Ask Summer Festivals

[Altair Din]

Altair was genuinely surprised to hear and see the tone of disappointment when he made it clear he wouldn’t be participating. A part of him almost felt guilty and he began to take one step forward. However, he stopped himself, glancing over at the pies, to Samara and then back at the pies. Nah, after all her nonsense, she could deal with this. The tiefling crossed his arms over his chest and watched with morbid curiosity as the contestants began to line up.

He looked over at the Orcolan that was seated next to her. He looked like he could pick Samara up and use her as a bat to hit away projectiles. Altair watched in awe as the contest began, his eyes widening as they were forced to use no hands and shove their faces into the pie. He was especially shocked to see Samara actually going to town and making substantial progress. At some point, he began to clap and cheer, his tail excitedly swaying from side to side.

“GO SAMARA!” Altair called out, actually impressed by her performance. He was grinning from ear to ear after the contest was over, waiting for the Jedi after she walked off the stage and after she had a chance to wipe her face off.

“Damn!” He said cheerfully, “That was awesome! I didn’t expect you to kick ass at eating pies of all things! You were awesome!!” Altair chuckled, not even realizing he had placed his hand on her shoulder from excitement. His smile faded a bit and he quickly withdrew his hand, “Sorry..” He cleared his throat, remembering that she was largely disgusted by him. Altair shoved his hands into his pockets, “Anyway, great job. You…uh… you feel okay?” He wasn’t sure if she was about to be queasy or not from all that quick eating.

@llamallove

 

[Samara Draven]

Stuffed to the gills with chunks of jogan fruit, sugar, and pastry, Samara was hardly aware of her surroundings. The cheers and the laughter as the competition came to an end was nothing more than background noise, white noise to the beginnings of the worst stomach ache she had ever experienced in her seventeen years. She'd never eaten so much in her life, or so quickly.

The Chalactan didn't even realize that she had won until the judge shuffled over and pulled her out of her seat. Then he hung a blue ribbon around her neck and shoved a few credits into her hand. Prize money, apparently. After that, Samara wandered away without so much as a 'thank you,' cutting through the crowd until she heard a familiar voice. She came to a stop and stared up into Altair's violet eyes, the Tiefling grinning from ear to ear.

"I didn't either," she muttered in reply, managing a dim smile that didn't meet her own violet eyes. The entire experience was a blur, and probably would be until this pain in her stomach subsided, but she still couldn't understand how she could have beaten that massive Orc.
Pale hands clutched at her stomach, which currently felt as bloated as a beached whale. From its churning, she had to wonder if it might explode like one, too. "I feel fine," she lied to the Tiefling, waving an exaggerated, dismissive hand that accidently bumped his arm. "Just fine..." As if repeating it would somehow make it less of a lie.

Before she made it another step, she croaked, violet eyes searching for the nearest trash receptacle. "No... I feel sick." Then, without any more warning, she doubled over and vomited up the entire pie she had just wolfed down in under five minutes. Shoulders trembling with every convulsion, only one intelligible thought came to mind.

Why was she always throwing up in front of him? @Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

Altair didn’t even flinch as she suddenly looked queasy - he had seen this from his siblings enough times to know what was coming. He dodged out of the way and used the Force to tug forth a nearby trash can. This was right in time for her to hurl into it, sparing splash damage on the ground. The tiefling stood next to her as she hurled out chunks of pie. Thankfully he wasn’t a sympathy puker and was largely unaffected. Altair shook his head, gently patting her on the back, “Better out than in, Pa always says!” He said almost cheerfully as he ensured her hair didn’t get in the way of her vomit trajectory. He also held back her winner’s ribbon so it wouldn’t become a casualty.

This girl really always managed to be either covered in or spewing gross liquids around him. The thought was comical, though Altair did his best not to start laughing right there. Passersby were glaring or laughing. A little girl walking by happened to be a sympathy puker and turned and hurled on her mother’s shoes. Altair pretended not to notice as the mother began to screech and point at Samara.

Altair patted her back a few more times after she was done. He waited for her to come back up before handing her a bottle of water he snagged from the competition station, “You okay?” He asked. To his great credit, he was actually not laughing his head off or sporting a smirk while addressing her.

@llamallove

 

[Samara Draven]

Even while she was regurgitating a fruit pie over a trashcan, the Chalactan wasn't oblivious to the reactions she received from passers-by. Some of them were laughing, while others merely glared at her or quickened their pace. A few of them felt the need to offer unsolicited commentary, such as 'Looks like she's got a snoot full.'

This sort of thing never happened to her—being at the center of a public spectacle, and yet it was the second time in one evening that she'd drawn unwanted attention to herself. Perhaps this was why so many Jedi preferred to remain tucked away in the jungles of Yavin IV. The Padawan considered herself fortunate that none of her classmates had come along on this trip, otherwise she never would have heard the end of it. She didn't enjoy the feeling that accompanied the scrutiny, as if she were some comical animal in a cage, and slanted her body away from the onlookers.

"Thanks," Samara swallowed, accepting the bottle of water offered to her, and hoping that Altair understood that she was thanking him for more than just that. How was this the same Sith that she had fought on Onderon? It was like night and day. On Onderon, he had tried to kill her and make hostages out of innocent civilians. Now he was holding her hair pack and patting her on the back while she puked her guts out, as if they were friends rather than enemies. As if the war didn't matter, simply because they found themselves at a music festival.
There was no use in pretending any more. Now now that she'd thrown up in front of him. Again. "I feel miserable," she admitted quietly, trying to drown out the mother screeching behind her. That was the last straw. What? Had these people never seen someone throw up before? "Maybe we ought to get out of here."

Walking away from the pavilion and the unsynchronized neon lights, Samara abandoned the cobblestone thoroughfare and cut a path across the grass, where children were running around the trees and playing tag with one another. "See... We Jedi do know how to have fun," she said, still nursing the water bottle as a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. The humor of that sentence was not lost on her. Stuffing her face like a pig, throwing up all over the place—neither of those proved her point. Not really. If anything, it just proved that she shouldn't pursue a career in competitive eating.

Violet eyes wandered away from the Tiefling, settling on something in the distance. A giant, rotating wheel that towered over the tents and stalls venders had set up, lit up brighter than a Life Day tree. A Ferris wheel. Probably not the best idea after she'd just thrown up, but the idea of getting away from the crowds, the onlookers, if even for just a moment, was tempting. "Are you scared of heights?" @Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

Altair said nothing as Samara admitted feeling miserable. Well, that was progress at least. However, when she mentioned that Jedi knew how to have fun, Altair had to laugh out loud, shaking his head, “Your parties must be a hoot,” He quipped back, “Everyone just yakkin’ all over the place,” Altair grinned as he tried to imagine a Jedi party, “You know, I heard y’all do a lot of potlucks and cookin’. That didn’t sound too bad but now I’m thinkin it’s a lot of food poisoning waiting to happen.”

He absentmindedly walked with her, his hands still in his pockets and his guitar strung over his back. Altair hummed quietly to himself as he scoped out all the markets and stalls around them. He saw some performances in the distance and half considered saying goodbye to be on his way. No doubt Samara just didn’t know how to voice telling him to fuck off after he had been obviously kind to her. He began to open his mouth to part ways when she surprised him with a different suggestion.

The tiefling came to a pause, glancing past her towards the ferris wheel. He had been on them many times. His most recent memory of one, of course, had been with Clove a year prior. His jaw briefly tightened, but he said nothing aloud about it. Altair instead turned to look at Samara, quirking a brow.

“Excuse me,” He began as he stared at her, “Did I hear you right? Are you suggesting hanging out? I wanna make sure you know that’s what you’re doing here. You’re asking me to spend time with you, Samara,” He stated bluntly, bringing up his arms and folding them over his chest, “And if you’re gonna do that, there are gonna be some ground rules. You can’t use the words Jedi or Sith for the rest of the evening and you can’t act like I’m some damn convict,” He stared at her, “Think you can behave?” He couldn’t keep a straight face at that point, a lopsided grin appearing on his face, "And no, I ain't afraid of heights. Just don't got patience for judgment."

@llamallove

 

[Samara Draven]

Samara's eyebrows squished together. The Tiefling wasn't far off the mark, apart from his elegantly put description of them yakkin' all over the place. Whatever that meant. His accent was a dialect she was unfamiliar with, and sometimes she couldn't make heads nor tails of his choice in words. The Jedi did have a lot of potlucks and cookouts, usually over an open fire in the middle of the jungle. But how would he know that? She would've asked, if there was even a chance that he wouldn't compare her to a kubaz and accuse her of sticking her nose where it didn't belong.

"No food poisoning," she guaranteed, not that he'd ever know for sure. The statement wasn't entirely accurate, as you had to watch out for Master Asadra's nerf casserole. She liked to claim that it was better than candy, and almost as ameliorating as a month's worth of therapy sessions, but one bite and you were guaranteed a trip to the infirmary in the morning.
Hanging out? Was that what they were doing? No, surely it wasn't. They were just two people that had bumped into one another at a music festival, caught a couple of shows together, and—

Oh. The realization hit the Chalactan like a ton of neuranium. They were hanging out, weren't they? And had been ever since she'd sat down across from him at that picnic table to gripe about the fight his group of fangirls had instigated. Black fingernails scratched at her neck, lips pressed together to form the subtlest grimace. For a brief, passing moment, her face would read like an open book, even to Altair. She was conflicted, clearly, violet eyes ping-ponging across the park, to the children running around and the parents chasing after them, all to avoid direct eye contact with the Tiefling.

A whole evening, spent as if she wasn't a Jedi? Samara wasn't convinced that she could do that. She was a Jedi, and had been ever since she'd left her home world and the Chalactan Adepts and pledged herself to the Order. That was her identity, her service, her choice. She'd been trained how to fight the Sith, what to expect from the Dark Side, but never how to socialize with one. That possibility had never even occurred to her until now, and she couldn't understand Altair's insistence on separating the two—identity and Jedi. Identity and Sith. As if they were somehow different and not one in the same, that one did not depend upon the other.

At that moment, the Chalactan wished she had never even brought up the Ferris wheel, that instead they'd just parted ways then and there like they should have. Then, at least, she would be spared the embarrassment of this situation. Maybe that's what he wanted, to get rid of her. Between the nose bleed and the puking, she hadn't exactly been the best company.

"I... I guess so," she admitted, her face suddenly very still and unreadable. The Tiefling certainly wasn't making this easy on her, shining a spotlight directly onto a suggestion made without a second thought. Just when they'd begun to be civil, he had to go and make it difficult again. With a sharp tone, she added, "I haven't been treating you like a convict." Not entirely true. "If you don't want to ride the Ferris wheel with me, then just say so. It's not like I need a chaperone."

At that, her arms tucked in to her sides, as if to make herself smaller and less noticeable. "I just wanted to pay you back for the water." She supposed that was true enough, since she'd intended to buy their tickets herself, but deep down she knew that she didn't really know why she had suggested the ride. And if he asked, she wouldn't have an answer. She just hoped that he didn't realize that, too. @Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

Altair simply quirked a brow when she quipped back that she hadn’t been treating him like a convict. He could see her making herself smaller and doing a whole bunch of body language things that someone older and more experienced would have picked up on immediately. However, at the end of the day the tiefling was a 19 year old kid. All of her unspoken words flew right over his horns. He stared at her for a moment, his gaze flicking from her to the ferris wheel and then back to her. After a moment, a smile graced his face.

“I love ferris wheels,” He said after a long moment, “And I will get on one with you,” Altair said, but he didn’t move, “When you actually ask to get on one with me just ‘cause you plain want to,” He said, “Not out of obligation or debt."

The tiefling gave her a friendly wave, “Have a good night, Samara, and stay hydrated,” He gave her a peace sign just as he did back on Onderon. Altair turned and began to walk away, humming to himself again as his tail swished back and forth.

@llamallove

 

[Samara Draven]

That was that. The weighty and vital decision to board or not board the Ferris wheel together had been made for them as soon as Altair declared that she would have to ask him. The Chalactan visibly stiffened at that, staring up at him with chin held high. As if. She wasn't going to beg a Sith. Or an oblivious teenage boy, for that matter. Did he have to have everything spelled out for him? Not that she could have, even if she'd tried.

This night have been nothing but one disaster after another, and that execrable peace sign he threw her way was just the nail in the coffin. Stay hydrated? Was that really all he had to say? She supposed it was better than 'nice butt,' his last parting words on Onderon. Violet eyes remained fixed on the Tiefling for a few seconds longer, watching him walk away, that tail of his swaying back and forth, mocking her.

With a huff, Samara turned on her heel and stalked away, shoving the credits she'd earned from the pie competition into the pockets of her faded jeans. Sith continued to be infuriating. @Sreeya

end of thread.​