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Datunda, Nelona 14th, 12731

More and More and More Every Day

by Jedi Knight VN Ysadora

Datunda

14 Nelona

12731

Davish:

Hon, look what I found.

Davish bumps the sensor with his elbow, closing the utility room door.

Vanya is seated on the floor, using a padded bench as a workspace.
Many small flimsiplasts covered in scrawled notes are spread across the bench.
She has a damp towel draped unevenly over her shoulders.

Vanya:

Is it caf?

Davish:

Almost as good!

Vanya looks up at the two mugs in his hands.

Vanya:

Well, that sounds exciting.

Vanya puts down her stylus.

Is it brown tap water?

Davish smiles faintly.

Davish:

{sounding as if he is quoting something}

Shut up about the brown tap water.

Davish squats to bring the mugs down to a level
where Vanya can take one without spilling.

I think someone else has dibs on the caf distiller. No, I found the controls for the autochef.

Vanya:

You mean we get to eat before we go find our next fight?

Davish:

Maybe get a nap en route, too!

Davish uses his free hand to help settle himself on the floor next to Vanya.

Vanya:

Now you're talking.

Vanya gazes into her mug.

{hesitantly}

Hon. Is this tiingilar?

Davish:

Oh! Sorry. Wrong mug. That's for me.

They swap mugs.

Vanya:

That's a relief. I tell Burner that Mandalorian cuisine does not mean you have to fight your food, we have clear documentation about this, and he just tosses in another handful of lill.

Davish:

Hence the red gourd soup for you.

Davish tries a bit of his meal.

I don't think this tiingilar is up to Burner's standards. I can still feel my lungs.

Vanya:

Thank the Force.

They spend several minutes quietly eating. Finally Vanya starts to pay attention to her array of flimsies again.

Davish:

What problem number have we passed?

Vanya:

We're over fifty.

Davish glances toward the spread out notes.

Davish:

Not counting ninety-eight and ninety-nine?

Vanya:

Mmm hmm. Greelo is next month's Morty. And Vance's soap opera is only our problem if he pulls the "friends" card.

Vanya picks up her stylus in her left hand so she can scrawl an update on one of the cards.

Plus side, nine and a half of these updates are of the tentatively-solved variety. And there's an update changing the shape of the item while not solving it.

Davish uses the back of his spoon-wielding hand to nudge a flimsi into a more convenient alignment.

Davish:

I thought it was cute when you did your Cranky Jinn impression at Holst.

Vanya:

{not looking up}

Yeah, that went surprisingly right. It was the old "your bathtub gin is going to poison your customers and that's bad business" routine from New Dendarii. I haven't used that in years.

Davish:

Still counts as a problem?

Vanya:

Yeah. He expects that telling the Galaxy is going to get him killed. He's got to see results first.

Davish nudges around a few more flimsies.

Davish:

Hunh. You wrote "paramour" in thick lines here. Vorpatril's date is a concern?

Vanya pauses in mid-word. She stares at the far wall until her face is blank.

Vanya:

Some hapless High Vor damsel has been in distress for we dunno how long. Possibly no one else has clued in. We should be open to signs of where she is, and who.

Davish looks at Vanya. He smiles fondly.

Davish:

Hon. Are you lying to me?

Vanya:

Yuppers.

Davish:

Well, now, that sounds fun!

Vanya:

Oh definitely.

Vanya finishes what she is currently writing.
She eats another few spoonfuls of her soup.
She starts pushing the flimsies around.

I can't find any new patterns.

Vanya huffs. She checks the current time.
She hastily stacks the flimsies into a single pile,
which should fit into a belt pouch.

Thanks for the dinner, hon. I should finish cleaning myself up so I can get onto the shuttle.

Davish:

Seriously. Nap? Or meditate?

Vanya:

Hour and a half of each, I think. We are not going to speed much in a BuShips shuttle. I can nap and then meditate, be more or less functional when we arrive.

Davish gets to his feet. He turns a yawn into a stretch.

Davish:

You know everybody else calls it "BoSS', right?

Vanya:

Yeah. Old slang from my misspent youth. At least no one says I sound like their great-aunt.

Vanya heads for the interior door that leads into a washroom.

Davish:

I love you very much.

Vanya stops. She turns to face him.
For a second, her expression is clouded, a train of thought disrupted and foundering.

Vanya:

{pretending astonishment, as if reciting from a script}

You really do?

Davish grins. He's quoting her usual lines instead of his own.

Davish:

{pretending reluctance}

More and more and more every day.

Vanya smiles back. It's a little crooked -- she is having a stronger reaction than she expected to a familiar exchange.

Vanya:

You know what's funny?

Davish takes a step toward Vanya.

Davish:

What?

Vanya walks back to Davish.

Vanya:

That's exactly how I feel!

They kiss.

Vanya:

Ugh! Horseradish.

Davish:

I'm breathing great, though!

Vanya laughs. She resumes course to go tidy herself up.

Continue reading...

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More and More and More Every Day

Davish:

Vanya:

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Vanya:

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Davish:

Continue reading...

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