Ask Summer Festivals

[Altair Din]

The academy took up a lot of Altair’s time, but he made a point to go perform at one of the huge street festivals on a planet that didn’t have strict Jedi or Sith restrictions. This was a giant, annual party that welcomed people from all corners of the galaxy to celebrate the summer. The streets were completely blocked off to any kind of traffic and countless stalls and stages were set up. There was food from all over the galaxy and an attached fair that had rides and galleries.

The tiefling was not here as a Sith today, and he certainly didn’t have weapons on him. He brought his guitar and found himself a slot to perform. His NoiseNebula had gotten extremely popular and he had enough credibility to get into a performance lineup, though it still wasn’t the main stage. Instead of his usual acoustics and hometown music, he decided to play a few classics and switch to electric.

Altair was dressed in a tank and pants, a bandana around his forehead, the choice of attire showing off his extremely toned torso. His wrists were adorned with bright and vibrant bracelets and his ears were lined with piercings. The tiefling had managed to get a few others to play onstage with him for drums and other instruments while he handled the lead singing and guitar.

While there wasn’t too much of a crowd beforehand, one began to accumulate as soon as he started playing. His skills on the guitar were apparent at once, his voice powerfully projecting over the crowds to rival the other performances taking further away. Within moments, a massive crowd began to gather, filled especially with screaming girls.

The tiefling was confident in his singing, his tail swaying to the rhythm as he himself rocked to the beat and belted out the song. It was clear Altair had no qualms with being center of attention and he pranced around on the stage as if he owned every inch of it.

SONG


@llamallove ​

 

[Samara Draven]

These days, it was difficult to find a planet that would receive the Jedi Order with open arms. The New Republic had outlawed its members, and to step foot within its borders was to do so at your own risk. Many of the free worlds harbored the same sentiments, the same prejudices, and although they had never banned the Jedi outright as their neighbors in the Core Worlds had, a Jedi could not walk amongst them without dirty looks thrown their way.

Even here in neutral space, Jedi were not spared from the predisposition of the anti-Jedi and anti-Force User movement, and it was a lot easier to just slip under the radar. Safer, too, and that's exactly what Samara did. She wore no Jedi robes, just a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. The Chalactan hadn't been to a music festival for months, not since Wroshyr Woodstock, and she didn't want to risk some brainwashed laser brain ruining her evening.

Ever since the Grandmaster's call to arms, it had been harder and harder to carve out any time for herself or her hobbies, much less travel off of Yavin IV for anything other than field trips and assignments. Now there were rumors, whispers even amongst the Padawans, that the Grandmaster deeply regretted her decision to militarize the Jedi Order, that they would be taking a step back again—to focus on their first steps. No longer warriors, but scholars and healers. Samara hoped that the rumors were just that—rumors. The Order was never going to be able to win this war on the defensive, always reacting but never instigating.

Those, however, were thoughts far too complicated for today. Today, she wanted to unwind and relax and enjoy herself, away from the Padawans and instructors she saw day in and day out, and possibly even forget about the galaxy's problems—if only for one night. Nothing took your mind off your worries and brought people together like music could. Different cultures, different species, and sentients from every profession and all walks of life were able to amalgamate into something harmonious and beautiful.

The Chalactan wasn't sure what motivated her stop and listen to this indie group in particular, if it was the unusual twang with which they sung or the guitar rifts or simply curiosity brought on by the girls her age crowded around the stage, pressed up against one another like sardines in a can, but it was the lead singer that made her stay. There was something oddly... familiar about him, a feeling she just couldn't shake, and she wanted to get a closer look. Gently, so as not to cause a riot amongst the emotional, lovestruck girls, she pushed her way through the crowd.

Just then, a massive firework exploded above the crowd, and in the flash of its light, she could make out the lead singer's face. Dark skin and unforgettable violet eyes. There was no doubt in her mind as to his identity. A throbbing head. Blood running down her lip. A burning in her lungs she would've thought impossible. Smells so nauseating she couldn't forget. Altair.

So much for forgetting about the galaxy's problems—its biggest problem was standing on stage, performing in front of her. "You've got to be kidding me," she muttered to herself. @Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

The crowds were roaring after the song ended and the entire area in front of the stage was packed and spilling out into the adjacent streets. Altair sang a few more classics after that opening song and finally his set was done. The tiefling grabbed his guitar and stepped off stage, immediately approached and surrounded by starstruck girls. He chatted with them and even signed a few autographs which was surreal. A few of the girls of course flashed him or wanted him to sign suggestive places. The tiefling kept his cool instead of being nervous as he obliged, gingerly extracting himself away. He had to dodge a few of the girls attempting to throw their arms around him or kiss him.

Altair finally came up for air as he ducked into a side alley, wiping the sweat off his brow. He grinned to himself, pleased with the tips and money he had made for the night. The tiefling walked through the alley and towards the food stalls. He had to be discreet to avoid being followed. For once he was not in the mood to be surrounded by women, instead wanting to indulge in some of the local foods.

At this point, he had no idea the Jedi from earlier was here. Guitar slung over his back, he approached the food vendors area. Altair stopped at a spicy noodle shop and ordered himself a cup. He was exhausted, but he planned on hitting a few other performances tonight. Every now and then, a girl or two came by to gush about his singing and playing, crowding him for a moment before they finally got the hint he really just wanted some food.

The tiefling stepped away with his cup of noodles and looked for a table outside. He set his guitar down and plopped down on the bench.

@llamallove

 

[Samara Draven]

As soon as the performance ended, the crowd went wild. The Chalactan was jostled first one way and then another as the group of teenage girls and, in a few instances, adult women rushed for the stage as if their lives depended upon it. There was nothing she could do to stop them, and she allowed herself to be swept away along with them, if only out of self-perseveration for fear that they might trample her to death.

Samara was thoroughly disgusted by the animalistic display, and she couldn't help but wonder at their reactions if they knew who he truly was. Rather, what he truly was. If they only knew the atrocities he had committed throughout his life, the countless lives he must have taken. With a pang of disappointment, she realized that it probably would not have made a difference to them. Apparently, all it took for them to lose control of what remained of their propriety was a silver-toned voice and a few muscles. She watched the exhibition with a sour expression on her face, her eyes hard and her arms crossed with unwavering disapproval. The worst had yet to come, as he took selfies with some of them, signed paraphernalia, and....

"That's absolutely disgusting," she recoiled, gagging and shaking her head. Did these women have no shame? Briefly, she considered the possibility that she was judging them preemptively and unfairly, remembering when she had approached Captain Almani for a selfie, but that idea was disregarded almost immediately. No, this was ridiculous.
The crowd was insatiable, and even when he had withdrawn, they continued to flock after him like sheep running for troughs at feeding time. The Chalactan contemplated following him, too, albeit for entirely different reasons. Altair was a Sith, on a neutral world where he did not belong, and he was dangerous. That she could personally attest to, absentmindedly brushing a hand along her arm where a cut had not yet faded.

Should she follow him? Just to make sure he didn't hurt anyone? Samara chewed on her bottom lip in thought. She had no weapons on her, as she hadn't intended to run into a Sith tonight, and she had yet to replace her lightsaber. In the end, she came to the decision not to follow after him. He was here for the musical festival, just her like, if that little performance of his wasn't all just an act. There were security officers everywhere—what trouble could he get into it? The Chalactan decided she would walk away, and then they would be even. She would no longer be indebted to a Sith. At least, she hoped so.

"OUT OF MY WAY!" someone behind her called out. "I want his autograph!"

Before Samara could react or even finish the words, "I'm not in your way—" she was pushed to one side, the point of elbow shoved into her face. "Ow!" she shrieked, blood pooling in her pale hands as they reached to cover her nose.

After that, it was chaos as a fight broke out. @Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

Altair was happy to be left alone so he could enjoy his noodles. He was happily munching away when he heard commotion directly in front of him. The tiefling looked up to spot a few girls beating each other up and he heard his name called out a few times. Altair squinted a bit before he recognized one of the girls. Wasn’t that McTurdface from Onderon?! His eyes widened in shock at the realization. And of course, she was once again serving as the perfect punching bag. In response to seeing her get tossed around, Altair simply helped himself to more noodles, slurping at them as he watched the chaos with mild amusement.

Eventually the girls fighting the Jedi ‘won’ and came over to him to get autographs. Altair looked all too eager to sign for them, even flashing them a charming smile and making polite small talk before they finally left. The tiefling then glanced back at the Jedi girl that was left behind, her nose a streaming, bloody mess.

“Didn’t know you were a fan. I'm flattered,” He grinned at her as he slurped on some more noodles. He took his time before he finally grabbed a few of his napkins and casually floated them over to her after ensuring no one else was looking. Altair remained seated where he was, entirely calm and relaxed instead of the icy and methodical warrior persona he had on Onderon. He was here for the festival and that was abundantly clear.

@llamallove

 

[Samara Draven]

Someone screamed, accusations were hurled, and then the first punch was thrown. The Chalactan was shoved one way and jerked another, not so much a participant in the fight as she was a casualty. She never threw a punch, and merely held one hand to her nose while the other attempted in vain to stave off the group of angry women. How the fight had started or why she happened to be at the center of it when she had just been standing there, minding her own business, she didn't know.

Whenever she saw an opening, she would attempt to escape the throng, but never with any success. Occasionally she would try to be the voice of reason, calling out something along the lines of, "Let's all just take a deep breath!" or "Get off me!" but the group would not be appeased, and her voice was drowned out by all the shouting.
The fight drug out into one of the side streets, where venders had set up. Unfazed by the fact that they were impeding the flow of foot traffic, there seemed to be no end in sight to this knock-down, drag-out fight. Even bystanders, on their way to dinner or the next live performance, began to gather around, watching the spectacle with morbid interest, none of them trying to intervene or to put a stop to the fighting.

That is, until one of the women closest to Samara, the one that had thrown that elbow into her face by the sound of her voice, called out, "THERE HE IS! He's eating noodles!"

"I love noodles," another woman said.

Her friend replied, "No, you don't. You're allergic to wheat. Shut up."

Then, as quickly as it had started, the fight had broken up. Onlookers went about their business at last, while the women edged around Altair like he was a present under the tree on Life Day morning, rather than nursing their wounds like sane, rational people with common sense. Samara just stood there in a daze. She didn't dare get in their way, not again.

"Don't flatter yourself," she challenged the Tiefling as soon as they had left. Uninvited, she plopped down in the seat across from him, trying to catch her breath. She accepted the napkins without a word, pressing them to her nose with a hand covered in blood. "You could have stepped in to help, you know." She glared at him over the wad of napkins. A twofold jab, as she was still bitter about the fact that he'd waited until the last possible moment to save her from drowning on Onderon.

Now that she didn't have to fend off an incoming punch, the Chalactan stared down at her clothing with a huff. Blood stained her t-shirt. This was a great start to her evening. @Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

Altair quirked a brow as the girl casually sat down across him as if invited. He said nothing about it, sipping from his soup after he had eaten the noodles. The broth was spicy and absolutely perfect. He decided he would cheat on his fitness diet while at the festival and sample all kinds of foods. Altair blinked a few times when she stammered that he could have helped, “And let my noodles get cold? No thanks,” He quipped back as he drank the rest of his soup from his cup. The irony of her wanting him to play hero wasn’t lost on him. A part of him was convinced she would have been equally furious if he stepped in and she certainly didn’t have those expectations of the many other passersby that did nothing to help her.

He watched her dab at her nose, “Pinch the top of your nose and lean forward so the blood doesn’t go down your throat,” Altair said as he watched her just sitting there with a wad of tissues. He handed her a few more napkins. He had been punched in the nose enough times to know the routine by now. The tiefling found it amusing that whenever they met she was always covered in some type of body fluid - whether that be the feces of others or now her own blood. And both times he was likely to blame according to her even though both times were him minding his own business.

“Why didn’t you defend yourself?” Altair asked curiously. A part of him wondered if it was because, like with Sith, she relied very heavily on saber and blade combat. Very few people in either faction knew what to do in close quarter hand to hand scenarios.

@llamallove

 

[Samara Draven]

The Tiefling's priorities were a wonder, and not in a good way. Samara shouldn't have been surprised, as the Sith were exclusively taught to look within, and never without. They were selfish, driven only by their own desires and their own insatiable need for power. The Dark Side was all consuming, and it took without consent and without thought. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, the Chalactan postulated that that was an unfair assessment of Altair, to boil him down to nothing more than the Sith Code, just like a million other faceless Sith in the galaxy.

After all, he had saved her on Onderon. Whether out of some sense of obligation or a need for self-preservation, she wasn't sure. That was something she often wondered whenever she was alone. It was difficult to believe that anything related to selflessness or concern for another sentient life motived him, not when he couldn't even be bothered to get up and put a stop to a fight that he had caused. They were his fans.

"Have a lot of experience with nosebleeds, do you?" That she could believe. Samara hadn't known him long, but she'd wanted to punch him ever since he first stepped foot off that Sith shuttle. Still, after a moment or two of deliberation, she took his advice and accepted the second batch of napkins he handed her. The Chalactan leaned forward on the table, against her elbows, pinching the bridge of her nose and cramming the fresh napkins up her nostril.
"Why would I?" she replied, still staring at him over the napkins. "They're not my enemy." As much as her nose might have disagreed with that statement. Admittedly, she'd been tempted to throw a leg out and trip one of them or even call upon the Force to send them hurtling back, but those were desires born out of anger. It wasn't the way of the Jedi to retaliate without a cause. It wasn't Samara's way. That was something the Sith would likely never be able to understand, but the mob of women had posed no real threat to her. They wouldn't have killed her, not unless she was seriously underestimating the power one Tiefling could hold over a group of dim-witted, senseless girls.

They certainly packed a punch. The Chalactan had been trying to improve her hand-to-hand combat for months now in her free time, but she still had a lot to learn. Sometimes experience was the best teacher, and she didn't have a lot of opportunities to "throw down," nor did she seek those opportunities out.

Calculating violet eyes studied him before she spoke again. "What are you doing here?" As if the concert and the bowl of noodles didn't make it obvious. But now that she was here, face to face with the Sith, she wanted to make sure. @Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

Altair didn’t need the Force to tell she despised him, and quite frankly he was largely unconcerned with that. He had spent a lifetime being despised just for his appearance alone. He was used to people pulling their children closer, women screaming in fear, men looking at him with hatred, all because of his horns and tail. What was one more person that wanted yet another excuse to hate him?

“I do,” He said with a nod, “I was Captain of the Combat Club at my academy. Hand to hand fighting is my expertise,” Altair said with pride. It was clear he was passionate about this, “Learned to take a lot of hits and dish it right back,” He gave a confident grin. Unlike her, he wasn’t caught up with internal brooding or giving much thought to her principles as a Jedi. He had spent too many hours doing that for Clove and he learned better since.

“So then why should it fall on someone else to fight your battles for you if you actively choose to do nothing?” Altair asked as he leaned forward a bit, an almost entertained glint in his eye, “Why should I be forced to make someone an enemy on your behalf so you don’t have to have that on your conscience? Why don’t I get to take the peaceful high ground and choose to abstain from getting tangled up in a fight? Why didn’t you have these expectations of the countless others that walked right by and did nothing?” Altair scoffed to himself and rolled his eyes before leaning back again, not at all interested in her likely deflective answers to his questions.

“I’m here to perform” He explained, having no idea that she had actually seen him do so earlier. He pointed to his guitar, “And eat food. If you ain’t got nothing better to do than to sit here and interrogate me, I suggest you move right along,” He shrugged, “I’m here to enjoy the festival, not have another battle or feel like I’m in a Sector Ranger office.”

@llamallove

 

[Samara Draven]

That explained the Tiefling's prowess in hand-to-hand combat on Onderon, but it still didn't explain why he had chosen to wear a pair of gauntlets but wield no lightsaber, in the middle of an active battlefield where he knew combatants—planetary and Jedi alike—would be actively trying to kill him. A lightsaber would have come in handy, particularly to deflect blaster fire, but he hadn't even carried one. She'd realized that later, when she was pressed up against him in that narrow cavity beneath the earth, crawling over his durasteel plating and trying to touch him as little as humanly possible.

If she wanted to not only survive her next encounter with a Sith but defeat her opponent, she would need to train harder. Widen her horizon. And settle for nothing less than perfection. She wouldn't be batted away like an incompetent child next time, and she wouldn't fail. The next Sith she confronted might not be so... lenient, if that was the right word for it. She'd thought so at the time, back in that sewer system beneath Iziz, on the brink of death. But now that time had passed, and she could look back at the near-death experience with hindsight and a fresh mind, she found that she had no more clarity than she had that day. She was still just as confused, and just as conflicted. Something a Jedi should never be.

Her first instinct was to pull away as soon as he leaned onto the table across from her, but she didn't want to appear to be afraid, and held her ground. "I didn't say you had to fight them," she explained, unconsciously making herself smaller. "Just that you could've stopped it. You saw how they swooned over you." One word, or possibly even something as simple as clearing his throat, would have drawn their attention away from each other, and that would have put an end to the simpleminded fight.
Then she stopped mid-sentence and fell silent. Why was she trying to explain anything to him? He didn't owe her anything, and she didn't owe him an explanation. And as for reasoning with him, it was unlikely—beyond belief even—that they would ever see eye to eye on anything, particularly principles. Samara had hoped that was not the case briefly, sitting in that crater on Onderon, before he had compliment her butt instead and walked off like they were anything but mortal enemies. Her stomach dropped at the memory, violet eyes averting from his gaze, as if just by looking at him he might be able to guess what she was thinking. Of course he couldn't, but she didn't want to take the chance. "Never mind. Forget it."

She stared at the salt shaker for a moment or two, not saying anything, until a tall, broad-shouldered man in a stained and tattered white apron appeared beside the table, wiping his humongous hands on a towel. He nodded at the Tiefling, but his attention was on Samara. "Listen, lady. I'm gonna have ta ask ya to leave. I can't have ya bleeding all over the table while people are tryin' to eat. You're creepin' out the customers."

Eyebrows drawing closer together, the Chalactan turned to see for herself, staring at the other customers with a tight expression on her face. Sure enough, the majority of them were staring right back at her from across the patio. Some of them were midbite, while others hadn't even touched their food. One woman, features twisted and pale, looked like she was about to pass out at the sight of the Padawan's bloody nose.

"It's nothing personal, mind ya. And try not to drip on everything on ya way out." The man shook his head and walked off after that, shaking his head and muttering something about, 'This is the second time tonight.' @Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

Altair cut her off before she could even finish her reasoning, “And if I told ‘em to lay off, they’d have thought I went outta my way ‘cause you’re my girlfriend,” He stated flatly, knowing fully well she would have some dramatic and disgusted reaction to the thought and braced himself for it, “And then they wouldn’t leave either of us alone. You think that’s the first time I had groupies fight over me?” Why was she so dense? He decided he had enough and was about to get up and leave when someone came over to tell the girl to get lost. Altair thought Life Day came early and he began to smile eagerly. However, he looked around and noticed the way everyone was looking at her with disgust. He had certainly been on the receiving end of this before.

She was center stage and people were gagging or pointing at her. Others were outright laughing. Altair kept his gaze on her, his own smile quickly fading away from his face. He glanced over at the man and narrowed his eyes, “Wouldn’t you have been helpful if you brought over some extra napkins?” He quipped at the man as he began to stand and grabbed his guitar to sling it over his back again, “And don’t even act like it ain’t ‘cause of me that you had a sudden influx of customers to begin with. So I’ll be takin’ my business elsewhere.”

The man opened and closed his mouth rapidly as if to say something but no words came out. He looked suddenly flustered but Altair was already walking off. He decided to make his way towards the performance he wanted to see next. He glanced over his shoulder back at the girl.

“You gonna keep standin’ there like a bantha in the speeder light or what?” Altair said simply before he kept walking. He gave her a clear out if she wanted it or she could wander off wherever else she pleased.

@llamallove

 

[Samara Draven]

That possibility had never occurred to Samara, as evident by the look on her face, that a Jedi and a Sith might be mistaken for a couple. The most unlikely pair of all, at least in her mind. But no one knew who they were, or even that they were Force sensitives. Her mouth parted, fully intending to come back at him with some witty retort, but it fell shut, and she was silent. She didn't have one. If those women had been willing to throw fists simply because she got in their way of an autograph, she shuddered at what they might be capable of if they thought she stood in their way of dating the Tiefling.

Samara wasn't accustomed to being the center of attention in a public place, regardless of its nature, positive or negative, and she wasn't quite sure what she ought to do or how she ought to handle herself. There was no point in standing up for herself, not when the majority's mind was already so obviously made up. She teetered between indignation and embarrassment. She had done nothing wrong, committed no crimes, but that didn't negate the fact that everyone was staring at her, and despite this knowledge, she was unable to meet the broad-shouldered man's or Altair's gaze. She couldn't quit staring at the onlookers, as much as she hated what she saw in their eyes.

Shoulders slouched, the Chalactan spun around on the bench and stood up. She would not stay where she was not wanted. "I really ought to find a bathroom and clean up anyway," she stated, clearing her throat and running a hand along her t-shirt, as if smoothing out the wrinkles would make everyone forget about the blood that stained it.
Then, before she could take another step, the most unexpected thing happened, and Samara could only look on with raised eyebrows, openly staring at the Tiefling as he defended her in front of the whole restaurant and announced that he would be taking his business elsewhere. The Padawan had just assumed that he would join in with the others, laughing and reveling in the spectacle, particularly after the scathing words that had passed between them. But he didn't.

The Chalactan glanced back at the broad-shouldered man, his face as red and indignant as the rest stains littered across his apron. Without a second thought, and without considering the alternative, she trailed behind Altair. "Hey! Wait up!" she called out after the Tiefling, his large frame already cutting a path through the crowded side street.

By the time she caught up with him, her voice had lost its power, and she fell into step beside him. Violet eyes flicked between the stones beneath her feet and his dark face. "You didn't have to do that." That would sound rich coming from her, after she had just berated him for not stepping in to put a stop to the fight. Before she could lose her nerve, and in spite of the way her breath hitched with the words, she added, "I'm sorry. For back there." She jerked her head toward the restaurant behind them, assuming he understood. @Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

Altair stuffed his hands into his pockets as he walked. He began to hum to himself the songs of the band he was about to see. He figured the girl decided to go her own way and he shrugged it off. His tail swayed back and forth in contentment as he took in sight of the festivals. Street fairs and festivals always made him happy and it always gave him a boost of energy. He loved hearing new artists, trying new foods and seeing everyone cheerfully chatter or laugh. Altair wasn’t sure why he always came to these things alone - he certainly had enough friends to form a group to come. He always brought his guitar alone, always performed with a new group each time and went home alone in spite of the swarm of girls that surrounded him each time. It made little sense to him, but he continued it each time.

He was shaken out of his thoughts when McTurdface abruptly caught up to him. Altair tilted his head to look at her, quirking a brow, “You mad at me for saying something now? No winnin’ with ya,” He shook his head with a grin as he gazed ahead again and kept walking. Altair actually came to a stop when he heard her apologize. He looked back at her, genuine surprise on his face. An apology or admission of any wrongdoing at all was the last thing he expected from someone like her. She perched herself on such a righteous pedestal, she could probably see over the layers of smog over Coruscant.

“Uhh… no worries,” Altair responded, completely assuming that she was apologizing for bleeding on the table. He couldn’t imagine her apologizing for her crappy attitude towards him because her ego was far too big for that. The tiefling didn’t bother clarifying as he kept walking, spotting a few clothing stalls.

“You should get a new shirt so you don’t look like a psycho murderer,” Altair said calmly as he pointed out a stall handing out cheap band T’s. Naturally this one was handing out bright and brilliant tie-dye shirts with a unicorn floating through space on it. Altair shrugged vaguely and looked to see what she would do - there was a port-a-potty nearby where she could change but no real option other than that. Her other option was to keep wandering around in her bloody shirt and continue getting disturbed glances or kicked out again.

@llamallove

 

[Samara Draven]

To his credit and her benefit, the Tiefling accepted her apology far more gracefully than she had anticipated. Were she in his shoes, she probably wouldn't have hesitated to rub it in a little bit, but he acted as if it was no big deal and hadn't fazed him in the least. As if she had simply stepped on his tail by mistake and not just berated him for nothing more than trying to enjoy his meal in peace and quiet. It struck her as odd, that a Sith should ever be more forgiving than a Jedi.

The Chalactan had even prepared herself for the worst, for the possible tongue lashing that would follow, and had already resolved within herself to take it without complaint or objection, no matter how hard it might be. "You're sure?" she asked, head cocked to one side, thoughts scrambling to understand how he could take the whole thing in stride. Violet eyes searched out his, gauging his reaction. Was that really the end to it? 'No worries?'
The pair came to a stop in front of a small, burgeoning stall packed to the gills with gaudy t-shirts and an assortment of souvenirs, the kind that would sit unused in someone's house for a few months, cluttering up the place until being thrown away. Tie-dye and unicorns were not the Chalactan's style, and under any other circumstances, she would have passed by the stall without a second thought, but beggars couldn't be choosers. She ducked into the stall, found a shirt in her size, and paid the cashier—a young teenage girl, bored out of her mind and waiting for her shift to end.

Samara made it a practice to avoid porta-potties after an unfortunate but memorable incident in her childhood at the yearly celebration of life on Chalacta, but she couldn't just change shirts out here in the open, where anyone and everyone could see her. One public exhibition was enough for today. She threw open the plastic door but then stopped abruptly, throwing Altair a look over her shoulder.

"Wait for me?" she asked, maintaining strong eye contact and holding still, as if she expected him to answer her right then and there, before ducking into the stall and closing the door behind her. She didn't expect him to stick around, in all honestly, but she would try to hurry anyway, shedding the old blood stained t-shirt and pulling on the new. It was hideous, but at least she wouldn't look like a 'psycho.'

Should the Tiefling still be standing there when she got out, she'd toss her old t-shirt into the nearest trash receptacle and turn to look at him. "What do you think? I know, I know. I look like a twelve year old." All it was missing was bright, flashy sparkles and some kittens. Then they would rejoin the rest of the foot traffic, walking toward the next performance, the band's music already audible. @Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

Altair gave her a grin, “I’ll be here,” He reassured her as she walked off to change. By the time she came back out, he had acquired a slushie-like alcoholic drink and was sipping from it happily. He blinked at her shirt and smiled a bit when she asked his opinion, “Other than lookin’ like a fairy threw up on you, it ain’t so bad,” His gaze flicked up, “But hey, it matches your hair so it almost looks like you coordinated,” Altair drank from his straw as he kept walking.

He could hear the popular song that was almost memeworthy in the galaxy and his tail began to sway to the rhythm. Altair began swaying a bit to the rhythm as they got closer, “Damn! That old fossil’s still got the moves!” He exclaimed as he watched the man dance and rock, his hair completely gray. He looked like he was one second away from popping his hip out of place but he was going at it.

“Never gonna give you up!” Altair sang along, “Never gonna let you down! Never gonna ruuuun around and desert youuu!” He clapped a hand against his drink, swaying from side to side as he moved to the song while singing. His tail was happily waving around and it was clear he was having a great time. At some point, he did a quick and precise spin as part of his dance moves, slick and swift on his feet.

He swiveled around to face McTurdface, “Aaaaand if you’re asking how I’m feeling,” Altair pointed a finger gun at her, repeating the same ridiculous dance moves the old singer was attempting on stage with a smile on his face, “Don’t tell me I’m to blind to seee!” He even swayed his hips before spinning around to face the stage again as he took a big drink from his cup.

@llamallove

 

[Samara Draven]

Porta-potties were just as nauseating and cramped as she remembered. Not as cramped as that hollow in the earth she and Altair had been stuck in, but somehow far less bearable still. Even when taking those poky horns into consideration. Nevertheless, the Chalactan wouldn't complain, as she was able to wash the blood from her hands and discard of the bloody napkins shoved up her nostril. For the time being, the bleeding had stopped.

The Tiefling was waiting for her when the door swung open and she reappeared, just as he said he would, despite her uncertainty. Without thinking, her hand reached up to touch a strand of her hair, where the purple die met and blended with her natural raven color. The fact that it matched the showy t-shirt she was wearing was almost enough incentive to reconsider her hairstyle. "Thanks. I think." For a girl whose wardrobe consisted mostly of dark colors, being compared to a fairy's vomit wasn't exactly a compliment. Not that being compared to any kind of vomit was a compliment, now that she thought about it.
Footsteps unsteady, she ambled alongside Altair toward the next live performance. Once or twice it crossed her mind that this was odd behavior for her—for a Jedi. She had already apologized, and he had already accepted her apology, so why was still hanging around? Why didn't they part ways here and now? Altair wasn't here to cause any trouble or to try and take over the planet, even though she might have tried to convince herself that that was why she lingered, but she knew she wasn't being honest with herself. After he had stood up for her back there, when no one else would and no one expected him to, she felt an inexplicable need to follow him. Not to keep an eye on him, and not to lecture him some more. Just because she wanted to. Because she was grateful. Again. To a Sith.

Before the grandstand was even within view, the Tiefling had begun to dance and sing along to the familiar tune, both tail and body swaying in sync with the rhythm. The Chalactan glanced between the singer on stage and Altair, not sure which performance she found more entertaining. The latter had all the moves down pat, as if he had listened to this song a million times. "Maybe it ought to be you up there instead," she actually chuckled, swerving away from his tail as he spun around. "All you need is a pair of shades. And a pompadour."

This time, Samara was careful not to step on anyone's toes or brush up against anyone who even looked like they might be willing to throw a punch on account of the singer as they moved closer to the stage. She had a feeling no one would bother her now that she was with Altair. Or, rather, standing next to him. At the very least, they'd think twice about it since the Tiefling looked like he could handle himself in a fight.

"Do you always act like this?" Violet eyes studied the fruity drink in his hands, unable to hide the smile that crept across her dark lips. "Or are you just drunk?" @Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

Altair danced till the song finished and he clapped along with the crowd. He had a big smile on his face and turned to look at the Jedi when she commented on his behavior. Though he expected her to be her usual critical self, he certainly noticed the rare smile that graced her lips. Altair gave her a half grin, “I’m always fun, McTurdface,” He quipped at her, “Something you should try. You’re already off to a great start with that cute little smile,” Altair grinned wider. He was almost certain she would go right back to glaring at him just for pointing out that she was smiling, but it was worth it.

He finished up his slushie drink and looked over at the Jedi, “All right, there’s gotta be a band here you came to see or food you wanted to try. I hope you didn’t just show up to be a creepy guardian person to make sure no one was gettin’ up to trouble,” Altair quirked a brow. Come to think of it, that sounded like something her lame self would do. Just mean mug while standing in a corner and make sure no couples were standing too close or doing any drugs.

“What do you wanna do?” Altair challenged her, clearly flexible in his itinerary. It was one of the benefits of coming to these things alone. He whimsically decided what to do and when to come and go. He was done performing for the night and his entire evening was free now.

@llamallove

 

[Samara Draven]

McTurdface? The nickname certainly hadn't been born out of endearment, and it brought unpleasant memories better left forgotten to her mind. And smells. Especially smells. The Chalactan bristled, drawing herself up to her full height. "Believe it or not, I didn't just come here to play truant officer," she declared, lips pressing into a thin slash, offended at the suggestion that she didn't know how to have a good time. "I'm here to enjoy myself. The Jedi aren't the sticks in the mud people—" There her voice trailed off, realizing that her reaction would only serve to confirm his comment, as she allowed his words to settle in. A cute smile? Her ears turned bright red, some peculiar combination of embarrassment and indignation, she supposed. Something she hadn't felt since he'd left her sitting in that crater on Onderon. How the Tiefling could call her 'McTurdface' and compliment her smile all within the same breath was beyond her understanding, and she was left baffled as to how she ought to react. Slap him? Thank him? She couldn't bring herself to do either.
Now was as good a time as any to change the topic. "I am hungry," she admitted, her tone lacking its usual venom. She turned on her heel and cut a path through the crowd, expecting him to follow, as she led the way toward a cart selling deep-fried nuna legs. She'd spotted it earlier, on the way in, and made a mental note of it. Nuna legs were a staple of hers when it came to music festivals.

Halfway there, however, she spotted something else—a sign that hung from the rooftop of a pavilion, bright neon lights blinking out of sync around the words JOGAN FRUIT PIE EATING COMPETITION. Samara had never competed in an eating competition a day in her life, unless rushing to beat the other Padawans to the fresh cinnamon rolls in the morning counted. It didn't sound particularly appealing, stuffing your face until you were sick, but surely that would prove to the Tiefling that he was wrong about her, that she knew how to cut loose just as much as he did.

She spun around to face Altair, her cheeks flushed as she stared up into his dark face in challenge. "You like pies?" Then she plunged back into the crowd, glancing back over her shoulder every few seconds to make sure she hadn't lost him or he hadn't decided to abandon her.

Just before they reached the pavilion, she said off-handedly, "You know, I have a name." Then she hesitated, violet eyes settling on him critically, as if she were second guessing herself, trying to decide if she ought to tell him or not. "It's Samara." Her voice was quiet, barely discernable over the people and the music, and she immediately diverted her gaze from him.

Heat crept across her chest, as if she'd just done something wrong. Committed a horrible crime. Giving him her name felt deeply... personal. It felt like it tore down barriers that were there for a reason, that ought to be between a Jedi and a Sith at all times, no matter where they were or what they were doing. Whether fighting for their lives on Onderon, or wandering around a music festival looking for food. @Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

Altair was proud of himself for keeping a straight face as she valiantly attempted to explain that she wasn’t a stick in the mud. Forget a stick, she was an ancient tree that hadn’t budged for millennia in the mud. However, she appeared to catch onto her own stream of consciousness and quickly changed the topic.

He followed her casually, humming tunes to himself. His tail, as usual, swayed back and forth in contentment. The tiefling inhaled deeply as he smelled the delicious scent of Nuna legs. He hadn’t had one of those greasy things in a while and he made a mental note to come to that stall later. When the Jedi paused at the pie competition, Altair was more than a little surprised.

“Love pies,” Altair said gleefully, “I make the best pies. Back home my pies win at the Harvest Festival every year,” There was noticeable pride in his voice, “Rhubarb, jogan fruit, blumfruit, meiloorun, you name it, I can make the best damn pie you’ve ever tried from it,” The tiefling looked towards the competition pies, clear judgment on his face. It all looked subpar by comparison. He was distracted when she suddenly blurted out her name.

“Damn, and here I was just warming up to McTurdface,” Altair said with a grin. He looked back towards the competition, “Well, Samara, you gonna go eat some pie or what?” It was clear he had no intention of doing anything but watching while challenging her to go join the competition.

@llamallove

 

[Samara Draven]

The Chalactan blinked. "You make pies?" She didn't doubt it because he was a Tiefling, or even because he was a man and her father had been all thumbs in the kitchen. It was because she had never pictured a Sith doing anything so mundane and ordinary like baking pies. She couldn't help but grin to herself, picturing the Tiefling in an apron that said something cliché like "kiss the cook" as he stood alongside a row of old ladies at the harvest festival, each of them sure their pie would win since it was an old family recipe that had been passed down from mother to daughter for generations, only to lose out to a teenage jock with piercings.
Amusement soon faded, replaced with a wrinkled forehead as she stared up at him. "You're not coming?" she swallowed, a dead give away. She was second-guessing herself now that she had to do it alone. She didn't want to waltz into a eating competition alone, but now she had to. She had no choice. The Tiefling had laid down the proverbial gauntlet. He'd challenged her, and she couldn't shrink back from a challenge. Not from a Sith. Not when she was trying to prove that the Jedi weren't the "sticks in the mud" he thought they were. How shoving her face full of fruit and pastry would prove anything other than the fact that she was an idiot, she didn't know, but she had to do it. Despite feeling stupid for having ever suggested the idea in the first place.

Samara opened her mouth to say something, took one look at the smug expression on his face, and snapped it shut again. Her pride was on the line. A lattice pastry pride line, to be specific. What a stupid hill to die on. She turned and walked away from him with an impatient huff. Sith continued to be infuriating, and in the most unexpected ways.

Once she'd signed up and been given a cardboard number to hang around her neck, she was seated in a rickety, plastic chair next to an old Sephi woman, with downturned ears and long, unmanageable gray hair that she had pinned to the top of her head. She frowned at Samara, nettled that she had been forced to remove her clutch from the Chalactan's seat, brow pressed and wrinkled to the point where she looked like a dehydrated prune. If she had not been wearing a bright pink argyle sweater with kittens on the collar, Samara might have taken her more seriously.

To the Jedi's other side sat the largest, brawniest Orc she had ever laid eyes on. At over seven feet tall and three hundred pounds, she couldn't believe that the plastic chair he sat on hadn't buckled and broken beneath his weight. He looked like a brute, with a square head and jaw and scars that ran the length of his face, drumming his fingers against the red and white checkered table cloth as he sized her up. The teenager felt like a slab of meat hanging from a butcher shop window, and she might have complained about the staring and the fact that his thick arm took up half of her seat, but she thought better of the idea. She didn't want to get hit twice in one night, particularly when his hands alone were as big as her head.

Finished sizing her up and down, he barked out a laugh. "You really think your scrawny exhaust port is gonna eat a whole pie?" He shook his head.

The Chalactan said nothing, trying to scoot farther away from him, but the Sephi woman swatted her back with the clutch she held. "Don't crowd me, young lady!"

Well, this was certainly going to be fun. Samara sat there in silence, hands twisting around the hem of the hideous tie-dye shirt she wore, waiting for this misery to end. "You all know the rules," called out a short, squat man with a round face and a receding hair line. The judge, most likely. He stared at each contestant from behind a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, blue eyes sparkling as large pies were placed in front of each of them. "First one to finish their pie in under five minutes wins!" He wagged a short, chubby finger at them. "And remember! No hands!"

No hands? No hands? They weren't allowed to use their hands? What were they—animals? Whose stupid idea was this? She sought out Altair's gaze in the crowd, unable to spot him before a buzzer rang out. The next few minutes were a blur—a mess of dark and light purples, of meal pie crust, and sounds that would have made the Chalactan gag if she weren't face down in a pie. There was one small mercy in that—that she couldn't see past the pie's vibrant color, oblivious of the mess the other dozen contestants were making.

She realized she had no chance of winning, not with that gym rat beside her. He could probably eat four of five pies for breakfast and still have room leftover for bacon and eggs. She was just relieved when the buzzer finally rang out again, and the judge declared they had a winner. At least it was over.

Dice Roll for Samara eating pie: 18/20 @Sreeya