Meeting of the Minds

[VVVVVV]

Naboo. The Rixar Cantina.

Poe's side still ached, his face still raw. He was still tired too; because of Yann, because the medicine, and now because of this meeting. This had been his father's idea. Guns for food. Not a ridiculous concept, but not something one might imagine Mandalorians would pursue. The truth was something else. The truth was dire.

Clan Beviin had several caches of an assortment of weapons (i.e. carbines, slugthrowers, beskar blades, glop grenades) from the days when they numbered in the hundreds. Only a little more than a dozen remained, and there was little need for the arsenal. It wasn't an issue on anyone's mind though, and Poe was surprised that his father had gone out of his way to lay out these plans.

The party was huddled in a corner of the cantina, sitting around a booth. To his left, Poe's mother sat. To his right, Krussk and Tross'khak, Trandoshan father and son, sat. Opposite of Poe and his companions sat two representatives from the Lebey'ak Collective, a group of farmers.

They mulled over the contents of their deal for many hours, and eventually they came to an agreement. The two representatives shook Poe's hand, bounding the agreement in honor, and then they left.

Poe asked Gwen and Krussk leave he and Tross, and so the two parents went away, back to Clan Beviin's barge.

"Do you know why I asked you to join us?" Poe said, turning to his friend.

"No, not really," Tross responded.

"I'm making you my personal squire, like how I was my fathers," the young, still new allit'alor informed him. "You will attend me, you will see how all this works. When I die, it is my wish that you succeed me. Such is the tradition my father started."

Tross didn't have anything to say in response, confused and honored.

"Come," Poe laughed. "Let's get home."

 

[Black Noise]

Roann slowly sipped at a dwindling glass of crappy Corellian Ale. The 'Rixar Cantina' was woefully underwhelming compared to the fine drinking and dining the Chiss was used to on Nar Shaddaa. However, Roann knew that expanding his list on contacts could not solely be done on Nar Shaddaa, so he came here, to Naboo. A seemingly lovely, naturistic world where everyone pretended peace was something real and attainable. It was laughable, but such pretending also tended to hide a few darker characters smart enough to take advantage of it.

People like himself, that is. Roann had been watching a young boy speak with a small group of trandoshans for a few hours, and finally it had appeared that they had struck an accord. One of them was left behind, and Roann knew that was his que to move in. Downing the rest of the ale -waste not- Roann strode over to the young man and played his act.

Laughing, he pointed and declared, "Well well well! What do we have here? Don't, don't think I didn't hear ya! I heard!" Leaning in, he lowered his voice, "Little men in armor playing at being adults. Silly humans, so silly, you're not Chiss. You're still a child." Roann knew the kid likely didn't have the influence to start a barfight and get away with it. Therefore, he hoped the boy would try to goad Roann outside for a fight, better there, where the Chiss could present his offers in an environment with less ears.

 

[VVVVVV]

Poe and Tross were standing by the time the blue man approached the duo. "Little men in armor playing at being adults," the Chiss said to them in a whisper. The aliit'alor held back a laugh, looking down to meet the Chiss' gaze. Tross towered over both them, a product of being a Trandoshan. "You're still a child," he finished, and then Poe laughed.

Yesterday- hell, even a few hours ago- the words that came out of the blue man's mouth would have stung. All too aware of his own pride, Poe recognized this change, and he welcomed it. He had done something worthy of a leader today, a real accomplishment. My people, as beaten and improvised as they are, Poe thought to himself. They will not starve.

Seeing that Tross looked visibly upset, Poe laid a hand gently on the Trandoshan's forearm. Be calm, brother, the touch said, and Tross listened. His newly lamented aide-de-camp would not fall into the blue man's trap. Poe would have no fighting today.

"What is your name, Chiss?" Poe asked.