Han groaned as he adjusted his collar, walking down the entrance hall toward the hostess. He'd always hated formal wear of any and all kinds. It bunched in places that cloth should never bunch, it held in so many things that in nature shouldn't be so strictly contained, and –to put it plainly– it was damned uncomfortable. In his head, nothing beat some loose trousers, a plain shirt and jacket, and a blaster for some flair (should the occasion require).
Unfortunately, the rest of the galaxy did not share his sentiments. Had he decided to show up in his casual wear for this lunch, he no doubt he'd be laughed out of the restaurant. He had considered doing it anyway, but his days for spiteful attitudes had passed and he seemed to have no stomach for the trouble.
Of course, the choice of restaurant hadn't been his. Had it been, he'd be taking a taxi a few buildings lower to a seedier haunt of his old days. Someplace where the beverage list outnumbered the menu with more alcoholic mixes than one could sample in a lifetime, and where the food that didn't take a translator droid to pronounce.
On the other hand, having a political lunch at such an establishment might not have been appropriate, despite its appeal. Considering the attendance roster for the afternoon, the location was more a choice of neutrality than anything.
"May I help you?" the hostess asked as Han approached the counter.
She smiled at him with glistening, bleached white teeth, their pigment as artificial as her happy mood. He couldn't blame her for the poor sentiment, though. This wasn't a day where he could be handing out warm welcome to strangers, either - no matter how much he was being paid.
The restaurant was one of the ritzy, over decorated café's of the upper levels, and also one of the few places where workers were living, as opposed to the synthetic consciousness of droids. Though not many of the beings employed here ever brought sincerity with the menu. There was more good cheer in a droids voice simulator than a human waiter's tone – unless you tip well.
"Yeah, I'm here to meet Lady Organa," Han said, jumbling together his most official tone.
"Ah yes, Lady Organa has already been seated," the hostess replied, coming out from behind her counter with a datapad in hand. "If you'll just follow me."
She led the way down a small corridor and into a large chamber full of diverse species politely dining on various types of substance. There was everything from an Oldarian Shuf Egg Salad, to Ikopi Tung – a delicacy of Naboo. Han was under the impression that not only wouldn't he be able to pronounce half of the foods, he wouldn't be able to figure out what they were once he did.
"And here you are," the hostess told Han as they came upon the table.
Leia looked up at him, her face held an expression he didn't take seriously. This was the face he'd seen her put on a thousand times - the one she keeps saved for occasions when she doesn't have a real countenance to give off. All it told him was, "Let's get this done and over with."
"Thanks," Han said, as he took a seat opposite Leia. Over and done with was fine with him. That meant he could get out of this stuffy dining establishment, out of these clothes, and out of this already irksome situation.
"How are you?" Leia asked out of courtesy. He could tell she wasn't really paying much attention to whether he answered or not. Her attention was focused on glancing out the window beside them at the afternoon skyline and the traffic zooming by.
"Living, breathing, you know, the usual," Han mumbled, low enough that she wouldn't be able to hear him. She wouldn't have cared much anyway had she heard.
"What was that?" Leia asked. Han was surprised for a moment, but figured she must have been listening closer than he thought.
"Oh, um, just fine, thanks," he amended.
Han lifted his menu in front of his face, blocking his view of Leia as he searched for something recognizable on the list. He longed for Chewie's terrible cooking back on the ~Falcon~. It may have tasted bad and been half cooked, but it was something he knew and was comfortable with.
He wished they could have held this lunch on that bucket of bolts, with some ales and a cheap holo flick like anyone of his old smuggling deals. However, this wasn't smuggling, or rather, it didn't like to be associated with it. This was politics, and this place had a specific advantage: neutral territory. The ~Falcon~ was too far into Han's turf, and Leia's office was too far into hers. Neither of them wanted to venture into the other's realm; neither wanted to risk having a natural, non-business related conversation.
The further the conversation got from the reason they were stuck together for the time being, the closer it got to the reason they wanted to be apart. Neither of them wanted to touch that subject, as it just brought about a great deal of issues that they both wanted left alone.
Han cleared his throat. "Um, you wouldn't have any recommendations for this thing," he said, motioning at the menu, " 'cause to be honest, I'm lost."
Leia pulled her attention away from the window.
"Oh," she said, as though she'd just remembered where she was. "Um, I ordered the Leaves of Alder. It's a kind of culinary tribute to Alderaan they have here. It's the only real reason I come here." She let the last bit trail off, mumbling a little.
Taking another look at the menu, Han nodded. "I'll just have that, then." He entered the order into the menu and set it down on the table in front of him.
"So," Han said, breaking the silence that fell between them. "Did you have anything in particular that you wanted to go over before tomorrow? I was thinking of just doing my old "Defend the Republic" bit I did for the University a few years ago." That address had boosted the enlistment numbers a few points, as Han recalled, though the University later regretted the speech when they lost promising student to military careers. Needless to say, Han couldn't get an education there in his lifetime, should he have ever wanted to in the first place.
"Actually," Leia began, finally finding her footing in this off setting and awkward conversation, "I have an outline here," - she handed him a datapad - "and I thought you could just present the military standpoint on the benefits of the proposal, which are listed here." She brought her arm across the table to point her finger at the position in the outline she'd described.
"You have a dance mapped out you want me to do to?" Han asked.
She let out a short breath in annoyance. "I'm sorry that the committee didn't have time to incorporate your portion of this proposal, but the draft is going before the Senate tomorrow and I just need you to say something along the lines of 'The guys with the guns like this.' I don't need a speech about the benefits of a military career."
Han had amazed himself at how quickly he'd demolish the conversation. It had to be some kind of record. The fastest man to get a dialogue from cordial to hateful banter. Less than twelve parsecs for certain.
"I'm sorry, that was rude," Han apologized in his best effort not to speak through his teeth. For the oddest reason, apologizing to Leia was more agonizing than any form of torture he had yet experienced – that included both Hutt and Imperial methods. It went against everything he's held himself to believe was absolute. Of course, the agony of having to find another, longer way around this situation would top the apology. "I just wasn't expecting it to be all done, but what the hell, it saves me some time."
"That's okay. I'm at fault, really. I had expected some kind of change, or maybe even maturity in you. I was obviously mistaken." Something in Leia's tone told Han that his apology hadn't come across as sincere or repairing as he'd planned.
"You know, I came here hoping that we could get through a conversation without something like this happening. I'm thinking now that's not possible," Han said, leaning in a little. "I don't know why you're angry at me, but I sure as hell have reason to be angry at you."
"I don't think we should discuss this, especially not here," Leia said, getting up from her chair and pulling her purse over her shoulder, "Just tell them to put the meal on my tab. I'll see you at the address." And with that she turned her back and made her way through the tables and out of site.
Han sighed as he leaned back into his chair. ~That went well.~
Unfortunately, the rest of the galaxy did not share his sentiments. Had he decided to show up in his casual wear for this lunch, he no doubt he'd be laughed out of the restaurant. He had considered doing it anyway, but his days for spiteful attitudes had passed and he seemed to have no stomach for the trouble.
Of course, the choice of restaurant hadn't been his. Had it been, he'd be taking a taxi a few buildings lower to a seedier haunt of his old days. Someplace where the beverage list outnumbered the menu with more alcoholic mixes than one could sample in a lifetime, and where the food that didn't take a translator droid to pronounce.
On the other hand, having a political lunch at such an establishment might not have been appropriate, despite its appeal. Considering the attendance roster for the afternoon, the location was more a choice of neutrality than anything.
"May I help you?" the hostess asked as Han approached the counter.
She smiled at him with glistening, bleached white teeth, their pigment as artificial as her happy mood. He couldn't blame her for the poor sentiment, though. This wasn't a day where he could be handing out warm welcome to strangers, either - no matter how much he was being paid.
The restaurant was one of the ritzy, over decorated café's of the upper levels, and also one of the few places where workers were living, as opposed to the synthetic consciousness of droids. Though not many of the beings employed here ever brought sincerity with the menu. There was more good cheer in a droids voice simulator than a human waiter's tone – unless you tip well.
"Yeah, I'm here to meet Lady Organa," Han said, jumbling together his most official tone.
"Ah yes, Lady Organa has already been seated," the hostess replied, coming out from behind her counter with a datapad in hand. "If you'll just follow me."
She led the way down a small corridor and into a large chamber full of diverse species politely dining on various types of substance. There was everything from an Oldarian Shuf Egg Salad, to Ikopi Tung – a delicacy of Naboo. Han was under the impression that not only wouldn't he be able to pronounce half of the foods, he wouldn't be able to figure out what they were once he did.
"And here you are," the hostess told Han as they came upon the table.
Leia looked up at him, her face held an expression he didn't take seriously. This was the face he'd seen her put on a thousand times - the one she keeps saved for occasions when she doesn't have a real countenance to give off. All it told him was, "Let's get this done and over with."
"Thanks," Han said, as he took a seat opposite Leia. Over and done with was fine with him. That meant he could get out of this stuffy dining establishment, out of these clothes, and out of this already irksome situation.
"How are you?" Leia asked out of courtesy. He could tell she wasn't really paying much attention to whether he answered or not. Her attention was focused on glancing out the window beside them at the afternoon skyline and the traffic zooming by.
"Living, breathing, you know, the usual," Han mumbled, low enough that she wouldn't be able to hear him. She wouldn't have cared much anyway had she heard.
"What was that?" Leia asked. Han was surprised for a moment, but figured she must have been listening closer than he thought.
"Oh, um, just fine, thanks," he amended.
Han lifted his menu in front of his face, blocking his view of Leia as he searched for something recognizable on the list. He longed for Chewie's terrible cooking back on the ~Falcon~. It may have tasted bad and been half cooked, but it was something he knew and was comfortable with.
He wished they could have held this lunch on that bucket of bolts, with some ales and a cheap holo flick like anyone of his old smuggling deals. However, this wasn't smuggling, or rather, it didn't like to be associated with it. This was politics, and this place had a specific advantage: neutral territory. The ~Falcon~ was too far into Han's turf, and Leia's office was too far into hers. Neither of them wanted to venture into the other's realm; neither wanted to risk having a natural, non-business related conversation.
The further the conversation got from the reason they were stuck together for the time being, the closer it got to the reason they wanted to be apart. Neither of them wanted to touch that subject, as it just brought about a great deal of issues that they both wanted left alone.
Han cleared his throat. "Um, you wouldn't have any recommendations for this thing," he said, motioning at the menu, " 'cause to be honest, I'm lost."
Leia pulled her attention away from the window.
"Oh," she said, as though she'd just remembered where she was. "Um, I ordered the Leaves of Alder. It's a kind of culinary tribute to Alderaan they have here. It's the only real reason I come here." She let the last bit trail off, mumbling a little.
Taking another look at the menu, Han nodded. "I'll just have that, then." He entered the order into the menu and set it down on the table in front of him.
"So," Han said, breaking the silence that fell between them. "Did you have anything in particular that you wanted to go over before tomorrow? I was thinking of just doing my old "Defend the Republic" bit I did for the University a few years ago." That address had boosted the enlistment numbers a few points, as Han recalled, though the University later regretted the speech when they lost promising student to military careers. Needless to say, Han couldn't get an education there in his lifetime, should he have ever wanted to in the first place.
"Actually," Leia began, finally finding her footing in this off setting and awkward conversation, "I have an outline here," - she handed him a datapad - "and I thought you could just present the military standpoint on the benefits of the proposal, which are listed here." She brought her arm across the table to point her finger at the position in the outline she'd described.
"You have a dance mapped out you want me to do to?" Han asked.
She let out a short breath in annoyance. "I'm sorry that the committee didn't have time to incorporate your portion of this proposal, but the draft is going before the Senate tomorrow and I just need you to say something along the lines of 'The guys with the guns like this.' I don't need a speech about the benefits of a military career."
Han had amazed himself at how quickly he'd demolish the conversation. It had to be some kind of record. The fastest man to get a dialogue from cordial to hateful banter. Less than twelve parsecs for certain.
"I'm sorry, that was rude," Han apologized in his best effort not to speak through his teeth. For the oddest reason, apologizing to Leia was more agonizing than any form of torture he had yet experienced – that included both Hutt and Imperial methods. It went against everything he's held himself to believe was absolute. Of course, the agony of having to find another, longer way around this situation would top the apology. "I just wasn't expecting it to be all done, but what the hell, it saves me some time."
"That's okay. I'm at fault, really. I had expected some kind of change, or maybe even maturity in you. I was obviously mistaken." Something in Leia's tone told Han that his apology hadn't come across as sincere or repairing as he'd planned.
"You know, I came here hoping that we could get through a conversation without something like this happening. I'm thinking now that's not possible," Han said, leaning in a little. "I don't know why you're angry at me, but I sure as hell have reason to be angry at you."
"I don't think we should discuss this, especially not here," Leia said, getting up from her chair and pulling her purse over her shoulder, "Just tell them to put the meal on my tab. I'll see you at the address." And with that she turned her back and made her way through the tables and out of site.
Han sighed as he leaned back into his chair. ~That went well.~
