Cigarra Smoke and Pazaak Cheats
There's never a quiet moment on the Ebon Hawk. Male Exile.
Rated PG13
Disclaimer: Hahaha. You looked here. YOU NERD.
Cigarra Smoke and Pazaak Cheats
The ship rocked lazily, like some pot-bellied beast upon a hearth, balancing on its taut belly and wondering vaguely if it was to burst. This was due to Atton's sleepy steering – he either was asleep or well on his way; the only thing keeping him up was the strong stench of cigarra smoke and caffa. Lots. And lots. Of caffa.
The ride was a quiet one. There had been a soft, unidentifiable curtain of silence for several days now, and Varlo was growing bored. He sat in the main room, ignoring the tempting buzzing of their G0-T0 unit and the even more stressful, static-y snoring from Mandalore, who was propped up against the wall. Mira was filing her nails on the floor near the spare compartment, her eyes never leaving his face.
"I'm not going anywhere, Red," he drawled, studying his palm. "Leave me alone."
"You just seem… shifty," she said, stretching to pop some joints in the small of her back. She yawned and shifted her top with her usual vulgarity. Varlo had long learned to keep his eyes off of her, because she was always doing something unruly with her hands, as if it was a habit. It probably was a habit, bred from years of rough city life. The moment her hands left her breasts, they wandered and slid up and down her sides. Varlo fixed his smoky eyes on her face and she flashed him a carnivorous smile, letting her red hair fall in her flickering green eyes.
"I might be," he reasoned, lighting a cigarra and slipping it between his lips. Seeing that this was okay, Mira promptly did the same, massaging her carefully-sculpted abs.
"Why's that, hon?" she cooed seductively, as was her general way, and she meant nothing by it. "Too quiet for ya?"
"You're a babe, Red," Varlo replied with a nasty grin, letting his boot thunk audibly against the table. Mandalore gave a faint snort in his sleep. Varlo glanced at him, pushing back his own dark hair with a sweep of his hand. "I guess you're right, though. I mean… it's so quiet. And… if that Sloe isn't the most insufferable…"
"You get used to him, but he is a pain," Mira awkwardly conceded. "Smokes more than you, me, Mandalore, and Atton combined. Swears more, too."
Varlo chuckled. "Ain't it the truth."
"You aren't very nice behind everyone else's backs, are you?" came a voice from behind. Varlo started, whirling around and leveling his blaster and Mira was on her feet immediately. But it was only Sloe in all of his gangly glory, his hair, for the first time, an utter mess. He smirked at them and, as if to spite them, he lit a cigarra between his teeth. "What, do you slander Mira, too, when she's not with you?"
Varlo flushed. "No," he said shortly, "just you."
Sloe shrugged, smirking and flicking a butt-ash at the sleeping Mandalore. "Figured."
Varlo shook his head. Mira settled back down on the floor. "Why do you even stick around?" Mira asked. "We have enough blaster masters, and you stink up the ship."
"Ass," Sloe laughed at her. "Hell, I don't know. I guess it's 'cause you freed me, V. I owe you for that."
"No, really, you don't," Varlo said bitterly.
"I do. I really do. I guess it's the damn honorable blood in me, but I really do owe you my life."
Varlo stared. "What have you been chewing?" he said blankly.
"Found some spice in a compartment," Sloe replied dryly, spitting away a fat ash he had found between his teeth. Mira retched audibly, but only to harass him, for she had struck up another cigarra and was grinding it as she sat. Sloe pulled a ridiculous face at her.
Somehow or another this broke out in a duel, waking Mandalore, who not-so-helpfully cheered them on, even while he was groggy and the cigarra smoke was heavily filtering into his helmet.
"New rule!" Mira gasped, reeling backwards. "No touching the ladies beneath the neck."
Sloe gaped. "What? No way!"
Mira wasn't listening. She pinned him, and he squirmed madly.
"You flaming, insane schutta!" he yowled, trying desperately to crawl for the cockpit, to safety, but Mira held him fast. "Lemme go! You're crazy! You're crazy!"
Cackling insanely, Varlo joined in. It turned into a huge rile, using no fists, just palms and knees, so that they wouldn't hurt each other. Sloe squealed something strange, like some sort of mynock giving birth, and Mira kept choking on her own laughter. Varlo twisted under Sloe's arm and tickled her; she jerked away and knocked Sloe backwards.
"HEY!" Sloe cried. He chucked a dead cigarra at them. Mira caught it deftly and slipped it between her teeth, now grappling with Varlo and moving to pin him beneath her, though he twisted and writhed so that she couldn't get a grip.
"What the hell is this?"
Everyone halted. Very slowly, all eyes turned to the cockpit hall, where Atton stood in the threshold, a look of utter horror turning his features dark.
"Atton!" Mira cried.
Varlo heaved his hips upward, dislodging her. She fell to the floor with a dead thump, and struggled to her feet. Varlo got to his knees, and Sloe remained lying on the floor, waving a lit cigarra at Atton's face.
"Heeey, Rand!" he said. "Wanna join the fun?"
Atton stared. "You're all flaming nuts."
Sloe snorted. "You're just chicken because you couldn't beat me."
Atton shook his head, raising his eyebrows. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah," said Sloe, lighting another cigarra. He grinned maniacally. "I bet you couldn't even kick my ass at pazaak."
Atton flinched. Mira 'ooed' and Varlo laughed.
Sloe smirked with satisfaction, his eyes glinting with mischievous smugness. He sat back on the floor, stretching out his legs.
Atton was easy bait. "Oh yeah?" he said loudly. "I can take you on, scum! That is, unless you wanna quit before I kill ya!"
Sloe shrugged, unaffected, taking another drag.
That was the last of it. Atton plopped down on the floor, pulling his pazaak deck from his back pocket. "You asked for it," he said breathily, eyes burning at the idea of a challenge. "Huh? You asked for it."
Sloe simply grinned, pulling out his own deck and shuffling, his defiant gaze never leaving Atton's face. They shuffled in silence, staring at each other. Finally, Atton said casually as he laid down his first card, "What rules?"
Sloe smirked, placing down his card as well. "Republic Senate."
"Why?" Atton said casually, flipping another card and placing it on the table with a slap. He shuffled his cards, letting them snap together. He loved the sounds of pazaak.
"You're bum broke after that whore yesterday," Sloe replied icily, setting down another card.
"Hey!" Atton cried, flushing. Mira stared at him. Distracted, Atton flipped the wrong card.
"Bust!" Sloe barked. "You're bust!"
"Shut up!" Atton snarled, panicked. His eyes flickered over the deck, his cards… the table… no, no. He had wasted his playing card – he couldn't use a negative.
"You lose," Sloe said.
"Nobody beats Atton Rand at pazaak!" Atton gasped, but he knew he had lost.
Just to spite him, Sloe drew another card and laid it down.
Perfect twenty.
"You're cheating!" Atton cried. "You're a cheater!"
Sloe faked offense, pressing his palm to his heart. "You sting me with your words!"
"You're a damn cheater!"
"You just don't want to admit that you lost."
Atton lunged forward, sending the cards scattering. He got his fingers around Sloe's neck and shook. Sloe laughed insanely as he was throttled, giggling something about how Atton was a sore loser… loser… loser…
Varlo latched onto Atton's back, trying to pry his friend's hands loose from Sloe's neck. Sloe had begun wheezing softly, his face flushing red. Mira yelped and shrieked, stamping her feet helplessly. Mandalore was stonily silent; he had fallen asleep again.
"Old, senile bastard," Varlo panted, digging his nails into Atton's knuckles. "He could… at last… help…"
Atton snarled and yowled with pain, snapping his head back and ramming the back of his skull into Varlo's nose. Varlo cried out, falling backwards and clutching his face.
"GODS DAMMIT HOLY GUARDIAN OF KOLTO!" Varlo swore as he drew his hand back and saw blood.
Screaming some banshee war cry, Mira threw herself bodily into Atton. The two of them went sprawling, and Sloe was dragged along with them, now sputtering and choking audibly.
"LET HIM GO YOU SON-OF-A-SCHUTTA!" Mira screamed, beating the back of Atton's head with her bare fists. "LET HIM GO! YOU BASTARD! YOU BASTARD!"
Sloe had gone eerily quiet.
Atton gasped and released him. Mira stopped beating him as he sat up and scrambled back, staring at Sloe with horrified eyes. "Gods, I'm sorry!" he gasped. "I'm sorry I…"
"You're nuts," Varlo gasped, spluttering as his own blood ran into his mouth. He spat red onto the floor. He shook his head, swearing colorfully under his breath.
Sloe groaned weakly. Mandalore fell over with a loud clang but didn't wake up. Mical peeked his head in; his eyes grew wide and he slowly slipped back out. But moments later, Revan bounded into the room, dressed like a Twi'lek dancer, singing a Wookiee tribal song and throwing flowers. Malak grudgingly walked on her heels, bound at the wrists with a chain around his neck. Mira squealed and followed them out of the room, and Mical crept back in.
"Hey!" he gasped suddenly. "They stole my muffin!" he bolted after them, stumbling over his third leg.
And then Varlo woke up. He gasped for breath, frantically searching the room for some sign of Revan in a Twi'lek dancer outfit. But there was no Revan, no Malak, no three-legged Mical. No unconscious Sloe, no narcoleptic Mandalore. Nothing.
Sighing with relief, he leaned against the wall. "Thank gods," he breathed softly to himself.
But as he drifted back into sleep, he realized that his nose was still bloody.
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Author's Notes: Don't ask me why. Just… don't ask me why. I have no idea what the heck this is. I just… wrote it. And… yeah. Um… Okay. GUESS WHAT THOUGH. Beyond the Horizon's first chapter is now completed and will be uploaded shortly. Yay! I'm happy now, especially since that awful glitch that wouldn't allow me to upload anything is now over.