“There you go,” Photin remarked as she tucked the end of the wrapping tape under itself, “that should heal up nicely, but leave it alone until tomorrow night.” The Trandoshan uttered a slight hiss, turning his arm so he could see the whole bandage which covered most of his lower left arm. Photin nodded, then suddenly grabbed his hand, “and don't go flexing your fingers just to see if it hurts! Just let the whole arm rest, and the hand, okay?” Qyzen chuffed at her and rose from the chair, looming over her for a moment. He hissed a “Thank you, will avoid stress on hurt arm” and left.
Photin watched the hunter leave, then swept the bits of bandage, used kolto swabs, and stray ends of wrapping into the trash receptacle, and cleaned the table with antiseptic. “Now back to inventory,” she sighed, picking up her datapad and heading to the cargo hold. The ship was quiet, with most of the crew released for some much-needed shore leave. A glance out the viewport showed a pretty view of Brentaal Four, the darkness of night speckled and streaked with city lights.
Routine tasks can be onerous and boring, or they can be somewhat soothing, depending on one's frame of mind. There were a lot of things neglected during this last voyage, things that weren't high priority, but sooner or later needed to be dealt with. Photin allowed herself to become immersed in the repetitive task of inventory; if unstimulating, it was rather less risky than infiltrating a criminal stronghold, or fighting off pirates.
So it was that she jumped when a gentle cough interrupted her an hour later. She whirled in surprise to find a tall, handsome man standing in the doorway. “Tharan!” she said, “what are you doing here? Didn't you go planetside just this afternoon?”
Tharan smiled warmly. “I did – and I'm back! Surprise!” He stepped into the hold and glanced around, “I'm surprised myself, to find you here; I figured I'd find you resting, or meditating. Couldn't you send one of the droids to do this?”
Photin shrugged. “Most of the droids are undergoing maintenance, and the rest are working on the ship. And counting boxes is kind of restful after the last few weeks.” Behind Tharan there appeared the translucent form of Holliday, the projection of the sentient artifical-intelligence that was his constant companion.”Surely, you aren't bored with Brentaal Four already!”
“Oh, no, it's delightful!” Holliday's soft, breathy voice replied. “So many things to see! We barely landed when we saw – but I'll let Tharan tell you!”
“Thank you, Holliday,” said Tharan. “As you know, Brentaal Four is famous across the galaxy for its entertainments. Artists and performers come here from all over; I was scanning the holo-kiosks to see what shows were in town, when I saw this and was inspired!” He approached Photin, producing a small envelope from his pocket and holding it out to her with a wide grin. “I think you'll like these...” he began humming a sprightly tune; Photin recognized it immediately and cocked her head.
“Is that...” she asked. Tharan nodded. She took the envelope and peeked inside. “It is! And – the D'Carte Company itself?” Holliday giggled at Photin's reaction. Tharan, still grinning. “Two tickets to the D'Carte production of The Slave of Duty – and prime seats, I might add!”
Photin looked at the tickets, beautifully engraved on fine-quality flimsiplast. She looked at Tharan, then looked at the tickets again. “I – I can't take these. These must have cost a fortune – hundreds at least...”
Tharan held up a hand and grinned even wider. “Twelve hundred and fifty. That's for the pair, not each.”
Photin looked at him, blinked rapidly, then looked back at the tickets. Tharan turned to Holliday. “She's speechless. I told you she'd be speechless. The perfect gift for my favorite Jedi.” Photin's eyes narrowed at him, but he held up his hands defensively, “no no, no strings attached, no implications, nothing untoward, no hints or tricks! Just, well, we've been working together for a while now, and you have certainly earned my respect and admiration. And I've heard you humming some of their songs in those rare relaxed moments, so I thought-”
“-and Tharan had me peek into your music-preference files, too!” chimed Holliday.
His cheeks turned pink. “Yes, I did – but only to verify my observations!”
Photin breathed a deep sigh, then nodded. “I can't say anything but...thank you.” She smiled, “it's really too much, but I can't just tell you to sell them back, can I?”
Tharan winked, “that would just be rude,” he agreed.
“Um...but why two tickets? I don't know anyone on Brentaal Four, and these are for tonight.”
“The seller wouldn't part with them as singles. And you're not the only one who enjoys a bit of theater, after all. I rather hoped you would allow me to accompany you...” Photin's eyebrows rose, and there was a small noise from Holliday. “...as a friend and colleague!” he concluded. “What do you say, Madame Jedi?”
“I think I need to go get cleaned up! And find something to wear!” Photin strode out into the corridor, singing the song Tharan had been humming earlier:
I am the very model of a Senator on Coruscant,
My clothing always tasteful yet delightfully extravagant;
When I can't find a party, I will sometimes go to parliament,
And make a speech from time to time on nothing very relevant.
“I'll expect you both home by midnight!” warned Holliday cheerfully.