Etain didn’t quite squeak at that last suggestion- it was more of a half-laugh, half-hiccup into her drink- but it came close enough. Still a little pink-cheeked, she shook her head ruefully.
“Master Windu would absolutely send me to Tanaab if I used the Force to manipulate the minds of Republic Senators over a card game. Or somewhere worse. Salliche, maybe. Or Lola Sayu.” Actually, now that she thought about it, she wasn’t certain she technically was supposed to know how to gamble, for all that Master Fulier had taught her the best of his sleight of hand tricks. “I definitely couldn’t afford that buy in, though. I think I have enough pocket credits scraped together for an extra cafacho tomorrow, but that’s about it.”
Denebrillan silk. Force help her. Where did these people come from?
Still, something about Rhysati’s spark of a grin helped settle the newest wave of panic that was threatening to rise. Etain forced herself to keep her eyes trained on the pilot, not pulling back when the Lieutenant leaned in closer, and returned the smile.
And of course, Lieutenant Ynr, who was pretty and confident and so far the only person who had bothered to even talk to Etain for more than a few sentences, could hardly be called a gas bag. But by the time Etain realized that she was supposed to say that aloud, should already have said it, the moment was too far gone.
She drained the last of her cup.
Still, Lieutenant Ynr’s advice wasn’t exactly… well… helpful. Even if Etain had not been chastised for the last decade to act less on her impulses and more as befitted a Jedi Knight- a General now- it was hard to even imagine what “being herself” even looked like in a crowd like this.
If there was a version of Etain Tur-Mukan who was comfortable enough to know how to laugh and float along in this world of shimmersilk and silver and shoroni sapphires… well, that person was a stranger.
But she did have an idea.
She titled her head in Rhysati’s direction, flinching a little closer to the pilot as someone swanned rudely by behind her, their velvet sleeve brushing her back. “If you don’t mind my asking, Lieutenant Ynr, what do you typically do for fun at events like these? Other than throwing drinks at your superiors, I mean? You must have something you find worth doing.” Etain let that sentence hang for a moment, then blinked and added, a little horrified but mostly intrigued, “And did you really stab a Bothan with the cutlery?”
Was that a laugh? It wasn’t not a laugh, so Rhys was going to count it as a win. Maybe not much of a win, but snubfighter pilots didn’t usually bother with niceties like how narrowly a victory had been scraped out; the important thing was winning the battle, not how you did it. And that squeaky little half-laugh was close enough to count in Rhys’s book.
“Does Master Windu have to know?” she asked, the smirk that tugged at her mouth doing very little to clarify whether the question was serious or not. “I mean...” Rhys spread her arms in a shrug, barely remembering to tilt the glass she was still holding as she did so to keep it from spilling its contents down the glittering gem-encrusted gown of whatever fancy-pants senator was standing (back turned, of course) nearest them. “Nobody here is going to know enough to tattle on you, are they? This lot wouldn’t know what the Force looks like in action if you yanked the floor out from under them and dangled them all out the window for an hour.”
That was an enticing image. It was probably a good thing, Rhys thought, that she didn’t have the Force. She definitely didn’t have the level of impulse control necessary to good Jedi behavior.
Oh firefek, was she being a bad influence? She was, wasn’t she. Well, too late to undo that now. It hadn’t been Rhysati’s intention when she’d taken pity on the look of overwhelmed torment on Etain’s face, but she had to admit it was something she had quite a knack for. Still, the only way to stop what she’d started would have been to pull away from Etain, and that was the last thing Rhys wanted to do. The kid was bound to take it personal, and she was having a miserable enough time already.
Oh well. Rhys had always thought the Jedi needed to loosen up a little (most of them, anyway; she was never going to forget the heart-stopping week that Master Vos and his ridiculous stunts had been assigned to Rhys’s division; if he got any looser, he’d probably start blowing up his own ships just to show he could). What was the worst that could happen?
She gave a mental shrug and grinned as Etain quaffed her drink. Her arm came up instinctively to wrap around the little Jedi’s shoulders as the kid -- they were probably only five or seven years apart in age, really, but Rhy couldn’t help thinking of her as a kid; she had that new trainee feel about her that always stirred Rhysati’s protective instincts -- as the kid twitched forward to get away from the snooty aide. She tried throwing her foot out to trip the barve, but she was too slow. Oh well, probably for the best. The overdressed Rodian looked like he’d take it personal.
Etain’s question about what she did for fun caught Rhysati off-guard slightly, but she smiled down at the smaller woman anyway. “I did,” she admitted. “But it was really more of a gentle prod than a stab. Barely even broke skin,” she confessed conspiratorially. Granted, that had been more due to the fact that the aforementioned Bothan’s fur had blunted the blow, but facts were facts however they’d come to be. “Mainly I take the opportunity to get pleasantly tipsy on absurdly expensive drinks and food I’d never get near otherwise and trade gripes and gossip with the least-stuffed-shirted fellow officers I can find. And I’ve only thrown one drink, too...at least, only one in the face.” Rhys winked at Etain. “Can’t help it if I trip, right? Clumsy, classless backworlder like me? Clearly I just don’t know how to behave. Or to hold my liquor.” She shot a wry glance over her shoulder at the milling elites and added drily, “Sort of like how none of these toffs know how to take a joke.”
Then Rhys looked back at Etain, sobering a bit. “Honestly I can’t say that parties like these are my idea of fun, either...but if I have to attend, might as well make the best of it and try to find something to enjoy about them, right?” She shrugged. “I’m a snubfighter jockey, Master Jedi. That’s not a career with a guarantee of longevity. Figure I better enjoy my life while it lasts, right? Otherwise what am I even doing with it? And yes,” she added, with a trace of wry levity creeping back into her voice, “sometimes that does mean stabbing Bothans and throwing your drink in powerful people’s faces. That’s life, some days. And they had it coming.”
