[what you find in the void] 5/? Ferus, OCs.
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fan fiction.
Author's note: Okay, I admit it, this is a very rough cut. I'm still working out the kinks. But my editing brain is currently Not Working Well, and all its available energy has to go toward, you know, my THESIS. Just warning you. Don't expect great things. Also, it's really cheesy … and you know what? I'm kind of okay with that. Fast Women 'verse, for anybody keeping up with such things.
[what you find in the void] Part Five
Ferus followed Ryn down the slick rungs into the narrow walkway between buildings. It was painted a deep, wet crimson, and as Ferus set his feet down he saw a young Lethan Twi’lek vanish from it into a discreetly recessed doorway.
“Not exactly a welcoming place,” he observed, noting the heavyset guards placed strategically around the walkway.
“I told you it was invitation-only,” Ryn reminded him. “They mean it.” She sashayed up to the guard by the door and flashed an id card at him. “Orun. One guest.”
The guard grunted and jerked his chin at Ferus. “He a member?”
Ryn shook her head. “I’m showing my bodyguard a good time tonight.” She didn’t change her inflection, but it was clear what the Phlog thought she was going to be doing with him.
“You know the rules.”
“Yes, I do,” Ryn agreed readily.
“Gonna need a room?”
“No.” She leaned in, smiling lasciviously. “If the evening is that good, I’ll take him home.”
The Phlog made a gargling sound that might have been its idea of trying not to laugh, or possibly the early stages of emphysema. Ferus hadn’t known enough Phlogs to be sure. But he let them in, and Ferus followed the tight curve of Ryn’s ass up a short series of steps and into the dizzying lights and music beyond.
“So this is where you go in your spare time,” he murmured, leaning forward to speak directly into Ryn’s ear.
“Well, not much anymore,” Ryn said. She glanced around, spotted an attendant in crimson sequins, and gestured quickly with two fingers.
The attendant came running up, and Ryn slid her dark glasses down for a second to make eye contact. “Orun, table for two.”
“Ah ... yes, of course!” The attendant beamed. “I am Hishale, and I will be -”
“My server tonight,” Ryn finished for him. “Thank you.” She flashed a fifty-credit chip between her first two fingers and flicked it at the attendant, slow enough to catch. “See if you can get us a table on the balcony, Hishale, and we’re going to need drinks. Just pick something, not too trendy.” Her smile was brief and blinding. “And tell Amoriah to play something with a little sex in it, all right?”
The attendant looked slightly dazed. “Just a moment.”
Ryn pushed the dark lenses back up her nose. “You got it.”
Hishale hustled off to do Ryn’s bidding, and Ferus leaned forward to speak in her ear again. “Are you always this bossy?”
“If you let them, the staff here will hang around half the night, trying to make sure you’re having a good time.”
Not an answer, but he took her point. “So you believe your authoritarian approach is justified.”
“Did you want to spend the next hour with Hishale?”
“Um. Well, no.” Ferus shifted, uneasily aware that he was having trouble reading Ryn’s Force-presence; she must have shields like a battleship. He couldn’t tell whether she was amused, irritated, or just nervous. He tried a new tack. “I don’t usually frequent clubs that offer rooms.”
“The rooms here are nice enough,” Ryn said, politely not commenting on the unlikelihood that Ferus made a practice of frequenting clubs at all. “I’ve never rented one myself, but I’ve been in most of them with Evinne. Clean, not too overdecorated.”
“Um,” said Ferus again, and Ryn shot him an unreadable look, her presence tinged faintly with something Ferus was almost sure was amusement.
“You can ask.”
“What?”
“Curiosity gave away the Jedi,” Ryn said, one corner of her mouth twitching. “Come on, what’s your question?”
“I ... it’s none of my business.” Ryn snorted, and Ferus gave up and said, “I was wondering what really goes on in those rooms.”
“All depends on who’s renting them,” said Ryn. “Private parties, but that means different things to different people. The Andara Treaty was hashed out in the Violet Room, and I’ve seen at least one bonafide orgy in the Indigo Room. Been in a short-lived threesome, too.”
“Short-lived?” said Ferus, still trying to get over the Andara Treaty.
“Let’s just say it didn’t work out.”
Hishale came back with their table assignment - it was on the balcony - and a list of drink suggestions, about which he evinced a great deal of anxiety. Ryn waved him off with reassurances that they would be happy to try anything, and let Ferus take the seat facing the door.
“Any sign of our guy?” he asked Ryn, trying not to grimace at the bite of alcohol in whatever Hishale had handed him.
“Not yet.” Ryn twirled her own drink with the negligence of considerable practice, searching the crowd with hidden eyes. “But the club won’t fill out for another hour or so.”
“Mmm.” Ferus let his gaze wander the room for a second, still peripherally aware of the door. “What makes you think he’ll show up here, anyway?”
Ryn took a sip of her drink - or at least she raised her glass to her lips and set it down. Ferus recognized the tactic, giving the illusion of drinking to fit in without actually taking in much alcohol. “That might be putting it a little strong,” she said thoughtfully. “I think that if our conjectures are right, this would be a good place to prove them.”
Ferus looked around; aside from the fact that The Studio was a bit on the posh side, it didn’t look all that different from any of the other nightclubs he’d had occasion to see. “Why?”
“Well, it’s a good place to let loose a little without everybody finding out about it,” Ryn said. “They’re pretty strict about discretion around here. And I, um, encountered a good many Senators when I was working this place.”
Ferus almost choked. Instead he set his drink down with a thump and stared at the reflection in her dark lenses. “You worked here?” he said. “When?”
“I entertained here,” Ryn replied, carefully avoiding any unnecessary emphasis. “When it seemed like a good idea.”
“In the Indigo Room?”
Her smile was a flash like lightning, there and gone again. “There, too.”
She had to have been ... “How old were you?”
This time the smile had a bitter edge. “Eighteen.” And at his disbelieving stare: “What? I’m here now, aren’t I?”
“This is not the same.” A Jedi does not lose his temper; he releases his frustrations into the Force.
“No?” Ryn sipped again, watching the crowd instead of Ferus. “You’re not here to take advantage of my skills?”
“No,” said Ferus firmly. “I am here to track down a corrupt Senator.”
“And you’re using me to do it.” Ryn shrugged. “It’s all right. Better than some of the other things I’ve done.”
“I’m not paying you.” Which, Ferus realized belatedly, didn’t really sound like a point in his favor.
“Master Yoda will. He’s very conscientious about that sort of thing.” She flicked a quick look, not quite smiling, over her shoulder, and Ferus wondered if it meant he was forgiven. “And I wouldn’t take your money.”
Ferus was still trying to sort out what that meant when Hishale returned to offer them new drink choices.
“Bring us something lighter,” said Ryn. “And find out what Amoriah thinks he’s doing with this stuff he calls music. A prisonbreak on Ryloth couldn’t get down to this.”
Hishale hastened away again, presumably to find Amoriah and deliver Ryn’s insult. Ferus went back to watching the front door, grinning a little in spite of himself. “Do prisonbreaks on Ryloth get down a lot?”
“You bet they do,” Ryn said cheerfully, not at all concerned with her lack of evidence. She was the most confusing -
“There’s our boy,” Ferus said, cutting off his own thoughts.
Ryn didn’t turn around. “Front door?”
“Yes.”
“Can you make eye contact?”
“I don’t think he’s noticed me.”
“Then let’s get you noticed.” Ryn knocked back the rest of her drink and stood up, still without glancing toward the door. “Remember what I told you.”
“It’s all in the hips?”
“That’s right.” She tossed back her glossy dark hair, the gleaming blue feathers woven into it catching the light. “And pray Amoriah finds some better material before we hit the floor.”
I did not sign up for this, Ferus thought, but he followed his best lead yet onto the dance floor.
Somehow, it felt like destiny calling.