The night, at least, was beautiful, and he enjoyed the walk to Khoonda. It felt decidedly strange to be back in his "civilian" clothes--no stranger, though, than seeing his Master without her flowing Jedi robes. She was wearing much less clothing than she usually did.
Why did she do this to him?
The spaceport's new cantina, from the outside, looked just like every other building in Khoonda—stucco. They had wedged it in between two garages at the central hangar. At least it wasn't the glaring neon nightmare most cantinas on Coruscant and Nar Shaddaa were.
He dutifully followed Saer in, wincing involuntarily at the wall of smoke and music. Nobody looked up as they entered. Despite the fact that the place had apparently just been opened, the sentients that sat at cards and drink looked like regulars.
Saer crossed the floor and took a seat at the bar. Mical pulled up a stool next to her. He was slightly more intimidated now that he had been when they'd visited the Mandalorian camp on Dxun.
His Master seemed absolutely, blissfully content. She gestured behind the bar. "Now isn't this nice?"
A slightly overweight but pretty human girl was wiping down the other end of the bar with a cloth. An admittedly impressive variety of liquor sat on shelves on the mirrored wall in front of them. The bar was varnished wood and lit with candles. Spacers, farmers, and even a few mercenaries sat clustered into groups along its length, conversing animatedly.
At that moment, however, the bartender took notice of them, and--horror of horrors—approached.
She had black curly hair that fell nearly to her waist and was wearing only slightly too much make-up. To his increasing discomfort, it was him she spoke to.
"What can I get you, hon?"
Damn it, there was a reason he never went undercover as a barfly! He had no idea what any of these alcohols were, let alone how to combine them into palatable drinks.
Thankfully, Saer came to his rescue.
"Two Red Ryloths, please." She laid an absurd amount of money on the bar, and smiled at the girl. Apparently quite pleased with the tip, the bartender bustled off happily, and a moment later, drinks appeared.
Saer took off her jacket and laid it off to the side. Why was she was shedding clothes again? All the Twi'Lek dancing girls in the galaxy didn't have as much effect on him as Saer in anything less than a full suit of armor and 10 yards of brown burlap.
She raised her glass to him. He toasted her. He knew that much.
"Is this a sipping sort of drink or a…swallowing sort of drink?"
Saer considered. "Well…I probably could carry you home, but I don't want to."
"I'll sip."
"Excellent. To the Republic."
"The Republic."