Just a little under two hours, and they'd be back on Dantooine. It would be nice to be on solid ground again. Blue skies, avians in the trees, bit of fresh air, the smell of freshly-cut grass... Carth drank up the last mouthful of caffa in his mug and contemplated the dark brown stains ringing its interior. Better get a new scrubber, this old one's barely effective. The pantry door slid to, and Jolee strolled in, buttoning his tunic and whistling a cheerful tune.
"Mornin'."
"Didn't think you'd be quite so happy to go to Dantooine," remarked Carth.
"Oh, I'm all right with the place and the people," said Jolee. "It's just the damn politics I can't stand." He looked in the caffa-pot. "Oi! You drank every last drop!"
"Then make some more, Bindo," Juhani said as she joined the two men in the pantry. "But leave me out of it. I don't know how you Humans live with such strange things you put in your diet." She opened an overhead cabinet and rifled through its contents.
"Who's at the controls?" asked Carth suddenly.
Juhani paused to answer before dragging out a small box of grain bars. "Bastila. Why?" She shook the box, emptying several empty wrappers and one sorry-looking bar onto the table. She picked it up and sniffed it cautiously.
Carth craned his neck to look out of the little window cut into the pantry door. "Because somebody's fast asleep in his bunk, and doesn't look set to wake before we arrive on Dantooine, and I'm in the mood for gossip."
Gossip? Jolee's ears pricked up. Twenty years in the Shadowlands with hardly any visitors, and he was dying for a good chin-wag. Besides, the old always talked about the young, right? It was traditional. And he was an old man, with time on his hands, and a lifetime to forget. He stroked his beard and gave Carth his full attention. "What you got?"
The old man wanted gossip? He'd get gossip, thought Carth. "Fellow's head-over-heels about Her Highness, did you know?" He crossed his arms behind his head and grinned smugly. Jolee snorted in derison.
"That's yesterday's news, sonny - probably even last week's news! It might even be last month's," scoffed Jolee.
Carth's eyes bulged. "You knew? How - but you - you've only just come on board - oh. He confided, huh?"
Jolee shook his head. "Nah. Gotta be blinder than a poisoned tach not to know. Bloody obvious. Saw it in five seconds."
"Even the droids know, Lieutenant Carth. Everybody knows. Just nobody talks about it." With a practised flick of the wrist, Juhani sliced open the wrapping of the grain bar with a claw, and proceeded to devour its contents. "He was liking her already when he first came to Dantooine, if you must know." The Republic officer looked crestfallen. So much for staying ahead of the curve...!
"And the Masters didn't freak out or start preachin'? My, times sure have changed," muttered Jolee, a trace of bitter sarcasm in his voice.
Juhani shrugged philosophically. "They knew, I think. At least they would have guessed. But there are bigger worries now than whether one Jedi is kissing another. Bastila is resisting, though I do not think she will for longer." She popped the last bit of her breakfast into her mouth and chewed. "They will need advice," she commented, a mischievous gleam in her eye.
Jolee nudged Carth and chuckled. "From their seniors," he added. "Not that they'll listen, mind - the young never do - "
"-and from the married," added Carth.
"Never picked you for the romantic sort, Juhani..." Scratching his bald pate, Jolee looked quizzically at the Cathar woman, who smiled a secret sort of smile and calmly dusted the remnants of the grain bar from her hands and stood. Sweeping the empty wrappers and scattered crumbs into the empty box, Juhani disposed of the refuse and pressed the wall switch for the door.
"One good turn deserves another," she stated simply.
Atris glanced up from placing a stack of holobooks into crates and noted the two young Padawans as they meandered down the Great Aisle, their heads turning from side to side as their bright eyes darted about. Tthey wandered to the end of the corridor and doubled back again, pausing every few steps to consult what appeared to be a bit of - was that actually parchment! - and a datapad, scrutinising the faces of the Jedi they passed who were browsing amongst the myriad shelves of the Enclave library. They were looking for someone, it seemed, but weren't enjoying much success. Atris pursed her lips into a thin line of disapproval. This was her Library, and she wasn't going to have Padawans wandering randomly about, even if they were on a mission.
She stood and beckoned imperiously. "What are you doing?" she demanded. The children stared up at her. "W-we g-got a mess-message to g-give someone, Master," the older boy stuttered. "M-master Vrook said we'd f-find 'im here."
Atris held out her hand for the parchment, which turned out to be an envelope, made from the same old-fashioned material. It was sealed, and by the looks of it, likely contained more parchment. How odd! She turned the envelope right-side up and looked at it carefully, scowling at the name written on the front. Him! That insufferable rebel! The Council should have stripped him of the Force and exiled him - along with the other one - not healed and freed him! She chucked the envelope back at the Padawans. "I don't know who this is," she said dismissively. The boys backed away from the formidable Mistress of the Archives and huddled together at the Library entrance, trying to decide what to do next.
They found their target half an hour later in the Enclave gardens, in the company of a strange feline humanoid and a bearded, bald old man who stared and talked funny.
"A wedding! Here, on Dantooine? It's not Jedi, is it?"
"The Sandrals and Matales aren't Jedi, Carth." Using the Force, the Jedi levitated the parchment envelope and set it on course towards his former colleague.
"And we're invited?" The Republic officer caught the parchment envelope as it floated through the air. "Nice party trick, buddy..." As he read the contents of the envelope, Carth's eyebrows crept farther and farther up his forehead. "Man...! These people sure are pulling out all the stops... hardly surprising if you ask me. Only son, only daughter..."
"There had better be lots of women there," grunted Canderous. "Been a while since I got la-" Carth elbowed Canderous in the ribs and shot him a meaningful glare.
"I think it will be good for the families. It will bring peace to the long feud," observed Juhani. "Can I too see the invitation? ...Thank you, Lieutenant."
Jolee and Bastila crowded in beside Juhani to read the invitation themselves. "The Sandral and Matale families... honour of your company... wedding of our dear children..." Bastila stopped short when she saw the date. "Oh my goodness - we got here just in time - the wedding's tomorrow...!"
"Are we going? Are we going? Can I go?" Mission breathed excitedly. "Weddings mean parties, right? I love parties! I mean, there's like, there's probably gonna be music, and, and... dancing, and there'll be food - lots of food, right? And uh, everyone's gonna be all dressed up and stuff and there'll be boys -" she stopped short.
"[I am not fond of parties,]" said Zaalbar. "[Please excuse me.]"
"Aww, Big Z! You're such a spoilsport," chided Mission. She tugged at Jolee's sleeve. "I can go, right?"
Carth spoke before Jolee could reply. "Only way you're attending any party is if you promise to behave and you have adult supervision." Mission pouted and opened her mouth to argue, but Carth cut her off. "It's that, or no deal, kid. Your call."
The Twi'lek teen let out an 'aaah' of frustration. Then she perked up as an idea occurred to her. Uncle Jolee was, like, pretty damn old, right? Old enough to be her granddad. And olds were stupid as banthas. Yeah! "Uncle Jolee can look after me. Right, Uncle Jolee?"
Jolee appeared greatly confused. "Yeah, sure. Wait...! What are we talking about? I wasn't here. Wedding? Whose wedding? The kid is getting married?"
Mission giggled. She was going to have a blast!
The party was in full swing. A Bith band had been brought in especially for the occasion, and their Twi'lek singer wasn't half bad. The marquees set up on either side of the river between the Sandral and Matale estates were bedecked with lights, a profusion of fresh flowers, and lots of ribbon. Guests danced and cavorted on floating platforms, or loitered around the buffet, grazing. Couples snuggled in corners where they thought they could canoodle unobserved.
Bastila finished her drink and edged a little closer to the large bowl of brightly-coloured juice and tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible as she helped herself to another glass. This was the first party she had ever attended in her life - and she was feeling increasingly out of place and bewildered: the noise, the constant talking, people dancing, the excited laughter and shrieks, the moving lights... that strange machine which puffed scented smoke into the air at intervals...
The food had been delightful, though. And the mixed juice was excellent - she drank off the contents of her glass and refilled it. Yummy, thought Bastila. Sweet with a fresh tartness. A bit tingly down the throat, but that was probably the blumfruit... Bastila hummed contentedly to herself as she drank. Wonderful stuff, this. It was making her feel all nice and warm on the inside. She helped herself to another glass.
A passing serving droid with a tray of glasses stopped in front of her. "Would madam like a wine?" it asked.
Wine? Bastila looked around to see if anyone she knew was watching her. She had never tasted wine before. There had been stories when she was much younger about older Padawans who had been taken to task by their Masters for having drunk to excess - but one glass was hardly excessive, was it? "Just the one," she told the droid. Quickly downing the colourful drink she had poured herself earlier, Bastila exchanged the empty glass for a tall one containing a deep purple liquid. Pretty! And it smelt interesting, too... was that rose? She swirled the purple liquid gently, and admired the way it caught the light.
Here goes nothing, thought Bastila, raising the glass to her lips. She took a draught of the liquid, and quickly swallowed. Ooh! That felt strong - she coughed at the dryness in her throat. Palatable, though. Two more mouthfuls followed in quick succession. Mmm... fruity. The wine left a lingering flavour in her mouth which Bastila decided she liked. She quickly finished off the rest of the wine and stopped a passing serving droid. "One more, please," she said. Two. Two wasn't excessive. She was a good Jedi - she had self-control, discipline... she could - would stop! - at two.
The evening went by very quickly for Bastila after the second glass.
"How do you feel, Princess?"
The vaguely human shape beneath the blanket moved as if to turn onto its side, and made a sound halfway between a moan and a whimper. A pale hand with elegant long fingers crept out from under the recesses of the fabric and motioned weakly. Setting the tray he was carrying on the floor, the Jedi went to dim the lights in the cabin where Bastila lay, sleeping off the alcohol that she had consumed the night before.
"I feel sick," whined Bastila weakly from beneath the blanket. That's hardly surprising, thought the Jedi, as he knelt by her bunk and gently peeled back the blanket to reveal Bastila, looking very much the worse for wear.
"Ssssh... you've a hangover, Princess. Here..." - he brushed away the strands of hair stuck to her face - "...try to sit up - slowly, slowly... that's it - you need lots of water. It will make you feel better."
Bastila sipped the proffered water very slowly. Her head hurt. She didn't want to open her eyes, because everything still seemed to be spinning, and she didn't want to move, because her limbs felt like lead and the slightest change in posture made her stomach turn somersaults. If wine did this to people, why in the galaxy did anyone bother drinking it? Sensing her discomfort, the Jedi Force-pulled the pillows off Juhani and Mission's bunks and arranged them behind Bastila, propping her up comfortably.
Aargh. Sitting up was... tolerable, but only if she rested her head just so... Bastila slumped against the wall next to her bunk. "I will never, ever, touch wine again," she vowed. "It's beastly."
The Jedi smiled, and sat on the edge of the mattress. "It wasn't just the wine that did you in, Princess. That mixed juice you were so fond of last night contained a fair amount of alcohol too."
"Ehh?" grunted Bastila. The fruit juice? But it hadn't tasted like the wine, it had been sweet and fresh, juicy and... ugh. Thinking made her head reel, too. She licked her lips to moisten them, but they only felt drier than ever. "Water..."
Holding the glass to Bastila's lips, the Jedi spoke to her in a soft, low tone. "Yes. By the time we found you, you were well on your way to becoming best friends with the punch bowl... and you'd had more than enough to drink by then, if your conversation was anything to go by..."
Conversation? Oh no...! Idiot girl..! How could she have let herself go like that? What if - a horrid thought broke through the fog in Bastila's head and clawed at her - what if she had said something? Something she shouldn't have? Oh, Force. What if she had told him who he really was? A spate of coughing ensued as Bastila inadvertently inhaled some liquid.
"Careful...! Go slow, Princess..." The Jedi handed Bastila a spare handkerchief, and watched as she dabbed at her mouth with it.
Ignoring the throbbing in her temples and her nausea, Bastila whispered, "...didn't say anything... did I?"
"Lots, actually. You're a very articulate drunk." The Jedi offered Bastila the glass again, but she shook her head at it.
"What... what did I - " The pounding in her temples was getting worse by the second. Bastila winced, groaned, and tried to massage her forehead, but the effort only made her feel sicker. She let her arms fall to her side with an exasperated sigh. Registering how even the smallest movements seemed to exacerbate her discomfort, the Jedi revised his previous estimate of the severity of Bastila's hangover from 'Unpleasant' to 'Absolutely Horrid'. Moving carefully so as not to add to her discomfort, he splayed his fingers over Bastila's head and massaged gently.
"...is that all right?... You... said a lot of odd things." Bastila's heart skipped a beat. Odd things - what odd things?
"For starters, you told everyone within earshot that my name is 'Sir Cabbage', and that people shouldn't talk too much to me as I am 'a very bad boy' with 'a history'," the Jedi informed Bastila, who did her best to mask her growing apprehension. "Then you started going off about how I 'wasn't always a Jedi'... which was weird, because everyone knows that. You also giggled - a lot, in fact - and ..." the Jedi trailed off uncertainly. Perhaps it would be better not to tell Bastila everything. Her 'Jedi dignity' seemed to matter immensely to her, and if she knew exactly what she had said and done whilst under the influence... well, that would complicate things.
"...and?" queried Bastila in a weak voice.
"...and - before I say anything else, please understand that I had no intention of taking advantage of you," said the Jedi very carefully.
Bastila's eyes flew open in alarm. What? Taking advantage? She stared at the Jedi.
"Promise me, Princess? The next time you think you'd like a tipple, please ask me - or someone else you can trust - to accompany you. Don't go drinking alone, all right?" There was a note of genuine concern in his voice. Bastila wrinkled her brow. Her headache, though still ongoing, was suddenly much lower on her list of immediate concerns than before.
"Y-yes - but... I - I don't think - no, I'm definitely never drinking again, ever," she began. The Jedi nodded and shushed her before continuing.
"...thank the Force Carth and I spotted you in time. There were a couple of guys around you who... well, let's just say they were looking for an opportunity, and while you weren't... encouraging them, you weren't telling them to get lost, either."
"I didn't -"
"No, no - of course not! You didn't do anything silly, that's for sure. More like they were the ones trying to 'be funny' with you, and you just weren't in any shape to spot the obvious." The Jedi paused and pushed Bastila's hair behind her ears. "When I saw them talking to you, I knew they were up to no good. So I went over... with Carth, and - and basically told them to back off. Nicely, of course," he added hastily. "I was actually going to tell them that you were my sister instead of... of... you know... kissing you on the cheek - because I didn't want you to think I was 'being fresh' - but I kind of had to when you..."
"...I what?"
"...well, you were totally sloshed by then, I think - so I wouldn't tear myself up about it if I were you -" he paused to consider the consequences of telling Bastila what she had done whilst intoxicated. Best case scenario? She'll be utterly embarrassed and won't converse for the next few days. Worst case scenario? I lose any chance with her. Suddenly, he felt as if he had caught Bastila's headache himself.
"What?" queried Bastila.
"After doing the 'Sir Cabbage' thing and calling me a bad fellow with 'a history', you pinched me."
Pinch? That was it? What a relief...! Friends pinched each other all the ti - "...where?"
"Behind."
"Behind?"
"Yes."
"Shoulder?"
"No."
"Back?"
"In a manner of speaking."
"Side?" Even the nausea which accompanied her every movement had ceased to be a factor for Bastila at this point, as the embarrassing reality of what she possibly - probably! - had done forced itself into her consciousness.
"...yep."
Bastila's hands flew up to her face. She keeled forwards and whined, collapsing onto her side and burying herself quite completely under a pillow-and-blanket mass. This is my cue to leave, I think, said the Jedi to himself. He got up and pushed the tray with its contents to a more secure and accessible spot beside Bastila's bunk. "I, ah... will be going now. T3 will watch you... if you need anything, just tell him to find me. I'll, ah... be reading in... the garden. Awkwardly, he made his way to the door and found the wall switch, looking over his shoulder as he did so. Bastila's huddled figure remained very quiet and still.
With an air of resignation, the Jedi pressed the switch for the door. As he stepped out of the cabin, Bastila called softly to him.
"Thank you for looking after me... Sir Cabbage."