>>5552715>>5552717>>5552738>>5552739>>5552748>>5552760>>5552790>>5552791>>5552798>>5552835>>5552837>>5552860>>5552882>>5552894>>5552897>>5552910>>5552938>>5552942>>5552944>>5552992>>5552992>>5553127>>Leaving outvotes Staying by the cutoff time.Looks like I can do some more votes as setup for the next thread....it's a small galaxy. If the Force wills it, then it will bring the two of you together again for another encounter. Hopefully, it will be an encounter with significantly less of an Imperial presence, as well as no impending timer for a dramatic heist or break-in.
Still, it's a damned shame. Drinks and whatever comes after with Nomiana notwithstanding, the Max Rebo concert would have been something to enjoy. How many times had you begged Master Larid to make time to see a live performance? He had genuinely tried, but alas. Missions hunting down Sith artifacts and Dark Jedi don't conveniently schedule themselves around band tours across the Rim.
"I suggest we take the picnic to go," you state quietly. "We'll have a fresh basket delivered to the ship for the others to enjoy on our way out of Rion."
Swan and Choi both nod, and quickly finish what they've laden onto their plates. Ceyla, halfway through a jelly-filled pastry, hastily gobbles it down, all the while scrambling to pack up utensils, napkins, pitchers, and novelty cups. Within all of thirty seconds, the table is as you left it - empty and devoid of any Jedi.
As you reach for your communicator to call the <span class="mu-i">Albatross</span>, you notice <span class="mu-i">something</span> there that hadn't been there before. With a frown, you pat at your belt, eventually retrieving a small bit of folded paper. It had been hidden well, flush between the leather holster and the pistol it was holding.
"Something wrong?" asks Swan, concerned.
You open the paper, and start to read...
<span class="mu-i">IThe timing's kinda bad for me, so we might have to rain check tonight's dance. But I'm glad you aren't dead, especially after what happened on Mylus.
Let's meet up sometime if you're ever in the neighborhood. Or if you've got another planet with better music, then call me!
Can't be asked for either of us to stay safe, so promise me that you'll stay alive until the next night of dancing! You were the only one to even come close to matching my tempo.
But until then, you stray sophist...</span>
Accentuated at the bottom of the letter is a set of planetary coordinates, a HoloNet address, the lipstick impression of a kiss, and the faintest scent of Nomiana's perfume.
...the hug, you abruptly realize. She must've slipped it into your belt when she went in for the hug.
"Master?" asks an anxious Ceyla.
...huh.
...so that's how it feels.
>>What do you wish to do?>Go straight back to Amagi. Before anything else, you need to dump the Conclave somewhere safe.>Make one detour before your return. You had orders from the Triumvirate to at least survey two planets.<span class="mu-s">[VOTE OPEN FOR EIGHT HOURS]</span>
