To Mould A Man From Clay
Chapter Fourteen
"You know, in spite of how much I hate Nar Shaddaa, the food's always good. Probably the only honest business on this planet."
Jirax takes a bite of his bantha kebob and nods. "Good taste in food," he tells her after chewing.
"I know your appetite. Lots of protein."
"Gotta stay big and strong if I'm gonna live up to the reputation of bein' a big mighty rancor."
"I don't know," her innocent smile turns into a knowing smirk, "to the galaxy you might be big and mean, but to me you're big and kind of a huge bookworm."
"Only kind of, huh?" His toothy grin is accompanied by a laugh.
"Okay, a complete one. My big scary mercenary, gun in one hand, reading his datapad in the other."
He leans back and takes another hefty bite of the barbequed kebob. They look out over the Nar Shaddaa skyway on one of the lower levels of the Promenade, resting on one of the clean, non-vandalized benches. Out of the corner of his eye he watches her eat the same thing, only without sauce. They continue eating in comfortable silence, enjoying the mixture of ambiance noises on the quieter level of the promenade: Huttese advertisements over loudspeakers and songs in both basic and Huttese in between said ads.
The music's catchy and though he doesn't know the words, it's enough to make him drum along to the beat with his fingers against his thigh.
"In fact, I think this night alone's been enough to cancel out a lot of what I saw growing up."
"Ah, hell Mako, you're gonna make me blush." He laughs and toothily grins. "Ain't even got a helmet to cover it up."
"I'm serious! You know how much I hate this place." She lowers her finished, empty kebob and shrugs. "Well, you sort of do, but I mean it's more than just the Eidolon and Anuli. There's a lot of glitz and glam but it's just covering up the grime and the bloodstains."
"Just tells one big fat lie."
"That's exactly it. Nar Shaddaa is one big lie. People come here wanting to lose themselves; but when they do, they wish they could go back."
Jirax blinks and sits up, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. "I'm sorry, Mako."
"Like I said though; this night's been wonderful." She smiles though he still sees the beginnings of tears in her eyes that she's fighting back. "But, well, you know, you didn't need to cover up the scars and stitches for me. You don't have to."
"I know, 'ppreciate you sayin' that, really, but I wanted to. Special night and all. Wanted to celebrate right. Man's gotta look the part."
"Either way, I want you to know that in some ways you're the exact opposite of Nar Shaddaa. You don't try to hide it; you own up to it and you've proven that you're more than them."
Jirax fidgets, feels his chest constrict, and for once the blood doesn't rush to his head nor does pain afflict him. He feels different; stronger and yet more vulnerable with her. He stands, takes their shish-kebob's empty sticks and throws them away, giving himself the opportunity to think up something nice, sweet, and pretty for her—she did say after all that she liked his poetic side.
When he sits back down beside her again, his mouth dries and his stomach clenches. Without the outer shell of armor he feels exposed yet lighter—as if for once he isn't a bounty hunter and certainly not the result of a mad Sith's experimentation, just a man. He wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her close.
"In heaven a man knows joy; in life a man faces trials; a man knows paradise in life when he knows when he's found joy amongst his trials."
Mako blushes and smiles sheepishly. "Did you think of that just now?"
He snorts, "Bit cliched, right?"
"Not at all. Something's cliche when it doesn't have deeper meaning and is just empty. You said that and I know you mean it."
That makes him smile—genuinely smile, and it feels good, makes him feel happy, well, and at peace. He takes her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing the back, and smirking.
"Look mighty fine in that color."
Mako glances back to her flowy crimson colored dress that comes to above her knee. "You think so? I bought this when I bought my new coat. Looked good on the model."
Jirax stands and brushes off his cream colored shirt and dark pants, then pulls her up into his arms. "C'mon, we're probably already late for the party."
She winks and runs her hand over his muscles and the snake tattoo on his right arm that she normally doesn't get to see. "I think they'll wait on the latest Champion of the Great Hunt before they start the party in full swing."
"It'll be funnier if they've started the party. They'll be drunk as hell and probably boastin' 'bout their kill counts."
"Well we wouldn't want to miss that and the stories, would we?"
In spite of his efforts to help her make newer, happier memories of her time spent on Nar Shaddaa, the night was ruined not by Sith, not by Imperials, not by Hutts, but by Jedi and the SIS, and Jirax vowed revenge for the blood spilt of his colleagues and the nightmares it gave Mako that night.