The Captain and I

[Cerie Moreau]

STANZA 1

Something familiar,
Something peculiar,
Something for everyone:
A comedy tonight!
Something appealing,
Something appalling,
Something for everyone:
A comedy tonight!
Nothing with moffs, nothing with crowns;
Bring on the lovers, liars and clowns!

She stood at the threshold of the docking ring, leaning against the cold metal with a fair amount of trepidation turning her features into a somewhat sour expression. As if she had been sucking on a candied Sour Mynock Egg. From her peripheral vision, she saw Ben moving about. Shuvin was... wherever Shuvin was. No doubt getting ready to take Jovan Station over with the formidable arsenal of grabby hands, hormonal urges, and pick-up lines that would cause even the most seasoned spacers to mutter under their breath at how lewd she was.

As for Ben, he seemed about normal. He was at least giving her some space. After Junction, Cerie had been damn near a hermit about Alderaan. Which was no small feat to be sure. She stuck to herself, shut away in her small bunk and stewing.

Up until Junction, looking like Loklorien s'Ilancy had been easy enough with no real ramifications. Of course that was all different now. With that bendy, bad-breathed Selonian, the game had changed rather significantly.

And with Jovan being their stop, Cerie was hard-pressed to actually step foot onto the station at all. It was mostly Alliance-run, after all. And even if she didn't have some gnarly scar over one eye, she didn't just... didn't want to invite anything.

And so she stood, halfway leaning against the edge of the doorway that opened up into the umbilical. The umbilical that led right onto Jovan Station.

She had her pertinent documents on a flimsi in one hand, the other stuffed into the front pouch-pocket of an oversized, dark blue pullover. In truth it was Bens; she'd just 'borrowed it' since it had a hood and - well - it was damn comfortable. Soft and worm and cozy. Grey trousers and scuffed work boots completed her unkempt appearance. Even her hair had been pulled up into a shaggy half-bun that she'd stuck a few repulsor cam thread rods into to keep it up (they were extras and Shuvin had said she could have them anyway).

The hand in the pouch-pocket curled into a fist and she finally spoke to Ben.

"You ever been here when there's not a Cizerack sex festival going on?"