The largest square of the Citadel was packed. Lights and speakers coated the walls and artistic parapets that surrounded the square, though no one noticed. A large square platform sat in the center, a floating island amongst the sheer numbers that had come to see the battle.

A fewer number of people stood within the rooved parapets, separated from the rest of the general population. Each wore blue or red, showing their support for either side of the Battle for the Beverages. Nearly all of Arcona has gathered, friends and colleagues standing with one another to make small talk and burn time. For such a simple disagreement, there was an unusual amount of tension.

Mks had chosen a central opening in the parapets to hang his legs over, the spectacle fully aligned to his senses. No one disturbed him from this venture, as a large grumpy-looking Barabel stood directly behind him, who happened to be his friend and colleague and tended to dissuade any conflict fairly early on.

Zakath shifted his weight and snorted irritably. Again.

“I see no reazon for uz to wait so long bozz.”

The Miraluka didn’t move an inch, “Patience, bae, patience.”

The Barabel paused for a moment before pointedly unfolding his arms, “Bae? No, not thiz again. I hate it.”

Mks came to life and fully turned to face his friend, “What? What do you mean?”

“Thiz word thing. Last week waz ‘turnt’, the week before ‘swerve’. It’z annoying.”

“What? This is the first time- I mean I haven’t noticed-”

“Yez, thiz iz your stupid idea that you’re not young anymore-”

The forced indifference in the seated man was so obvious that a nearby couple moved for the shame. Zakath immediately became furious, his eyes gleaming like a devil’s moon, his every muscle and sinew coiled with concentrated power as his arms tensed to lash out with sharpened talon- until he stopped, took a breath and exhaled it huffily.

“Alright, so concerts aren’t my thing anymore-”

The talons moved forward with haste to physically turn the Miralukas body to face the square.

“You. Are. Not. Old. Turn around, watch.”

“Alright, alright.”

Zakath felt burn of shame for a moment, before catching a rather simple looking human walking in the opposite parapet. The figure immediately stood out and the reptilian hulk suddenly felt the prongs of fear as the figure raised two fingers to his eyes and pointed them- quite pointedly too, at the Barabels person before stalking away into the shadows.

He swallowed and shuffled a little closer to his partner.

Then the music began and the sound was a visual of bobbing heads emanating from the speakers. Spotlights lit opposite corners of the square and immediately the crowds began to part for two small groups of people, one coloured in red cloaks and the other in blue cloaks. They swiftly made their way towards the platform, the groups staying in opposite corners. The crowd went wild for a moment as the hoods of the cloaks were pulled down, chants of the participants names ripe in the air.

A figure dressed in a light grey robe climbed onto the platform and stood within its center.

“People of the Citadel! I welcome you to this grand display and wordy battle to determine who is more correct in this war of soda vs pop! I give you the red corner, with Ernordeth for Soda!”

The crowd roared as Ernordeth stepped forward, a microphone amplifying his voice at the collar. The music changed and he began:

Dehydrated and tired, a young kid playing games that I had acquired,
Staying up past my bedtime, so naughty, but I needed a boost-I wasn’t sorry,
Only one thing on my mind that got me wired, only one thing that I knew that I truly desired,
I wasn’t thinkin’ bout a coffee with biscotti, or windows down in the seat of a ferrari,

Around my throat like a boa, I should’ve already told ya,

I gotta get me some more soda, soda, soda, soda
I gotta get me some more soda, soda, soda, soda
Need least a half a can of soda, soda, soda, soda
Gotta get me some more soda, soda, soda, soda

The crowd stirred into life once more, a mixture of boos and cheers. The grey robed figure stepped forward.

“Wow, folks! That is something we will surely not forget for some time- presumably! Lets throw it to the blue corner and get our response!”

The crowd flared up for a moment until the music restarted and the blue robed Braecen strutted confidently to the center.

Cheeeeeeck, this out:

Not gonna be confrontational, or sensational, but educational and motivational-
In the face of a brother in arms, whose let his charms, disarm his better senses and harms his own two arms, like bad firearms-
How kooky is that? We got the same kinda interests, gaming chill as a cat, we the same kind of specialists-
But time and time again, you express my kinda thirst, so just let me know when, so I can correct you first,

Pop, pop in the fridge-
Pop, pop in the fridge,
You almost got it right, you just twisted a smidge,
Pop, pop in the fridge-
Pop, pop in the fridge!

This time the crowd gave it their all, hooting and jeering with as much volume as they could muster. The grey robed figure walked back to the center of the platform, clearly shaking his head.

“Unbelievable! An incredible response, but what do we all think? Who should go home with the crown?”

The crowd shouted a chorus of names, blending together into nonsense. It became clear, as the minutes went by, that there was no clear winner. That generally, there were other drinks that people could drink and that drinking water was probably better anyway. It was declared a tie and everyone got drunk.

“A sandwich walks into a cantina and orders a drink. Bartender says, ‘Sorry we don’t serve food here.’”

“No, that’s not the best one. A better one is more like: Child asks: ‘Dad, make me a sandwich!’ And the Dad replys: ‘Poof, You’re a sandwich!’”

The men sat opposite the table from one another, heads bowed towards the table. A drink lay idly in hand as they pondered with furrowed brow(s).

“Hey, I was thinking-”

“Oh, I thought I smelt something burning…”

The pair burst out laughing and didn’t stop for almost a full minute.

“S-stop! I-I’ll die!” Braecen cradled his stomach with both hands as Ernordeth grasped the table fiercely to stop the shaking. Suddenly, the red-skinned man shook harder and he reached over to his flushed friend.

“I have one-pfff, it’s a really-pfff-good one!”

The shaking reduced to anticipatory tremors as they giggled back and forth at one another. Ernordeth took a brief drink before sharing a conspiratory glance with his friend.

“Whenever we used to drive past a nice looking graveyard my Dad would say, ‘Do you know why I can’t be buried there?’ And I would say, ‘Why not?’ And he’d say, ‘Because I’m not dead yet!’”

The pair laughed through their teeth but Braecen broke free of the contractions, “Is that the best you can do? I asked my dad for his best Dad joke and all he said was, ‘You.’”

The mugs shook their contents free as the pair entered a seizure like state of laughing, the floor about their table soaked wet. A waitress walked sharply towards them, lowering her head to the table and fixing both occupants with an icy stare.

“Sirs, you’re disturbing the other customers. And you’ve left a mess all over the floor.”

She sighed irritably and Ernordeth lifted both hands up, “I have no problems tidying it up. I even used to be addicted to soap, but I’m clean now.”

Braecen snorted but kept control of himself as he tried to get the waitresses attention. She folded her arms and stared him down.

“Please don’t judge my friend too harshly, you see, his girlfriend didn’t like his beard, but it grew on him.”

She threw her arms down and moved to grab their nearly empty mugs.

“Hey, hey! My drink! I’m not done yet, okay?” he cradled it close to him and turned to his friend, “It’s hard to explain things to kleptomaniacs, they always take things literally.”

Braecen spat out the last mouthful of his drink onto the table and the waitress took a disgusted step back.

“That’s it! I've had it, I'm sorry but you have to-”

“Make like a Neti and leave?”

The men threw their heads back and laughed heartedly, their seats creaking under the weight of their merriment. At first the waitress became enraged, her expression denoting the long hours of work and similarly obnoxious patrons she had to put up with to earn her measly paycheck. Then suddenly it was as if a sweet scent had wafted beneath her nose, her frow softened, her eyelids rising to cup two bright eyes. She took a step toward the table and laughed.

“Oh, listen to me getting so frazzled! I wasn’t originally going to get a brain transplant, but then I changed my mind. Everything was downhill from there, my mathematics teacher at school called me average- how mean, right? Ahh, oh well, I should have given him a nasty look, but he already had one,” a few chuckles echoed around the oddly quiet cantina. She waved the comment away, “Never mind, he was cross-eyed and just couldn’t control his pupils, I suppose.”

Ernordeth let out a sound of confusion and Braecen froze, his eyes glued to her face like a newborn. She played her part well, her body language more fluid as she allowed some emotion to colour her movement. with one hand she covered her mouth and laughed, shifting ever so closer to the table.

“Should I tell you about the book I’m reading? It’s about anti-gravity- impossible to put down,” she closed in on Ernordeth, who by now was even redder than usual, “Or how I’m learning sign language? It’s pretty handy,”now she leaned in close, her cleavage clearly on display, “You could cut off each foot and you still wouldn’t defeat me.”

She swiftly grabbed both empty mugs and strode away, her hips in full sway. Braecen began to chuckle and it spread through the room like wildfire until the room was full of laughter. Sound returned to the cantina and rather than continue where they left off, the friends ordered another round for some courage and spent their time discussing the best one liners.

Port Ol’val
Lucky Lekku Cantina

“I win!”

Mks and K’tana grinned at each other from opposite sides of the table; his drink down to its last sips and hers almost full. The Miraluka tossed his cards onto the table and drained what was left.

“That’s the third time in a row! C’mon, I’m dying from thirst here!”

“You’re the one who wanted to play a drinking game, Ms. Leader. Maybe if you hadn’t picked a game you can hustle me with then perhaps…”

“Hey, don’t blame the player, blame the game.”

“Does the same logic apply to cheating too?”

Both of her hands crashed into the table, eyes flashing fiercely.

“You calling me a cheater, sis?”

Their faces turned serious, both frozen in place as they watched the other intently. Although the cantina was quiet, the sudden change in atmosphere spread to the other patrons as they too began to stare. Something passed between them in the silence and then began to laugh until it was the only sound in the entire room. The bystanders marked them as unstable and their attentions died away.

“Well, that was the last of my credits - and my access to liquor!,” he rose from his seat, his usual robes replaced by a dark hooded tunic and long shorts, “So you’ll have to give me the opportunity to win it back sometime and buy me a drink or two for goodwill.”

K’tana’s laughter slowed down, her disappointment clearly written on her face, “So soon? But I was planning on you buying me a new speeder. Fine, you can go - but you’d better bring more next time! I don’t do quickies Mr. Blind Man, I am a Lady, don’t you know.”

The Miraluka nodded seriously, taking the time to make an elaborate bow that had taken a whole afternoon with his obstinate Master to learn, “Of course, my Lady Lekku.”

The Twi’lek applauded before dismissing him with one hand as the other emptied the contents of her glass into her mouth. Mks smiled and tucked his hair into his hood before pulling it over his head and walking out onto the street.

It wasn’t a particularly busy time in the Port, but it was rare to go five steps without seeing someone. There was always a pauper left in tatters on some worn corner or a cart led by a large animal took up half of the road. Messy, he thought blandly and turned down one of the narrow side streets, picking the pace into a light jog. Suddenly the smells of the Port became obvious - urine being the main component. But beneath that was the scent of human waste and rotting meat. Two things that were best avoided. He sprinted around a corner and leapt to a broken ledge, bouncing his way back and forth between the adjacent buildings until he was on the roof.

It didn’t look much better from up on top. Generally, the main streets were kept much cleaner than the narrower ones. Some of the spicers native to Port Ol’val put some credits together to keep them cleaned, a rather obvious attempt at a peace offering to House Qel-Droma after the Trials of Loyalty suffocated the Triumvirate.

He watched from his vantage point as a scruffy robed occupant threw a bucket of waste into the alleyway beneath him and was on his way before the smell reached him. The path he ran across was bright underfoot - brighter than the dust that seemed to coat everything. The Port was busy, with the mixed vibrations of engines from the ships coming and going constant. Dust was a sign that you were poor enough to have to live closeby to the inner walls, a fresh showering of dust falling with every exit and arrival. Although he couldn’t quite see the difference between rooftop with dust and rooftop without, he could feel the difference. A perk to being blind, one would say.

The roofs began to turn flimsy as he reached the slums and he changed direction, heading straight towards the rough asteroid walls. His hands found ledges with ease and he pulled himself up and into a small natural hollow. There he found a small receiver which he plugged into his ear and turned it on.

You have received two messages.

“Play all.”

He lay back against the cool stone as he cooled off and awaited the maelstrom.

“Apprentice,” his tone was clipped and with barely restrained anger, “I regret to inform you that although I agreed to your occasional usage of my personal library that should you avoid returning them like we agreed then we shall have to end our current partnership with the gravest of- oh, no wait, here it is. Never mind.”

End of message one.

Somehow he caught himself before the first chuckle and managed to say fairly clearly, “Next.”

"Apprentice,” this time he was hissing and Mks felt his stomach clench in preparation, “I’ve been trying to find you for some time. I can’t really talk here but I finally have something for you to do. Something long-term. You’ll have support in this. Two days, same place.”

The Miraluka stayed still for a very long time, his face frozen in the same anticipatory smile.

----

Two Days Later
Felicity Gentlemen's Club
Private Rooms

“Explain to me again why we meet here?”

Strategos stopped pouring himself a drink from an elegantly carved decanter for a moment.

“You know, I can’t quite remember.”

After he slid himself into a luxuriously made seat and made what agreeable sounds he felt he needed to, he finally noticed his Apprentice.

“So, you’re leaving Shadow Gate.”

The human took a brief swig of his drink, taking the time to savour the flavour.

“And?”

“And you’ll be leading Tyrant Sword. Would you like me to hold your hand and explain what that entails too?”

The room was quiet for a moment, with Mks in deep thought, a light smile ever on his lips, whilst his Master found more pressing things to observe on his robes.

“You’ll be coming with me, then.”

“And that wasn’t a question - good, you’re learning to think for yourself. Well done.”

The Equite let the comment pass.

“But why me?”

“It’s your turn, is it not? And is it not also my place to provide you with the room you require to grow, to save you from the cracks that most in your rank fall into? To guide-”

“And the real reason is?” The Mystic stretched the last syllable out to his Masters irritation. It had taken a long time to speak to one another so free of pomp but they both agreed it would cut a lot of wasted time.

“I’m bored,” he waved his hand at Mks dismissively, “Entertain me, or something.”

The Miraluka laughed briefly before leaning back to watch the fire, the crackling sounds a relaxing component for speculation, “Sure, I have some ideas about how to do that.”

“Good, then get yourself a drink. There is much you need to know.”