milliways_bar | (no subject)

"Sure." Mara smiles. She sits. And flounders for a moment. "How are you? I see you're not...missing any limbs."

He blinks, confused for a second, then he glances down at his notes again and shakes his head.

"No, they're all still there. Or perhaps they just grew back." He shrugs. "I told you I wouldn't get myself hurt."

"You're not telling me something." Mara rests her chin on the table, trying to peer at his face as he looks down at his notes. "I'm a Jedi, remember? Mind reading thing?"

He chuckles and sets the top page aside.

"It is nothing of importance." He insists dismissively. "Just for every friend, I make at least one enemy as well. I prefer it that way. Keeps me observant."

She sits back up slowly, eyeing him. "Friend?"

She's not hopeful. Too much.

"A couple of them. I've finally decided that it's not worth arguing any longer." That's the only reason, really...

--Who's he think he's fooling?

Mara smiles at him, and it's a real smile. And it's pretty and all that jazz. "Thank you."

"I never admitted that you were one of them." He points out.

But he's smiling too. "You're welcome." And then he's staring at the paper again, almost bashfully.

"Jedi. I know what you're thinking." She's still smiling at him, if not nibbling on her lip a bit. She looks down for a moment, then around the bar, her cheeks a faint pink colour. "Hmm."

"Then you talk, and I'll think." He suggests wryly. "We might communicate a little better."

"I don't know. If I have to listen to all your thoughts, I might get scared." She nudges his leg with her foot. "But I can talk." She takes a deep breath. "So today, when I was going to the Jedi Council, Kyp Durron stopped me and made look at these plans for some restaurant they're rebuilding on Coruscant, and I'm like, why do I care? And he's like this is the best restaurant ever. In the history of restaurants ever."

She smiles at him and looks very vacant. "I can talk forever."

"Scared, flattered," He muses. "it's all the same coming from me."

He looks up at her again and stares for a moment. "...Right."
At this point his thoughts are just a jumble of 'WTF is she talking about and 'how do you say strangle in latin.'

Mara smiles. "This is why I let Luke do the talking most of the time. I'm the one who stands behind him looking sexy and dangerous."

He snorts. "Which more effective, madame?"

"It's very effective. You haven't seen what I wear to meetings like that." Mara smirks.

"Well then, next time you're expected at one, you ought to find yourself here." He is logical, you see.

"I would offer to speak for you here, but I'm better at looking pretty myself." A rueful grin.

"Well maybe we should get someone else to speak for us. Illyria or someone. We'll just stand behind them looking nice." Mara laughs.

He considers this. "We would look a little mismatched, I think."

Such matters are very important to him.

"We...can colour coordinate our outfits?" Mara giggles. Which is rare.

"That would be necessary, I'd say." He rubs his chin, writing forgotten for the moment. "We would need to coordinate fabrics as well. You cannot mix too much silk and velvet without looking gaudy. Lace, however, can never be over done."

No, he's not joking.

"I don't really like lace." Mara says. "Sorry, but I always hated my lace collars as a child. They were itchy."

She sounds reeeeeaaaallly young there for a moment.

He eyes her, clearly cranky, and almost offended by admission. He's got a lace cravat and cuffs after all, and he's going light on lace today.

"I see." He bits the pen idly and looks her over again, contemplating. If he gets too annoyed the pen might spring a leak.

"Embroidery then. To make up for it."

She glances up. "OH, but lace looks great on you! I just look...like a scary porcelin doll." Mara tries to fix this. "But you...I love your laciness."

"And embroidery is nice." She nods. "I like embroidery."

He raises an eyebrow and continues glaring, but only faintly.
He is slightly appeased, but still holding the pen between his teeth, not the fangs, though they are visible, as he shuffles through the papers.

"Then you should come see an opera sometime." He remarks, as he finds the page he's looking for and sets the pen down again.

"An opera? Like a French one? In France?" Her eyes light up. She's never been to Earth before.