fascination is her name (star wars | amilyn & qi'ra)

[fiachairecht]

fascination is her name. star wars (solo + sequels), amilyn & qi'ra. dinnertime espionage on gatalenta. 819w, rated t. for spookykingdomstarlight in everywoman 2019.

Someone is staring at Qi'ra.

Whether or not this is a good thing has varied over the course of her life — to be noticed could easily have meant death with the White Worms, but a certain amount of visible notoriety was to be expected these days if she wants to continue working her way up the ranks of the Crimson Dawn — but the one constant has been that she is very good at noticing who's looking at her.

Tonight, no matter how many times or how subtly she casts her gaze down the long grey dinner table, she sees no one looking at her. And yet the stare lingers: on the back of her neck, between her eyes, she even fancies she can feel it land on the thick gold brocade of her belt.

Qi'ra suppresses a sigh as she sets down her fork, half-listening to the latest interminable poet droning on in the corner. When she'd been sent to Gatalenta to meet a potential customer, she'd expected — well, she hadn't been entirely certain what to expect, beyond lots of nature and lots of dirty looks from those who guessed that her allegiances lay somewhat closer to the Empire than Gatalenta's did.

Nature, she sees plenty of — the outdoor dining area of the restaurant looks out over the vast green lawn the sweeps out to the edge of the clifftop, the canopy of lights overhead were strung between towering trees of a type she'd never seen before but that had to be several hundred years old. The dirty looks have been in more meagre supply, and seem to be more about her colourful clothes standing out amongst the drab Gatalentan greys and whites — not that she's complaining. They draw the best sort of notice, the kind that allows her to make an impression and then immediately be forgotten as the other person gently, properly ignores her, and Qi'ra catalogues the reactions with care.

But the one thing she hasn't seen is her contact.

Hardly has the thought crossed her mind, though, that she notices a brief commotion at the door as a young woman with bright blue hair gets up from her table. Qi'ra watches without watching as all eyes are drawn to her, as the music quiets and the poet — alone among the room — continues their recitation undaunted.

As soon as the woman reaches the bar, the sensation of being stared at vanishes. The blue-haired woman speaks briefly with the bartender, before acquiring two tall glasses full of something silver that she takes with her as she drifts over to a corner table, one of the few designed for one or two diners. She blows a kiss towards the communal tables as she walks, and a faint sheen of glitter hangs in the air following the path of her hand.

All Qi'ra has of her contact was a codename, but she's been in this business long enough that she knows exactly who she's supposed to talk to.

She gets up as the disturbance the woman had caused begins to die down, taking her tea with her and feeling not at all guilty about the half-eaten meal she's leaving behind. She makes her way slowly towards the double doors leading back inside, taking care to pass the woman's table. She looks up as Qi'ra approaches, and, caught by the sharp interest — almost verging on hunger in her eyes — it's easier than Qi'ra had strictly meant it to be for her to stumble and tip her full mug over the woman's table.

"I'm so sorry," she says quickly, shaking her data chip down from her sleeve as she reaches for the napkins on the woman's table. It's a basic trick, one that everyone who deals with the Crimson Dawn ought to know, but the woman grabs Qi'ra's wrist before she's completed the transfer, standing up to pull her close.

Qi'ra thinks about reaching for her blaster, but before she can react, the woman's kissing both her cheeks, familiar and lingering and sending an entirely inappropriate amount of want coursing over her skin.

"Amilyn," the woman murmurs. "Get me my Avatar-10s and I'll show you modifications to them you don't even know how to dream about."

Qi'ra stares, speechless for the first time in longer than she can remember. Muscle memory forces her to slip the data chip into the woman's napkin, and basic manners put a smile on her face, but the best she can come up with is, "I'll see what I can do."

She tries not to hurry on her way out, resists the urge to look back at Amilyn, no doubt regal in her corner. Soon, she thinks. If she moves a few things around on her schedule, she can be back on Gatalenta — with at least three Avatar-10s — very soon.

It's been a while since she's had such an interesting motivation to return to a planet.