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| - It's a small, sexy cafe, to be honest. The kind of place where beings of all race and gender can find themselves comfortable and enjoy a good meal. 'Small' is somewhat of a mis-statement; the actual cafe is rather large in square footage and space, but has been segmented off in clever ways to make it feel like it is a cluster of smaller eateries. Second floor, with a good view of the bustling street below. This is where Luke Skywalker is found, wearing his traditional brown Jedi robes. Alongside of him are a couple of friends, namely, the marine veteran Vengan Draelis, and his brother in law, Han Solo. "So, /that's/ how he ended up on the other side of the planet without a transport." Luke laughs heartily. "I've never heard Zan sound so embarassed in my life." Draelis chuckles quietly, digging into at least his second steak. The Marine's prodigious appetite is the stuff of legend around the barracks, and in his spare time Draelis has won more than a few pie-eating contests. "I had a gunny who told me when I went to basic, 'It don't matter where you end up as long as you got your boots on your feet, your wallet, and you knife'." He makes a vague gesture with his knife, then pares off another corner of the steak. "Then he'd start mumbling something about being naked on a back alley in Nar Shadaa." A grin slips out from the stoic Marine, and is smoothly masked by another mouthful of food and a sip from his milkshake to wash it down. Laughter spills from the lips of the third man, and Han Solo - feet crossed at the ankles and already propped up on the fourth chair at the table - shakes his head. "Poor Zan." he murmers, grinning from ear to ear. His plate lies empty upon the table, pushed away now that he's finished his meal. Yet within his grasp is a cold glass of a refreshing beverage. Lifting it to his lips, he takes a mouthful before looking between the two men, that smirk returning to his lips. As he examines the Marine, he shakes his head. "I hope you don't count this as 'buying me a drink' as you offered on Coruscant." comes the aging man's quip, the grey hairs beginning to show fairly prominently at the temples, and a smattering here and there throughout the rest of his head of hair. "It'd take a cantina before I consider that offer paid in full." What is Luke Skywalker eating for lunch? Grubs. That's right. The Jedi Master has recently taken to appreciating alien cultures, and as such, he's been exploring the many fine foods that are offered on Ord Mantell, not only to taste, but to digest. Some of these foods are dangerous to humans. For Luke Skywalker, it is an effort in using the Force to metabolize the potentially deadly poisons. Fortunately, today, he's eating a selection of properly seared and spiced grubs, which are surprisingly tasty, and also, not venomous. "Sounds an awful lot like stuff Riekaan used to say," he offers, smirking toward Vengan. "Though we could /never/ quite get him to talk about /his/ academy days. There was rumor he had a fairly obscene nickname amongst his fellow Imperial cadets, but noone's ever gotten it out of him." Luke looks between Han and Vengan for a moment, curiousity flashing through a perked eyelid. Draelis laughs easily and raises a shoulder laconically at the former General. "Well, maybe. I am sorry I had to shuffle on but it looked like Reincus needed to chat with you a bit more urgently and to be honest, I was a bit late for work." He nods at Solo affably. "Next time I see you out on the old dustball, I'll make sure to pick up your tab." Draelis takes a few more bites of his steak, polishes off the tubers that came with it, and goes back to sucking down his milkshake. The shake, as it so happens, is mostly Corellian Rum. "I've heard rumors that'd make your ears bleed," he tells Skywalker with another slow, deceptively relaxed grin. "Ask General Nadine about Utapau and the three twi'leks someday, and if he doesn't give you a right cross, you'll learn all kinds of funny things." "Why that's awefully nice of you, Major." says Han to the Marine, that damned smirk on his lips. "Stupid. But awefully nice." Grinning as Draelis speaks about General Nadine, Solo shakes his head, another sip had of his cold beverage. "You want a to hear something good?" asks the former smuggler, undoubtedly speaking to Draelis, but eyes rest on Luke. "Ask Luke about when we first met his intrepid sister. Now -that's- a story." Chuckling, Han seems satisfied to have put Luke on the spot, and another sip is had. Ah, a lazy day all around. Luke's face is partially concealed by a glass of ale when Han says that. Of course, Draelis' remark about Madine doesn't seem to phase him. He'd long since come to understand the secrets that military types keep. He'd a few of his own, though outward appearances would never suggest such things. Instead, he finishes drinking from his glass of ale, and eyeballs Han surreptitiously as he sets it back down. "Oh. You mean, how that dilapidated drug-runner of yours got us captured by the blasted Death Star?" he asks with a grin. Jerking a thumb at Han, Luke turns his eyes on Draelis. "We damn near lost the death star plans when the /Falcon/ got picked up." He looks back toward Han, smirking. "He's always just been jealous that I got to kiss her first." He glances back to Draelis, holding out a hand. "Long story." "And there goes my appetite," Draelis exhales. He sits back and pushes the plate away from his place and continues to sip on the mostly slushly milk and rum. "I may be a couple decades shy of you age-wise, you know, but it doesn't mean I haven't heard the reports or read the press releases," the Major points out. "You shot down Vader's TIE over the Death Star," he says, flicking a fingertip at Han. "And you," he says to Luke, "were going toe to toe with the original Palpatine himself while this guy," the finger switches back to Han, "was blowing up the Endor power relay station, but I really, really, really didn't need to know you kissed your own sister. I mean, really," the Marine complains, rubbing his brow. "That's.... that's just wrong." He looks up at the two men. "Worst. Twins. Ever." he states, firmly. "Hey!" calls Han, feet dropping to the ground so he may better present his argument and look marginallly menacing while at it. A finger is pointed directly at Luke as he speaks. "She ain't dilapidated!" he defends the Falcon instantly. "And, in my defense, the Death Star looked like a moon from that distance. Wasn't my fault Chewie didn't get a thorough scan quick enough." Shaking his head, Han raises his glass to his lips, taking a mouthful of the liquid contained therein. Yet, as Draelis speaks his last, he cannot help it. The light purple liquid which had entered his mouth, finds a much different route of exit. From his nose, a spray of liquid emerges, causing Han to snatch up a napkin and raise it -just- in time to catch it before it should cover him. Wiping at his nose and mouth, he groans softly. "And for the record.." he states, looking up at the two men whom he dines with. "Don't do what I just did. Burns like a lightsaber." "Typical," replies Luke, smirking. "Blame the Wookiee." He takes another drink of his ale, and looks back to listen to Draelis. Fortunately, Luke has swallowed most of his ale. It doesn't come out of his nose. Instead, he chokes on it, a few bursts of coughing mingled with hoarse laughter. "Hey, I didn't /know/ she was my sister back then! We were separated at birth." He points over at Han, laughing again as he begins to speak his next. "You should have seen the look on his face though!" Setting the ale down, he grins at Solo. "Really, he oughta thank me. I made things competitive, and that gave him the stones to make his move on her." He shakes his head. "They'd been flirting for MONTHS, you know. Not that I blame you, Han. She's a handful, always has been. You make the wrong move, you probably have to worry about your goods getting Vader'ed." "You two think you're hard? You don't have anything on the Marines. If Leia was here and two decades younger, I'd show her this right here. C'mon, this'll put hair on your chest," the Major says, half taunting, half ordering. He whistles at the serving droid. "Three shots of Outer Rim Redeye," he orders. The Marine snags a tiny bottle of liquid spices from another table, then a pepper shaker. "We used to do these at the Admiral's Wreck out on Dac when we were getting ready for covert work. You never know when some drug peddler wants you to run a line of skellpowder with him." The shots arrive and Draelis distributes the drinks to the two men. "Goes like this. Drop of sauce," he puts a dab of the hotsauce on his hand, "dash of pepper," he pours some pepper onto his tongue. "Take a shot." He tilts his head back and slams the redeye. Then, gasping: "...take a snort-" he inhales the liquid spice through one nostril. The Marine's entire body twitches spastically and he looks as if he's having a stroke. Finally he lets go with a strangled cry and slaps his palm once on the table. "Hot DAMN, that'll clear your sinuses out!" he says, eyes watering. "I was doing just fine -without- your help, kid." grumbles Han in retort. "Always did." Pausing, he adds, "Besides. Always had Chewie as my wingman. Choosing between the two of us, the women always picked me." Pausing, a contemplative look creases his brow. "Except this one girl on Faylar about twenty-five years back. Cute little thing." A puzzled look slips over his visage as he adds, "Chewie didn't know what to do about her advances. I never understood it." Shaking his head, Solo watches as Draelis does his thing, a startled expression fully fixated on the Marine. "I'll take the shot, but just 'cause something came -out- of my nose, doesn't mean I'm gonna put something back -in- it willingly." A puzzled glance is given Luke before he asks, "Are all Marines this nuts?" Blinking at Han, Luke shakes his head at his story. "Must've had some thing for hairballs." He considers making the obvious joke, but aside from a little smirk, he doensn't go there. He's understandably jarred by Vengan's abrupt display, and watches nonchalantly as the shots are ordered up. He lifts an eyebrow, then grins over at Han. "Not all of them. Mostly the ones who run with this laser-brained muscle-head." He reaches for the shot, then daringly takes the hot sauce and pepper. He squirts some onto his hand, then passes the sauce to Han. "Come on, old buddy. Don't tell me those gray hairs have gone to your guts now." Sticking out his tongue, Luke takes the pepper, his eyes crossing a little. The shot goes down easy enough, and it's with a quirky look that he snorts the sauce through one of his nostrils. When all is said and done, his eyes are screwed shut tight for a few long seconds. Finally, he lets out a wheezing cough, and catches his hand on the table when his body bucks over a bit. A pair of expletives are splurted out in Huttese. It is lunchtime! Fooooooood! Along with the throngs of people looking for a bite to eat, there's Lyra, coming up the stairs. There's one of those flash lines at the counter for the take-out stuff, too. A quick check of her wrist-chronometer and the line. If she arrived just a few minutes earlier or a few minutes later employees would probably be sitting around drinking Jawa juice and talking about how time crawls when you're bored. Another check of her wrist-chrono and a look around the place. That's when she catches sight of some somewhat familiar faces. There's Grand Master Luke, though he looks different this close up and not across some vast auditorium. There's that graying ... what's his face, someone important too but she finds herself unable to remember his name as he's not on the other side of screen. And some other guy who seems vaguely familiar. Maybe a ... something. If Luke or Han were a Hutt, she'd call him a thug or a schutta. "Wow, I didn't think Jedi Masters spoke like that," Lyra says, walking over to the swearing Luke. Draelis gives Luke a few energetic pats on the back. "That's the stuff!" the Marine chortles. "It's easy to call names, but it's a lot harder to do it when you're toeing the line with the rest of the platoon." The Marine flashes a tight grin at Han. "Go on, General, give it a go. You've got an audience," he says, gesturing at Lyra as she walks up. "You're just in time, Jedi, General Solo here was about to give a lesson in putting yourself to the same test as the rest of the team." Draelis and Luke both look like they're having an allergic reaction, all red-eyed and sniffling, though undercut by the broad grin on Draelis' face. "That's alright for you.." Han grumble some more, placing his glass of juice down on the table before snatching the hotsauce from Luke's hand. "-You've- got the Force on your side. And the Major here's got.. well.. he's lacking more than he's got." A squirt is placed on his hand, and a scowl is sent Draelis' direction. "Chewie's my team." come more grumbled words, but pepper is indeed placed on the tongue, and on what seems like the third attempt Han downs the shot before placing the hand with the hotsauce to his nose, snorting it. Instantly his features screw up, hands clenching and body doubling over. It's a good thing the table's there to catch him, for the former General is almost flat upon it. Then, a fist comes down, slamming onto the hard surface as he sits up abruptly, leaning far back in his chair. "Son of a Sith!" growls the man who's nearing fifty years. "You people -are- crazy!" When Lyra arrives, Luke turns to her with a pained grin. He sniffles some of the snot that's trying to clear out his burning nostrils, keeping it sucked in for decency's sake. "I am on vacation," he replies, speaking in Huttese. "And yes, I do know a few... choice words." He glances over toward Han, recognizing that the old friend has vacated one of the seats. "Why don't you join us, Lyra? You'll see where your training will ultimately end up." He's speaking basic now, and turns to watch as Han takes the shot. Laughter spills from him, and he shakes his head from side to side. "No, HE'S crazy." He shoots a finger Draelis' way. "I'm just a sucker for dares. And for the record." He points a finger at Han. "I am NOT using the Force to clear this filthy poodoo out of my head!" As if to demonstrate, he snorts two times again, his eyes screwing up once more as some residual hot sauce is sucked down his burning throat. "Seven hells." "Padawan," she corrects Draelis nearly automatically, "That's like ... I dunno. A recruit? In the military. Something not-soldier yet," she says tells the Marine. But on to more interesting subjects, as she replies to Luke, "Yeah? Hope this training ends up better the rest of it so far," the redheaded former ganger comments as she takes a seat (really, she just steals a chair from a nearby table). "Sooo..." she says, watching Han try to kill himself, "I'll end up snorting alcohol made from gornt dung and Huttspit in a cafe?" she asks casually. "I don't know. It's easier than the stuff in the Temple, at least. What's the point of this one? Just to show you can still get the little bukee up?" Draelis rubs his eyes briskly, then snorts once more and clears the rest of the hot sauce out of his nose. "Ugh. Well, I may be crazy or a laserbrain, but I'd like to point out how far stupid, needless competition got us," the Marine says. "We can't smell a thing, our sinuses are burning, and we look like a bunch of idiots. This'll make for good memories down the road, but I think you two can appreciate the lesson here in this little exercise," he says, blotting at his eyes again with his napkin. He waits a few seconds for the message to sink in. "Also, the implied lesson of never take a dare from a Marine in a bar," he adds, leaning back with a broad, self-satisfied smirk on his face. "That's only because you can't concentrate enough." mutters Han, rubbing at his eyes, trying to wipe away the tears welling therein. Yet, he had forgotten one very important thing before doing that. "OW!" comes the pained cry, his eyes squinting reflexively shut as hands grasp about, seeking for relief. "Bloody..! OW!" Rapping knuckles on the table, he dare not open those eyes lest the hotsauce still on his hand when eyes were wiped infest his eyes further. Meanwhile, through all his flailing, his nose is dripping from the abuse it suffered as well. "Someone get me a napkin! Or a towel! Or a blaster!" he cries, hands groping about. And it is to this scene a tall, hair-covered being arrives, a series of growls and barks undoubtedly mocking him - and likely laughing at him by the sound of the repetitive sounds - as Chewbacca stands but feet from the table, arms crossed over his chest. Luke snorts a bit at Lyra's humor. Unfortunately, it hasn't quite struck him yet that one of his youngest, most promising, and also most difficult students, has shown up. "Oh, I can appreciate the lesson, Draelis. It-" He's cut off when Han starts throwing a fit. Blink-blinking, Luke snorts again, and reaches up to cleverly wipe at his tearing eyes with the sleeve of his tunic. "Whoa, Han ol' buddy, you alright??" He reaches for a napkin, but then thinks better of it. Instead of touching it with his fingers, he screws his eyes shut and concentrates through the haze of burning sensations that grip his eyes, nose, and throat. The napkin floats into the air and smacks into Han's hand, albeit a bit less graciously than is usual Skywalker faire. He opens his eyes, takes a glance at the lumbering Wookiee, and grins. "Hey, Chewie." Then he looks back toward Lyra, and suddenly backs up into his chair a bit. "Lyra?!" Embarassed, he begins wiping at his eyes, and yes... he cheats. He calls on the Force to begin clearing up the ill effects on his internal membranes. It's not really a flattering truth that Lyra's ganger upbringing has made her something of a sadist. That is, she doesn't often laugh. Unless someone's suffering. Like Han, for instance. While there appears to be no broken bones or lasting injury, the Padawan finds the scene inherently funny. She begins to chuckle, but after a moment she finds she can't stop laughing. Leaning back in her chair to regard the fumbling ... dripping ... Han, she comments, "I have a blaster right here, but what happens if you miss your nose and shoot something else off?" she asks in response to Han's request. Or maybe his demand. "You know, something that your pateesa might miss more than a nose. I guess she'd miss your nose, too." "Yeah, hey, hi," she says to Luke even as the Jedi Master recoils from her like she had some deadly disease. "I just came by here to get something to eat, but you know, if I'm going to stop you from having fun, I can leave, you know. Guys and guystuff, I get it." It's too much for Draelis, and the thick-chested Marine fairly howls with laughter, banging on the table and throwing his head back. "By.. by the Maker," he chokes out, laughing at Han's plight, "I haven't seen anything that funny since I was a private in basic and this kid got his jockstrap lotion and his muscle cream mixed up." The Marine just keeps laughing as Han's best friend and Luke's problem child show up, on top of it, and the embarassed expressions on both of the older men's faces just keep the laughter coming. "It's ok, gentlemen," the Major drawls, forcing his laughs to a standstill. He gets to his feet. Draelis polishes off the last of his rum and tosses a credit chit down on the table. "This round's on me. I think I'll leave the two of you to your, uh, consciences," he says, grinning at Chewie and Lyra in turn. He moves to depart the table, stopping to give Chewie a tussling embrace and a thorough neck scratching. "You might want to get the keys back from your friend," the Major informs the Wookiee. He turns to Lyra. "Oh, and I wouldn't go letting your Master fly anytime soon. Keep an eye on him, he's kind of a lightweight." He glances around, then leans in towards Lyra and speaks sotto voce: "Watch yourself, I hear he's into some weird stuff." He gives Lyra a knowing look at taps his forehead, then flashes the group as a whole a tight grin and heads out, singing an old Corellian drinking ballad rather lustily as he pushes out into the city street. Chewbacca's laughter rings forth, and as Draelis greets him and says farewell all at once, the Wookiee's massive hand reaches out to wave him goodbye. Then it is unto Han that the big furball looks, moving closer and leaning over to examine him almost concernedly. "Get away, you big oaf!" calls Han as Chebacca already tries to clean the eyes out. Feeling a napkin in hand, the former smuggler begins to rub furiously at them, teasing the painful sauce out. Carefully he works at it, and finally he can open his eyes enough to peer bleery-eyed about him. A hand raises to pat Chewbacca's arm, and he nods at another series of growls. "I'm fine." he informs his best friend, before turning back towards Luke and Lyra. "Uh.. where were we?" he asks, as though nothing had happened. "No no, don't worry about it, Lyra." Luke grins at her, shaking his head. "You know. Just... don't worry about it." He looks over at Draelis, and smirks. "Lightweight my bunta," he mutters, then shakes his head when Draelis makes an entirely inappropriate remark. "Marines," he mutters. "Well, I /think/ we were having lunch and sharing war stories, both old and new." He looks over at Lyra. "Not exactly guy stuff, you know, just... we're guys." He grins a little bit. "Most Padawan learners don't get to see me enjoying some R&R. Don't let it get to your head." "A Jedi never takes a vacation from being a Jedi, Master Skywalker," Lyra replies placidly, speaking like some instructor in a Jedi classroom. While she'll usually impersonate someone, the fact that Luke is "one of them" instead of "one of us" makes her keep the impersation general. Even then, there's some aura about her words that it doesn't take a Force User to pick up on to know her conclusion isn't going to be entirely serious. "You simply are, so this is just you." "Maybe you could bring all this pepper and stuff to the next Jedi Council, you know? Loosen things up in there so it doesn't look like people are on trial all the time," Lyra observes, "There's this trick with these venom sacs from these big bugs and booze I learned on Nar Shaddaa. I'll have to show you guys it sometime, I bet not even the Marines know that one." Lyra does not, however, state if she's ever tried it or not. "Right." murmers Han, shaking his head as though that action alone will clear his eyes, and the pain. Then, as Lyra speaks, the former General laughs. "She's got you there, kid." he calls across the table towards Luke, a grin full on his lips even though he likely can't see Luke - a fact further supported by the fact that he looks about three feet to Luke's left. "Boy, I could see that meeting now. Jedi's using some sort of power to float, others to dance on the cieling." Shaking his head, he adds, "I'll stay far away from that, thanks. I wouldn't want to be there when the drunken brawl between a Zabrak and a Togruta breaks out." "There are many things you can learn from taking on a marine's bet in a bar," points out Luke. "The same kind of lessons you can learn from eating grubs that are traditionally dined on by toydarians." He points to the seared grubs on his plate, which he'd eaten most of. "There's also value in enjoying the company of friends, and being a guy." He grins widely. "These are things that many Jedi fail to understand... that, or they fail to put them all in the proper context." He waves a hand about. "It's neither here nor there. It just is, like you said." The concept of taking this 'trick' back to the Jedi Temple causes Luke to smirk knowingly. "Maybe not the /Council/. But there are a few classes where such a thing might be appropriate." He looks over at Han, smirking wider. "We don't dance on ceilings, Han. Not unless we're fighting Sith Battle Droids. They like ceilings. And walls." "That's why you watch from the balcony or something," Lyra points out to Han, perhaps having some experience in this matter, "See, it's safer than watching a bunch of drunk swoop gangers because Jedi don't carry blasters." A quick glance to the blaster she still wears. A glance. Maybe less. Anyway. "So yeah. It's safer if a bunch of Tortuga are saying, 'All of you! Observe this action of mine!'" she says in that oddly stilted formal way that beings, particular of the senior Knight and Master-level are typically expected to sound when they talk. Perhaps another bit of teasing some instructor back at the Temple. "Anyway...hey, there's instructors who teach lightsaber stuff with alcohol, did you know that? They get that guy who used to be a bounty hunter to shoot at you with the blaster set on low stun, and if you get hit, you have to take a drink. They do it in that loading dock behind the gardens." "No," he quips, looking pointedly at Luke. "They carry laser swords instead. Much less dangerous. What, only being able to cut through just about anything out there." Another series of growls erupts from Chewbacca's throat, the Wookiee taking a seat beside Han, and the aging Corellian holds up his hands. "Don't you think I know my wife carries one? Why do you think I've suddenly started being -nicer- to her?" Then Lyra's talking about the Drunken Jedi style of fighting, and Han just blinks. Again, Luke recieves the brunt of his attention as he says, "Tell me she's joking. 'Cause if she's not, that sounds like something I might like to get in on." Pausing, he adds for clarification, "The shooting and drinking parts, I mean." Luke mock-winces. The thought of what Leia might cut through if Han wasn't nice leaves him feeling a bit squeamish. "A 'laser sword' is much more dangerous than a blaster," he points out. "Just as much as it's less dangerous and more elegant." With a rolling look, he peers at Lyra. "/Who/ does it in the loading dock behind the gardens?" he asks, suspiciously. "You know, students," she says a little blithely. Obviously from the way she describes it, she's probably at least watched it, if not participated in it. She also quickly just goes on: "Yeah, they grab practice sabers, and the guy ... who's a pretty good shot with a blaster ... takes a shot at you. If you get hit, you take a drink. If you deflect it away, you're fine. If you deflect it so it hits him, he has to take a drink." "It's not really bad if it's a practice saber. I don't think those hurt too much at all unless you really try," the redhead observes, "You should come down to the Temple sometime," she tells Han, "Take a few shots at some Jedi and their hokey religion, you know?" "You know, I might just do that one of these days." states Han with a quirky grin, as though his sole purpose for agreeing is to irk Luke. His eyesight begins to return to him, and the ex-smuggler rises from his seat, steadying himself on the table with a hand. "Alright, Luke. It was good catching up, but I've gotta get home to the Mrs. Otherwise, she's likely to use that lightsaber of hers on me." That grin once again plasters to his lips, before he turns about, Chewbacca placing a hand on his shoulder to ensure Han doesn't run into anything. A wave is given Lyra, and another smirk, before the pair - Scoundrel and Wookiee - make their way from the cafe, onwards to who-knows-where. Luke watches Lyra smugly, and a grin slowly touches his features. "Prized Padawan," he murmurs mockingly, winking at Han. "Actually, don't let Lyra fool you. She took on Drax Rendolen almost single-handedly at Coruscant, and didn't even lose any limbs." A pause, then an embittered, "Or should I say, Darth Caligo." He looks down at his food, then sighs and nods. "Well, alright, Han. Take care of yourself, and don't tell Leia /anything/ about that conversation with Draelis, alright?" Lyra laughs at that, "The missus," she says, mostly to herself, obviously finding the idea of Han simply referring to Leia as 'the missus' to be more than a passing odd to her. "Yeah, well, I guess you could tell her you're helping out at the Temple, no less...even if you get drunk." "I don't know about -beating- Drax. I think he had other things on his mind, Master. He seemed ... distracted when we were fighting. I don't think his mind was completely on the situation any longer at that point." Luke sobers slightly, and nods his head. "Well... we should discuss it sometime," he answers. "Meet me at the temple later, perhaps."
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