Noventa - A Star Wars Story

Clementine was initially reassured. He lost himself briefly in happy thoughts of how much she enjoyed the last present. He didn't really think through that this might imply that Fleepo, like the orb, had an appointment with the endless void in the supply room before he was distracted by how... close Demona and Fleepo were getting. And the way his hand was pointing while he was screaming, and her hand was reaching out to his face, it almost looked like they were about to embrace (if you ignored the screaming).

"HEY," said Clementine loudly, as processors began to whirr, and he took a step towards Fleepo. This broke the Rodian's paralysis -- or something did. Whether it was Clementine's aggressive move, Demona's almost-touching-him, or simple hypoxia from continuous screaming, Fleepo switched from freeze to fight, and took a swing at Demona. His technique was terrible, but all that time in the gym had given him an impressive amount of muscle to power the blow.

Demona laughed, as musically and disturbingly as ever. "Don't worry, sweetie." She said, flashing the big lifter a wink. "I love presents..."

Turning to the screaming fellow, she smiled, her eyes glinting whitely. Slowly, she began walking towards him, translucent dancer's hips swaying. But as she reached the edge of one holoprojector's field, she flickered and jumped ahead suddenly, an electronic screech accompanying the sudden surge forward.

More quickly than expected, she appeared before him. "It's like music..." She said, her eyes suddenly flashing red. "What a treat..." Her hand extended slowly, inch by inch, moving towards his face.

There is, all things considered, less of a reaction than there probably should be. Clasp starts a little when Demona first appears, and turns to track her, but doesn't really have enough imagination to be scared. Ulissh fell out of their chair, but that might have begun slightly before she appeared, and be the result of inebriation rather than startlement. Clementine was both expectant and cheerful, and was beginning to return her greeting ("Oh hi Demon-"). He was interrupted, however, when Fleepo (who was, in fact, one of the Rodians with hair to stand on end, long flowing golden locks that he was very proud of), stood up so fast his chair clattered behind him, pointed one arm straight at Demona, and started screaming.

"AAAAAAAAA....." He started backing up, stumbling slightly over his fallen chair, then righted himself and pointed some more. "...AAAAAAAAAAAAA..." He had maybe intended to back towards the door, but missed and hit the wall instead, and wasn't willing to take his large, black, starry eyes off Demona to figure out which way to edge. Instead he just kept pointing and screaming. "...AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

Clementine was nonplussed. He kept looking from his friend to his... to Demona, raising his already considerable vocoder volume to be heard over Fleepo. "Fleepo come on be cool you are being ver-rey rude I am so sor-rey Demona, ver-rey sor-rey..." He kept turning awkwardly to look between Demona and Fleepo, while awkwardly sidestepping towards the latter. The slow encroachment of the giant loadlifter probably didn't help Fleepo's state of mind much.

"Uh... sure." The barkeep said. A couple of times. At least once to each of the customers. Shaking his head and muttering quietly, he left to put in the order with the chef. And probably discuss protein.



Nearly as soon as he left, the flickering reached a crescendo. Demona appeared, heralded by a brief electronic hum, loud and deep enough to cause the hair on the backs of necks to rise. For those species with hair and necks.

"Well hello." A smile flickered in staccato motion across Demona's ghostly features. "Oh, you brought friends." The lights flickered, Demona vanishing, only to reappear behind first one patron, then the next, a sudden red thunderstorm of activity. It was over in moments, with each having received a visititation, and Demona returning to her starting place.

The smile returned, as fixed as always. "What a treat." Static crackled and hissed. Demona leaned forward, one hand on her hip, looming expectantly.

Ulissh ordered hard liquor in Huttese, apparently deciding on a liquid lunch. Fleepo asked long and boringly involved questions about the protein content of the "healthy" options, worrying about the impact of the fried part of the nerf steak on his muscle-building diet. Did they have, like, a blue milk and green vegetable protein shake? Clasp didn't have a vocabulary beyond "NEGATIVE" and "AFFIRMATIVE," and, with some prompting from Clementine, agreed that he wanted some oil from "the big can."

Clementine distractedly chatted with his co-workers, staring at the flickering light. "I will have what Clasp is having," he said, not turning his head, when everyone else had ordered. "And the first round is on me," he repeated, stolidly.

The staff at Twelve Parsecs was well trained. It wasn't long before the tatooed human bartender made his way over to their table.

"What can I get for you fellas?" He said, passing out menus. Including, after a moment of hesitation, to the droids. "Got a special on fried nerf steak today. And just got some new healthy options in." He shrugged. "I haven't tried 'em yet, but boss says they're pretty good."

Nearby, one of the lights briefly flickered. The bartender looked curiously at it, but didn't react beyond that.

Many sapients, in an attempt to work up courage in matters of the heart (or equivalent parts), recruit backup, witting or un-. Around the traditional organic lunch break time at the port, Clementine had told several of his co-dock-workers that he knew a place they could go. The rough crowd of manual laborers had gotten used to most of Clementine's idiosyncrasies, but the idea that he might have a good recommendation for a lunch joint provoked more mirth than appetite (particularly if they knew anything about the place he worked during the nighttime hours). When his description of "a bar, a very nice bar" proved unpersuasive, even with his increasingly desperate and strained elaborations of "with drink and food and stuff," he eventually resorted to his secret weapon: "the first round is on me, yes it is, on me."

Even so, only a curious few followed him from the spaceport to the edge of the city. There was Ulissh, a habitually intoxicated technician of low skill and indeterminate species, concealed in an enviro-suit; Fleepo, a Rodian who seemed to have mistaken his hobby for bodybuilding for having a personality; and Clasp, an ASP-7 labor droid that maybe had intended to come along, or maybe just hadn't had its last work-related order countermanded ("Follow Clementine and pick up anything that comes loose from his load").

With this gang of galaxy-beaters as his wingbeings, Clementine entered the Twelve Parsecs, waiting until they had come through the swinging doors behind him before he carefully delivered his pre-composed, not-very-quietly-rehearsed-on-the-way-there opening line.

"Hello everyone me and my friends would like a table the first round is on. Me." He stopped, reviewing it. Sounded good, yes. He nodded, the full-body bob nearly taking out Clasp, who had stood a little too close to his elbow.