Private Animal Style

[Finley Dawson]

Monty's Place, CoCo Town, Coruscant
​

At first glance, the diner didn't seem like much, but Lieutenant Floritz apparently swore by this place. At least it was clean, which was more than he could say about most diners. The people around him, a mix of factory and retail workers, seemed content with their offerings. Looking up at the menu, it was all the standard offerings of items like sandwiches and soups. It was quite a small menu for a diner, actually, which was actually a good sign in Finley's book. Less items usually meant better quality control.

"Find something you like?" the Twi'lek cashier behind the counter inquired, cleaning out a malt glass with a rag.

"Hmm, yeah." dark eyes settling over the sandwich section of the menu. "I'll take a grilled cheese, side of chips, and one of those chocolate malts you just made."

Grilled cheese was one of his favorite types of sandwiches, one that was supremely difficult to mess up. If there was one constant in the galaxy, it was the delight of warm melted cheese.

"Oh, uh, give me works with the chips. Animal Style." That's what Floritz had recommended, which was what set apart Monty's from similar establishments.

The cashier winked at the mention of animal style, making a special note on the datapad.

"Ah, so someone told you about the special. You're in for a treat."

Damsy Callat

 

[Damsy Callat]

Seemed as good a place as any to grab takeaway for five.

Except...

Uh, maybe more than five. Forerunner probably ate like at least three average, grown humanoids.

Damsy spent a minute more than she had to outside, pacing below the sidewalk. From through any windows, if any of the diner patrons were watching, it seemed as if the woman was heaving a few deep breaths before finally stepping up onto the curb and beelining for the front door. She stepped inside after holding the glass pane for an older, near-human couple on their way out, and fought the urge to hold her nose. The fresh air (relative to Coruscant) she had filled her extra-large lungs with escaped quickly, in favor of the food-tinged smells of Monty's Place.

Savory seasonings. Something smoked. Salty sardines. Shredded swiss cheese.

It wasn't at all unpleasant, just overwhelming to the sensitive olfactory sense of the Shifter.

Unfortunately, the reality was enough to keep her out of joints like this on a regular basis.

But today, she was determined to deal.

She looked around for an empty seat, the only one of which was next to a black-haired man at the counter. She unknowingly reached the same conclusion he did, but not because of the length of the menu. She hadn't seen it yet after all. "Busy place," she remarked off-hand as she claimed the empty bar stool to his left. No restaurant would be this packed if it was no good. The Twi'lek cashier had since wandered back to the kitchen to put up Finley's order, so Damsy simply leaned over the bar to help herself to one of the menus standing up in a clamp holder.



**
Finley Dawson

 

[Finley Dawson]

He toyed with his datapad while waiting his order, catching up on news updates from Silver Space. The front with the Bryn'adul had stabilized after a string of victories by the Concord and its allies. The Bryn no longer looked so indomitable. In fact, they looked to have stalled out with the disappearance of their leader. A good thing, as his mother's homeworld of Balamak sat near the front. The agri-world was well defended as a breadbasket of the region, but it still made him antsy that his mother wouldn't relocate.

Within the relative safety of Coruscant, he felt a knot of guilt.

It hadn't been a good idea to look up the news.

With as sigh, he put away his pad. At about the same time a human* woman took a her place on an empty stool by the shelf. Normally, he would have paid the stranger little mind, but he felt her presence in the Force. If every other patron was a small droplet, she was like a large well.

"Busy place", he heard her mumble. It wasn't clear if her observation was directed at anyone, but he decided the commentary would make a good icebreaker.

"True," he replied, looking around, "but busy is a good sign. Means there's something worth having. I get worried when there's little activity."

Damsy Callat

 

[Damsy Callat]

"Mhm."

The stranger took the words right out of her head.

Still, "I'm glad I didn't bring my friends," she said, though she couldn't have brought her friends even if she had wanted to. Sithspawn were sure to get looks, if not a lightsaber to the guts.

She sighed with exertion as she sat back down on the stool and began scanning the menu. "Think I'll do some takeaway. Do you know what's good?" she mused, flipping the flimsiplast over and continuing to browse to altogether short list.

As the Twi'lek returned with Finley's meal, Damsy took to sniffing the air again, but this time the twinge of her nose was almost undetectable by either sight or sound. When she set the plate down in front of him, the Shifter was able to get an even better smell; her ocean abyss eyes widened to the size of that plate, but she smoothly hid such behind the menu.

"What I can get for ya, sugar?" the server asked sweetly, having turned to Damsy.

"Still deciding," she replied as easily as she could. No, no, it couldn't be. Her nose was lying to her, it was simply overstimulated...but it had never once been entirely wrong. "Can I take a few more minutes?"

"As many as you'd like," replied the Twi'lek with a smile before asking Finley if she could get him anything else.



**
Finley Dawson

 

[Finley Dawson]

"Good thing there's takeout," he replied with a wink. "It's my first time here so I really can't say, but you can never go wrong with nerf nuggets. They go best with a side of rancor sauce."

Nerf nuggets were a godsend to parents across the galaxy. Even some of the pickiest eaters would gleefully devour eat the crispy breaded morsels.

The Twi'lek cashier finally presented his food and drink. The chocolate malt and grilled cheesed looked about what he expected, but he was taken aback by the giant basket of fries absolutely smothered in gobs of melted cheese, sauteed onions, and orange colored sauce. Finley whistled.

So this was Animal Style? He may have to loosen a notch on his belt!

"I mean you could also help me with these chips," he jokingly offered the woman, "because this looks like it could feed a whole family and then some."

One part curious and several parts famished, he picked out the end of one fry on the side that hadn't been completely doused in cheese and sauce to try the concoction.

Damsy Callat

 

[Damsy Callat]

The cashier had wandered off so as not to pressure the newest patron into a decision.

Not that she had any intention to make any now.

Damsy managed to steel herself, and wipe her face of nervous tells, and set down the menu. "Sorry, man, no can do," she replied to his invitation to sample the chips. Though she knew he had been half joking, she surely wasn't. As she excused herself from the bar to stand, she slid a hand over the stranger's shoulder. As she did, she gently knocked at his mind's door telepathically. If he answered, she would add, <And maybe you should think again about eatin' that, too.>

Then Damsy set off towards the door.

She might have stayed if she has known just what her specially-adapted nose sensed was not simply a mild case of food poisoning waiting to happen.



**
Finley Dawson

 

[Finley Dawson]

The stranger's departure was so abrupt after her reply that Finley was afraid that he had caused her to leave.

Tough crowd on Coruscant...

Except, then he felt her butt against his mind as she made physical contact with his shoulder, warning him about the the food. The dripping loaded chip had only been mere centimeters from his mouth when he basically let it plop pack onto the gluttonous mound out of surprise more than anything.

So she was a Force Sensitive.

He was right! Okay, but what was wrong with the food? He now reinterpreted her earlier rejection as a retreat. He softly mumbled something to the Twi'lek cashier about the need to look for some lost souvenir outside for a second. She was already off taking another order so he wasn't sure if she even heard or acknowledged him, but he still slipped off the booth anyway to follow the other woman outside.

Once they were finally clear of the doors, he finally popped the question.

Not THE question, but the most relevant one to his current predicament, of course.

"So I take it that you're a big fan of glowsticks. - preferably of the cool color variety. Anyway, what was your deal back there? In case you didn't notice, those plates get kind of pricey so I'd like an explanation before I bounce on my meal."

Those fries looked so good, he hoped she was just paranoid.

Damsy Callat

 

[Damsy Callat]

"So I take it that you're a big fan of glowsticks. - preferably of the cool color variety. . . ."

Damsy snorted, turned around on the sidewalk to face the other Force Sensitive. Drugs might be a little more fun, she thought, half joke and half bitter.

She simply shrugged. "Not sure," she admittedly dryly. "But, uh..." She slid one hand from her elbow folded across her chest, rose it, and tapped at finger to the side of her nose. "This thing picks up scent like a massiff hound," or approximately, "and I can tell you something in there," she indicated behind them back towards the diner, "smells hella off. An' I'm not just talkin' exotic-shebbs seasonin'.

"'Course I don't expect ya to just believe me." Another shrug. "I'm just also a big fan of dishing folks out fair warnings. Scan it or take your chances, buddy."

Either way, she had done her due diligence.



**
Finley Dawson

 

[Finley Dawson]

So the woman didn't identify herself as a Jedi, but she had been friendly enough to warn him of contaminated food. That was good enough in his books, because most people in her position would have let him eat on without uttering a peep.

"Alright, I can't believe you scared me off my plate just rock your jollies, so I'll believe you. Unfortunately, that means I have to go back in there and inform the kindly cashier of her bad food. Should be fun."

In his experience, food staff could be quite sensitive to negative feedback. Many did not believe the axiom of the Customer Always Being Right. It was more like, you take it and be damn happy about it. Especially with independent establishments that didn't have to answer to any corporate office.

Ashla forbid anyone ask for a well done Nerf steak!

"I'll be right back. Would you mind sticking around for a bit? I wanted to know more ab--"

Finley felt hair on his neck stand up as his sixth sense was triggered. Trouble.

Moments later, a Duros flew through the front window. Just before the pane shattered, he rolled out of the way of the likely path of the incoming shards, guided by preternatural instinct.

The shattering of the glass and the wail of the flung Duros was loud, but it was drowned out by an inhuman squeal from within Monty's. A crazed Gommorean had just burst through the door to the back kitchen - quite literally, ripping the door off its hinges - vibro cleaver in hand.

Apparently, someone have beaten Finley to providing negative feedback.

Damsy Callat

 

[Damsy Callat]

Damsy herself didn't dive out of the way, just crouched away and threw a Force Deflection field around herself and Finley. From her more-or-less standing vantage, she made out the fleeing chef.

She let the shield fade away when the glass' momentum had died down and sashayed down the sidewalk. As she passed by the fellow Jedi, she touched his shoulders to let him know that she was alright. She continued on a few meters, sliding to a knee at the Duros' side. "I'm here, man," she said with a calmness almost eerily given the circumstances. It was just practiced battlefield bed manner. "You're gonna be okay."

She pulled the oversized scarf over her neck and cast it into her lap before moving to check the humanoid for any injuries other than the large gash in his upper arm that she could clearly see. Carefully, she wrapped her scarf around the jagged piece of glass penetrating the male's blue flesh, then tied it off with almost unbearable pressure. It wouldn't cut off circulation, though; just stave off bleed out. "'Ey 'ey 'ey 'ey, look at me." She rolled the Duros' head back in her direction; the glazing red eyes followed.

"Can you Force Heal?" she asked Finley as she stumbled up, though she was still looking at the wounded patron. "I've never learned."

Regardless of answer, Damsy shifted her attention to her wrist HUD. A few taps later, she started up a holocall to the local CDF station. "This is Padawan Callat," she introduced rather shortly as soon as someone picked up. "I need at least one unit and a bus at Monty's Place, CoCo Ave. Thirteen-Forty-One. Assailant took off northwest on foot." Something was probably said back, but it was lost amongst all the background noise. "'Course we ain't gonna let 'im get away!"

This time, she did glance at Finley, putting down her arm. "C'mon, dude!"



**
Finley Dawson

 

[Finley Dawson]

As he regained his footing, the Jedi Knight took note of the way the woman relied on active use of her abilities to tank through the shards. One could gain important insight on a person by the way they moved. People could say whatever they liked, but in action they always revealed their true selves.

Another revelation came as she announced herself as a Padawan on call, presumably of the NJO. No time to think about it too deeply with an active threat in the vicinity.

Wailing patron were streaming out of the side exits of the diner while the mad cook leaped right through the gap he had created with the Duros moments before, moving with much more agility than one would expect of a Gommorean of rotund build. He hit the ground running, bolting on a path that led deeper into the CoCo District toward the factories. Amazingly, his little white hat remained in place - probably stuck with the cap being much smaller than the chef's head.

Yes, he could heal the Duros, but the Gammorean was obviously the priority now.

"He doesn't look too banged up, medics can get this guy. Like you said, come on!"

He waved forward for the woman to follow as he finally gave chase. By now the Gommorean was a pink and white speck in the distance ahead.

"Chef Porky is fast..." Finley huffed.

Big and fast, a dangerous combination that created a living wrecking ball that sent unsuspecting shoppers and workers flying left and right as the chef barreled through them with total disregard. Finley was amazed no one was crushed underfoot or sliced by the maniac's cleaver. It was only a matter of time, however.

This had to end now.

Drawing upon the Force, the already spry Corellian became a blur of speed. Where the Gommorean simply punched through obstacles, Finley nimbly bobbed and weaved through throngs of horrified pedestrians. Hopefully the mystery Padawan was keeping up.

Keeping focus on the fleeing cook, he felt something weird about them. Every person gave off surface thoughts, especially when stressed, but there just seemed to be a flood of erratic activity emanating from the Gamorrean, almost like there was more than one mind occupying the space.

The whole encounter was getting weirder by the moment.

So much for a chill lunch.

Damsy Callat

 

[Damsy Callat]

No such luck. She was not keeping up. At least not in terms of speed. She had a little training in it, but the Art of Movement really wasn't her forte. What was though: geography and mundane acrobatics. If the Force wasn't assisting her in the need for speed, good old physics would.

Her electortrident had gravitated from belt into palm, where she had shaken the handle to expand the shaft into a full-length staff. The prongs remained behind her as Damsy bounded up a makeshift staircase of stacked cargo crates; before reaching the top, she spun the staff around so that they now faced a bit forwards but were still pointed low. When she jumped, she jammed the prongs towards the wall, and turned on the electricity full-tilt with a twist of the grip.

The white bolts fizzed rather harmlessly out against the duracrete, leaving only a singed black outline of the fork as the kinetic force launched Damsy across the street. She rolled into and out of the landing, running into a perpendicular alleyway.

<Goin' 'round.>

When the alley let her out onto another, full-sized street, she jogged to an easy stop. She looked around urgently for a holosign and, finding one, confirmed the cut-off she had remembered foggily this was. Same street, doubling back. Regularly patrolling Coruscant had its benefits. Now, to wait.

After a few more blocks, the street Finley was on ran into a dead end and turned almost back on itself at a sharp angle. That was the only way to go, too, since what blocked a potential beeline trajectory was the foundations of a business skyscraper, too thick to charge through and too high to jump into a window. Gone insane or not, the Gammorean chef stopped for a moment, the time it took common sense to cut through whatever had taken hold of his mind.

But Damsy experienced no such delay when she spotted a pink and white dot a dozen blocks up this new stretch of street when he spun on his heel and then fled off down the bend. She started running to meet him, ready to sweep the butt of her trident at his head when she had.



**
Finley Dawson

 

[Finley Dawson]

Once again he felt the touch of the Padawan's mind as he was already on the run, indicating she was taking an alternate path to cut off the chef. He gave her what amounted to the equivalent of a telepathic roger in response, less words and more a vague image of a nod.

With the aid of the Force, he caught up to the chef, but the Gammorean remained out of reach as Finley had to spend precious time navigating around flailing civilians.

The fact that Finley had to work this hard to keep up with one fat dude was unreal.

Eventually, providence would turn to his favor as piggy's path led him to a dead end. To escape, he would almost have to loop back, right into an easy intercept path for Finley. It was finally then that the Gammorean skidded to a halt, the chaotic choir of voices belting louder in frustration. Just as the Jedi Knight nearly had the chef in his grasp, they were on the move again trying to escape.

Great, more of this chit.

Finley was beginning to tire from the extended use of Force Speed, hardly catching his breath, but it was then that he felt the Padawan pop up again, spying her on a direct collision path with the Gomorrean. Wielding a wicked looking trident, she made a motion to whack the chef on the skull.

A bold move to face Porker - maybe even crazy given the physical feats displayed by their quarry.

The strike connected with an audible crack that reverberated through the empty street and surrounding structures, the Gommorean stumbling to the left. However, he did not fall. Meanwhile, the screaming Finley had heard in the Force ramped up into a dizzying cacophony, an expression of pain. It almost made Finley trip over himself in his accelerated state, like a stun grenade had just went off at his feet. No telling what the Padawan felt being much closer.

"LEAVE USSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!"

The words were slurred like the Gomorrean was drunk or dazed. In fact, his eyes had rolled upwards like someone knocked out, but his body jerked forward toward the Padawan at even more ludicrous speed than before, as if puppeted by invisible strings.

In a swift counterattack, the mad chef lunged while making a horizontal slash toward her upper body with the vibro-cleaver still in hand.

"Move!" Finley barked to the woman as he unstrapped his blaster holster, taking a position directly behind the Gammorean. He had noted the tendency of the Padawan to stand her ground.

He didn't think another direct challenge against this monster would fare so well this time.

Damsy Callat

 

[Damsy Callat]

"Move!"

The order fell on deaf ears, but was followed nonetheless. Damsy crumpled, first to one knee then entirely to the floor, managing to let go of her trident in time so it wouldn't do her any damage as it in turn fell, pushing it opposite her.

"LEAVE USSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!"

The chef's telepathic scream stuffed Damsy's every last neuron until she could barely function, let alone think. The thought that managed to break through the muddy wake left in Damsy's head as she lay on the tarmac wasn't hers at all—not really—but her darkside alter, Syreni:

He'sss possesssssed too.

The Shifter mustered up the energy to roll over and push herself up to her knees, but the moan was involuntary. <Ya think?!> she replied to herself, holding her left temple. Whoever us was, they spoke like the dynamic duo did. Or, used to.

Nah, they still did it. The Syreni half just did it more.



**
Finley Dawson

 

[Finley Dawson]

The chef's cleaver met nothing but empty air with a soft whistle. Not missing a beat however, as soon as the Padawan no longer presented herself as a immediate threat, he coiled his stout legs as if to skip over her entirely and return back to the run.

However, just as the chef cleared the street, his body convulsed in mid-air with another one of those dizzying mental screams, momentarily flashing blue.

The Gommorean fell back to the street with a tumble, but was already in the process of regaining their standing even as they rolled. The sight was bizarre, once again evoking the imagery of some external force acting upon the body, a twisted marionette being straightened out.

Porkins wouldn't get the chance to flee again, as a second second and third stunning halo impacted with their back. This time there was no psychic wail or physical squeal that accompanied each hit, just silence and involuntary twitching.

Finley staggered forward, panting, chrome blaster aimed at the fallen Gomorrean while cradling his head with his free hand.

"So...pigs can fly."

It was hard to even think coherently at the moment, let alone make use of the Force, so the change that had overtaken his new Padawan companion remained unregistered.

"You good?"

Damsy Callat

 

[Damsy Callat]

A series of hmms and mmms was all Damsy was able to offer the other Jedi in response. She pulled her trident into her dominant hand, found a stable place to push the butt into the tarmac, and climbed hand after hand up the staff until she was shakily on her feet.

"Ibuprofen on me," she huffed, joke about paying him back for a wasted meal not quite formulating—unless the price for over-the-counter painkillers had really ballooned since her last pharmacy run.

But the Bogan is not with him...

Damsy slapped her palm into her temple, intending to silence Syreni. It kind of worked like that and she didn't know why, but what she did know was it hurt her too. She tried to play it off as if the jolt had brought her out of oncoming migraine, shaking her head as if casting off the mind fog and approaching the downed Gommorean. In fact though, the haze only thickened as she knelt by their side.

"Ashla feth. I'm, uh..." ...sure glad you didn't eat those fries didn't cover it. Nor did I wasn't expecting this. "Instincts one, paranoia zero."



**
Finley Dawson

 

[Finley Dawson]

The Padawan didn't sound like she was in the best shape, but at least she was still conscious with all her bits intact so that was a win in his book. For a fleeting moment, he thought he felt like something else was off about the woman, but then it was gone as she straightened herself out...in a manner of speaking.

He shrugged, chalking up the disturbance to them both just getting their grey matter scrambled earlier.

His ears perked up to the sound of sirens in the distance. Finally, it appeared that the local authorities had finally caught up with the Jedi just as the pair had finished doing all the heavy lifting. Typical. This was supposed to be the "good" part of Coruscant. He could only imagine their response times below the upper surface levels out of view of VIPs. Despite their imminent arrival, the Corellian kept his blaster trained on the chef, just in case his corpulent friend required another spritzing of stun bolts.

"Point for instincts," he agreed. "I suppose as the Jedi Knight in this duo I'm supposed to compliment you that you did well to trust them. So does a Padawan have a name? I'm Finley Dawson of the Silver Jedi Order."

The Knight was a long way from Kashyyyk, but the Core had become his new haunt as he had enlisted in a pilot exchange program between the GA and SJC.

Damsy Callat

 

[Damsy Callat]

"Uh, I think most of 'em have names, yeah," she replied with no higher octave of teasing sarcasm as she focused on patting the chef down. She smelled in on them too, now no question as they stood, crouched, laid still. The scent must have gotten lost during the chase in the filtered breeze. The chef had only been upwind from Damsy for about half of it, but for the other, the semi-fresh and regularly-circulated air of the upper level through her nose through a loop. Smells stagnated better in the Underworld where the air was stale for months at a time.

The clouds hanging over her mind evaporated away when her hunting instincts engaged.

Earthy with hints of pine.

Alcoholic notes that seemed they might singe the nose hairs.

Loam and musk.

"Are you asking for mine?" Rhetorical. She knew he was. She stood again in the way she had a few moments ago. "Damsy Callat. NJO. 'Sup?" She turned, took one hand off the staff shaft, and extend it towards Finley for a handshake—just to retract it immediately. "Uh, nope, nevermind." It'd be anticlimactic to have warned this Jedi about this, what seemed to be a mould, just to get him sick now.



**
Finley Dawson

 

[Finley Dawson]

So she was indeed a Jedi, but one with a sense of humor. A rare combination in this line of work.

"Nice to me--uh oh," he stammered as he initially lifted his hand out of habit to shake, only for her to quickly pull back before palms met. He quickly inspected his own hand for any gunk before letting it drop back to his hip. There was nothing, but he still wiped it against the side of his jeans.

"Anyway...you handled yourself pretty well today, Ms. Callat." Trying to brush off a wave of awkwardness, he turned his attention to her weapon. "Neat fork, too. Almost poetic wielding it against a Gamorrean."

It was a real struggle not to rattle off another off colour pet name for the unconscious chef aloud, but the Knight needed to straighten up before the police showed up. He was already afraid of starting off on their bad side doing their job for them as a foreigner.

Also, he figured it was wise to set a good example before an impressionable Padawan.

"It goes without saying that you'll need to probably stick around for questioning. I hope you didn't have any other plans for the day."

Damsy Callat

 

[Damsy Callat]

Damsy glanced over to her trident before lifting it off the ground and giving it a shake. With a high, satisfying shhhhk, segmented lengths of the shaft slid into each other until only a handle and the head was left. It returned, pointed down, to her belt. "Thanks. Don't have a saber yet, but this has been doing the trick. Crack someone hard enough in the jaw and...well..." She looked down at the Gamorrean. "Poetic or not, if it ain't broke, don't fix it."

That and it was hard for a thirty-some-year-old Sithspawn to learn too many new tricks.

The fact itself silently challenged Finley Dawson's assessment of impressionism.

"Yeah, it'll be 'right," she added vaguely. She did have plans, but she'd just have to defer to the spanner now in the works. Kai and Nines and Runny and Arisso wouldn't stave even in the worst case, that this took a few hours, though Damsy might return to some hangry Sithspawn.

As Damsy got back on her haunches to check the pulse point on the chef's neck, the sirens finally shut off as two patrol cars hovered to the street. "Padawan Callat," one of the disembarking cops began, clearly familiar. He cast a curious look over to Finley before Damsy offered an introduction on his behalf:

"Knight Dawson, SJO."

The man sighed. "So much alphabet soup these days..."

A Twi'lek woman behind him all but rushed to shake the Jedi's hand, actually this time, as if to make up for her partner's prickly demeanor.

"Better cooperate than go to war." Damsy shrugged, getting up. She knew the latter would probably never happen even in a galaxy than seemed to have all the surprises up its infinite, amorphous sleeves, but she was just trying to make a bit of a point. With the way she was talking, she seemed to know this officer too.

He didn't acknowledge that beside an unamused, "Mhm. Your 1341 assailant made it all the way out here, did he?"