scavenger.

8 - lum (2)

To say that Jace was deeply, deeply uncomfortable would be an understatement.

The bounty hunter, as he apparently preferred to be called, was staring daggers into him, his eyes narrowed, leaned back comfortably and almost cockily in his seat.

Anri, to her credit, was tirelessly attempting to strike up some sort of conversation amongst the three, but every time the bounty hunter opened his mouth, Jace had the sense that he was being interrogated, somehow.

This guy knows something I don't, Jace thought uneasily. Or maybe he knows something I do. Maybe he knows something he shouldn't.

Or maybe he's just trying to impress her.

Jace hoped that was all it was. But also kind of didn't.

They clearly had some weird sort of history, given how brazenly Anri'd grabbed the hunter's wrist moments before. The familiar, knowing way she looked at him. Even the glare she shot at the hunter after a particularly passive-aggressive comment on his part—it wasn't a frightening glare at all. It reminded him more of a mother compelling her child to behave.

Jace fidgeted.

He had no right to be feeling this way, naturally. Stars, she was still practically a stranger. He'd only known her for a week, and in that time, he'd barely even learned a single real thing about her.

Well, except for the stories the bounty hunter was now oh so proudly regaling at the present moment. And—despite the strange new feeling twisting in his gut—Jace found himself listening with genuine interest.

"So," as the hunter was saying, "after that little episode with the Teedos, I knew that our little Anri was definitely going to need a blaster to defend herself with, and I, nobly, took it upon myself to hook her up with one. " His expression softened--as much as was possible on his rough features--as he looked at Anri, who was slumped in her seat, her arms crossed, obviously not enjoying the current conversation. "And," he continued, "she was the worst shot I'd ever seen in my life."

"Was not," Anri muttered.

"Was so," the hunter laughed, genuinely and without malice. It was as if Jace was no longer in the room--or the bounty hunter forgot he was supposed to be intimidating him. "Remember, when we first started, you missed the target by around two whole yards! You've got to give her credit, though, Jace," he said, his gaze returning to the pilot--but the look he had about him when he was speaking to Anri never left. He seemed to have forgotten his previous hostility entirely. "She held the blaster like a natural, and barely even flinched from the kickback. It was just like she'd held one before! In fact, if she weren't so godsawful in her aim, I'd've guessed she must've been a little child soldier before she came here. Maybe even a sharpshoo--"

"Don't," Anri winced, her voice unusually soft.

The bounty hunter immediately stopped talking and both men turned to her. Anri's eyes were closed, and although her expression was blank, obvious tears were building up under her lashes. Jace was suddenly overcome with deja vu. 

He quickly looked away, and found the bounty hunter studying him again, the look in his eyes indiscernible. This time, Jace didn't feel nearly as uncomfortable. He stared right back.

The three were silent.

Finally Anri let out an awkward laugh, wiping the wetness from her eyes, and leaned forward on the table, pushing her hair back. "Let's have drinks. It's too tense around here. I don't like tense—I want us all to be friends. Because the bounty hunter is my best friend, and you, captain, you're my newest friend, and we all ought to get along, since I'm in the middle of everything, and I don't like conflict." Having made this speech, she waved over a waiter.

"I don't drink," protested Jace, which was a lie for the ages. Actually, before all this, he drank all the time and often—his tolerance was really something to marvel at—but this was a pair of people he could barely comprehend sober.

"More for me," Anri replied simply. And to the waiter, she ordered—"Four mugs."

"Four?" the bounty hunter inquired.

"Two for me, one for each of you, since I need to be drunk to deal with this bantha shite. Well," she laughed, catching herself.  "three for me, since Jace is such a buzzkill."

Jace scoffed. "I am not a buzzkill."

"Oh!" she grinned, "so you'll be having some, too."

Jace fought back a smile, crossing his arms. As if petty peer pressure like this was enough to soften his resolve. "Absolutely not," he replied. And then, sweetly, "Else your best friend will kill me the first chance he gets."

"Nonsense," Anri said gravely, and she turned to the bounty hunter. "You wouldn't, would you?"

"Anri, you're a lightweight," the hunter said with concern, ignoring her question.

"Don't worry," she retorted, her tone suddenly dark, mocking. "You'll protect me."

This shut the bounty hunter up. Jace got the feeling he was missing something here, but certainly wasn't going to ask what it was.

"I'll drink," he decided, attempting to lighten the mood—and it worked, because when Anri's broad grin returned, it was extremely hard not to smile back.

"Oh, good!" she cheered, clapping her hands. "I'm glad at least two of us are in good spirits!"

Stars—right there, she seemed so familiar. It wasn't her that was familiar, of course—well, in a sense—but her mannerisms, her expressions, her teasing, even the way she was coaxing him into drinking right now. It kept dragging to mind images of Bheema.

The good parts, of course.

Where he was still alive.

Suddenly, Jace jolted—feeling a willowy hand, heavy with clunky rings wrapped around each finger, cover his clenched fist beneath the table. He looked over at Anri, who had her chin propped on her other hand, casual as ever. She turned to glance at him and gave him a lazy sort of smile, her eyes glinting.

Jace's thoughts were completely derailed now, and briefly he wondered if, somehow, she had done that intentionally.