One Too Many
11: 43 standard local time
"What's it to you?" the decoratively tattooed Twi"lek server demanded, perfect lips turning outward in a slight pout. "I can socialize with who I want."
Anakin was growing impatient. "He's wanted for murder."
Her shoulders rose. "Who isn't nowadays? You're a Jedi. You've killed plenty of people."
He was fairly sure the red haze floating before his vision was not alcohol induced. "This is different," he growled. "He killed a lot of innocent people. And Jedi."
Her mouth twisted sarcastically. "Oh well, that's different. I had relatives on Ryloth. They got killed during a Republic military action. So I guess we're all even."
One hand pressed into the wall on either side of her head, he leaned forward, growling. "Where is he?"
A hand settled on his shoulder, feather-light and yet weighted with a decade or more of authority. "Anakin."
The poor waitress slumped in relief as he stepped back a pace.
"I'm sorry if my associate intimidated you," Obi-Wan gallantly intervened, grabbing her elbow before her shaking knees gave way. "Here.. sit down." He steered her to the bar, where the lurid blue dregs of a Bomb-Bay Sapphire already sat forlornly in their crystal tumbler.
"I need a drink," the Twi'Lek waitress decided, running one hand over the back of her mouth, smudging her bright lip-paint. "Kriff."
The barkeep wordlessly poured her a toxic blend of several popular liquors, and she tossed it back pertly enough to make both Jedi's eyes widen.
"Better." Thus fortified, she braced herself against the molded counter and allowed her liquid gaze to travel slowly over her solicitous new acquaintance. "I haven't seen you here before," she purred, lekku undulating softly.
"I haven't had the … pleasure of being here before," Obi-Wan stiffly offered, by way of explanation.
Anakin smothered a laugh behind his human hand. His former mentor might be a master of Soresu combat, military tactics, and diplomacy - but he knew nothing about shmoozing with the ladies.
Their pretty companion didn't seem to notice Obi-Wan's deficiency in the charm department, however. She leaned in closer, lips parted and pupils dilating. The 'tender picked up on her cue and slid another pair of Suicide Nebulas under their noses. Anakin had to clear his throat and tap on the bartop to get one sent in his general direction, too.
This was a team effort, after all.
"So, you looking for trouble, too?" their Twi"Lek friend slurred, leaning in yet closer.
"Perhaps."
She nearly fell off her stool before Obi-Wan gently righted her.
"What are you gonna do if you find him?" she demanded. "Kill him? Like for revenge?"
One blue finger trailed down the Jedi master's collar.
"I never kill anyone for revenge," he said, downing the second searing shot.
Anakin covered his own flare of anguished recollection in similar fashion. Stars, it burned.
"Never?" she teased, wobbling precariously.
"No," her interlocutor responded tightly, staring in to a mid-distance halfway between here and the Force.
She polished off her own serving and slammed the empty glass upon the bartop. "Oh. Well." She propped her elbows on the counter and balanced her chin atop her hands. "Wanna come up to my place for a drink when I'm off shift?"
"We'll meet you there," Anakin suggested, earning a faint frown of disapproval from his friend. "Where do you live?"
She gestured vaguely out the door. "Hostlery. 445, upper floor. S'nice place. Cheap. The manager'll let you in… I have a lot of visitors." Suddenly overburdened, she allowed her head to sink down upon the polished counter and closed her eyes, her glitter-crusted fake lashes settling gently over two flushed violet cheeks.
They tipped the barkeep handsomely, made a quick pit stop at the 'freshers, and took their leave.
12:07 standard local time
It was suddenly and uncommonly hot on Vandor that morning. They stripped off their cloaks and tossed them into their fighters' cockpits on their way back across the docking pad. Obi-Wan tugged at the close fold of brown cloth over his throat, and ran a hand through his hair, leaving it in casual disarray.
Anakin shot a killing look at his astromech when the little choobazzi had the nerve to ask whether they had located the target yet. "We're working on it. Lay off," he grunted.
"Ignore the peanut gallery, Anakin," Obi-Wan suggested, treating Artoo to a full serving of bland disdain.
Anakin stuck his tongue out at their pint-pot agitator and stalked off in his friend's wake.
"Perhaps if you checked him for loose wires –"
"Shut up, Obi-Wan."
"And next time you wish to finagle information out of a contact, you might consider employing subtle persuasion rather than strong-arm tactics."
"Excuse me?" Anakin jogged ahead and pivoted, walking backwards only a tad unsteadily. "Subtle persuasion? She was practically slobbering on you, master."
"Was she? I didn't notice."
"You're too blitzed to notice." The younger man's grin was a trifle lopsided.
"I have never been blitzed," Obi-Wan asserted, dismissively. "Well. Except once. But that doesn't count."
Anakin stumbled a little on an uneven curb and opted to walk forwards again. "You always say that. It happened; it counts."
"Qui-Gon was far worse. So it does not count," his friend insisted, with the blithe self-confidence of a seasoned negotiator.
"Whatever."
.