Food Fantasy Fair, Coruscant Square

The daylight shines on the multitudes of vendors with their colorful cloth awnings and bright flags flapping in the wind. Families huddle around the various vendors and what few outdoor seats there are, share snacks and drinks and take pictures. The low roar of chatter and laughter is fast-paced, moves at odds with the leisurely bodies that mill about the square.

"Where do you want to go first?" Yotai asks Bow, pulls his friend along by the arm. Thus far, none have noticed the two helmetless clones walking about with the general populace. Those who do see them only stare and point, but do nothing to engage them.

Bow doesn't look at anything in particular. He's in a somewhat blissful place; the sun feels nice on his face even though it's too bright, and he isn't drowning in the noise of the thousand or so people at the food fair. "I'm not hungry," he says.

Yotai completely ignores him. "How about there?" His finger points in the direction of a food station with steam coming out of its roof. The colorful sign lifts a little in the wind, reads "Hot mukal! Crispy origbe! Fresh-squeezed juice!"

Bow guesses he can go for some juice. He lets Yotai lead him into the short line, passively examines the customers in front of him. A Rodian child yanks on his mother's arm, begs to go to the next vendor over, but she only ignores him. The pair make it to the front of the line, but when the vendor—a heavily spotted tan Besalisk male—sees them, he stops cold.

"No clones allowed," he says in a heavily accented snarl. He waves one of his large hands as if they're bugs that can be shooed away. "Next customer."

Bow is actually startled. No clones? But they'd both made sure keep their helmets off and bring more than enough credits to the fair. In a matter of seconds, the surprise vanishes and is replaced by the same empty-to-emotions feeling he's been so used to. Some things just can't change.

Yotai doesn't seem to understand that. His face is a mix of surprise and confusion undercut with fear. He doesn't want to make a scene, but he also wants fresh squeezed juice. "Sir, we brought money—"

"No clones!"

"B-But sir—"

The Besalisk man begins to turn red in the face, the massive breath sac on his face quivering. "I said—"

"Hey, just let them order already! I need to get a move on," the Twi'lek man behind them complains rather loudly.

The second Twi'lek male—who Bow can only guess is the first's boyfriend—speaks up as well, although much more politely. "They said they were paying. Just let 'em eat."

Bow and Yotai look back at the couple and then to the vendor, who is visibly weighing his options. Bow bites his lip, hopes that he'll be able to get his juice.

The vendor grunts. "What do you want?"

Yotai absolutely beams, proudly places his few credits on the counter. "Some juice, please."

The vendor grumbles again, turns his back and angrily chops some fruit, throwing them into a juicer.

Yotai leans toward Bow, semi-whispers, "I hear all this fresh juice is really popular with rich Coruscantis—and that it's got lots of nutrients, but lots of sugar, too."

"Huh."

"I think you're gonna like it."

"Yep."

"Order up," the vendor growls out, presents their large yellow cups with straws sticking out. Instead of handing them the cups, he slams them down on the counter, squeezes the cups so hard one of the cups springs a leak and spills juice everywhere. "Enjoy your drinks."

Yotai attempts to protest. "You can't—"

But Bow has already grabbed the less than half full cups, jabbed Yotai's side to get him moving. "Come on, it's fine." People are staring at the scene they're causing and Bow just wants to drink what he has.

Yotai is conflicted at first, looks from Bow to the vendor to Bow. Finally, he sighs, grabs his cup and leaves with Bow—but the whole time he's cursing under his breath. Bow leads him to an empty table, sits Yotai down and hands him his cup. "Don't worry about it," he says, knowing full well that it won't help the situation.

"We were paying customers," Yotai mutters, looks in disdain at his crushed cup of juice. It's dark red color stains like blood on the white metal table. "He shouldn't have a right to do that."

Yotai is the only clone Bow has seen get so upset over clone discrimination. Bow never thinks anything of it because life has to go on, but Yotai has gotten into multiple petty fights about bar entry and the like.

Yotai's still talking but Bow doesn't notice. He's focused on someone across the small court they're in: a black-haired Pantoran woman points a holocamera at the pair, very clearly snaps several pictures before examining them on her display screen. He doesn't move, only openly stares until she notices and scurries away.

"What're you staring at?" Yotai asks, turns around to examine the completely normal scene behind him.

"Nothing—some girl was taking pictures of us." He doesn't know how to feel about it, if he even should feel anything, so he just stays in the middle like he always does.

Yotai's head whips around even faster this time. What's left of his juice spills out of the crack in the cup but he doesn't notice. Eyes narrowed, he stares down every person that walks by until Bow kicks him under the table.

"Fucking civilians…" Yotai mutters, sips the last of his juice.

Bow notices the two civilians coming towards them before Yotai does. They're both Twi'lek men, one blue and the other orange. The orange one seems to favor the color dark green because even his boots and the bands on his lekku are of that shade. When he sees that he has their attention, his face lights up in a friendly smile.

The other Twi'lek beside him, the blue one, does nothing. His dark clothing and black-painted nails contrast strongly with his blue-green oceany skin tone. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of dark shades as well, making him only more mysterious and standoffish.

"Mind if we join you?" The orange one says, speaks for the both of them.

Bow and Yotai meet eyes, look at the pair, look at each other again. After a few moments of awkward silence, Yotai slides over, invites the couple to sit at their table.

The more open one, the orange man, speaks up first. "We got you guys some juice since you didn't seem to start out with much back there." They each pass one cup to Bow and Yotai. His choice in clothing color is strange to Bow because it doesn't exactly work with his shade of orange.

Yotai, having cursed out civilians a mere two seconds prior, immediately lights up. He grabs the cup, takes a sip and smiles even harder. "Yours is smooth and a lot sweeter."

"I think he purposely screwed with your order," the second says. He takes the lid off his juice, stirs it around a bit with a painted finger. He mutters something under his breath but otherwise doesn't do anything to make conversation.

The orange one suddenly turns irate. He shakes his head, slams a fist on the table. Bow and Yotai both jump. "You guys don't deserve that—I mean you're out there fighting kriff knows what every day, and you can't even get some juice." His brown eyes narrow into slits, glare at nothing and everything in barely held back anger.

Yotai looks uncomfortable, but Bow doesn't blame him; neither of them have ever dealt with a civilian who was on their side before. "Sir, i-it's really no big deal—"

"Yes, it is a big deal," he interjects, adamant. He calms down a bit, sighs and stares at the mesh metal table. "That's not the kind of life you guys deserve."

The short silence is heavy and uncomfortable. When Yotai finally does speak, his voice is soft but matter-of-fact. "It's what we were born and bred to do, sir; now, you may not like it, but—"

"'Bred'?" The man's boyfriend says, looks from Yotai to Bow. "You were bred? As in how animals are bred?"

Bow openly bites his lips, chugs half his juice through his straw. "I-It's really no big deal, sir," he says. "It's just...the life we grew up with, just like how you two grew up as civilians and did...civilian things…" he stumbles.

The orange Twi'lek is still upset, unsettled over the fact that clones were and still are specifically bred to fight. The blue one merely gives Bow a doubtful look.

If he hadn't been feeling alienated before, he certainly is now; Bow has never considered how different his life might be from civilians. Every day of the ten-and-a-half years of his life is a horrid contrast to what civilians go through on a regular basis. They don't sleep on bunks or have to time their showers; they never learned to fire a blaster or patch up minor wounds and burns at the tender age of two.

Is it wrong that he envies civilian life, that Bow would very much rather lead of lifestyle of monotony and mundane events than constant laser fire and death? It's not his place to want for things he can't have, but his life is terrible enough that he'd rather be a member of the oppressing party than the oppressed.

"Well, the best of luck to you," the blue one says. "Whatever crazy life you guys have is just normal for you. I can't imagine knowing how to fire a blaster."

"I've never fried an egg," Yotai counters.

Both their faces twist with amusement. "Is that what you think we do all day? Just fry eggs?" The blue one asks. There are chuckles under his words, his voice laced with mirth.

Yotai blushes, embarrassed by his ignorance. Instead of immediately answering, he sips his juice, finishes another quarter of it in seconds. "I don't know…" he mumbles. "Don't you guys cook your own food?"

"I sure as hell don't!" The orange one exclaims, laughs to himself. "Bayut here does all the cooking—I just sit and eat it."

Bayut shakes his head, leans in toward Bow and Yotai as if expelling a secret. "He can't cook," he mock-whispers.

"I can!" his boyfriend protests. "I just—"

"You can't, sweetie."

And the subject moves from sentient rights to who can and can't cook what and when. Bow is interested in the conversation but doesn't contribute much. Yotai, on the other hand, speaks up whenever he can, offers little tidbits of commentary even though he has no clue what he's talking about.

Bow is content to merely sip his juice, enjoy the sunlight of the warm afternoon in the square. He'd been hoping to visit other stalls but is fine with sitting and chatting with Bayut and his boyfriend. He simply sits and listens, learns new things about civilians' daily lives—apparently, soaps come in different scents and colors. All he's ever had is white and neutral.

Movement catches the corner of his eye. Without making it obvious, Bow slowly looks in that direction, keeps the rest of his body turned toward the table.

There it is again—it's that damn photographer from earlier. Her actions are conspicuous, draw attention from other civilians who are surprised to see a tiny blue woman darting in and out from the cover of a tree.

Before anyone knows what's happening, Yotai is up and storming across the short path to the woman—then he's trying to rip the camera from her hands. She shrieks, and everyone's attention is on them.

Knowing that Yotai is irrational when upset, Bow tries to step in to prevent any further damage from being done. People gather in a circle around them now, stare at the unhelmeted clone likely to commit violence.

Yotai makes a grab for the holocamera, misses by a hair (she's small, but fast). Instead of giving up, he lunges again, manages to grab the strap and yanks hard. His height and strength over her jerk her forward, and she shrieks again, louder this time.

He clearly doesn't care. "What is your damn problem?!" he shouts, nearly wrangling the holocamera out of the poor woman's hands. "Do you always just take pictures of strangers like that?"

She's pale and terrified, afraid of making noises besides small squeaks and yelps. She still maintains her iron grip on the device, however.

Another powerful tug and the thing is out of both their grasps, sails through the air and lands with a hard crack on the ground. It's broken.

Finally, she can speak, soft albeit indignant. "I-It's for a journal I'm writing—"

"I couldn't care less about your fucking journal," he snarls.

Bow doesn't know what to do besides physically pull Yotai away from the woman. "Listen, it's not a big deal—the thing is broken anyways and we don't want any more attention than we already have."

"Good luck with that…" the woman murmurs.

At Yotai's sudden silence, the crowd that surrounds them shouts, throws out abuses in defense of the woman. Bow is confused at first—taking pictures of people without their consent is illegal in many ways—until he realizes that their attention was on them the minute they stepped into the square. It's not just because they're clones, it's that they tried to mingle among civilians and they don't have their buckets on, their bare faces displayed to the world—along with their fear. They'd already caused a scene with the juice vendor, now they make a bigger one with the camera woman.

"You have no right to treat that poor woman like that," one older woman spits rather viciously.

Yotai has no qualms about confronting her, steps even closer instead of doing the smart thing and staying put. "She has no damn right taking pictures of us like we're zoo animals or something—I don't care what any of you have to say, I have a right to—"

The juice vendor had found a time to crawl out of his stand and try to confront the clones for a second time. "You're just a buncha damn clones—you ain't got rights," he says. Half the crowd roars in agreement, throws fists and more nasty things in the air. The other half is silent, rapt.

Bow and Yotai realize at the same time that they can't win, that no matter what, civilians will side with civilians. They're not people to them—they're otherwise faceless, armored bodies that occasionally speak in a strange accent. Bow nudges Yotai again to move, pulls him back enough so that he'll understand that they can't win. The hard edge to Yotai's jaw says everything; he'd rather try and defend himself than run.

"We didn't consent to these pictures," Bayut speaks suddenly, runs his finger down a crack in the device's frame. His presence in the near center of the circle had gone unnoticed until then.

The woman attempts to maintain her cool, tries her best to look down her nose at Bayut despite being almost a full meter shorter. "I couldn't get a picture of them without getting you and your friend in—"

"Well, me and my boyfriend don't want our faces on a stranger's holocamera, not without our consent." Bayut is terrifyingly calm, his face near expressionless save for the carefully guarded set to his brow. "And Bow and Yotai—" He points to the pair, moves just a half a step closer in solidarity. "Clearly don't want their pictures taken without consent either."

The woman's tiny nose wrinkles, disgusted either at the fact that Bayut has a boyfriend or that "they" have names.

Bow doesn't know when their names slipped into the conversation, sure that he'd maintained neutrality in order not to give up anything about his personal life. Then again, Yotai had been doing all the talking.

"I can blur your faces," she says, presents the statement like a game winner. "The journal I'm writing—"

"No." There's a force no one knew the quiet man possessed. Some crowd members step back, leave before a larger fight can take place. "I want the pictures deleted."

"But—"

"All of them."

"It's for a clones' rights journal," she nearly yells.

Silence. The crowd is mixed, torn over whether to support the person attacking who they are defending or just turn on her.

Bolstered that she now has the attention, the woman keeps going, much braver now. "I believe that clones are people too, you know," she says, flippantly motions to Bow and Yotai as if they somehow aren't really there. "They have rights like the rest of us because they're sentient. They're people." Satisfied with her work, she returns to her normal demeanor, shrinks down a bit in height. "I took the pictures because I couldn't risk them saying no."

Bayut stares hard at the woman, bores into her eyes with his own. "If you really thought they were people, you would have asked for consent."

The crowd murmurs, pushes closer to the woman now that it sees she's clearly in the wrong.

"Just delete the pictures, lady," Bayut's boyfriend adds, steps into the middle of the cleared area. "It's really no big deal. I'm sure other clones would say yes if you'd just ask."

The woman doesn't budge. "I can blur your faces."

Bayut decides something just then, past trying to reason with her. "You know what? I'm suing."

Her face pales, drains of all color and emotion except for alarm. "Y-You don't have to do that, sir—"

"You've refused to comply with my wishes and my rights," he accuses, voice hard and sharp. "And even at my insistence that you respect both my wishes and Bow and Yotai's wishes for personal space and privacy, you ignored them in favor of a petty journal." The holocamera swings on its strap, dangles a meter above the ground. "Let's see how your..." he squints, reads the name on the holocamera, "...'Coruscanti Investigators' do with a lawsuit. I've never heard of them, so they must be small."

The woman is nearly in a panic, looks from his boyfriend to Bayut and back. The man shrugs. "He's a lawyer; when he sues, he sues."

Bayut lets the holocamera drop from his fingers. It hits the ground hard, splits along its display screen and up the sides. Hands in his pockets, he turns and begins strolling away. "Good luck."

The crowd moves with the woman, follows her as she attempts to pick up the broken pieces of the camera and rectify her situation. "Wait! Wait, I'll see what I can do—"

But Bayut is walking too fast, his boyfriend nearly skipping behind him. Neither seems bothered by the scene they've just caused.

Bow and Yotai have long since run away, ducked behind the courtyard wall. They sit on the ground, feet stretched before them. Yotai is still visibly angry, but Bow's surface emotions run wild: he's angry, sad, upset, confused, all too much for him to handle neatly the way he's used to. They run rampant at the front of his mind, wreak havoc in his thoughts and leave confusion in their wake.

Yotai mutters to himself in the language clones speak when they don't want to be understood. His lips move; barely a sound comes out. A shadow comes over them, distracts them from their own thoughts for a moment.

Bayut and his boyfriend stand over them. "Sorry to cause a scene," his boyfriend says, smiles brightly. "You two shouldn't have to go through that."

Bayut juts his chin in the opposite direction. "Come on, we can get out of here. We're not gonna be wanted back there anyway."

Bow looks uncertainly at Yotai, waits for him to take the lead. "Where are we gonna go? We're not wanted anywhere," he states, matter-of-fact.

"Wiren and I have a place we can go to—it's a small food stand, but the food is great and it's clone friendly." They pull Bow and Yotai to their feet, start leading them in the direction of the food stand.

Bow is fine with being lead, prefers hanging back to trying to maintain conversation. Yotai, always longing for a responsive conversation partner, walks in line with Bayut and Wiren, speaks at twice the volume that they do. He's animated, uses his hands like conversation enhancing tools and not just appendages and digits.

Bow doesn't know what they're talking about and frankly doesn't care. He's trying to sort through his feelings before they swallow him whole. This is what he hates about his condition: he either feels nothing or everything, swims in a numbing sea or burns in the torture of feeling too many things at once.

Immediately, his mind floats away to a quiet, still place, rests in the solidity of feeling absolutely nothing. He is simultaneously in peace and suffering. But he doesn't say anything because Yotai smiles just then, grins like a little boy about to get a bag full of candy. It's been a long time since he's done that.

Let's see if I can maintain the writing style of this fic. It's a bit difficult, but I think I'm getting it.