Dinner was pleasant enough, Luke thought, once he got over the shock of being served by stormtroopers wearing protective smocks over their white armor. No, not stormtroopers, he reminded himself – White Workers. Still, there was something very off putting about looking at those blank, black eyes and asking for the salt to be passed. He kept reaching for the hilt of his lightsaber, only to be reminded that, once again, it was in the Beast's possession.
The food was excellent, as always. "In times of stress, fine dining is suggested," Looma had said as he guided Luke to his chair. "A dinner here is never second best. Enjoy." But Luke noted that Looma, Pottz and K'gworth did not sit down at the table to partake. Instead, they stood along the wall with the White Workers who weren't currently pressed into service.
The Beast…ah, the Beast. She sat the head of the long, polished wood table, some six meters distant from Luke, who sat at the foot. She kept her gaze focused on the plate in front of her, although at odd intervals she raised her head to glare at him, her forehead sharply creased. He tried to smile at her, but it only made her glare intensify. When he ventured a few remarks about the weather, she shot him a look so cold and deadly, the remaining words died in his throat. But she didn't eat much, her fork mostly pushing her food around and around. That must be how she stayed so slim despite eating like this every day, Luke thought wryly. He, on the other hand, was going to resemble a Hutt before too long.
Finally, the parade of dishes slowed. "That was excellent," he said. "Thank you."
The Beast sniffed, a derisive, imperious sound. She didn't look at him.
Looma and Pottz exchanged anxious glances. K'gworth looked like he was about to blow a gasket.
Luke shrugged. Well. She had demanded his presence at dinner; he was there. He had to eat, after all. But he couldn't figure out why she required him to be there if she wasn't going to acknowledge him. Was it just to prove she had the power to order him around? Fine. She made her point. But the meal was now over and his obligation at an end.
He pushed back his chair from the table and got up to leave. "I'm going to return to my room." He didn't know where else to go. The castle was dark and empty and echoing, especially at night. In his room, he'd discovered one of the bedposts was loose and easily removed. He would practice his katanas with it, until such time when he could retrieve his lightsaber. "Good night."
The Beast's head snapped up, her golden eyes burning. "I did not say you could leave."
"You didn't say one word all dinner," Luke pointed out. "I'll see you in the morning." He turned to leave.
A plate smashed into the wall next to the door, just barely missing his right ear. Cloudberry jam left a sticky trail as it oozed down the azure striped wallpaper. "You don't have permission to leave," the Beast snarled from behind him.
He whirled around, not at all amused. Cloudberry jam was expensive, at least on Tatooine. And they certainly didn't serve it in Rebel Alliance mess halls. Her display of temper wasted at least a month's income. "You missed."
She scoffed, rising from her chair and taking several steps toward him. "Hardly. I don't miss my target. Try to leave, and you'll find out just how accurate I am." A large, shallow bowl levitated off the table and turned slowly. Luke noted it was filled to the brim with ootoowergs. And ootoowergs, although delicious, were rather slimy and tended to leave bright green stains on clothing.
He shook his head. "Not going to happen," he said, and reached out with the Force. The bowl hung in midair, vibrating as he struggled to wrest control from the Beast.
"Zut alors," he heard Looma whisper. "And we just finished cleaning the dining room after the last mess, too."
"If I may," K'gworth said, his normal rumble several octaves higher. "I believe some entertainment is called for?" He clapped his hands in front of him, and several White Workers left the room. "Looma, if you please?''
"But of course!" Looma waved his arms, and the three chandeliers overhead dimmed, the light in the room reduced from midday sun bright to shadows at dusk dark. Luke blinked at the sudden change, his focus momentarily lost. Without his Force resistance pushing against the Beast's mental grip, the bowl spun wildly. It shot through the air, flinging its contents far and wide across the room.
Cold ootoowergs dripped down Luke's hair and neck, causing his skin to crawl. The vegetables were even slimier cold than when served hot. And smellier.
A loud gasp of shock made him look up. The Beast had ootoowerg spattered across her pale face. Bright green spots bloomed on the chest of her black tunic. Her expression was so indignant and outraged, he did the only thing he could do in the situation.
He laughed.
Her head came up sharply, her eyebrows knitted tightly together. "You! This is all your…" She raised her right hand into the air. The slender fingers pointed. At him.
Pottz's gasp was all the warning Luke needed. He ducked the plate of baked dru'un slices in fish sauce. But he never saw the blubberbird egg salad, flying free of its dish. It hit him square in the face.
The Beast took one look and snickered.
Luke's fists clenched. All this perfectly good food wasted! And for what? To amuse a spoiled girl of a Beast? He wiped the salad from his eyes, the creamy dressing dripping down his cheeks and off his nose.
The Beast snickered even harder.
Funny thing, though, he noticed. The cold, dark shadow that seemed to hover around her like a permanent cloud had lifted, just a little. He smiled to himself. Fine. Might as well practice some of his training. It wasn't as if this food could be given to someone who needed it. He used the bottom of his tunic to mop the last of the salad from his cheeks, and grinned back at her.
And then he used the Force to levitate the massive platter of nerf steaks in green fire sauce from its place of honor in the center of the table.
Pottz hid her face with her hands, but kept her fingers parted so she could still see out. Looma stood so still, he seemed as if he had been turned into a waxwork. K'gworth just chanted, "Oh dear oh dear oh dear," under his breath.
The Beast stopped snickering. Her gaze widened.
Luke kept the platter in the air. It lazily swooped from side to side at his command. He could feel her reach out, try to get a Force grip of her own on the dish, but he kept it just out of her grasp. She slowly backed up, keeping the massive table between them. He steadily advanced on her position. The platter glided beside him, sauce occasionally sloshing over its sides.
"Stay where you are." The Beast folded her arms across her chest, her chin lifted high. Ootoowerg still dotted her cheeks. "Put that down."
"Or what?" Luke asked with a smirk. He sauntered toward her. With a wave of his hand, the platter of nerf steaks rose higher into the air. It tilted it, just a little. The Beast snatched her hand away at the last second. The green fire sauce splashed on the table instead.
She said nothing, her bright golden glaze glaring daggers at him. But her hand moved. A giant bowl of mashed tubers swimming in blue butter rose from the table and floated in front of her. Keeping the table between them, she inched her way toward the door.
"Tubers?" he scoffed, moving to cut her off before she could make an escape. "I grew up on Tatooine. Tubers are nothing compared to some of the stuff I've had to eat."
She rolled her eyes at him, but kept her Force grip steady on the bowl. "Not one step closer. I'm warning you, farmer."
"Now, now!" K'gworth stepped between them, his moustache twitching. "We were having such a nice evening. The musicians will be here any minute. Shall we return to our seats, have a little dessert, perhaps? Mmm, pastry!" He rubbed his stomach, his hands trembling.
A slow, dangerous smile curved the Beast's lips. "What do you say, farmer? Care for some dessert?" Her gaze sparkled, and for a brief split second Luke thought her eyes appeared green instead of a burning yellow.
Luke shook his head. "Not in the mood for pastry. I still prefer nerf steaks." He nudged the platter with the Force, causing the bottom of the dish to skim the top of her red gold curls.
She gasped and jumped back. The bowl of tubers rose above Luke's head and tilted, threatening to turn upside down. "Don't play games you can't w—"
She never finished the sentence. Her foot skidded on the puddle of cloudberry jam collecting on the polished wood floor near the door. She slipped, struggled to regain her balance. The bowl slipped as well, its contents falling.
Luke automatically jumped to catch her. The tubers missed him, but K'worth was not so lucky. Fluffy bits of mash rained down from the upturned dish on his head. He sputtered, his moustache dripped with blue butter.
Luke was just about to catch the Beast's arm and keep her upright, when his boots encountered spilled, slimy ootoowerg. He slid, feet first, right into the Beast. They tumbled to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs.
Two White Workers came into the room, carrying a chidinkalu and a slitherhorn. They stopped to look at Luke and the Beast, sprawled at their feet. The platter of nerf steaks that crashed down on them turned their spotless white armor into a spattered, smelly, green and brown mess. The musical instruments clattered to the ground, useless.
For a moment, all was silent. Then Looma cleared his throat. "It would seem music is out, but I could tell jokes, no?" Looma said. "Or do some tricks?"
Pottz giggled, but it was a brief, nervous outburst that soon ended.
Luke blinked, trying to regain his equilibrium. The Beast's right leg was caught between the two of his, and his left hand…he snatched it away, not knowing where to look as he felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He struggled to his feet.
The Beast pulled herself into sitting position. Her tunic was covered with all sorts of spills, her trousers much the same. She lifted her hand to push her hair out of her face but stopped when she realized her curls were sticking to her cloudberry jam-covered fingers.
Luke held his breath. Would the Beast erupt into another display of hot anger? Perhaps even Force Lightning this time?
She lifted her head. Her gaze narrowed.
And she laughed. It rang loud and clear, like the Toydarian clan bells he'd heard on Tatooine. "The expression on your faces!" she said when she could catch her breath. "And look at poor K'gworth! And my White Workers!" She grabbed her sides, her laughter continuing.
Luke exchanged glances with K'gworth, Pottz and Looma. They shrugged at him, their gazes wide and wondering. Then he extended a hand to the Beast. Much to his surprise, she took it and allowed him to pull her upright. Her fingers, although sticky, were warm and surprisingly delicate in his. He let go only when she pulled her hand free.
"I don't know why we have so much food at these meals," she said, her laughter fading but a smile remaining on her face. "Having another human to feed must have thrown the White Workers off. I'll look into their programming tomorrow." She tried to brush various foodstuffs off her clothes, but gave up when she seemed to realize she was only making things worse.
Luke thought he'd never seen the Beast look lovelier. Her cheeks were flushed, her red-gold hair wild and tossed free about her shoulders. The tense attitude – the sense that she would spring like a predator at the slightest provocation – was gone, her shoulders relaxed and her back no longer ramrod straight.
She looked up and caught his gaze. "You missed some," he said, pointing to the spot on his own face.
Her hand reached up, but she took it down before she could leave a sticky trail across her skin. "Nice try, farmer," she said, but her expression was open and carefree.
He grinned back at her, his gaze locking onto those yellow orbs of hers. "No, really, you do." Before he know what he was doing, he had reached out to gently wipe the ootoowerg from her pointed chin.
She jerked back from his touch. A shutter seemed to slam across her face, closing all joy and fun out of her expression. "You have my permission to leave after this ridiculous display of yours. Dinner is over." She turned on her heels and moved toward the door.
Luke stood where she left him, his hand still hovering in mid-air. It was an instinct to touch her, nothing more. Or at least that's what he told himself. Still, when he looked into her eyes…there might be something there that wasn't there before.