I have a chapter I need to be writing, but fuck it. This was fun.
The coalition camp is raucous tonight. Spirits are high, everyone’s excited for the big push tomorrow, and for the first time in a long time the general attitude is one of we can win this. An impromptu cantina has been set up in the center of camp, courtesy of the smugglers that have come to contribute to the cause, though it’s still divided by faction.
Darth Tenax, neé Linaera, Emperor’s Wrath - in title at least, though she’s sure the Hand won’t keep her that way for long, not after Rishi - pauses on the top step, hood resting against her back instead of up around her face. She searches the crowd until she finds a familiar face, picking her way through the tables of Republic troops and the odd Jedi, ignoring how the tables go silent as she passes.
At a back table, Corporal Basar nudges the woman next to him. “Hey, Sergeant Torsen, why the hell is a Sith headed this way?”
Torsen looks up, eyebrow rising in surprise. “That’s the Sith that got me out of the Massassi cage. I, uh, told her I’d buy her a drink when we were back at camp. Looks like she’s taking me up on it. Sergeant Scrater, grab another chair.”
“You can’t be serious!” Scrater whispers furiously. “You want to have a friendly drink with a Sith?”
Torsen’s jaw takes on a familiar stubborn set. “Last I checked, it was the Jedi that had that longstanding grudge, not us. The woman did me a solid. I owe her one.” She stands as Linaera approaches. “I, uh … look, I’m not calling you my lord or anything, but I said I’d buy you a drink and I’m a woman of my word. Have a seat?”
Linaera tries to stay straightfaced. “I wouldn’t expect you to.” She drops into the vacant chair. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure you meant what you said, but I thought I’d come find out.” Silence spins out, turning awkward as she considers what to say. “So … I suppose an introduction is in order. It’s probably best if you just call me Linaera.” She extends her hand.
Torsen nods, takes Linaera’s hand. “Fair enough. I’m Dara Torsen. These are my guys, who can introduce themselves when they relax,” she says, beckoning to the rest of the troopers sitting rather stiffly at the table. “They’re a little … well. This is a bit outside the realm of ordinary procedure.”
Linaera can’t contain her amusement this time. “Both my lieutenant and my captain vociferously protested this meeting. Vociferously. Listening to them, you’d think you were all lying in wait to ambush me. Honestly, I’d have thought my lieutenant would happy someone else was buying my booze this time, instead of him as he loses hand after hand of pazaak.” She orders a round for the table, then settles back into her chair. “So, Yavin Four is kind of a shithole. Not that I’m surprised, since that seems to be the only kind of place I go these days.”
“Ugh, the damn stonerays!” Corporal Basar exclaims. “And the lurkers! Why is all the wildlife here such a pain in the ass?”
The table erupts into heated commentary on the state of Yavin Four, none of it complimentary, and by the third round of drinks the atmosphere has relaxed considerably.
“So I know since you’re Sith and all you probably don’t have to deal with it, but is your bureaucracy as ass-backwards as ours?” Sergeant Scrater asks. “If it isn’t politicians meddling in our missions, it’s politicians demanding impossible missions, or, or ….” He searches for something to amply demonstrate his ire. “Or Hoth. Ugh, who even wants that planet? Can you guys just take that iceball?”
“Are you kidding? You can’t make a move without wondering which Darth’s toes you’re stepping on,” Linaera says. “I mean, my new job gets rid of some of that, but even the Dark Councilors have to deal with it. Bureaucracy is crap everywhere. Piss off a random moff without knowing who he reports to, and wake up to an angry holocall from Darth Ravage because how dare you talk to his underling’s underling’s underling like that. And no, don’t make me take Hoth, I still don’t think I have all the feeling back in my toes. You guys keep it.”
“At least you only have a few Councilors,” Torsen chimes in. “We have to deal with a building full of hundreds of idiot Senators, none of whom can manage to work together on anything, and then we ended up with Saresh, who seems to think that a post on Taris qualifies her to run an expanding war.”
Linaera snorts. “Taris? That’s the planet we kicked you off of, right? How does she think qualifications work? See, this is why executions in the face of failure are occasionally a good idea.” She finishes her ale, beckons for another round. “All right: worst planet you’ve been stationed on that isn’t Hoth.”
They are well and thoroughly shitfaced, taking requests from the remaining crowd for impromptu vocal performances by the time Pierce finally comes looking for his wayward Sith, .
“See, this is what happens when I let you wander around unsupervised, my lord,” he says when they finish their latest song, trying to sound angry.
“Oh, good!” Linaera exclaims, wide drunken smile on her face. “Piiiiiiierce! This is Lieutenan’ Pierce, everyone!”
As the assorted troopers greet him in more or less in a chorus, Torsen grins. “I’ve heard you’re terrible at p’zaak,” she slurs. “Wanna play?”
Pierce gives Linaera a dirty look. “Really, my lord? Gossiping about me?”
“Ain’t gossip, it’s jus’ the truth.” Linaera staggers to the side a step. “Well, Dara, it’s been fun, but now that the Imperial Army’s here t’ collect me,” she makes a face at Pierce, “I guess I haveta go.”
“Come by tom’rrow once we kick the Revanites’ collective ass, Linaera,” Torsen says. “Migh’ be the last time we get to share drinks.”
“You’re on.” There’s a round of inebriated farewells, including an inordinate amount of backslapping, and Linaera turns to head back to her ship.
Pierce catches her arm as she starts to trip down the steps. “Oh, for- we’re over here, my lord, and I thought you were going for one drink, not throwing a raging party with Pubs.”
“One drink,” she says mockingly, leaning against him. “Who has one drink? Those smugglers have good booze! I’m scared to check my account, but whatever, it was fun.” She slaps his arm, gasping as she has a great idea. “Give me a piggyback ride back to the ship!”
He really has to work to not laugh this time, and is almost tempted to take her up it; he could blackmail her for weeks with that. “No.”
She makes a disgusted noise. “Ugh, fine. Spoilsport. You’re just mad you missed out cause you sat on the ship with Quinn and threw a temper tantrum.”
He really is, but he’ll be damned if he’s gonna admit it to her. “Nonsense. Now come on, we have to get up early.”