Star Wars: Honey Trap (TheCorsair and Lady Vi)

"Do we what?" Quentin echoed, turning bright red. As the seconds passed and his sides began to quiver, it was clear that far more of the red came from trying not to laugh. Suddenly, explosively, he failed. Guffawing, he fell backwards and sank slightly into the mattress. "That... that's... that's great!" he choked out as he laughed. "Of all the questions..."

Finally, getting himself mostly back under control, he propped himself up onone arm. "I.. I'm sorry. It's a good question. Just... just not the standard set if questions we tend to get asked." Wiping his eyes again, he dug under his left hip and extracted his lightsaber, a gleaming thing of polished silver with a bloodstone ignition switch. "I suppuse," he chuckled, looking at it, "that there's a joke to be made about us spending hours a day whipping around a steely rod that pulses and vibrates..."

Still chuckling, he sat up and laid the saber on a low stand. "But, seriously... the Order discourages - strongly - any activity or emotional tie that might distract you from your duty to the Republic. Hence the famous ban on marriage, put in place...what? A thousand years ago? Two thousand?" A shrug. "Exact date's not important."

He shifted a little, looking at Naadia. "So, being serious, mastrubation would be a grey area. Like drinking, or having a hobby. As long asit isn't distracting you from your duties, who cares?"
 
His sudden explosion of laughter caught her off guard. Naadia was left slightly offended by the reaction, but at least he seemed more at ease. Still, she didn't enjoy being laughed at.

"I thought it was a valid question." She said, huffily crossing her arms. "Every jedi is just a bundle of tight wires waiting to snap. I thought there was an easy explanation."

Still, something about his answer nagged at her. Master Neris had been so guilty about his visits. He often said that it would cost him his title if he was ever discovered. At least he had said so before she started delivering the honey. But idf Quentin was telling the truth...

"So why do jedi dislike prostitution so much? Neris was so worried that your masters would find him here, he had me memorize an absurd cover story about a robbery. It seems like the order should love courtesans." She waved her hand vaugely at the area around them. "The high-strung ones can blow off a little steam without any chance of emotional entanglement. Bah. This is why I could never have been a Jedi. I spend too long looking for holes in the rules."

She rolled her eyes and shrugged as if discarding the thought. They sat in silence for a few seconds before Naadia winked playfully at him.

"So you admit to 'swinging your saber', hmm? Naughty man. Maybe you should spend less time with your 'swordwork' and more on your piloting and next time we won't be stranded in space." She rested her hand a few inches above his knee and gave him a gentle squeeze. "Or was that your master plan, hmm? Lure me out and cripple my ship for a few days alone?"
 
"Prostitution," Quentin answered, "is far too frequently a form of slavery. For every legitimate, licensed courtesan, there's a dozen or so individuals pressed into 'service' by a criminal organization, or a corporation that thinks it's above the law, or by a bank trying to recoup a bad loan." He shook his head, focusing on his saber hilt for a moment. "The Order opposes the practice not on moral grounds, but because of hiw easily it can be twisted."

A pause.

"Of course, the same could be said of nearly any human activity." He shrugged, still staring at the saber. "But I don't set policy. I just do my best to make a difference. To do what's right."

His mood was turning a little sour, which made her unexpected comments about his piloting and 'swordsmanship' seem even funnier. "All righ," he laughed, "I confess! I arranged the wardroids and the Headhunters, just to get the opportunity to show off!" He grinned, humor in his blue eyes. "What can I say? I've always felt awkward talking to women."

After a moment the humor faded, replaced by curiousity. "But... what about you? Is prostitution something you wanted to do, when you were vrowing up? Or did you just sort of... I dunno... fall into it?"
 
"Do you really think this is the sort of life a girl can just fall in to?" She gestured at the room, one eyebrow raised in incredulous amusement. "I wouldn't say that it was my first choice, growing up, but... My mother was a pleasure slave on the Rim, still is, sort of. She's always had a knack for charming her masters, so it's less 'slavery' and more..."

Naadia laughed and shook her head. Her mother was a unique specimen, to say the least. Using mere words to describe the woman seemed like a hopeless task.

"Her masters were more like boyfriends. They absolutely doted on her. Actually, she's married to her current owner. He tried to surrender her contract, free her and all, but she said it was better for 'tax purposes'. Personally I think she just likes being pampered. I thought for a while that I'd be a dancer, but... Dark stars, have you seen what they pay a dancing girl? It's absurd! Mother offered to pay my expenses, but I would rather pay my own way." The small woman smiled and there was a shadow of wistfulness in her moss-green eyes. Ten years seemed like such a long time now, a lifetime. Not that she regretted the decision at all. Naadia loved her life. Well, when the ship was running and droids weren't shooting. "Mother had the connections higher up, so I got licensed and she managed me for a little while until I built up my own clientele. My idea was to make a bit of money on the side and continue dancing, but it just didn't work out that way. Not that I'm complaining, I see maybe one client a week, if I feel like it, and pick up one shipment of honey a month. The rest of my time is my own and it clearly pays the bills."

'I just do my best to make a difference. To do what's right.' His words lingered in her head, so naive and so sweet. How old was he? Judging from the line of his jaw and the comfortable way he filled out those broad shoulders, he couldn't be too far off of her own age. She envied his optimism a little. If she still had his view, would she be on stage now? Probably not. Naadia had never been quite that naive. Still...

"I wish all sentients had your... Drive. The galaxy would be a better place if everyone did their best to do right."
 
Quentin listened to Naadia describe her mother, and a little of her childhood. "You make it sound... normal. In a good way," he hastened to add. "I mean that. Perhaps your choice of career was influenced by your mother, but what child's isn't? And... well, I'm glad to hear that it really is something you wanted to do." He looked around the cabin, but his focus was far, far away. "Everybody should have that choice."

He found himself looking at her closely. Not lasciviously, like he had before, but curiously. Trying to see her as a person, rather than as a subject for his investigations or a smuggler or a sex object. She was... what? Around his own age, give or take a few years? Perhaps a little, oh, what was a good word? Not lost, no. And not jaded. She seemed like life was still sweet to her. Cynical, maybe? Just a little? But then, who was to say his own view of the galaxy was the only right one?

"I wish all sentients had your... Drive. The galaxy would be a better place if everyone did their best to do right."

He shrugged at that, feeling more embarrased by the compliment than by any of her flirtations. "Perhaps," he agreed. "Perhaps. But... sadly, I think that most people do." A sigh. "I won't claim to be any deep font of wisdom, but most people I've met don't think of themselves as evil. Even the worst people I've met - and you meet some terrible people, when you're apprenticed to a Guardian - tend to believe they're doing what they need to do, just to get by."

He fell silent for a moment, then snorted. "Hell, listen to me. Twenty-five standard years, and I sound like a madulin old man. Maybe we should go and get that bottle of whiskey again, before I start talking about how things were better back in the old days?"
 
She laughed softly, the sound barely more than an exhaled smile. The dark-haired woman stood abruptly, flashing an obscene bit of leg as she brushed past him. The breeze of her passing carried hints of washed-off perfume, whiskey, and honey so faint it was almost imperceptible. Back to him, Naadia touched a panel on the night-stand that triggered the faceplate to slide away and reveal a small liquor cabinet. The look in her green eyes when she turned back to him was positively impish.

"More whiskey, then? Or would you like something else?" She asked with a smile. Turning back to the cabinet, she bent at the waist to better look inside. The movement pulled up the robe far past anything resembling proper, though her leg blocked his view of anything more risque than the side of her smooth rump. "There are several brandies, a wine or two, a lovely little muja cordial..."

She dug around through the listed bottles, though a quick eye would see several other, less-legal vials. Apparently the menu also included several exotic spice variants, not to mention the iridescent lilac honey.

"It's not as complete as the cupboard in the parlor, but there's a nice little selection here." She looked back at him, still bent over. Her eyes met his and a knowing smile crept over her face. "I'm sure you can see something you'd like?"
 
Their brief conversation had made Quentin reassess his attitude, and allowed him to see Naadia as an actual person. Somehow, as she bent over to examine the cabinet - allowing the hem of her robe to show off a great deal of shapely leg and even the curve of her rear - this fact made it harder to ignore the display she was putting on. He bit his lip and swallowed hard, unsure how to react. Despite himself, despite the vast gulf between his upbringing and her own, he was beginning to like this woman. Oh, and she was a dream of beauty and lust.

The quick glimpse of the lilac-colored merakuya honey didn't help. The stuff was potent, and even if it wasn't physically addicting the memory of heightened senses and Force abilities made him crave the stuff. His breathing grew thick as, for a moment, he imagined drizzling it over Naadia's body and lapping it off... Deliberately exhaling, he opened himself to the Force and stilled his thoughts, reciting the Jedi Code as penned by Master Odan-Urr: There is no emotion, there is peace.

"More whiskey, then? Or would you like something else?" She asked with a smile.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. "Like I said before," he answered, "I'm much more of a beer man, when I drink. A good lager would be nice, if you have one?"

She dug through the bottles, arching her back just a little to show herself off. "There are several brandies, a wine or two, a lovely little muja cordial..."

There is no passion, there is serenity. Somehow, feeling his pulse race at the sight of her, he was skeptical of that.

"It's not as complete as the cupboard in the parlor, but there's a nice little selection here." She looked back at him, still bent over. Her eyes met his and a knowing smile crept over her face. "I'm sure you can see something you'd like?"

There is no chaos, there is harmony, Quentin reminded himself. There is no death, there is the Force. But those moss-green eyes spoke of passion and chaos, and of life instead of death. "There is," he agreed, rising from the bed to stand behind her. He didn't quite touch her as he bent over, but he was close enough to her to feel the heat from her skin as he reached into the cabinet and withdrew a bottle of brandy. "I've heard of this," he murmured, breath warm on her hair. "Matale-Sandral, bottled on Dantooine. Deceptively soft and gentle, with an unexpected fire."

His arms almost brushed hers as he lifted the bottle up to examine the label. "Yes, I think I'd like to sample this."
 
Naadia wasn't disappointed by his choice, but she was a little surprised. Quentin practically radiated desire. It was only her imagination that heard his pulse pounding away, but any longer and the beat might deafen them both. He was careful not to touch her, too careful to be an accident. This little fact, added to the way he focused on the label, meant that he thought to delay a 'collision'. That was well and good, but if Knight Hall thought he resist for long... Well, there's a first time for everything, but Naadia doubted he would be the one.

Seduction came as easily as breathing to the woman. Men and women both fell to her whims, often before Naadia had consciously chosen them as a 'mark'. A well-timed smile was all it took to secure a table at Coruscant's finest restaurants, a wink and her meal was free. After so many years of her mother's training, Naadia had more trouble 'turning it off'. Most of the time it wouldn't have mattered, life was easier this way, but Quentin had brought up an interesting question: is this what she wanted?

She turned her head to better see his face while she considered him. Attractive yes, but plain, nondescript. Did the Jedi surgically alter their guardians to help them blend in? Naadia herself had been on the sharp end of the scalpel a few times, so she couldn't judge. No, physically he was nothing extraordinary. There was no reason for her to be relishing the warmth of his nearness the way she was. No reason for her pulse to go skittering when his breath hit her ear. No reason at all... Except...

He was looking at the bottle like it was a treasure, as if fascinated by its existence. She knew he only used it as a distraction, but the knight seemed genuinely interested in the label at the same time. He was resisting her advances with more fervor than most, and that should have irritated her. Instead, she found herself looking at the familiar bottle and trying to see it as something new and worthy of attention. 'Unexpected fire' indeed.

"It's quite nice, I think you'll enjoy it." She took a pair of thick-walled tumblers from the cabinet, their clear glass reflecting the room's light as Naadia set them on the nightstand and stepped away. Her fingers brushed his without hesitation as she took the brandy and popped off the stopper. Pouring a generous measure in each glass, she handed his over before placing the bottle on the stand. She didn't bother re-sealing it. "Sit, and sip. This one has a way of surprising you."
 
Quentin stepped back, feeling a gentle shiver of heat as her fingers brushed his. Then Naadia had the bottle, and was pouring a generous three fingers of brandy into each of two tumblers. "Sit, and sip," she said, handing him one of them. "This one has a way of surprising you."

The Jedi didn't sit. Instead he raised his glass, tapping it against hers. "To warmth," he said, "and... pleasant surprises." Then he sipped the dark amber fluid. A moment later, he was coughing as the liquid burned down his throat.

"Well..." he coughed out, "you... you can tell... I don't drink much... liquor..." Wiping his eyes, he glanced at her with a sheepish expression and a self-depricating laugh. "So. So much for the myth of the Jedi as a smooth, experienced operator with plenty of experience." Cautiously, he took another sip. This time, warned by his previouis experience, it went down more easily.

Liquid swirled in the tumbler as he considered it. "This is nice," he concluded. "Just a bit stronger than kind of drink I'm used to." Another laugh. "I must look like a hick, next to the kind of men you normally meet. Awkward around you, nearly coughing brandy all over myself..." A shrug. "But, hey. Everyone starts somewhere, right?"
 
She smiled and took a sip of her own beverage. Naadia would never laugh at a client (unless they paid for it, of course), but Quentin wasn't a client, was he? Still, she refrained from bruising his ego any further and did not laugh. Not out loud, anyway. Green eyes dancing in amusement, she took another long pull from her tumbler as if to say 'see what I can do? A tiny woman, frail and soft from luxury?'. When she say on the edge of the bed, she was careful to leave him a comfortable amount of space to sit beside her. His jokes and comments hid the barest edge of insecurity. It would be easy to miss, but the courtesan was trained to latch on to such weaknesses. A person who left her presence feeling strong and comfortable was a person more likely to return. If he was a client, she would have showered him with tender praises and soft lies until he truly thought himself the charming and self-assured socialite. He would change to fit his new persona, she would pretend that he hadn't, and they'd both indulge the fantasy for as long as possible.

But Quentin wasn't a client, she reminded herself of the fact one more time and patted the bed for him to sit. She didn't really want him to change like the others and play make-believe, so tonight she would be honest.

"I would be lying if I said you weren't... unique among my professional acquaintances." She began with a smile. "But you're not the most... uncultured. I think you might be shocked by what the newly wealthy get up to. I once entertained a young woman who tried to eat my floral arrangements, thinking them a salad of some sort. The same woman also had a penchant for perfumes, she went through cases of her favorites every week. One evening she offered me a drink. Of perfume. She mistakenly thought it was an expensive liquor."

She shook her head and laughed at the remembered horror. The poor girl had been only a few months off the farm and still dazzled by Coruscant's lights and beauty. She had spent her inheritance so quickly... Hopefully the farm wasn't too dull now.

"So no, dear, you are not quite a 'hick'." Naadia shrugged and gave him a small nod of sheepish agreement. "You are naive, uncultured, and painfully innocent, but not a hick."
 
"So no, dear, you are not quite a 'hick'." Naadia shrugged and gave him a small nod of sheepish agreement. "You are naive, uncultured, and painfully innocent, but not a hick."

"Oh, I dunno about that," Quentin laughed. "I actually ate part of a sculpture once, myself." He sipped at the brandy. "It was on Aitrao III. Master Valis had gone there to serve as a moderator in peace talks between the ruling government - which had come into power after a coup - and the rebel forces that opposed them. He'd just chosen me as his padawan, and so I went with him."

He grinned. "I was... thirteen? No, no, I had just turned fourteen. And there I was at a fancy dress party, admitted because of my status as a Jedi and the apprentice of Master Valis, and the only person in the room under the age of thirty." Leaning forward, his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tell the truth? Jedi discipline or not, I was bored."

Sitting back, he took another drink. "So, with nothing to do other than get cooed over by matrons and answer the same few questions endlessly, I gravitated to the buffet. Right in the center they had this elaborate construction of spun sugar candy sticks. So, after I had my fill of little sandwiches, I did what any bored fourteen-year-old confronted with a mountain of candy would do: I started snapping pieces off and eating it."

The grin turned slightly embarrased. "I had no idea that spun sugar was a popular medium for the greatest artists of Aitrao to work in. It turned out I'd eaten parts of an excessively-overpriced work of abstract art that had been intended as the centerpiece of the buffet."

He laughed again. "Poor Master Valis. He had to reprimand me publically, for form's sake. But the whole time his head and neck crests were rippling - something he only did when he was trying to suppress laughter. From then on, any time I did something ignorant, he'd refer to it as 'eating sugar'."
 
The courtesan's eyebrows were arched in polite interest at first, but her expression changed quickly as his story went on. Composure flew out the airlock and her jaw dropped, mouth open in horror and eyes wide. She was familiar with the extravagant art of Aitrao, wasteful as it was. More importantly, Naadia was familiar with the price tag of such items.

"You didn't!" She exclaimed, horrified. For a moment that shocked gasping cry was her only reaction, then she started to laugh. It wasn't the sultry, composed chuckle of a dignified woman, it was the incredulous giggle of a nervous girl. The embarrassment of his story was almost too much! "You win! I withdraw my judgment: you are a most uncultured hick!"

She smothered her giggle quickly and hid her amusement behind another sip of her drink. Her free hand toyed with her robes hem while she considered Quentin and his stories. Yes, he was 'unique'.

"I think I would have died of shame. It must take a strong soul to move past such an awful event." The flattery fell naturally from her red-stained lips. Some habits were impossible to break.
 
"Shame isn't something you die of," Quentin countered. "It's just a reaction, and you can control your reactions. And it was a valuable lesson about assumptions." He hesitated. "Still, it took nearly three years before I was able to eat at a diplomatic event."

Quentin drained the last of his brandy, and set the glass down on the side table next to his lightsaber. "See, there's something a lot of people don't really understand about Jedi. Everyone thinks we aren't allowed to have emotions." He shot a glance back at Naadia. "Which isn't true - we're living beings, after all, and we experience the full range of emotions for our species. But!" He held up a finger for emphasis. "We're trained to experience them, but never to let them keep us from doing what must be done."

He considered the two objects on the side table, lightsaber and empty glass, then turned to face Naadia once more. "Love. Joy. Peace. Even hate. All of them have a place, and all of them have their benefits. But people come first. We exist to serve and defend the people, and the Republic."

Then, out of nowhere, he leaned forward. Catching Naadia's chin with one hand, he kissed her gently, tasting the brandy on her lips. "But," he smiled, breath warm on her lips, "I do still enjoy the taste of sugar."
 
While she enjoyed his conversation, Naadia would have been lying if she said she wasn't pleased by his sudden advance. His kiss was soft and still a little tentative, like he was holding back just a little. Silly man. She returned his kiss with fervor, her tongue working it's way into his mouth as if it belonged there. One of her hands slid up his thigh, the touch soft and insistent. Who exactly was he serving now, she wondered vaguely as she pulled back for a breath. Her eyes met his and she almost asked. It seemed like too much talking, however.

"Everyone enjoys a little sweet." Her voice was low and soft while she nuzzled against his throat. When she kissed his neck, his pulse throbbed against her lips and gave her a nice gauge of his excitement. Of course, bringing her hand up a few inches higher on his leg helped with that as well. "There's no sin in indulging just a little..."

A panel on the far table lit up discretely. De'o had apparently finished his task early. Naadia considered checking the report, but what harm was there in waiting a little longer? If it was important, her droid would surely notify them. She pressed her hand a little more firmly against the warm hardness of him and bit tenderly on Quentin's fluttering pulse. De'o would wait.
 
Quentin felt his pulse race as Naadia's hand slid up his thigh. Now it was her turn to lean forward, her lips somehow both soft and strong as she parted his. He sucked at her tongue as it slid into his mouth, his lips parting farther and kissing even more enthusiastically. For a timeless instant there was no thought of duty or codes or anything but the soft wet heat of her mouth and the scent of her skin.

And then she pulled back, just a little, and he found himself breathing as if he'd just run a mile. "Everyone enjoys a little sweet." Her voice was low and soft while she nuzzled against his throat. "There's no sin in indulging just a little..."

He made a small noise of pleasure in the back of his throat, both at the feel of her lips tracing his pulse and her hand brushing his hardening erection. "Sin? A Jedi is not," he quoted with just a touch of humor, "a creature of morals..."

A panel on the far table lit up discretely, and he noted its insistant call as quickly as she had. The droid, no doubt. But the droid was out there, and Naadia was right here, and right now he didn't care abou anything but the way her hand pressed against him and her teeth scraped the skin of his throat.

Ignoring the light, he rested his palm on her knee and gently caressed the alabaster length of her thigh. Her skin was like silk, he noted, smooth and soft and deceptively strong. There were firm muscles under his gentle touch, obvious even as his fingers slid under the hem of her robe and onto her hip. His other hand caught hers, bringing it up so he could lightly kiss her fingertips. "You taste of honey," he whispered as his lips trailed down her wrist. "Residue of merakuya, perhaps?"
 
"It is possible," She admitted with a coy smile as he nibbled at her skin. The Jedi was not nearly so skittish as she expected and Naadia was delighted to note how quickly his hand wandered. "The crystalline form makes for a lovely shimmer, so I use it as cosmetic occasionally. One taste and already you recognize it... I am not surprised."

His mouth moved lower along her arm, allowing her to stroke his ear affectionately for a moment. She watched him with tender amusement. The man was eager and earnest, certainly not 'clumsy', where on earth would a 'good' jedi have found this sort of skill? 'Not a creature of morals' indeed. Good, because neither was she. Naadia moved her hand away from his groin and moved herself into his lap. She knelt on the bed with one knee to either side of him, much the same way she had straddled his lap earlier in the cockpit. Freeing her hand from his grasp, she untied the sash of her robe. The fabric fell open but only partially. A few inches of bare flesh and the suggestion of more of her silky skin for touching, all right there in front of him.

"Tell me, Quentin, do you want more?" She rested her wrists on his shoulders and traced her nails over the nape of his neck. From the husky sound of her voice and the way her eyes trailed down his chest, she might have been offering either the honey or herself. Truthfully, either would suit her mood at the moment.

Meanwhile, the flashing panel continued to fail at getting her attention. Really, you'd think De'o would give up!
 
"It is possible," She admitted with a coy smile as he nibbled at her skin. "The crystalline form makes for a lovely shimmer, so I use it as cosmetic occasionally. One taste and already you recognize it... I am not surprised."

"After one taste," he smiled, nipping at her wrist, "I can't imagine ever forgetting..."

Naadia moved her hand away from his groin and moved herself into his lap. She knelt on the bed with one knee to either side of him, much the same way she had straddled his lap earlier in the cockpit. Freeing her hand from his grasp, she untied the sash of her robe. The fabric fell open but only partially. A few inches of bare flesh and the suggestion of more of her silky skin for touching, all right there in front of him.

"Tell me, Quentin, do you want more?" She rested her wrists on his shoulders and traced her nails over the nape of his neck.

The hand he'd rested on her hip now slid behind, cupping the smooth curve of her rear and pulling her close against him. His other hand tangled in her hair as he kissed her again, fiercely, exploring and claiming her mouth with his tongue as he rocked against her. A low moaning growl escaped his lips as he lost himself in the feel of her slim, strong body pressed against his, in the heat of her mouth and the honey-floral scent of her skin. "Yes," he murmured, breaking the kiss.

His hand tugged gently, encouraging her to arch her neck and back just a little as he traced his lips over her jaw and along her throat. "I," he whispered as his teeth scraped gently across her skin, "want... " Now his lips planted a line of light kisses from her collarbone down into the valley between her breasts, tongue tickling the soft skin above her breastbone. "You."
 
He reminded her a bit of a starving animal. The way he held her so possessively, so tightly.. His kisses seemed to devour her thoughts, drink her conscious mind until there was nothing left to analyze and plot. It was nice, to have this sort of passion again. Well, Naadia would have thought so if she were capable of coherent thought. She could feel his erection under her as he gripped her buttocks. Every movement pressed them together and teased irresistibly until she was gasping and gripping his tunic like it was the last solid thing in the room. Now he was kissing her, toying with her. She was torn between pushing him back and tearing away his trousers, or enjoying the foreplay a little longer... Or a lot longer.

"Oh..." was the only response that she could manage. Not witty or clever in the least, but there was no way he could misunderstand that soft moan. She shifted her hips and pressed down against him, moving in slow deliberate rhythm. She would need to remove his pants soon enough, if only to avoid messing them completely.

"Pardon me, Mistress." The familiar voice was jolting but she wanted badly to ignore it.

"Not now, De'o." She lifted Quentin's face and kissed him with all his passion and then some. Her movements continued for a moment until...

"Mistress, it's urgent!" The droid's agitated state was nothing terribly new, but it was enough to pull her away.

"WHAT?!"

"I was querying the Holonet relay and downloaded the usual-"

"De'o... Tell me quickly or I will have you dismantled so fast..."

"There is a warrant for your arrest! Master Hall as well."

Naadia froze and stared into Quentin's eyes as if he had some clue for her. Incredulous, she stood up and walked towards the blinking panel.

"What? But... we... Why?! 'Dead or alive'? 'Highly dangerous'?!" She red from the screen, voice growing more and more shrill with every word.
 
Naadia's soft moan, and the way her hips moved against his, told Quentin that he was certainly dong something right. He responded by moving against her as well, moving his hips to meet her slow, rolling rhythm. His shuddering sigh of pleasure matched her own moan, and he molded his hands against her body as he slid them up her side and over her ribs and down her throat, fingers hooking in the gauzy material of her robe and opening it wider. Fingertips slid gently over the smooth mounds of her breasts, and...

"Pardon me, Mistress." the droid's voice interrupted.

"Huh?" he asked, glancing at the com as his Jedi training reasserted itself.

"Not now, De'o." She lifted Quentin's face and kissed him with all his passion and then some. Her movements continued, and he made a decision that his vaunted 'Jedi training' could wait. There was no reason to assume there was a crisis, simply because her droid couldn't...

"Mistress, it's urgent!" The droid sounded concerned, although whether that was genuine emotion or simply a programmed escalation to encourage a response was difficult to say.

"WHAT?!" He wasn't sure which of them said it first, but the same word burst from both lips to mingle in irritated harmonies.

"I was querying the Holonet relay and downloaded the usual-"

"I'm going to wreck your droid," he growled, nipping at her throat in an effort to redirect attention.

"De'o... Tell me quickly or I will have you dismantled so fast..."

"There is a warrant for your arrest! Master Hall as well."

Naadia froze and stared into Quentin's eyes as if he had some clue for her. Quentin stared back, silently mouthing the words warrant for our arrest? She rose and, somewhat less gracefully, he scrambled from the bed and followed. As she vocalized her stunned reactions, he scanned the report. He was wanted for the murder of Jedi Master Nerris Kahn, for the deaths of twenty-two civilians as he'd shot his way out of Hangar 223 in Melix Towers, for drug trafficking, for betrayal of the Jedi Code and betrayal of his duties to the Republic. And Naadia was wanted for the same murder, for drug trafficking, for smuggling schedule one narcotics, and for espionage.

In an instant, the horny young man he'd been was shoved to the background by two decades of Jedi training. Gesturing with his right hand, his lightsaber lept from the table and into his grip as he strode towards the cabin door. "We need to see what's in this system," he said, clipping his blade to his belt. "We have to get your ship repaired, and we need to make contact with the Temple... make them understand we didn't do this."
 
Horror and bewilderment seemed to muddy her thoughts until the normally quick-witted woman was left gawping with her hands limp at her sides. It was ridiculous, simply absurd. A spy? Really? It was conceivable, that she might be some sort of mole for a polititian or some such, but why in all the bright stars would she want to be? And as for the smuggling: merakuya was certainly not classified as a narcotic, of that Naadia was certain. Some of her other 'party favors' certainly were, but the honey... Wasn't listed in the report.

Naadia read over the warrant notice again, then the accompanying news report. They listed several nasty spices (most of which she did possess, but... well, best to ignore that fact) but made no mention of her very valuable cargo. It was odd, to say the least, but she couldn't begin to think of what it meant. Glancing over at Quentin as he sprang into action, she raised an eyebrow.

"What do you intend to do with that?" She nodded to his saber. Her robe was entirely open and slipping off her shoulders, though it seemed pointless to cover herself. Out of nervous habit, she toyed with her hair as she followed him to the door. "Is it really wise to contact the jedi? They're the ones accusing us, after all. I... Something's not right. I don't smuggle spice and I've never been a spy. The report says we fired shots and killed people, but my ship doesn't even have weapons. It's practically stock! I know you want to clear this up, but..."

They were out in the hallway now, walking towards the cockpit. Just a few yards away, in Naadia's own quarters, was several million credits in illicit honey. Apparently it was enough to kill for. She shivered and pulled the robe up to cover herself.

"I just have a bad feeling about it."
 
"I don't plan to do anything with it," Quentin said, opening the door. "It's just... you know. Part of the costume. It's easier to think like a Jedi when you look the part."

He turned, heading up the narrow hallway that led towards the cockpit. Naadia, half-clothed and still delicious looking, followed him. "Is it really wise to contact the jedi? They're the ones accusing us, after all."

"I..." he stopped, turning to face her. "I don't know, honestly. There's clearly been some mistake, and we clearly didn't do any of what's in that report. And they're the only ones who can rescind that order..."

"I... Something's not right. I don't smuggle spice and I've never been a spy. The report says we fired shots and killed people, but my ship doesn't even have weapons. It's practically stock! I know you want to clear this up, but..."

"But..?" he prompted.

She shivered and pulled the robe up to cover herself. "I just have a bad feeling about it."

Quentin pursed his lips in thought. "Trust your feelings," he murmured. Then his expression changed, as if he'd reached a decision. "I do, too. Somebody in the Order set us up - only the Order could have sent that message. But... we still have to talk to them."

Turning on his heel, he strode towards the cockpit. "So we need to repair this ship first. And then I need to contact my Master. He'll believe me, at least." Silence, for a moment. "But we'll also need to find whoever it is that set us up."
 
She followed him up to the cockpit while tying her robe closed again. It was odd to her, following him around like this. Naadia was never one to chase after men for any reason, but allowing him to take the lead on this seemed like the best decision. And she rather liked the view from behind him. She sighed in frustration. It was tough to be angry with De'o for notifying them; he had certainly done the right thing but couldn't the 'right thing' have waited twenty more minutes?

"So we need to repair this ship first. And then I need to contact my Master. He'll believe me, at least. But we'll also need to find whoever it is that set us up."

She nodded and kept quiet as they stepped up into the cockpit. De'o started jabbering away, giving Quentin their location and heading as well as other technical details. It meant nearly nothing to the woman so she ignored it in favor of her own thoughts. Quentin would need all the information he could get, and she needed him to survive. It appeared that the jedi would be getting her testimony after all.

"We seem to be on the very edge of Hutt-space, several light years from any settled system. The ship has neither fuel nor supplies for such a journey at sub-light speeds." The droid said in his usual chipper tone. Naadia's stomach sank. "Luckily, I picked up a signal that appears to be a large space station, orbiting a sizable asteroid. At maximum speed, we will arrive in eight hours."

"Oh thank the... Wait, why wasn't it on the charts?" She asked suspiciously. Hutt-space was not a familiar experience for the courtesan, but she knew enough to be wary.
 
Quentin eyed the charts and the particulars of the signal they had received. "It's a grey station," he finally said, answering Naadia's question. "It'll be the sort of place owned and operated by legitimate businessmen, if you get take my meaning. Getting your ship repaired there won't be a problem."

He stared at the charts for a little longer. "The fact that we're now wanted fugitives won't be an issue either - the Council didn't put a bounty on us when they issued those warrants, after all. So there's no profit for the bounty killers. But... I am a Jedi." Finally looking up, he met Naadia's green eyes. "If they know what I am, they probably won't believe... no, let me rephrase that. They'll believe that whatever our story is, it's just a cover to put a Jedi on that station. At best, they'll refuse us landing. At worst, they'll blast us out of space."

He brooded on that, for a moment. "You... don't happen to have a men's wardrobe on board, do you? They say that clothes make the man, after all. And I need to be a different man."
 
"You... don't happen to have a men's wardrobe on board, do you? They say that clothes make the man, after all. And I need to be a different man." Naadia nodded, still chewing her lip at the idea of a 'grey station'. It had her on edge. Those places were dirty, crime-riddled hives without any concept of decency. Adding to the fact that the station floated in Hutt-space... well, Naadia was glad to have Quentin with her.

"I have a collection of costumes and emergency clothing on hand. The autotailor can alter anything to suit. It's back in the guest room." Turning away from De'o disturbing readouts, she began leading him back to the bedroom they left moments earlier. "The selection isn't fantastic, but... What sort of disguise would you like? Corsec officer, nerf-herder and farmboy are probably out. I have a slave-merchant's costume but it's a bit extravagant. The emergency clothing is fairly simple. It's selected to be rather nondescript. Although 'nondescript' on Coruscant may not work here."

She laughed suddenly and gave him a wicked smile.

"You could strip down to the waist and put a collar on. No one would look twice at a harmless little slaveboy."
 
"A harmless little slaveboy?" Quentin echoed, laughing. "No, I don't think that would work. I don't walk like a slave. No Jedi does." He caught her eye. "Or were you just looking for an excuse to get my shirt off?"

That question set off a series of thoughts, all of them both quite pleasant and quite counterproductive. He shook his head, focusing on the situation at hand. "I'll probably be most believable as muscle of some sort - a JOAT for your small operation, most likely. So 'Coruscant nondescript' might work - it may make me look like someone who's trying a little too hard, but that could work to our advantage."

He eyed the display. "I don't suppose you have any weapons onboard? I know several unarmed fighting styles, but I should probably go armed. Hell, we should probably both go armed, just so we don't look like targets." His hand rested on his lightsaber. "Something other than this, clearly."

Finally, Quentin rose. "D'eo, could you set a course for that station? And I'll go have a look at the clothes."
 
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