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Thread: The Captain and I

  1. #1

    xxx The Captain and I

    STANZA 1

    Something familiar,
    Something peculiar,
    Something for everyone:
    A comedy tonight!
    Something appealing,
    Something appalling,
    Something for everyone:
    A comedy tonight!
    Nothing with moffs, nothing with crowns;
    Bring on the lovers, liars and clowns!




    She stood at the threshold of the docking ring, leaning against the cold metal with a fair amount of trepidation turning her features into a somewhat sour expression. As if she had been sucking on a candied Sour Mynock Egg. From her peripheral vision, she saw Ben moving about. Shuvin was... wherever Shuvin was. No doubt getting ready to take Jovan Station over with the formidable arsenal of grabby hands, hormonal urges, and pick-up lines that would cause even the most seasoned spacers to mutter under their breath at how lewd she was.

    As for Ben, he seemed about normal. He was at least giving her some space. After Junction, Cerie had been damn near a hermit about Alderaan. Which was no small feat to be sure. She stuck to herself, shut away in her small bunk and stewing.

    Up until Junction, looking like Loklorien s'Ilancy had been easy enough with no real ramifications. Of course that was all different now. With that bendy, bad-breathed Selonian, the game had changed rather significantly.

    And with Jovan being their stop, Cerie was hard-pressed to actually step foot onto the station at all. It was mostly Alliance-run, after all. And even if she didn't have some gnarly scar over one eye, she didn't just... didn't want to invite anything.

    And so she stood, halfway leaning against the edge of the doorway that opened up into the umbilical. The umbilical that led right onto Jovan Station.

    She had her pertinent documents on a flimsi in one hand, the other stuffed into the front pouch-pocket of an oversized, dark blue pullover. In truth it was Bens; she'd just 'borrowed it' since it had a hood and - well - it was damn comfortable. Soft and worm and cozy. Grey trousers and scuffed work boots completed her unkempt appearance. Even her hair had been pulled up into a shaggy half-bun that she'd stuck a few repulsor cam thread rods into to keep it up (they were extras and Shuvin had said she could have them anyway).

    The hand in the pouch-pocket curled into a fist and she finally spoke to Ben.

    "You ever been here when there's not a Cizerack sex festival going on?"
    Last edited by Cerie Moreau; Feb 24th, 2021 at 02:28:34 AM.

  2. #2
    TheHolo.Net Poster

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    Ben glanced up at her from where he was sitting at the entrance to the ring corridor from the cargo bay, scrolling through a datapad. Cerie was glumly staring at the docking fin's ring, which was tightly shut since Shuvin and Loki had left earlier and hadn't opened once.

    "Uh, no. Too many Alliance uniforms here to really be comfortable, even though that last visit wasn't a complete disaster. I wonder if we would have won that dance competition?"

    He shook his head and cleared his thoughts.

    "Still, we're here now. Was talking to Sarin on our way here, and he gave me the name of someone we may get some nice, regular, not dangerous work from. Hell, from the sounds of it we'd prolly just be makin' easy runs from Contruum and back. Said he'd call them and get back to us."

    The chirp of the comm signal echoed through the ship, and Ben jumped up to get it, leaving Cerie at the top of the docking fin ramp in the cargo bay to be her 'jovial' self.

    On the vid screen when he picked up was the smiling face of Marron Lighever.

    "Hey kid," Ben said. "Didn't expect to hear back from you so quick."

    "Well, normally I would be unable to help you, but it so happens that a contact of mine is currently on Jovan," the nineteen year old running a severely diminished Aether Hypernautics company responded. "Friend of the family, so to speak. I've contacted him and it turns out that he is in fact looking for a personal job to hire out discreetly. He's amenable to meeting, but wants a face to face."

    Ben grimaced, and Marron laughed.

    "Oh, don't be like that, Captain. I can vouch for him. He's a good sort, and he knows the value of a good smuggler and freighter. Not a business man, though."

    "Fine, fine. Won't hurt to meet this stand-up guy of yours."

    "I'll let him know, and forward to you anything else of importance."

    Ben leaned back and sighed, wondering how he'd work this meeting, when the comm chirped again.

  3. #3
    One ping. Two pings. Three.

    "You should get that, you know."

    Her voice was deadpan, devoid of emotion. Far from her usual gabby and happy tone, Cerie couldn't help but step away from herself, hear the monotone of her own voice. Gods she was sounding like some morose Morrisai fangirl. All dark fringe and overdone eyeshadow and sad songs.

    She turned to look at Ben fully then, and with a deliberate motion, pulled her free hand out to flick the hood up over her head.

    "And it better be good news."

  4. #4
    TheHolo.Net Poster

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    Ben blinked, a little nonplussed at Cerie's attitude.

    "I... I guess I'll take this one in the cockpit then," he said. Cerie didn't move, and he sighed, shaking his head and walking out of the cargo bay.

    Five minutes later, Ben returned looking nervous. Well, more nervous than usual.

    "Okay! Well, I have some good news!"

    Cerie turned to look at him, a look of such humourlessness on her face that he almost walked right back out.

    "W-w-we have work," he said. "And options for it too. All we have to do is meet with the client. And by 'we', I mean you. And by 'have to', I mean please will you go to meet this client and see if we can get him to give us money to move things for him? Please? Pretty please?"

  5. #5
    Typical Ben.

    Making a supremely unimpressed face, Cerie finally pushed away from the threshold to stand upright. The flimsi she was holding was unceremoniously stuffed into the pocket-pouch, and both arms lifted to cross over her chest.

    "What do you... "

    The pause that lingered between them was tangible. Alive. Viscous. Like, you could cut it with a dull knife that'd been sitting in the cooler unit for over a week.

    You know what? She would. She would meet this client. And she would make sure that whatever needs there were, they would be met. After all was said and done, she was bound and determined to at least pull whatever weight that she could in order to make sure the credits came in.

    "Fine."

    A hand came up then, and a pointer finger shot up and over to point at Ben.

    "But. I'm going to go find a bar first and have a drink."

    It didn't have to be said, that she was hoping to wash away the memory of the stench of that Selonian's breath.

  6. #6
    TheHolo.Net Poster

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    "Well, yeah, about that... um, apparently the client wants to meet at some high class place."

    Ben wilted a bit under Cerie's stare.

    "...W-with a dress code?"

    Cerie started growling. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his mouth went dry. He handed over a flimsi, his hands shaking in fear.

    "H-h-here. Just—just take it. It's got all the info on it, yipe!"

  7. #7
    A dress code?!

    She snatched the flimsi from him, let out a long sigh, and pursed her lips without really glancing at the info. Her thought processes seemed to slow then, and she couldn't help the germ of a thought to form. Maybe it would be nice to actually feel like less of a bunk-slug for an evening? It wasn't entirely a bad thought, and it grew on her. Enough so, that she turned on her heel, and headed back into the ship proper.

    "Here, you hold on to this for now," she said, handing him the flimsi once more. her now free hand lifted to give him a clipped pat to his shoulder.

    "Give me thirty minutes."



    Thirty Minutes Later...


    The sonic shower had been refreshing, and did well to pull her out of her previous funk. There was something to be said for wallowing in regret with little effort given to one's outward appearance and marginal hygiene, but there was also something to be said for getting back into the schedule that was comforting. A sonic shower made slightly longer than normal due to the necessary act of shaving her legs, a good tooth-scrubbing, and finally standing in the fresher for a few quiet minutes to enjoy that naked, squeaky-clean feeling. That was when her hair was given a little brushing to undo any leftover tangles, and the basics of self-care were seen to.

    She had brought her chosen clothes into the fresher with her, and it wasn't long before the slim-fitting deep blue dress was pulled on. It hugged her curves, stopping just above her knees. The nice thing about having to keep makeup for impersonating your doppelganger was that she had just enough to make a passable go at refining her features. Nothing drastic, but more to slightly enhance.

    Her hair had been put up in a much more refined version of her mess-bun from before, and rather than the spare parts that had been shoved in, she carefully slid in a set of hand-carved Ithorian foodsticks.

    Satisfied with the woman that stared back at her from the mirror, Cerie grabbed the necklace that she'd picked out and a pair of matching earrings. The back of her dress remained only halfway zipped however, as she would need help to get it the rest of the way.

    "Ok," she approached Ben once more, a far cry from the morose pity-slug from before.

    Now she looked almost high society. Heels, a dress that accentuated her form, blonde hair up with not a strand out of place, and currently in the process of pushing in the small gemstone drop earrings.

    "... I need a zip-up," came her murmured request as she slowed to a stop in front of him, then turned around smartly to present him with what she needed him to finish.

  8. #8
    TheHolo.Net Poster

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    Ben had clearly not been idle in the meantime; he'd shaved his face and stubble to a smaller if still noticeable mustache and wore one of his less worn and faded jackets along with clean(er) clothing.

    When Cerie entered the cargo bay, he choked and stared at her in shock, almost as if seeing her for the first time.

    "Okay," she said, and he nodded absently, still staring at her. "...I need a zip up."

    He didn't move, save for his eyes slowly drifting down to the zipper in seeming fascinated horror. She glanced back at him, a sharp edge back in the blue of her eyes. He garbled out a sound that might have been a word, and tentatively reached out to grab the zipper, almost exaggeratedly trying to keep from actually touching Cerie. He zipped up, slipping a few times and pulling his hands away like lightning on each occasion.

    Finally though, he had the offending zipper nearly to the top, and when the damn thing finally reached the end and there was nothing left, it came off. He was left with the dangly thing that he'd held onto, and glanced down at the now slightly broken zipper thing in horror. Cerie, for her part, seemed to be unaware as she shifted and smoothed the now 'secured' dress.

    "Done?" she asked, turning around.

    Ben's hands flew behind him, hiding the evidence of his transgression.

    "Uh, yeah!" he said, nodding quickly, before realizing that perhaps he was laying it on a bit thick. He swallowed and visibly calmed himself, nodding in faux certainty. "Yes. Yes, I'm done. You're done. It's done."
    Last edited by Ben Merasska; Feb 11th, 2021 at 02:54:33 PM.

  9. #9
    STANZA 2

    Old situations,
    New complications,
    Nothing portentous or polite;
    Tragedy tomorrow,
    Comedy tonight!
    Something convulsive,
    Something repulsive,
    Something for everyone:
    A comedy tonight!
    Something aesthetic,
    Something frenetic,
    Something for everyone:
    A comedy tonight!
    Nothing with gods, nothing with fate;
    Weighty affairs will just have to wait!




    She'd only really skimmed the flimsi before setting off, but she'd at least seen where she was supposed to meet this new client. Breezing through customs, Cerie made her way into Jovan proper, allowing herself an air of nonchalance as she walked.

    Past milling groups of beings, she fairly breezed her way into one of the more scenic atriums towards the center of the station. Topiaries, flowering shrubs, and even a few white-barked Kaai'amarra trees from Fey'Dann in ornate pottery that almost looked as though they'd come from ancient Cizeri temples. Banners hung high above, with emblems of the Alliance, the Pride, and a few other governments that had come to reside on Jovan in the hopes of coming together in peace. Or at least the best approximation of peace that they could negotiate. Tables dotted the landscape here and there, as well as a few sets of sofas and chairs for more comfortable relaxation.

    The blonde moved by a male Cizerack who was studiously tending to one of the Kaai'amarra trees, pruning small bits off and placing the trimmings in a synth-hide back at his side. He was so engrossed in his task that he completely ignored her.

    One of the only other things she had remembered after her less-than-quick lookover of the flimsi was that the client would be smartly dressed and waiting at one of the viewing windows that overlooked the lower portion of Spire 1.

    It didn't take long to spot him, and Cerie kept her gait smooth and steady as she approached.

    And then it dawned on her... in her rush to bring herself out of her self-pity, she'd completely missed exactly what it was the client was wanting.

    It was that sudden thought that drew her up, and she slowed to a stop, still a good fifteen feet away from him.

  10. #10
    He was leaning against the balustrade, deep in thought, and his eyes focussed on the transparisteel pane across from him.

    The pose, the clothing, the location; it was maddeningly different from his usual and he'd daresay his preferred modes. And what did it mean that he was uncomfortable in a civilian's clothing, he was in fact partially afraid to consider, but without the distraction of his ship or his crew or anything really, all he was left with was the view of the stars.

    Unsurprisingly, he did find himself somewhat relieved upon a short time of stargazing.


    But here he was, about to discuss business of all things with a representative of a freighter. This was not his duty, to play at corporate and economic espionage (and he knew he was being hyperbolic at that thought, but the principle remained). He was a Starfleet man, meant to wear the uniform and the rank bars and to travel the galaxy and fulfil his oath of duty to the Empress, not to wear a buffed hide jacket and a white tunic, nor to wear some fashionable trousers like some sort of wealthy scion playing at being a vagabond.

    He glanced down at his chronometer in frustration and looked around, only to have his eyes arrested by the blonde woma— what was Captain s'Ilancy doing here? His hand, almost instinctively, twitched to his side where there should have been a pistol, at the very least his trusted RK-3, but he stayed the gesture nearly at its birth. He was on her territory here, and no weapons were permitted.

    With nothing to do but look, he forced himself to remain relaxed, and looked.

    His brows creased slightly.

  11. #11
    He was staring at her. Then again, she was staring at him as well, trying to parse what this encounter was supposed to be about.

    There was also a familiar glint of recognition in his eyes, and it caused her to start forward once more, disappearing the remaining distance between them. She'd seen that look plenty of times, but unlike so many times before, when her normal disguise was meant to better her credit situations, she aimed to dispel the initial thoughts. His creased brow though seemed to indicate that he was second-guessing his first assessment.

    She decided to help him along further.

    "I still have both my eyes," she started with, giving a little tap at her right cheekbone, just below her eye.

  12. #12
    So she did, he noted.

    He was not so practised as to be able to tell whether the eye was cybernetic, not from this distance. But it was other things that really eased him about her: her stance, the way she shifted her weight from foot to foot, the nervous way she blinked and looked down for a moment before almost angrily raising her eyes to meet his own, how her fists and fingers seemed to nervously move, as if to clutch at some invisible thing for comfort. Any of those separately, or even a small collaboration of such effects to one's mien would be enough to make him believe that it could have been s'Ilancy, though the very thought was so strange and ridiculous he couldn't even entertain it for longer than a moment.

    Why on earth would Captain Loklorien s'Ilancy disguise herself to meet with someone about freighting? As the freighting representative?

    Wait.

    "Ah, yes. Well, forgive me miss, but I must ask you a question," he began keeping his eyes on hers. "Whom are you representing?"

  13. #13
    Having nothing better to do with her hands (she should've brought her clutch purse), Cerie folded her hands together in front of her.

    "Captain Merasska of Alderaan," was the simple answer.

    She met his eyes with ease, then let her gaze study his features, his stance, finger twitches, the way he seemed to enunciate every word with practiced precision. He spoke like someone that was most certainly not from the same background as herself, and as such, almost like a kolo clawfish out of water. And... it was actually kind of... adorable.

    She flashed a smile as she couldn't help but allow her inner monologue to have a bit of fun.

    Merasska Freight: We care about your load. Merasska Freight: We don't want to die! Merasska Freight: A full service company. Full. Service.

  14. #14
    Well, that was it then. Lighever was a good sort,and the thought of the boy contacting a Reb—Alliance Starfleet Captain over something like this was so completely beyond the pale that Felline relaxed.

    Almost word for word, too. Captain Merasska of Alderaan.

    "...Vance Felline," he said, smiling in return. He offered her his arm. "While a spot with a spectacular view, I daresay it's a bit exposed for my tastes. Shall we continue on? I've reserved a table at a small establishment nearby, where we can talk business with a bit more comfort and some food and drink."

  15. #15
    She took his arm gracefully, her smile only growing. He was certainly a gentleman, and at least she'd get a meal and a few drinks out of all this.

    "Cerie Moreau. And a drink sounds wonderful."

    And it really, really did. Her original plans of stewing in her own juices while nursing more than a few angry beers in some dive bar was suddenly now such a low bar. Now she was on her way to a seemingly enjoyable dinner with a not-unattractive man who was weirdly charming. He probably had some bizarre hobby that balanced out her initial assessment of him. Something like competitive nuna herding or going being big into the repulsorpunk scene and going to conventions.

    * * *

    The normal places that she was used to going usually had a variety of themed nerfburgers; some piled high with shaak bacon and dipping sauce, and others with fried nuna egg included. But this place? Not a burger on the menu.

    Cavern on Naboo wasn't exceptionally upscale, but it was still a few steps above what she was used to. It was quiet and pleasantly lighted, with the glowpanels putting out a soft warm illumination that seemed more like a gentle hug than anything else. Hanging plants adorned most walls, interspersed with tasteful wine racks reaching to the ceiling. Carved wood chairs surrounded matching tables, with inlays of teal gemstones and brass. Even some manufactured rock faces could be seen, with glittering gold-colored veins snaking throughout.

    It was a semi-private booth-style table that the two now sat at, set away toward the back of the establishment, with a server in the process of pouring their water. He said something about making sure to get them their complimentary savory rolls and that when he returned he would go through the menu and specials. Before he could leave though, the blonde held him back.

    "I'd like an Old Rebellion, if you don't mind."

    She looked to Vance then, one eyebrow lofting up in a silent 'and you?'

  16. #16
    "A Canohba Imperiolo, cold glass, with ice. No garnish."

    The server nodded and walked off, leaving Felline trying to find a conversation topic that would last them until the drinks came and their orders went out, something that wouldn't be so crass as to have the server intrude on a business discussion.

    "I confess, this whole situation is almost astoundingly absurd. How exactly does the owner of Aether Hypernautics recommend an Alderaani Captain with a representative who happens to be a veritable twin of an Alliance Captain?" he laughed to himself and shook his head.

  17. #17
    A sly grin was sent his way as she leaned back in her seat. Picking up her water glass, Cerie took a sip before offering an answer.

    "It's a long story," she started, "... which is pretty cliche to say, I know."

    The glass was set down.

    "Captain Merasska and I came across each other by accident - " helped along by creepy zombie children, " - and we both figured that it would be good for business to partner up."

    Technically, Ben had been gracious enough to allow her to become a part of his crew, but the party line had become something else when talking with clients. Then again, this right now - getting done up and meeting a client alone and without Ben - was a new twist, but she still stuck to the story that the two had cooked up.

    Settling more comfortably in her cushioned seat, she draped one leg over the other.

    "Looking like Captain s'Ilancy is sometimes a boon, and other times... not."

    For a moment, Cerie looked off to the side. The bar was as much a work of art as it was a central socialization area. The bartop was a deep amber, with brass accents and more gemstone inlays. Rows of crystal clear glassware hung from runners mounted on upper rails, and the centerpiece of the bar itself was a stunning tower of shelves holding a myriad of artful and unique bottles. She could see the Pau'an bartender preparing their drinks, and watched in mild fascination before turning back to Vance.

    "There's worse people I can think of to look like," she couldn't help but finish with a good-natured smile.

  18. #18
    "Indeed," he said, his own smile becoming less of a wry thing and more of a genuine affair. "I can only imagine the sort of trouble such a circumstance can bring."

    He shook his head and dismissed his concerns for the moment, instead focussing on how the awkward atmosphere had become less tense and uncomfortable. Still awkward, unfortunately, but both of the duo seemed to be more at ease.

    "I would start the business discussion, but I find it a bit crass to speak about such things when the staff are about. Either they notice and must wait and watch for the opportune moment, or they do not and risk the ire of their customers. I confess I am somewhat at a loss for conversation otherwise, and further am the slightest bit intimidated that I am dealing with woman like yourself, even aside from the unfortunate resemblance you bear."

  19. #19
    His smile was infectious, and she couldn't help but maintain her own.

    "If it makes you feel any better, my original plans for the day were to stay in my bunk, eat a criminal amount of Cheez-O's, read some, then head off in search of the most wompnest style of bar I could find."

    She would've said more, but their server returned with their drinks, placing each one in front of their new 'owners'.

    A murmur of thanks, and Cerie instinctively let her hand rest around the intricately etched glass.

    Their server began to list off the few items on the menu - apparently it was such a limited one that the wait staff had everything memorized. In a way, it saved on the printing costs for the menus; if you went the old school way, that is. And while the menu itself was indeed minimal, the food sounded more than a few bars above what she was used to.

    Buttered Twirrl in a white wine reduction with a medley of foraged plains mushrooms.

    Yobshrimp risotto with a fillet of plank-grilled Laa.

    Opee Sea Killer steak served on one of the creature's own scales (cut down and beautifully carved into a plate, of course) and drizzled with a creamy, peppery sauce made using a small portion of the actual deep sea water of Naboo.

    Roasted Peko-Peko atop a bed of pearl starch-grains with a small side of steamed-then-torched coballi.

    Fambaa medallions with a wilted thicket salad tossed with crispy shaak crumbles and thinly-sliced beach onions.




    It all sounded wonderful. And out of her price range for sure.

    Shifting her eyes to Vance once more, Cerie gestured for him to order first. And, just in case he tried to throw the smashball right back at her, she lifted her drink to take a measured, if not generous 'sip'.

  20. #20
    "I can only hope that my company is an improvement then," he replied. "I'll have the medallions, please. Do you enjoy seafood, Miss Moreau? I have a particular love for shrimp, but the options seem a bit heavy for tonight. Go on and order whatever you'd like."

    The server left after taking her order, a standard distant smile on his face. Felline appreciated the professionalism, even considering that noticeable widening of the eyes as he mis-recognised Miss Moreau for Captain s'Ilancy. He sipped from his drink, toasting her in return.

    "What sort of ship is Alderaan? I have heard only a little from Mister Lighever, who does not tend to dwell on the specifics of the ships, much to my dismay. He has told me of his impressions of Captain Merasska, but little of yourself or the other members of your crew."

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