Flyboys and Flygirls

It was a well known fact that any time there were pilots and a bar was nearby, the squadron would end up drinking there together. With the Novogrod currently docked there, it wasn't a surprise for most to find the pilots of Valkyrie Squadron inside, enjoying a drink and some downtime after their latest adventures out in the stars. What was something of a surprise, at least to the citizens who hadn't caught the squadron drinking here before, was that intergalactic socialite and celebrity, Alis'heen'amey, was part of the squadron. Known throughout the civilised systems for her fashion, wealth, and well, pretty much nothing else, Sheena, as she was known by her core name, was in the eyes of most, the most typical heiress celebrity you could imagine. Viewed as ditzy and vain by most of the galaxy (something she certainly was), living off of Daddy's money and using it to ensure she was always in the spot light, she was the type of celebrity nobody particularly liked, but everybody followed anyway, and that everybody would stop to grab a holo of, because whatever outfit Alis'heen'amey was wearing was bound to be news tomorrow morning.

It was for this very reason that Sheena was running late to join her fellow pilots. She had intended to head straight to the bar, but had been stopped outside by so many people wanting holographs, she'd been happily posing for a good twenty minutes. It wasn't like she could resist having her picture taken anyway, and besides, she could always join later.

So she entered the bar with a cheerful wave to her pilots, not that they needed the wave to know that she was there. Even before she came through the doors, her incredibly heavy perfume scent filled the bar, even over the smell of alcohol and smoke, and she click clacked over in black stiletto boots, doubtlessly costing roughly half the bar, clicking so loudly she was difficult to ignore. Jewellery on her wrists, ears and neck jangled, all shining, sparkling priceless diamonds, and even her outfit, although a concession to being a pilot, was insanely fashionable, skin tight leggings, a shiny, expensive leather jacket, and a shimmering designer vest top that again doubtlessly cost more than most people earned in a lifetime. Her make-up was as heavy as ever, and her crimson eyes, not quite glowing like a full blooded Chiss, but with red irises betraying her quarter human heritage, blinked from under extended fake lashes thick with mascara. It was easy to see why so many people found it difficult to believe she was one of the most dangerous pilots in the galaxy.

"Like, I am totes sorry about that." She apologised as she took a seat with her fellow pilots in her cakey, valley girl accent, before smiling across at them all on glossy, shining red lips. "So, like, I didn't miss anythin', right?" She asked hopefully. "'cause, like, I still gotta get my drink n' stuff." She added. By now, all the pilots knew it was impossible to get Sheena to drink the usual pilot drinks. It was either expensive wine or glittering cocktails for her. It didn't do much for the squadron's image, but neither did Sheena in general.

Until she was flying, that was.

Following a few seconds after Sheena, a bipedal droid also entered the bar. It paused at the threshold, where a device at the door beeped, eliciting an annoyed look from the bartender.

"Hey, no droids! Can't you read?"

The droid, a component of the network known as MARCUS, paused, it's single bright ocular turning back to glance at the sign posted in Aurrebesh. MARCUS paused a moment, his microprocessors minutely calculating his rebuttal.

"This signage does not comply with any legal code under the Alliance of Free Planets charter. I am an enlisted member of the Alliance Navy. Am I being refused entry?"

A few dozen heads turned at the question, directed at the barkeep. He didn't need to look at the uniforms to know exactly how many of his patrons were military. A bit red-faced, the barkeep glowered at the droid, who seemed unphased at the man's bluster.

"I guess I can make an...exception. Don't suppose you'll be a paying customer? Do droids drink whiskey now?"

MARCUS considered the imposition his presence was causing. Considering that to be a reasonable concern, the droid calmly opened a panel in it's chest plating, removing a credit chit, which was prepared for authorization. He panned the assembled group, cross-referencing against known members of the Novgorod crew, minus individuals currently with a drink. At last, he settled on a suitable candidate.

"Alis'heen'amey Lieutenant. You require a beverage. Please allow me to purchase one."

"Uh, like, sure!" Sheena smiled, surprised as anybody by the presence of MARCUS. She didn't know the droid particularly well, but Sheena had no problem spending time with droids. Her loyal companion, R10-D9 (or Arten for short) was a droid, after all, an incredibly advanced prototype astromecch custom designed for her on her Daddy's credit, both an extremely useful navigator and secretly reinforced battle droid and body guard, given Sheena's ineptitude out of a cockpit. But Arten never joined her for drinks, unless on bodyguard duty.

"Uh, like, I'll have a Corellian Twister. Oh! With a pink umbrella in it!" Sheena, naturally, was very fond of little umbrellas in her drinks. Especially when they were pink. She doubted the droid would understand her love of pink, but she would certainly try to explain it to him. Droids, at least, couldn't be put off by Sheena's perfume. Not that Sheena had any idea it put anybody off, of course. That would involve a level of awareness she just didn't have.

Jaden's eyes rose from the glass he was nursing, and a smile was thrown towards Sheena as she joined the assemblage of Valkyries that had taken over a small corner of the bar. His eyes deviated slightly as the sensors either side of the door bleeped, a momentary look of confusion settling on his features as MARCUS entered. As part of his responsibilities as the ship's executive officer, Jaden had been working to encourage MARCUS to loosen up and interact with the crew more, tossing in terms like efficiency and personnel synergy to bluff the mechanoid into believing it was a beneficial idea. In truth, Jaden mostly wanted the droid to learn to become a little less weird and creepy: despite all his sophistication, MARCUS hadn't quite seemed to find his way into that almost alive niche that astromechs and protocol droids occupied.

The offer to buy Sheena a drink caught Jaden by surprised, and he allowed himself a brief moment of being silently impressed. Sure, there was a certain computery calculation to it - a variable missing from Sheena's social interaction algorithm, or however it was that MARCUS would conceptualise it - but it hinted at an awareness and understanding of the organic beings around him that Jaden hadn't realised the droid possessed. Maybe his quest to humanise MARCUS wasn't such a lost cause after all.

He let his attention drift back to Sheena, an eyebrow quirking as a faint ghost of a smile tried to sneak it's way onto his lips. "Corellian Twister?" he echoed. "You sure that's a drink, and not a sex move?"

Sheena gave Jaden a smile and a teasing eye roll at his comment.
"Like, everybody knows it's the golden rule of a good cocktail; all the best ones could be sex moves or cocktails." She teased back, poking her tongue out playfully at the 'fact'. "'sides, they're like, pretty common Corellia. That's where I grew up." She added, although she was reasonably sure Jaden was just teasing her. After all, every flyboy and flygirl worth their salt had gotten drunk on Corellia at least once, even Sheena, who was usually more interesting in shopping than drinking.

"So, like, what super serious drink are you drinkin', then?" She asked teasingly. Obviously Jaden wasn't a cocktail type of guy, but Sheena thought it was about time she got to know her new wingmates, so why not? Favourite drinks were always a good starting discussion.

MARCUS remained fixed to the spot amid the burgeoning social interaction developing between Sheena and Jaden. His single photoreceptor brightened then dimmed as the iris precisely trimmed the focus, moving from one face to the other. He was here to observe social reactions, and one was occurring presently. He patiently took in the input, blithely ignorant that he was a third wheel violating the personal space of both parties.

Jaden shrugged. "Honestly, I have no idea what it's called."

That was a half truth. He had a vague idea, but he wasn't entirely sure on which of the Cizerack words that T'yeellaa had uttered while ordering it a few nights ago actually corresponded to the drink itself; and even if he did, he wasn't quite brave enough to make an attempt at not butchering the pronunciation. Instead, he offered Sheena the same vague explanation that he'd provided to the barmaid - who'd looked at him weirdly, but had still seemingly understood what he meant.

"It's a Cizerack thing. Kinda boozy, kinda tangy. I think there's blood in it or something."

He shrugged a little, taking another casual sip, masking his mild disappointment that the barmaid had served it to him in a regular glass tumbler instead of the kind of fancy flute it had come in at the Cizerack bar.

"I went out for drinks with the Captain's sister the other day; she introduced me to it."

Setting the glass back on the table, he nudged it slightly in the Chiss pilot's direction, adding a small inviting gesture.

"It's kinda nice, if you can get past the squeemish factor."

Unintentionally, Jaden had dispensed new data to the droid, one that opened new dialogue trees with possibilities for additional social interaction.

"Quez Captain has eight female siblings. To which are you referring?"

Jaden blinked in slow motion, every thought process in his entire brain grinding to a glacial halt. He turned to MARCUS, looking at the droid as if it had just uttered the secret to life, the universe, and everything.

"Captain Quez -" he echoed, his mind fortunately managing to reorder the words more appropriately. A stray, distracting thought had Jaden wondering why it was the droid did that - some odd programming quirk, or some social custom from some race or other that Jaden wasn't familiar with, maybe? - but he battered it aside, grabbing his attention firmly by the shoulders and facing it squarely in the right direction.

"- has eight sisters?"

It wasn't clear what emotions were driving those words out of his mouth. Surprise? Exasperation? Excitement? Whatever they were, they melted away into stunned confusion as Jaden lent back in his chair.

"Damn. I thought he only had two."

His mind continued to clunk over that notion like clockwork as he reached for his glass again, sipping at it thoughtfully. A mischievous thought curled at the corner of his mouth.

I wonder if any of them are single.