[MillietheWarrior]

Jaing Ref
(Conept Art not owned to me. Possibly by LucasFilms?)
Appearance
(Reference appearance picture by Starwars.com)

Of all the places he could've been deployed. This place? Really?

Jaing tapped his foot impatiently, his helmet held under one arm. He held up the binoculars, checking the readouts along the coastline. Everything seemed normal. As usual. There was no sign of...Well, of anything except normal people and beachgoers. As usual. He stood up on the wooden planks of the boardwalk, aware that his strange looks were earning him a few weird glances from passerby. Jaing really didn’t mind. He’d never see them again, right? So what did their opinion matter? Besides, as weird as he looked to them, they looked just as weird to him. Hooking the binoculars onto his belt, he shoved his helmet back on his head, ignoring the civilians that gave him a very wide berth. He walked purposefully down the boardwalk, glancing every now and again up at the sky.

Earlier, they’d gotten a weather report. Heavy rains and mild winds were scheduled to come in later in the day. Already, dark clouds swirled in the sky, blotting out the sun.  It was getting chilly, and those who wore beach shorts and sandals quickly headed indoors to change into warmer clothes. Jaing wasn’t worried. His armor protected him from the elements. As he headed further down the boardwalk, he was stopped by another man in similar armor. Jaing wasn’t the only one stationed here. There was a small base on the outskirts of the city, housing a multitude of clones soldiers, officers, and special ops groups. Jaing, a lieutenant, was a base commander. But he preferred to go solo. He was headed back to the base now, but he had the weirdest feeling that he wouldn't get where he was going without a few interruptions. This would be one of them.

The man who had stopped him saluted half-heartedly. Discipline was lax around here; it wasn’t often that the Clones were stationed in such a warm, peaceful, and inviting place. No one really paid any lag in military protocol any mind, especially Jaing. None of the soliders here had ever had a vacation, and this was as close as they'd come. Jaing was only hoping none of the mongrel commanders (What they called non-clone officers) would come by to inspect the place. Jaing was sure there'd be a considerable imporvement in discipline if that happened...And a considerable drop in morale. “How goes it, sir?” his fellow clone asked, the smile evident in his voice. Jaing couldn't see his face through the helmet, but he knew the smile was wicked. Everyone knew how much he hated the pubs around here.

The two Clones were standing outside a local bar that many of the base’s inhabitants had claimed as their own. It was mostly Clones and a few brave civilians now. But above all, it was possibly the safest bars in town. No one fought, or brawled, or made life any harder than it had to be. They were all brothers, after all. Jaing suddenly wished he'd taken a different path back to the base. Even going through town would've been a better idea. But no, his feet had lead him on that same old familiar path he took everyday after he was done scouting the local area. He hadn't even thought to try and change it. Beneath his helmet, he slowly rolled his eyes and tried to think of an excuse to leave.  But Jaing despaired at the fact that, now that he’d been seen, he’d probably be invited in.

Which was exactly what happened.

The clone solider coerced him into joining them for a game of darts (the town's civilians hadn’t found the game they played with the knives very fun, so they’d resorted to playing darts like the locals). Sighing, Jaing walked in, only to be met by a sea of identical faces, a multitude of women and different men, some drunk and the local bartenders.  After a round of darts (which he won, as he most often did) Jaing settled himself at the bar and ordered a weak drink, slightly annoyed that he’d been roped into coming in here. Outside, he could hear the thunder off in the distance. The storm would be here soon, and most of them would have to get back to base. It was probably a good excuse to go now. He spun on his bar stool, glancing about to make sure he hadn't been spotted by any of the Clones he'd played darts with. They'd want him to play again to win back their hard-earned credits...Which, Jaing realized, they'd most likely won off the locals.

Clones didn't get a salary. They didn't get paid. Yet, they always found a way to hide a few credits on their immediate person. Trinkets and souvenirs were forbidden, for reasons known only to their superiors, but the regs said nothing about credits. The clone lieutenant had often wondered why the Republic didn't just pay their soliders; the Clones would most likely do an even better job than they already did if they had incentive. With a sigh, he decided it would be best to stow that kind of thinking, seeing as how it wouldn't do anyone any good. And no matter what he thought, it wouldn't change a thing. As quickly as he could, he stood up, his booted feet thumping against the hard-wood floor. Jamming his helmet back onto his head, Jaing slowly made his way across the floor, trying to make himself as invisible as possible and began to walk towards the doors...

[Kallile]

Subeta Human Form (Work Attire) and (Night Attire)

She hated “Fun Fridays”.

She hated all the attention it tended to bring she and her fellow female secretaries from the office boys. The men seemed to live for the day when the ladies of the office would break out a little more risqué outfits and shorter skirts; things they might wear out to a party instead of a day at the office. Amala would drape a dress over herself…but she didn’t feel the office was ready for the real her. Or maybe she just wasn’t ready for them to know that side.

At any rate, Friday’s were never very ‘fun’ for Amala.

The storm was moving quicker than she could hope to in her flimsy work shoes. She could feel every plank and every nail under her feet as she raced down the boardwalk to try and beat the storm, a large purse-like bag draped over her shoulder certainly did not help matters. Nor did the fact that she was still in that blasted dress.

In her head, Amala was already at the pub and more comfortable. She was drinking down her liquid courage and going to make the most of this bad day. She was going to forget all those staring eyes at the office until next week—she may never even leave the pub until Monday if the owner could be persuaded to let her do that.

There was the clatter of makeup containers in the bag behind her. A few knocks of a different pair of shoes. Some swishing of silk fabric. She ignored the thoughts of the strange, armored men that had been here the last few times she had passed. No one at the office went here anymore because of them. Tonight, Amala was going back. She was going back because everyone who knew her there refused to return. This was her place now—her safe haven.

A clap of thunder startled her from these thoughts just in time to feel the rain come pounding down on her. Fixing her bag so it was clutched to her chest, Amala ducked her head and just kept running. It wasn’t much further now—she could make it. No storm was going to keep her away from that which she needed.

Not even really knowing how close she was Amala reached out a hand for the door, ready to push it in and burst into safety. Her hand met the wooden frame, she got a few steps in…and then met cold metal. Slipping from the sudden change in her momentum, Amala gazed up at the shielded helmet as she tried to regain her feet.

Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

[MillietheWarrior]

Jaing wasn't a Jedi, but her certainly had fast enough reflexes.

When the tiny woman clattered into him, his arms shot out to grab a hold of her shoulders, trying to steady her so she didn't lose her balance and topple over. Running into a hard metal chest plate probably hurt a lot more than he imagined it did, not that he'd ever had that experience. He stared down at the woman through his t-slit visored helmet, studying her silently, and not making an effort to say anything for the moment. She looked like she'd been racing to get in here, and for good reason. The rain had started. Jaing cursed under his breath. Now he'd be forced to wait out the storm with his fellow Clones and a few brave patron souls. He had a feeling no one would be venturing out into that anytime soon; at least, not anyone with half a brain. Not that it really bothered any of the Clones. They'd seen and been through worse.

Jaing suddenly seemed to remember where he was and what had just happened. He looked down at the woman, his hands still clutching lightly onto her shoulders, and immediately released her. He was glad she couldn't see his face; he was sure she would've found the blush that danced across his cheeks amusing and he would've been even more embarrassed. He was aware that he'd been holding onto her for a few, silent moments. He'd never been this close to a woman before, and it was making him slightly nervous. "Sorry, ma'am," he said, taking a step back so she didn't feel too crowded. It also relieved some of his tension. "Looks like you just barely beat the rain in, I reckon."

He wanted to sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose, but he couldn't with his helmet on. What a day. Seems he had all the luck. He reached up and unclasped his helmet, popping the seal and taking it off his head. He wouldn't need it. He'd been here for a while. "I suppose there's no need for me to leave now. I'll be stuck in this bar for a good couple of hours. Shabla storm," he muttered to himself. He suddenly seemed to remember what had happened and who he was talking to. He had spaced out quite a few times in the last couple of minutes. It startled him, because it wasn't something he normally did. "Oh...Uh, are you all right? You aren't hurt or anything, are you, ma'am?"

[2]

((Shabla: Used like 'crud.' Means 'screwed up,' or 'messed up.'))

[Kallile]

She had closed her eyes—fully ready for impact with the floor—when instead she felt something else. Constricted. Opening her bright blue eyes, Amala was met with only a black shield on a strange looking helmet. Her heart was instantly in her throat. This Friday had yet to get better—currently it almost seemed like it was getting worse.

Because even when she had stabilized herself…he was still holding her.

Her eyes moved from surprised, and then to afraid. What kind of place had this become? She had come here to forget her day—not get mugged or worse by this helmed stranger. Just when she was debating her next move to violently escape him, he freed her shoulders and spoke.

Amala seemed to melt a little in relief. “I-It’s alright.” She gave him a strange look, looking his wardrobe up and down for any sign of rank. All that she could see was unfamiliar. She hoped a title was not required when speaking to him…because short of ‘officer’ she didn’t know where to begin guessing.

With the worry of harm fading from her mind, Amala began to notice a dull throbbing in her wrists where she had made harsh contact with his armor. She rubbed them gingerly, trying not to look at the man under the mask. Friendly encounter wasn’t something on her mind right now—she needed her aids before she even wanted to attempt going down that road. She hadn’t met any military men before, but from the rumors always being told about them…well, Amala reached up and clutched her white shrug a little closer too her. Images of the mens’ eyes at her office flashed through her mind and she cringed. Her eyes floated to the bar.

“Oh,” she replied, now realizing that she had been spoken to. “Oh…I think I’ll be fine. Nothing a little pain killer can’t fix.” There was another cringe, and her bright blue eyes flashed up to his almost pleadingly.

“It’s Amala.” She said suddenly. Ma’am, Miss, Little Lady…she detested all these names. They all brought back such bad memories of the judging daylight eyes…

“It’s just…Amala, if you don’t mind.”

[2]

[MillietheWarrior]

Jaing wasn't exactly sure but...She seemed almost afraid. Was he really that scary looking? He suddenly felt very self-conscious, and cursed himself for being so. He held his helmet in one hand, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.  He knew he looked odd to the locals, but it never bothered him before. Why then, did it bother him now? Maybe because he had spoken to her, she was standing so close to him, and he now knew her name. She was no longer another face in the crowd, or a nameless soul passing by and giving him the cold shoulder. Now she had a name, and a personality, albeit, a small one it seemed. But to Jaing, she was no longer considered a 'stranger.'

When she rubbed her wrists, Jaing's nervousness turned to worry, but he did not voice his concerns right away. Perhaps he could help her, if only discreetly. "Pain killer?" he asked, frowning slowly. "I don't think they have anything like that here." He suddenly blinked his orange-yellow eyes, looking slightly out-of-sorts. "Uh...Amala. Nice to meet you." Not using formal titles threw him off slightly. It was part of their military protocol; all civilian personnel and officers were to be addressed using proper titles and rank. The regulations hadn't prepared him for this, though. "I'm Null-10, Lieutenant Jaing," he said at last.  "Just Jaing will do. Are...Are you sure you aren't injured ma'a-Amala? Do your wrists hurt?” he asked, his eyes flashing to her hands.  

“I know running into armor probably isn’t the best experience you’ve ever had. I really should have been watching where I was going.” Great, now he was apologizing. Jaing would’ve slapped himself if he thought it would’ve helped. He sounded like an idiot, but he had limited experience with women, and had no idea what was proper behavior around them. I'm a kriffing lieutenant, he thought, annoyed with himself. And I can't even handle a woman. Way to go, contingency rules. You certainly prepared me for this. If I was Mereel, I'd know exactly what to do. Shab... “Is there anything I can do for you? I have bandages. They might help.” He motioned towards the mall, white pack at his hips, where his medical supplies, including rolls of bandages, were kept.

[3]

[Kallile]

Amala gave a weak smile at hearing her own name used. Well, it was a start…and the guy did look nervous. Maybe as equally nervous that there wasn’t so much to worry about. She could only hope to be so lucky. Releasing her hold on the white garment around her shoulders, Amala again seemed to let her posture take a more natural stance. Maybe it made her appear unstable, but she was trying her best to be pleasant. The man had kept her from falling, after all.

“Oh, well…my parents gave me some tea laced with whiskey when I was younger and had to have some teeth worked on. Ever since, I’ve been a believer.” The story was not exactly a lie…and not the full truth. The full truth was that she wanted to get her hands on a drink to loose some of this edge and tension she felt.

“Jaing…” she repeated more slowly, almost like she was sampling the name as it rolled off her tongue. “You definitely win for most original name I’ve heard.” Again the sweet, if not weak, smile. She rolled her right wrist again in her hand before reaching up to tuck a stray piece of snow white hair out from her line of vision.

“Oh, no, thank you. I don’t think it’s serious enough to need bandaged. Just a little banged up. I’m sure it’ll be fine in the morning.” Her eyes again moved to the bar, having yet to fully notice the rest of his squad hanging around. She gave him a sideways glance, trying to get a feel for the man before her. He seemed kindly enough…maybe she could use a little early evening company.

“Though…if you’re not busy…I wouldn’t mind some company? If you’re not busy, of course.” The shyness and uncertainty returned just slightly. She kept in the back of her mind that he was military…of some sort. Maybe she’d never see him again after tonight. Maybe they would just vanish from each other’s lives. And maybe, just maybe, he would never have to see her darker secrets. This could all work out alright. What was one little night of letting her guard down?

[3]

[MillietheWarrior]

Jaing was slightly surprised. Her parents had given her whiskey? Granted, it might not have been the most outlandish thing he’d ever heard. Mandalorian fathers took their children out fighting with them when they were just eight. So it wasn’t as if he’d never heard stories like that before. He just hadn’t expected it from a civilian, or a ‘civvy’ as his brothers called them. He smiled nervously, nodding his head. Truth be told, his wasn’t an odd name, not for him at least. He’d heard Clone troopers with names like Shock, Bomber, Echo, Fives, and Sicko. He’d heard ‘em all before and often wondered how they'd gotten them (He never dared to ask, for obvious reasons). His was actually considered a bit more normal.

Raising a brow, Jaing continued to stare at her as if she'd grown another head. She might as well have, for how well he was handling the situation. He seemed skeptical of her assurances about her wrists, but shrugged it off. He wouldn’t push the issue. “If you're sure,” he said, still slightly worried he’d hurt her. But she seemed to believe she'd be fine, and he had all night to figure out if she was bluffing or not. And then he'd either demand she let him bandage her wrists, or try and persuade her to let him help. Something about her made Jaing slightly uneasy, as if he should be doing something to stop the impending storm he could feel coming. It wasn't the storm outside; it was the storm in here, and it was clearly reflected in those desperate, nervous eyes.

Jaing watched her eyes glance to the bar, and suddenly realized what she’d meant by painkiller. He could’ve kicked himself. This woman was most likely a regular, and, if Jaing could take a guess, she probably came here everyday. He wasn’t sure, and honestly didn’t mind, evne though something told him he should. But in the back of his mind a little voice nagged at him to find out, and to solve a problem he couldn’t understand. It worried him. “Uh...” he hadn’t been expecting her to ask him to stay. “Well...I’m not going to be going anywhere anytime soon.  So I’m not busy.” He motioned to the bar, something telling him that he should keep her away from it, but not wanting to pry into problems he didn't know about. His brain was jumbled and confused, something that, in and of itself, confused him. He didn’t know why he felt this way. He’d never been so befuddled by anyone before. He was a Null ARC, dang it. He shouldn’t be confused by anything. “Shall we?”

[4]

[Kallile]

Amala smiled a little at him, nodding thankfully at him. Keep it together, she thought to herself, see him again or not, keep it under control. Just one…just one shot of liquid courage. Just one…

Flopping her bag onto an adjacent chair, she drug it up beside the barstool she had selected. It was off to one side, and now she could more clearly see others in garb similar to Jaing’s. Well, identical would be the better word. She felt herself sink into the barstool a little. What…if they all noticed them? Then one drink wouldn’t cut it. Her nerves flared up a little and she instantly and almost instinctively rose her hand towards the bartender. “A lemonade and peach schnapps, please.” She said calmly, obviously having ordered these like candy for years no matter how badly she wished to hide it.

She looked to Jaing, smiling again and seeming in better spirits knowing her ‘painkiller’ was on it’s way. “So…Jaing.” She began and trailed off as she looked to the rest of his crew. “Do you…well, let me start again.”

She ran a hand through her hair, taking a minute to unclip the little gemmed flower that held a portion out of her eyes. It was placed promptly into her purse. “What…brings you here? I mean…here as in this city. I’ve never seen anyone like you before.”

She kept her eyes on jaing, but tried to keep his crew in her radar. She clung the fabric of her dress against her knees, crossing her ankles under the barstool. She'd never been faced with such a crowd before...and those similar had only been dealt with after several different factors. She heaved a sigh, working out how to work things should attention come to she and her new companion.

[4]

[MillietheWarrior]

Jaing slid onto the chair beside her, mindful of his armor. Whoever designed it certainly hadn't been thinking about how comfortable it'd be when sitting down. He squirmed uncomfortably, trying to find a perfect balance between sitting comfortably and not looking like an idiot. He glanced at the bartender, and shrugged. "Er, ale for me, I suppose." He really didn't like to drink. In fact, he and his brothers weren't fond of alcohol at all. They just came to places like this to socialize. He turned to Amala, trying not to fall off the barstool. He was a bit out of sorts here, and it worried him. He'd never fallen off a barstool in his life. So why did he have the feeling he might now? Probably because this was a new situation for him.

Normally, Jaing was cool, calm and collected. He could sneak past defenses, worm his way into agencies, and charm even the most horrible people. Yet here, he kept worrying he might slip up. It was, to speak plainly, freaking him out. Jaing watched as she unclipped her hair, wondering about her hair color. Was it natural? Probably not. But it wasn't as if he'd ask. "Uh..." He paused, and set his helmet on the bar next to him. "We, meaning my brother Clones and I-" he swept his arm behind him for emphasis. "-Are stationed on a base just outside of town. We're here to monitor the activity in the area. That's about all I can really say about purposes." He shrugged as their drinks arrived, the bartender looking Amala up and down once before turning back to tend his bar.

Jaing picked up his drink, and took a sip, pulling an almost unpleased face at the taste. He hastily set it down. "Ugh..." He glanced over at Amala and her drink, wondering what exactly she had ordered. "Ah. Alcohol isn't really my thing. Bit strong for me," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "So, what about you? What brings you here? I mean, to this side of town. Most civilians tend to avoid us. I guess we're scarier than we think." He grinned slightly, raising an eyebrow. "Am I really so odd looking? I get strange looks when I walk down the streets all the time. Is it the purple?" He tapped his shoulder plates, indicating the purple coloring on his armor.

"I knew I should have gone with green. What do you think?" Jaing laughed, showing her was only joking and trying to make her laugh. He didn't know why, but he didn't enjoy seeing her look so nervous. Was it him? He followed her gaze. Ah. No. It was everyone. He sighed, and mentally shook his head. Maybe eventually she'd learn that they weren't as scary as they seemed.

[5]

[Kallile]

Watching Jaing squirm around on his barstool, Amala wondered why these…officers, warriors, whatever they were…didn’t have any sets of regular clothes. All military men had some, right? Civvies or something to that effect—still a uniform but more comfortable to go out in. It occurred to her, as Jaing spoke, that maybe that was part of her nerves about them. It looked more like they were ready for an invasion than to have a good time.

“Clones?” She echoed, though her nerves got no worse—instead her tone was a little amused. What an odd thing to call a squad. She was familiar with military often calling each other ‘brothers’, so the rest didn’t seem all to odd to be questioning.

The glance from the bartender did not go unnoticed, and Amala turned in her shoulder on him to show her disinterest. She seemed to blink a bit harder than normal, uncomfortable with still getting glances. Stupid, stupid Friday attire. She picked up her drink and took a weak sip at first. The liquid swirled around in the glass like a sunset reflecting out of a mud puddle—what would be a pretty orange and yellow tainted with a darker, brownish color. The little umbrella with a slice of peach on it did not help to liven it up too terribly much. It was one of her least favorite drinks…but if she wanted to have any control over tonight the sweet and fruity drinks had to stay at bay. They had to.

“It’s more a pastime to unwind from work.” The lie slipped off her tongue so easily, Amala wasn’t even aware that she was lying to the face of her new acquaintance. She had told it so many time before that she was starting to believe it might be the truth. She was, however, a little stumped at first by his last question. Alcohol was why she was here, but she couldn’t say that. Not in so few words, at least.

“Well, I can’t argue with you on that. Most of my co-workers stopped coming here when your troop started showing up here. Which…is why I’m here.” She said, smiling a little more easily as she took another sip of her drink. “Co-workers are fine…but I like to be away from them if we’re not working together.”

Blinking at his joke, Amala was…actually surprised by the large, first natural smile that fell over her face. Well, this was a nice change of pace from her usual evenings. “You want the honest answer?” She said, teasing just lightly. Another sip of spiked lemonade slid down her throat, leaving another wide grin on her face as she reached over and lightly brushed her fingertips over the purple portion of his torso armor. “I think purple is probably not your best color.”


[5]

[MillietheWarrior]

Jaing was aware that what he was saying most likely made no sense to her. Most civilians had no idea what he was talking about. He had to laugh a little, though he kept his face neutral and the laughter stayed in his mind. Most civilians didn't even know Clones were human. They thought they were motionless droids, made only for battle. It was often a big shock to see the men beneath the helmets. "Yes," he said at last, smiling slightly. "Clones. We're all the same, appearance wise." He shrugged. "But we each have our own personality." He took a drink of his ale, making another face. He was getting used to it, but that didn't mean he really liked it. "Unwind from work?" he asked, setting he glass back down. "I know what you mean, even if I don't do it often myself. Seems like I'm always working."

He blinked slightly, not surprised that most people had stopped coming here because of the Clones. Mentally, he growled. Clones fought to keep these people safe, and they did nothing but shun and fear them. He scowled outwardly, his gaze fixated on the bar. "I can imagine. Where do you work? Those people must have some pretty weak hearts if they stopped coming to a bar because of a few soldiers. It isn't as though we'll attack anyone." He rubbed a gloved hand over his face, sighing heavily, before glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. She had a rather lovely smile. "You think so?" he asked, chuckling as he straightened to stare at her. "Then what color is my color, exactly, hm?"

[6]

((Ahh...horrible. Sorry 'bout that.))

[Kallile]

Amala tossed back a little more of her drink, feeling much more relaxed just knowing the substance was in her hands. It was security, her courage, whatever you wanted to call it. Right now, to her, it was her lifeline in this eerie place. She was speaking more freely as well, giving the outward impression that even that small amount was having some effect on her. Truth be told she was just at the beginning of what would surely be a roller coaster night.

Again she didn’t question the Clone idea much further, though it did throw her off when compared to her original thought. She tried not the think about it. This was already enough out of her usual element to start focusing on things like /actual/ clones. She needed some stability tonight and that was placing a toe over the vital line she was trying to uphold.

“I work at a firm.” She said, quick to jump onto another subject. “My co-workers and I are  not-so-affectionately known as ‘the pawns’. We’re the secretaries and filers and…well…things too boring for anyone else to willingly do.” She laughed a little at this idea, but inside it was rather like a stab to her ego. ‘That’s it, just what we need.’ She scolded herself. ‘Tell the handsome clone-man how boring I am. That will make for a fun evening for sure.’

“We’re not exactly the bravest bunch, no. A bad day for us is getting a new filing system.” Again an easy, natural smile and another swig of her drink. It was about half gone now, though Amala wasn’t quick to jump on the bartender for a new one. She had to do this as carefully as she could. Slow it down, wait between orders…she hoped those were things she could accomplish tonight. A hand floated over to her bag, fingering the satin turquoise material that had slowly been slipping out for the past few minutes before sliding it back into hiding. She wasn’t ready for that yet—a few more drinks maybe…yeah.

She looked at his face, studying him carefully. What strange eyes he had—she wondered if they were contacts. Tilting her head a little to the side she removed the umbrella from her drink and placed the pointed end in her mouth—taking the alcohol soaked peach square with it. “I think you should have went with orange—to match your eyes.”

[6]

((It's alright. Amala's muse has been dying to see Jaing come back over the past few days. x3 ))

[MillietheWarrior]

Jaing didn't comment on Amala's drinking. But a worried look flashed across his face. How much alcohol could normal people safely consume? Jaing had never really had that question come up in everyday life. He decided it would be best to keep a good eye on her and make sure he stopped her when he thoguht she was on the brink of falling over and passing out. He stared down at his glass, debating on whether or not to take another drink. It wasn't exactly foul, but it wasn't really...Good. He turned to Amala, effectively saving himself from having to take another drink to keep up appearances. Ick.

"A firm?" he asked. "Interesting. A friend of mine's wife is a treasury secretary. She works at a pace...Sort of like that." In truth, it was Ordo's wife, but he didn't dare say it aloud. Clones weren't supposed to be married, or to have a real life, or to have a family. It was against...Well, not against the rules. But everyone knew what happened to Clones who caused dissention and broke ranks...Death squads.  "If you ask me, filing sounds...Boring. Give me a good day at the shooting range and a few dangerous combat simulations." He winked.

"But I don't think I could handle a day at a firm. It'd kill me. Your one brave gal." Jaing smiled at her until he noticed her scrutinizing stare. She was looking at his eyes. He coughed slightly, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "You think so?" he asked. "I always thought orange was a bit dull...Even if it's the same color as my eyes...Er..." He flicked his helmet with his fingers. "Maybe your right. Maybe I should repaint my armor. Not like I'm doing much else around here. I feel pretty useless..." He shrugged, and, braving his glass, took another drink. "Ugh...How can anyone drink this stuff?" he asked, glancing her way.

[7]

[Kallile]

An empty glass settled back on the table. Funny—Amala didn’t even remember savoring the last few drops. She knew she was another drink or so away from feeling strong effects such as forgetfulness—so why, suddenly, could she not remember finishing her drink?

Nodding, trying to shake the odd feeling off, she grinned at Jaing. “Oh, I’m far from brave. More along the lines of gullible, I guess. Make work sound boring enough and those trying to make it from day to day will come.” Her grin faded a little and she raised her hand just slightly to signal the bartender to come back. Just one more lemonade…just one. She promised herself.

“Oh no!” She said upon hearing his comment about eye color. Or rather, just the color itself. “I don’t think so. Orange can mean so many things. Caution, warmth…I guess even to try and scare us. We do use it at Halloween, after all.  It would make you an attention grabber though, that much I’m sure of. Lieutenant. ” The last word was followed with a small and playful salute as she laughed a little.

Her laughter did not die down very quickly though, as she watched him debate with himself about his drink. “Well, you ordered the stronger stuff. I only know truckers that actually like that kind. Most guys I know just drink it to look tough.” She didn’t mention that she could drink with the most hardened trucker once she was already feeling the ‘good’ effects of a buzz. No, he didn’t need to know that.

“If you actually want to enjoy a drink you need a little flavor in it and some ice—weaken it down and make it more manageable.” She offered, having steered away from the word ‘fruity’ and opted for “flavor” instead. Tell a man to order a ‘fruity drink’ and he’d normally sulk off. “Here…”

She pushed his glass away from him along with a few dollar bills she had been sneakily fishing from her bag. “Don’t drink what you don’t like. It only makes the experience worse. Tell me a favorite flavor of yours. One of mine is apple—I love the slightly sour bite it has.” Why, why, why was she trying to help this man drink? He obviously didn’t like the stuff very much. But…she couldn’t let him see that it didn’t matter what she had in front of her. It would be drank in due time. Get him onto a path of discovery and maybe she could hide that fact just a little longer.

[7]

[MillietheWarrior]

"No," Jaing reiterated. "Brave. I mean, no one could get anything done if there weren't people around to do the paperwork. Every battle, every order, step by step instructions, weapons recall and demand. Things like that, you know? Clerical desk jobs and things like that...That's where we really need more people. All we have to say in the army is 'We're gonna bust this thing wide open!' and go in with guns blazing. We don't file the paperwork on that mission. You guys do." He shrugged. "Don't sell yourself short, ad'ika."

He blinked slightly, pushed his drink away, and stared at her with a lopsided grin. "You trying to say I'm a Caution Cone?" he asked, amusement clearly evident in his voice. "Because if so, I don't think I'm cut out for that job. Too dangerous." He chuckled, and then looked down at his chest plate. "I guess your right. Orange might be a good color to consider. I'll have to get off my lazy shebs and get my armor repainted, then." He continued to push his glass away until the bartender got the hint and took it from him.

"Truckers?" Jaing asked, and just looked at the bartender. He had very eloquent eyebrows, and it was clear he was annoyed that he hadn't known that. "Ugh, no wonder." He gave her a scrutinizing stare. "Are you trying to discreetly tell me to order a fruity drink that would deprive me of all masculinity?" he asked, completely deadpan. "Cause I'm gonna have to take that suggestion. That other stuff was gonna make me sick." He chuckled as the bartender set a glass of green colored liquid in front of him. Jaing sniffed it, and then took a drink. "I dunno why they even had that other stuff on the menu here. That is a law suit waiting to happen," he muttered.

He leaned back slightly, and stared at the drink. "What a coincidence. Apple," he said, grinning at her. "That's pretty much the only other flavor I've ever liked as well," he said with a nonchalant shrug. "But then again, I haven't tried anything else, really. This is a new experience for me."

[8]