Drunken Jedi Master

Atton glanced at his Devaronian opponent. Lousha Byss wasn't happy. And why should he be? Lousha was out nearly six-thousand credits.

He also had hygiene habits that would make a Gamorrean blush and a reputation for collecting the arms of Pazaak players he deemed too 'lucky.' Atton liked to win, but he liked his arms more-- and he wanted to make sure they stayed attached to his body.

A loud thud and the sound of raised voices at the entrance to the den momentarily halted any thoughts of self-preservation. The scoundrel looked up from his +/- 3 card to find Mandalore jogging towards him with Urela's limp body slung over his shoulder.

"What the hell happened?" Atton demanded. He was out of his chair before he could finish his sentence, fumbling for her wrists, unable to breathe until he located a strong, steady pulse.

"Aww calm down, Rand. She might be hell unleashed with a lightsaber, but that doesn't mean she can hold her liquor," the Mandalorian chided.

The limp figure wriggled around to face her captor before punching him square in the kidney, "Dooan tok about me like I'm nawt here youu big tin can."

Her belligerent act of defiance won an appreciative snicker from Mira, who sat one table over, playing Pazaak with a chubby Rodian. Unlike Lousha, the Rodian didn't seem to mind losing heaps of credits to the cleavage-sporting bounty huntress.

"Urela, are you okay?" Atton whispered. He didn't want the Mandalorian or the merciless redhead to hear the rabid concern in his voice.

"Atton? S'that you?" The Exile's long robes and golden hair obscured her face and she pushed and pulled at both until she could finally see him. "Heeey," she squealed excitedly, beaming an upside-down smile that could melt carbonite.

"Hey, yourself," he answered nonchalantly. He didn't want appear too eager. The Jedi-knight-in-shining-armor act was Mical's schtick.

"Mandy-- s'it hot in here, or s'it just me?" Urela knocked loudly on the Mandalorian's armor causing the proud warrior to sigh, exasperated.

"It's just you-- and quit calling me 'Mandy."

"If you're hot, you can always take your robes off," Mira offered with a sly wink to Atton.

All three members of the Hawk's crew were startled by the zeal and speed with which Urela complied with Mira's 'helpful' suggestion. Singing an old Twi'lek lounge song at the top of her lungs, the Exile-- still hanging upside-down over Mandalore's shoulder-- plunged into an elaborate striptease which granted her the full attention of Lousha Byss. "I think my luck is changing. I want to play cards with her," he said, nodding in Urela's direction.

Hearing this, the Exile's eyes snapped to the Devaronian. She sized him up briefly before letting out a low, throaty chuckle at his expense, "S'got nuthin' to do with luck. You can't win 'cuz Atton cheats," Urela announced, and then she drew her index finger to her lips, making a loud shushing sound-- as though the information she had imparted was a secret that should go no further.

Mira saw Lousha reaching for his blaster and she quickly placed herself between him and his intended target, "That girl is too drunk to know what she's saying and you ought to be careful who you pick a fight with, Lousha. You don't want to stumble into a herd of Jedi," the huntress purred, flashing the hilt of her double-bladed lightsaber.

"That's funny. I always heard it was a 'nest' of Jedi," Atton added with a cocky grin as he casually revealed his own lightsaber for the Devaronian's benefit.

Mandalore, still carrying the drunken Jedi Master on his back, made no pretense of being subtle with his huge repeating blaster, "You're both wrong. Jedi tend to travel in 'packs' and they aren't half as scary as a Mandalorian who hasn't had a proper drink."

Outgunned and outmanned, Lousha retreated with his hands in the air, cursing under his breath, while Urela-- who had been passed out and snoring atop the Mandalorian's back-- began to stir. Sensing she had something important to say, Atton and Mira looked to their master, prepared for whatever wisdom she might grant them in this situation.

"I like 'barrel' of Jedi or 'gaggle.' Gaggle is good. Gaggle sounds friendly," Urela trilled happily.

Heavy blaster fire coming from the direction of the cantina caught Mandalore's attention and he unceremoniously dumped Urela into Atton's arms. "Do me a favor-- put her to bed. I have to finish the fight she started next door."

"Urela started a fight at the Cantina?" Mira asked, incredulous.

Mandalore grunted as he reloaded the chamber of his gun, "Yeah, her and that crazy droid. You want to help me finish it, Red?"

Mira's lips twisted in a coy smile as she unhooked the lightsaber from her belt, "For Mandalore!" she teased, tossing her hand up in a flirtatious mock salute.

She's heavier than she looks, Atton mused to himself, as he hustled Urela through the lively Nar Shaddaa refugee sector.

"I'm not heavy."

"Can't you stay outta people's heads for more than two seconds?!" he growled defensively.

Urela clasped her hands tightly over her ears, "It's not my fault-- you're the one screaming your thoughts at me."

A passerby took in the spectacle and slyly nodded his approval at the scoundrel. It bothered Atton that the man might be thinking about Urela in that manner. A few months ago, he would have met the man's approval with a wink and a conspiratorial smile, but Atton was no longer the man he used to be, the Exile had begun to influence small changes in his personality from the moment she wandered into his life wearing only her underwear.

"I can walk by myself," she chirped. She slid down the length of his body and into a somersault and from there, she began to walk on her own... sort-of.

Every sentient in the sector seemed fixated on the lithe, half-dressed woman doing acrobatic cartwheels down the center of the pedestrian walkway. Atton scrambled to keep up with her-- to reign her in-- but it was like trying to herd kinrath, only kinrath tend to bite less.

"Urela, remember what I said about keeping a 'low profile'?" he hissed.

"You're right. I don't... feel so good," she confessed.

He held his arms out to steady her and when he was satisfied she could stand on her own, Atton covered her bare shoulders with his robe to protect her from the chilly Nar Shadaa evening. She's thinner. It was something none of the others would have noticed-- not even Mical, but Atton has every inch of the Exile memorized and he knows-- since Kreia's betrayal on Malachor V, Urela has grown thinner.

The night air is helping. Clarity sparks her hazel eyes, and Atton is briefly tempted to confess the truth: he loves her. Urela cleansed the Darkness in his heart. She met the beast and accepted him unconditionally and because of this, he has sworn to protect her from everything and everyone-- including himself.

"So... uh, how many drinks did you have?"

"Ugh. Too many."

He nods and hands her a kolto pack. The breeze carries the soft, clean scent of her hair: ripe llannas and borma berries. It's the same generic shampoo they all use, but on the Exile it smells like an exotic spice, enticing Atton to bare his soul.

"I remind you of her, right? The woman who showed you the Force?"

The Exile's innocent question breaks the awkward silence. Her dark eyes are pinned to him so fiercely that Atton knows his answer is important to her-- so important that he steers into full-tilt evasive maneuvers. "Well, I guess there are similarities-- what with the whole Force connection and the lightsabers, and the cryptic Jedi speak."

Urela frowns, turning her gaze back to the neon lights of Nar Shaddaa. Through the Force, Atton can feel her pulling away and he panics, "Now that you mention it-- I think you might have something in common..." She turns back to face him expectantly as he leans in to whisper, "I think both of you kinda had a thing for me."

The Exile laughs, her features contorting in bemused disgust. "Don't flatter yourself," she huffs.

"You think I'm kidding? he asks, his strong arms encircling her waist. She scolds him with a pointed glare as she struggles to untangle herself, but her reflexes are dulled by the alcohol and Atton gently pulls her body back against him. Soft lips tenderly brush her ear as he murmurs, "I've seen how you undress me with your eyes, Urela. It's a little embarrassing."

His gamble pays off. A tiny smile tugs at the corners of her mouth before she pulls away, punching him playfully in the arm.

Atton has only loved two women in his short, miserable life. The first he killed with his bare hands because she woke the living Force inside him, but with Urela, Atton sought the Force-- and he did so for the express purpose of keeping her safe.

"I... uh, I should... probably get you back to the ship, huh?"

Most of the effects of her inebriation are gone as they trudge towards the Ebon Hawk. The Exile is animated as she tries to convince him the fight in the cantina was a simple misunderstanding. Without warning, her body slumps forward. She lets out a breathless gasp and Atton is sure she has seen everything-- all the ugliness he still carries inside, the jealousy and insecurity he fights to keep hidden from her every hour of every day.

He backs away as she falls towards him, her hands clutch his chest and Atton's heart leaps at the sight of her leaning on him. Needing him. Without hesitation he pulls her close, lifting her body against a nearby railing, covering her mouth with a long, slow kiss until she pulls away, breathless.

"Atton..."

"Yeah?"

"I think I'm going to be sick."