The Lie (Captain Rex)

(III) - The Orchestra 1

A/N: HELLO!!! This is going to be a biig chapter with a lot of interactions, this is where things begin to heat up and I've decided to split it into parts, all of which are worth reading. I hope you enjoy :)

* * *

"Three spare tickets?" A childlike twinkle of hope caught in Tup's eye.

You studied your nails imperiously. "Yep."

Tiny insect-like clatters and clicks of armour to your right drew your eyes over to Rex's form, still huddled busily in the corner of the barracks. He had made it a clear point that he didn't have anything fancy to wear, and profusely apologized over and over despite your acceptance. Frankly, you thought he looked nice in just about anything he could wear; though you dared not breach professionalism by voicing such a thought.

Presently, you threw Tup an assessing glance. "You can invite any two friends you like. So long as they're not Jedi, of course."

"What? Thanks so much!" Tup near-yelled, and his face brightened as he closed in on you for a tight hug. But right before embracing you, he hesitated. "Uh- why no Jedi? I wasn't going to invite one; I'm just curious."

You inhaled, the breath sharp and light. Your fingers drifted to your face in thought. "Let's just say that the bourgeoisie doesn't like to see their own hanging out with their idea of rats."

And with that, you smushed against Tup's broader frame in a warm hug. He returned it happily, though his brows remained furrowed when you parted. "Um. Alright," he said. "I'll bring my friends Cutthroat and Stormy along and we'll see how that goes, yeah?"

"Of course! I never imagined you making friends with the Wolves, though."

Tup crossed his arms and gave a little chuckle that bordered on confusion. "Heh? What d'you mean by that?"

Another metallic clatter from Rex's direction, this time louder. "Moony's trying to say that you've got nothing in common with those grouches," Rex said dryly. A few pieces of his torso armour were off, which he was trying to mend. You made a mental note to replace the shoulder armor that you'd lost in the battle on Pantora.

"Well, if you really wanna know," Tup answered, "we initially became friends because we were all into fancy music and all'at stuff. Still are, of course," he said, studying his nails. "But you know what I mean."

A stout, lighthearted chuckle from Rex. "Whatever you say, vod. Have fun out there."

* * *

Dim golden light from the lanterns glinted off of the embroidery on your cowl. Rustling dresses and tittering murmurs from the others in the public vanity arose now and then; the room held an overall muffled quality to it, like fish swimming beneath the surface of a frozen lake. A faint smell of old canvas and leather wafted through the air. The lights shone bright enough to see, but dim enough to make you uneasy. Anxious, repeatedly untying and re-tying the laces on your cloak, you stood before the mirror, out of which (E/C) eyes stared back at you, their edges crinkled with worry. Oh, stars, I hope I look alright, you thought. Your makeup had not yet been applied.

It was the night of the date (not date, meeting! It's a meeting), and you were getting ready in the public vanity. A lot of the other upper-class attendees of the orchestra were present, too. You didn't exactly want them to know that a Jedi padawan had decided to tag along, so you'd maintained the guise of another random guest. Obi-Wan hadn't been against you taking a day to visit the orchestra, while your injuries healed; currently there was an intermission period of awaiting orders, so everyone was recuperating from the prior battle.