Anakin watched the surveillance feed, arms resting along the back of the synth-leather loveseat and long legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed.

"You're very keen on that witch, aren't you?"

He jumped despite his wife's gentle tone. Her soothing presence so quiet and familiar, he'd taken little notice of her approach. Padme leaned over his shoulder, smoothing her warm hands under his tunic.

"I can certainly see the appeal," She scraped his abs with her perfect manicure and kissed his jaw. "He's very pretty. Very delicate in his mortality."

He tongued a fang, "I'd like to change that last part."

"Mm. Of course you would. But does he?"

"Why should that matter?"

Obi-Wan resisted a shudder and instead took a sip of his drink while he gave the club a cursory glance for the gaze he felt on him. His would-be client was late, probably a no show, which wasn't really a surprise. It was an annoyance and inconvenience. The cover charge had been rather outlandish and the drinks even more so but Mr. Fett had been insistent that they meet here. Even so, the man, like many others before him, must have gotten cold feet about dealing with the oftentimes shady and morally grey world of the supernatural. Obi-Wan sighed. He'd give this Jango five more minutes. Then he'd let himself go home to relax in his soft, worn sleep tunic with a datapad and a cup of tea.

"Hello," a sweet voice chimed.

Obi-Wan turned his head, a young woman—no, a fey lady—beside him.

"My lady," he inclined his head.

She smiled, very pleasant, and very beautiful, bright dark eyes and long brown hair braided and pinned up into wide loops. She was part of the high nobility, but Obi-Wan couldn't say who she was or even which court with any certainty. He assumed summer, her aura similar to Satine's. However, he stayed as uninvolved as he could when it came to fey affairs. They so often got messy, particularly for the mortals caught up in them.

"You're waiting for someone?"

"That was the idea but I believe I've been stood up."

"Perhaps I'll do instead?"

"Ah, I'm very flattered, my lady. But I'm sure you have far better things to do with your time than waste it on me."

What could a high fey possibly want with him? He was hardly the most attractive person in the club, nor the most exuberant. He wasn't even a particularly powerful witch. He half-wanted to accept her offer just to find out but that would be a terrible, terrible idea. Better to extricate himself as politely as possible and leave. He finished his drink, ice clinking, and turned, setting the sweating glass on the polished bar. Now if a bartender would just come back so he could settle his tab, but one was occupied with several giggling, indecisive Twi'leks, another flirting badly with a bored Pantoran, and the third gone, presumably on break.

The fey touched his arm, "Maybe it's you who doesn't have time for me."

Blast it.

"I wouldn't say that."

He blinked rapidly and gripped the bar with both hands. That drink had gone to his head rather quickly. No, he thought fuzzily, frowning. It couldn't have. An arm hooked around his waist, tugging him back against a firm, cool chest. The presence was at least as old as it was young, masculine, and, his brow furrowed, familiar. Something he'd known in the back of his mind for as long as he could remember.

"Very few would," the chest rumbled smoothly.

"Well," he slurred, "it would be very rude."

He tried to crane his neck to see his face but the world faded in and out with the movement.

"Yes," the man chuckled. "Now go to sleep, Obi-Wan."