#vadil

Best at Self-Care (Vadil)

There were times that Sha’ran’tarthi thought his captain really should have sought a career in the holoflicks, and this was one of them. After all, he’d been at the drop off as well, and he didn’t feel the need to lie about bemoaning every little ache and pain and every tiny scuff on his clothing. Of course, what Vadil wore was much more expensive and far less practical than his own choices, and wasn’t that in itself a dramatic gesture to make when you knew you were going to be using the cargo lifters?

“Ugh.” There were Alderaanian holonovels that featured the same kind of draping about the Mirialan was affecting across the (whole row of, mind you) shuttle seats. “After this, my friend, we are taking a month’s holiday on some resort planet. Preferably with lots of hot springs and a very permissive society of pretty people.”

“So just like every other holiday destination, then?” Harant couldn’t keep the dry words from erupting. “Look, Vadil - we can’t afford it right now. Even with that last job, the maximum amount of time we can take off would be a week, and that’s going to the cheaper places with no gambling.”

“Stars.” A hand artfully pressed against the green forehead, shading both eyes and knife-like cheek tattoos alike. “All I ask in this galaxy is to earn enough for a decent life - is that too much?” He sighed, a deep breath of the long suffering. “When we get back to the Pleasure, I am going to have a good long bath.”  

Harant wasn’t surprised when the green head ended up in his own lap, those blue eyes now beseeching as they gazed upwards at him.

“Will you give me a massage when we get back?” came the whimper.

Give Vadil a millimeter and he’d take a parsec, but maybe it would stop the whining. With tight lips Harant nodded as he reached for his datapad.

“Yes, Vadil. I will.”

“Good. You give the best rubs.” Mollified, Vadil settled himself comfortably against the Chiss’ thighs. “Then I can return the…”

“No.”

The sly grin said it all, but Vadil added, “It’s always worth the try.”

* * * * * *

Such decisions should never be made lightly, the Mirialan mused as he looked out across the neon stained atmosphere of Nar Shaddaa. The brightness of the flashing lights was a distraction from the foetid air; a colourful dazzlement designed to keep attention away from the foul truth of the Smuggler’s Moon, and Vadil chewed at his lower lip as he regarded the illusion.

Finally he snapped, slapping his comm unit with slightly too much force.

“Ow!” He painfully shook out his fingers as the image of a small Cathar woman, her mane carefully braided into beaded rows, appeared in shimmering blue before him.

The holographic figure glanced up and down, wide eyes taking in the scene with one sweeping look.

“Didn’t you forget something, boss?” She snickered, her fangs just revealed by the smirk.

“No!” The smarting fingers were forgotten as he put his hands on his bare hips, posing either consciously or subconsciously (even he couldn’t tell the difference anymore) by turning his best side toward the emitter. “Get in here - I need your advice.”

With barely a pause the door to his quarters snicked open - apparently his assistant had been lurking outside again.

“What is it this time?” The tiny woman spoke with a tone of bored but mild suffering as sashayed into the room. “Because you know my answers are ‘no’, ‘not now’, and ‘maybe tomorrow’.”

“Come on, Bas; this is serious!” The artful and far-too-well-practiced hurt spread across that handsome face before he gestured curtly at what appeared to be a patchwork quilt made of a Hutt’s technicolour yawn spread across the bed.

She raised an eyebrow as she crossed her arms over her barely covered chest. The current fashion of near-slings to cover one’s breasts was much more amenable to those who had little to fall out with an untimely movement, and Bas made the most of it as often as she could.

“What,” she smirked, “do you want me to do your laundry now?”

“No!” He rolled his beautiful blue eyes towards the ceiling in barely controlled exasperation. “Help me pick what to wear!”

“Seriously?” A careful and beringed hand reached out to snag one of the small pieces of cloth on one dainty claw. “You want help picking your booty shorts for the evening. That’s what you called me in here for.”

The scandalously small item of clothing dangled accusingly between them.

“Yes!” Totally ignoring her disdain, he beamed at her understanding. “I was going to go with the blue, but you know what they say about blue and green never being seen…”

“Not like that’s stopped you cracking on to any Chiss that has the misfortune of wandering in here,” she murmured, her eyes much more amused than her flat tone.

“…Then I thought about the green. The point is to distract, so perhaps…”

She snorted.

“You really want to look like you’re naked? Here? On Nar Shaddaa? In public?” Now she outright laughed. “Oh, boss, you wouldn’t be able to go three steps without being jumped on!”

“Hrm. That’s not the goal tonight, certainly.” Of course, there were other nights it was, so they were carefully put to one side. “What about the pink?”

“Look, just wear whatever you want! I’m not going to hold your hand through the entire process, though! One of us has to work!”

“I’m working! I’m just unsure of what’s going to have the right effect. You’re my assistant, so…” He gestured helplessly at the garish collection of teeny tiny pants and sighed. “Assist me!”

“Nope, you’re on your own.” With a shake the dangling shorts were dropped back into the pile, and she backed away. “I’m not taking responsibility for that trail of devastation.” She stepped quickly out of his pleading range. “But with all that green, not the pink. It clashes.”