At a bar beyond the end of the universe, a young blond man sits sipping a bluish drink and watching stars explode through the window.
Snort.
"No, I imagine not, but it's not the clothes. I am not so bereft of imagination that I can't imagine you in something less snappy, but it's - you do not have the look of a farmer, to me."
"The way you carry yourself. Like you have the weight of the galaxy on your shoulders, and the strength to carry it. ... Proverbial strength, though I'd be impressed if you could figure out how to literally carry a planet."
"I guess I had to do a lot of growing up very quickly. Didn't get a lot choice about the responsibilities I was given, but it was either pick them up or get crushed beneath them."
"You have friends and family that can listen to you when you need to talk, and help you when you need it. You now have the resources of the multiverse at your disposal, and time outside is paused to give you time to think and rest. You can ask for all of the written works of history from Bar for whatever perspectives you want, and you can feel free to speak to me whenever you like. You're intelligent, thoughtful, resourceful, powerful, and have good instincts. There will always be a 'so far,' always be a chance of future failure, but I think you have a greater chance of future success."
Awwwwww.
Her attempts to flirt with him seem to have been too subtle for him to really catch, but she doesn't think she wants to try being more overt. That just risks making a fool of herself, and to be honest she'd rather not. He's cute, she likes subtly flirting with him and seeing him blush adorably, she doesn't want to try to push things any farther than where they are now. Maybe later.
But she can smile at him. Because he is very cute.
"All right," she agrees, easily. "I think I saw a comfortable couch and quaint fireplace somewhere, I'll be reading this," she holds up the tablet, smile irrepressible, "over there if you need me."
He goes over to the bar and arranges for a room and a job, taking longer than is perhaps strictly necessary. Then wanders over to where Callida is reading.
She's curled up in an armchair, engrossed in the datapad. At some point she toed off her boots.
She glances up when he wanders over.
"Hey. Not too much trouble to get a room and job set up?"
"Good! Because now it's my turn. Excuse me."
Up she gets, to go arrange for her own room and job, leaving her boots where they're neatly set next to the chair.
She arranges her own room and joins the staff.
"Is fire really that interesting?" she teases, when she returns.
"Well, most of the time is just a heat panel or something. It's not often you see a real wood-burning fireplace in a building."
"No, usually it's fire pits if fire's involved at all. The technological equivalent of feast or famine, perhaps. Heating things with technology's so much easier. Though I think Darth Vowrawn has a fireplace, actually."
"Dark Councilor of Production and Logistics. I've met him, he's, uh. One of the better Councilors, as they go, but a bit crazier than I'd like. He's competent at his job and great with numbers, and also sort of - he takes great personal enjoyment from being Sith."