The Falcon's Cage

...Thus I write to you. It is time for you to wed, or at least affiance if you are still married to your career in the Fleet. Many are interested, as the memory of your good appearance, disposition, and rigorous discipline and prospects within Starfleet (the term ‘Navy’ has been bandied about, as if starships sailed on watery waves of starlight, it alternately amuses and infuriates me), and I have spoken to a handful of young women of good breeding and disposition themselves, whom I believe would suit you well and are willing to meet you. I have made plans to meet with them again, and will give those who survive meeting your sisters permission to send you correspondence. Should you be unable to visit, I do hope you will at least answer them and treat them respectfully.

As ever and always,
Your Mother


Vance Felline, Captain of Fearless, a Corvette in Her Imperial Majesty's Starfleet, ran his hand through his hair and let out a sigh of tremendous volume and emotion after reading the entirety of his mother's message.

'I wonder,' he thought to himself, looking out the view port of his quarters, 'whether there is another Captain of some kind out there who must also dread the sight of his mother's name in his message list.'

Outside the view port, Kuat Drive Yards, that monstrous ring of production around the equatorial belt of Kuat itself, shined with the reflective light from the star. Fearless was but a speck on the gargantuan testament of and to engineering that were the Drive Yards. Fifteen kilometers away a Star Destroyer was also being refitted, and it was itself almost dwarfed by the structure, which still overshadowed it by an order of magnitude.

Despite the grandeur and spectacle of the view in front of him, he viewed it absently, without the usual awe and respect for the effort and resources that it represented he usually felt. His mind was rather completely taken up by thoughts of his mother, family, and the truthfully terrifying thought of leaving a wife and possibly children bereft due to his frankly high chances of being killed in the line of duty.

He was at an impasse. This was not something he could speak of with his staff officers; despite his tolerance for less than professional banter and friendly relations outside of duty, he was still their captain, and they were not his confidantes, for all that he was sure they would be able to understand. Certainly not Knight Iscandar, either. The very thought of speaking to her about his trepidations about marriage were laughable at best. And what woman would—

His mental image of her flashed across his eyes and made him cough on his own breath. He attempted to brush the moment off, but that sight of her in his mind's eye was now firmly entrenched despite the brief amount of time he had granted it. He knew she would be able to understand, commiserate, and sympathise with him. He turned away from the view port in an almost violent fashion, pacing as his thoughts began to race.

While he was no innocent, his career, his station, and his upbringing had very much lodged in him a reticence and what one might call an aversion to beginning or embracing a proposition for a romantic entanglement; one indiscretion might leave him completely ruined: financial, career, and personal, all rolled up into a bow, neatly severed and snipped before he could tie and neaten it to his satisfaction. There were other reasons as well, some which he considered only common sense, and some which he admitted to himself were childishly idealistic. His few liaisons were quiet and well kept secrets; save one perhaps, which was a loud and confusing well kept secret.

He laughed to himself, wondering if perhaps the good Captain and his crew had infected him with some sort of curse of 'interesting times'. Farcically he entertained the thought of patenting an inoculation against such a disease and retiring a wealthy man, until he brought himself back to the topic at hand. He was surely being rash, and further thought would probably give him another avenue, but he knew when his own mind was resolved, even against his own better judgement.

He was dressed in fairly short order, in clothing not unlike his uniform but without insignia or brand. His code cylinder, kept in his jacket breast pocket, would suffice to keep any ambitious security personnel well satisfied. He left the berthed Fearless, and made his way to a communications suite, one which allowed slightly more secure transmissions, though 'secure' was a vague term considering the sheer immanence of the Imperial Intelligence apparatus. For good reason, as well, though it did not suit him at this very moment. Thankfully, he and most other officers knew a slew of codes and commands that would further privatise any transmissions, and further, were used mostly to facilitate intelligence sharing and reports. All he had to do was use a particular code phrase in the initial request after enabling the scrambler, and any intelligence agent or algorithm would think he was in fact making a report to another, far more secretive and opaque, governmental institution.

'I do believe this is the first time I've ever been thankful for COMPNOR,' he thought to himself in amusement. The signal solidified and resolved, and the frequency returned as connected. He waited a moment for the image to project, and he smiled wanly.

"Miss Moreau," he said, bowing slightly. "I do apologize, but I have something I believe I could use your help with, and something you may find amusing as well. I shall bear your mockery if it means I can count on your help."

It was midnight in the cockpit of Alderaan. Or, well, whatever passed as midnight on a ship. The only way to tell really, was that Ben and Shuvin were fast asleep in their own quarters. Just as she had been. In fact, she'd been happily ensconced under the myriad of blankets that she'd been collecting. Soft fluffy blankets, fake fur blankets, velvet-rimmed blankets, and even a weighted blanket. She'd been so comfortable. Nestled like some cherubic Gamorrean hoglet, Cerie had been in the middle of a lovely dream about Chandrillan goats eating jellied pancakes on a beach. At least, that was what she could remember when she'd woken up for no reason whatsoever.

What was worse, she'd not been able to fall back asleep. The blonde had continuously tossed and turned, trying to drift back into slumber, but the fact that she was dismally unable to do so was enough to make her throw her blanket layers off and literally roll from the bed.

A grumble, and she'd snagged the latest copy of Heavy Bionics from her nightstand on her way out of her quarters.

An hour later found her in the cockpit, leaned back in her normal seat with bare feet propped up. It was just her, the quiet, and her reading. A story about a lucky ship that always brought its crew home except for the last mission, where it seemed to become fully sentient and sacrificed itself for the soldiers it was tasked with protecting. It was heartwarming and tragic, and currently the last flimsi-page was stuck on Cerie's cheek where it had fallen when she dozed off.

The half-second long ping of an incoming transmission was certainly not enough warning, and when the holo of one Vance Felline materialized into the air, his initial greeting was met with a particularly sharp and forceful snort, and as his voice continued, Cerie rumbled awake in the same way that earthquake aftershocks rumbled their way along. Whach was to say, without any grace whatsoever.

Heavy Bionics was torn away, and she rocketed forward - still most certainly half asleep - to sit up straight in her chair.

She blinked the sleep away. It was a monumental task if one was to go by the sight of her addled expression.

"I... wha... "

The voice held a very familiar lilt, and as her squinting eyes panned over to the projected image of the man on the other side, recognition dawned. Slowly, but it did register after a few moments.

"... Vance?"

She angled herself in her chair to better view him, one hand reaching up to wipe the sleep from her eyes.

"Do you know what time it is?!"

Of all the responses one may have anticipated, asking the time was definitely not what he had expected.

"I... uh, I don't, no. I mean, I know what time it is here, definitely, but I don't know where you are, so..." He trailed off awkwardly, and the silence stretched on, which he attributed to a bad ping on the frequency.

"Is... this a bad time?"

He didn't know where she was now... it made sense. A few more moments of silence, and she banished the last residuals of sleep-addled confusion from her thoughts.

"It's a time, that's for sure," she half-grumbled out. Though, there was no real dissatisfaction to her tone.

In fact, she couldn't help but feel a strange sense of... relief? Happy expectance? She liked Vance, and she couldn't deny that he'd been able scratch that one itch she had, and he was charming and lovely and sweet and... gods above Imperial. There had been a moment of awkwardness, when she found out, but it passed soon enough - owing to the fact that he seemed to have the perfect key to her lock.

"Do I call you Captain?"

Captain.

Just saying the word pulled her further from her sluggish and sleep-addled thoughts. Brought her to that one peak moment that they had shared, and once more now. And in the next breath she brushed away her own query.

"Vance."

If this was some sort of booty call, she was not impressed. She swallowed, letting her flimsimag fall fully into her lap.

" ... "

She had nothing, really. And her confusion was more than evident.

And with nothing else to truly offer, she stared at the holo of him.

"Does mocking you include sex?"

"Excus— no. No, mocking me does not include sex," he said, gaining his breath back after a brief moment of choking on nothing. "I need help, and you were one of the few I'd trust with this sort of circumstance."

He paused for a moment, feeling an odd mix of loneliness and amusement that it was in fact true that he had remarkably few people to turn to in this case. Cerie Moreau, an itinerant smuggler and crew aboard a tramp freighter was one of the few people in the galaxy he had formed a personal relationship with, if one could call a night of alcohol fueled sexual intercourse followed by a ridiculous conversation with her Captain and a high ranking Alliance military commander. Thinking of that night still gave him very odd feelings of amusement and mortification and incredulity.

"Now that it's come to it, I'm at a loss for words. It's nothing dangerous or dramatic, I assure you," he said, possibly misinterpreting the expression on her face. "My family is one of some wealth and influence on a planet in the Teyr sector. I am the eldest son of the family, and my continued bachelorhood is not necessarily hurting my family, but it is proving to be an obstacle for my sisters and parents to make good connections and secure good terms for both business and my sisters' marriages. So I have been 'asked' to return home to at least provide the illusion of seeking an end to my time as an unmarried man. As you can probably tell, such a subject would be... awkward... to bring up with my subordinates. It's awkward enough with you, but at least I know that you either will not or cannot use this against me either personally or professionally."

His explanation was... well, it was certainly something. Not what she was expecting for sure, and for a few quiet moments she stared back at him as her thoughts connected the dots of exactly what he was asking for. It was a sweet thing, she finally concluded, and she let her posture soften in her chair. Slowly, the blonde took her mag and gently leaned forward to toss it atop the upper dash of the forward control console.

"Good to know that there's no danger or drama, though I wouldn't count them completely out when it comes to family."

One leg came up then, tucking up under the rest of her bulk. There was a sizable hole in the knee of her trousers, and a pale kneecap poked out. He was right though - she had no interest in leveraging this predicament against him. There just didn't seem to be anything of value in such a thing. Not to mention she did like him. And despite everything, he looked positively exasperated, flummoxed, irritated, and absolutely at a point that begged for a sympathetic shoulder. Or at least an ear to listen to his top-shelf woes.

"And it doesn't have to be awkward, you know," she continued, "... we crossed the awkward bridge already."

A deep breath, and she leaned back in her seat, eyes on his as she tried to suss out her poor silver spoon and what exactly he wanted from her.

"What would like me to do?"

it's not my turn yet. sorry!

"It doesn't have to be awkward..." she said, and he smiled. It was a genuine expression, full of wry amusement and good will for the woman he was speaking with. "What would you like me to do?"

He shrugged.

"I don't know, honestly. I used to have conversations with my younger sisters when I had problems that weren't easily solved. I've become used to solving my problems and obstacles through other means now, but I don't think the big blasters on my ship can solve this one. While I don't mind the idea of marriage, the practicalities of it are something that leads me to remain a bachelor. My career, my place in the galaxy, and the people I've surrounded myself with, are not conducive to a family of the kind I'd like to have."

He paused, collected his thoughts, and continued.

"I received a message from my mother, and put simply she told me that I had to come home and put forth a show of either stability, or the pursuit of it. That for some reason my continued lack of a spouse has been harming my sisters' prospects. And despite my misgivings, I do not wish them any difficulty in the their lives whatsoever, much less one that I may make smoother by some effort or sacrifice of mine. So, I obviously plan to return home, but from there I am at a loss."

She was picking up what what he was putting down, and Cerie couldn't help the slight grin that slowly began to turn up the corners of her mouth. Even through the holo, he seemed to radiate dread at having to go home, or maybe it was more the thought of what was waiting for him there? Either way, he didn't look particularly enthusiastic about the notion at all. It was in that moment that she stepped into the sort of role that could only be described as... the anti-wingman? The blocker? She'd passively watched enough smashball games in enough cantina holos that she was at least partially aware of the mechanics of most player positions.

Idle fingers picked at the worn fringe of the hole in her trousers, and she pulled in a long breath before letting it back out.

Her brow furrowed in a show of thought, as her eyes continued to stare at him.

And then her head tilted slightly to the side.

"Would you like me to go with you?"

"I didn't think we were in that sort of relationship that you'd ask to meet my family, Cerie," he quipped. She rolled her eyes. "I don't know what bringing you along would do, aside from moral support, I suppose. I wouldn't begrudge your company—in fact, I'd welcome it—I am simply worried that a woman from a tramp freighter may not be the ideal guest for my mother or father. Not for an event of the kind that is planned."

He became more thoughtful after a moment.

"My father would probably approve of the connection to a tramp freighter though, if the captain were a trustworthy sort. He's a landed businessman through and through, though probably more aristocratic than most businessmen you'll ever meet. I suppose if I frame it as I have hired Alderaan to take me there and back, they would have far less negative opinion. I'd hate to get into an argument with my mother over your merits."

The look she gave him was a strange, wincing thing. A mix of cringing and cautious thoughtfulness as she digested his words.

"Yeeeaahhh... " it was a drawn out word that she let go on for longer than she normally would have.

He was trying to be accommodating in his own way, she could understand that.

Her fingers shifted up from the fringe of the hole in her trousers, and Cerie scratched at an itch on the underside of her jaw with her pinky.

"Merits were never my strong suite, I suppose."

She blew out a long breath, then, choosing to push ahead before he could say anything in response.

"But I know how to act a lady, if you're worried about that."

"You know," he said, his smile widening, "I can believe that. I don't have misgivings because of you, Cerie. Please don't assume that for a moment."

He firmed himself visibly, and spoke again.

"No matter the method by which I enjoy your support, Cerie, I do wish to have it. Do I need to speak with Captain Merasska personally about your location and destination, or is that something you can do yourself? I fear his reaction to seeing me and hearing my request. I don't need to hear him moan about how it's bad enough how often he and his crew get—ahem, fucked over—by Imperials without Imperials literally screwing him and them again."

He managed to deliver this line with a suitably straight face; the number of reports he'd needed to deliver to Knight Iscandar, Knight Vissica, or his direct superiors in Sector operations, that he could pull off some of the blandest and driest humor in the galaxy.

She couldn't help but crack the smallest of grins at that.

"I'll talk to Ben. I'm sure the prospect of a paying job will be enough to outweigh the... " Cerie let her grin turn into a smirk then, "... fucking."

A silence fell between them then, and the blonde satisfied herself with simply staring for a short minute.

Finally.

"If you send along what you want and need, I'll package it up and we can get you along to not being married as soon as possible."

That last part she delivered with a wink while unfurling herself, reaching back out to take hold of her reading that had been waiting patiently for her from atop the dash where she'd tossed it.

"Just forward along my request to the Captain," he replied. "I sincerely doubt he'll agree to come to Kuat, but a system inside the Empire would be easier for me to rendezvous with you. Don't send anything back to this frequency. At best, you'll get no response. Use this one instead. Less secure, but a personal address."

He nodded in that peculiar Imperial manner, which was more than a nod and less than an outright bow.

"I'm looking forward to seeing you again, Miss Moreau."

* * *

Cerie stepped into the cockpit just as the drop from hyperspace pulled those hypnotic starlines back into glittering pinpricks. It was always so pretty to watch, bursting from the hyperlane to splash into realspace.

"It'll be fun," she grinned to Ben as she took her seat. It had taken a bit of convincing, but she'd been successful in winning him over. It was a job, after all, and credits were credits. Shuvin had taken to the notion easily enough - beaches, good food, men... the blonde suspected that the prospect of a good time was the highest on that list of temptations.

"We've had enough weirdness lately, so an easy blue milk run to a nice planet while getting paid to do so will be a lovely change of pace."

Reaching over, she gave a poke to the soft white skin of his upper arm.

"Besides. You'll get the chance to even out that spacer's tan you've got going on."

"Spacer's tan. Spacer's tan, she says," Ben mumbled to himself while he piloted Alderaan through Ailon's lagrange point. "We're going to meet that Imperial guy again, and she's talking about spacer's tans!"

He silenced himself for a few moments.

"Spacer's don't get tans, Cerie!" he finally shouted, and then went limp.

He'd been like this ever since Cerie had asked him to do this job, and to be honest, most of it was him over-exaggerating things and it showed. It was almost a hard and fast rule on the ship: Don't take jobs from Alliance or Imperials.

A hard and fast rule that had been broken stars knew how many times now, but that wasn't the point! The point was that it was a rule. Rules weren't meant to be broken. Sometimes they did end up getting broken, but that just meant you needed to get vent-tape and a welder and fix it back up good as new (maybe sometimes hitting it with a hammer to make the dents look normal next to other ones), because by the black void of space it was a forsaken rule. You had to have standards, or else you'd end up working for the Hutts or some other low-life and end up getting frozen in carbonite and killed in a gigantic battle, like Han Solo.

A bit overly specific of an example, you say? Ben himself had lived through two of those events. Just forget that Han Solo also lived through two of them and died on the third. There was no way that was applicable to Ben's situation, thank you very much. No more adventures! No more quests! Just quiet, humdrum, regular living; back and forth from job to job, just the way spacers like him had lived for hundreds—no, thousands—of years. Okay, he still had to find Esther, but that was the only thing he'd cave on.

Now, what was he doing? Oh, right. A job for a forsaken Imperial.

He'd say his family were rolling in their graves, but considering their entire planet and them too were just an asteroid belt and ash particles in space now, it'd probably be more fitting to conceptualize them as wailing ghosts.

"If this doesn't end up as easy as you're painting it, I'm... I'm going to..." he glanced over to Cerie, who was just giving him an unimpressed look. "I'm going to be very disappointed. You don't want that, do you? I'll mope. You hate it when I mope."

He frowned and hunched in his seat and fake cried for a brief moment.

"Just like that."

"Oh, come off it, Ben," Shuvin scoffed, scampering up the ladder of the cockpit to slam herself into a seat with a sigh of relief. "You heard her! Blue milk, she said! I know she's said that before, with the Kafrene job, the Bantha Steak Scheme, and we can't forget the Blue Milk Run."

"We swore to never speak of the Blue Milk Run ever again!" Ben spat. He wrinkled his nose, as if smelling something rancid.

"The Steak Scheme was Ben's idea!" Cerie hissed.

"It wasn't a scheme!" Ben retorted. "At least, I didn't know! How was I supposed to know they weren't selling real bantha steaks!"

"You're missing the point!" Shuvin said over them. "Which is, not everything is super complicated! People make them complicated! So just calm down, everyone. We're going to help out Cerie's friend here, and make some real good credits doing nothing but sitting down! I mean, I did a bit of searching and we can do a bit of shopping and work on Alderaan, but the planet's not a hotspot for industry and the parts we need. It's more of a touristy farmy place. It's where red nectar, or a variant of it, comes from you know? Sugar, wood, and fishing. And that's about it."

She smiled. "Momma could do with a little sweetness and wood too, if you catch my drift."

She waggled her brows and bit her lip, sniggering a bit under her breath.

Shuvin was always good for helping to put the press to Ben, and Cerie met the Togruta's waggling brows with a rather lewd and suggestive stare from blue eyes that soon enough lazily tracked their way back to Ben.

Another poke to his arm.

"The problem is that spacers don't have tans, and I bet that some sun would be good for your skin."

She gave him a concerned once-over, letting two fingers finally give the barest pinch to his ribs.

"Soft and tender like a mynock's underbelly," she finally assessed while pulling back to lean once more into the confines of her seat, supremely satisfied with herself.

Ailon was only growing larger in the viewport, and it wasn't long before they were passing through the atmospheric barriers, buffeted only slightly before Alderaan's inertial dampeners kicked in to smooth the ride.

"I don't know how to respond to this," Ben slapped away Cerie's poking finger absently, and pressed the comm when they were hailed.

"Freighter Alderaan, you are cleared. Follow the transmitted flight path, or you will be shot down."

The connection cleared and went silent. All three of the crew of Alderaan looked at the speaker with vary looks of bemusement.

"Great place your booty call chose, Cerie," Ben mumbled, hurriedly adjusting the ship's flight path. "A fortress planet? Do they know they're not Imperial any more? Wait, maybe that's why they're so hard for the fortress thing now. They're pretty much neutral in name only."

"I'm guessing that's why Mister Imperial Captain Man chose this place for the pick up," Shuvin hummed softly, watching as the spires of a city made themselves known through what she'd thought was just cloud cover; now she saw that it was in fact a thick fog.

At least, she hoped it was a thick fog.

"Real careful guy you got there, Cerie," she said, standing and leaning forward a bit as if doing so would allow her to see through the blanket of mist. Ben simply pressed a button and the canopy shimmered, before outlines of the buildings and sky-traffic were displayed on the transparisteel glass like ghosts.

"Suppose it makes sense though, him bein' so careful-like," she continued, most of her attention set on the fog and the outlines that silently swam along their fields' of view. She turned and grinned at the blonde. "He is a Cap'n. An Imperial one. Can't be too careful with a job like that, I'm guessin'."

They smoothly flew through the fog to the end of the flight path: a tall skyscraper, or rather three skyscrapers arranged in a neat triangle. Despite their height, the scrapers all seemed somehow squat, with thick defining lines and jutting platforms and shuttered landing bays, and very little to differentiate one from another. Ben glanced down at the transmitted flight plan, and deftly skirted the scrapers and the myriad ships that flew to and from them. Not just ships, but sky cars, speeder buses, and haulers too.

"Busy place," Ben hummed, calmly setting the ship down in a large and well apportioned landing bay and looking quite cool (though she'd only tell him that when she was sure he wouldn't be sure that she was genuinely complimenting him) while doing so.

"Let me land her one of these days," Shuvin said, poking the man in the shoulder. Ben glanced back at her and shrugged.

"Maybe not in places like this, but sure," he said, putting the ship on standby and stretching in his seat.

"Kwe!" the Togruta cheered. "Now, you excited to see your man, Cerie? Where is he? Where is he? Is he here?"

She stepped forward and nearly pressed her face to the glass to see if the man was anywhere about.

Shuvin was practically in her lap, and Cerie blinked in mild surprise as her hands went to the Togruta's waste to make sure she didn't tumble off to the side. It was a bizarre balancing act, and the blonde carefully slid herself out of her seat, making sure that Shuvin was still half-way held up in her contortionist's pose.

"He's not really... my 'man', you know."

It was sweet, the term, but despite her own internal thoughts on the matter, Cerie was still not sure how to refer to Vance when in the company of others. Oh, she knew exactly what Ben thought of him. Usually when it was brought up she would roll her eyes so thoroughly that they might as well be on their way to Wild Space.

Fully out from under Shuvin, Cerie let her go once it was certain that she had solid footing. Of course it only meant that Cerie herself could sidle right up next to the younger woman in an effort to spy Vance Felline.

Her eyes caught sight of a rather particular form, standing on the mouth of a large archway that joined the landing bay to what was probably a waiting are that doubled as a staging zone.

Except...

... it was Vance, and two other bodies standing on either side of him.

- -

"Oh come now, you have a perrfectljy sserrvjiceable trranssporrt, and we'rre both gojing to the ssame planet."

Parriaanaa Rasurraanssar was sidled up to the human man - he stood like some rigid piece of durasteel rod, unbending - doing her best to impress upon him the need that he share this transport. It was vitally important, after all.

Her sister was on the other side of him, one arm forcefully looped into his, her tail looping itself around his thigh just above the knee.

She had made herself comfortable in the close shadow, as it were, of the handsome young human. Her tail had wound itself up and around his leg to wrap itself above his knee.

"We'rre all gojing to the ssame desstjinatjion, Dearr. And jI hearr ssuch good thjingss about the chjivalrrjy of jImperrjial offjicerrss... "

"I do believe I have said that I do not have the final word on whether or not you may fly on this transport, Ladies," he said, maintaining his poise. The feeling of a tail wrapped around his leg was incredibly awkward, but the most he he gave it was the slightest glance down.

Alderaan, the Ghtroc freighter that would be his transport back home, ejected a considerable amount of steam and compressed gas as its weight settled on its landing struts, obscuring the ventral hull enough that it was difficult to make out the entry ramp lowering, with the only real sign being the billowing cloud that erupted from the front. He remained at his place near the entrance of the landing bay, and waited for someone to make their entrance.

He didn't wait long, as a young girl nearly sprinted out of the billowing cloud and skidded to a stop in front of him. She was a Togruta, with a lithe form and a mischievous look about her face, like she had an impish grin's echo forever about her mouth. Her appearance silenced the two Cizerack ladies, and while he was tempted to say something, the girl looked like she was judging him while giving him a look over.

Finally, she nodded, a smug and very satisfied smile on her face.

"Cerie really knows how to pick 'em," she said, nodding, and noticed the two Cizerack women at his sides. "Yer pretty dashin' ain't ya? Howdy there, name's Shuvin."

What was he to say to that?

"Er, thank you," he said finally. Her smile widened and she glanced back, where both Cerie and Captain Merasska were making their own way over to them.

Ben remained silent as he and Cerie flanked Shuvin, making what had to be one of the awkwardest posse stand-offs in the history of the galaxy. Ben Merasska and his Crew, facing Captain What's His Face and his...

"Never told me you were bringin' an entourage," he said, raising an eyebrow. Captain Whoever seemed to close his eyes and take a deep breath before reopening them and giving that weird Imperial nod/bow gesture.

"Captain Merasska, Miss Moreau, Miss Shuvin, may I introduce Madams Rasuransar," he said. "Apologies, as I am absolutely sure that I have mangled the pronunciation. Languages were never a particularly strong point of mine. They are, unfortunately, not my own guests; they found me while looking for passage to Ayolco for themselves and have made it quite clear that they wish to make use of your services as well."

Ben couldn't help but smile at the Imperial's veiled awkwardness and frustration, though the man had a look blander than skim blue milk on his face. It was petty to take pleasure in the man's plight like this, but then Ben was sure the man knew just how little his presence was welcomed by the owner of Alderaan in the first place, and still wanted to try and pay him for transport.

He look absolutely miserable. She would've felt a small amount of pity for the man, except, it was all she could do to keep from bursting out laughing. Vance Felline, with a pair of elder Cizerack matrons hanging off of him like he'd just won Galactic Powerball. He's said something about them hoping to gain passage to their ultimate destination, but that wasn't her decision to make. Ben was the goalie on this one - though hey... more credits was better than not-more-credits.

Cerie settled for a bare smirk, giving Vance a once-over that fully included his 'entourage', as Ben had put it.

The poor man.

Finally, she held out her hand in an invitation for him to take it if he so wished.

"Come on, then," she eased out, "... let's get aboard and let the Captain discuss business with the two fine ladies, yeah?"

Parri set her eyes to the human freighter captain.

"Aahh, Captajin," she smiled sweetly. "A pleassurre, to be ssurre!"

Stepping past the Imperial, Parri made sure to give a deferential nod of respect. Her sister likewise did the same, disengaging from her 'victim' to focus on a new one.

Ben kept smiling for a grand total of three seconds before the words had percolated through his schadenfreude-enjoying brain, and he tossed a quick wide-eyed look to Cerie.

In the time it took him to do so, Captain Imperial-Pants had already taken hold of his luggage and was following Shuvin and Cerie back to the ship.

Unlike his nemesis however, Ben was more than experienced with fares attempting to sweeten him up for a little low-town bartering for passage. He wouldn't let them get one over him, nosiree, he had a point to prove now, and that was he was Captain of his boat, thank you very much, and he as Captain had final say over who would and wouldn't step foot on said boat. Unless he were boarded by the Imperials and/or the Alliance, in which case he'd probably just swallow his bile and smile until they left. But that wasn't the point of the thing—wait, he was getting distracted.

"So, lookin' for passage? Since I'm already goin' that way, I'll cut you a deal: 400 Imperial Credits each, plus 20 credits per each square foot of luggage."

It wasn't a bad offer, truthfully, but Parri was loathe to allow herself the first option. Haggling was - after all - a necessary thing in life, and now was certainly no different. She gave the captain a long stare, looked to her sister, and then looked back.

"Fourr hundrred jImperrjial crredjitss each, mm?"

Her tail gave a swish from one side to the other, and she let it continue to lazily move back and forth.

"That sseemss a touch ssteep, ne?"

It really wasn't, considering the two sisters were intent on securing as lucrative of an export deal as they could with some of the local fishing conglomerates on Ayolco. Of course, the human captain didn't know this; for all he knew, the two were simply hoping to book passage for a small getaway.

"How about thrree hundrred and ssjixty each, and fjifteen forr the luggage?"

Parri smiled sweetly, exuding that grandmotherly aura that always worked wonders on her grandcubs, and she clasped both hands before her in expectancy at his answer.

He didn't know whether to take satisfaction in Captain Merasska's plight, or to sympathise. Rather, he did not know which feeling was the stronger of the two. He had noticed the good Captain's enjoyment of his situation, and though it was a petty thing, Vance Felline could understand why the man did so. The Imperial could only imagine what he would be like if his own planet had been destroyed so utterly, and then was pushed to even interact with a man who wore the uniform of his people's killers.

"Not too familiar with Cizerack, are you?" the Togruta girl said, bringing him out his macabre thoughts. "They were thinkin' you were a treat, but I think that whole touchin' thing was to put you off and make you easier to deal with. Cizerack can be touchy-feelier 'n most, yeah, but there's a real sense of... well, I don't know the word, but they find it real amusin' to get up on guys with power. Makes 'em feel more at home, maybe?"

"Have you had much dealings with the Cizerack, Miss Undhi?" he asked, following the girl and Cerie up boarding ramp.

"Well, I guess you could put it that way," the girl said thoughtfully. "An' just call me Shuvin. Or Shuves. I tried to get Ben to call me that; hasn't taken yet though."

He smiled wryly. "I can't possibly understand why, Miss Undhi."

She blew him a good-natured raspberry and lead their small party to the galley. Once inside the freighter again, he was struck by the sense of homeliness the ship seemed to exude. He glanced over to Cerie, and smiled.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to just how different this ship is," he admitted. "It feels more a home than a ship. I'd wager that most tramp freighters don't even attempt to make their ships as comfortable as this."

She couldn't help the easy smile that turned up the corners of her lips. It was a welcoming smile, a smile of warmth. Her hand came up to give his cheek a light pat.

"That's because it is home," she answered with a low voice, and leaning in, delivered a quick kiss to his lower jawline. It was nothing sensual or inviting, it simply... was. It was an action meant to soothe and give comfort.

She pulled away then, moving closer to where Shuvin stood, and gave the younger Togruta a playful, light pinch to the tip of one montral.

"My girl here is the one to thank for all of that, though. She's the brains behind this whole operation."

And then she sent a second look to Vance. Except... this one was inviting and open. Life aboard Alderaan had become simply life. It was a ship that was so singular and comforting that most notions of going back to reclaim her own ship had been put on the far-burner. Hells, that old freighter could sit in drydock and rust into a thousand pieces and she still wouldn't care. It was that sort of a ship. Her smile was gentle then, and she reached a hand out to offer a helping hand for his luggage.

"You want to get settled, then?"

Shuvin watched Cerie and Vance interact with more than a little mystification; there was an intimacy there of a type that she'd never encountered before. And, by the looks of it, Mister Imperial Pants hadn't encountered it either: Cerie's light peck was met with a slight stiffening of his back, and though the man didn't step away, Shuvin could tell he was highly aware of Cerie's closeness and contact.

It must be a sad sort of life, she thought to herself, where any physical contact like that was met with wariness. Despite her pity, she was curious though, as neither of them had the signs of intimacy that she'd become used to. Cerie was only slightly more touchy than she normally was with Ben (Shuvin giggled a bit at the thought of Ben's reaction to a kiss on the cheek), and their expressions and actions didn't have that tenseness or studied restraint that lovers had when they were together.

She brought herself out of her thoughtful pondering to see him gesture to the two bags he was carrying with a wry smile as he said:

"Not much 'settling in' needed, I'm afraid. I also don't want to be not present when the good Captain comes on board. I'd rather avoid irritating him any more than I already have with my very existence."

He set the bags on the floor and sat at the galley table, and produced a small piece of folded flimsy.

"It shouldn't be too hard to see why, though," she said idly, handing out three small tumblers and setting a small container of instant tea on the table. She glanced up to see him looking at her in curiosity. "Oh, don't tell me you ain't realized it already. C'mon. She's named Alderaan for stars' sake."

He only nodded, his expression going all Imperial and stoic.

"Don't worry," she said with a smile and patted his hand comfortingly. "He only hates the Alliance a little less than he hates the Empire, so even if you weren't Imperial he wouldn't like you very much."

"For some reason, that does make me feel somewhat better," the man said with a laugh. He glanced to notice that Shuvin had swiped the flimsy from him and was reading it already while walking back to grab the kettle to pour their water for the tea.

"Is she always like this?" he whispered to Cerie.

She moved to sit beside him, but it was with the sort of posture that was close yet - far. She occupied the space next to him, but it was with a strange sort of sense borne of intimacy and caution. Despite her previous actions, she still held herself with the sort of sense of a person who was familiar and strange all at once.

"Honestly?"

Her legs crossed beneath the table as she watched Shuvin with a curious eye. Both hands rested on the table-top, fingers lacing together.

"She's being nice to you."

The blonde gave a last look to her younger friend before angling her head to allow Vance a sideways look from the corners of her eyes.

"If I was you, I'd take it and not question it."

Vance nodded in complete and utter mystification, watching as the girl read the flimsy at first with an air of idle mischief, but then with more intent. A minute or so passed, and he could hear Captain Merasska and the Rrasurransarr sisters nearing the entry ramp.

The Togruta girl grimaced slightly and tossed the flimsy onto the galley table.

"It's a bit weird to see that rich families are similar, no matter how far apart they are in the galaxy," she sighed, before looking over at him and Cerie. "The 'nooba and eopie show doesn't change, I guess. So, I have to ask: is Cerie your shield?"

He blinked, confused.

"It's probably a different word, then," she said, leaning forward. "So, you know those parties you have to go to, but there's no one you want to go with? Sort of like how everyone else will see you and her and start talking?"

He nodded, clearly picturing the situation and wondering to himself how this Togruta girl could know this sort of context.

"So you bring someone that can run interference, keeps the vultures off and you don't have to worry about how everyone else will take it, because she won't take it the wrong way. They called it 'being a shield' on Syragor. Least, in the circles I saw they did. Could've been a term only they used for all I know. But anyway, everyone else assumes you and the shield have a thing, and you use that to ease up on the pressure."

"I... uh..." he trailed off and shrugged. Shuvin shook her head in pity, pushing the flimsy with his mother's message and his father's note attached back across the galley table to him. "I'm not sure."

Cerie gave her Togruta friend a knowing nod, in indication that she was essentially on the right track. Leaning back in the small booth then, the blonde let herself relax. At least, for the immediate time-being. She too could hear the approaching voices, and there was a brief flash of pity for poor Ben, and partial guilt for leaving him alone to contend with two elderly matrons who were clearly used to getting their way.

It was a fleeting moment though, and she let her attentions once more return to Vance.

"It's exactly that," she confirmed, finally.

He looked like a muudabok in speederlights, practically, and she reached out to place a single, slender finger on the flimsi. With methodical slowness, she slid the document closer to him so that it eventually rested directly in front of him.

"We're here to help."

"It's valid, and Cerie here's real sweet, but I gotta ask: do you want to get married?"

Vance grimaced and glanced at Cerie and Shuvin. Before he could answer, Ben cleared his throat at the entrance of the galley. He was flanked by the two Cizerack matrons, who were looking both satisfied and very curious. Shuvin smiled at the wonder her and Ben's ship evoked on nearly everyone who came on board.

"Before we get into any further into this conversation, and believe me, I really want to hear about all of this marriage nonsense, I want to introduce Parriaanaa, and her sister, Pirreea, both of the esteemed Rasurraanssar family. We've managed, after considerable debate, to reach a consensus and they'll be our guests to Ayolco."

Shuvin fixed him with a smug look at the studied concentration with which he said their names. He grimaced and waved as if trying to brush her expression off her face with his hand, but there was something else in his eyes she noticed, and it made her smile a bit more gently. Thankfully, he seemed to notice that and relaxed slightly himself. She smiled and nodded politely at the two women, eerily mimicking Vance's own nod at the same time.

Married.

Gods, but that was a word. And thank the maker that Ben showed up just in time to put a halt to that - his words made her shoulders slump, and Cerie sighed while rolling her eyes (away from Vance).

To further mask her annoyance, the blonde slid out from her seat to stand, moving to intercept the two matrons and their luggage.

At least it was only two rolling cases and a single small-pack each.

"We're glad to have the ladies aboard," she got out, giving a wide, genial smile.

"Let me take your things."

Pirre half-stepped forward, shooing the blonde forrda from her and her sister's luggage.

"Dearr, do not overrtax jyourrsself. A woman ssuch ass jyourrsself... wjith marrrjiage on the horrjizon... "

A knowing look was passed to her sister.

"jIt jis forrtujitouss that mjy ssjissterr and jI have booked passsage on thjiss sshjip!"

Parri was swift to pick up where her sister left off.

"jIndeed, dearr."

She sent a look from the lovely Ben Merasska to the durracrete statue that was Vance Felline.

For as prodding and inciting as Pirre was, Parri was the underlying note.

She sent a sideways look to Captain Merasska.

"Ssurreljy the brrjide to be jis not the bellhop?"

"She's—I'm—we're—" Vance stuttered and flushed, caught completely off guard by the women and their insinuation that Cerie and he were getting married.

Ben himself would say that he might be the hologram example next to the definition of clueless in the Galactic Basic Dictionary, but even he knew that wasn't the case here. He still enjoyed the Imperial's continued frustration and embarrassment though. Cerie however looked like she might want to punch someone in the next few moments, and that would be annoying for everyone, for the rest of the flight. Why, people might even want him to do something; like what, stars if he knew, but that wasn't the point. He was the Captain of this little ship, and that meant he had to enforce the rules and make sure the flight was nice and cosy for hims—everyone on board.

"Now, ladies, I'm sure we don't have the entire story," he said, pitching his voice to be heard over the women's chattering, Shuvin's sniggering, and Cerie's grinding teeth. "And the bride-to-be here doesn't seem to be enjoying the attention the way a woman who's been proposed to by such a gallant, chivalrous man as—hold on, Cerie, Cerie, wait... now you know I was just joking—egads woman!"

He'd known the second Cerie let the bags down and had started advancing on him that she wasn't happy, but then he wasn't very happy with the situation either, and he thought a little light-hearted teasing and prodding was just the thing to let the tension ease off; he thought he might have been proven right as he saw a shadow of a smile on her face after watching him stumble back at her threatening closed fist. Shuvin was smacking the table and laughing loudly, and had been since he'd started describing Cerie and Vance as newlyweds.

"Pfft! Blushing bride!" she choked out. "Sure, if by blushing you mean she's angry enough to shoot whoever got her drunk enough to put on the dress!"

Ben winced, very aware that the girl was referencing his own wedding holo with the very scary Jesse Buchanan, er, Lockheart. Shuvin winked at Cerie and turned to Vance and the women.

"The Cap'n is married, and I think that's about the best example of marital bliss I'll ever see."

"Now, hold on, that marriage ain't binding at all—"

She stopped a scant few inches from Ben, one hand balled into a fist and the other grasping the neckline of his shirt. Paying fares be damned, he'd poked a little too hard, and she was more than ready to poke back... until Shuvin brought back that glorious memory of the holo of Ben and Jesse - the holo of a very... VERY... drunk Ben and Jesse. They were falling all over each other, and a Darth Vader impersonator was in the background with a 'Sith Tome'. It was a strange thing, but that mask seemed to convey a distinct sense of exasperation.

A Cheshire cat's grin creeped into her expression, and the blonde loosened her grip only slightly, letting her fist ease into a teasingly gentle palm pat to Ben's chest.

"The Sith Lord officiated, Ben," she purred evilly, "... it's absolutely binding."

"I'd like to think I'd remember my own wedding thank you very much!" he yelped out.

"I think you should be happy she's stuck on you, Cap'n," Shuvin hummed with a finger to her lips. "You ain't getting any younger, fer sure, and hoo wee Jesse is fit! She got the damn thing turned into a painting Ben. A painting!"

Ben whimpered at the memory. The woman had hung the painting in her study, just behind her desk. Arrayed alongside were her other, less fortunate husbands. Honestly, why did everyone forget that last part? The woman might not have a part in the deaths of her other husbands, but the fact that every single fracking one was dead was not something he was not going to forget.

"Can we please change the subject?" he sighed. "Preferably to one where we're not talking about the woman who's just as likely to shoot me as kiss me?"

Shuvin grinned. "Well, all this started when you took too much joy out of how frustrated Mr and Mrs Imperial-Pants were gettin' at the insinuation they were Mr and Mrs Imperial-Pants. Honestly, this is his business, so whether he wants a crowd to weigh in or not is up to him."

Everyone looked at Vance, who seemed to be as staid and unperturbed as any Imperial they'd ever seen.

"It seems a bit late now to be exercising restraint on respecting my and Cerie's boundaries," he said. The statement was met with a slight wince on Shuvin's part and a slight smile from Ben. "Unless everyone decides to have a conscience now, I don't see the point in trying to make it a secret."

He glanced at Shuvin, who smiled cheerily back, and then at the two Cizerack women, Cerie, and Ben, who met his eyes with a look of satisfaction on his face, but quickly schooled it into sympathy when he noticed Cerie turning back to look at him.

She was quickly starting to wonder if this was such a good idea at all. That maybe this was some long bad decision that just kept on going and going and going. Originally she felt it was going to be a simple ferry mission with the promise of good credits. Now though, she was starting to second-guess herself. Had she made the right choice to pressure Ben into this?

Pursing her lips, she let go of Ben completely, and ambled her way back to sit beside Vance. A sideways glance to him, and she let her eyes go from Shuvin, to Ben, to the Cizerack matrons. Finally she looked to her hands that she'd rested on the table, idly cleaning already-cleaned fingernails.

"How about we take the wedding talk off the table, yeah?"

Her head angled to the side, and she let out a long breath.

"Deal?"

Parri knew how to read a room, and she instantly stepped in to soothe over the bumps in this road, so to speak.

"Off courrsse, dearr. No morre sspeak of nuptjials wjill be had."

She turned her eyes to the Imperial, giving him a nod of understanding and then to the poor freighter captain. He seemed to be a man torn, trying to salvage an image of authority while playing defense in a shockball match that did not favor him one bit. Poor boy.

"Ourr quarrterrss," she continued, "... perrhapss mjy ssjissterr and jI sshould know wherre thejy arre?"

Ben glanced at Shuvin, who gave him the slightest shake of her head in response. He didn't respond, but only turned to face the Cizerack women and smiled.

"Sure. This way, please."

He led the ladies out of the galley and back to the entry ramp, which had been closed since they had entered.

"So, as we don't have any passengers aside from you, the choice of cabins is both of yours. Cerie's is that one, mine is closest to the cockpit here. Shuvin's is in the back of the Ring Corridor. We have cabins here, if you wish to share, beds fold down from the wall, if not then just take one of the others, though I don't know which one..."

He paused, his eyes unfocusing, before he shook his head.

"...What's his name in there is taking, so let's just avoid any mishaps with that now, yes?"

With Ben going off to show the two sisters their quarters during the trip, Cerie let her shoulders slump in relief. She cut her eyes to Shuvin, in some hope that the young Togruta would understand. For the moment, Vance was partially ignored.

"Is he going to be like this the whole trip?"

Oh, she had come to know Ben well enough during her time aboard Alderaan, but some things she was still trying to suss out, and this was most certainly one of those things.

Shuvin smiled, an expression so wide and bright and nice that the galaxy imploded from niceness.

"Of course he is," she said, proving that one could never trust one's eyes. Cerie blanched. Shuvin felt like she had to keep talking. "Don't take it the wrong way though. He's not mad at you, Cerie. It's just..."

She shrugged. "Ben's got a whole host of mynocks in his landing struts. Every once in a while they start chewin' through an actual wire, right?"

She smiled, with genuine kindness, at the Imperial Captain.

"He can't pretend this mynock ain't there."

He could count on one hand the number of times he'd been graced with such an expression. It made him feel abashed, somehow; whatever the reason, he turned his gaze down to his hands on the table and took a deep breath. After a moment, Undhi's hand had covered one of his. He glanced up.

"Don't need to be feelin' guilty Cap'n Feline," she said. He frowned.

"It's Felline," he said, pronouncing the final 'e' as 'eh'. "My forebears hailed from Naboo; at least on one side. Family legend of a princess in the tree that I'm sure every family makes up at some point. At the very least pronounce it as 'Fell-een', like most others?"

"Sounds like you got yourself a fair bit o' ribbin' in school, eh?" Undhi giggled. He smiled, if a bit wanly.

"A fair bit," he allowed.

"Okay folks," Ben's voice filtered through the internal speakers. "We'll be taking off here soon. Should take about a day or so to get there once we're in hyperspace."

He looked at Cerie, feeling an anxiety he wasn't quite sure he understood in the pit of his gut.

Still in her own quagmire of thoughts, Cerie tamped them all back down once more as she heaved herself up to her feet. Ben's voice over the ship's comms was enough to jostle her back into action, and the blonde reacted accordingly. She shifted back into relaxed posture, now that the attentions were gone.

"Come on, I'll get you to your bunk," she offered, giving a furtive glance to Shuvin.

Hopefully her Togruta friend would make sure that Ben didn't pop off with any more smart-ish remarks over the intercom.

Out of Vance's line of sight, she mouthed a very obvious phrase to her younger friend: 'Make him behave'.

And before the Imperial captain could discern her quick action, she reared back up with a smile.

"It'll be a quick trip," she offered.

He stood, bowing slightly to Shuvin, who smiled brightly and waved her hand at him.

"Shoo," she said, winking. He wasn't sure if she was winking at him or at Cerie. He maintained his composure until entering the corridor, where he slumped and sighed deeply in response to her attempt at comforting him.

"I apologize," he said to her, pitching his voice low to nearly a whisper. After all the talking and stress of the past hour, the quiet that now pervaded the ship seemed to be almost an unnatural, accusing thing. "I did not know that my presence would cause this much strife. I suppose that I should have, in retrospect."

The relative silence of the corridor was a glorious relief, but his words only brought her crashing back into the here-and-now with thunderous finality.

"It's just how it goes, here," she fumbled, hoping he wouldn't entirely pick up on her weak explanation.

"Small ship and all, you know." was it possible for him to know such a concept? "... it's not an Imperial star destroyer," of course it wasn't, "... so word gets around fast."

She felt foolish, in the moment, and her pace slowed to a stop. Cerie shut her eyes tightly, allowing herself a moment before going on.

"You and me... we had a good time. well, I had a good time. I honestly hope that you did too. I mean, I know I can get a bit wild during love-making... "

She was getting chatty now, and that was only making things probably - ok more-than-likely - uncomfortable. A huffed-out breath then, and the blonde turned away to look down the the way. The corridor veered off to the right, and she opted for her best exit strategy.

"Let's get you to your bunk."

Vance cleared his throat and nodded while smiling wryly.

"I believe it is less what was done, and more who did it, Cerie," he breathed. "If I were almost anyone else, the circumstances would be wildly different."

They stopped at a door, which opened into a cozy little cabin, with a bed, a desk, and even some amenities such as a refresher and toilet in the back.

"I'm..." he stopped just before entering, turning to face and look at Cerie. "I..."

He laughed awkwardly. Did she want to enter? If she did, what did that mean? Did she want to... do it... again? Why was he being this bashful in his own thoughts? He wasn't a blushing modest virgin!

"I was about to ask if you wished to enter," he said finally, "but thought it a bit absurd to ask that question on your ship, given I haven't even entered myself yet."

A sweet smile, and Cerie gave his chest a light pat before stepping back.

"You get yourself settled. You don't need me for that."

She had her own duties to attend to as it was, helping in the pre-flight checks and diagnostics. Ben was already on the bridge, and the blonde knew that if she didn't happen along quick-ish, he'd be calling for her. Best to be up there before it came to that.

A thought occurred to her, and she reached up to scratch at an unseen itch on the back of her neck while pulling a slightly worried expression.

"It's my night to make dinner, so don't expect food like what we had back on Jovan."

"I'm sure most anything served here will be at least as good as the galley grub served on a Star Destroyer," he said, an absent smile on his face, which slowly drifted off. "In fact, it will probably be better. There was a scandal, some time ago in fact..."

He trailed off and shook his head, coming back to the present.

"I will await your call, Cerie," he said, nodding and stepping back into the cabin. The door engaged, sliding shut with a hiss.

* * *

As Aldaraan feathered upwards, Cerie made sure to keep in lockstep with port control, passing along the designated buoy location markers. It was a normal and mundane task, and one that she'd gotten used to doing. She also made sure that Ben kept his mind fully on task, since sometimes he seemed to... drift. Whether it was in his conversation or the actual ship, she had taken seriously this strange job. Of course, she was also making sure that the ship herself was fully buttoned up; which honestly, wasn't a difficult thing to do since Shuvin was - strangely enough - militant about the state of Aldaraan. In the end, it all could be broken down into redundant checks. But, they were essential checks regardless.

They'd just passed the last nav buoy, which meant they were beyond port control now, and as the navicomp ran the calculations of their programmed jump, she finally leaned back in her chair, angling her head to the side so that she could afford Ben with a cautious stare.

"You gonna be ok?" she queried, testing the waters.

Ben was tweaking the hyperdrive coordinates when the question seemingly floated through the empty cockpit.

"You gonna be ok?"

He contemplated brushing the question off for a moment; simply shrugging, or saying 'yeah', or even just ignoring it all together. In the end though, he sighed and looked out the viewport into the vast expanse of stars.

"They sneak in, you know. The Empire, the Alliance. Little things: transports, fees, identification chits; 'look at these things we can do with them to make your life easier.' And they build planet-killing weapons with all that little stuff. That guy, he doesn't seem so bad. And then I remember all that."

He glanced over at Cerie, and engaged the hyperdrive. Silence, a faux silence with the background noise of the ship, stole over the cockpit.

"I know you like the guy. Aside from all the sexing and whatnot. And I know it's not all that complicated. But that's how complicated starts, with easy little strings and knots that start to get jumbled until you can't get out. I'm sorry, Cerie, but I'm not going to be comfortable with him until he's three star systems away from me and this ship. But..."

He sighed and slumped in his seat.

"You need my help for this, and not helping you would bother me more than dealing with whats-his-face down there."

... the sexing and whatnot.

That bit of phrase made her frown slightly, and Cerie pursed her lips while turning back to stare at the swirling kaleidoscope of starlines that made up their hyperlane. It was a weird thing to say, even if true.

"I know how complicated starts," she finally got out. Whatever it was that she had with Vance was happenstance. Or rather, it started out with her being a grump, cajoled into meeting a client. Ben had broken the zipper of her dress, not that in the end it even mattered. That particular bit of clothing had been tossed in the bin the morning after her night with Vance, and they'd all moved on with their respective lives. The crew of the Aldaraan had fulfilled their end of the deal, they had been paid, and after that they'd gone on their merry.

Reaching over, she brushed away a speck of unseen dust from the control panel at her right.

"If this was something that was official, I wouldn't have agreed, you know. But this whole thing now, it's personal. Has nothing to do with the Empire."

Cutting her eyes back to Ben, she went on.

"I'm not that daft."

But, there was more that needed to be said, and Cerie offered a half-smile.

"Thank you, though, for your help. I appreciate it."

He nodded, looking tired.

"That's not what I meant, tryin' to explain complicated to you," he sighed. "You know what it is more'n most, I'd wager."

He spun in his seat to face her, the lights of the consoles and the glare of hyperspace the only real illumination in the cockpit. It cast an dim, eerie, mystical sort of glow to the room.

"I had a... friend. Not too long ago. She and Shuvin got along pretty well. They might even still talk, though I doubt it. Not the nicest of women, either." He laughed softly, but the action seemed more morose than anything else. "She never stayed long whenever she was around. But..."

He trailed off, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his hands together.

"...she understood. And I understood her. Turns out she was complicated much the same way as what's-his-face down there is. And that's how I know she understood: because when it came out, she never came back. But, if she called tomorrow asking for help..."

He paused again, letting out an exasperated gust of air and shaking his head as if in consternation with himself.

"...I'd go and help her."

Cerie watched him, listening to his words and the small story of this mystery woman that he admitted would help no matter what. In a way, he reminded her of her uncle, the old codger. Uncle Terus had always been gruff, callous, and never minced words. And yet, in the quiet moments when it was just the two of them, and she was bent over her easel with brush in hand, he was always willing to help her and guide her. Back then life had been easy. It had been simple and there was nothing bad that ever happened.

Shame it hadn't stayed that way.

"Look, Ben... "

What could she possibly say, now? Probably a lot. All the same, she couldn't really think of the right words.

Finally, she looked away. Her shoulders slumped as she sagged into her seat.

"... when we met, I was just coming out of a... bad relationship. Partnership. Whatever you want to call it."

Cerie couldn't help but run a fingernail over the armrest, lightly scraping over a bare crack in the cushioning.

"Complications, and complicated people, are the furthest from my mind. But I do know what you're talking about. When you find someone you can have an understanding with, it's hard to not find yourself back in orbit with them."

Ben looked at her for a long moment, not saying a word, before nodding and standing. He stretched, and made his way to the cockpit ladder.

"Let's just hope that this turns out well. Better'n the Blue Milk Run at least."

He grimaced and wrinkled his nose.

"Gah, I can smell it again! I'm gonna wash up before food."

He clambered down the access, grumbling to himself indistinctly.

* * *

The galley had thankfully been recently restocked, which made trying to come up with something for dinner a little bit easier than those times that they'd pushed their stocks until there was nothing but dried gejji noodles, dehydrated namana berries, and a few cans of tip-yip stock left.

Not this evening, however.

This evening, she had actual ingredients.

The hot plate had been set out on a counter, and a kingwood cutting board pulled out. A knife followed, as well as two smallish prep bowls. A pot had been set on the hotplate, and currently held a few measures of field-rice cooking in water. Salt and a pat of butter had been dropped into the pot as well, for flavoring (she used her own credits to purchase the b utter, declaring it a necessary staple).

From the cooler unit, Cerie pulled a pack of nuna thighs, and tearing it open, began to pull each thigh out before beginning the process of removing the skin and deboning each one. She had her methods and reasons for wanting the cheaper cuts - it gave more cooking ingredients, since she could save the bones and the skins for future meals.

Not really paying attention to anything but her task at hand, the blonde paid little attention to her surroundings and who might be starting to populate the galley.

Ben had trudged by earlier, grumbling to himself. It happened often, but not as often as she and Cerie liked to say it did. He'd passed by the entrance to galley, sniffing himself and wincing.

She'd gone back to the reactor to check on the cooling systems, as some of the pumps were getting old and less efficient. Nothing to worry about for the moment, but when it was a crucial system in a ship that kept you alive in the cold vast void of space, "worry" was a relative term, and a loss of efficiency could turn deadly in seconds. It was a wonder then that because space travel was so ubiquitous and starships had millennia to work out the process for stable flight and travel, that issues such as this really didn't worry her or most others who flew in starships regularly or as part of their occupation.

She only drifted out of the central reactor when she heard the tell tale sounds of someone working in the galley. A quick glance confirmed it was Cerie, and... oh stars, nuna thighs.

"You planning on using those bones? Might make a stew later if there's enough to make a good broth with. Think there's still some tubers too."

A knowing grin was sent to Shuvin as Cerie continued to slice through tendons and meat, careful to not cut the fingers that were at the same time pulling at the bones to help separate the two from each other.

That's exactly why I'm wanting to save them," she answered. Sometimes, it was nice when two stomachs reached a consensus on what to do with extras and leftovers.

"Could you grab me a little bag? We can put the bones inside and then throw them into the icebox for when we want to make some stock."

Without skipping a beat, she finished removing the bone from the thigh. Setting the both of them aside, she moved on to the next, repeating the process.

"I figured I'd make nuna and creamy rice for dinner. My uncle used to make it a lot, and it was always my favorite."

"On it!" she chirped, pulling the handle of one of the tiny cupboards out and twisting. The handle refused to turn; she frowned and pushed the door in slightly, and felt the handle engage. The cupboard was full, with small food containers (all metal, as it could be blasted clean with heat, saving water), aluminite bags (resealable! a little more expensive, but worth it), and tiny cans of cleaning agent. She pulled out a large aluminite bag and started dropping the nuna bones inside, restraining herself from cracking one open and sucking on the marrow like a treat.

"Your uncle?" Shuvin hummed, her smile dimming slightly. Memories of Nogolis and Uncle Neesh weren't fresh, but no one really forgets having someone die in front of you like that. She glanced at Cerie, trying to gauge her mood and if asking questions about family was prying a bit too deeply. Shuvin figured that since Cerie'd brought it up, keeping it going wouldn't be too bad.

"Y'know, I know everyone comes from somewhere, but I don't really picture their origins," she started. "For some reason, hearin' that you have an uncle was a bit of a surprise, kinda like I'd thought you'd popped out of space fully grown and with a beer in your hand."

It was a somewhat surprising thing to hear, but after a half-moment's thought, Cerie supposed that it was a fair notion. And not a little bit funny the more she considered it. And so, she smiled while continuing to work.

"Oh, well, as much as I wish I did show up in this galaxy fully formed, sad to say that that wasn't the case."

She passed along another bone, and Shuvin made quick work of putting it into the bag.

"But yeah, I had an uncle. He took me in after my parents died." She was on the second-to-last thigh now, and started in with her knife.

"For a while things were great. He even threw me a little birthday party when I turned seven. Made me a spice cake, with fancy frosting and namana berries. That's when he gave me my first drawing book, and some oil coloring sticks."

For all she'd said she couldn't picture Cerie's origins, the image of a Little Cerie was all too ready to fill her head in vivid detail. Probably not as jaded, but there's no way that "are you stupid?" look didn't come from those days of bein' told outlandish things by her uncle and not really knowing enough to say if they were wrong or not. She probably drew with her tongue sticking out.

Shuvin managed to keep from guffawing at the mental image of Cerie studiously drawing with an oil stick and her tongue sticking out. Barely.

"That sounds nice," she said, smiling at the jumble of imaginings she'd conjured from Cerie's little two breath story. "Knowin' me as a child, I'd still have been ungrateful and complained 'bout something. O' course, while it feels far off, I know that old me ain't as far off in the past as I remember."

Even despite Shuvin's admission that her childhood wasn't that far back, Cerie was still curious. Memories, not matter how old, were still sometimes lovely things. it was those lovely times with her uncle that she clung to. The man that he'd once been, and not the man he became. She had to wonder if Shuvin hid the bad times behind the good ones, just as she did.

Pausing for a moment in her deboning, the blonde leaned against the counter, her knife lowering.

"What was your favorite birthday like?

"Oh, that's easy," the Togruta said lightly, a cheery smile on her face. "First one on Alderaan, right after Ben bought her. And me."

She didn't look at Cerie, but was pretty sure the woman had stopped and was looking at her. She shrugged, stuffing another couple bones into the aluminite bag.

"Don't really remember ever celebrating my birthday. Don't rightly know when exactly I was born. I think it was in the summer, though. I remember Ma and Vah tellin' me one summer: 'you're gettin' on ten, so be careful around them boys in the port, or you might get stolen!'"

She affected an odd accent, obviously aping what she remembered her parents' accents to be.

"And while some folks celebrate their slaves' birthdays, 'least I know of a few that were in good enough with their owners to have them throw little parties, ain't none of mine were that type. After Ben bought me with ol' girl," she patted the countertop, smiling fondly, "even if I were of a mind to start celebrating, I wouldn't even know where to start. Hard to track seasons in space, goin' from planet to planet."

Shuvin glanced over curiously.

"That all the nuna? These bones are smellin' mighty fine right now and I don't know how long I can hold back from snacking on one."

The similarities between herself and Shuvin were disturbingly similar, but Cerie was pulled from her more inner thoughts at the Togruta's question.

"Just about, gotta finish this last one."

Spoken, of course, as she pulled the bone from the meat with a quick jerk. It was dropped into the bag with little fanfare, and the blonde rolled her shoulders as she gestured for Shuvin to close up the bag before any raw marrow sucking could begin.

Giving herself a moment to pull out a clear Plastex baking dish, she situated the nuna thighs inside, then added another few pats of butter along with a liberal sprinkling of salt and pepper. A can of cream-of-nuna soup was opened, and she spooned out half of the can into the dish, smothering the thighs. The oven pinged, and with a practiced motion Cerie popped the entire thing inside, closing up the door with a quickness.

"I was sold too, after that last birthday," she finally mumbled out, leaning over to open up the icebox so that Shuvin could put in the bone bag.

"My uncle... my uncle, he sold me off. He knew I could make good art, and I guess that... well, he knew I could do the sort of work that some wanted."

Cerie felt a sudden kinship with Shuvin in that moment.

"He had debts, and I was his ticket out of those."

There are times when you see someone, and you want to help them. You want to say something, do something, to ease their pain. At least a little bit, right? But, what do you say? What do you do? Sometimes it's too late, and whatever you say or do won't actually solve the problem, or really do anything to help them at all.

Shuvin knew that mindset, as that was Ben. She knew what he would say in this situation: 'Sometimes, the galaxy can be an ugly place.' He never prodded, or pushed, because he held his pain dear and close to his heart; his instinctual reaction would be that everyone else does the same thing. It was his, and theirs was theirs. He'd just acknowledge it and let it lie there.

That wasn't her, though. She was much more like Palara than even she would like to admit, with a callousness and disregard for others that didn't say anything good about her. She didn't think she was a horrible person, though. Just, you know, flaws. Everyone has them. But, in this case, she liked Cerie. And it was clear that while Cerie wasn'theld up or stunted by that experience (like Ben was with the destruction of Alderaan), it was still something that caused her pain, that lingered.

Shuvin wondered if her parents ever thought of her like that. But she'd gone 'round to the beginning again: what do you say or do in the face of such pain? Should she share in her own experience, trying to show Cerie that she was able to commiserate?

"Do you think he actually loved you, or was just bidin' his time until you were old enough?" she finally asked. "Ah, you don't have to answer if you don't want to. Sorry I asked. Don't think before I speak sometimes."

Rinsing her hands in the sink, Cerie furrowed her brow in thought at Shuvin's last question. It was something she'd thought about on and off herself, but hadn't ever really been able to fully answer.

A dish towel was pulled from where it lay draped on the cooler unit's handle, and the blonde dried her hands.

"It's ok, honest. I think about that a lot, but I haven't ever really been able to figure it out myself."

A smile, and she tossed the towel to her Togruta friend.

"I'll let you know if I ever do sort it out, though."

Reaching for a wooden spoon, Cerie gave the still-cooking rice a little stir.

"You know, out of curiosity, when is your birthday?"

Shuvin took a deep breath and hummed in thought.

"Uncle Neesh would've known," she said, a slight nostalgic tone to her voice. "Never got 'round to asking him though. If I had to guess, though, I'd say sometime in early summer. On Syragor the seasons are usually punctuated by rain rather than cold and snow, 'less you're on a range high enough. Somewhere between late spring—170 maybe—and midsummer. 255, 260? I'm pretty sure I'm round 17 years, so maybe 6 or 5.200 before Yavin?"

She frowned in thought and shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly; her face however was uncharacteristically closed off.

"Like I said, I'm not sure when exactly. Doesn't really matter to me either. Even if I did know, I think the day Ben bought me and let me sign the freedom certificate in the notary's office when he got Alderaan is more important. I don't remember birthday celebrations, but I remember how Ben took me to get something to eat after. That nerf veal flatbread was wrapped in a green plaspaper. The zeekee sauce kept dripping over my fingers and making them sticky. Ned wiped my mouth a couple times with this little rag she carried in her jacket. I've talked about Ned before, haven't I? I know Ben don't. He feels guilty."

Halfway through her monologue, her face brightened to its usual cheer. She sprayed and wiped down the countertop with a mostly clean rag as she talked, her voice clear and precise throughout. She glanced up and looked at the empty entryway to the galley and ring corridor. She could hear the water flowing through the piping and the recycler-pumps humming and clacking in one of the maintenance rooms. Ben wouldn't be out any time soon, by her estimation, though she wasn't sure about those Cizerack aunties.

"I think you have," she answered after a short moment of thought.

Satisfied that the rice was well on its way to cooking through, Cerie idly wondered if she should buy them all a rice cooker for Life Day; it would certainly help to make dinner duty easier, she figured.

Following Shuvin's line of sight, she came to mostly the same unspoken conclusion as her younger friend, and taking a short pause in galley-work, leaned against the counter.

"You know, we should do something special while were planetside. Any ideas?"

"You mean, aside from abusing the fact that I can legally drink there and just enjoying a tropical vacation?" Shuvin smiled brightly. "And aside from helping out Mr Imperial with his love life?"

She raised a hand in a conciliatory gesture.

"I ain't teasing, Cerie. I can see why you feel a connection with him. You two have a real connection, and honestly it don't look like a torrid passionate romance sort of connection either.Let's see what they've got. I did a bit research earlier, did you know they have huge birds that you can ride like an eopie? some of them even fly with you on them! That sounds like a time right there."

"That sounds like a broken neck," she laughed.

It was a convenient deflection from her friends' previous words, about what was going on with Vance. Cerie wasn't ready to admit it herself, and she felt more than a little awkward by how easily her Togruta companion had read things. In her mind it only meant that she wasn't as good at hiding some things as she thought she was.

How about," the blonde allowed herself to lean on the counter, her eyes cast at Shuvin, "... we start with the food."

A conspiratorial grin.

"I bet they have all the best stuff in that fancy rich-person kitchen."

Shuvin's eyes were glassy and unfocused; a dopey grin had planted itself on her lips and mouth, a small slight glint of teeth showing.

"Cerie, I just pictured heaven," the teenager sighed. "With loaded larders, packed pantries, bulging breadbaskets, and studs in naked aprons and those weird tall white hats. Oh mama, lemme git a handful of that..."

She wiped some drool from her mouth. Both the smell of the nuna bake and the mental image of sculpted, lean, and cute beefcakes with taut firm buttocks wearing nothing but aprons had the Togruta girl salivating and all clenching nice and deep inside; though she could say that she'd never had her stomach and what felt like her ovaries do a hungry tumble inside her at the same time. Pretty weird feeling, if she was being honest. Not sure if she enjoyed it or not. Say what you will about the Cizerack, but those women had some imaginations girl. She'd never have thought of a naked apron in her entire life most likely if not for that one sweet moment on Syragor while attending to Feerreii's drink order. That Devaronian was a literal giant hunk of beef.

Pulling herself from the fantasy and her admittedly scattered musings, Shuvin let out a deep breath. She was doing the Togruta version of a heavy blush, that was for sure, but Cerie was pretty familiar with her by now, and Shuvin wasn't very ashamed of where her mind went.

Cerie grinned as she watched Shuvin, and with a little head-bobble as she pushed away from the counter she was leaning against the scoop up two oven mitts, the blonde finally pulled her attentions back to the task at hand. The oven door was opened, and she bent over to quickly pull the Plastex dish out and set it on the oven top.

The nuna was already sizzling, and the smothered cream-of-nuna soup was bubbling just like how she remembered it from so long ago in her youth.

The mitts were quickly put on the counter behind her, and she swiveled back with a spatula.

"You know, I bet we could find a way to get some good stuff stocked while we're there," she mused, running the silicone utensil over the thighs and smearing the condensed concoction further over and around. There was a slight hissing as she worked, which really only made her more hungry.

"I know that if I was going to make a wishlist, I'd put some aged ronto steaks at the top."

"I'm not quite sure there's a lot of ronto steak to go 'round down there," Shuvin replied, sidling up to Cerie and sniffing loudly. "Oh stars Cerie that smells good."

Shuvin watched the food as a child would, with curiosity and wonder and desire. It looked like there wasn't a thought in her head but the sizzle of the nuna cream on the nuna meat.

"Well, we have the space for it, I reckon," the Togruta girl's eyes followed Cerie's spatula unerringly. "Food storage ain't designed for unprocessed or unpackaged food though. And as much as I love to eat it, I'd rather not be smellin' fish throughout the entire ship for months if we try to do fresh frozen unsealed packing. They have to export some of their food aside from the red nectar. Maybe there's a packing plant or something we can use. We'd have to ask Ben about the finances though. And pick Mr Dashing Imperial Pants' brains for food options."

"Well, the ronto steaks are wish-list fodder. I'm pretty sure we could get some dried preserved foods at the very least, that will keep in the pantry for long enough."

Finishing up with her smearing, she handed the spatula to Shuvin, then took up the oven mitts once more. The Plastex dish was once again slid into the oven, and Cerie closed it back up with a satisfying cla-dunk. The scents left over still permeated the galley, and the blonde gave a wink to her Togruta friend.

"Not to mention, I bet some of the folks who aren't so well off as the upperclass will have some tips and tricks for keeping their food. We could probably get some pointers for storing some of the food on Ayolco."

A pause, as she thought more on that prospect.

"You know, I bet we could get some good recipes from them, while we're at it."

"Probably," Shuvin agreed. "Though I'm a bit more interested in their homemade spirits. Maybe I can make the de-greaser into an actual sherry or something rather than a fruity smelling throat lozenge. Cleared out Ben's sore throat real quick, so he's not complaining, but..."

Shuvin shrugged as she placed the spatula in the sink and scrubbed it clean, spritzing it a few times with the head of the faucet to rinse it off. She noticed that she couldn't hear the water system running after she stopped using the faucet; it meant Ben was done with his shower, and would be out to join them soon.

* * *

It hadn't taken long to make sure that everything was sorted out - in more ways than one. After a quick explanation to the Cizerack sisters that they would not, in fact, be dining on anything live, Cerie couldn't help but feel a bit of relief that their supper would be spent without the chittering and tut-tutting from any felinoid matrons.

Shuvin was already seated, her expectations fueled by the insider's knowledge of one who was about during the 'creation'. Ben ambled in with his typical fashion. Vance hadn't showed up yet, but she was sure that it wouldn't be long. Of course, knowing that he was used to better fare than what a tramp freighter crew might be able to offer, she couldn't fault him.

As Ben fell into his seat, the blonde sauntered over with her pot of rice.

"Why is it that even after a shower, you still look so put-upon?"

"Oh, I don't know," Ben sighed. "Maybe it's..."

He looked up, and saw Shuvin behind Cerie. The Togruta was shaking her head and slicing her hand across her throat. Abort course! Change vector! Evasive maneuvers, pilot!

"...what do we have here, nuna casserole? Smells, uh, smells good! Ha, ha ha ha..."

Shuvin nodded, her face a hologram of relief, even if Ben's voice warbled a little at the end there. Thankfully, the Imperial guy walked in just then. Ben thoroughly squashed any acknowledgement that he was grateful of that Imperial being anywhere on this ship. He took that feeling, tossed it into a mental airlock, and jettisoned it without a vac-suit, waving with a smile as it froze in the vacuum of space. Bye now, never come back, you hear?

Shuvin smiled brightly and stood at full attention, saluting the Imperial guy as he walked to the galley table.

"Sit first, mister Captain!" she said. She glanced over at Ben, and took note of his expression. "I mean, mister Imperial captain man."

"At ease, Miss Undhi," that smarmy Imperial person said with a wry smile and that ridiculous Core-Worlder accent. How dare he? What, did he think he sounded suave or refined of what have you? It wasn't like Ben was self-conscious about his own voice that moment either, no way, no how! He wasn't thinking that his voice could sound kind of high pitched and nasally rather than smooth and cultured! His was an unpretentious everyman accent. "Oh, that smells absolutely delicious! Will the Madames be joining us for the meal?"

Ben, with sheer will and determination, hid how much he disliked that accent. He'd suck it up, for Cerie. Smile Ben, smile! He could feel the muscles in his face pulling his lips. There, a proper natural smile! Cerie wouldn't have an inkling that Ben's entire being was like a magnet of the opposite polarity of the Imperial dude, pushing him to flee the galley and sulk—study the navicomputer and the coordinates.

Captain Merasska's smile looked about as natural as a frown on a Nexu; almost as if he were some high-end HRD whose facial servos were malfunctioning. Distaste moved underneath the expression, met and quickly fell in love with dissatisfaction, and their joining made little disgust babies, swimming in the sea that was Ben Merasska's all too easy to read face. As Vance continued to take in the impromptu show, the man in question's left eye twitched at the same time as the corner of the right side of his mouth. Vance was impressed that he could even hold the expression like that. It was eerie.

He glanced over to Cerie and Shuvin, who were looking at the Alderaani with unimpressed bemusement on their faces.

"I–I don't think I've had something that smelled this good in months," Felline said, stuttering slightly as the comedy of Merasska became a little more off-putting: the Alderaani turned to look at him slowly and mechanically, his expression remaining and still twitching slightly.

Shallow bowls had been set out, courtesy of Shuvin's hungry energy. For the time being Cerie chose to actively ignore the weird energy in the galley, hoping that Ben would continue on his journey of simmering down. It was a fool that would bet one way or another on that one. Ben was... Ben. He often did what Shuvin advised when it came to social stuffs, but where the Empire was involved, Cerie was a little bit doubtful of the powers her Togruta friend held.

Disposable napkins and spoons had also been placed beside the bowls, and with rice-pot in hand, the blonde began to ladle rice into the bowls with a serving spoon. It didn't take long, since it was just the four of them. She at least managed a flash of a smile to Vance, a small bit of surprise at his praise for the smells coming from her kitchen. Well for this night it was 'her kitchen'.

The pot was placed on a counter, and making quick work of removing the thin foil covering from the dish that held the nuna, she released the billowing steam from its confines.

One hand covered in a hot-mitt and the other with a fresh and clean serving spoon, she approached the dining nook.

"Well, it's just something quick," she demured, not exactly sure how to take Vance's praise.

"Not anything fancy for sure." Two thighs were laid over the top of the rice in Ben's bowl, then another two atop Shuvin's rice. "... Just nuna thighs in some mushroom soup concentrate over rice."

"I'm sure it's not anywhere... " two thighs were deposited over Vance's rice, "... near the sort of food you're used to."

She smiled though, still more than a little tickled at his praise.

With the nuna dished out, she continued on with topping everyone off with extra spoonfuls of the mushroom soup gravy.

"... But, it'll still fill your belly," she finished with an easy smile.

"You're absolutely right about it not being near what I usually eat," he said, taking another long sniff of the food. "Ships of the Line usually have better storage capacity, and more variety. But for smaller ships, and for those below commissioned officer status, almost all nutrition comes from 'All Purpose Nutri-Meal'."

"That's the stuff ration bars are made of," Merasska grimaced. Felline smiled wryly.

"A bit fancier, but not much, I'd wager. It carries all the essential vitamins, minerals, proteins, fats, and so on that a human being requires to function at a healthy level. Easy to store, easy to portion and serve, and easy to supplement for additional needs. Even as Captain, the storage needs for the fancier foods are prohibitive. It also, as has been found by resourceful crew, is a sponge for flavour, if you steam the stuff with the flavouring for about two hours. Emulsion and immersion work best, but we've found some success with marinading, though the flavouring doesn't penetrate the full strata of the meal. If we can, we supplement meals with sides and drinks, but nutritionists have warned the Fleet about over nourishing the body over extended periods and the damage that can do. The meal is designed to provide everything necessary, and portioned to a nano-gram of dietary necessity. It also means that sabotage and mishandling are a large worry of every ship and logistics officer in the Fleet. It's happened before."

He took a mouthful of the nuna soaked rice and chewed with gusto.

"Delicious."

The look on his face was a match for the satisfied expressions he had made at the fancy restaurant on Jovan, and Cerie took heart in knowing that her food met with that same approval.

Every word that he'd spoken previously to his first bite was pushed to the wayside. In the face of things now, it all seemed like untranslatable Huttese. Oh, she knew that he was breaking down the particulars of Imperial rations, but in the face of what she was seeing now, none of that mattered. Only one thing mattered.

He liked her food. He enjoyed it.

And as the blonde deposited the sauce pot onto the counter and moved to sit beside Vance, she looked at Ben with a Tooka-cat's grin and a gesture that he take up his spoon.

"I bet you'll like it too."

Ben nodded, not arguing the point at all. In the scheme of their crew, Ben was the one who most rarely was creative when cooking. Shuvin liked spicy dishes with lots of meaty proteins, and Cerie was able to do a lot with a little, and liked to vary her creations based on her mood and inclination. Ben on the other hand, was not one who took pleasure and joy in cooking and eating. As long as it didn't taste horrible, he was satisfied. Sure, he'd enjoy a good meal with lots of flavors and noticeable love and effort put into it, but that was different. His turns cooking for Alderaan's crew and passengers were always basic. Satisfying, okay meals.

"Shgood," Ben said around a mouthful. He said it again after swallowing. "Really good. Thanks for the food, Cerie."

He'd listened to what's-his-name talking about nutri-meal, and even commiserated with him, having subsisted on a very similar diet when he was a Rebel and for a while afterward too. Nutri-meal was almost a monopoly in the market for transportable food-stuffs for its dietary uses and its ease of transport and storage. But Ben Merasska would be damned before he'd vocally agree with, or even show anything other than a healthy wariness of the man. Instead, he focused on his food and the meal, thankful that they'd managed to have enough to make the meal in the first place.

Thankfully, Shuvin was there to help take the heat off him, as she loudly scraped her spoon along her bowl and hummed while she ate.

Nuna rice was so good. Like, so good.

Shuvin wasn't shy about exhibiting her enjoyment of the meal, even as she listened to Vance and Cerie talk. Ben, however, was looking awkward and seemed to be still set on being a sour mynock. She didn't let it show, but she mentally rolled her eyes. It wasn't like he was actually being that much different from his usual self, to be fair. Usually, there'd be talk about the ship, their next job, their previous jobs, jokes at Ben's expense, and so on that would help cover it up and make the man react more. Here, there was a big old storm cloud that spoke in cultured even tones and syllables that kept Ben from being comfortable enough to lose himself in the food.

She knew there wasn't much in the way of making her Captain comfortable enough, so she thought to steer Cerie and Ben's attention back to Vance.

"Sabotage?" she asked. "Like, Rebels and Alliance and stuff?"

Ben didn't answer but shook his head as he ate.

"Rebels rarely if ever sabotaged Imperial food processing plants, or tried to tamper with the nutri-meal," he answered, scooping some more of the food into his mouth. He ate with at least some decorum, but this was real food, and deserved a real response. Cerie and Ben and Shuvin wouldn't appreciate fine manners and restrained sensibilities as much as his family or his officers would. "Given that Imperial nutri-meal was one of their biggest targets. All the resources saved on acquiring and processing food could be spent elsewhere, like munitions and bribery."

He spoke matter-of-fact, with little emotion as to an insurgent group's actions against himself and his government and military. In fact, he respected the Rebel Alliance's methodology and tactics, as it spoke of pragmatism and resourcefulness. As a soldier and military man, one who had studied and learned all the nuances of space combat and warfare, he could very well respect and admire when his enemies proved to have their priorities in order. It was war, and he would not begrudge his enemy to do everything they could to win.

"It was actually inter-branch sabotage," he said. "It's fairly common knowledge now and taught in almost every curriculum, especially because the sabotage had been discovered on Darth Vader's own ship, Executor."

Darth Vader.

Now there was a name-drop.

Chewing a chunk of nuna with some rice, she swallowed before speaking up.

"That was an awful big ship," she got out, remembering the words of so many spacers and their stories of that enormous Super Star Destroyer that Vader had held dominion over. At least, for a while, that was. She'd also heard about poor Captain Needa. Sucker.

There had been so many descriptions about the way Executer took her final and terminal nose-dive into the second Death Star. The few folks who survived the Endor attack had always described the crash as something spectacular, and the people they told about it only spread the telling further. And the ones they told, told more. And those ones told more, and it just... it just became a whole thing. Cerie had always been pragmatic about all of it. The Alliance heroes had all died, and so had the Emperor and Vader. Many of the Imperial command had scrambled after Endor. Who knew what the real truth was? Not her problem.

"Seems a shame," she continued.

"... a ship that big."

Another bite, and she chewed then swallowed. Honestly, it tasted just like she always remembered - wholesome, warming, and absolutely perfect.

"Sometimes real food has no substitute."

"I believe that the Command Staff aboard the super star destroyer and the destroyers do not have to suffer through the same processed meals," he said wryly. "It was a miracle that the sabotage was discovered anyway, especially in a ship that size. A Science Officer doing a standard test of the recently onboarded meal shipment found a large but not lethal amount of fural in the chemical analyzer. Following protocol, she reported to her supervisor. The supervisor, deeming the nonlethal amount to be insufficient for a reason to study the shipments, told her to end her inquiries. She did not, following the chain of command to Admiral Piett, but fortunately or unfortunately, was noticed by Lord Vader. They quite literally halted the meals for the entire ship for three days while testing every shipment and pallet of meal and foodstuff."

He shoveled some more rice into his mouth, chewing with gusto as the nuna meat and sauce flooded his mouth with flavours. He hadn't quite finished chewing when he started speaking again.

"A literal thousand million tonnes of meal and nutrient shipments. Three days. I believe the Science Branch on board Executor was comprised of maybe fifty to seventy individuals, with droids of various types making up the difference."

He shook his head.

"Using the brute force method of data collation, they found that the tampered shipments hailed from an agriworld in the Mid Rim. The name escapes me now—I'm sure my Academy Instructor would be furious with me—and under Vader's orders, the entire ship and her escorts diverted there to perform a search. The Science Officer... Malan, perhaps... was chosen to go with the landing party. She was interviewing the lead formulator for the meal processing plant, and had him confess to the crime there on the spot with some interviewing skills that I'm sure she was not aware she ever possessed. He shot her with a plasma punch, used to open sealed shipment containers. She'd nearly died, despite wearing Class 3 plastoid armour. Stormtroopers are normally issued Class 2, for reference's sake. The man who'd shot her, Aiglen, was a former Starfleet Officer, Science Corps himself. He did not take much stock in the use or importance of Stormtroopers, and thought cutting costs and poisoning Imperial soldiers befitted their role. He did not take into account that Malan had a brother in the Stormtrooper Corps, and that her search and meticulousness wasn't just a hallmark of her professional demeanour."

"Phwoar!" Shuvin gasped through a mouthful of food. "Plasma punch? Where?"

"I don't recall. Given the dimensions of a Class 3 armour set, I'd wager her chest. She did survive by the by."

"Lucky," the teenager sighed. "Plasma punches don't have settings. She should've been sliced in half. Maybe we should invest in some of that class 3 plastoid armor, huh Ben?"

She nudged the Alderaani, who didn't look up from his bowl of food.

"Sounds expensive," he grunted, spooning more food into his mouth.

"It'd save you from a plasma punch to the chest," she argued. Ben stopped and frowned in thought for a moment.

"Eh. Better, and cheaper, to not let a plasma punch flag me at all." He shrugged and took the ladle and served himself another helping. "Rather not have the attention an armor chest plate draws."

"Booooring!" Shuvin sighed, going back to her own food. "You agree with me, right, Cerie?"

Caught mid-chew on a particularly juicy piece of nuna, Cerie froze like a flutter-deer in speederlights.

"Hrhrmmmm... "

She finally started to chew again, and after another few moments she swallowed.

"Well... "

She licked any residual sauce from her lips that might've lingered.

"... Well you know," she restarted, her eyes moving from Shuvin to Ben who - all things considered - looked like he was enjoying his food as though it was snow-straw meant for Taun-Tauns.

"... well, we might be able to find class 3 stuff that you can wear under your clothes."

Her fork made a circuit around the rim of her dish, gathering up another bite.

"I mean, it would be like wearing those old blaster-proof numbers that the police on Ord Ren-0 wore, I guess."

"Book 'em, Dano!" Shuvin cheered.

"At that point, might as well get a personal shield. Just as pricey but smaller and lighter," Ben grumped. Shuvin pouted. "Have you ever worn body armor? Even the lightest stuff is hot, and after a couple hours your shoulders and back feel like a rusty spring."

"You're just being like this for the sake of it. Admit it, Ben! Body armor would be kwe! The Kwe-est!"

"I'm just imagining all the amazing conversations with planetary security I'd have just walking around in any armor. Armor's a statement, and that statement is: 'Come at me, bro.' No thanks."

Imperial Man didn't say much as the three of them played off each other, with Shuvin trying to bludgeon any tension to death with sheer obnoxious childish cheer, Ben remaining studiously grumpy (though not to the point of being completely mean or rude), and Cerie enjoying her food and finding a quiet humor in just how annoying Shuvin was being. Feline looked like he didn't know what he was seeing. Ben idly wondered what the man's family dinners were like, before brushing the thought away with some prejudice. Who cared?

"Throw the dishes into the cleaner. I'll check on the flight path and the ship and then get the cleaning started," the Alderaani captain said after the food was finished.