CAUR-Part 2
It wasn't like Noela to be late, but given the blizzard that had been developing all day, it was understandable that she would be held up by the inclement weather.
He did not, however, anticipate that she would be three hours late so far.
There had been a call filled with static and frustration sometime around 1830, which he took to mean that she was on her way, but he'd been unable to reach her ever since.
The 23rd Hour, always patient with its longest-standing pair of patrons, had agreed to push back the reservation every half hour, but the exhibition was obviously no longer a viable option.
Nevertheless, he would treat her with all propriety...the moment she arrived.
While he waited, he poured two glasses of the Alderaanian green wine that she had presented to him on his birthday last year. The wait would give the liquor time to breathe and improve the flavor.
He had just recorked the carafe when the chime rang. Stretching out with the Force, he ascertained that it was Noela in a very foul temper.
He waved a hand at the door release, then retrieved both glasses and crossed to the entryway to give her one.
Noela was definitely one of the more attractive Senators ever elected in the Republic, with a thick plait of golden-brown hair falling to her waist, narrow features and blue eyes that always seemed to look amused. She was an impeccable dresser and took pains to look elegant.
Tonight, however, the Noela he knew was replaced by something looking and sounding vaguely like a drowned vrelt.
"I tried to comm," Noela stammered through chattering teeth, "but we were broken down in the middle of the worst comm interference and there wasn't much time, between fixing..."
He cut her off by pulling her into a tight embrace and not letting go until the warmth of his arms had lessened the shivering a bit.
"Don't worry," he said quietly. "You can warm up here and I'll call the 23rd Hour. They've been holding our reservation."
She pulled back, nodding. "I'm not sure we'd make it before closing," she lamented. "It's a nightmare out there and I was just coming from a few kilometers away."
Glancing out the window at the blinding snow, he frowned. "You may be right," he conceded, "so let me see what I can do."
"What should I do?"
His eyes scanned over the open door to Obi-Wan's room. "I'd offer you a change of clothes from my own closet, but the slacks are probably twice as long as yourself, so I think you could avail yourself of something in Obi-Wan's closet. The 'fresher has a hot shower and clean towels..."
She shook her head with a slightly unreadable smile, then stretched up to kiss his cheek. The spot burned unexpectedly under the touch and he arched an eyebrow at her retreating form. "What was that for?"
"Being nice to a drowned vrelt," she called over her shoulder.
Sometimes, he swore that the woman could read minds. Qui-gon's first rule of social etiquette was to leave the commlink Deactivated, but Carmyn's father seemed to have discarded that lesson in favor of shock value tactics. Even before they had ordered, Carmyn had taken three calls. She had apologized profusely, then set it to vibrate and tucked it out of sight.
Despite first impressions and her unfortunate attachment to the commlink, she seemed to be a delightful person with many talents. By the time the main course arrived, he had heard about everything from her studies at the Dilen Technical Institute to the three children her family was sponsoring at one of Coronet's top educational institutions.
He was just beginning to truly enjoy himself when the commlink began vibrating. Her eyes lit up as she checked the commsender's code. "It's Gareth," she explained. "The one giving the concert."
Standing, she headed to a more private corner where she could take the call and leave him to his braised nerf steak. Not one to brood, he ate in silence until she returned, looking decidedly gloomy.
"The concert's been snowed out," Carmyn said unhappily. "Pity. I think you might have liked Nexu Guillotine."
"I'm sure I would have," Obi-Wan said with a slight smile. "Creative names usually yield good music."
"Glad you think so," she pronounced, arranging herself in the chair across the table. "I guess we'll call it an early night, then."
She looked so crestfallen that the words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. "I don't know about that," he consoled. "There's a holocomplex just down the street with lots of heating and some shows that I've heard good things about."
He had expected a lot of things out of her, but never that she would look rather bashful at the suggestion. "You mean it?" she said quietly.
"Sure," he replied genially. "I'd hate to end things here."
Finally, she smiled again. "Great," she pronounced. "I heard Blood-sucking Padawans From the Unknown Regions is the best!"
His smile remained in place, but he had the strange feeling that this was suddenly going to be a very long night. "Tala, I presume?"
It was a stupid question, since there was only one Wookiee in the entire restaurant, but he had to be sure.
The Wookiee roared a response that the translator chip in his earpiece processed as "Master Windu, a pleasure to meet you."
"The pleasure is mine," he said through gritted teeth, wishing his companion didn't favor handshakes, but reflecting that it was at least better than a friendly hug. "If you don't mind, I took the liberty of ordering for us."
"As long as it has meat," Tala whuffled, "I trust your judgment."
Mace himself was not much of a carnivore, but Yoda had threatened a year of initiate excursions if he didn't order somethat was still twitching, so he had made a compromise and gotten steak for them both.
"I heard one of your recordings recently," he observed, "and I rather enjoyed it."
The Wookiee may have looked surprised or perhaps she was just wrinkling her nose. It was hard to tell.
"I'm surprised you found it."
"One of our combat instructors is a great fan of yours," Mace explained, "and she was playing the Dikari Sonatas during a sparring session I attended. Your music has great empathy."
The teeth-baring was entirely non-threatening this time. "Master Windu," she growled, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship." "Well," Qui-Gon said sheepishly, "it's not exactly bruallki, but it's the right meat and Isome/I of the right spices, so hopefully it'll do."
Noela shook her head in amazement. "I go to clean up and you try to replicate the dinner we missed," she mused. "I suppose you got out your fingerpaints to imitate the exhibition?"
"Not enough time," he complained, "but if you're willing to ignore a lot of cursing and muttering for a few hours, I'll be happy to oblige."
She laughed easily, waving a hand. "No need," she assured. "I can live with the disappointment."
His smile broadened. "In that case, dinner is served."
He helped her into the chair, then took his own seat, watching closely as she skewered a piece of meat and tucked it into her mouth. Her eyelids dropped rather abruptly over her eyes as she drew in a sharp breath.
IOh, Sith, I've killed her./I
"Qui-Gon," she choked, "why the heavens are you not married?"
He let out a long sigh of relief, then shrugged. "It's forbidden," he mused, "and I don't think any woman could tolerate me."
"She could tolerate your imitation-bruallki," she sighed, "so I think she could put up with your snoring."
"My…" He scowled. "How did you know about that?"
"What?" she said innocently. "You think you're the only one your Padawan talks to?"
Qui-Gon rolled his eyes towards the stars, but didn't refute that. "What about you?" he asked idly as she swallowed another piece. "Why are you holding out?"
He could always expect an honest answer, but he hadn't expected her to blush and hold up her left hand. "I'm not anymore," she said in the same sheepish tone that he had demonstrated earlier.
His eyebrows were probably disappearing beneath his hairline, but he managed an admiring whistle nonetheless. "I go on a mission for three months and you get Imarried/I?"
"Engaged," she corrected with a wistful smile. "His name's Liam."
"Undoubtedly good-looking," he teased. "Otherwise he wouldn't be worth it."
Her eyes sparkled with a bit of mischief. "Not particularly," she corrected. "He looks a lot like you."
"Oh," he snorted. "That makes me feel better."
"It should," she teased, extending her hand so he could examine the rock properly.
"What does the ugly miscreant do?" he teased.
"An actor," she supplied.
"That explains his ability to buy you one of Coruscant's moons," he said with a nod.
She rolled her own eyes, then pulled her hand back. "There's no need to be jealous, Jinn," she chided.
"I'm not jealous," he protested honestly. "I'm happy for you."
That hurt much worse than jealousy.