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The following is a collaboration between @Auz, @Fiscbryne, and myself.
The chatter of the cantina resumed along with the music, washing away the tense and awkward exchange that had just taken place. Gin had chosen to use the commotion to softly make his way to the bar, noting the Falleen he had seen earlier in the docks was at the epicentre of it all. Climbing atop one of the stools the chiss hunched over the counter, gesturing to one of the pale yellow Twi'lek bartenders to come over.
Off to the side and beyond the immediate crowd, the Force stirred, beckoning for Gin’s attention like a siren’s song. Warily, he allowed himself a quick glance spying a distinctly robed figure sat opposite a brightly coloured Zeltron, the Force swirling around the man in a familiar manner.
Impossible. Gin thought, turning back to see a glass full of ice in front of him and the barkeep standing with his arms folded, impatiently tapping his foot.
“The man with the Zeltron, who is he?” Gin asked, nodding in their direction.
The Twi’lek looked over and scoffed.
“Jomu? He’s just a drunken beggar whose bar tab is quickly becoming too high.”
Even in his inebriated state, Jomu recognized the strong thrum of the Force surrounding Gin, louder than even the pneumatic hiss of the sliding elevator doors when the Chiss had entered Mardji’s Cantina. He closed his eyes, listening closer to the Force for a moment. He could tell that there was a kyber crystal at the stranger’s belt, the Force around it vibrating in unison with Gin like two monks chanting together at Jedhan daybreak. He knocked back the last of his lum and began to speak.
“There is a stranger at the bar,” the monk suddenly whispered to Sira, his eyes still closed as he focused on Gin’s presence. “Can you feel his presence? He is attuned to the Force as Jedi are and there is a crystal of kyber that responds to him on his person. The dark side of the Force rings discordantly around him, but I do not think he is with evil intent at this moment; I think that he is much like you: full of doubt.”
When Jomu spoke, Sira’s eyes immediately flitted to the bar, though the curve of her smile conveyed no suspicion. “I am not full of doubt,” she whispered back, taking one last sip of her drink before she called a server over once more and repeated her order: one bitterfruit liqueur. The server walked away with the drink noted on his pad; she waited for him to leave before she continued. “Not exactly inconspicuous, is he?”
“I am only guessing that he is a Jedi; if arms start coming off, then we will know for certain.”
“I see. I don’t know about you, Brother, but I’d like to keep my arms.” Still wearing her serene smile, she took a breath, eyes wandering to study the expressions of the patrons, most of all Gin’s. In the din of the bar, Sira’s empathy flooded with a cacophony of sensations as she tried to get a feel for the stranger.
“And the woman? Who is she?” Gin continued.
The Twi’lek unfolded his arms as he glanced away. “Oh Sira? She’s just a smuggler or something, an old friend of the beggar. They’re just regulars; they don’t cause any trouble if that’s why you’re asking.”
The bartender rocked on the balls of his feet, his demeanor shifting uneasily as if he were about to take off. Gin motioned for him to pour a drink from the half empty bottle of Corellian Brandy sitting on the counter nearby. The former Jedi watched intensely as the ice in his glass cracked before pulling the gaiter down from around his mouth to his neck. The Chiss took a long sip, savouring the taste, using the sensation to calm and relax his spirit before reaching into his pocket to retrieve credits. Placing double the amount in the palm of the barkeep, Gin looked up to meet the Twi’lek’s eyes.
“I’m not here to look for any either. Fetch me another bottle of the same.”
The bartender nodded, disappearing out the back of the bar to grab a fresh one. Closing his eyes, Gin reached out into the Force, probing the energy coming from Jomu. The man was definitely Force-sensitive but in an unfamiliar way, as if he were more a conductor to it, connecting the Force like cabling throughout a ship rather than one who wielded it. There was no sense of anger or hate coming from the proclaimed beggar, not even a hint of the dark side, which meant he was no disciple of the Emperor or Callidus.
So who are you? Gin wondered just as the Twi’lek returned. The former Jedi smiled and gave a polite nod before pulling back up his scarf from around his neck. Together with the fresh bottle, Gin made his way across to their table.
“Barkeep tells me you two enjoy a bit of a drink, I wonder if I can offer a bottle of this lovely Corellian Brandy in exchange for some information?” Gin said as he sat down on the edge of the seat next to the smuggler, hoping she would scooch across.
“If you want your fortune read, Brother, you will have to schedule an appointment for tomorrow—for this venerable Guardian of the Whills is currently occupied,” Jomu laughed, his face red with drink. A lightbow and uneti-wood staff were propped up in the seat next to Jomu, but he did not make a move for them, instead picking at leftover tip-yip as he spoke. He eyed Gin curiously and took the bottle, wordlessly passing it to Sira. “But somehow, I do not think that is what you are here for. Would I be wrong?”
As Gin approached, Sira looked up over her drink, watching him with a polite smile. Her patient empathy flooded with pain, sharp and acute and crimson; she didn’t flinch. What happened to make you feel this way? Though many questions arose, she asked none aloud. Instead, she scooted aside to make room for him on the seat. The air around her was sweet and fragrant.
Looking to the bottle, she mused, “That brandy’s not bad; it doesn’t take a connoisseur to tell.” Her eyes flitted up to Gin. “But what is it that you need? Perhaps the good Brother and I might be able to help.” She rested her elbows on the table between her and Jomu; only one of the skewers that had been piled between them rested before her.
Gin nodded a polite thank you as Sira allowed the Chiss to get more comfortable in the seat. He could sense a faint slice of tension hanging in the background as the two gazed upon him, wary, no doubt, of the former Jedi.
“I am well aware of my fortune, thanks, Brother.” Gin chuckled as he looked over the Guardian, taking note of his dishevelled dress sense. Perhaps the Empire had not taken kindly to their Order either. “I’m simply new in town and wish to know who is who, maybe starting with our friend over there.”
The Chiss gestured his head towards the Falleen’s table before looking back at the Zeltron. “Surely both of you could help with something as effortless as that, no?”
“For the low, low price of a single bottle of brandy?” Sira drawled, circling a finger around the rim of an empty glass glass. Then she opened the bottle and poured Jomu a drink, inclining her head as she pushed it in his direction. Where Jomu was disheveled even for an ascetic, she was dressed sharply to show her figure; her jacket unstained and her hands—soft for a criminal—carefully manicured. “Only fools come here unable to defend themselves, but you look more than capable. I’m sure you could get out of trouble if you have to. But if any locals come chasing after me because of what I told you, maybe I can point them right back your way.” She winked.
“I might know a little something, though,” she added, voice a low whisper. Even with discretion on her side, she chose her words carefully, sharing nothing that another source couldn’t yield. “Aside from Xen, of course, Zejinn is the big man around here. He pays well, but if you want to last long in the End I’d suggest you keep from getting in the way of his business.
“And no one around here lasts long when they show their whole hand. No one except me,” she said blithely, laughter bubbling beneath her words. “But hey, a simple woman can still do good work.”
Hidden under the cover of his hood, Gin couldn’t help but smirk at the remark. “Fear not, Miss, I can handle myself just fine and I’ll be sure to keep things to myself.”
There was something off about Sira: if her clothes were anything to go by she was either a very successful smuggler or there was more to it. Would explain the bartenders jitteriness. Gin mused as he watched the two share the brandy, trying to ignore the alluring scent coming from the Zeltron.
“And this Xen, Admiral Xen if the rumours on Nar Shaddaa are to be believed. What do you know of him?”
“He is a friend to what little remains of the CIS but remains decidedly on his own side rather than that of any one political faction. And he is constantly involved in the trade of kyber crystals,” Jomu interjected as he signalled his thanks to Sira and took a sip from his cup, his gaze meeting Gin’s. He paused, a small smirk playing upon his lips as he chose his next words. “Crystals much like that which you wear on your belt, brother. A strange piece of jewelry to be wearing, is it not?”
When the server arrived with Sira’s refilled drink, she beckoned him over silently so as to not interrupt the conversation. With a wink and a nod, she accepted the cup of bitterfruit liqueur. It’s violently orange, the color no less bright as her pink fingers wrap around the glass. “It’s quite a lucrative business,” she said, a vapid smile stretching from cheek to cheek. “But if the crystals are in such demand, why have I never seen a belt like that?”
Gin leaned back into the seat, removing his elbows from the table and propping his left arm up along the ridge of the lounge. With his right, he once again lowered the gaiter from around his mouth, allowing the other two the chance to properly gauge his reactions. His hood, however, stayed up in the hope that it would continue to cover up his distinct features, leaving him to go unnoticed by the rest of the bar.
“You take a dangerous line of conversation, Brother. The galaxy has changed of late, this piece of jewelry you speak of once drew an obvious line in the sand, one that let everyone know where they stood. Now?” The Chiss shifted once more, widening his stance as he chuckled to himself. “Well… now any who carry it should be feared.”
Gin allowed the reply to hang in the air for an obvious moment, his face straight as it deadpanned between the two, while another server happened by. The Chiss took the opportunity to divert his attention, looking up to face the woman. “A glass of ice and brandy for myself please.”
The waitress politely nodded, moving off towards the bar as Gin turned back to the table, his face now awash with a friendly smile.
“But I have paid to be the one asking the questions here, Guardian and young Miss.” Gin continued, nodding quickly to both of them once more. “Should you find a way to pay me, I will happily be on the opposite end. For now, there is another rumour that worms its way through the mouths and ears of the Smuggler's Moon, that kyber is not the only thing that Xen trades. Know anything of this?”
Jomu snorted in laughter, quickly composing himself as he leaned in close and whispered across the table: “A fine jest it is, Brother, for you to threaten us with your knightly fashions! Last I remembered, that was not the way of those who wore them, and neither was fear a weapon on their belts. But of course, times change and people change with them—and it seems that some people happen to lose their refined nobility along the way.
“But regarding your question, I hear little and I know less, and I have but enough coin for a meal, much less enough to involve myself with the dealings of rich men like Xen,” the monk continued without interruption, flashing a grin at the stranger. He slowly slumped back into his seat, resting his cup on his belly as he regarded the ex-Jedi and the smuggler. “You know, Miss Sira would certainly know more of that business than I, given her profession. They do not much like beggars at Xen’s auction houses.”
The monk threw his head back with another laugh, taking a careful sip of his cup as he nodded towards Sira.
If Sira was at all frightened by Gin’s threats, she didn’t let fear shake her smile. “Ask after just about anything that you’d want that you can’t get in the Empire—or comes at too high a price—and you can find it here. It’s all Xen’s business; he wouldn’t be so good at his job if he didn’t get a little from just about everything that comes through here.” She took a sip of her liqueur. “I don’t really read into it. Does it need to be something more to be good enough for me?”
So that Hutt really was telling the truth. Gin reflected, almost feeling bad for the way he had roughed up their personal guards. Not that the overgrown slug had cared, he had only told the Chiss the information to save his own skin. More importantly, however, these two had confirmed the connection; maybe it was buying, maybe it was selling, whatever it was, the auctions were why Callidus and his new Order were here.
But what to do now? The former Jedi wondered, his head turning away from the table as he looked towards Zejinn, eyeing up the two massive Weequay guards. Do I try to play them off against each other? Or do I just head straight for Xen? If only Ash were here, she would...
The waitress was quick to interrupt Gin’s train of thought as she slung his drink in front of him. He handed her the credit chit offering a meager ‘thanks’ but the smile had dropped from his face. His heart sank deep inside his chest as each beat began to ring with pain. For a moment the ex-Jedi was stuck, staring at the condensation as it dripped down the glass, running his fingers along the top of it as he turned in a circular motion. Pressing against his thigh, Gin could feel the weight of the mini-holoprojector in his pocket becoming heavier by the minute.
He sighed, taking a small sip of brandy before turning his attention back to the others.
“Apologies,” he said, righting his posture and offering a faint smile. “No, that’s all I need to know, thank you Brother Jomu and Miss Sira. Enjoy the liquor and that final skewer.”
“You know,” Jomu interjected, taking said skewer and examining it for a moment, “I do not know what the Coruscant custom is, but on Jedha, it was a terrible misdeed to be a guest of one’s house and not eat of their meat.”
He set the skewer back down and pushed the plate toward Gin. “Neither was it polite to leave a man’s table without even sharing one’s name—especially when you know both of ours. As our guest of a few minutes’ time, this skewer is yours; I would be greatly displeased if you refused.”
Gin’s stomach betrayed him, crying out for the food with a loud gurgle. The Chiss moved off the back of the couch, resting one of his arms on the table and picking up the stick of meat with the other.
“Jolee.” He replied before taking a reserved bite in an attempt to keep his decorum. Again his heart sank, all this emotion had begun to get to him and his tough facade was waning. There was always the chance that the Force would hint otherwise but he had to lie. With Callidus and his minions around, his real name carried weight, one that could easily get people killed. “Jolee, is my name but really I should get moving...”
The Zeltron watched in silence, gaze drifting between the two men as they spoke. Her breaths were long and even as she focused on her heartbeat; the distress she sensed made her blood thunder in her ears. With each slow breath, she tricked her heart into slowing as if she were calm. Only then can she parse out her feelings from Gin’s, untangling the threads of fear and shock, bitterness and pain. The pain was a reverberant pulse, omnipresent; it loomed over the table and froze the air. A heavy burden to carry, she mused. But do not sympathize with him, she reminded herself; while he may not be able to kill you in the cantina, people ravenous for power can always be counted on to take what they want whenever they choose.
All this happened behind the mask of her smile. “Stay, friend,” she replied, “and feel free to have a drink, you need it. I’m sure you came a long way to our little corner of the galaxy.” She took another long sip, leaning over the table; the aromas of bar food and alcohol mingle with the sweetness that wafts in the air. Sira seized the opportunity to scan the rest of the bar, watching patrons of dozens of different species all absorbed in their own conversations. From only a couple yards away, the chatter and din could easily swallow any quiet words at their table.
Studying the rotation of the servers, she quickly added more when none stood near them: “If you want to know more about the business that happens in the End, I might be able to help out a friend.” That means no brandishing swords. “Let me give you a tip: at Xen’s auctions, just about anything in the galaxy can be bought or sold at least once. He doesn’t have time to oversee each and every one, but you can be sure that the cut off the top always goes to the same place. No matter what you’re interested in, there’s a chance you could find it there.” She twisted a finger in her hair idly. “Now, if you wanted to go, I might know a few auctions happening in a couple of hours. The only problem is that they usually don’t accept mysterious travelers who haven’t yet proven themselves around the End—not alone. But maybe I can do something about that too.”
Cautiously, Gin took another sip from his glass, his eyes narrowing at the Zeltron’s suggestion. Pausing with the brandy perched at the foot of his mouth, he considered the full weight of what Sira had just said. Sure, if true, it was a better lead than anything he could come up with but on the other hand it was dangerous, both of them would be risking their lives and doing so unknowingly.
“A friend you say?” Gin replied, returning his glass to the table. His curiosity had got the better of him and it was at least worth hearing the woman out. “What is the price of friendship these days?”
“You are uneasy, Brother Jolee,” Jomu said as he took another drink from his cup, drinking until the cup was empty once more and setting it down onto the table. He let Sira address the question, focusing on Gin’s own emotional state himself. “My advice? Have a little more to drink and relax for a minute. All is as the Force wills it.”
“A favor, perhaps, and your continued friendship.” Sira raised her glass and watched it glitter in the light. “Oh, and perhaps a few creds on the side, if you find any lost treasures.” Winking, she took a long drink before she continued. “If you are concerned about walking straight into the belly of the beast, think nothing of it! I’m at some auction or another nearly every week. And trust in the Force, of course,” she adds.
Gin lightly snorted at the Brother’s suggestion, smiling genuinely as he nodded his head in agreement.
“Okay,” the Chiss said as he turned to the smuggler. “But if we’re going to do this we need to discuss ground rules and I’d prefer to find out what that favour is sooner rather than later.”
“We’ll talk about it soon,” Sira replied blithely, shrugging her shoulders. “That favor is one I’d like to call in later, as I don’t know you so well, Jolee.” She finished her drink, setting the glass down before rising to her feet. “I’ve heard there’s an auction in a couple of hours. I should probably get ready.”
Gin stood in unison with the smuggler, moving out from the table and politely gesturing for her to do the same. The Chiss returned his gaiter back to its rightful position around his mouth, hoping that it would somewhat conceal his apprehension towards this new alliance.
Jomu wiped his hands and his mouth with a napkin before slinging his lightbow over his shoulder. He then took his staff in one hand and his bottle of lum in the other, following the other two towards the exit while he struggled to open the bottle once more, only succeeding once they entered the elevator. Happy to have a last drink, the monk took a last swig for the road as the elevator doors closed behind them with a pneumatic hiss.
Mardji’s Cantina, the Bitter End
The chatter of the cantina resumed along with the music, washing away the tense and awkward exchange that had just taken place. Gin had chosen to use the commotion to softly make his way to the bar, noting the Falleen he had seen earlier in the docks was at the epicentre of it all. Climbing atop one of the stools the chiss hunched over the counter, gesturing to one of the pale yellow Twi'lek bartenders to come over.
Off to the side and beyond the immediate crowd, the Force stirred, beckoning for Gin’s attention like a siren’s song. Warily, he allowed himself a quick glance spying a distinctly robed figure sat opposite a brightly coloured Zeltron, the Force swirling around the man in a familiar manner.
Impossible. Gin thought, turning back to see a glass full of ice in front of him and the barkeep standing with his arms folded, impatiently tapping his foot.
“The man with the Zeltron, who is he?” Gin asked, nodding in their direction.
The Twi’lek looked over and scoffed.
“Jomu? He’s just a drunken beggar whose bar tab is quickly becoming too high.”
#
Even in his inebriated state, Jomu recognized the strong thrum of the Force surrounding Gin, louder than even the pneumatic hiss of the sliding elevator doors when the Chiss had entered Mardji’s Cantina. He closed his eyes, listening closer to the Force for a moment. He could tell that there was a kyber crystal at the stranger’s belt, the Force around it vibrating in unison with Gin like two monks chanting together at Jedhan daybreak. He knocked back the last of his lum and began to speak.
“There is a stranger at the bar,” the monk suddenly whispered to Sira, his eyes still closed as he focused on Gin’s presence. “Can you feel his presence? He is attuned to the Force as Jedi are and there is a crystal of kyber that responds to him on his person. The dark side of the Force rings discordantly around him, but I do not think he is with evil intent at this moment; I think that he is much like you: full of doubt.”
When Jomu spoke, Sira’s eyes immediately flitted to the bar, though the curve of her smile conveyed no suspicion. “I am not full of doubt,” she whispered back, taking one last sip of her drink before she called a server over once more and repeated her order: one bitterfruit liqueur. The server walked away with the drink noted on his pad; she waited for him to leave before she continued. “Not exactly inconspicuous, is he?”
“I am only guessing that he is a Jedi; if arms start coming off, then we will know for certain.”
“I see. I don’t know about you, Brother, but I’d like to keep my arms.” Still wearing her serene smile, she took a breath, eyes wandering to study the expressions of the patrons, most of all Gin’s. In the din of the bar, Sira’s empathy flooded with a cacophony of sensations as she tried to get a feel for the stranger.
#
“And the woman? Who is she?” Gin continued.
The Twi’lek unfolded his arms as he glanced away. “Oh Sira? She’s just a smuggler or something, an old friend of the beggar. They’re just regulars; they don’t cause any trouble if that’s why you’re asking.”
The bartender rocked on the balls of his feet, his demeanor shifting uneasily as if he were about to take off. Gin motioned for him to pour a drink from the half empty bottle of Corellian Brandy sitting on the counter nearby. The former Jedi watched intensely as the ice in his glass cracked before pulling the gaiter down from around his mouth to his neck. The Chiss took a long sip, savouring the taste, using the sensation to calm and relax his spirit before reaching into his pocket to retrieve credits. Placing double the amount in the palm of the barkeep, Gin looked up to meet the Twi’lek’s eyes.
“I’m not here to look for any either. Fetch me another bottle of the same.”
The bartender nodded, disappearing out the back of the bar to grab a fresh one. Closing his eyes, Gin reached out into the Force, probing the energy coming from Jomu. The man was definitely Force-sensitive but in an unfamiliar way, as if he were more a conductor to it, connecting the Force like cabling throughout a ship rather than one who wielded it. There was no sense of anger or hate coming from the proclaimed beggar, not even a hint of the dark side, which meant he was no disciple of the Emperor or Callidus.
So who are you? Gin wondered just as the Twi’lek returned. The former Jedi smiled and gave a polite nod before pulling back up his scarf from around his neck. Together with the fresh bottle, Gin made his way across to their table.
“Barkeep tells me you two enjoy a bit of a drink, I wonder if I can offer a bottle of this lovely Corellian Brandy in exchange for some information?” Gin said as he sat down on the edge of the seat next to the smuggler, hoping she would scooch across.
“If you want your fortune read, Brother, you will have to schedule an appointment for tomorrow—for this venerable Guardian of the Whills is currently occupied,” Jomu laughed, his face red with drink. A lightbow and uneti-wood staff were propped up in the seat next to Jomu, but he did not make a move for them, instead picking at leftover tip-yip as he spoke. He eyed Gin curiously and took the bottle, wordlessly passing it to Sira. “But somehow, I do not think that is what you are here for. Would I be wrong?”
As Gin approached, Sira looked up over her drink, watching him with a polite smile. Her patient empathy flooded with pain, sharp and acute and crimson; she didn’t flinch. What happened to make you feel this way? Though many questions arose, she asked none aloud. Instead, she scooted aside to make room for him on the seat. The air around her was sweet and fragrant.
Looking to the bottle, she mused, “That brandy’s not bad; it doesn’t take a connoisseur to tell.” Her eyes flitted up to Gin. “But what is it that you need? Perhaps the good Brother and I might be able to help.” She rested her elbows on the table between her and Jomu; only one of the skewers that had been piled between them rested before her.
Gin nodded a polite thank you as Sira allowed the Chiss to get more comfortable in the seat. He could sense a faint slice of tension hanging in the background as the two gazed upon him, wary, no doubt, of the former Jedi.
“I am well aware of my fortune, thanks, Brother.” Gin chuckled as he looked over the Guardian, taking note of his dishevelled dress sense. Perhaps the Empire had not taken kindly to their Order either. “I’m simply new in town and wish to know who is who, maybe starting with our friend over there.”
The Chiss gestured his head towards the Falleen’s table before looking back at the Zeltron. “Surely both of you could help with something as effortless as that, no?”
“For the low, low price of a single bottle of brandy?” Sira drawled, circling a finger around the rim of an empty glass glass. Then she opened the bottle and poured Jomu a drink, inclining her head as she pushed it in his direction. Where Jomu was disheveled even for an ascetic, she was dressed sharply to show her figure; her jacket unstained and her hands—soft for a criminal—carefully manicured. “Only fools come here unable to defend themselves, but you look more than capable. I’m sure you could get out of trouble if you have to. But if any locals come chasing after me because of what I told you, maybe I can point them right back your way.” She winked.
“I might know a little something, though,” she added, voice a low whisper. Even with discretion on her side, she chose her words carefully, sharing nothing that another source couldn’t yield. “Aside from Xen, of course, Zejinn is the big man around here. He pays well, but if you want to last long in the End I’d suggest you keep from getting in the way of his business.
“And no one around here lasts long when they show their whole hand. No one except me,” she said blithely, laughter bubbling beneath her words. “But hey, a simple woman can still do good work.”
Hidden under the cover of his hood, Gin couldn’t help but smirk at the remark. “Fear not, Miss, I can handle myself just fine and I’ll be sure to keep things to myself.”
There was something off about Sira: if her clothes were anything to go by she was either a very successful smuggler or there was more to it. Would explain the bartenders jitteriness. Gin mused as he watched the two share the brandy, trying to ignore the alluring scent coming from the Zeltron.
“And this Xen, Admiral Xen if the rumours on Nar Shaddaa are to be believed. What do you know of him?”
“He is a friend to what little remains of the CIS but remains decidedly on his own side rather than that of any one political faction. And he is constantly involved in the trade of kyber crystals,” Jomu interjected as he signalled his thanks to Sira and took a sip from his cup, his gaze meeting Gin’s. He paused, a small smirk playing upon his lips as he chose his next words. “Crystals much like that which you wear on your belt, brother. A strange piece of jewelry to be wearing, is it not?”
When the server arrived with Sira’s refilled drink, she beckoned him over silently so as to not interrupt the conversation. With a wink and a nod, she accepted the cup of bitterfruit liqueur. It’s violently orange, the color no less bright as her pink fingers wrap around the glass. “It’s quite a lucrative business,” she said, a vapid smile stretching from cheek to cheek. “But if the crystals are in such demand, why have I never seen a belt like that?”
Gin leaned back into the seat, removing his elbows from the table and propping his left arm up along the ridge of the lounge. With his right, he once again lowered the gaiter from around his mouth, allowing the other two the chance to properly gauge his reactions. His hood, however, stayed up in the hope that it would continue to cover up his distinct features, leaving him to go unnoticed by the rest of the bar.
“You take a dangerous line of conversation, Brother. The galaxy has changed of late, this piece of jewelry you speak of once drew an obvious line in the sand, one that let everyone know where they stood. Now?” The Chiss shifted once more, widening his stance as he chuckled to himself. “Well… now any who carry it should be feared.”
Gin allowed the reply to hang in the air for an obvious moment, his face straight as it deadpanned between the two, while another server happened by. The Chiss took the opportunity to divert his attention, looking up to face the woman. “A glass of ice and brandy for myself please.”
The waitress politely nodded, moving off towards the bar as Gin turned back to the table, his face now awash with a friendly smile.
“But I have paid to be the one asking the questions here, Guardian and young Miss.” Gin continued, nodding quickly to both of them once more. “Should you find a way to pay me, I will happily be on the opposite end. For now, there is another rumour that worms its way through the mouths and ears of the Smuggler's Moon, that kyber is not the only thing that Xen trades. Know anything of this?”
Jomu snorted in laughter, quickly composing himself as he leaned in close and whispered across the table: “A fine jest it is, Brother, for you to threaten us with your knightly fashions! Last I remembered, that was not the way of those who wore them, and neither was fear a weapon on their belts. But of course, times change and people change with them—and it seems that some people happen to lose their refined nobility along the way.
“But regarding your question, I hear little and I know less, and I have but enough coin for a meal, much less enough to involve myself with the dealings of rich men like Xen,” the monk continued without interruption, flashing a grin at the stranger. He slowly slumped back into his seat, resting his cup on his belly as he regarded the ex-Jedi and the smuggler. “You know, Miss Sira would certainly know more of that business than I, given her profession. They do not much like beggars at Xen’s auction houses.”
The monk threw his head back with another laugh, taking a careful sip of his cup as he nodded towards Sira.
If Sira was at all frightened by Gin’s threats, she didn’t let fear shake her smile. “Ask after just about anything that you’d want that you can’t get in the Empire—or comes at too high a price—and you can find it here. It’s all Xen’s business; he wouldn’t be so good at his job if he didn’t get a little from just about everything that comes through here.” She took a sip of her liqueur. “I don’t really read into it. Does it need to be something more to be good enough for me?”
So that Hutt really was telling the truth. Gin reflected, almost feeling bad for the way he had roughed up their personal guards. Not that the overgrown slug had cared, he had only told the Chiss the information to save his own skin. More importantly, however, these two had confirmed the connection; maybe it was buying, maybe it was selling, whatever it was, the auctions were why Callidus and his new Order were here.
But what to do now? The former Jedi wondered, his head turning away from the table as he looked towards Zejinn, eyeing up the two massive Weequay guards. Do I try to play them off against each other? Or do I just head straight for Xen? If only Ash were here, she would...
The waitress was quick to interrupt Gin’s train of thought as she slung his drink in front of him. He handed her the credit chit offering a meager ‘thanks’ but the smile had dropped from his face. His heart sank deep inside his chest as each beat began to ring with pain. For a moment the ex-Jedi was stuck, staring at the condensation as it dripped down the glass, running his fingers along the top of it as he turned in a circular motion. Pressing against his thigh, Gin could feel the weight of the mini-holoprojector in his pocket becoming heavier by the minute.
He sighed, taking a small sip of brandy before turning his attention back to the others.
“Apologies,” he said, righting his posture and offering a faint smile. “No, that’s all I need to know, thank you Brother Jomu and Miss Sira. Enjoy the liquor and that final skewer.”
“You know,” Jomu interjected, taking said skewer and examining it for a moment, “I do not know what the Coruscant custom is, but on Jedha, it was a terrible misdeed to be a guest of one’s house and not eat of their meat.”
He set the skewer back down and pushed the plate toward Gin. “Neither was it polite to leave a man’s table without even sharing one’s name—especially when you know both of ours. As our guest of a few minutes’ time, this skewer is yours; I would be greatly displeased if you refused.”
Gin’s stomach betrayed him, crying out for the food with a loud gurgle. The Chiss moved off the back of the couch, resting one of his arms on the table and picking up the stick of meat with the other.
“Jolee.” He replied before taking a reserved bite in an attempt to keep his decorum. Again his heart sank, all this emotion had begun to get to him and his tough facade was waning. There was always the chance that the Force would hint otherwise but he had to lie. With Callidus and his minions around, his real name carried weight, one that could easily get people killed. “Jolee, is my name but really I should get moving...”
The Zeltron watched in silence, gaze drifting between the two men as they spoke. Her breaths were long and even as she focused on her heartbeat; the distress she sensed made her blood thunder in her ears. With each slow breath, she tricked her heart into slowing as if she were calm. Only then can she parse out her feelings from Gin’s, untangling the threads of fear and shock, bitterness and pain. The pain was a reverberant pulse, omnipresent; it loomed over the table and froze the air. A heavy burden to carry, she mused. But do not sympathize with him, she reminded herself; while he may not be able to kill you in the cantina, people ravenous for power can always be counted on to take what they want whenever they choose.
All this happened behind the mask of her smile. “Stay, friend,” she replied, “and feel free to have a drink, you need it. I’m sure you came a long way to our little corner of the galaxy.” She took another long sip, leaning over the table; the aromas of bar food and alcohol mingle with the sweetness that wafts in the air. Sira seized the opportunity to scan the rest of the bar, watching patrons of dozens of different species all absorbed in their own conversations. From only a couple yards away, the chatter and din could easily swallow any quiet words at their table.
Studying the rotation of the servers, she quickly added more when none stood near them: “If you want to know more about the business that happens in the End, I might be able to help out a friend.” That means no brandishing swords. “Let me give you a tip: at Xen’s auctions, just about anything in the galaxy can be bought or sold at least once. He doesn’t have time to oversee each and every one, but you can be sure that the cut off the top always goes to the same place. No matter what you’re interested in, there’s a chance you could find it there.” She twisted a finger in her hair idly. “Now, if you wanted to go, I might know a few auctions happening in a couple of hours. The only problem is that they usually don’t accept mysterious travelers who haven’t yet proven themselves around the End—not alone. But maybe I can do something about that too.”
Cautiously, Gin took another sip from his glass, his eyes narrowing at the Zeltron’s suggestion. Pausing with the brandy perched at the foot of his mouth, he considered the full weight of what Sira had just said. Sure, if true, it was a better lead than anything he could come up with but on the other hand it was dangerous, both of them would be risking their lives and doing so unknowingly.
“A friend you say?” Gin replied, returning his glass to the table. His curiosity had got the better of him and it was at least worth hearing the woman out. “What is the price of friendship these days?”
“You are uneasy, Brother Jolee,” Jomu said as he took another drink from his cup, drinking until the cup was empty once more and setting it down onto the table. He let Sira address the question, focusing on Gin’s own emotional state himself. “My advice? Have a little more to drink and relax for a minute. All is as the Force wills it.”
“A favor, perhaps, and your continued friendship.” Sira raised her glass and watched it glitter in the light. “Oh, and perhaps a few creds on the side, if you find any lost treasures.” Winking, she took a long drink before she continued. “If you are concerned about walking straight into the belly of the beast, think nothing of it! I’m at some auction or another nearly every week. And trust in the Force, of course,” she adds.
Gin lightly snorted at the Brother’s suggestion, smiling genuinely as he nodded his head in agreement.
“Okay,” the Chiss said as he turned to the smuggler. “But if we’re going to do this we need to discuss ground rules and I’d prefer to find out what that favour is sooner rather than later.”
“We’ll talk about it soon,” Sira replied blithely, shrugging her shoulders. “That favor is one I’d like to call in later, as I don’t know you so well, Jolee.” She finished her drink, setting the glass down before rising to her feet. “I’ve heard there’s an auction in a couple of hours. I should probably get ready.”
Gin stood in unison with the smuggler, moving out from the table and politely gesturing for her to do the same. The Chiss returned his gaiter back to its rightful position around his mouth, hoping that it would somewhat conceal his apprehension towards this new alliance.
Jomu wiped his hands and his mouth with a napkin before slinging his lightbow over his shoulder. He then took his staff in one hand and his bottle of lum in the other, following the other two towards the exit while he struggled to open the bottle once more, only succeeding once they entered the elevator. Happy to have a last drink, the monk took a last swig for the road as the elevator doors closed behind them with a pneumatic hiss.
