De Re Coquinaria Bellorum Stellarum - The Unofficial "Star Wars – The Clone Wars" Cookbook

Chapter 2: Quid est amicitia?

… Est enim amicitia nihil aliud nisi omnium divinarum humanarumque rerum cum benevolentia et caritate consensio; qua quidem haud scio an excepta sapientia nihil melius homini sit a dis immortalibus datum... (20).

… Principio qui potest esse vita 'vitalis', ut ait Ennius, quae non in amici mutua benevolentia conquiescit? Quid dulcius quam habere quocum omnia audeas sic loqui ut tecum? Qui esset tantus fructus in prosperis rebus, nisi haberes, qui illis aeque ac tu ipse gauderet? adversas vero ferre difficile esset sine eo qui illas gravius etiam quam tu ferret... (22).

(quoting Marci Tullii Ciceronis Laelius – De amicitia)

The wine tasted bitter on her tongue as she took another deep swallow of the dark red liquid. Befitting the occasion, really, if you looked at it from the right perspective.

The rain continued to batter against the window panes in a steady staccato pattern, strangely calming despite all the noise and the occasional rumble echoing through the tall alleys. Nighttime Coruscant was darker today than it usually ever got, what with all the blinking neon signs, speeder lights and news screens illuminating the city even throughout the night. Right now, however, they were dampened and washed-out by the grey sleets of rain that had been hitting this part of the capital for hours, caused by some malfunction in the weather regulation system. Yet another detail rather befitting this one of all days; again, given the right perspective on things.

The depressive one, that was. Which she might as well call her own for tonight.

Riyo Chuchi was standing directly in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows separating her apartment's living room from the stormy Coruscant night, staring out into the rain like a soothsayer looking at the stars in ancient times. Searching for answers only to lose herself in the endless forces nature and science had unleashed upon the world. The hem of her elegant evening gown pooled around her naked feet, and her bare shoulders shivered slightly at the proximity of the cool window panes, feeling the unfriendly temperatures outside despite the regulated heating in the rooms of the senatorial suite.

She'd been standing there for hours now, only moving occasionally to take a sip of the expensive Pantoran wine in her glass, or to refill said glass from a decanter placed on the floor beside her. After more than two hours of silent reflection, it was nearly empty. If she wasn't careful, it might turn into the beginnings of an unhealthy liaison – but then again, a nightlong affair with alcohol was the least of her concerns for tonight.

Here's to new beginnings and a new year...

It might have been a toast, had it not been for the rather cynical tone of the thought. Loneliness made her shoulders sag and her eyes close in sadness for a moment. The Pantoran New Year's celebrations were normally a time reserved for family, to be spent at the hearths in the ancestral homes of Pantora, sharing stories and traditions, waiting for light to return after the long time of darkness. Instead, she was here on Coruscant, fulfilling her senatorial duties after having been inaugurated barely a month ago.

Not that she minded – she had no family to speak of, none deserving of that name at least, and her few friends were scattered all over the Galaxy due to their work and the war. She'd sent out her presents days ago, and so far hadn't felt like opening the gifts she'd received in return. There seemed to be no point in it without the people who'd given them to her here to watch, to explain their choice and delight in her joy. Her house on Pantora would have been just as lonely as these rooms in 500 Republica, and the thought of visiting her relatives had negated the prospect of seeing her estates again, even after such a long time spent working and preparing for her new office.

The land would be covered in snow by now, a pristine, white blanket of silence under a white sky, to meditate on while sitting in the gardens of the monastery. Abbess Chai must be overseeing the last preparations for the holy night this minute, yet another person she hadn't been able to talk to in too long a time, though she would have given a lot for her advice and her blessing for the new year. It would have been good to be there, to enjoy a few days of quiet reflection.

But that was an old dream, born from childhood memories of visiting her domain with her mentor, and not something worth contemplating now. Simply not feasible. Reality would have been different, politics and family obligations probably keeping her in Athena for the duration of her visit, or worse, her relatives insisting on accompanying her to the estate. It would have been a stressful and trying few days, much more so than remaining on Coruscant and working straight into the new year.

She sighed. The glass was empty again, and she bowed to refill it one more time. Another glass, and the decanter would be empty, too. Might as well drink it all tonight, appreciation of the quality be damned.

So she'd decided to stay and do something useful instead. She'd attended various balls and parties given by Pantoran dignitaries and business men throughout the evening, introducing herself as Pantora's new spokesperson in the Senate, trying to leave a good impression, to convince them that, although young, she was as capable and dedicated a politician as her predecessor had been. Not just a puppet of her uncle's, sent to further his agenda in the Galactic scheme of things, but the reigning Lady Chuchi, worthy of being her clan's, and her mother's, heiress.

Her own person – whoever that may be...

She took another sip of wine, not really tasting the rich, layered flavour of the beverage or feeling its smooth texture on her tongue, too lost in thought to do the aged drink the justice it was due.

The functions she'd gone to had had very little in common with the traditional Pantoran festivities upon this occasion. As was the norm on Coruscant, the gatherings had been expensive in manner and political in nature, an opportunity to show one's strength and observe one's opponents, to set traps and forge alliances. To see and be seen, as the Holonet channels catering to gossip and its followers so correctly put it. And thus, not really a terrain to test the waters of the political landscape in, but she'd known that beforehand, and prepared herself accordingly. Whatever her colleagues might believe, she was a professional in this field, and not about to embarrass herself or her planet by making stupid mistakes or falling prey to some political intrigue while out in public.

Whether that is enough to leave a good impression is a different question altogether. She sighed again, and stared out into the rain with bleary eyes.

Listening to their concerns about the war and its impact on the interests of their shared home planet, she had constantly felt the skeptical looks of all the politicians, business people and lobbyists upon seeing the small, slight woman in front of them, shy and quiet, nodding rather than speaking, and choosing her words carefully when she did. She'd sensed their whispers about her apparent weakness and inexperience once she'd turned her back, and couldn't help but wonder if she'd made the right choice in accepting the senatorial office. Maybe she'd miscalculated, after all, both the difficulty of navigating Coruscant's political climate and her own ability to gain the respect necessary for being good at this job. Had she been paranoid, she might have suspected her uncle of influencing public opinion against her, but she knew he thought her to be too inconsequential to do him any harm, her political success notwithstanding. In many ways, her position as senator of Pantora was beneath his notice, and whatever battles she might be winning or losing, the fault would be her own, of that she was certain.

Right now, it seemed like she was losing more than she was winning. Fights, respect and support all in one.

There was no question in her mind that this was what she wanted to do, to make a difference, to change the course of not only her planet's, but the Republic's fate. Yet the doubts and difficulties she'd been confronted with so far had her wondering whether she'd truly made the right decision, whether she was ready for this, strong enough, bold enough to face down politicians in an arena so much greater than the Pantoran assembly, when she was unable even to openly stand up to her uncle so far.

Even now, her tactic of opposition was one of avoidance and quiet defiance rather than open argument, for she knew that if she were to meet him face-to-face in a debate, she would fall into the role of the frightened child again, too struck by the harshness of his words and character to free herself from that spell. It was not the reaction of a seasoned politician, she knew that, nor was it worthy of her position as sovereign lady of a domain, but she'd never been able to stop herself from cowering when her uncle got into one of his choleric fits. He was just too loud, too hurtful, too unfair for her to not cave under his words when facing him directly.

Or indirectly, even.

She could still hear the denouncing words of his reply to her letter of apology in her head, formidable even in a holo. Without doubt the comm.-unit would have liked to melt into the floor while recording the message. The brunt of her uncle's disfavour made even machines quiver. Her uncle had been thorough in his belittlement, to say the least, letting her know exactly what he thought of the great-niece who had cordially explained to him that she'd be staying on Coruscant for the holiday, familiarising herself with her new office and attending the celebrations on the capital planet as representative of the Pantoran government, as part of her senatorial duties.

Ungrateful child... Already arrogant after spending only a month on Coruscant... Blatant disregard for the traditions of your people... Insulting towards your ancestors' memory... Ignoring the duties of your position and title... Disrespectful of your relatives, who took you in as an orphan...

Reflexively, her shoulders tensed as if to take the verbal blow to the face, sensing her uncle's presence even here, in the emptiness of her apartment. It was a testament to his power over her that even here, on a planet far away from her home, in a suite of rooms he'd never entered or seen, holding a position she'd reached through hard work and despite his misgivings, she was still unable to exorcise him from her thoughts. That probably said more about her capacity for this job – or lack thereof – than she cared to know. Maybe he was right, after all.

The parting words of her aunt seemed almost ironic now, unfounded praise in light of her own cowardice.

Mother would have been proud, indeed...

Her mother... Her mother, the late Lady Nyah Chuchi, out of who's shadow she seemed unable to step, however hard she might be trying. Infamous red hair, famed beauty and being one of the great leaders in the Pantoran civil war, a voice of peace amid all the violence of that time, the designated chairwoman of the national assembly until her untimely death, had made Nyah Chuchi a heroine of Pantoran history, a saint right up there next to Pandora herself, idolised, perfect, and perfectly out of her reach.

Brave. Strong. Determined. Someone she could never be.

Her aunt had been wrong. She'd known it at the time when she had first heard those words, and the knowledge had resided inside her ever since. She'd never live up to her mother's example. Nyah Chuchi would most certainly not have been proud of her daughter. Her cursed daughter, who had cost her mother her life.

Her fingers gripped the delicate stem of the glass harder, white knuckles shining through the skyblue skin as she drained the rest of her wine in one long swallow. She carefully set the glass down next to the decanter, then covered her eyes for a moment, trying to rub the bone-deep tiredness away.

It was getting late. The rain continued to hit the windows, a strangely constant rhythm to the steady pitter-patter of the droplets, the ebbs and flows of the storm, as wave after wave blurred the world outside to streaks of light and darkness. For a moment, she rested her elbows against the transparisteel panes, her forehead in her hands, closed her eyes and took the time to listen to the sound, letting nothing but rain and silence fill her ears and her thoughts. It really was a soothing sound, a musical murmur rather than just dissonant noise.

Still, she thought as she straightened, might as well get some work done.

It was only 3 o'clock in the morning, the night was still long, and she wasn't about to break the Pantoran tradition of staying awake until the first light of dawn, to observe and meditate on the break of a new day, a new year. It was an essential part of this holiday, of the myths and mysteries surrounding it, and not one she was about to simply skip in favour of feasting or sleeping.

That wasn't what the Pantoran New Year's festival was about, whatever all those Coruscanti party guests looking for a good time and a reason to splurge on splendor might think. The gifts, the fireworks, the celebrations, all those traditions were nothing but empty gestures, bits of magic and exotic customs, if you did not understand the hidden motive, the deeper meaning beneath it all. Thus, the absolute disregard payed by most the guests at the various functions to the true motivation to all these festivities had left her with very few illusions in terms of finding like-minded friends on this planet.

Just one more reason for her not to stay long on the last party after the mandatory fireworks and tinkling glasses had been over and done with. She didn't need another opportunity to schmooze and scheme that evening. It saddened her too much, and had put the loneliness this occasion held for her into even starker contrast. People might call her sentiments nothing more than overly delicate sensibilities, but she didn't feel like sacrificing another part of her cultural identity to politics, not on the one night on which she felt entitled to her time and privacy.

She'd always loved the New Year's celebrations, despite having always felt a little out of place in the circle of her uncle's family and relatives ever since she had been a small child. It had only gotten worse as she grew older and was able to notice all the small slights, deliberate or not, that made her an outsider to this family celebration, an intruder, a guest unwished for, tolerated only due to her position and influence. Still, the idea of a new year, a new beginning, a washing-away of all the darkness, flaws and faults of the past had taken her captive as soon as she'd first heard the story of Pandora's tears, and filled her with a longing that she hadn't understood for a long time. The idea of absolute compassion, of unquestioning forgiveness... It was like a promise, a hope for something she'd never experienced, but longed for all her life.

Peace, she now thought, and love.

The two traditional virtues associated with Pandora's Grace. There'd been little of either one in her life up until now – maybe she really was cursed, after all?

It hurt to think that way.

Sometimes she wished she was a Jedi – able to shrug off anything and everything by simply clearing her mind of all thoughts, all her troubles, problems and concerns. There is no emotion, there is peace. How well she remembered that maxim by her faraway mentor. And how dearly she wished she could live up to its ideal, learn the secret of that otherworldly calm in the face of adversities.

Or simply feel her mentor's presence around herself, enveloping her in a blanket of calm energy and sad, but kind warmth. She missed that aura, nearly as much as the real, soft embraces her teacher usually gave upon arriving or departing from Pantora back in the days of her childhood. A light, gentle hug, reassuring, but never caging, before setting her down on her own two feet again.

Grace.

She sighed again, and shook her head. Those were idle thoughts – not something she indulged in very often. They'd lead her nowhere but to more heartache and loneliness. Better to finally get some work done, futile though that might also be in the end.

Resolutely, she pushed herself up from where she'd been leaning against the window pane, staring out into the night without truly seeing anything, and turned towards her equally darkened sitting room. The silhouettes of her few pieces of standard issue furniture were just barely visible in the weak light permeating the room from outside, the doors leading to her private rooms and to the hallway illuminated by the faint glow given off by the fluorescent paint on the doorframes. The upper class equivalent of safety lights, only less intrusive; an elegant practicality when living the officialised life of a politician.

They were part of the great number of regulations dictating seemingly her every breath, whether on Coruscant or in Athena, and often made her wonder what distinguished her from the soldiers in the GAR, or the cleaning droids in the Senate, for that matter. In the end, they were all servants to the political system, only differentiated by their jobs and the hierarchy of command, like well-oiled cogs in a Galactic machine – some more important or influential than others, but none of them free to live and work at their own discretion.

So much for the famed liberty of the Galactic Republic.

She really was in a cynical mood today, wasn't she?

Tonight the light sheen around her doors actually did make her life easier, though, allowing her to navigate her way through the sitting room, down the short corridor of her private quarters and into her office without tripping over carpets or bumping her toes on the edges of the settee. Her office, done in warm shades of burgundy and brown, was the only room she'd chosen to truly change to suit her tastes. It was where she spent most of her time, and the calm, familiar atmosphere of the room helped her concentrate on her work. Wooden shelves lined the two side walls of the room, filled with all manner of stuff, but mostly datacards pertaining to Senate work and background information for doing said work. There was a plush carpet on the floor, simply because she liked to take her shoes off and run about barefoot when nobody was around to care, and two chairs in front of an elaborate wooden desk, now covered by datapads, data cards, comm. devices and various sheaves of flimsi sheets.

Had the surface been visible, one would have seen the beautiful sheen some long-dead carpenter had elicited from the wood, but also the signs of wear it showed after being used by generations of clan ladies. She'd had the desk moved here from her ancestors' home, the estate she was only seldomly able to visit, both as a token from home and as a reminder of the great tradition she was standing in, and was determined to carry on honourably. An anchor for her to hold on to in the political storms sure to hit her, living as she was in the heart of the Galactic Republic.

The room was dark as well, the lighting given off by the news screen in the middle of the street barely enough to let her distinguish the outlines of the furniture. A tap on the console by the door – one she was somewhat childishly proud to have learned to manage by now, since it looked as complicated as the launch system on a star destroyer – cast everything in a dim, warm glow and activated the small lamp on her desk, giving her just enough light by which to do her reading.

Her shoulders slumped in relaxation, and she noticed for the first time the chill that had settled into her skin. Maybe standing at the window for hours in a flimsy evening gown hadn't been such a good idea, genetic adaption to cold temperatures notwithstanding. Even her feet were feeling cold by now, hidden as they were beneath the wide folds of her dress. A change of clothing might be in order before she tackled the mess that currently covered her desk. And she might as well remove her make-up and up-do, while she was at it.

Four steps and two doors later, she was staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, discompassionately appraising the face gazing back at her. Tired. Worn. Lines of tension on her forehead and around here eyes that were only partially caused by the elaborate way her hair had been coiled for this particular occasion. Pale and frail, her golden clan marks and eyes in stark contrast to her ice blue skin. No wonder the attending guests had thought so little of her capacity to handle this job – she certainly didn't look like much right now...

Shaking her head, she tried to chase the bitter thought away, helped along by the cold water splashing her face, washing away the layers of make-up, if not the tiredness. Afterwards, her hands expertly undid the official festival headpiece from her hair and, after placing it carefully in its box, pulled out all the pins keeping every rose-coloured strand exactly in its designated place. Combing through the long hair, she could feel the strain on her head easing for the first time in hours.

Should have done this earlier. I'll probably have a bone-splitting headache tomorrow...

For a moment her eyes closed in quiet contentment at the small pleasure of leaving her hair down like this. There were few opportunities in her life when she could allow herself this luxury – Pantoran codes of conduct demanded she wear a headpiece on official occasions, even precisely specifying which kind was to be used for every event. It was a relief to be able to ignore all of that for at least one evening, to possibly, finally have some peace.

In that exact moment the doorbell rang.

Or not.

Rumtopf ('Rum Pot')

Attention: 1. This recipe uses a rather large amount of alcohol – please use it responsibly and drink responsibly! 2. This takes a few MONTHS to prepare, so if you want to try this out as a dessert for December, you'd better start about now, i.e. in May or June!

1 large, glazed earthenware pot, preferably one that has a tight-closing lid

500g fresh strawberries

250g white or brown sugar

A few bottles of your preferred brand of rum

1. Remove the green as well as possible pressure marks etc. from the strawberries with a knife; wash the strawberries very carefully; cut large strawberries into bite-sized chunks; give the strawberries into the pot.

2. Add the sugar and mix the strawberries and the sugar well.

3. Douse the strawberries in rum so that the rum is standing ca. 2 centimeters above the strawberries in the pot (depending on the diameter of the pot, ca. 1 or 1,5 centimeters might also be enough). Put the lid onto the pot and keep the closed pot in a cool, dark place (for example a cellar or a storage room) for a month.

4. After a month (a week more or less doesn't make a difference), add another fresh fruit variety by repeating steps 1-3. I personally prefer red, tart fruit varieties (blueberries, dark cherries, plums, lots of different currants, raspberries), but you may also add apricots, pears, peaches – or whatever you prefer.

5. Keep the pot closed for about a month after you have added the last variety, which should be sometime in October. Thus, at the beginning of December the rum pot should be finished, and may be eaten as dessert with vanilla ice cream, added to hot, black tea, or simply drunk as a liqueur (though I'd be careful with the later – that's quite a large amount of rum and sugar, people!). It may also be used to enhance cakes or sauces, especially the sauces usually added to traditional winter roasts.

Bon Appetit!

I feel like I should add this after just handing you an alcohol-based recipe in a story that is technically rated T (and yes, the T is for now just because of this recipe – I'd like to be safe rather than sorry, really!): Please use this recipe responsibly and drink responsibly! You know your own age, and the laws which apply to drinking in whichever country you're living in – please abide by them! I won't be held accountable for anyone's foolishness other than mine own! That's really more than enough for me to deal with. :-)

As you might have guessed after reading the rather abrupt ending (or taking a look at the chapter title :-P), this is the first part of a tripartite one-shot that somehow kept getting longer and longer while I was writing, until I decided I couldn't possibly post it as one chapter. Thus, three chapters rather than one – with a bonus of three recipes instead of one. :-) This one-shot is my interpretation of Riyo Chuchi's character, and provides some background information to a story I'm working on – a bit of a sneak-peak into my mind, so to speak.

Last, but not least, the most important thing: Ahem, ahem. General disclaimer: I do not own nor gain anything (and most certainly no money) by the use of any recognizable material referred to in this FF. I have indicated my sources to the best of my knowledge in the last chapter of this FF; please consult the bibliography you find there and send me a PM if you think that anything is amiss with that list. If I forgot about anything, I will most certainly remedy that mistake as soon as possible; otherwise please trust me that the remaining ideas in this FF are entirely my own, whatever similarity to works unknown to me they might bear, and do me the same courtesy of indicating this FF in your sources in case you plan on using its content. Thanks!