I think we can go a little faster

“Any six!” She rolled the di between her fingers, brows lifted as she watched. Green eyes dropping to the floor where the stool tapped, then flicked quickly back up to meet his.

            “I do, but would anyone really notice we weren’t there?”

She tossed the di in the air, then caught it as she let out a sigh at his lack of playing along. She didn’t have a problem with Nar Shaddaa, or any of her buire –which all three would be there, or her vod’ika. It was the chances, the maybes, the might happens, that had her wanting to go the other direction. She’d told herself over and over, she could go, but as it drew down to time, Scout realized she wasn’t sure she could. She could, it was a matter of proving it to herself, and the only way to do that was to go.

They could run. Wouldn’t be the first time, or the second, or even the seventh, he’s ever done. He didn’t know the exact number of times she’d skipped off, away from the clan when no one was looking.

Probably because he never asked.           He should probably ask, some other time.

Mereel leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest as he did. There was a moment—several moments, really—where he remained, quiet, and considered their options. They had quite a few, after all, what with him being him (and her being her).

But, no. They wouldn’t run. No matter how much he, too, wanted to ... just go.

A thought struck him, then, and he almost laughed.           When did I become a responsible adult?

Probably after ... no, don’t finish that thought. Too soon.

          “Let’s compromise." He raised a single, solitary finger, not quite uncrossing his arms so much as unhooking a hand to raise it and waggle the one in the air between them. "We go. We stay for one hour. If it’s too much, we leave—after all, Nar Shaddaa is big. We might even lost, get turned around, lose our way ...show up late.”

“Well, I suppose I should thank you for the compliment– but I haven’t your skill with hyperbole. Will it get lost in translation?”

SOOOOOOO TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT 

She reached out with a murmured thanks and munched upon the proffered treat in sullen silence, only replying when she finished.

“I know,” she sighed,  “All these manifests, and I can’t find one crate of cargo. But I look and it’s just like…staring at a blank screen.”

She had been fighting every fiber of being to take another ‘pad and break it. One after an another like a child in a tantrum. Hoping the act of destruction could satisfy this whirlpool– this black hole– she carried inside, and unwanted weight in her chest. Even meditation had been hard to even manage– too much hate, too much anger festered the harder she tried to let it go.  It was a distracting sort of anger, a dangerous sort that could end up tripping her up if she didn’t watch it, yet all her attempts to curb it was in vain.

Drawing up her feet on the couch, she sipped the drink, trying to savor the spice and notes of caramel and rich cream, had not been as soothing or a restorative as it had normally been. Pulling the rest of the blankets, she’s cleared a spot next to her, a wordless offer to sit.

“I hate it.”  she growled.

I hate him is what she truly meant.

A piece of sympathy broke off his heart and he choked on it. Swallowed it down with a sip of his caf --- darker, but sweeter, than the one he’d handed off to her earlier --- and maneuvered around the disaster piece that was the mess of work and inattention. Joined her there, on the couch, free arm around the back edge.

“Let me take a look.” He took another draw of the caf, reveled in the heat and the bitterness, in how the sweetener cut the edge just enough to appreciate the lingering taste of pastry on his tongue. Another sip, and he set it down on the table, then gently bent forward to take a look at the nearest datapad---presumably the one she’d worked on before he interrupted her evening.

Of course, he knew. He knew what she meant, scanning the lines of data and failing to absorb a single thing. Her anger an old friend to him, a mirror of the pieces he kept folded away, hidden until he needed its face. Her growl, her rage, her wrath volatile and threatened to burst from the cradle of her hands. 

“Do you? Do you really?” Nothing could ever quite compare to the sheer good humor that hummed about him in waves. “What if this time I wanted to change things up? Shake the booth. Be a little more ... outrageous, and take up a fourth instead? Or, even worse---a seventh.” 

Nothing could quash his amusement at the idea. Only one of the set with a silly face? Implausible, but ... it would certainly be a surprise. 

Her laugh’s enough for him to consider it, regardless. 

“No one,” his grin flared over wide arms to grasp the universe in his amusement, “is embarrassing as me, Scout. Should know this by now.” 

Sure his joy could be underlined by a drink or two, but who’s keeping count in a kandosiila song-and-drink the kinds of which only Mando’ade owned could really provide? Luck brought them tumbling into the city, but they’ve made the most of it --- and made some friends.

He took her hand before she fully exited her seat, rising to the stage he stood upon with grand applause by the crowd that, for whatever reason, believed wholly in him --- a belief he would soon dash because he was what one might call not great at singing.

Pick a song, pick a song ... his finger tapped down on a fun one.