Arranging Matches

[Joey Rabeak]

It could never be said that Joey Rabeak was difficult to read, and as Raskor's words wandered here and there, Joey's facial expression changed with each new twist and turn. Ears up, down, sideways, eyebrows moving, every expression seemed amplified as if he was being viewed through a magnifying glass. Worry gripped his heart when Raskor doubted freedom ofexpression, though that worry turned to a sneer of rank disgust when the mental image of getting it on with a Hutt filled his fertile imagination.

"Oh, dude, that's just sick!" he recoiled, and his arm went with his expression, winding up to deliver a hearty splash of the jeeta water directly into his wingmate's face for such a foul joke, though the move was checked by the sound of approaching feet.

Arm easing back down to the rim, Joey tilted his head up and back over his shoulder to see a fat chick in a mumu.

Oh. Hell. No.

So incensed at his companion's implication, it took Joey a moment to infer from her words that this must be the proprietor, or at least a manager on duty. A smile returning to his muzzle, the Nehantite did his best to nod from his vantage point. "Yes, it's, uh, very... invigorating."

Inside he winced at the choice of word, though his body could not deny its accuracy.

[Raskor Shokus]

The voice that reached his ears was lyrical and wondrous. It cause an involuntary smile to spring forth once again, and Raskor let his eyes lead the motion of his head to lift up. To gaze at the vision of beauty that had seen fit to grace their presence. She was like a dream, and he'd stolen enough glimpses during the last few times he'd visited the tea house. The Madame, in all of her glory, was like an angel that was unattainable. He let his gaze settle on her.

"Ahhh," it was a word as much as an exhaled breath.

"Cherai, it is wondrous, as always."

His flute was lifted in a respectful salute to the woman who provided so much for the men and women of Jovan. His eyes never left hers.

"Your hospitality, it is as a Caridan trellis bloom; always wishing to share the immeasurable beauty and kindness held within, and scented with the most delicate of delights to tantalize the senses."

His wide smile fell to settle into an easy grin.

"My new comrade, he is almost just arrived to the station from the Academy, yes? Might I beg of you the celebratory drink for him?" A moment of thought as his eyes finally flitted down to look at the glass that Joey held before going back to the Madame.

"Something that is of your choice and sensibilities, perhaps?"

[Abarai Loki]

It was his second shift at the Teahouse. Eight hours, he reminded himself, with a bracing breath. The air was sweet and heavy with perfume. Eight hours: a trifle in the grand scheme of things, but, in the presence of the unclothed, eight hours was a lifetime. And not for the first time, Loki found himself wondering how it had come to be that he found himself there, of all places. It was a question best answered by the growl of an empty stomach, and, as such, it was equally a question best unanswered entirely. The night before, he enjoyed a supper of creamy nuna casserole and mushrooms. It had been so good he could still taste it. A week ago, he ate the last of his dehydrated rations.

It was also his third job in as many weeks. Stints as a janitor and a delivery boy had both resulted in varying degrees of disaster. Fortunately, for Loki, jobs on Jovan came as quickly as they went. If nothing else, the people of the station were receptive to the notion of cheap labour. His latest employer, Madame Maillanaarro, had been more particular in her demands than the others, and notably less conventional. The whole affair had been rather… invasive. And yet, as a new employee, he was well looked after – in more ways than one. He took a glance at the tall gilded mirror and failed to recognise the person staring back at him. Between steam drapes, he stood, glistening and smooth, in a groping shirt of sheer violet fabric, embroidered in elaborate gold, and with a pair of short gold shorts to match. He looked ridiculous, but he felt cleaner than he had been in months, years, maybe. And his new hair, short though it was, had been sculpted to perfection. A frown passed over his face like a storm cloud, but was quickly dispelled, for frowning was apparently not in keeping with the Madame’s unique vision.

It was a temporary solution. The last of his credits had been used to get him to Jovan Station, and as soon as his pockets had been fully replenished, he’d be on his way again. Where that would be, he had no idea, and the thought of that excited him. Perhaps he’d find himself camping on a forest moon, or moisture farming on a desert world, or serving drinks in the Outer Rim. The galaxy, as the saying goes, was his oyster. But that was life of ex-Jedi wanderer, Abarai Loki. Right now, he was Wexley Wallis, from Torque. And that was who he would continue to be until he was on the move again. Wexley Wallis, with his finely manicured hands, and an arsenal of scented oils at his disposal. If Taataani Meorrei could see him now…

Outside, there came the faint patter of bare feet, and a shadow passed over the thin veil hanging from the arched doorway. His pulse quickened. It was show time.

“Ja irra korra nai, friend. Please, enter.”

[Kalleeiha Maillanaarro]

Raskor Shokus had made a fairly large splash in Madame Maillanaarro's proverbial pond. The ever-perceptive tea house owner had immediately taken notice of the Caridan and his flowery peculiarities. Of course, there were many peculiar aliens here. Peculiar in appearance. Peculiar in language. Peculiar in custom. At first, Kalleeiha had been guarded with her interactions with such strangers, but she had quickly realized there was much more to be gained by embracing change. Raskor Shokus was the face of Jovan. Conservative matrons from the mother worlds could hiss and back-bite all they wanted, but on the frontier, the Madame might as well be the Cizeri ambassador to the masses.

Ah, but Raskor. Kalleeiha exchanged a sweet smile for the well-spent compliments. She suspected he wasn't being entirely polite in these repeated encounters. That was part of the thrill of the new. Men who flattered and made overtures instead of posturing to receive them. Even without being a tea shop Madame, Kalleeiha was no novice to the amorous arts. Many years ago, she'd once been the sort to behave in just such a way. The habit hadn't entirely worn off, either.

"Brrave jyoung Rrasskorr, sstandjing sso closse to jyourr handssome jyoung frrjiend..."

She glanced in Joey's direction. This wasn't her first moment to observe the Nehantite. This was her kingdom, and here she was omniscient. Big-eyed and provincial, but not a rube. He obviously thought of himself to keep his body hair well-managed - not like some ghastly Wookiee. And, oh yes, painfully overdue for some proper coital release. That part would take care of itself eventually, with luck. There was always a woman or two in the establishment who appreciated novelty.

"...unafrrajid that he'll be djimjinjisshed sstandjing sso closse to ssuch an equalljy brrjilljiant ssjight. Orr perrhapss therre jiss a rreasson he hassn't told me jyourr name afterr all."

She considered Raskor's request on it's face. On general principle, the Madame comped nothing, but she reserved the right to change course when it made good business sense. The Caridan was repeat business, and she knew he spent enough of his pilot's salary in her tea house to mark his time as a lifestyle choice rather than a passing fancy. Fleeting kindness was a powerful force multiplier, especially when it could be offered with a drink that was...cheap, but not cheap on it's face. Something effervescent, light (no sense in getting too tipsy too early) and befitting an occasion.

Ah, but she was getting ahead of herself. Kalleeiha extended an upturned hand to Joey, with the expectation that he'd do her the honor in offering her his own, along with his introduction.

[Mags Sondeeta]

“Ja irra korra nai, friend. Please, enter.”

"Oh."

Mags paused the moment she passed the threshold into the massage parlor, her lekku curling in a guarded posture. She'd gone as far as to nearly draw her towel back over the front of her to cover herself in the midst of an unexpected human, a reflex she relaxed on a moment later when considering how foolish such a double standard might be.

"You are ze masseuse."

Mags blinked, her lekku once again relaxing.

"I was expecteeng ze masseuse, 'e oould be a Ceezerack, 'e ta?."

A little sunlight shone on the Twi'lek's normally moody face and she almost smiled.

"Zees assumption eet ees foolish. You 'ave two 'ands, I am sure zey are capable. Please to proceed."

[Joey Rabeak]

Joey say back against his wall of the tub whilst Raskor and the Madame engaged in their verbose pleasantries. A tinge of pink flushed Joey's ears when he was called handsome, though it was quick to pale once a hand was offered for him to take. To do so would mean standing up, and standing up would mean that his arousal would be revealed for all to see. Not that it seemed to matter to some, what with the Cizerack pair two tubs over rocking each other's world in full view of any who simply looked their way.

Deep breath, Joey, deep breath and you can do this. It's not like your parents just walked in on you having sex. Again. The little voice of reason hushed his fears.

One second passed, one and a half, and any further delay would be regarded as disrespect. There was nothing else for it but to stand, and so he bucked up whatever confidence could be scraped from the corners of his mind and stood, extending his paw go take the Madame's hand in it, while something else extended fully from his nether regions now above the waterline. Distraction and charm came in one motion as he leaned in to kiss the back of the Madam's hand graciously, then smiled up at her. Soaked, the full extent of his musculature could be seen beneath his plastered fur, and it was the body of a young male who perhaps spent a bit too much time in the gym, not an ounce of fat on him, except for maybe a little bit in his hindquarters.

"Lieutenant Joey Rabeak," he introduced himself. "New to Titan Squadron, arrived a few days ago."

Garfife, he wanted to sit down. Not that he was ashamed at the size of his malehood - as it was certainly of ample proportion - but ashamed that it was so brazenly displayed in front of a wingmate and the teahouse's proprietor. Yet he had to remain standing, for the sake of etiquette, until introductions were completed and it was proper to resume his previous position.

[Raskor Shokus]

A front row seat, was what it was often called. And Raskor Shokus was never one to shy away from such fortuitous seating arrangements. He also couldn't help the conspiratorial grin that crept along his lips to travel up for a chance to glint in his eyes. Eyes that went from the Madame, to Joey's elegant acceptance of her outstretched hand, to his... other elegance. Of course he maintained a professional air, allowing himself only a sideways glance. He wasn't entirely so cruel to make the effort so brazenly obvious.

But, there was still a measure of pity for Joey and the bit of uncomfortable waves that he could sense. Perhaps it was the gift of a Caridan? Perhaps.

With no shame, Raskor slowly allowed himself to stand as well.

He eased upwards, clearing the waterline slowly to reveal a very nearly hairless body that held lean mass. Wiry almost, but slender and fit. He was not gifted with a large amount of muscle, but he had always made sure that what he had was well cared for. Which, as all things, bestowed upon him a sleek form; smooth yet contoured. His strength was hidden, and many times over he had gotten the upper hand on those who'd thought him weak.

And while he was not so... affected by their surroundings as his comrade, there was still a healthy eagerness that had its' own effect on him. He was Caridan, after all. The joys of life were in the experience of everything offered, and The Grand Admiral beginning to show interest in coming to parade level was testament to that.

[Abarai Loki]

"Zees assumption eet ees foolish. You 'ave two 'ands, I am sure zey are capable. Please to proceed."

Loki remained silent for the duration of the Twi’lek’s monologue, and once she’d talked herself in a full circle, he simply smiled and gestured to the table. It was not in his nature to be so demure, but it was expected of him. And in that polite silence, he took refuge, for fear of betraying the same degree of surprise as his new client. Nudity was something he suspected a person could become numb to with time, and the tedium of work, with one exception: the sight of a naked Twi’lek surely never lost its charm. In his mind, a chorus of catcalls threatened to drown out the pleading voice of reason. But, by the time she was done waffling, his wits were gathered.

“Make yourself comfortable, friend,” he said, bristling inwardly at the forced familiarity, “Tell me how I may be of service to you.”

[Mags Sondeeta]

Something in the repeated use of friend raised Mags hackles. She understood the pandering nature of customer service, and maybe it could never be divorced from the act of a massage at all. If he was to knead her into a state of relaxation with his hands, then it stood to reason in some perverse way that she'd get the verbal treatment as well.

"I am 'ere for ze body treatment, and for Natkochi Lek."

The Twi'lek traced one of the head-tails draped over her shoulders with calloused fingertips, if the human needed reminding of what the term implied. Of course, if he did, then this was all going to be a frustrating waste of time.

"I am understandeeng zat ze Madame's service offers zees, and zat I am 'opefully not your first Twi'lek to ask."

[Abarai Loki]

Natkochi Lek. Loki’s heart sank, and fell through his stomach into his guts.

“My apologies. While I am aware of Natkochi Lek, I have not yet been trained in the art of lekku massage. You are indeed my first Twi’leki client.” Sensing the first flicker of disappointment, Loki promptly sought to provide some reassurance, “But I would be… happy to follow your instruction. You will find me a quick study, I am sure.”

There was a slight taste of desperation to his words that sickened him, but unemployment was just one poor customer experience away. So, he would pander, and grovel, and smile. Stars above, her breasts were excellent.

[Mags Sondeeta]

Typical.

"De's au," she muttered, turning her eyes low as her lekku flicked in a rude timbre. As much as she'd wanted to be placed in experienced hands, the odds weren't in her favor outside of Ryloth or a major planetary population center. It wasn't as if she were some delicate flower.

"Eet ees fine." she monotoned with restrained irritation. "You will know eef you do eet wrongly, as I will slap you on ze 'ead."

The Twi'lek stepped closer to her masseuse, who had to be half her age. She glanced down to the hands at his sides, pointing at one before upturning her own hand.

"Let me see your 'and."

[Abarai Loki]

At the threat of violent rebuke, Loki’s jaw tensed enough to bite down on a scathing riposte that was just aching to be free. Instead, it mutated into a tight smile, followed by a laboured bow.

“I will do my utmost to ensure your satisfaction.”

Admittedly, it was not the best word to use given the circumstances, for it sent his mind dashing for all kinds of lewd resorts. His ignited imagination was quenched, however, when his client made a rather peculiar demand of him. A flicker of confusion rose to the surface of his façade before he found it in him to comply. His hand was presented alongside her own, which was so monstrously large for a woman her size that he wondered if he was in the presence of some sort of… transient.

When she took his hand in hers, he stiffened, “What are you doing?”

[Mags Sondeeta]

"I am obviously going to show you 'ow to do eet." Mags replied with a testy tone. "Do I 'ave to tell ze masseuse 'ow to relax?"

She brusquely positioned Loki's hand with her own as a guide underneath, pausing only as she noticed the state of the masseuse's hands for the first time. A small look of surprise lighted the Twi'lek's features as she hooked her thumb atop Loki's own work-calloused hand.

"You 'ave ze 'ands of a worker." she commented unguardedly, her thumb drifting along one of Loki's fingers with an abrasive feel. "I take it zat ze life of a masseuse ees not your first calling."

[Abarai Loki]

It was the interview with the Madame all over again. As much as he wanted to keep eating with some degree of regularity, Loki wasn’t sure how much more prodding and probing he could take. He was there to give massages, not to be sized up like some sort of bantha calf. In the spirit of professionalism, his resistance waned, and he did his best to relax. Yet, with that, came its own share of problems. At such proximity to his client, in all her naked blue-skinned glory, he felt the knots in his stomach turn to butterflies. When she brushed a finger against his, he felt it all over.

“I repaired droids before I came here,” he said, distracted. It was only a half-lie. “Astromechs. Protocol droids. Load-lifters…”

[Mags Sondeeta]

"Zat ees an honest trade." Mags approved with the flick of a lekku tip. "Droids zey either break or zey do not. Zere ees nozzing een 'alf measure, nozzing to bend or to pretend. 'Ere."

Squeezing Loki's hand in guidance, Mags placed the flat of his palm against the broad contours of her upper tchun, allowing him to get a tactile sense of the job at hand. She continued to rest her hand over his.

"Ze tissue eet ees deep 'ere. You can squeeze to a point. Make a 'C' weeth your 'and. Feel?"

[Abarai Loki]

“I can feel it.”

His fingers coiled gently around the thick stem and squeezed. There was little give in the skin here, it was firm, like a ripened meiloorun. From his limited knowledge of Twi’lek physiology, he knew he was touching somewhere near the brain. Down the length of it, she guided his hand, sandwiched between the smooth snaking skin and the intimate heat from her palm. His heart was racing.

“And what about down here?” he said, teasing the narrowing tchun with his fingertips, “Gentle?”

[Mags Sondeeta]

"Yes. Down ze lekku, you must practice more care, down to ze teep, where ze nerves, zey are mm."

Mags halted in her explanation, sighing as her stance instantly slackened.

"Zat ees most good. I zink I must sit down. When eet's good, ze wave, eet can go down all ze way to ze knees."

[Abarai Loki]

When the Twi’lek sighed, and went weak at his touch, Loki’s eyes lit up like Life Day trees. An irrepressible smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and he basked in his moment of victory like the great conquerors of old. He continued to stroke, oh-so-gently, so slowly, for a moment longer, feeding vicariously from his client’s wave of euphoria. Prickly? Yes. Demanding? Absolutely. Violent? Quite possibly. Despite all this, Loki had made it his personal mission to make this woman produce that kind of sound all day long. She will feel the Force, he thought, and hated himself for it.

“By all means, take a seat on the bed. The table. And we shall begin in earnest.”

[Kalleeiha Maillanaarro]

It always amused the Madame the way the turn of initiative seemed to run counter with aliens. She'd initially moved to draw Joey's hand to her lips, but on the slightest resistance from the Nehantite, she relented. He obviously fancied taking the salutation for himself. She was a host, so being gracious meant knowing when to defer.


"How charrmjing." Kalleeiha beamed, her earrings tinkling with a quiver of ears. "Eassjiljy the mosst handssome Nehantjite jI have everr sseen, Ljieutenant. Don't be sshjy, jI'm ssurre jyou'll make plentjy of frrjiendss todajy."


Naturally, she'd taken advantage of the sight of her two guests rising from the pool in more ways than one. Of course, when you ran a tea house, such a sight was as common as water - though not to say that the quality was common.

"Rrasskorr, jI thjink jyou'rre rrjight. Ssomethjing celebrratorrjy forr the ljieutenant'ss sspecjial occassjion jiss jin orrder. jI'll have one of mjy bojyss brrjing overr a pajirr of Tanaab fljipss."

[Raskor Shokus]

Rolling his shouldrs, Raskor gave a salute to the Madame, eyes sparkling as much as the liquid in his glass.

"The Madame, she knows best."

A slight motion, and he gave a gentle elbow to Joey's ribs while slightly leaning in the Nehantite's direction.

"If you come here often enough, you will find that the most gracious Madame Maillanaarro is masterful at knowing what her guests desire."