A/N:look I have nothing to say in my defense except there was a tumblr post and this is the best worst idea I've ever heard and I had to write it
so here's the awkward intro/info-dump fic but trust me there's lots more where this came from

Vera Lanai was not at all what Quinn had expected from one of Baras' apprentices. Where most Sith were fiery passion and unhesitant action, Vera was… cold. She had a sort of icy, calculated focus that was both unnerving and reassuring; considering her easy success on Balmorra, Quinn was certain her demeanor would continue to serve her well.

The twi'lek, however, he was less sure about. Vette.

She wasn't a slave, and she didn't seem to have any relevant qualifications. Quinn couldn't fathom why, exactly, she was accompanying a Sith, but he knew better than to pry. In any case, Vette had made an offhand comment about visiting the cantina before leaving Balmorra, which had provided Quinn with some time alone — to familiarize himself with the ship to better serve Vera, of course, but also to report in to Baras.

The ship was, unsurprisingly, impeccable; a result of the three years Vera had spent in the Imperial Military prior to her entrance into the Sith Academy, Quinn assumed. He had nearly finished settling into the crew quarters when an odd noise caught his attention. Making his way to the lounge to investigate, he found a red skinned twi'lek sprawled on the couch, a cup of caf in one hand and a holocomm in the other.

He cleared his throat. "I wasn't aware there was additional crew."

She glanced up, eyes flicking over him. "No, no," she chuckled, setting her cup down. "I'm not— I mean, I've got my own crew, and ship, and everything. I'm just crashing here for a bit." She yawned. "My ship's a piece of shit. Vera's is nice. You? Running from the ass end of the galaxy for a little Imperial-funded luxury?"

A somewhat accurate — if crude — statement. Quinn wondered if Vera was aware her ship was being… crashed by a heavily-armed twi'lek. "As part of a reassignment, yes."

"Oh!" Her eyes went wide. "You're that Imperial! Vera was telling me about you the other day. Something about… something." Giving a sloppy salute, she introduced, "Raz'shana. Formerly of the Imperial Science Corps, formerly formerly of the Kaas City Florists Guild. Currently a traveling medic working in Imperial interests."

Quinn wasn't inclined to believe a word she said. Except, perhaps, her name. Between Raz'shana's flippant tone and lazy smirk, Quinn got the feeling she lied often. "You're acquainted with Vera Lanai?"

"Acquainted?" she snorted. "I've known that girl since she was born. Listen — Malavai, right? Can I call you Mal? — I've got about a half hour before I need to get back to my ship, and considering this ship's floor is probably softer than my bed, I'd like to get a bit of sleep before I have to leave. So, call Vera, do some paperwork, bomb some planets — whatever. Just do it quietly?"

He bristled at the nickname. "You may call me Captain Quinn. I will confirm your claims, and deal with the situation appropriately otherwise."

"Whatever you say, Mal." Raz'shana twisted so she was laying on her stomach, face buried in her folded arms. "Quietly," she reminded him, voice muffled.

Part of him hoped Vera denied everything Raz'shana had said, simply because then he could remove her from the ship. Quinn headed back to the crew quarters for the relative privacy they offered, retrieving his own holocomm to call Vera. When her image flickered to life, Quinn gave a small nod of deference. "My lord. There is a twi'lek on your ship calling herself Raz'shana. She claims to be a medic and… a florist."

"A medic?" Vera raised an eyebrow, lips pursing.

"Yes, my lord. A traveling medic, specifically." Quinn took no small amount of satisfaction in hearing the suspicion in Vera's voice.

To his surprise, she laughed. "A medic," Vera repeated incredulously. "She's quite skilled at patching up blaster wounds, I'll admit, but she's no medic. She's made her living the past few years as a bounty hunter. She arrived a little over a week ago and has spent much of her free time aboard my ship; I apologize for not informing you, Captain."

Pushing aside his annoyance, Quinn made certain his voice was even before responding. "I simply wished to alert you to the situation."

"As it so happens, Captain, there isn't a situation. Raz'shana is welcome—" Vera's words were cut off by a loud Hey, Mal! from the lounge. Quinn ground his teeth together, and Vera's eyes widened in surprise before her expression smoothed back to one that was carefully neutral. "Can I assume that was Raz'shana? Did she just call you Mal?"

"She seems to have determined the moniker to be sufficient, yes."

Vera was silent for a moment as she considered. "I'll have her leave. She's welcome to my ship, but I will not tolerate her riling up my crew." Her image blinked out as she disconnected, leaving Quinn frustrated at the situation and doubly frustrated that Vera had noticed.

"So then she says, 'You're better than this,' like I have some stellar reputation, or something." Raz'shana rolled her eyes.

Amused, Mako asked, "Right, and how much do you tell her about your jobs, exactly?"

"Which is my point. She knows I kill people for money, but maybe next time we grab drinks together I'll mention all the people I kill for free."

"I don't know — isn't that a turn on for Sith?"

"He's Imperial, not Sith."

It was Mako's turn to roll her eyes. She hadn't known Raz'shana long, but it hadn't taken long to learn that tone — the "I'm on a mission" tone. Sometimes that mission was the target they were being paid to kill, sometimes it was someone she wanted to sleep with, and sometimes — apparently — it was a captain she wanted to frustrate.

So far, Raz had done everything she'd set out to do. When she said they were going to win the Great Hunt, Mako believed her. She had an effortless confidence that colored everything she did, and it was so easy to get caught up in. So when Raz had announced her latest ambition, Mako almost believed she could do it.

Whatever it was.

"I was referring to Vera," Mako clarified. "Not Quinn. And besides, what exactly are you planning?"

"Dunno." Raz'shana leaned back, throwing an arm across the back of the cantina booth. "Depends how far I can go. I, personally, would love to mess up that perfect hair of his."

"Really?" Mako sighed, somehow not surprised by her answer.

She shrugged. "What can I say? There's something appealing about very perfect, precise people coming completely undone, and Quinn—"

"Really?" she repeated, more loudly this time. "Are we even talking about the same captain? Because that's…" Mako trailed off. Quinn had to be twice her age, and that wasn't — as Raz had put it — appealing. Of course, she had no idea how old Raz'shana was. Early thirties, if she had to guess. She did, however, know Raz had a thing for older women; maybe that preference carried over to men. "Whatever. You're on your own, you know. And don't forget the actual reason we're here."

"Right, yeah, we'll take care of the cathar tomorrow. What about a mission? You know, afterwards? When you're all… disheveled."

"Wait, cathar?"

"Yeah, I'll explain later," Raz'shana sighed, waving away Mako's curiosity. "Right now, we're talking about Quinn. Disheveled."

Mako let her head slump into her hands. "No, you are."

"Damn right I am."