as it's not strictly a military installation. It'll give me the chance to better learn other cultures and customs, on their terms. I guess it boils down to that I'm here to sort of figure things out, sir. If that makes sense."

It was an answer that pleased him, and Kes nodded as Joey finished.

"We've got no shortage of different cultures here," he assured, "... sometimes too much."

There was no disapproval in his tone, only a matter-of-fact appraisal of the nature of Jovan. It was meant to be a place for all to come together, and it had grown into exactly that. Clashes of ideology were expected, but never had they become so violent as to dissuade the Alliance or the Cizerack to close up shop. In a way it was refreshing. So many different beings coming together to live their lives.

"But despite it all we make it work."

He gave an easy smile then, leaning back in his chair. The calm facade he held masked a furiously racing mind.

"Now. You've answered my question; are their any questions that I can answer for you?"

Kes's response gave Joey food for thought, and he considered what he'd seen so far on Jovan Station, comparing it against what else he'd seen in his life. The Academy was a military installation through and through, with strict order which had taken the Nehantite some time to get used to, while Jovan reminded him a bit more of home, with a vastly more civilian atmosphere than he'd felt in four years. He'd gone from one extreme to the other, but perhaps his greatest challenge would be learning to balance the two.

Sitting straight in his chair, the recently-minted Academy graduate's mind went to the most important thing he could think of. "Two, sir," he replied. "First, where should I go to find my squadron leader, so I can report to them? And second, how are living quarters assigned, here?"

Ahh, the thought process of a cadet. Who's my superior? first, and where do I sleep? second. That seemed to be all that was running through the forefront of his mind until a spark of life snapped his eyes open wider. "Oh! Sorry, sir, General Brecklin had something for me to give to you when I met you. Just a moment." Joey turned in his seat and reached back for his duffel bag. After a few seconds of rooting about in it, he withdrew... yet another datapad to place on Kes's desk.

"The General said it's locked with a keycode. He said you'd know which one, sir." The pilot smiled as he set the datapad down on his commander's desk.

A single raised eyebrow as he leaned forward, hand outstretched to take the offered datapad. There was no real surprise that Meiers would send along a message, though encrypted? That part was a little bit unexpected. Not out of the ordinary, but still. Accepting the 'pad with a nod, Kes rewound a small bit to consider Joey's previous queries.

"Lieutenant Mazeran is the man you'll want to be getting with. He's over the squadrons that are posted here... " the 'pad was set to the side then, as the redhead reached to a stack of flimsi files, and opening one up, pulled out a single sheet with the pertinent information that would help his new pilot to begin acclimating himself to Jovan.

"... and will be able to get you sorted without a problem."

A moment, and Kes pulled another leaf of flimsis close, rifling through each one with intent before finding the object of his search. He pulled it out, giving a glance over its' length. Transfer papers were usually an easy lot to decipher.

"Looks like you'll be slotting into Titan Squadron. They're a good group."

At that he again leaned forward, holding both flimsis out for Joey to take.

Titan Squadron, huh? Joe smiled on the outside, but he was inwardly giggling about the various condom jokes the squadron was likely subject to as they shared their name with the "large size" product of the galaxy's top manufacturer. He kept that thought to himself, however, as he leaned forward to grasp the flimis, the leather of his chair creaking as he shifted. Over the past four years he'd become well-acquainted with military document layout and structure, as proper form and function was one of the things drilled into every first-year cadet. There it was, plain as day, and the young man nodded before resting the flimsis in his lap.

Tailtip flicking idly despite his rigid posture, a nervous energy flowed through Joey Rabeak as he realized he was finally at his first posting. "If you don't mind me saying, sir, we read about the attack on Jovan, back at the Academy. I want to give you my word that I'll do my very best to make sure nothing like that is allowed to happen again."

Garfife, the boy was eager, though it was unclear if he was eager to prove himself, or simply eager for action. Or maybe he'd had too much sugar or caff that day - likely both, given his age. "Most of my questions can likely be handled by Lieutenant Mazeran, now, but first, is there anything I be made aware of about this station, sir? Any quirks or protocol that might not make their way into official briefings?"

The door chime beeped behind where Joey sat.

"Commanderr, jI've asssembled the rrep-p-porrt jyou assk-k-k-ked forr."

Before he'd even had a chance to formulate a response, Preita'rrou Taassaurra's voice cut through the air mere moments after sounding the chime. Eyes going past Joey, Kes couldn't help the inscrutable expression that his features fell into. There was no real telling just how many of his staff he'd need to have talks with, though at least two came to mind first and foremost. Unfortunately Kiimiti Taassaurra was not one of them. Perhaps she needed to be?

No real immediate options presented themselves, and with a frown the redhead depressed the callback button to answer her.

"Just a moment, Preita'rrou."

The silence on the other side signalled his request was being honored, and Kes returned his attentions to Joey.

"Nothing particularly special, Mr. Rabeak. We're not exactly a hard-edged military installation, as I'm sure you were able to see on your way up here. We're a joint venture, so there are still things that both the Alliance and the Pride are discovering. We adhere to protocols, but we also know that this isn't an easy puzzle to solve, so there is overlap. Sometimes it's beneficial, and other times... "

He trailed off at that, offering a light-hearted smile then.

"Uncharted waters, and all."

"I'll make sure I don't lose my paddle," Joey smiled. At the Academy he'd developed a knack for sneaking into the wordplay of others, which had helped to ingrain him with his fellow cadets, and he saw no reason to stray from such behavior now.

In that moment the Nehantite began to realize he was overstaying his welcome for his... welcome. A station Commander was a busy man, and the shadow Joey could feel on the door behind him was a firm reminder that he could not monopolize Kes's time any further. Flimsis passing into his left paw, the newly-minted pilot stood. "Thank you for seeing me, sir," he said. "Though it looks like you've got a full day, so I should probably get out of your hair, here." The smile grew a shade of cheekiness as he nodded ever-so-slightly at the stack of datapads on Kes's desk.

"If there's nothing more, sir, I will go and find Lt. Mazeran and get myself sorted." His paw came up in a crisp salute. Only then did he realize that he didn't know the protocol of how he should act around Cizerack officers, and the expected deference of respect he would need to show them. They were technically part of the Alliance, but also separate in their own way, rather like the Midlothian Astral Navy, and he still didn't quite know how to address them.

Rising to stand, Kes returned the salute with a much more casual version. He gave a slight halfway look to the state of his desk, and offered a nod in agreement.

"A full day is a nice way to put it," he chuckled lightly. Of course, now that meant adding a trip to engineering into the mix. Not exactly how he expected to be going about his day.

Kes skirted his desk, mindful enough to at least escort his new pilot to the door, and when it whisked open, the redhead sent his eyes to Preita'rrou Taassaurra.

"Preita'rrou," he acknowledged.

Even though she expected it, the sudden parting of the door in front of her still caused Kiimi's ears to flinch. Fortunately, that was the only outward sign of surprise that escaped control.

"Commanderr, thiss jiss the g-g-grrjid JN-thrree-thrree-f-f-fourr telem-metrrjy, wjith ssusspjicjiouss c-contactss noted."

The Preita'rrou held the slip forward, and in the interim, her wandering eyes found the unknown quantity among them. He looked an awful lot like a younger Chief Rabeak! Oh stop, Kiimiti chided herself, averting her eyes. Not every alien looks alike, that's racist..

Accepting the flimsi with a gracious nod and his usual smile, Kes gave it a fleeting glance before letting his eyes track back to Mr. Rabeak. A returned sideways glance to Taassaurra made it abundantly clear that the woman was staring, and clearing his throat, the shortest of the three stepped halfway to the side.

"Preita'rrou Taassaurra, I'd like to introduce you to Mr. Rabeak. He's our newest transfer to Titan Squad."

His gaze went back to Joey.

"Mr. Rabeak, this is Preita'rrou Taassaurra, my senior comms officer. You won't find a pair of more sensitive ears."

At that he turned a cheeky smile and a wink to the taller woman. Despite her timidness, the Preita'rrou had steel in her spine and a particularly amazing knack for hearing things.

It was a bit of damning with praise, and Kiimi's very forward-oriented ears relaxed their posture when Akiena called her on it. The Preita'rrou kept any bashful tell on her face hidden, and the raised tuft of her tail out of sight.

"Hello P-p-pjilot Rrabeak. New trranssferr to Tjitan N-n-njine? jI'll upd-date the boarrd."

For a brief moment, Joey felt the clammy grip of uncertainty upon his neck. Preita'rrou was a Cizerack rank, and Ms. Taassaurra was most decidedly a Cizerack herself, yet she reported to Commander Akiena. Did that make her Alliance? Or Cizerack military? Or Alliance-friendly partner military? While he'd been trained to fight, fly, and withstand intense G-forces, the topic of how to refer to associated-yet-non-direct-Alliance personnel had never been on any of his study material.

Hope for the best, prepare for the worst, Joey straightened his posture and greeted Kiimiti with a crisp salute. "Ma'am, yes ma'aam," he said with a nod. "Just arrived from the Academy this, uh, morning? I'm on my way to go check in with Lt. Mazeran." In that moment he realized he didn't know what the local time was, but something felt morning-ish about it. Another conundrum scampered to the forefront of the pilot's mind, turning his cocky smile nervous.

"Though I'm not entirely sure where to find him."

Kiimi knew, of course. Hours of manning the conn station, tending to the grid, and updating the board meant that she almost always had her finger on the pulse of every domiciled ship coming or going from Jovan.

"Tjitan ss-ss-ssquadrron jiss on patrrol at g-grrjid thrree-two-f-fourr, due b-b-back at zerro njine th-thjirrtjy."

Of course, that didn't help Pilot Rabeak. That left him with two hours of drifting listlessly aboard station. Of course, he could always spend that time drawing necessities from the commissary, sizing up his new living quarters, or getting lost in the sea of bodies down in the concourse.

And while it might be helpful for a newcomer to get the lay of the land from a seasoned veteran, Kiimi was hardly the gladhanding sort. Hi, how are you? Here's where you sleep and here's where you put your stuff. Okay, bye! She did her best not to cringe at her simulated inner awkwardness.

Busying himself with another look over the flimsi, Kes paid partial attention to the schedule that Taassaurra rattled off. Only when a silence filled the air did he look up, first to Joey, then to the Preita'rrou. He blinked, his mind racing to play catchup. Less than a moment later he spoke up.

"Well, Preita'rrou, I'm sure Mr. Rabeak wouldn't mind a guide to help him about until the Titans return."

A disarming smile as he half-stepped back.

"I'll have Ms. Sokano take over for you."

Kiimi's blue eyes widened in surprise as Kes pushed her under the proverbial freighter. Goddess, I just knew he was going to say that! She pivoted to assuage Pilot Joey with a smile that intended to say no problem, but probably looked like a cry for help.

"Of c-c-courrsse, Com-m-manderr, jI'd be g-g-g-g..."

With her hands clasped unseen behind her back, Kiimi pinched one with the other.

"...jI'd be happjy t-to help."

Joey's pink eyes looked from officer to officer, sensing the tension in Kiimiti's voice. In all honesty, he didn't need a guide, as a map and simple instructions would suffice, and he briefly considered bringing that up so that no one would be pulled away from their duties. But a rookie pilot should not question his commanding officer - at least not on his first day - so Joey smiled and nodded, not wishing to make waves.

"Thank you very much, Preita'rrou," the Nehantite said, the Cizerack word causing mild difficulty for him. "With luck I shouldn't keep you long. And thank you again, Commander."

It was only in his farewell salute that Joey noticed he hadn't seen anyone else on the station saluting anyone at all. Garfife, he was going to wind up with the nickname of "Captain Protocol," he just knew it.

Oh, he was a shiny. Kiimi's ears pitched at odd angles as she watched the Nehantite's textbook salute go up and down. Of course, who could blame him? First impressions and all. And everybody started off as a shiny, so there wasn't any harm in it. Of course, the Pilot Rabeak part should have been enough indication. Not enough flight hours for a commission yet.

"Okajy, P-pjilot, let'ss get jyou ss-ss-ssjituated. How long w-wass jyourr fljight?"

"About seven hours, ma'am," Joey replied. "Would have been eight or so, but my fighter's got the improved new hyperdrive."

Immediately Joey kicked himself for talking about his X-Wing right off the bat. Bragging about your ship is only what rookie noobs with no experience do. Of course, that fit his description, but it still didn't excuse the giant red flags going up which shouted "Rookie! Rookie!"

He followed as he found himself led away from the Commander's office, and attempted to salvage such a poor opening line. "I've got an astromech, too. He's almost brand new, do I need to register him, or will he have been checked in with the ship's ID when I docked?"

Taking up the rest of the doorway as Joey vacated, Kes offered a smile.

"Normally we make sure droids are registered, but for now I'd not worry too much about that. He's linked to your ship, and your ship is linked to you. It's as formal as anything around here needs to be in the immediate. So long as you eventually are able to get the paperwork turned in, I'd not sweat it."

Honestly, Joey could have completely made up half the chest-thumping nonsense about his ship and it's hyperdrive rating. The only thing Kiimi cared about in a fighter was how much spectrum it could sling.

"Prrob-b-babljy a good jidea to g-g-g-g-grrab some chow." Kiimi offered, remembering the universal Alliance colloquialism for food. "Therre'ss a sst-t-tatjion mess down thrree levelss at the j-junctjion, orr jyou can eat on the conc-c-c-ourrsse jif jyou d-don't mjind sspendjing jyourr own m-monejy forr ss-ssomethjing betterr."

"Thank you, Commander," Joey gave a final nod to Kes before he had to go catch up with the still-moving Kiimiti.

For far too much of the last four years, Joey had eaten more meal cubes than anything else, and even though he'd grown accustomed to their synthetic flavor and strange texture, the thought of real food after going over eight hours since his last meal was one too good to pass up. "I don't mind spending a few credits, ma'am, if you can recommend anything that's pretty good, here. Well, anything that's not meal cubes, really," he chuckled to his reluctant guide.

It occurred to Kiimi that she'd never actually seen Chief Rabeak eat before. Being without a reference level must just be part and parcel of a deep space posting. Come to think of it, Pilot Rabeak. Chief Rabeak. Kiimi's ears twitched with a thought that she managed to wrangle well inside of her lips. Don't even ask that. What kind of provincial rube asks if everyone is related just because they hear the same last name? It's not like he's a Skywalker or a Meorrrei or something.

So what do Nehantites actually eat? Um...

Okay, xenobiology. Let's see. Fur. Sharp teeth. Don't stare at his teeth! Kiimi's eyes pointedly fixed on a spot of bulkhead just away from Joey's head.

"B-b-bothanss!"

She winced.

"Food. Bothan f-f-f-food. Therre's a rresstaurrant at G-f-f-forrtjy one. jIf jyou ljike Bothan food, jI m-mean."

She wanted to die. Sometimes face-to-face social interaction was the worst.

Joey's boots fell in measured step as he walked alongside Kiimi until they reached the lift. The sudden exclamation of "Bothans!" brought a bit of shock to his face as it sounded as if she were suggest actually eating them! Confusion quickly alleviated by elaboration, his smile returned, and the flyboy shrugged. "Sure, sounds good," he replied as the lift arrived. "Never had Bothan food before; always nice to try something new."

Well, that wasn't exactly true. An adventure into Rodian food had left scars upon his tastebuds that no amount of brushing and gargling could ever heal. With luck, Bothan food would prove more pleasant.

Boarding the lift, he found it empty other than Kiimi and himself, and as there was no relaxing smooth jazz to pass the time, Joey's mouth opened for more small talk. "So, I've read a bit about this station, at the Academy. It used to be an Imperial station, right? Have they ever made any moves to try and reclaim it?"

It just now occurred to Kiimi that her helpful suggestion had roped her into eating at a Bothan restaurant. Not exactly what she'd planned to do with her day. Of course she had no idea what Bothan food was, other than her hurried window-shopping in between postings. Something with meat in it, but grilled - that was the term for it.

She was distracting herself, but now that she realized it, the spell was broken. Now she was standing in a lift with an alien she didn't know, listening to bad muzak and trying to not make the situation more awkward - Oh Goddess he's talking again. Oh good! It's work-related sort-of.

"Oh! Well, n-n-n-not rrealljy. Th-th-therre wass an jin-jincjident wjithjin the f-f-fjirrsst week wherre a grroup of sst-sst-sst-sstarr desstrrojyerrss tessted ourr rr-rressponsse at the b-b-borrderr, but w-w-we kept jit to ss-ss-ssaberr rrattljing m-mosstljy."

"Mostly?" Joey's left eyebrow went up in precisely the way Anauri's did when he knew he wasn't being told the whole story - though Joey's eyebrow was neatly groomed and not wild and bushy like his father's. "And they haven't been back again, since? Did the Cizerack Navy get involved as well?"

That brought up another question, one he was hoping to ask is squadron commander, but as he had a high-ranking Cizerack officer trapped on a lift with him, now seemed as good a time as any. "Speaking of the Cizerack Navy, I know they have a large presence on this station. Are they integrated with Alliance forces here, or do our two navies remain separate, yet work alongside each other under a coalition leadership?"

"Well..."

Kiimi tried to mentally stack the queue of questions, and began to wonder with some small annoyance if the Nehantite ever bothered to read the news. Then again, maybe the happenings of the Raashaalla sector didn't rate as galactic news on Nehantish?

"jIt w-w-wassn't sshotss fjirred, jif th-th-thatss what jyou m-mean. The T-Trrade Navjy rrejinforrced f-fleet d-d-defensse, but everrjythjing came to a p-p-p-p-peaceful ssolutjion. The Empjirre even sset up a d-d-djiplomattjic mjisssjion on th-the sstatjion."

Kiimi could feel the inertia shift in her belly as the downward trajectory of the lift began to decelerate. She didn't have time to come up for air, however. Her tagalong had another volley of questions.

"Oh, well. The C-C-Cizerack Trrade Navjy operratess jin the Jovan p-p-prrefecturre underr a jojint command w-w-wjith the Alljiance. That'ss ssjimjilarr to how we f-f-f-functjioned jin the Confederracjy durrjing the W-Warr of Rrepubljic Ag-g-ggressjion. The Expedjitjionarrjy fleet jiss phassjing jin ss-ss-ssomethjing ssjimjilarr, but not asss qujickljy. The Home Clussterr fleet sstjill op-p-perratess wjith full autonom-mjy though."

The lift finally halted, and Kiimi squared her shoulders to the door in time for them to slide open with a soft release. Beyond lay the concourse, a massive open area that circled the main habitation areas of the station. Even though it was morning Galactic Standard, Jovan was like many lively space-faring communities. The hours had little meaning, and the concourse was never really asleep. Thousands of beings of hundreds of races pushed left and right in a vibrant parade of community.

"W-welcome to the Concourrsse." Kiimi attempted to act genial, but social anxiety threw a wet blanket over that. Instead, she shimmied out of the door, twisting and bending through her advance to get out of the way of people that honestly should watch where they were going anyway. Somewhere overhead, a bird zipped from pylon to pylon, beating tiny wings as it warbled a passing peep peep peep.

No one batted an eye.

No one but Joey, at least. His gaze followed the bird immediatley, head on a swivel to track it until it flitted out of sight. "That was a bird," he cheerfully stated the obvious. After so long on stations and military installations, he'd almost forgotten what they looked like, and hadn't expected to see one flying around wild on Jovan. Once his orinthian distraction was gone, he settled back into reality and wove through the morning crowd to catch up with his tour guide.

Nehantish itself, while technically part of the Alliance, often kept to itself when it came to matters of actual war with the Empire after it had managed to extricate the last vestiges of Imperial influence upon its national soil, so barring major events news was quiet about such things. Even at the Alliance Academy, Jovan Station was little more than a footnote in the texts and training Joey had been subject to for four years, so the intricacies known to Jovan's staff of its history were mostly unknown to the new pilot. Had the Alliance recognized his degree from the college he'd attended on Nehantish, surely he would have entered into active service as an officer and been more privy to such details, but Joey simply accepted he'd have to work his way up from the bottom all over again.

"I guess that's kind of like how Alliance naval fleets and units interact in Nehantite space," Joey nodded as he drank in the sights, sounds and smells of the concourse. "Not that I'll ever get posted to my home sector, that is," he couldn't help chuckling.

"jYou'd rr-rratherr be home?"

Kiimi fixated on that little breadcrumb, her ears pivoting askew as she asked.

"jI mean...d-don't mjind me asskjing, but w-wouldn't deep sspace be the morre p-p-prresstjigjiouss posstjing? jI worrked harrd to g-get asssjigned outssjide of the home fleet."

Joey shook his head, chuckling. "No, no, that's not what I meant," he replied. "I'm happy to be out here. I'm happy to have a proper assignment at all, to be honest. They kept trying to wind me into Engineering because I was good at it, but, that's what every Nehantite does. I wanted something different. Something more."

His tail swept back and forth with visible joy as his smile graduated to a proper grin. "And once I got behind the yoke of an X-wing, well, that was it, I knew where I belonged. Doesn't matter what sector I get sent to, as long as I can be useful as a fighter pilot, I'm good. Besides, away from home there's less... distractions, if you know what I mean."

As he finished, his words began to trail off as he let his eyes follow a very attractive couple walking through the concourse, holding hands. The moment he caught himself stating, however, Joey snapped back to attention on the conversation he was engaged in.

Kiimi never noticed Joey's lapse because she too was hanging on to the glimpse of passing eye-candy. That was her. Always looking, and never really doing anything else past that. Ugggh...

"Oh! Um...jyeah."

Dammit. Kiimi was eyes forward again, and she feigned sudden interest in buffing an imaginary dull spot on a jacket button with her thumb.

"Dojing what jy-jy-jyou ljike. That'ss g-good."

She wasn't going to look back at her tail. She could feel the tuft fur standing on end with her embarassment.

"Oh look! The B-Bothan rr-rrestaurrant, therre we arre!"

"At least I can do what I like, here," Joey replied. "Home sector would be a bit more restrictive on that."

He was saved from immediate explanation by their arrival at the restaurant.

You have reached your destination. A little voice sounded in Joey's head, and he allowed himself a smile at the thought. Navigating Jovan was going to take some time for him to learn, he could already tell.

"Mmm, smells good," he said as he opened the door for Kiimi. Once inside, the smells were even better. Grilled and roasted meats appeared to be the core of a Bothan menu, and Joey's pink eyes widened as he read the sign "All you can eat." Sure, it was a little expensive, but after so many months of meal cubes and other synthetic proteins, he was ready for some real meat. A server led them to their table, where a menu was merely a formality before servers arrived with swords stacked with various meats, and trays of sides. Before he knew it, Joey's plate was full, and his stomach was rumbling with anticipation. "I think that ought to do it for a first course," he grinned across the table at his guide. "You come here often?"

Alien smells assailed Kiimiti's nose, and she tried not to imagine the kind of fire hazard the open hearth kitchen presented for everyone on the station. Where did the smoke go? She thought, nervously kneading the hem of her jacket with her claws.

Here and there, servers brought cubes of browned remnants of something that was once meat on swords. Swords. What if a server fell and impaled herself? Kiimi's eyes went wide at the thought as the host seated them at a table. Arrayed around a plate were a myriad of utensils. She knew that forrda used them when dining, but it didn't take a lot of imagination to portray them as weird torture devices.

"Huh?" She startled. He'd said something, but some sizzling danger had passed close to her head and she'd been to busy pivoting her ears away from it.

"I asked if you come here often," Joey repeated. "Great suggestion, by the way. I was almost worried we'd wind up at one of those vegan health food ultra-sanitary places." The Nehantite laughed. "Though, if you'll permit me..."

He didn't explain before wrapping the fingers of one paw over the loose fist of the other and he bowed his head before whispering a short, quiet prayer in the rapid and lyrical tongue of his home kingdom. Prayer complete, and food blessed, he looked back up with that same excited grin he'd been wearing most of the morning, then took up a steak knife and a fork before starting in on one of the three different types of steaks on his plate. A perfectly medium-rare morsel was popped into his mouth, and no sooner had his lips closed than its juices were spread across his tongue, and the Nehantite's eyes closed in unison with a moan of pure delight. Sharp teeth made short work of the perfectly seared flesh, and he swallowed, already starting to cut another bite.

"Oh, Garfife, this is good!"

"Good! jI m-mean...good."

Kiimi winced, trying not to watch Joey eat. This was fine, it was all fine. She placed her hands in her lap, then rose them quickly to ward off the server as he tried to slide a sizzling portion onto her own plate.

"N-n-n-n-n-no th-thank jyou, jI'm on d-d-d....dutjy."

Goddess thats the lamest excuse, just act natural! Kiimi strained a little smile, and played with her hair a little to act casual.

The Bothan waiter ruffled the fur at his muzzle, glancing back to Joey in puzzlement.

"Something to drink then, miss?"

She could feel her ears reddening. Kiimi reached to the drinks menu, glancing at things she'd never seen before.

"That one. A B-Botha Ljibrre. Vjirrgjin Botha L-Ljibrre."

The Bothan looked at her like she had mynocks crawling out of her ears.

"You want...a cola and lime?"

Kiimi clasped her hands together on her plate, flinching as her silverware clattered.

"Y-y-y-yess. Pleasse."

"Okay then, sure thing..."

He gave Kiimi a funny look, then turned to Joey.

"And you, sir?"

The awkwardness of the situation was not lost on Joey as he realized Kiimi's plate was still quite empty. At first he wondered if she'd already had breakfast, but then came the excuse, which was only more awkward.

Glancing up to the waiter, Joey replied, "Just a, uh, unsweet iced tea, please."

The waiter simply nodded before heading back to the bar. Joey paused, looking at Kiimi as if trying to piece together some invisible puzzle. "You... can't eat when you're on duty?" he finally asked, his voice packed with all the incredulity that the question deserved.

"Not exactljy," Kiimi grimaced, "jit'ss m-m-morre that, um, rrecent ss-sstudjiess p-pojint to charrred m-m-meat asss a posssjible ljink to c-c-colorrectal cancerr. And encephelop-p-pathjic sspongjiforrm d-d-djissorrderr."

But no, it's fine, tootally fine. Go ahead and eat your poison. Oh Goddess I'm practically a murderer!

Joey blinked. That was not the answer he was expecting, and he hadn't expected to find a Cizerack officer who was a hypochondriac. All he could do was simply nod at that and begin cutting another piece of steak. "Well, my last rectal screening showed all clear, and I have no idea what that second thing is, so I think I'm just going to take my chances and enjoy this delicious steak."

It was only as he was chewing that the obvious question came to him, and he swallowed before asking, "If you don't eat meat, why did you suggest a meat restaurant?"

Surely she hadn't mistaken him for a Bothan, had she? Nah, that'd be racist, and from all the racial sensitivity training courses he'd had to take at the Academy, Joey knew that such pettiness was beneath an officer working with the Alliance.

"What? Of c-courrsse jI eat meat. jI, uh...jit'ss the p-p-prreparratjion that'ss at jissue."

Kiimiti nervously fiddled with the - what was this called - fork, twirling it between her fingers.

"And honesstljy, jit'ss fjine. Forrejign cujissjiness arre full of rrjisskss, dependjing on who'ss eatjing what, jI guesss."

"Well, I only know two things for sure, right now," Joey chuckled. "One, cooked meat's safer and tastier than raw, and two, this is a hell of a lot better than meal cubes."

With that he dug in, grateful that his teeth - perfectly clean, polished and white - were designed to make short work of meat, which allowed him to clear his plate with great expediency. Well, that and his stomach was begging for all the real food he could get. Oh, sure, he'd weigh a bit more at check-in, but it was totally worth it. The waitress returned with yet more meat, and Joey selected two cuts he hadn't tried yet, knowing that would cap off his meal. As he ate, he talked about life at the Academy, and asked a few more general questions about Jovan, but the biggest question was saved for last, once his plate was totally empty.

His pink eyes had been taking sidelong glances at the dessert menu, and at long last he picked it up. There, on the cover, printed in glossy, gorgeous detail, was a huge slice of seven-layer chocolate cake, with fudge frosting, and drizzled in bittersweet chocolate sauce and salted caramel sauce. Biting his lower lip, he turned the image to show Kiimi. "Wanna split one? My treat. There's no way I could handle a whole piece like that by myself."

The Preita'rrou's mouth pressed into a thin-lipped expression of concern as she read the description. Okay, she knew what chocolate was, she'd had that before on Syragor. Fudge frosting and caramel though? She tugged at an ear in indecision.

"jI don't ssee anjy d-d-djissclajimerrss about adv-v-verrsse health jisssuess forr cerrtajin sspecjiess..."

Come on, Kiimi. Woman up already! Don't look like such a wet-ear in front of the Shiny.

She got a little iron in her spine at the thought. Chin up, Kiimi set aside her menu.

"jYou know...therre'ss n-no documented hjisst-t-t-torrjical orrjigjin worrld forr ch-ch-chocolate. jIt sshowss up jin Rr-Rrepubljic arrchjivess almosst thrr-thrree thoussand jy-jyearrss ago, but asss an esst-t-tabljisshed sst-taple of galactjic c-cujissjine. Mandalorrjianss c-c-call jit kjikvalat."

Joey watched as Kiimi hemmed and hawed, regurgitating factoids which might have been interesting to hear between commercials in a holovision snow, but didn't answer his question.

"Well, is that a yes, then?" he asked, that eyebrow going up again as he smiled. Food was often the thing he'd found to work best while breaking the ice with anyone, and he prayed it worked on the Cizerack as well as it did the rest of the galaxy.

Her mind was made up. No way she'd let the Shiny get the best of her.

"Ssurre. W-w-what the hell, rr-rrjight?"

Kiimiti sipped on her virgin cocktail through the straw, as if sugar and bubbles might shore up her resolve.

"Sso jy-jyou'rre frrom Nehantjissh, huh? Th-that'ss a non-f-f-federrated worrld, sstjill djivjided jinto aut-t-t-onomouss rregjionss?"

"Yeah, the five kingdoms, as we refer to them," Joey replied before the waiter returned and he placed his order for the positively sinful-looking cake.

"Though, not all are actually kingdoms," he clarified. "In fact, only three are, and even those have a sort of breakdown of democratic structure. The kingdom of Nehantish is the most advanced and powerful of them all, and because of that we get to represent for our world. Nehantish is also the only kingdom to directly align with the Alliance. Then there's Midloth, which is a democratic coalition of states, and they're affiliated with the Alliance by trade only, with no military interaction. Munjesh is sort of run by a Raj, and they're up-and-coming in tech, but for the most part are still fairly well behind the times in terms of skills and education. They have no affiliation with any major off-world political association. The Cathay Empire is secretive, and is technically run by an Emperor, but from most people's understanding they have a sort of representative government in place to really run things day-to-day. They're actually aligned with the Empire, but it's only for trade that they conduct off-world. Empire ships are not allowed in Nehantite space. And, then there's the 'kingdom' of Kuf, which is a backwater hellhole of jungle, desert, and what civilization it can boast today is almost entirely the mining and production camps set up there by th other kingdoms. Kuf is a mostly tribal, raw land, and other than minerals and raw materials, it's worthless to the rest of the world."

In the time it took for him to explain, the impossibly calorific cake had been cut and slathered with its black and gold toppings, appearing on a wide plate specially designed for the massive dessert. And massive it was, having been cut from a cake that had to be at least fourteen inches tall, causing immediate regret in Joey's stomach as he'd underestimated its sheer scale.

"Woah," he said, blinking at their dessert. "That's way bigger than it looked in the picture."

He then looked up to Kiimi, and realized there was no way he could back out of this. He'd ordered, he'd committed, he had to see it through. What would she say to Commander Akiena if their newest pilot couldn't even finish half a slice of cake? His career might be essentially ended just as it began. No, he had to do it. He had to eat his cake.

Taking up knife and fork, he grinned to Kiimi. "So, you start from your end, I start from mine, and we meet in the middle?" It was more a challenge than a question, as he doubted either of them would willingly eat that much cake for the sheer fun of it.

A little education built up an appetite for dessert, even if it was something alien and unknown. Kiimi hoisted her fork like a novice, but she didn't look like she was about to retreat from the prospect any more.

"We w-w-would ssajy Anaa'i hauu'ech-cheei. Head forr jy-jyou and tajil f-f-forr me."

And with that, Kiimi took the plunge, her fork pushing it's tines into the side of the pie a bit forcefully, rattling the plate. Her ears flinched, and Kiimi tried more carefully, prying away a bite of white fluff and shades of brown. It was probably rude to sniff a gift offering before eating, so the Preita'rrou simply let it slip past her lips. A bit of whipped cream daubed into the cleft of her upper lip, but she couldn't be bothered as epicurean ecstasy overtook her expression and she closed her eyes.

Joey's own fork scarcely scraped the plate as he cut away what was honestly too big of a bite, yet his own pride wouldn't let him alter it. Thanking Garfife for his big mouth, the Nehantite shoved his forkful in and bit down.

Regret was immediate.

It was not regret for the quality of the chocolate used, as it seemed absolutely real, not was it regret for the overall balance of flavor, as the bittersweet chocolate sauce balanced well against salted caramel and the light, vibrant whipped cream. It was regret because the whole thing was far, far richer than he'd imagined, and he immediately worried about his ability to finish his half of the cake. As he chewed, the thick fudge icing stuck to his tongue, coating it in the sinful, luscious flavor of smooth chocolate enriched by butter, and it was fantastic. Iced tea did poor work of breaking up any of it, or clearing his palate, so he soldiered on. The cake was delicious, simply scrumptious, but also appeared to be more than enough to satisfy four, maybe five people. He could practically hear the waitstaff laughing at them from the kitchen as the duo attempted the culinarily impossible.

"Mmf, this is good," he said once his mouth was empty again. "I haven't had anything like this in years!"

There was no way he was going to show his weakness. No, a new pilot could not, and would not be defeated by a piece of cake, especially in front of an officer who reported directly to the station commander. Cake would be eaten, even if it was the death of him!

Syragori sweetmeats had nothing on this. Preita'rrou Taassaurra's blue eyes dilated in the throes of sugary ecstasy.

Kiimi gracelessly took the second bite, nearly skewering her tongue on the unfamiliar utensil. She powered on. Another bite. Another. Ugh Goddess, this was nearly better than baau'tai raau, but in a much larger quantity.

Stuffing one's face full of cake also had the added perk of not being compelled to speak. Trading social anxiety for an avenue into obesity probably wasn't a long-term winner, but Kiimi was all about the cake, no talking right now.

Alarm klaxons of worry sounded inside Joey's head as he watched his Cizerack liaison attacking the cake with a vengeance. She was trying to beat him, he could tell. The intent stare, the rapid assault of her fork, and her priority of food over talk could only mean one thing: she aimed to beat him to the punch.

Well, not if he could help it! Joey Rabeak was not going to be shown up by a desk jockey!

His own fork moved faster now, cutting away bites of cake, sauces, and fudgy icing in his attempt to keep pace. Stomach already full of beautifully grilled and roasted meats and sides, he knew it was a fool's errand to complete his half of the cake, but this was war! Already he could feel the sugar rush flowing through his bloodstream, making him both hyper and sleepy simultaneously, but he would not give in, no matter how sick he was going to feel after it all. In the board game of life, Joey couldn't help but feel he had rolled a 1, and was putting all his bluff points to work in order to try and get out of it relatively unscathed.

It took a bit of mental focus to remember to not bite the fork. The first two chance encounters between tooth enamel and durasteel weren't the pleasant sort. Still, Kiimi made certain to press her lips together upon withdrawal of the fork, making sure every last bit of caramel and sweet fluff stayed in her mouth where it belonged. This much sugar in a short amount of time on a more-or-less empty stomach was having an effect on the Preita'rrou in more than a few ways. Her ears were perked, pupils dilated. She could feel her heart thumpthumpthumping from her chest to her ears and back, all the while her stomach was flipping over itself.

"jI g-g-guess thjiss rratess asss a p-p-prrettjy bjig b-brreakfasst forr jyou, huh?"

One of Kiimi's knees began to bob up and down in a rapid cycle of restlessness. She set aside her fork, opting to trace the boundaries of the plate where a bit of errant caramel and whipped cream had separated itself.

"Hope jyou'rre g-good forr the ssquadrron b-brrjiefjing. Prrobabljy d-don't want a casse of the blood n-napss forr jyourr fjirrsst d-dajy."

"Heh, don't worry, we Nehantites have a fast metabolism," Joey chuckled. Bluster and lies, but with a confident face to cover for it. Laden with so much meat and cake it would be a miracle if he didn't get sick on maneuvers within ten minutes. Hopes and dreams remained pinned on being able to delay the squadron commander juuuuust long enough for his meal to fully settle before he'd have to strap in to the cockpit of his X-wing.

That was the scenario which continued to run through his head as he worked steadily at his cake while Kiimi began to mock him by making sure to also add any errant sauce or whipped cream to her main course of cake. The subtle jab did not go unnoticed, and Joey redoubled his efforts, knowing he only had a few agonizing, soul-destroying bites left. After this, he'd be swearing off chocolate for an entire month, he told himself as the end was in sight, though there still existed the danger that his chaperone would beat him to the finish line.

"That ssoundss ab-bout ljike me. jI have t-to eat on purrposse to keep frrom bejing able to c-c-count mjy rrjibss."

A squelching sound from her middle paused Kiimi's train of thought as she worked to fastidiously arrange the now-empty plate so that it could be bussed with the least amount of trouble. What her taste buds had been over the moon for, her stomach was apparently not thrilled about.

"Oof. Wow."

The Preita'rrou slurped up the last of her soda, glad that there was a little fizz left to help calm things down. When the waiter returned with the bill, Kiimi expertly swooped it up with a chit already in hand to cover everything.

Two bites. That's all that remained on the plate before him, and yet they might as well have been entire cakes unto themselves. Two bites between victory and failure, between showmanship and cowardice, between... no, there was another way out: yet more bluster.

"There's an old saying where I'm from: A full meal makes for a slow mongoose. And, as much as I'd love to finish that remainder off, it's best not to jeopardize my performance on maneuvers solely for the sake of sweets," he said with a winning smile. There, exit handled marvelously. Toss in some cultural reasoning bullshit and you could get away with almost anything, sometimes. Usually. Well, at least half the time.

Allowing his internal discourse to blather on inside his head, Joey set his fork down carefully as the waiter returned with the bill, ready to reach for his wallet when Kiimi surprised him by picking up the tab in full. "You... really didn't have to do that, ma'am," he said. "In fact, I'd planned to pay for yours, as you were kind enough to suggest this place, and since I am responsible for you being pulled from your post. I imagine that tour guide is rather low on your list of desired positions around here."

"jYou'rre k-kjiddjing rrjight?" Kiimi skewed her ears, moderately aghast at the notion of Joey covering the check.

"A ladjy alwajyss pajyss forr a m-man'ss djinnerr. jIt'ss etjjiquette."

And in her mind, wholly correct. It had been how she'd been brought up, and it wasn't exactly like she'd had many opportunities to demonstrate chivalry. Even then, Joey Rabeak barely rated, as this was a professional encounter in the first place. Still, Kiimi imagined that her mother might blanch if she discovered that she ever went dutch on a bill with a man - or worse - let him pay for her.

"Oh." The word came out of Joey's mouth with a heavy perfume of chocolate before he even realized he'd said it. It took concentration to bring his eyebrows and ears back down from that surprising inversion of gender roles. So much to learn about other cultures, still, he thought to himself, while giving no further argument and simply accepting the situation. Not that he'd even have a problem paying if he'd been allowed, given what resided in his trust fund. If his mother ever found out that he let a woman pay for his meal, he'd never hear the end of it.

The etiquette of who stands first, and if someone gets the other's chair was resolved simply as both diners rose simultaneously, and Joey took up his dufflle bag. He wished he'd left it in one of the lockers where he'd changed out of his flight suit, but it was better to be overburdened than lacking supply, if suddenly he needed something on his first day, he imagined. Hitching the strap up onto his shoulder, the Nehantite smiled. "Any chance I might be able to find out where I'm to be quartered before the squad gets back from maneuvers?"

"Oh, ss-ssurre. jI'll esscorrt jyou to the h-h-habjitatjion arrea..."

Kiimiti stood in unison with her guest, and then her stomach did a cartwheel, causing her to pause mid-action. She offered a pained expression forced into a smile, then held up a polite finger.

"Do jyou m-m-mjind jif jI take a trrjip to the rr-rresstrroom beforre we go?"

The gurgle of gasses, and both solid and liquid matter in Kiimi's gastric tract, was loud enough for Joey's ears to hear it, and so it was with no hesitation that he nodded. "Not at all," he replied. "I'll await you in the, uh, waiting area."

He ticked his head toward the padded benches just inside the front doors, where he intended to spend a few minutes waiting, settling his stomach, and attempting to think about anything other than the restroom.