Private Some Nights

[Drifter]

|| Outer Rim Territories
|| Skor II
|| Outskirts of Metrobig City
Many, many moons ago...

Some nights I stay up cashing in my bad luck, Some nights I call it a draw.
​

Never get into a haggling fight with a Squib, Nohei had warned him. It was bound to give anyone a headache and odds were they would talk circles around you. Bargaining for a Squib was an art form and by far, and the species jumped into haggling with excitement and persistence to the point of pestering, with the hope that eventually their mark will give in and trade what the Squib wanted. It was a point of sweet frustration that Squibs would live for.

Unfortunately for Beegeemahmah, Drifter had plenty of practice of dealing with nagging younger sisters and bargaining his way out of trouble with his parents. Despite all the wealth his father had, his mother was still a bargain shopper and would often collect holo-coupons to scrimp and save. If there was anyone who could haggle her way into a good deal it was his mother, and to a degree, Drifter took after her.

“Got nice boom boom zap zap tensor core here, pal. Trade for new talkie-talk shiny man!” Beegeemahmah’s large green eyes reflected an eager glimmer as the diminutive blue-skinned Squib waved a tensor blaster core in front of Drifter’s chest. The Squib scavenger would barely reach the man's chest, a little more than a meter in height. Where Beegeemahmah’s excitable hands would gesture towards the tensor core and back over to the comm unit he had at his hip, “Come on pal, good trade, good deal!”

“I don’t know,” Drifter’s voice would hold a hint of metallic reverberation, his right arm rising to rub a gloved hand along the left side of his breathing mask as if to indicate he wasn’t buying how great of a deal this was.

“Look here,” he gestured with his left hand, pointing towards the tensor core. “Looks like this has been refurbished more than once.” The polarized helm would hide the amused twinkle in his eyes. Oh he was having fun.

“Yes, but still works like a charm! Best deal, I fixed it nice. Will make the best boom boom.”

“Oh I don’t know, I am looking for some pretty big boom boom...” Drifter’s voice went trailing off as if he didn’t believe the Squib’s claims.

“This best! Can show!”

“Really? Because Fubbabusk over there was willing to trade me two, “ a pair of fingers swung in front of the Squib merchant for emphasis, “ refurbished cores for this shiny new talky talk,” with added flair, Drifter unclipped the comm unit from his wait and proceeded to laud its virtues with all the finesse of an Arceneau Trade Representative.

“Look at how shiny it is! It took me months to polish the dallorian and take away these scuffs,” while his left hand held the comm, his right would use to fingers to draw attention to the comm unit, “You think you are going to find any other shiny talky talky with this type of heat-resistance?” All the while Drifter played his trade, Beegeemahmah visibly shook in his eagerness with the haggling banter.

This was a normal scene at Leelah trade market. There were various shopkeepers and traders in the open-air vendor marketplace, littered with a variety of scavenged goods and street food stalls. Nothing like the aroma of baking trash intermixing of hydraulic fluid and grilled onion nuna sausage links.

Ever since he woke up from the months-long coma after the incident at the space station, Drifter had been making himself scarce from his family and everyone else. Even Jacen had trouble reaching him, and Vexen, well… it was hard to convey that he needed some time to figure things out somehow. For the kid that would always find his way out with a quip or a joke, the aftereffects of that day were something he was constantly struggling with. It annoyed him, angered him, and he found himself with another side effect that he wasn’t sure how he was going to fix.

 

[Rhea]

Rhea hated markets like this. She hated the battering, the ramble, the indirectness. She just wanted to buy her parts, okay? Why did the damn squib have to make it so complicated? A thick canvas bag was strapped around her shoulders, already weighed down by the small parts and components she needed to fix up her speeder.

And other things. Ahem.

There was just one part left she needed. And as it turned out, only one vendor had it. And he was putting her through hell just to get it.

“500 for the vroomie zoomie.”

“Are you kidding me?” She exclaimed. “It’s barely worth 50! There’s rust!”

“600 and you go vroom.”

“I’m not paying 600 for that. I’m not paying 500. I’ll give 50 and that’s that-- it’ll barely last a ride just look at it!“

“This is a perfectly good vroomie zoomie!”

“Okay,” she huffed, yanking it from him. “First off, this is called a fuel pump modulator. And you’re unlikely to get another buyer, it only works on 0900’s and they’re outdated by a decade! Second off! Rust!”

The squib grinned as her frustration hit voice-squeaking point.

“For you-- 650.”

“Gaaaaah!” She exclaimed, her voice ringing throughout the stalls.

 

[Drifter]

Beegeemahmah was not about to be outbid by Fubbabusk. He wanted that shiny talkie talkie, and he was not going to lose it!

The Squib's eyes bugged, eyes flashing a bright green as the pressing need to seal the deal made his tiny body visibly shaking. "Look, pal, you trade shiny talkie talkie, and I give this boom boom and --" the Squib went staggering towards his pile of salvaged goods. Going through the organized chaos that only to pull out a particular piece of salvage he’d found. It was small and slightly curved, looked a bit like a glass disk.

“This good, pal, found at big city. Left behind by pokey fire sticks. I trade this too with boom boom stick.”

Giving it some attention was part of the game. So Drifter gave a walk over to peer at it. “Let me see,” he asked, stretching out to take it from the Squib’s hand.

Bringing it up, Drifter took a good look at it, flipping it between his gloved hand. It was a lightsaber focusing lens. Recognition made his grip on the disk tighten. If it was salvaged in the big city... It was either from a saber belonging to someone who used to be in the alliance or the First Order. Memories darkened his brow, furrowing in a tight expression under his breathing mask and helm. It was a good thing that it remained hidden behind that mask; otherwise, it would have harmed his haggling.

The shout, or more of a shriek, drew Drifter’s attention. All eyes would pan over towards the direction of a woman a couple of stalls away. She was frustrated, livid. Drifter didn’t need to read her body language to learn that. The man was raised on a handful of languages, one of them being kinetic communication, passed down from his mother who was born a Lorrdian. Brows rose high in surprise, then amusement. The dark thoughts that had begun to percolate in his mind momentarily fading.

Tall, athletic, with a thick canvas bag that would be heavy for anyone to carry. Didn’t have the patience to deal with a Squib happy to barter, but not everyone could handle them. His curiosity was stirred.

Handing Beegeemahmah the lightsaber focusing lens, he gave a small gesture, indicating, “I’ll be right back.”

With a swagger, Drifter went ambling towards the Squib and the vexed woman, interjecting himself into the conversation with nary of an introduction. “Huh, look at all that rust… not the best fuel pump modulator. “ the metallic drone of his voice punctured the tension between the vendor and the would-be shopper.

“I wouldn’t offer six-hundred and fifty credits.” a dramatic pause, a slight wave of a gloved hand, single finger lifting up in the air. “Ah.. but perhaps…” Drifter gave a slight survey of what the woman had on her person. From what he could tell there were various ship parts sticking out of the sack. That wouldn't do. Finally, his attention settled upon what appeared to be a glittering, silver-hued key chain on her belt loop. It fit the characteristics of being shiny and distracting.

“How about you trade him that keychain for it?” a gesture of Drifter’s finger would draw everyone's line of sight to the woman's waist.

“Look how shiny it is!” there was no hiding the mock sales pitch he was delivering to hype it up. “Won’t be able to see anything like that around here.”

A wicked grin cocked the corner of his mouth up under his breathing mask, and anyone could tell just by the tone he was heavily amused, “ -- and no rust!”

The thing about Squibs is that they would always prefer trading one shiny thing for another. Trading and bartering were worth more than an exchange of credits.

 

[Rhea]

Rhea leveled a sharp glance at the stranger, her fingers snapping to the keychain in an instant. They wrapped protectively around it, which seemed to only catch the Squibs interest and send him buzzing in excitement.

“Lemme see it then,” it allowed.

Rhea’s nostrils flared, a tense breath being shot out as she debated.

Did she really need the speeder fixed this bad? ...Yes. Her shoulders dropped, a heavy sigh falling from her as she undid the chain and held it up.

“Yeah,” she agreed, her tone blatantly unenthusiastic. “No rust.” She shot the masked man a dry look, his back up clearly not appreciated. She had had this on her own. At least, that was what she told herself.

The key chain dangled between her fingers, shiny indeed, and enamelled with red and gold along its design. The insignma was unmistakable, if just a bit worn down from use.

Galactic Alliance.

It was the glimmer to the silver that held the squip’s keen interest, the metal well polished from fingers that unconsciously traced the insignia on a daily basis. The squib reached out, taking it from her and holding it close for inspection.

“Listen, if you’re not gonna make up your mind I’m going take it back now and go-”

“Uh-uh-uh!” The squib waved her off, clutching the item close to his chest.

“It will do. Vroom vroom yours.”

Rhea pursed her lips and shoved the fuel pump modulator into her bag. With a series of clinks, she turned to go.

It was just a keychain.

She didn’t need it.

 

[Drifter]

It was her body language, that defensive posture that indicated to Drifter that the keychain was vital to her. He saw her wavering between various emotions, her body practically resonating with her indecision, anger, rumination, and then that sad realization that the end justifies the means. Whatever it was wasn't worth not being able to barter for that rusty fuel pump.

The man caught a passing glimpse of what sort of sigil hung off that keychain. When the symbol registered, the twin suns of Drifter's eyes gave a slight flare underneath the visor. Within a nanosecond, he had his own conflicting inner turmoil regarding it. Remembrance of death, loss, and anger all clashing with the sense of righteous fury, compassion, and what his parents raised him to believe what was right and wrong.

The navpoints connected in his mind, racing towards a series of assumptions. The woman had some ties to the former Galactic Alliance, and by the way, she ended up curling her fist around the keychain, it had some measure of worth to her.

Huh, either it belonged to someone she knew in the Alliance, or it belongs to her.

Interesting.

The Squib took the shiny without hesitation, and as the woman turned to leave, Drifter held up the dallorian plated comm towards the green-skinned trader, waving it up for him to see.

"Hey, pal -- you wanna trade? I got something extra shiny for that there," he'd gesture at the keychain, the deftness of his movements quick enough to be missed by the woman, hidden by his position of his body.

The Squib was not about to haggle a good deal. The dallorian plated comm was larger, shinier, and had no scruffs. By far, that was a good deal that required no additional haggling. By all accounts, it was a good trade.

With greedy fingers, the Squib tossed the keychain at Drifter, eagerly reaching out towards Drifter for the comm. Without a care, he tossed it towards the Squib, pocketing the keychain with a deft clutch of his hand.

Without further ado, interest piqued, he made haste to catch up to the woman, calling out, "Hey, you must be new around here." he began, the breathing mask giving the tenor of his voice a distinctive metallic resonance.

"Haven't seen your face haggling up the stalls at all!" his voice was a rather bold sing-song, one that even with the vibratto of the filter through the mask, could not mask the amusement that edged it.

 

[Rhea]

Rhea’s shoulder’s tensed, her guard going up in an instant. It had been a good long while since she had a conversation in which someone wasn’t trying to get something from her. In the face of his unrequested assistance and now insistent attempt at a pursuit, she made quick assumptions as to what it was.

She wasn’t interested.

“Yeah. That’d be the sex change I just got pushed through.” She forced a tight smile and a cheeky wink, finding that was usually enough to deter even the most horny of men out there.

Unless this turned them on. That was what her blaster was for.

She made a quick attempt at dodging him through the stalls, but it provided very little help. She came upon her speeder just a few spits away, dragged deadweight weight right out to the edge of the market street.

She gave a heavy sigh at the beat up sight of it, half its side smashed into by who knew what. It was no wonder she needed a fuel line. What remained of the thing dangled to the ground. She dropped her heavy sack, the spare parts clunking, and went to her knees.

This was gonna take a while.


Fuck she hoped she knew what she was doing.

 

[Drifter]

Drifter could almost see the brunette woman's hackles rise, much like a skittish Pittin warily having to deal with one nuisance or another. Not that the man minded one bit; he was well used to this sort of behavior when he got into his usual antics.

A distinct snort of amusement at the subject of the sex-change came up. It only served to pique Drifter's interest further, profoundly entertained as much as a young boy would with a new bug or creature to play with.

He was not to be deterred, speeding up enough to keep up with her rather amusing attempts at trying to steer him off. Not that it would help. Under the breathing mask, the right corner of Drifter's mouth gave a sharp upward twitch.

Ever since he was young, Drifter had the sharper instincts and skills when it came to tracking and hunting. His father would take him to the jungles of Dagobah or Kashyyyk, and together they would have their own weeks long, male-only outdoor excursion. His Garhoon heritage provided a distinct predatory edge when it came to be deft of feet, agility, and stealth. That didn't even include the abilities he'd learned to track others through the Force and enhanced through alchemy with talismans.

It was cute that she was trying to run off, but she wasn't going to get far. Not when he had a personal token to enhance the tracking. Much like a Kathhound, that tiny flare of lifeforce he could pick up through the Force identified her among the sea of lights.

He found her on her knees in front of a sad excuse of a rust-bucket speeder that had seen far better days. A low whistle of amusement at that sad state was the first indication of his continued presence, followed by the unique snark considered to be Drifter's trademark. It worked exceptionally well with older and younger sisters alike in terms of inciting them to see red. Many childhood sibling tussles had come from it.

"I know I'm terrible at fixing anything electronic," his saunter brought him by her, hands clasping behind his back, circling the junk speeder. "But, I don't even know if my sister would even be able to get this thing to work."

Drifter had no skills whatsoever when it came to fixing anything electronic or when it dealt with droids. Well, essential wrench turning being the exception. This, however, this splendid example of probable futility was not his forte. His father and his sisters were the technomancers in the family. Nohei was exceptional when it came to dealing with anything of the sort; she even made her own small company work on creating custom droids and technology. His droid was built by her and had accompanied him throughout his travels. Let’s not even mention that any sort of speeder or ship he tried to fly had a tendency to fall under the family curse; he always crashed them.

"This might need more than a fuel pump there, Pittin." he sang, his voice coated with the unique, metallic reverberance from the breathing mask.

 

[Rhea]

Rhea gave a slight start, component scattering a few feet in each direction as her fussing through the bag was interrupted.

“Hell, you are unshakable.” She sighed again, tucking her hair behind her ears as she reached to regather every part.

His observation was demoralizing, and not something she cared to hear. She didn’t really have any other option but to try. Over the year her collateral worth had quickly been deteriorating, and now with nothing more than this speeder and her bags to her name… she had to get it running. How else could she get work?

“If you don’t have anything helpful to say, don’t say anything at all. Didn’t your mother teach you not to harass people?”

She stood and went to the other side, yanking at the handle of the jammed storage container. The muscles on her arms strained, a grunt pulling from her as the bent frame was unforgiving. She gave the boot a kick, a noise of frustration killing from her.

“Dammit!” Her tools were in there.

 

[Drifter]

"You uh, might need these," Drifter bent down, moving to grab a few of the component pieces to hand off to her. However, she was already jumping and dancing around as if she had a burr on her ass. A half snort of amusement and he answered with a rather cockeyed drawl, "Suu-re she did. My mother, that is." A flair of a gesture of his left hand in emphasis while the other went stretching out to hand her the components he picked up.

"But I also grew up with an older sister and two younger ones," he admitted, the polarized visor that hid his face reflecting Rhea's image. "In order to survive that panty-hose jungle, I had to be tough. Learn how to defend myself. " Another half shuffle closer and then he cocked a hip to lean against the junk rust bucket of a speeder, intending to cross his arm over his armored chest should she actually take the components from him without attempting to rip his arm off.

"Siblings are always out for blood," he said, explaining the family dynamics of growing up as the only male besides his father in his family.

"Getting to know what to say to really get them distracted was a way to ensure my legacy. And a lack of extra holes on my hide." there was no ignoring the grin that coated his voice. Even with the visor and the breathing apparatus, his cock-sure personality was bleeding through.

"Hey, need help here? I may be poodoo with fixing anything, but I can handle opening storage containers." a wag of his finger in emphasis, with a salesman's pitch, "I'll even do it for free!"

 

[Rhea]

Wow that was a lot of unnecessary backstory.

She raised her brows, taking a deep breath to try and push through her frustration. She wasn’t usually this irritable. Let’s just say it’d been a bad week and leave it at that. Conscious of the outside reasons for her foul mood, she clenched and unclenched her fist, trying not to be unnecessarily hostile to the man as she took the parts from his extended hand.

Everything he had said received no acknowledgement from her. She merely stepped back from the speeder and gave it a large wave. “Fine. You think you can do better? Be my guest.”

She resisted the urge to give it another kick as she stepped back for him to come around and try. The parts flopped in her hands, earning a skeptical look from her as she studied them for a moment. Better not be faulty.

The whole moment literally hinged in his ability to get the thing open. She was pretty strong too.

 

[Drifter]

“So angry!” Drifter observed with his usual peanut-gallery tone. The woman might not be his biggest fan, but the man didn’t take it to heart. In fact, one might say that Rhea’s frustration only served to amuse him more. Not that he took pleasure at her ever-increasing indignation, but more due to the bemusement that such a thing as being unable to open the storage unit would drive her to such a state.

Or maybe that was just enhanced by my presence?

“Alright,” he sang, agreeing to her challenge. “I will alter the agreement juuust a bit.” he added, bringing his gloved hand up to hold his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart to emphasize.

“I open it up and you’ll tell me your name.” even with the mask, one could picture a rather cocky grin that would paste itself upon his swarthy face.

“Best deal you’ll get this side of Metrobig City,” his arm spread slightly wide in front of him, gloved hand palm up and slightly angled in suggestion, feet spread slightly to brace himself.

You know, in case of a slap.

 

[Rhea]

In a moment Rhea’s agitation turned into a wave of heavy defeat. She held out her palms backup him, arms rising and dropping as if asking ‘what do you want from me?’

Couldn’t she catch a break?

She gave a heavy huff, at a loss and frankly out of energy to deal with yet another problem. She gave into him. Sorta. “My name is Sia,” she lied, pushing past him and trying to yank it open herself again. Well if he was going to be no help and play with her like a cat batting at a mouse, then she’d go back to trying on her own.

She had work to do!

“Whatever you want from me I probably-” grunt. “Can’t-” grrrunt. “Give you.” The speeder creaked, falling back down the ground as she released the stuck door and gasped for breath.

“Dammit,” she cursed softly, her shoulders curving in defeat. She was beginning to think she was screwed here. Maybe there was no fixing this.

 

[Drifter]

The woman was a cacophony of emotions. They bled out of her posture, her tone, infected the way she would continuously yank at the storage unit with distinct aggression and frustration. There was a lot for the man to read. Even when his mother went full on with fast kinetic communication, it took more effort to try and read between the lines than normal. It was enough to make him realize that as much as he was enjoying teasing her, she was really starting to feel the strain of it combined with whatever else she had been dealing with already. He had enough sense of shame to straighten, bringing his hands back up at about chest level, intending to provide a sort of calming stance that indicated that he didn’t actually mean her any harm with his joking around.

If anything, Drifter knew when he should dial it back.

“Whoa, there alright.” his tone changed, the amused edge shifting into one of mild concern. “How about -- “ he began, using his right hand to gesture for her to take a step back. “You take a few steps back, just relax a little bit… breathe.”

There was a smidgen of guilt along that edged the tone of his voice, as if his playful banter was only intending to be exactly that.

“Sia is it?” he continued, turning towards the wreck of a speeder and giving it a short appraisal. Through all that hot mess of a reaction, it was a bit more difficult to discern if she was lying or not. For now, he didn’t care. Either way, it gave him something to call her by.

“I’m Drifter,” a small, casual salute was a half-wave of an introduction. Plonking closer to the storage container, his brows gave a slight frown, seemingly studying the design. The Force would bloom within the man, streaming down within his body and flowing along the length of his arm until it settled at the shell of his palm. Placing it along the upper durasteel of the storage container, he let his mind wander, opening up to discern the various intricacies of where it was getting stuck.

“So, you’ve been on Skor two long? Don’t look like you’re a native of the place,” his carefree, jovial tone made a comeback, chuckling at his own joke, “You know because you are not a Squib!” if he could slap his knee he would.

He found the area where the rusted catch had become stuck. No wonder. With a prod of his mind, he sent a telekinetic push that would work at the latch. The metallic grind of metal on metal would creak, the speeder shuddering under his hand.

‘Yeah, not to be the bearer of bad news. But this lock is pretty rusted.” Nohei would of had it easier working this. “It’s going to need some serious corrosion control.” he added, only to give a pleased, “Ah-hah!”, the storage lid suddenly popping open, the last bit of the rust rubbed off in the back and forth motion to unlock.

“Tada!” a gesture followed of smug satisfaction. “See! Nothing to it.” enter the slight dusting off of his forearm.

 

[Rhea]

Rhea stood back, a well of appreciation bubbling up as Drifter dialed it back and stepped forward to help. She did indeed listen and took a few breaths-- it had just been a day alright? Scratch that-- a week. A damn week of bad times and you know you there was a slight chance she was pmsing but she wasn’t even gonna think about that cause now she was out of money for pads and--

Breathe.

She tried not to dwell on how she would get by come tomorrow. She directed her energy to the now, watching Drifter as he placed a hand on the hood of her speeder.

A sudden odd sense entered the air-- of well of the force. It had been a while since Rhea had felt it this strongly. I mean, it was supposed to be everywhere-- right? That was what he had said. But this wasn’t just everywhere, it was here. And moving. Her nostrils flared, recognizing that it meant one thing.

His words went unheard as the trunk popped open. And sitting in full view was box of tools … some supplies … and a lightsaber just left to roll about.

Rhea reached out without thinking, panic in her chest that she couldn’t identify. She just closed the trunk and wheeled on him, eyes wide and tense as she barked her question.

“Who are you?” No like. Really.

 

[Drifter]

“Huh,” Drifter breathed out, glancing from the trunk where the lightsaber suddenly went out of sight with a loud slam of the lid. “Didn’t think that would be there,” he then shook a finger, quizzingly studying the woman as he mused aloud, “Did you know that was there?”

Of course, she was already almost about to get into his personal space, whirling around, body leaning forward, chin jutting up in the air in probing inquisition.

“Whoa there,” he exclaimed, voice rising in pitch, the metal tang reverberating behind his breathing mask. He swung his hands up in a protective stands, palm out, as if trying to prevent her from lunging at him. Enter a rather comical half shuffle of deft feet, the man managing to swing himself in a half circle around ‘Sia’.

“Why you go on and do that? I just opened it!” he mused, the mild amusement rising in his voice again. Then, staring at her with that polarized visor that reflected her growing scowl, added with a little-boy charm, “I told you. The names’ Drifter!”

He practically preened.

 

[Rhea]

Rhea took a step forward, trying to back him off her things as she tried to process who the hell was in her shit. For the first time, a weapon showed on her, her hand unconsciously brushing the hilt of her blaster to reassure herself of its presence.

All hackles were raised, the tense and sharp as her body language seemed to make her grow in size. Like a bolstering peacock.

“Are you a sith?” She asked bluntly. No amount of bolstering would help her there.

 

[Drifter]

“Whoa, quick with the labels aren’t we?” Drifter replied, crossing his arm over his chest. “A little judgemental there, Pittin.” if he took offense to her query, he didn’t show it. In fact, just by body posture alone, he radiated a distinct level of amusement. Although one would have to pay close attention to notice the slight shot of tension that ran down his spine.

Ah, she’s a smart one isn’t she? The voice would curl in the back of Drifter’s mind, a throaty chuckle resonating within the depths.

Shut up.

This isn’t a way to talk to your elders, Draithe.

I am ignorrrrring you old man!

“Come on, do I look like a Sith?” there was a distinct rock of his heels, Drifter gesturing to himself as if that was an absurdity. “I am far too good looking to be one.” that forefinger of his gestured to his face.

Granted, the polarized visor and the breathing mask did nothing to deter the stereotypical perception of what a Sith might use. Although, Drifter would make the argument that anyone would want to avoid breathing in the sand and not having to smell the scent of baking poodoo and trash. He certainly wore armor, but it was more akin to what a mercenary or a scout would wear. He had scuffed plates a gray-blue hue that protected his torso, shoulders, thighs, and back. A short cloak of sorts hung half wrapped around his neck, more of a poncho really that hung just past his waist. He had dark boots, held together with leather straps. Along his neck from what could be discerned would be a variety of trinkets, bits of silver glittering through from a pendant and a small circle that looked almost like a ring.

He had that hobo scavenger mercenary look pretty down pat.

If he had any weapons, it wasn’t too evident. At least unless Sia managed to notice the blaster holster along his right hip. If there were more, he was hiding them well.

“Right? Right.”

 

[Rhea]

Rhea didn’t know much about what sith ought not to look like. She only knew one way they did. She didn’t back down, not for a second, her fingers brushing back over her blasters handle and wrapping over it protectively.

Sith had destroyed everything she had known. A part of her suspected she’d never escape from her time served under the Galatia Alliance. And another part of her didn’t believe in coincidence. Her paranoia quickly led her down one path.

Her blaster clicked as the safety was removed, it’s end leveled right at Drifter’s gut.

“Show me your eyes.”

As said, she only knew one way they should look. Her education was a bit … lacking.

 

[Drifter]

“You are one very confrontational woman, aren’t you?” under his visor, Drifter’s brow arched high. It had been a while since he’d seen this level of prejudice. He didn’t make any other motion than that, his arm still crossed over his broad chest. He wasn’t made of muscle, but there was a notable tone. Lanky and wiry.

“What do my eyes have anything to do with being a Sith?” he shot back at her, challenging her perception.

“While I admit, my eyes are very pretty, I do not take anything off on the first date.” the grin was palatable. “I need at least dinner. Big steak.” a slight cant of his head, “I am also very partial to cookies.”

She knows. She can sense it.
Could you please keep your heavy breathing somewhere else?
Why are you always arguing with me? This can be so much easier on both of us if you would just listen.
Look old man, when have I ever listened?
You are lucky I can’t smack you, boy.

“Chocolate chip to be exact. My sis makes the best ones. Although, we all know no one can beat mom’s.”

If he was concerned that she just might blow that trigger, his increasing sass indicated he wasn’t.

“A better question would be -- oh hey Drifter! How did you do that?” a distinct pause.

“Magic!”

 

[Rhea]

She was unamused. The frustration of before was gone. The anger was forgotten. All previous grumbles the woman had been carrying in her frame— dropped.

Eyes caught on them as passersbyers slowed to a curious drawl.

She fell right back into a time better left forgotten. Her feet shifted incrementally, adopting a stance. If she had ears of an animal they would pointed in all directions. Her body was tense, ready, and reading his own for any twitch towards a weapon.

“I know how you did it. I know what you are.” The barrel pressed into his gut, warm from the heat. She had left barely any space between them. Barely any way to maneuver before she could react and pull the trigger. One might realize she had been setting up those positions from the start.

“I’m only going to ask you once.” There was no bluff, her gaze fierce. She’d go down with him. No hesitation, no explanation needed. She’d dive headfirst into this perceived confirmation with a fiery passion.

“Your eyes.”