Dinner and a Show

Anakin Solo grins as his speeder twists and turns, weaving in and out of the lines of traffic. He is late. He had promised his wife Tahiri that he would pick her up for their dinner reservation at 1730 hours. Glancing at the chrono, and noticing that it is already 1805, he utters a curse, and pushes the accelerator further down, allowing the speeder to jump ahead, as he takes even more reckless and daring maneuvers in an attempt to get to their apartment on time.

With a squeal of stressed metal, he brakes to a stop on his landing platform, jumping from the speeder, and rushing to the lift. A glance at the chrono on the lift’s wall reveal it’s 1815. He mutters another curse again as he steps off the lift and rushes down the hallway to the apartment.

He opens the door, and finds her standing there, her arms crossed over her chest, her foot tapping slightly, a perturbed expression on her features. He allows his gaze to travel up and down her form, noting the shimmersilk gown she wears, form- fitted with a slit up the thigh. Then his gaze lands on her neck, and the tiny golden chain which disappears beneath the collar of her dress. His eyes continue to move up, following the braid of hair draped over her shoulder. Finally he allows his eyes to fall down, to see her perfectly manicured toes as they tap in her irritation.

“Um, hi.”

“You’re late, hero-boy.”

He walks the rest of the way in, holding his arms open in a conciliatory manner. “I know. I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t move, except for a single eyebrow which quirks slightly. “You can kill Dark Jedi, stop rogue Yuuzhan Vong, and even come back from the dead, but you can’t make it home on time for a dinner date?”

He lets his arms fall. “I know – I had trouble getting away from the Council meeting.”

She makes an odd noise. “Well the dinner and the show we were going to is off now, as it’s already started, so where are you going to take me to eat? And you better not say that greasy diner down in the Senate District!”

“I like Dexter’s!” He pauses and thinks for a minute, and then a light appears in his eyes as he starts to smile. “I know the perfect place, and I think you’ll love it!”

Five minutes later, Anakin is driving through the Coruscant traffic at a much more sedate pace, exhibiting none of the wild and reckless maneuvers he took in getting to his apartment. As he drives back towards the Jedi District, he glances at his wife, admiring the tiny wisps of blonde hair that the wind has pulled from her braid. She catches his stare, and gives him a small pout, and he can’t help but smile at her.

Finally he stops at the restaurant, and helps her out of the speeder. She glances up at the sign, and her eyebrow quirks again, twisting the three scars on her forehead slightly out of shape.

“The Baanu Miir?”

Anakin nods his head. “Yeah, it was opened by a former shamed warrior named Kunra. Supposed to be the best Yuuzhan Vong food on this side of the planet.”

She leans over and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “It had better be.”

Hand in hand they walk into the restaurant, and look around, noting the décor, and the sounds of various insects and small game animals. Situated around the room, are grill biots, with a table built around three sides, and a number of low chairs around each of them.

A Yuuzhan Vong walks up to them, a warrior by the tattoos and scar patterns. His right fist slams against his left shoulder with a meaty thunk, and his tattered lips twist into a grin. “Will it be just two tonight?”

Anakin nods his head, and they’re lead to one of the table-grills. He notices the warrior glancing at the scars on Tahiri’s forehead, and a frown creases his own features for a moment.

The warrior pulls out her chair. “Would you prefer a ha vi?”

Tahiri graces him with a small grin. “No thank you.”

The warrior nods his head and retreats, leaving the two of them alone. Anakin leans over towards her, whispering, “Whats a ha vi?”

She laughs. “It’s a form of Yuuzhan Vong chair. Has a number of spikes which dig into the flesh and consume the blood.”

Anakin grimaces. “Sounds painful.”

She leans over and nibbles on his ear. “It is.” Her voice is low and breathless, and is enough to startle him slightly.

As they wait, two more couples are sat at their shared table. Finally, a Yuuzhan Vong walks up. The tattoos and scars identify him as a member of the intendent caste, and he is followed by a cart-like biot.

He smiles at the group of diners, and nodes his head. “I am L’lav Tavor, and I will be your chef today.”

With that said, he pulls out a long coufee, and a second item with appeared to be a Yuuzhan Vong equivalent of a spatula.

With a flash of his teeth, he begins twirling and spinning the items, occasionally smacking them together or slamming them down against the burn surface of the grill-animal.

Through out the entire display, he keeps up a story about Yun-Cuito, the Yuuzhan Vong deity of cooking.

From beside him, Anakin can hear Tahiri give a little giggle at the theatrics of it all.

Finally he stops, and reaches into the a basket of the cart, after a moment, he removes his hand, and Anakin can hear the one of the other diners gasp as the L’lav displays his hand, with a dozen or so bloated clip beetles attached to it. With a skill obviously borne of long hours of practice, he teases them off him, and cracks open their bodies, tossing the small bits of flesh to the grill.

And that is how their dinner progresses, a steady stream of banter, the occasional hyperbole about Yun– Cuito, the mounds of grilled meats and vegetables, and finally, a selection of coufee eel and grilled villip stalks. The dessert is a chilled fruit, which Anakin recognizes as the precursor for the lambent.

As L’lav begins to clean the workstation, Anakin leans towards Tahiri.

“So, did you enjoy the dinner and the show?”

She glances at Anakin, an odd light in her eyes, and turns her full attention towards the chef.

“L’lav?”

He looks up from his cleanings, and nods his head.

“Would you mind if I seasoned your coufee before you put it away?”

A hesitant expression crosses his face as he looks from Anakin, to her, and his eyes finally linger on the three scars across her forehead. Finally he nods his acquiescence. “I would be honored, She-Who-Was-Shaped.”

He holds the coufee out to her, and Anakin notices the other two couples staring at her intently. He almost chuckles because he knows what she is about to do, and he knows the others at the table might not like it.

She takes the blade, and spins it in her hand twice, and then lays the long cutting edge on her palm. Anakin watches as a ghost of a smile crosses her lips as she slices the blade down and across, leaving a long gash in her palm.

She squeezes her hand into a fist, and Anakin has to subdue the desire to laugh as the lady sitting closest to her gasps in surprise at the blood that drops to Tahiri’s plate.

Tahiri closes her eyes as she hands the coufee back to L’lav, and then takes the healing patch he holds out for her. Anakin takes her hand before she can put the patch on, and briefly floods the wound with the Force, stopping the blood flow, and ensuring that it would heal cleanly and with minimal scarring. He looks into her eyes as they open, bright green emeralds framed by the tan skin of her face, he allows a grin to creep onto his features. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

She smiles at him coyly. “Take me home, hero-boy, and I’ll show you exactly how much of one it was.”

He stands, helping her from her seat, his grin changing into a full-fledged smile. “It would be my pleasure.”