Chapter Text
After several months of training together, Osha can sense it now, when her master is about to speak into her mind.
There’s a sweep of awareness across the inside of her skull, the Force flowing between them, bridging their connection. And then she hears the words whispered directly into her consciousness.
‘Are you ready, Acolyte?’
She glances over at the man she knows as Qimir, who wears loose black silk garments that cover his entire body. They flow in liquid waves around him as they walk through the open courtyard, heels clicking on stone. The lights of the massive casino beyond beckon through the dark night.
It’s not just his body that’s covered, but his face as well. And yet, neither does he wear the familiar, eerie, grinning cortosis helmet that she’s grown accustomed to. Instead, he wears a silver half-mask over his eyes and nose, glinting like a shining star, leaving just his full mouth and the light dusting of facial hair exposed.
Meeting his gaze through the eye slits in the mask, far less restrictive than his usual face covering, she nods once.
She is ready.
At least, as ready as she can be on this planet that’s like an entirely new galaxy to Osha.
Canto Bight.
She’d never expected to find herself here.
But that doesn’t stop her from walking through the front doors, her head held high, as if she belongs.
Classy, up-tempo instrumental music fills the air of the brightly lit space, with its soaring, domed ceiling. Sentient beings of many species stand around the gambling tables, dressed in over-the-top finery. They throw dice or shuffle cards while drinking fancy alcoholic beverages in crystal glasses, laughing and talking boisterously.
This casino is nothing like the ones Osha visited in her time as a meknek. Those were loud, grungy, full of smoke and strobe lights and spice addicts. This one is just so clean, she realizes as she looks around, all stark black and white ornamented in gold instead of shades of gray traced through with neon.
In truth, it reminds her more of the Jedi temple on Coruscant than anything else, at least architecturally. But she quickly pushes that thought aside because thinking of the Jedi in any capacity still hurts too much, the anger an ever-bleeding wound in her chest.
Her master would tell her to use that pain. To let herself feel it, to channel it into her power.
But right now she needs to keep her newly reawakened power contained, not feed it with the strength of her still unstable emotions.
Besides, the exuberance of the casino’s patrons couldn’t be further from the peacefulness of the Jedi temple.
So, really, it’s no more like the temple than it is the casinos on Nar Shaddaa.
It isn’t that she’d expected the Canto Bight casino to be the same as the shadier ones she’s familiar with, she hadn’t. Still, the sensation of uneasiness grows as they walk through the crowded room, the scents of expensive soaps and exotic perfumes tickling her nose.
In the months since Osha agreed to train with him, she and Qimir have rarely left Bal’demnic. When they do, it’s on supply runs to tiny Outer Rim planets where no one’s likely to take note of them. Because of that, she’d grown accustomed to a certain level of anonymity, to blending in with the crowd. How to disappear in plain sight was one of the first things her master taught her.
Canto Bight is the complete opposite of those planets.
There’s no disappearing here, as they move under the bright, artificial lights.
Besides, their mission requires them to be noticed—at least by one of the casino’s patrons.
Her master clearly does not share her discomfort. At her side, Qimir moves with his usual ease.
It doesn’t surprise her. If there’s anything Osha has learned about Qimir in the months she’s been training with him, other than the strange juxtaposition of his patience as a teacher contrasted with his brutality as a fighter, it’s that he is a master of disguises.
Honestly, she’d realized that as soon as he revealed himself to be Mae’s master, on Khofar. Before that, she’d truly believed him to be the greasy smuggler he’d pretended to be on Olega—despite the way he’d let his mask slip at the end of their conversation in the apothecary.
Even so, his ability to completely transform still amazes her.
They’d done their best to transform Osha, too. She’d scrubbed herself from head-to-toe in the actual water shower on their ship; not the Exile II, but Osha had learned soon after joining him that Qimir commands a small fleet.
A ship for each of his personas.
The Amaris is far nicer than the Exile II, more appropriate for the Canto Bight clientele they’re pretending to be, and with much more extensive passenger space. They can’t use it regularly, because it’s so much flashier and would draw more attention, especially in the places they frequent.
But for this mission, anything else would have stood out for not being flashy enough.
And Osha had absolutely enjoyed the more luxurious accommodations. Water showers are much nicer than the sonic showers she’d gotten used to as a meknek.
Qimir had procured appropriate clothing, though from where, she’s not sure. For Osha, he’d obtained a stark black and white suit, the black jacket trailing to the floor in the back like a cape, the pants perfectly tailored, both trimmed in white ruffles. She wears them over a white, collared shirt with black detailing including corset lacing on the stomach.
It’s possibly the nicest outfit she’s worn in her entire life, the fabric luxurious against her skin. And yet, despite having appropriate clothes, she still would have been more comfortable working the tables in Nar Shaddaa.
But they aren’t here just to earn credits.
There’s a reason that Qimir chose Canto Bight, where they’re more likely to draw unwanted attention, and that reason is sitting at one of the High Roller tables. Of course, all the tables in Canto Bight are High Roller tables—some are just more astronomically high than others.
And for better or worse, Osha has long excelled at pushing her own feelings away in order to focus on doing what needs to be done.
The difference now is that instead of denying the feelings, letting them build up inside her, she accepts them, acknowledges that they do not serve her purpose in this moment, and sets them aside. Just like Qimir taught her.
She can do this.
They can do this. Together.
Because they really do make a great team.
“There,” her master says, interrupting her thoughts.
Osha follows the path of his eyes to find the slender, blonde man who must be the one they seek.
Like most of the men in the casino, he wears some kind of black and white suit, not dissimilar to the one Osha wears—though without the feminine detailing. It’s an oddity that she catalogs as she and Qimir move through the crowded room; almost all of the people actually playing at the tables are men, while the women stand around them in beautiful, elaborate outfits, like living decorations.
It is yet another way in which they don’t fit in, because the plan for tonight is that Osha will be the one playing.
But it also just feels wrong.
They make their way to the table, Qimir approaching the alien who sits on the blonde man’s right. He puts a hand on the alien’s shoulder and leans down to speak in their ear, the Force whispering through the air—a gentle nudge, barely perceptible to anyone who doesn’t share a training bond with her master.
It’s enough. The alien straightens, makes their excuses, then turns and walks away, opening up a seat.
A seat that Osha slides into, careful not to let her jacket gape and reveal the lightsaber at her hip as she tosses her buy-in onto the table.
“Gentlemen,” she says to the dealer and the other players, projecting an aura of cool confidence.
Those gathered around the table do a double take, looking at Osha in the player’s seat and masked Qimir standing beside her.
And then Qimir does something Osha hadn’t expected.
He reaches for the buttons on his silk shirt, and starts to undo them.
The fabric parts like water, revealing a sleeveless, cropped, silver mesh shirt beneath. His golden skin gleams through the gaps in the fabric.
He pulls the black silk top completely off, hanging it on the back of Osha’s chair, his massive arms and toned stomach on full display. A trail of hair leads from his belly button down into the low-hanging pants, the silk fabric so thin that in the bright casino lights Osha can clearly see the distinct bulge beneath.
It’s not anything she hasn’t seen before. Qimir is possibly the least self-conscious man in the entire galaxy—not exactly surprising, when he looks like that. Hell, she’d seen him stark naked on their very first day together on Bal’demnic, before she’d realized that at his side is where she belongs.
He still swims naked, often, though he’s considerate enough to at least warn Osha before he does so now.
She just hadn’t expected this. For him to dress himself up like eye-candy, to put his body on display like a slab of meat at a butcher’s shop, even though she knows the dynamic they’re supposed to be playing.
‘Focus, Acolyte,’ Qimir’s voice prompts in her head, and she flushes, knows that she’s been caught staring even though he’s not looking at her.
But there’s no judgement in his voice, either. In fact, he sounds almost amused. Like he’d hoped to surprise her.
Well, he’d certainly succeeded, though she has to wonder at his choice in timing.
She straightens in her seat, only to find that the others at the table are looking at him as well. The women whisper behind their hands to one another, eyes wide with appreciation, while the men shift uncomfortably in their seats.
But of course they’re looking. This is the exact reaction he wanted. To draw attention, serve as some kind of distraction, to allow her to focus on their target unobserved. And yet, a strange, ugly sensation coils in her stomach at the open admiration of the others around the table.
She knows he’s attractive, of course she does, she has functioning eyesight. And when he’s not in his greasy-gremlin persona, it’s impossible to deny. But that’s the exact persona he dons whenever they go on their supply runs, and so she’s never seen anyone else appreciate him like this.
It feels… strange.
It feels like—like she needs to claim him.
Which is ridiculous, because there’s no claim to be made. He’s her teacher, not her… anything else.
Still, she can’t shake the sensation, and doesn’t like it, doesn’t understand where it’s coming from.
But they have a mission to complete. So she lifts her chin, turning to the table at large. “Are we going to play or not?”
The women titter, their eyes flicking from Osha and then right back to Qimir and his incredible physique, all broad shoulders and huge biceps, his plush mouth, that little trail of hair down his lower abdomen.
The men, on the other hand, seem happy enough to return to their game.
For his part, Qimir rests an arm on the back of Osha’s chair, his body curved toward her. Like he belongs to her. Like he’s hers.
Which makes sense. That is the ruse they’re playing, after all. It doesn’t mean anything.
She doesn’t want it to mean anything. Really.
She just also doesn’t want all these people to keep staring at him—not that she can stop them.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before,” says the blonde man to her left, their target, as the dealer collects the cards from the last round and starts to shuffle. The target reaches out a hand for her to shake. “Ryon Lennith.”
“Aisha Besand,” Osha says, grateful for the inquiry forcing her to refocus on the task at hand, on keeping her voice even and her expression neutral as she shakes the offered hand. “And you wouldn’t have. My work keeps me largely in the core worlds. This is the first vacation I’ve managed in a while.”
Ryon hums in interest, releasing Osha’s hand as the dealer passes out cards, leaning his elbow on the table. “And what is it that you do?”
“Let’s just say, I’m in trade,” Osha says vaguely, because the word could be a euphemism for so many things.
But then she carefully shifts in her seat, pulling her jacket open to reveal her lightsaber to the man’s gaze, their bodies and the table blocking anyone else from seeing.
His blue eyes go wide with interest, and Osha quickly allows her jacket to fall back into place.
“I see,” he says with an eager tone that very clearly indicates that he does, in fact, understand what she wants him to believe. “Then I’m surprised our paths haven’t crossed before. I’m very interested in your particular line of trade.”
“What a small galaxy,” Osha says mildly, picking up the cards she’d been dealt, as if his interest isn’t the entire reason they’re here, as if this very interaction hadn’t been planned for weeks. “But I hope you understand, this is a pleasure trip for me. I prefer not to discuss business.”
“Of course,” Ryon says reasonably, but fascination limns the undertones of his voice, and Osha knows she’s got him hooked.
It’s all going exactly the way she and Qimir hoped it would.
A waiter passes by with a tray of drinks, then, and she senses it as Qimir turns and reaches for two, before leaning forward to place one on the table beside Osha with a murmured, “My star ”.
It sends an instant shiver down her spine; his sudden proximity, his musky, spicy scent, his warmth, the low tenor of his voice. Which is ridiculous, she’s never responded to him like this in the past.
But she’s also not sure if she’s ever heard him speak to her like that before.
It’s just the ruse, she reminds herself. She can’t let these unexpected—and unwanted—reactions shatter the mask she wears. For though her mask may not be physical, like her master’s, it was carefully crafted all the same.
So, she reaches for the drink and takes a sip, finding it light and effervescent, bubbles exploding on her tongue. It is also definitely alcoholic, so she won’t drink much. They can’t afford for her to get drunk, and she doesn’t have the tolerance she’d built up in her meknek days anymore.
Qimir returns his arm to it’s place on the back of her chair, even as he shifts to speak to the woman beside him. The heat of his skin radiates through the fabric of Osha’s jacket, and it makes uncomfortable awareness spark along her shoulder blades and down her spine.
It would be so easy to lean back, to grab his hand and pull it forward, so that his arm wraps around her shoulders instead of the chair. But that’s not what they’re here for, and she doesn’t even know where the urge is coming from.
And she refuses to give in to the extremely unhelpful desire to interrupt his conversation, to force him to keep his attention on her.
It’s just because she’s so used to being the sole focus of his attention, she tells herself. Even when they go off planet for supplies, he still barely speaks to anyone but her. And they’re the only people on Bal’demnic. Of course she’s grown accustomed to having his undivided attention.
Knowing the reason doesn’t make the feeling any more comfortable, and she struggles not to shift in her seat as she arranges the cards in her hand. But Osha has played sabacc so many times in the various cantinas and casinos they stopped off at in her years as a meknek, she doesn’t really need to think about it.
At least not about the cards.
“Tell me about yourself, Mr. Lennith,” Osha says to the blonde man, because she needs to stay focused on the mission. “You must be a regular here.”
“Please, call me Ryon,” he insists, shuffling his own cards around. “And I’m proud to say that I call Canto Bight home. I have apartments here in Old Town.”
“That sounds lovely,” Osha says, because Old Town is the nicest part of Canto Bight, where the casino they sit in now is located, and he clearly expects her to admire that fact. “But don’t the tourists get tiresome?”
“Not at all. I find that I enjoy the diverse company. Variety is the spice of life, after all.” He chuckles as if he’s just made an incredibly funny joke, and Osha forces a smile.
The game begins, then. Osha keeps up the inane chatter with Ryon, as Qimir leaves her side to socialize around the table. He wanders from group to group, making himself instantly welcome, and mentally informing Osha of what cards her opponents hold.
This is why she had to play. Because he can speak into her mind, but she hasn’t managed to do the reverse yet.
The downside to the plan is that suddenly he’s in her line of sight. Osha tries to ignore him, but he’s like a beacon in the dark, pulling on her consciousness.
She tells herself it’s just their training bond, but the training bond has never demanded her attention like this before.
No, it’s something else. Something about the way the other spectators look at him like he’s a rare treasure up for auction. Like he’s something they want to buy, to poses, to own.
But they can’t have him, because he’s hers.
Her teacher, she means. That’s all. She’d fought the idea of letting him teach her at first, but Qimir is the best teacher she could ever ask for. The teacher she’d needed all along, she just hadn’t known it.
Which is why she doesn’t—can’t—want anything else. Can’t risk the perfect balance they’ve managed to find together.
And yet, she finds her eyes returning to him again and again.
‘You’re staring, Osha,’ he admonishes at one point, even though he appears to be deep in conversation with a red-haired woman wearing an elaborate white fascinator with feathers and pearls strung on wires.
Heat floods her face. Maybe, if he’d given her some warning, let her get used to the idea of him in that stupid, shiny, miniscule shirt, this wouldn’t be so hard. But he loves to push her, even when in could jeopardize their mission.
Or maybe he just didn’t think she would care.
She shouldn’t care. How many times has he walked around their cave shirtless? Why is it suddenly such a problem?
But then the redhaired woman laughs at something he says, and his lips quirk to the side, and furious heat wells inside her. Suddenly, her crystal glass on the table starts to shake.
‘Osha,’ Qimir scolds in her head, even though he holds the redhaired woman’s gaze, and Osha realizes its shaking in response to her emotions.
Kriff.
She buries her face in her cards as she breathes in deep to get control of herself.
Thankfully, the glass stops shaking.
This whole thing is ridiculous. She’s being ridiculous. And if she doesn’t find a way to stop it, it’s going to become a problem.
But then it’s her turn to play, and Osha lays down the hand she and Qimir have been collectively building via his spying. Groans erupt from around the table, people throwing their cards down, and Osha forces a smile onto her face, fluttering her eyelashes.
“Beginner’s luck.”
At her side, the man called Ryon laughs and shakes his head, tossing his cards down.
“You’re quite something, Miss Aisha,” he says, amusement ringing in his voice. “You know, if you’ve had enough of the casino, I’d be delighted to have you and your companion over to my apartment. I’ve a bottle of Toniray chilling.”
Triumph swells in Osha’s chest, though she’s careful not to let it show.
“We’ve seen the tourist traps,” she agrees nonchalantly. “I suppose it would be interesting to get to see things from a local’s perspective.”
“Then it’s settled,” the man says, collecting his winnings from previous hands, as Osha collects her own. “And I know you said no business, but I think you will be very interested in my personal collection.”
‘Well done, Acolyte,’ Qimir murmurs in her mind, Osha struggling against the urge to preen.
Sol had never been free with his praise, but Qimir offers it up like water, like air, like something he knows that she needs. And Osha can’t help reveling in it, his obvious pride, the feeling of satisfaction that comes with his approval.
‘Phase one complete,’ he continues, as he lifts his glass to his own lips. ‘Now for the hard part.’
Osha takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, as Ryon stands from his chair, gesturing for Osha to join him.
Now for the hard part indeed.
