2008-03-23 - Tea For Three

Paxo: Pax City - Ezmerda Famous Coffee House
You are standing in a heated room, automatically confronted by the rich, complicated smells of food and drink, as well as the general noise of diners, full of low iron tables and unfussy chairs, thick carpets stretch from corner to corner of the walls,nobody worries about getting it dirty with their shoes, since it is such a dark color anyway. Or is it? It is hard to see, it might as well always be night in here, the windows are covered in curtains and there is only a dim light to see by, enough to see the basic outline of the contents on your plate. 
There are copper washbasins in for cleaning your hands before and after meals, which is necessary here, a rule so to speak, just to attest to an unusual interest for clean hands before supping, despite the seeming unfussiness. This is a calculated design, it seems, rough and tumble, yet somehow ritualistic in feel. 
Grim, standoffish waiters, dressed in simple red sheaths and brown baggy pants, tied with black belts, stand on the outskirts of the room, sweating quietly, when they are not serving customers coffee and food they are keeping out the way of the guests, letting them enjoy themselves. The smells here are heavy, spicy and overpowering, nothing subtle about this joint. Note: The coffee is monstrous, thick, covered in dark foam on top. Caution to those with weak stomachs.
Two people sit at a table, talking quietly as the lunch hour drags on and on. Seated across from Haquien is a young, tan woman that's perhaps sixteen or seventeen, though her age is rather obscured by the dark setting. Instead of his armor, also, Haquien wears some of the local threads and fits in rather nicely. There aren't many patrons inside.
With a creak, the coffee house doors open. For moment, it appears no one has entered, until a shadow moves towards the main bar, disturbing the haze there. It pulls back its hood, coppery hair tumbles out. The Blacks Wing Commander Rem Dolor, eye patch and all, quietly orders a caf and scans the shadowed establishment with her good eye. 
The young woman Haquien's with laughs quietly after he makes a joke, then covers her mouth and settles for several giggles. Haquien's attention, though, drifts to the Wing Commander, and soon the young woman's attention turns there, too. She suddenly looks back to Haquien, though, and whispers hurridely in explanation while he nods. If Rem looks in their direction, he raises and waves a hand, much to the young woman's surprise.
If Rem notices, she doesn't act the eager beaver, waiting instead until her caf arrives - a rich, thick drink almost as black as her attire - and only then sashays quietly over, as though it were her intention all along. She stops at the table and bows her head in greeting. "Afternoon, Haquien," she greets cooly and casually. "Who's your lovely friend?" She turns her eye on the young woman and gives her a small smirk.
"Afternoon," Haquien says with a nod. He smiles as the young woman looks on in shock and admiration, or perhaps just shock. "This is my sister, Amirah. Amirah this is Rem Dolor, Wing Commander." He gestures to each at the introduction, but just afterwards the young woman blurts you, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Dolor!" She stands and curtsies happily, with a touch of nervousness, and beams happily. Haquien sighs softly.
The Wing Commander quirks her good eyebrow and turns to give Haquien a sly grin, but very brief as she's right back to all smiles to the younger woman. Setting her caf down on the table, Rem performs a low, sweeping bow. "My dear, the pleasure is all mine," she coos as she rises. "Haquien never told me he had such a pretty sister. Please, please, have a seat. May I join you two?"
"He didn't??" Amirah says, giving her brother a glare. Before Haquien can reply, she says, "Yes, of course you can!" And so she sits back down, happily pleased, and merry. "Haquien hasn't told us /anything/," she continues, just as Haquien begins to speak again, "he says he works on some /boring/ ship and never does anything but work on robots, like father. Mleh! I still think he should work for the Blacks, because then he'd be a real soldier, like you!" Haquien clears his throat and taps his cheek with his index finger, but Amirah ignores him. "Is he lying, Miss Dolor? I just know he is. Otherwise he wouldn't have an unexplained /scar on his face/ and two mechanical fingers." She shoots him a glare.
Sliding into an empty chair, Rem lets out a small chuckle. "Takes after her mother, does she?" she asks jokingly, taking a small sip of the powerful brew and gags after swallowing. "Not as good as Jawa Juice, but it'll do." She turns then to Haquien and asks, "Ah, you don't tell your family much of your work? I admit, I do not either. Troublesome, mixing family and military." And.. just as quickly, her attention is back on his sister. "Of course, we /all/ have scars with stories." 
 
Rem's fingers open a few of the top clasps of her armor and she winks to the younger woman, "Though, I'll happily show you all of mine and tell you all about them."
Haquien clears his throat and nods. "I tell her to keep her head down and mouth closed.. hasn't done so yet." He gets another glare, but this time it's Haquien that speaks. "And you should. You're suggesting something rather grotesque: you should think for once before informing everyone of my reluctance to tell you about people I've fought. War isn't some game. People die."
Amirah frowns and crosses her arms, then looks swiftly to Rem. She eyes the woman's armor and neck, interest growing. "Were you.. were you shot?" she asks tentatively.
Rem shrugs, almost casually. "In space, on land. Shot, stabbed, sniped. Ah, the nature of war.." she replies melodically, eyelid fluttering closed, as though recalling a fond memory. "Your brother happened to have saved my life, once. Which is why I forgive him for not working for us." Her eye snaps open and she leans forward. "He's a very good engineer," she confides to the other woman. 
Amirah watches Rem with near-horrified interest, her mouth opening a little. "And.. you're alive?! My brother saved you??" She beams again, mood shifting suddenly. "Oh, tell me the story! Father won't let me read the news. He says it just breaks his heart, and it upsets mother so much." Haquien sighs again and taps his cheek in slight annoyance, but doesn't comment.
"I'm afraid I don't recall much outside of the rather embarrassing recovery phase," Rem sighs wistfully and taps her finger to her chin while turning a sly grin to Haquien. "You'll have to pester your brother for the whole story. No doubt.. very heroic and all." With that, she leans back, draping one arm over the chair's back, and drinks some more caf.
"I picked her up and ran to the medical center," Haquien explains simply, unamazingly. Amirah crosses her arms again. "You make everything so booring, Haquien," she huffs. Falling quiet, she sips some of the sludge-coffee in front of her. Turning to Rem, Haquien says, "I met the Lady Admiral the other day. She gave me the proper clearance. I swore I wouldn't cause any trouble." He pulls out Rem's badge and puts it on the table, adding, "Thanks. I think things will be quiet, unless Seifer finds me again."
"Oh, you've met the boy?" Rem lets out a thoughtful hmm, and plucks the badge off the table. While she's readjusting it on her armor, she continues, "He's always been hotheaded and protective. Lady Bellamy still holds some control over him.." She pauses for another sip of her drink. "But, for how long.." She finishes darkly, her tongue tracing her upper lip for stray caf foam.
"Yes, and he hates me." Haquien nearly chuckles, despite his serious expression. "I think I might avoid him for the rest of my stay, so long as I can, and I'd appreciate it if.. if he asks you why I'm here, you told him some lie. I don't know what to make of him yet, but I wouldn't put it past him to do something horribly rash." Amirah frowns deeper.
"Certainly. You are my guest here, what you do with your time is your own business," Rem nods as if it were as true was the rising sun. "He still listens to me as his Wing Commander, but I fear, as he grows older and stronger, that may not last." A sad sigh as she finishes the last of her coffee. "Boys grow up and find their own way so fast. A shame, he was a gifted pilot, too."
Haquien, Amirah, and Rem sit at a table to the side of the main bar. Amirah is a young woman, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, with tan skin and black hair. -- "Hmm," Haquien says simply. He leans on his hand, then calmly asks, "He wouldn't happen to have some sort of instructor that you know of, would he? That could give him some direction.. perhaps."
A mustachioed individual strides into the coffee shop, tweaking his mustache nervously as he does so. He is followed by five men who look loosely like they are following him but also like they are trying to keep their distance. His gaze eventually settles on Rem and his lips twitch a little bit. It's hard to tell if it's habit or paranoid tic.
"Hmm, he did, at first. Then cut off his head, I hear, when he had outlived his purpose," Rem replies coyly, showing teeth in a faint hint of a grin. "Now? I cannot. Or maybe a simply will not, tell you. For your own safety, of course, my dear friend." Movement in the shop, rather uncrowded for this time of day, draws her eye. She purses her lips quizzically, but remains in her casual relaxed pose.
"I doubt I'll ever find out, then, if he's that dangerous," Haquien observes. He looks up as someone else enters, but then looks back to Rem. "If it's anything close to the rumors I've heard, that is." Amirah perks up, but Haquien shoots her a look and she reluctantly quiets. "Will you get fitted with a mechanical eye, Rem? I worry about your astigmatism."
Roark grabs a chair and spins it around to seat himself in it backwards. He makes a gesture and one of the shady individuals that followed him in sets a violin case on the ground next to him. "Name's Roark. Flyn Roark," he says. "Boss wants you to get some work done for him," he says, eyeing Rem in a rather intense fashion. "You'll remember him. Red hair, glass eye, kind of crazy."
"I hadn't thought that far ahead, really. It took some getting used to, getting around with limited depth perception, but it wouldn't be much of a sacrifice if I just replaced it." Rem notes with amusement. "Did you do anything for yours? How's your vision?" As the other man settles down, Rem rolls her eye and sarcastically replies, "How can I forget? He was ever so charming. I certainly hope it's nothing exceptionally explosive, hm?" 
 
She turns a little to face Amirah again and smiles most sweetly, "Men. Always so demanding."
"Mine's going to heal with time and bacta injections. At the moment they call it a 'dead eye'. It has limited vision, and can't move, but in time it'll be OK." Haquien pauses and looks to Flyn Roark as Amirah giggles quietly.
"Nothing so exciting as all that." Roark kicks the violin case and sets it on the table. Within is contained a repeater and a handblaster. "My associates have the parts you'll need. And if you need anything else we're only -too- happy to help. Eventually he'll be wanting a rifle worked on, but he don't have that yet."
"That's good to hear. An engineer's eyes are his most important tools, next to his hands," Rem says with a small nod. As she talks, she picks up a blaster, looks it over with her good eye and draws a micro-screw driver from a small compartment at her belt. Wordlessly, though a bit clumsily (for, vehicles are her specialty, not weapons), she takes it apart. 
 
"I was honestly worried you'd lose more than just an eye, from the stories I heard," she says, before putting the screw driver into her mouth and fiddling with the blaster parts on the table.
"I likely did," Haquien explains. "Mouth, ear, cheek, forehead.. the doctor said he gave me some reconstructive surgery. It wasn't pretty. But bacta and good medicine heals a lot of wounds, I guess." He sighs, adding, "I'm going to take a walk. Thanks again, Rem." He gestures for Amirah to stand, and she does. He also nods to Flyn Roark before heading for the door.
Rem frowns as she works, concentrating. She finally pulls the screwdriver out of her mouth. "Stay out of trouble, dear Haquien. I have an apartment in the Spire. 501. Feel free to stop by any time, if you want. And bring your lovely sister along," she calls after them, even winking after the woman. 
"Nice meeting you, mister," says Roark with a nod of his head as he watches Rem work, tweaking his mustache all the while. "See you around. Well, maybe." He smirks and abandons them to their fate (which, presumably, consists of leaving).
"Ahh, there." The pieces of the blaster click back into place, quickly whole. More practice, more ease. With her lop-sided grin, Rem slides the weapon across the table to the manly-mustachio'd gentleman. "She'll fire faster, cleaner, more accurately now." A confident smirk crosses her lips. "If your.. employer need a rifle, I've a good selection on my ship. It'll save him a trip, hmm?"
The gentleman in question takes the repeater and hefts it expertly, admiring it for a moment before closing it back in the case. "If you're offering I won't say no," he says, stroking his mustache. "Can't go wrong with a well-tweaked sniper rifle. Nothing quite like it. You been collecting, have you?"
Rem flutters her eyelashes innocently. "Precautionary measures. I'm quite a target for snipers, as of late.." she muses, "Leveling the playing field, I'll call it. Yes. Just that. Would have been handy for your.. employer to warn me of the price on my life. Would have saved me some needless scaring." She fixes her eye on the man remaining at the table.
"Never figured him for the type to behave predictably. Best not to ask questions, I found. He's one of those types, you know? Everything a scheme within a plot within a machination, take nothing at face value." Roark shrugs. "Show me what you have, my friend. I'll let you know if it's what we're looking for."
"Hmm.. yes, let us go take a look. Maybe there'll be something else in my arsenal that might pique your interest?" Rem rises, slipping a credit chip onto the table to pay for her caf. Looking down on Roark with her remaining eye, she says with a sneer, "Schemes and plots cost innocent lives. Tell your boss to work that into his complicated little game, next time."
Category:March 2008 RP Logs