Log:Playing The Game
Playing The Game
OOC Date: May 30. 2018
Location: The Little Secret, Nar Shaddaa
Participants: David Ironside, Dawn Antilles, Lando Calrissian, Leia Organa
In all of her young life, no place she has ever been has fascinated her more than Nar Shaddaa.
Haze from its glowing neon lights and holographic marquees blankets the cityscape from where she sits, by a circular high table with chairs overlooking its main thoroughfares, abutting one of its many bars. The small moon is always buzzing with activity, and tonight is no exception; every avenue is teeming with the city's robust nightlife. It seemed as if beings from all walks of life interacted freely here, uncaring of the social trappings they've fallen into - a place where the elite mingled with gamblers and courtesans, smugglers and merchants. Pockets of shadow intersperse with bursts of frenetic color and in the end, that is what it represents to her - a kaleidoscope of opportunity and hedony, a potent drug to rejuvenate the senses.
She has managed to temper her urge to wander into the nearby sabacc tables and try her hand against those who gamble for a living, and opts to review what she knows of their objective. She had been tasked to assist David "Gold Leader" Ironside to recruit a certain person indirectly tied to her own history as a legacy among the remains of the old Rebel Alliance. A dossier that reads more like an adventure novel than anything else occupies the datapad in her hands, and it doesn't even cover most of the stories she has heard about Lando Calrissian, Gambler Among Gamblers. He was a legend in his own right, too, and not just because of what he has done for the Cause.
There is also the prevailing word that /everything/ anyone has ever heard about him was true. From the stories she has heard from her own uncle, she can actually believe it.
Dawn Antilles is out of uniform, preferring the look of a career spacer while here: black snakeskin leggings are tucked under knee-high boots, paired with a sleeveless turtleneck that matched the green of her irises. Slender shoulders carry the stitched-up, reddish-brown leather of a jacket that has seen more action than she could ever admit to (not in the least because she spent most of it running away from certain trouble, shrieking unladylike epithets). Pale fingers are only half-protected by a pair of fingerless gloves. The rich, dark chocolate of her hair has been tugged upwards in a loose twist, errant locks framing her expression and the large eyes that give her the look of utter innocence yet to be despoiled by Nar Shaddaa's fascinating, corrupted heart.
Looks tend to be deceiving, though. Especially here.
Her drink, some colorful cocktail of questionable potency, sits as if forgotten in front of her as fingers fly over the holographic keyboard in her datapad. Lips quirk upwards in a smile at the suggestion that claims Lando Calrissian to be 'retired'.
"You know everyone uses the word often lately. Either they don't really mean it, or it doesn't mean what they think it means," she remarks, amusement glinting in her eyes. Considering what she just heard about Wedge, it seems to be the running theme of the week.
---
The aforementioned Gold Leader, David Ironside, is sitting opposite Dawn, watching her mirrored datapad through the transparent screen. "Retired? Maybe they just mean retired from fighting." David shrugs, his own drink decidedly alcoholic. "So, you're a sweet, innocent Corellian girl, right? Ever been to Nar Shaddaa before?" He looks slightly bored, the clubs really not his scene most of the time. David takes a sip of his whiskey, looking up from the mirrored datapad to the young lady. "So do you know Calrissian? Ever met him at a birthday party or anything? He did blow up the second Death Star with your uncle, right?" He looks genuinely interested at the answer, the young man does love him some space combat history.
---
There's a laugh at that, Dawn looking up from her datapad to regard her companion, dark brows lifting towards her hairline. "I didn't think Calrissian liked to fight unless he really had to, when it comes to imminent bodily harm, he's probably a pragmatist," she replies, setting down her datapad and inspecting her own drink; the look of her is reminiscent of one who /fully expects/ something to jump out of it, though when she deems it safe enough, she tries a small sip. There's a small wrinkle of her nose, in time for his remark about being a sweet, innocent Corellian girl, setting the glass down and giving it a nudge to the side. And while she doesn't laugh again, amusement glitters from those emerald depths.
"I don't know about sweet," she remarks with a grin that bares just a hint of her teeth. "We're definitely spicy back in Corellia. I'd say if you're looking for a comparison, I'd be cayenne, but that would be a lie. I'm probably more like cinnamon. /Maybe/ nutmeg. Something mild and terribly inoffensive."
His lean forward and the genuine interest present on his features tempers that blazing grin. "He sure did," she confirms. "But honestly I've never met him before, though I've heard tons about him. And I've never met any of the group's - " She is non-specific, anyone could be listening here. " - old guard. My uncle was careful not to expose the rest of the family too much to the risks he was undertaking. Not like it stopped some of us from following in his footsteps anyway, but we were never far away from his thoughts, even back then."
Searching his face, she inclines her head. "Not really your scene, huh? It's not really mine, either, but the deck gives us a good view of the comings and goings."
---
David tugs at his worn leather jacket for emphasis. "It's either this, any sort of flightsuit, or my swim trunks." He smirks. "Much more suited for a bar of some kind, something with less.. less.." A grand gesture around. "Neon?" He smiles anyway. "But if you're having a good time, I'm sure I could have one of those too." He raises his glass conspiratorially. "A toast, to good times in bad places."
---
The toast he makes has her lifting her glass, crystal lips clinking together when she returns his toast. "I'll drink to that. To good times in bad places."
She takes another swallow; the telltale signs of a pleasant buzz pushes up from under her cheeks, flushing them with rosy color. "The music can definitely be better," Dawn confirms, expression wreathed with her signature good humor. "There's only so much oontz-oontz-oontzing I can take." After a moment, she tucks in her datapad and slips down from the high chair. "Tell you what, the guy we're meeting seems to enjoy being fashionably late anyway, why don't you drag me to your scene?" A pause. "Lead me to your scene? Lure me?"
She waits, her hands sliding in the pockets of her jacket, but once David moves, she follows him. "Jazz," she says. "Or blues. That's the kind of bar music I can get behind. Might be a little outdated for a girl that looks like me, but I'm not a huge fan of the oontz. And most intergalactic rap is /terrible/."
---
David lifts a finger as he hops off his high chair. Without saying a word, he finishes his drink, leaving the empty glass behind. "You know what we are? Old souls in a new world." He grins, putting a hand on Dawn's arm to lead her out without losing track of the girl, as sometimes does happen in crowded areas like this.
Once outside, David raises a hand, hailing a hovertaxi. Gallantly opening the door, he holds it for Dawn to slide on in, so he can follow. "Starport District." he tells the driver, a Gran, firmly. "And no funny business, I know every road there." The Gran lets out a noise that is halfway between acceptance and indignation, but David's already looking back to Dawn. "You'll see. There's this bar called the Little Secret. It's quickly becoming one of my favorite stops."
---
Callused pilot's fingers loop around the hinge of her elbow and Dawn easily takes up the comforting presence of one built to withstand punishment better than she can. Her arm loops into his grip, and for those observing, they appear like two lovers or friends enjoying the night out in the town, and have absolutely /nothing/ to do with clandestine arrangements connected with the perpetual struggle to bring lasting peace to a galaxy that has experienced so little of it. A much taller form than she is, her legs quicken their pace to stay abreast of him, stepping out of the garish nightclub and into the streets of Nar Shaddaa.
"I can believe it," she says with a grin. "Some cultures believe in reincarnation, after all. As if Life is a wheel that cycles over and over, shunting the same souls in different bodies. Maybe we knew each other then too, huh? A long, long time ago, in another galaxy far away?"
She releases his arm when he opens the door for her, a look of astonishment flickering briefly over her pale mien. The smile on her lips becomes an appreciative one, slipping into the taxi.
Mention of the Little Secret has her tilting her head back with a laugh. "I like this place already," she tells him gamely. "Speaking of old souls though, it sounds like you know your way around here pretty well. I've only been a few times, and always for work, but it never fails to get the itch going." She lifts her fingers, wiggling them for David. "If this career path doesn't work out for me, maybe I'll make a living just gambling, though I'll probably need to hire a crew of bodyguards to watch out for me. Can you imagine me trying to intimidate anyone threatening to break my kneecaps because of winning too much? I'd snap like a twig."
---
Before long, the taxi takes the pair to the Little Secret, a little bar under the Parmac Spaceport. When the door opens, David Ironside shoves a couple of credit chips at the Gran who drove them, and a bit more as a tip. "Good man." he compliments the driver who didn't take the scenic route. He shimmies out of the seat, his feet firmly on the ground now, again holding the door open for Dawn Antilles. "Here it is. Right here, actually." He gestures towards a small entrance, that would've been invisible to anyone passing by without having it pointed out to them. "The Little Secret, named for a cocktail the owner invented herself. Or the other way around, I never asked."
David leads Dawn in again, definitely okay with her hanging on to his arm like this. "You order for us, I'm not sure what that cocktail was you had earlier, but they should have all the stuff here that goes in it." David says with a little smile.
---
Lando, for his part, sits at a banquette flanked by two lovely ladies -- you know the type. He is all smile -- confident, cocky even -- but whether sincere is another matter entirely. He nurses a drink of clear liquid, on ice. A little older, showing signs of wear, but every bit Lando.
---
"That right?" The brunette wonders, led inside by the taller pilot, and sneaking glances over her shoulder - a habit that she has taken up by necessity, albeit she isn't wholly untrained in that regard. The attempt is surreptitious, even practiced. Though when David regales her of the history behind the joint's name, she tilts her head to look up at him and flashes him a grin. "Sounds like we're gonna be ordering a couple of Little Secrets then, I think."
The Little Secret is very much as advertised - situated in a district in Nar Shaddaa that still attracts the kind of traffic to give it comfortable business, the bar emits the ambience of the classic intergalactic speakeasies most adventurers prefer. Lighting is low, but not so much that it renders the lovingly crafted details of the place invisible. The bar is well stocked, and its tables and chairs are filled with citizens from various corners of the galaxy. A few sabacc games are in progress and those are the ones that earn an interested eye from the young Antilles as she wanders past with her companion.
As promised, once they reach the bar, the young woman orders two of the namesake cocktails. "Always knew I'd get to go to interesting places and stellar new finds if I hung onto a little bit of faith," she tells David, her voice low but spiced with her effervescent good humor. "What are the chances that we'll find our wayward gambler here, huh?"
And the moment she says the words, green eyes fall on a specific figure in the other end of the room.
"....wow. That's lucky, even for me," she says, nudging David slightly and nodding towards Lando's direction. "What are the odds?"
---
David glances at Dawn when he's nudged, then follows her nods. Huh. "What -are- the odds?" he replies in a put-on sportscaster voice, including signature on-air chuckle. The sweet Zeltron bartender on duty sets down two glasses, then goes to work filling them meticulously with the appropriate ingredients. David smiles at her. "You're a joy to watch, you know that?" The bartender flashes a smile right back, setting the glasses down with a warning to Dawn, one David has undoubtedly already heard. "These cocktails are designed to get a Zeltron drunk, so humans only get to order two over a single night. Enjoy!" She adds lightheartedly.
---
Lando can't help but notice the attention, but then it's not as if this is the first time he's been noticed or semi-called-out. He lifts his glass and gives a nod -- perhaps to the both of them but if just one then most definitely to the lady of the pair. He gestures to the seats opposite him and his small harem and says, "If the odds are with you, go ahead and roll the dice."
---
She hears the words 'designed to get a Zeltron drunk' and those evergreen irises turn to the iridescent cocktails poured in small martini glasses. "Ha ha ha ha," Dawn laughs weakly. "Really? I mean...yeah, duly noted, Miss Bartender. It'll be fine. I drink this stuff all the time!" Blend in, woman. /Blend in/.
If the exaggeration is true, it's certainly not very convincing. She pushes David's drink towards him while she picks up her own, staring into the contents skeptically. After taking a deep breath, she tilts the glass to her lips and takes a nursing sip.
Oh, stars. This was how she was going to die. Not being blown up into cosmic dust by a dangerous Imperial frigate, but in a small hole-in-the-wall in Nar Shaddaa, chasing after pink elephants before being run over by nighttime traffic.
That small jolt of liquid courage has her pivoting to face Lando 'Gambler Among Gamblers' Calrissian, flashing him a smile that would put distant stars to shame. She takes a step towards him...
...and nearly biffs it into another table as the potency of the Zeltron drink hits her like a ton of bricks.
"Sorry, sorry!" she cries, before she trails on over to where Lando has invited them to sit, face the color of a roasted beet.
---
David and the bartender share a look of amusement briefly, before Dave hops off his stool to assist Dawn, standing behind her with his drink in his hand. His free hand holds the back of her chair steady, only sitting down when he's sure she's not tipping over. "You like your drink, Dawn?" he offers in a joking tone, only then having his first sip. He turns to the table, and Lando, and the harem of women at his sides, and sets the glass down. "Little Secrets." he grins conspiratorially.
Then he realizes who he's really sitting across a table from, and promptly loses his words. He mentally slaps himself. Focus, David. You were like this when you met General Skywalker. Knock it off.
---
Lando gives a nod to his left and his right and the living decor vanish into the bar? Powder room? Town beyond? He takes a sip from his glass -- managing to make even that simple gesture cool -- and says, "Talk to me." He glances then at C3PO, then returns his focus to Dave and Dawn. Mostly Dawn.
---
The man tells the two of them to talk to him, and it doesn't take much for Dawn to deliver. Words lubricated with that dangerous cocktail pour forth from lips glossed with just a touch of pink; the younger Antilles' military leanings have educated her to be somewhat more pragmatic in her aesthetics, though it doesn't take much to enhance what is already there, naturally striking by way of her youth and with eyes reminiscent of emerald auroras. She sticks out a hand towards Lando, her easy, guileless smile returning.
"We were looking for you, Mr. Calrissian." She addresses him formally. "...my companion here can probably tell you more and what for, but that's the truth. We're connected to some old acquaintances of yours....you know. The getting-in-trouble-and-destroying-/really/-expensive-battlestations kind." She doesn't say the damning words out loud, savvy enough to know that in Nar Shaddaa, /anything/ is fair game, even hearsay. "My name is Dawn....Dawn Antilles. This is David Ironside."
She pauses, before she smiles. "It's an honor, /and/ a pleasure. I'm really curious to hear whether all the stories are true. My uncle's told me lots growing up."
---
Threepio woddles into the room alone and turns his glowing photoreceptive gaze around the inhabitants of the Little Secrets and though he obviously recognizes a few faces, it is one in particular that has drawn his attention. He moves to join a shoulder slumped woman of about four and a half foot hutched over in her chair with both dark gloved hands wrapped around the half empty glass on the table in front of her. "I see him." An unassuming old woman shouldn't have gone unnoticed in a club like this for that long.
One hand raises and flicks her fingers towards the waitress who leans in to listen to the quiet woman's whispered words. Moments later a bottle of Alderaanian brand arrives at his table, the waitress indicating the old woman, "From the Princess."
---
David taps two fingers to his temple in a salute when Dawn introduces him. He'd been looking at her from the moment she said 'Mr. Calrissian', a look on his face that spells out his need to correct her, it was General Calrissian in the history books on Naboo, after all. The young pilot reconsiders, though. There must've been a reason they're only now attempting to bring him back into the fold.
When the brandy gets set down with the message, David cranes his neck to see this "Princess", eyes widening before he composes himself and gives her a slight nod of acknowledgement. Also the same for Threepio. He gestures towards an empty seat at the table, there's a lot of them now that the harem is gone, but he doesn't press the matter.
"Right." David turns back to Lando and Dawn, reaching for his drink. "Obviously you're aware of everything that's been going on over the past year." Has it been a year? Doesn't matter. "And frankly, we need help." For the specifics, he'll defer to Dawn and her datapad.
---
Lando watches Dawn as she speak. Not just the parts needed for talking. He says, "Antilles... Antilles... Now that brings me back. How is that old space dog?" He turns then to David and gives a quick nod "Nice to meet you both." Turning his attention back to Dawn, he says, "As for your connections, well... I'm always up to share a story or two about the past. Each one is different but they all end the same way: once upon a time." Again that smile. "Wait a minute, that is how they all begin. But you get the point." He shrugs, then and looks to David. "Once upon a time, I used to help people, too."
---
It isn't her first foray in clandestine meetings, remembering the arrangements she and Rear Admiral Watts had made before their successful attempt to take the impregnable Fortress Ivory - outside of Resistance installations, there are no ranks. With First Order agents everywhere, she simply cannot assume the risk when she doesn't have to. It begs the question, however, as to /how/ she still manages to be careful despite the telltale flush of drink on skin too pale to hide it.
If she notices the look from the distinguished (and infamous) rake, the young woman either takes it in good stride or is utterly oblivious - the odds are even there, given Dawn's bright-eyed approach to most things that fall across her path. "The old space dog tried to retire and it didn't take," she replies to Lando easily. "He's returned with his wings again....just among us, Mr. C, we were hoping you would do the same." Her expression softens. "I know we probably don't have the right...you've made a lion's share of sacrifices as it is, but we wouldn't be asking if we didn't truly need it."
She would say more, but the sudden divergence of David's attention has the brunette's stare wandering over to the older woman at the bar, but she doesn't recognize her - or the gold-plated droid. She has never met either, having been kept out of the Resistance side of the conflict until very recently. So her companion's visible startlement earns him a curious look. What was she missing?
---
The old woman stands from her table and makes her way over to the collection of youths and relics to add one more, hooded though it might be, face to the mix. Her gloved hand lays lightly upon David's shoulder in a silent greeting as she looks across him at Dawn, nodding to her as well. "You are a difficult man to track down, Calrissian." She says as she reaches up to remove her hood and smooth out her braids along her shoulders.
Having heard just the end of his once upon a time to David, she frowns just slightly, but she doesn't offer any addition aside from fixing him with her dark eyes. There's a card up her sleeve, but she's hoping to not play it against a well versed gambler like Calrissian.
---
David looks up at the owner of the hand on his shoulder, smiling slightly, not daring to speak anything out loud to greet her. Instead, he addresses her comment. "We just walked in on a whim and there he was. We weren't even supposed to meet here." He grins at Dawn briefly. "Antilles found him, though." A thought crosses his mind suddenly, and it comes pouring out of his mouth. "Oh! This is Dawn Antilles. Yes relation. To Wedge." So smooth. The pilot takes his drink, headed for the door and fresh air. And away from that star-struck feeling that keeps messing with his coherency. "Excuse me." he mutters as he heads for a clear mind.
---
A glitch in the matrix? For just the briefest of moments a hint of surprise ripples across the smooth surface of Lando's cool at Leia's reveal. It is gone oh so fast, and what remains is what was before: a whole lotta Lando. "Well I'll be damned," he allows with a smile. He glances around the room -- a quick inventory of exits? Then he looks back to his tablemates. He says, "Talk about odds. Looks like it just became three to one." He stands then and adds, "Where are my manners." He glances down in front of Leia where an extended hand might find itself.
---
The nod from the stately older woman gets a smile from Dawn, still in the dark as to the woman's identity, but David seems to not just know her, but regard her with a tremendous amount of respect and even affection. "Pleased to meet you," she says sincerely, regardless as to who she could be. But when the pilot suddenly excuses himself, lips part in an almost protest, before her jaw shuts with a click. A disbelieving expression follows him as he just wanders away from the table, leaving her in the company of intergalactic legends by herself...and one that she is presently unaware of!
"Uh..." she begins, flummoxed, aware that Lando also seems to recognize the fourth to join their party. "Should I also...?" She gestures vaguely towards the direction Dave vanished to, wondering if the meeting ought to be best left to the pair.
---
Leia bows her head to Lando, a warm smile in place as she pulls one of the chairs free of the table and slides down into it. Threepio wanders over to stand to the older woman's left shoulder, also regarding the smuggler. "It is good to see you have beaten the odds of survival, General Calrissian. I trust that your business ventures are garnering you lucrative dividens?" Always the charm is Golden-Rod.
"Threepio." Said with an amused shrug, following David out of the establishment with a turning glance that ultimately settles onto Dawn. "Please sit. I was unaware that Wedge's niece had joined the Resistance. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, though." Inviting her to Lando's table with an easy smile and a glance back to Lando, "So... aside from flashy, how have you been?"
---
Lando gives the departing pilot a nod and a glance before returning his attention to the ladies. "I see how it is. Why don't we set aside the theatrics and get straight to the sales pitch." An appreciative smile takes away what otherwise might be a hint of sting to the words.
---
With the droid identified identified as Threepio, and the fact that the woman speaks of her uncle in such familiar terms, and devoid of the usual surprise and worshipful regard the name generally entails to a new generation of fighter pilots, Dawn's lips part to reply to the older woman before realization sinks in and she is left staring. She may not have met them before, having not attached faces to names she has heard in her youth, but now that one has been uttered, the pieces rapidly fall into place. The flush on her cheeks becomes all the more pronounced.
No, no scratch her earlier assessments as to the method of her death: THIS is how she was going to die. Wilting from embarrassment at not recognizing General Leia Organa/Skywaker. Her mouth parts again, and then closes again, rendered speechless as panicked wheels turn within her cranium, questions dovetailing in rapid succession: what was she doing here? Oh stars, what if someone else recognizes her? Would she have to shoot people and make a quick getaway? But she's /worthless/ with a blaster and an even more useless driver!
Some genius /you/ turned out to be, Dawn Antilles!
Straight to the sales pitch, says Lando Calrissian, and said panicked mind runs further out of left field. Green eyes fall on the bottle offered to their esteemed objective in the middle of the table, and all she can say is, while her composure falls into pieces, is:
"....we....have amazing brandy?" she offers, in the midst of her sudden and unforgiving performance anxiety.
---
Leia doesn't need to be a Jedi to feel the embarassment radiating off of Dawn beside her and turns to regard her with a calming, almost motherly stare. Slowly her hand reaches out and lays reassuringly atop the young Antilles. It's given a single squeeze, then retracts to lay atop her own hand in front of her.
For the moment it would appear Leia is willing to let Dawn do the negotiations, but as seconds turn into longer seconds she turns her eyes a little towards the younger woman beside her. "We have almost no resources to pay you and the danger of each mission is worse than anything we faced during the Rebellion." Put the cards out on the table, "But danger is never been something you ran from and as I understand it, you have no need for credits. We need someone who knows the ins and outs of the outer rim, someone who can make business deals with local government officials to move elements on and off worlds controlled by our enemies. We need Lando Calrissian."
Her expression drops as her eyes lower to the table top between them.
---
Lando says, "That sounds like something that might work on Han." Rhymes with ran. "That hero stuff always sat better on his shoulders." He shrugs. "As for me... I'm retired." He smiles. "Doesn't mean I won't consider the occasional piece work, if the company is good and there's a chance at an upside."
---
David steps back inside, glass devoid of any liquids. He sets it down on the bar, heading back over to the table he'd so suddenly abandoned before. He pats Dawn on the back, by the shoulder, whispering "I know, right?" to her as he sits down.
David looks up at Lando, hearing the offer being declined. "You can't sit in the middle. You can't only occasionally consider working with us." The star-struck demeanor from before seems to be gone. "They're going to be everywhere, soon. Latest reports say they took Kashyyyk. You and I both know, and don't even pretend you don't, that the wookiees would never voluntarily work with the Order." He stands up again. "We have facilities. Luxuries of a quality unheard of on Nar Shaddaa. All you'd have to do is be on hand for briefings, intelligence.. the occasional smooth talking. Pure Lando Calrissian stuff, and there's nobody else better suited to fill the part." With that, he turns and leaves, having said his piece. Now he has to go outside to cool off and unclench his fists.
---
Oh, stars. Leia Organa/Skywalker is /reassuring her/. The motherly stare goes a long way in calming her, and deep within the cage of her ribs, she feels something squeeze tightly, remembering her parents. The grip the elder stateswoman gives her is returned, almost unconsciously, never one to leave such gestures unanswered. So many years removed from her own kin, only to fall into something absurdly dangerous...
...and now in the company of giants. Historical titans, with the power to shape the galaxy around them. Her passionate, beleaguered heart hammers wildly against her bones. Conflict is not unknown to her. War is something she has studied and learned as intimately as a lover. But sitting across from Organa and Calrissian, the reality of her situation sinks in like a stone, blood rushing through open veins so quickly she can scarcely breathe. /This is actually happening/, right before her wide green eyes.
And like the experienced commander that she is, she lays out her case, makes her entreaties to a man as mercurial as the wind. A student of history, Dawn can't help but wonder if she thinks of her father whenever she is placed in a position to negotiate. Not the dreaded Anakin Skywalker, the man who became the most feared individual in the galaxy....but the man who raised her, Bail Organa. She has watched old recordings, listened to his old speeches, and as Leia speaks, she can't help but watch the memories of hours of study superimposed upon her.
And David returns, to fully back up his princess.
When Lando mentions another legend, she snaps out of her reverie, when he reiterates his status. 'Retired', he said...
"...what if we play for it?" she wonders.
/Oh stars, what are you doing?!/
"...I mean, not now," she hurriedly appends. "But whenever we need your help, instead of asking, or imploring...I'll play you for it." There's a hint of a grin. "I like to gamble too, you see. I can't help it, if anything some would say that's what I actually do for a living. And if I lose, I'll come away with a good story of losing spectacularly to Lando Calrissian."
---
Lando takes Dave's speech in good humor, nodding as the man speaks, and then watches him storm off. Dawn gets a series of looks as well, not for what she says, but for what she is. Nuff said. As for Leia, he smiles once more. "I asked for sales pitches and I got them. You've piqued my interest. Let's pick this up when we are all sitting in the lap of luxury on... Nar Shaddaa."
---
Leia never flinches at Lando's deflection of their offer, "I understand completely." She says with the kind of genuine tone that suggests she means it, but whole heartedly disagrees. She is temporarily disrupted by David's near venomous reaction and she once more watches him depart only to return her gaze to Dawn a moment as she offers to play the old gambler at his own game.. literally.
When she returns her gaze to Lando it's with a brief nod and a smooth exit from the chair where she's been sitting. "If you would give Threepio your comm information we can set up a more formal meeting next time. While I have no problem with clandestine rendezvous, I really did not mean to corner you in this manner."
Her gaze lowers, "I heard you were on world and wanted to come speak with you. I wasn't sure you had heard... this sales pitch did work on Han... and then Ben murdered him." She frowns, the sadness of that loss still so fresh it's nearly an open wound. "It's been good seeing an old friend, Lando. Next time we can have a drink for Han?" Then she's turning to exit herself, shoulders steadily slumping as she walks to shorten her height. Her head once more disappears beneath her hood and she's just a haggard old woman whom no one would pay any mind at all.
---
Lando watches Leia depart and then stands, giving a quick bow to Dawn before making his own grand exit.
---
And just like that, another meeting is set, something more formal, and situated in Nar Shaddaa. It means, if nothing else, a chance to stay longer in the moon that holds so much of her fascination.
Dawn stands up once the princess makes her leave, and she grins towards Lando, picking up the cocktail that she has almost forgotten on the table. "We'll see you soon," she promises, before she vacates the gathering point as well, to find a potted plant to surreptitiously water with her dangerously potent drink. She has no idea where Dave has gone, but it probably isn't at all wise to guzzle the stuff and /somehow/ find her way in a hovertaxi. Stars only know where she would end up, if that ever happened.
