In Which Jag Walks Into a Karaoke Bar
Title: In Which Jag Walks Into a Karaoke Bar (or: How To Drunkenly Win a Girl’s Heart Without Really Trying)
Rating: PG
Genre: Humor, mush
Characters: Jag Fel, Jaina Solo, Syal Antilles, Mirax Terrik-Horn, cameo by Wes Janson
Timeframe: 41 ABY, sometime between Legacy of the Force and Fate of the Jedi
Disclaimer: Don’t own Star Wars or the characters. Those belong to Lucas and the EU writing fleet. “I’m Just Her Satellite” was originally “I’m Just His Satellite,” which appeared in Star Wars 77: Chanteuse of the Stars.
Summary: All Jag wants is to take Jaina out for a nice, quiet evening dinner. Unfortunately, he gets a slightly tipsy night at a karaoke bar instead.
In Which Jag Walks Into a Karaoke Bar (or: How To Drunkenly Win a Girl’s Heart Without Really Trying)
To say the Errant Venture was a hive of scum and villainy was selling it short. A more accurate description would be a hive of scum, villainy, deceit, backstabbing, and general mayhem. The famous smuggler’s hideout was known Galaxy-wide as a safe-haven for the kind of scum that skirted the edges of the law. It was hard to believe that, at one point, it had been an elegant Star Destroyer under the command of the Galactic Empire. Years ago the hallways would have been lined with uniformed officers and enlisted soldiers.
These days those same halls were marked by drunken smugglers and spacers of ill-repute. Some were slumped over on the floor. Others were in fistfights as they blocked passage to other levels. Somewhere there was an Imperial captain rolling over in his grave as chaos unfolded on the repurposed Imperial Class II Star Destroyer. To think that such a finely crafted vessel could be reduced to a mere hotbed for common crooks was unthinkable. It was unfathomable that it was being operated by one of the most notorious smugglers in the Galaxy, the illustrious scoundrel Booster Terrik.
Perhaps that’s why Jag found the ship to be so unsettling.
He stepped over a Rodian that had passed out in the middle of the access corridor; no doubt he had too much to drink. That was another thing he didn’t understand. Why would someone willingly drink themselves into a stupor like that? He preferred to have his wits about him. Idly he wondered how much liquor was stored on board the Venture. He suspected that it was at least double the food stores. Perhaps triple.
Sighing to himself, he stared at the door to what was apparently the VIP lounge of the ship, an area reserved for select guests of the Terrik family. How in the world had he found himself on that particular list of individuals?
Ah, right. Uncle Wedge.
It wasn’t all that well known that he was the nephew of Wedge Antilles, one of the most noted and beloved heroes of the Rebellion and New Republic. For the most part, it was a wonderful thing to have a relative like him. It had made Jag’s transition from Chiss space to the New Republic and, later, the Imperial Remnant significantly easier. Of course, there were also drawbacks, such as being brought into the Antilles Circle of Friends and, by extension, Mirax Terrik-Horn’s Bi-Annual Drink Night.
Steeling himself, he keyed for the door entry and stepped inside.
To say he was surprised to find a well-lit, well decorated, and (dare he say it) classy looking bar and lounge was an understatement. There were tables with tablecloths, candles, and a lack of inebriated spacers passed out awkwardly on top of them. The patrons actually seemed to be alert and responsive. At the bar was a well-dressed young man and an older, middle-aged man tending bar. Their hands even looked clean. Clearly there was only one explanation for this. He had crossed over some sort of space-time rift and was no longer on the Errant Venture. Or, perhaps he was on some sort of strange alternate reality Venture where everyone on board had been replaced by a body double that possessed a shred of civility.
The door behind him slid open causing Jag to quickly step to the side.
“Evening everyone,” the newcomer said.
“WES!” all the patrons in the bar exclaimed at the exact same moment.
The younger bartender spoke up, “How’s life treatin’ you, Mr. Janson?”
“It’s a vornskr eat vornskr galaxy out there, Roodie, and I’m wearing milk bone underwear.”
No, he was most certainly still in the reality he belonged in. How disappointing. Sighing to himself, he glanced around the lounge, feeling an enormous sense of relief as he spotted someone sitting at a nearby table that he recognized. He quickly strolled over and sat across from her, slumping his shoulders as he rubbed his temples.
“Cousin, you look as if you’ve been flying out of control with a dead inertial compensator,” Syal Antilles, daughter of Wedge, grinned as she picked up her mug of ale to take a long swig.
Jag frowned, “My plans for the evening initially involved a quiet Corellian restaurant, not drinks and mischief.”
“I’m not getting into mischief,” Syal pouted. “Yet. Speaking of your plans for the evening, where’s your lady friend?”
“Answering some holocom calls,” he replied. “She’ll be here before long. This was all her idea, after all.”
“Oh come on, Jag,” another voice entered the conversation. “She’s a hot-blooded Corellian. A night of drinking every now and then is a biological requirement to sustaining our lifeforce.”
Mirax Terrik-Horn sat down at the table, a mug of ale in her own hand. Syal raised her mug in an I agree completely gesture. Jag wasn’t exactly sure why the businesswoman had taken such a liking to him. They weren’t even related, just casual acquaintances through Wedge. Despite that she often went out of her way to make Jag feel at home whenever she could. He figured he should be grateful that Mirax had extended the invitation, though he was still bitter about the cancelled dinner reservations.
Jag suddenly felt as his ear-drums were being brutally assaulted by a thousand tiny lightsabers. What could that absolutely unnatural screeching that had just filled the lounge be? He spun in his seat to look at the stage opposite their table. Up there was the lounge favorite Wes (about whom Jag had heard numerous stories about from his uncle) grasping a black microphone and screaming some sort of unintelligible lyrics into it. Oh, this simply would not do.
“I thought we had an agreement that Wes was no longer allowed to use the karaoke machine,” Syal said.
Mirax glared over at the older bartender, who merely shrugged and held his hands out, palms up as if he were saying don’t blame me, sister. She only shook her head, “I’ll threaten to make him pay his tab if he goes back up there again.”
The older businesswoman looked at Jag, “Well, aren’t you going to get something to drink?”
He pondered for a moment before looking over at the bartender, “Bastion Red Wine, finest vintage you have.”
“You come all the way out here for Bi-Annual Drink Night and you order wine?” Syal shook her head in disapproval. “I can’t believe we’re related.”
“What?” Jag was incredulous. “Bastion Red is a fine make, very aromatic and slightly-”
The two Corellian women held up their mugs of ale.
“Drink Night, not velvet robes and tabac pipe night,” Mirax admonished. “Hey, Cam! Belay that order. Bring the boy a mug of that new shipment of Lomin we got in.”
The older bartender mock-saluted his acknowledgment, “Coming right up, Sweet Cakes.”
Jag sighed once more as a cold, frosty mug of ale was set down in front of him by a middle-aged, sour looking waitress. He smiled halfheartedly, “Thank you, miss…”
“Miss Tip Well or Blow-It-Out-Your-Exhaust-Port,” she said before walking away.
It was becoming abundantly clear that Jag was not going to have a very pleasant evening. He took a swig from his mug of ale in an attempt to be polite, nearly recoiling as he realized just how strong the drink was. It had to have exceeded a ten percent alcohol per volume ratio. Jag realized he was in a very awkward situation. By turning the drink down he would display a sign of disrespect towards the woman who was kind enough (or cruel enough) to invite him here. If he actually finished the entire mug…Well, he didn’t want to think of the consequences for that.
Without a better alternative, he took a big drink and swallowed the bitter ale.
“I’ve got to hand it to you, might be the best batch of Lomin I’ve had since I was at the Academy,” Syal said. “I might have to go back for a fourth.”
A fourth!? How could these girls hold down that much liquor?
“You know what you should do, Jag,” Mirax pondered aloud, “Go up there and sing your girlfriend a song.”
“I don’t think that would be a wise thing to do at all,” Jag replied evenly as he forced himself to swallow another mouthful of the foul drink.
Syal had a wistful look on her face, “I wish Doran would do something silly like that. It’s always one elaborate scheme after another to try and impress me.”
“Did I ever tell you about the time Corran jumped onto a stage at a fancy Coruscant restaurant and paid the band to back him while he sang Stardance to me?” Mirax smiled. “Oh was he ever awful- totally tone deaf- but it was the sweetest thing he ever did for me while we were dating.”
“If Doran ever did that for me I’m fairly certain I’d pop the question myself,” Syal took another long drink from her mug of ale, finishing it off and signaling for another one. “Though I must say Auntie Mirax, everything you said about dating a Jedi and your sex life? Completely true.”
Jag blushed as he listed to his cousin and “surrogate aunt” (as Mirax so often insisted she was) gossip about their Jedi lovers. For his own well-being, he chose not to offer any details about his intimate life with Jaina. If she ever found him discussing their bedroom tales, he had no question that he would feel more pain than any man ever should be forced to endure. He took another drink from his mug, idly noticing it was three-quarters finished and assuming his tongue had either gone numb or had shriveled and died.
What could possibly be taking Jaina so long? He glanced at his wrist chronometer but had to shake his head to refocus his eyes. He knew he wasn’t drunk yet, but he was bordering on tipsy. Once again he had to ask himself how the two small Corellian women could handle such high volumes of alcohol. It was as if they were genetically predisposed to instantly metabolize liquor without feeling any of the effects. A small part of his male ego felt as if it had just been given the beating of its life.
“How have things been going with you and the Sword of the Jedi?” Syal asked, sliding a credcoin onto the waitress’ serving tray as she received her drink.
“As well as a relationship between the Head of State of the Galactic Empire and a noted Jedi Knight can be expected,” Jag said as he finished his drink, blinking a few times to try and bring his vision into focus.
Mirax whistled, “I’m sensing trouble on the homefront. You, Syal?”
“Definitely,” Syal replied, folding her hands under her chin. “So what is it, my dear cousin Jag? Had an argument?”
“She’s a Solo, the probability is high,” Mirax noted.
“Though it could be trouble in the bedroom,” Jag’s cousin tapped her cheek thoughtfully. “I could tell you some tricks Doran and I-”
“It’s not trouble in the bedroom!” Jag exclaimed a little too loudly, causing many of the nearby lounge patrons to cast curious glances in his direction. “It’s just…”
He trailed off as he saw Mirax and Syal lean in towards him. There was no avoiding this now, if he didn’t say something they would just find a way to drag it out of him anyways.
“It’s just I have to wonder why she bothers to stick with me,” he admitted. “The logical, rational part of me is aware that it would be much easier for her to find a nice Jedi to settle down with rather than try to make a relationship work across political boundaries.”
“And the emotional part of yourself?” Mirax asked.
He pondered for a moment, “The emotional part of myself is utterly, madly, irrationally in love with her and couldn’t imagine trying fly on without her. In fact, I’m quite certain that if she left me I would be forced to throw myself headfirst into the Maw.”
Jag couldn’t believe those words had just escaped his lips. There was no denying it now, he was inebriated.
“That is one of the most adorable things I’ve ever heard,” Mirax said with a sigh. “I wonder if Corran ever said things like that about me to his friends…”
If it was possible, Jag’s blush shifted to an even more pronounced shade of red.
“If you’re that head-over-heels for her make sure she knows it,” Syal said as she tossed back more of her ale.
“Well I was going to take her to dinner tonight to do just that but you had to invite us here instead,” he protested.
Syal waved a hand dismissively, “Anyone can take a girl out to dinner. That's as stale a romantic gesture as it gets.”
“But it was a really nice Corellian restaurant!”
“With your payroll I’d be expecting a five-star meal every time we went out,” Mirax said. “Here’s some advice, kid. Don’t be afraid to make a fool of yourself sometimes. Do what it takes to make sure she knows you care.”
Jag looked down at the tabletop and considered Mirax’s words. Make a fool of yourself? Willingly do such a thing wasn’t exactly something the Head of State of the Galactic Empire was known for. He prided himself on being able to exude a cool confidence in the presence of others. Better to stay neutral than betray what was really on your mind. Still, What if they were on to something? Would just a simple, silly gesture properly convey his feelings.
He looked over his shoulder as he heard the door to the lounge open. In walked Jaina Solo, the love of his life and perhaps the only reason he hadn’t gone completely insane since shouldering the responsibility of leading the Empire. For a few moments he debated with himself. On the one hand, she might just find the act endearing enough to keep him around for a while longer. On the other, he was guaranteed to make a rather large fool of himself.
Maybe it’s the ale talking, but I can live with looking like a blithering idiot for one night.
Jag stood and walked to the stage, yanking the microphone from Wes hands and shoving him away from the karaoke machine.
***
Jaina glanced at her wrist chronometer. Twenty-five standard minutes ought to be enough time. Jag had been such a petulant brat when she had insisted they come here instead of going out to yet another fancy restaurant. The last thing she wanted to do was get dressed up and spend an evening in a stuffy environment and the sooner Jag came to terms with that, the better. Besides, some time alone with Mirax and Syal would be good for him. A nice bit of emotional grounding, as it were. There was always the possibility that they would have teamed up to emotionally scar him beyond recognition, but it was a risk worth taking.
She made her way to the VIP lounge, stepping over unconscious bodies and sidestepping fistfights she wanted no part of. As she entered she nodded a hello towards the bartenders (while trying to ignore that Cam was once again letting his eyes linger a little too long) and spotted Syal and Mirax. Now where was Jag? She frowned as she took a seat by the two Corellians, wondering if he would have to chastise her significant other for reneging on his promise to spend some time with her friends.
“Where’d that no good, nerf-for-brains, pathetic excuse for a boyfriend of mine run off to?” Jaina asked.
Syal motioned towards the stage. Jaina was quite certain that her jaw nearly dropped halfway to the floor after spotting the Imperial Remnant Head of State standing next to the karaoke machine. Looking between Syal and Mirax, she mouthed what the hell did you have him drink. They merely grinned in response.
“Jaina, sweetie,” Jag said, a slight hint of alcohol-induced shakiness in his voice. “I just want you to know that I love you very, very much. This song is for you.”
And with that, he began to sing. Or at least, offered a rough approximation of singing.
“Like a meteor cutting across a starless night
She brightens up my darkest hour
She’s gentle and she’s true
Never tries to force me, oh, no
And so I follow her
Like the tail of a comet
I’m just her satellite, yeah
Never stray into any other orbit
Not while she’s around
I’m empty when she’s away from me
My heart’s a black hole
Because she’s the one who makes my skies a heaven
No nothing will ever eclipse our love”
Jaina was more than aware that was likely the worst rendition of “I’m Just Her Satellite” that she had ever heard (and likely the worst rendition that any sentient being had ever listened to) but she didn’t mind. For a few brief minutes she watched as Jag let his shields drop to make a complete fool of himself all in the name of love.
This definitely beat dinner in a fancy restaurant.
The End