Warning for mentions of the police & discrimination by the police (specifically against magic-users)
(Ao3 Link)
The whole thing begins about half an hour before closing time. Bly is the only one behind the counter when the man comes in— he'd managed to successfully bully Aayla into actually taking a night off and going on a date with that poli sci major from college who'd apparently become the Naboo district's House Representative, so she's hopefully out having a good time— and the man nods politely in response to Bly's greeting, then starts looking around the shop.
The man, Bly notes internally as he finishes chopping up the mandrake in front of him, does not look like their usual customers. He's wearing a suit that's much nicer than most people wear to coffee shops— much nicer than most people wear to potion stores that are combined with coffee shops, for the record, which is what The 327th Star technically is— and holding a briefcase that practically screams fancy expensive job.
The man also seems to fail at finding what he's looking for all on his own, as he's empty handed when he makes his way to the counter.
"Good evening," the man says before Bly can open his mouth. "Do you by chance have something that's memory enhancing? Or maybe some kind of sleep replacement?"
Bly blinks in surprise, puts his knife down. He takes in the bags under the man's eyes, the way he's drumming his fingers against his leg, and internally winces. He's run a coffee shop for long enough to know what it looks like when someone is running on fumes and too much caffeine, and this man could practically be a textbook definition of it. "Sir, I'm pretty sure that selling you any of that right now would kill you, and I'd rather not have to go through a murder investigation right now." Bly pauses, considers that. "Or ever, really, actually. I try to avoid murder investigations."
"Smart," the man says, quickly enough that Bly would wager he's not thinking about what he's actually saying. In his experience, people's brain to mouth filters tend to start failing around 24 hours of no sleep— or after a few days of very bad sleep, if some of the shit Cody said during finals week is any bar to go by. "But if that were to happen— and, disclaimer, this isn't legal advice, no attorney-client relationship is being formed here, consult with your own lawyer if you want legal advice— don't tell the police shit, just lawyer up. All the bullshit pop culture pushes regarding defense attorneys is just that— bull-fucking-shit." A pause, while Bly processes that. Well. It seems like Mr. Exhausted is some kind of lawyer, which does explain the ridiculously fancy everything he's wearing right now. Huh. Interesting. "Why would you get prosecuted if I was the one to be dumb and consume the potion wrong? I mean, assuming that your reluctance to sell isn’t because all the potions you have in the category I asked for are poisonous to humans, as it would make more sense if you just said that to me straight out."
... If Mr. Exhausted is a lawyer, then Bly probably owes Anakin an apology for dismissing his frequent complaints about how much lawyers like to hear their own voices as Anakin simply being annoyed with Obi-Wan instead of an actually somewhat valid critique of the profession. Whoops.
"They’re not poisonous,” Bly reassures him, “ but, in my— admittedly limited— experience, law enforcement tends to assume that if magic is present at a crime scene, magic is also at fault."
The man nods, suddenly looking much more engaged in the conversation. His fingers tap faster on his leg. "And innocent until proven guilty is a standard that only exists in courtrooms, police tend towards guilty until proven innocent in their investigations, which means an investigation could quickly turn to prosecution-- right, yeah, that makes sense, I should’ve known that. Sorry, I'm a bit tired right now. Huh. You know, every day my blood pressure thanks me for not going into criminal law, fucking hell, I don't know how Thire does it. I suspect I would've snapped and murdered a bitch by now if I had to deal with that much fucking bullshit on a daily basis."
Bly takes a moment to... process all that, and blinks at the man. The man, in turn, suddenly winces, and stops the drumming of his fingers. "Fuck, wow, I apologize, that was both irrelevant and inappropriate. God, I have a trial starting in a week and... you know what, I'm just gonna shut up now.” A pause. “Uh, what would you recommend for someone who needs to memorize a lot in a short amount of time?"
Sleep, Bly internally says, but externally, he summons up his best customer service smile, because he's smart enough not to tell someone this sleep-deprived the obvious. "I have a few ideas for something that could work," Bly says, moving out from behind the counter to their energy-related section of potions in the back, firmly forcing his brain to focus on his actual job. "Could you give me a bit more information regarding what you're trying to memorize?"
Fox hums sleepily at the feeling of Bly’s cold nose nuzzling behind his ear.
“Budge up,” he whispers, and Fox nearly seats at him, but decides he’d rather keep his energy and shift closer to the wall like he’d asked.
The bed dips a second time after Bly follows along, hooking a knee over Fox’s thigh and plastering himself to his back. Cody joins them, content it seems to kick his feet—also freezing—forward and wind his ankles between Fox’s.
“Good night?” Fox tries to ask, but it seems to come out as more of a nuanced hum. Cody snorts, arm stretching over Bly’s side to Fox’s waist hold the both of them close, and Bly snuggles down in the warm well of mattress he’s created for himself.
“Go back to sleep,” Cody murmurs. “Talking is for tomorrow.”
Fox doesn’t know what he grumbles after that. Bly kisses his neck, stubble barely grazing his skin, and Fox manages to wind his fingers between Cody’s over his hip. He falls asleep warm and content and held, tightly, safe.
