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Saga - Legends “Tea time”, vignette for Springtime Meadow of Wildflowers & Berries

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction- Before, Saga, and Beyond' started by AzureAngel2, Mar 11, 2021.

  1. AzureAngel2

    AzureAngel2 Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Jun 14, 2005
    Title:Tea time”, a vignette for Springtime Meadow of Wildflowers & Berries

    Author: AzureAngel2

    Co-editor and muse: @DarthUncle

    Main beta editor: @WarmNyota_SweetAyesha

    Length: a vignette

    Summary: A clinical psychologist is invited by a doctor colleague of a different medical discipline. They meet in his home.

    For this fan fic I used the prompt “Daydream Reverie” from Springtime Meadow of Wildflowers & Berries!, the latest challenge of @WarmNyota_SweetAyesha.

    Time frame: 1 ABY

    Places of choice: Coruscant and Chandrila

    Reader warning: Please excuse my weird English! I am German. English is only my Second language!

    Disclaimer: SW is owned by George Lucas, Lucas Ltd. and now The Walt Disney Company



    Lay down

    Your sweet and weary head
    The night is falling
    You have come to journey's end
    Sleep now
    And dream of the ones who came before
    They are calling
    From across the distant shore


    Why do you weep?
    What are these tears upon your face?
    Soon you will see
    All of your fears will pass away
    Safe in my arms
    You're only sleeping


    What can you see
    On the horizon?
    Why do the white gulls call?
    Across the sea
    A pale moon rises
    The ships have come to carry you home


    And all will turn
    To silver glass
    A light on the water
    All Souls pass


    Hope fades
    Into the world of night
    Through shadows…



    The intercom bleeped and, quick and efficient as always, Rashae Chare reached out to answer the call. By doing so, she was careful with her horns. Those curved downwards along the sides of her face. Not hitting the desk was part of her daily acrobatics at her working place. The Iktotchi loved her job as a doctor's receptionist though.

    “Miss Chare,” her boss addressed her as politely as ever. “Can you please give Miss Gilles another appointment for next week?”

    “Sure.”

    Not much later the wife of the famous musician Milow Gilles walked out of the consulting room. Her lekku, the long, fleshy appendages of her race, looked more vivid than an hour ago.

    “So, next week, same time, Ahetnigac?” she asked the tall and painfully thin Twi'lek woman, who suffered from anorexia. Not even her expensive designer dress could hide that fact.

    “Sure, why not.” Fragile shoulders shrugged. “Milow is on tour anyway. Send me a memo to my personal com, please!”

    The Iktotchi leaned over. “He is touring and you are not with him? But you are his front singer.”

    A shadow fell over the other female's face. “Stage ban. For freaks. Like us.” Then she lowered her melodic voice. “You know, non-humans.”

    “Old Palpatine should reconsider how his Empire is run,” mused Rashae, her wrinkled face more reddish than ever.

    “As if His Excellency would care about such a little detail right now. Not in the middle of a Civil War that costs him billions of credits.”

    Both aliens fell silent.

    Off the record many saw the recent events as acts of separation from the government in charge. Since both females had lived through the Clone Wars, they had an idea what was coming. For all of them. But this time the Separatists were not the enemy any more.

    “Princess Leia of Alderaan has been made an outlaw,” the Iktotchi added for consideration after a while. “An enemy of the state.”

    “Such a shame!” A pair of Lekku shivered in sympathy. “The past years she was the best poster girl for the Empire. Pretty face, devoted to her office. Now she is on countless wanted posters throughout the galaxy.”

    “I always liked her. This senator seemed to be someone who really cared.”

    The Twi'lek cocked her head, her lekku moving thoughtfully. “Sometimes Organa reminds me of Senator Amidala of Naboo.”

    With a happy laugh, Rashae clapped her hands. “Me, too. They could be sisters.”

    At that Ahetnigac looked rather sad. “I wonder what Nagina would have made of recent events. She used to have her conspiracy theories, but until now they all have come true.”

    The other alien reached over the desk to support the much taller singer. “I do miss your older foster sister, too. It's been almost twenty years now, isn't it?”

    “Yes.”

    Thinking hard of something positive, Rashae added. “Nagina was the first patient that I was allowed to check in thirty-three years ago. Oh, she was so sweet to me. Actually, it was her who taught me a lot about Floriography in the years after.”

    “Really?” A big smile spread over the greenish Twi'lek face. “That explains a lot in this outer office. I should have asked before.”

    “It looks like a jungle, right?” The Iktotchi grinned. “My father used to joke that he suspected our Ithorian neighbour to be my real sire.”

    The door chimed and a stern-looking Devaronian marched in. He wore a suit and a single ear bud in his left ear. “Mistress! School closes soon.”

    “Yeah, my dear body-guard is right. I need to fetch the twins with him.” Regret was visible in Ahetnigac's eyes. “See you!”

    Once the patient and her companion were out of the doctor's surgery all together, Rashae checked on Doctor Sebastian Robotham.

    Forlorn, the seasoned Alderaanian gazed on an inkblot of the well-known Rorschachtest.

    Treating complex traumatic stress disorders in adults had been his working field since decades. Long before the Clone Wars the clinical psychologist had been able to build up quite a reputation here on Coruscant. Of late his doctor's surgery was slightly overrun due to the recent events in the galaxy.

    Jedha.

    Scarif.

    Alderaan.

    The DS-1 Orbital Battle Station, which the people referred to as the Death Star.

    The casualties, numbering in the millions, included many non-military.

    The small Iktotchi harrumphed, “Doctor Damodaran would like to invite you for tea. In his studio apartment.”

    “Out of the blue?” Doctor Robotham wondered.

    She smirked. “I would say he is very keen on discussing a certain patient that you both share.”

    He thought long and hard, obviously roaming through his mental library. “Oh, her!”

    “Allow me to say so, Sebastian, but you should walk over. It's just a block away, even at the same level. You could simply walk there, have a bit of fresh air.”

    “As if such a thing as 'fresh air' could ever exist on Coruscant.”

    The Iktotchi placed a potted plant on the desk, wrapped in colourful paper. “Chrysanthemums. They symbolize friendship and good cheer.”

    A dry laugh escaped the human. “You should go, not I. Not only did you get some flowers for the occasion, but you seem most eager about it.”

    Slight despair shone in her indigo coloured eyes, giving them a dark shade. “Just give it a try! It will do you good.”

    ********************************************************************

    A gift of flowers was always a welcome surprise, especially here on Coruscant a planet-wide ecumenopolis.

    After his deeply touched host had found a vase for the flowers, Doctor Fierro Damodaran had disappeared back into the kitchen. And so the seasoned psychologist had been left alone to wander around in the large living-room.

    Soon the clinical psychologist ended up in front of the gallery with real canvases. Not a holocron collection.

    To recognize a painting from Naboo was not hard for the trained eye. The evidence was hard to miss. There were short, thick strokes of oil paint all over the canvas. Every single one of them aimed to capture the essence of the depicted subject, rather than its details.

    Doctor Robotham stepped closer to the masterpiece in question. It showed a ball of fire, undoubtedly a burning sun in its glory. The light of the celestial body was based on yellow, pale sulphur, equally pale lemon and gold.

    All of a sudden, he felt a slight maladaise in his bowels and turned away from the painting.

    Too much junk food he told himself sternly. He made a mental note to stay away from Uscru Entertainment District and its food stalls, which served affordable, fast fare to residents of all types. At least for a while. Ojomian onions did not agree with his gall stones. Nor did B'omarr-style pickles. He felt old.

    “Fancy some tea?” asked his host from the other room.

    “Yes, please!” the clinical psychologist answered straight back to Doctor Damodaran and walked over to the low coffee table.

    More rural Naboo style, obviously from the famous Gallo Mountains.

    “A healthy portion of dhal bhat as well?”

    Doctor Robotham shook at the thought of lentil soup, usually accompanied by a big portion of rice and seasonal vegetables. It was not that he hated Naboo food in general, but of late his eating patterns had become less and less civilized. At the strangest times he feed like a starving rancor bull. “No, thank you!”, he assured his host. “I had already eaten before coming here.”

    “What a shame!” sighed Doctor Damodaran but went on with his tea preparations in the kitchen nevertheless.

    Cupboard doors creaked. Tableware rattled.

    Laboriously, the clinical psychologist heaved himself on one of the brocade sitting pillows. About a year ago, he had been less substantial in size. Perhaps, it had not been a good idea to sign off from his favourite Coruscanti fitness centre.

    Doctor Robotham cleared his throat several times, while his mind had come dangerously close to remembering the reason for his notice of departure. The real reason. Not the one he had given the owner of Performix House.

    “In case you asked yourself, it's called 'Daydream Reverie', Sebastian”, his esteemed medical colleague explained into the blue.

    “What?”

    “The sun painting.”

    “Aha,” the clinical psychologist got out. But then a large amount of anger build up in him, needing an outlet. “What a stupid title! It contradicts itself!”

    “Oh?” was the innocent reply.

    “A day dream is a spontaneous and fanciful series of thoughts while awake not connected to immediate reality.”

    “Is that so, Sebastian?”

    “A rêverie though is a caper, a frolic,” Doctor Robotham went on, eagerly. “A merriment that can be a state of dreaming while awake; a loose or irregular train of thought.”

    His host came in with a fully-loaded tea tablet. “Thanks for pointing that out. I will remember that during my next meeting with the other patrons of the Parnelli.”

    The clinical psychologist crooked an eyebrow. “The Parnelli Museum of Art?” he emphasized.

    “The very one,” Doctor Damodaran said proudly and put the tray down. It was overloaded with cookies. Their fragrant aromatic spices tickled and tantalised the human olfaction.

    It took a great deal of willpower to concentrate on his tea mug only. “Just tea, please!” he repeated wearily.

    His host pulled Doctor Robotham a generous amount of tea. “Here you are!”

    “No milk or sugar, please!”

    “Are you sure?”

    “I like it as it is, Fierro.”

    Saying thus, Doctor Robotham gratefully drank a small sip and closed his eyes, while he did.

    Tea plants had always grown wild in the region underneath the Gallo Mountains, but the Gungans had not been interested in them. The natives of Naboo, being an amphibious species, had rather used seaweed and moos for brewing hot beverages.

    Everything had changed though, when a star ship from war-torn Grizmallt crash-landed. Among the survivors had been wise individuals who recognized the potential of the local plants. Especially of the camellia sinensis, which mostly grew at or near sea level. That herb came with briskness and an undeniably malty flavour. It was also an eye teaser once put into hot water for a while. For the resulting brew came with strong, bright colour.

    Doctor Robotham viewed tea as an herbal medicine rather than as a recreational beverage. Since years the psychologist preferred chai masala spice mixtures, or karha and Kha-shā-yam that were still in current use on Naboo. Those derived from ancient Ayurvedic texts that were also known on Alderaan.

    His heart stopped a beat or two, when the brutal realization hit. “That was a mean trick,” he sneered at his esteemed colleague, Doctor Fierro.

    The other man demurred, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

    In one clean movement Doctor Robotham shoved the porcelain cup over the edge of the table. With a loud clang it shattered to the ground, breaking up into millions of pieces. Like his home world recently had. “Liar!” he sneered. “You are trying to set me up! I thought you invited me over to discuss the patient that we share since years. But you want to talk politics with me!”

    The paediatrician swept to his feet, while his guest remained seated gloomily. “Sebastian! I sincerely apologize for any embarrassment that I've caused you since your arrival.”

    “Shut up! Don't make it worse! You joined a rebel cell and now you think you can persuade me...”

    He did not want to talk about Alderaan. Not now. It was still too painful a subject. His family, his friends, his home town – all gone. This was not a political issue for him though. It would never be.

    With no warning, a slender woman stepped into the room. Doctor Robotham was sure he had seen her face some place before.

    “I have it, Fierro!” the stranger said with a certainty that was annoying. “Please grant me some space here and I do all the necessary talking.”

    The paediatrician backed away, somewhat awestruck by the stranger. “I prepare more tea, Sabé. Is this alright with you?”

    She nodded. “Please do!”

    “Sabé.” Doctor Robotham narrowed his eyes, getting up in slow motion. “A good traditional name from Naboo, is it not?”

    The woman, clad in usual civilian clothing, smiled at him. “It is the name that I chose when I became a handmaiden of the queen.”

    “Somehow I have the feeling we are not talking about the current queen.” Nervously, he eyed the stranger who stood completely still with some regal air all around her. “What's her name again?”

    “Dalné.”

    The clinical psychologist kept staring at the unannounced third party. Something was off. “Tell me, why are your features so hauntingly familiar to me?”

    “That can be easily explained.” Her brown eyes were as calm as her voice. “The majority of handmaidens were chosen to look like Queen Amidala. Many of us were her decoys in crisis situations.”

    “Queen Amidala, the later Senator Amidala. Not a very healthy job position you had there as I remember. One of your fellow handmaidens got killed before the start of the Clone Wars.”

    Her face remained a lake with a calm surface that he was not able to penetrate. “To serve our home planet and it's elected leader is all that matters.”

    “Correct me, when I am wrong, but your queen is long gone, Sabé. She was found dead after the Jedi Purge.”

    “Dead, but still not forgotten, my dear doctor. Neither is her child that died with her.”

    Somehow the psychologist had the feeling he was dealing with a person who had an unhealthy fixation on a dead employer. Years of professional experience told him so. He drew a conclusion. “I am not taking new patients at present.”

    She laughed. “I am not interested in starting a therapy.”

    A sense of foreboding overcame him. For years he was treating an unofficial member of the Palpatine family. The entire arrangement was complicated and gave him headaches at times. He made his back straight, giving his best to look imposing. Inside his head he cursed Doctor Damodaran. Only he was to blame for this dilemma. “To discuss current patients of mine is out of question.”

    Ever so gracefully, Sabé sauntered closer. “Even if the woman in question is the daughter of the man who is responsible for the destruction of your home planet?”

    “Grand Moff Tarkin is dead,” Doctor Robotham defended himself. “Besides, he never had a daughter. You mix him up with Galen Erso, the...”

    “You know that I do not refer to him.”

    They stood eye to eye now.

    “Dead or alive, I will not discuss my patients with you!” And certainly not the clone of the niece that had died on Sheev Palpatine. “I swore an oath and this means a lot to me.”

    The woman remained in her calm, unnerving state. “I swore one as well. At the grave of my beloved queen who was also my best friend.”

    Of course, there was a lot to be said about that, but Doctor Robotham knew better than to push his luck.

    Sabé's gaze turned hard as dura steel. “Cassandra Krennic is not dead. That's a lie a very powerful individual within the Empire.”

    He still said nothing. It was better that way. To explain Sith magic and necromantic acts that involved putting a trapped soul into a new host body was too ghastly to explain to others.

    “The Dark Lord took her in,” the Naboo woman spoke with great certainty. “And I want to know why.”

    Doctor Robotham gazed at the mess he had made earlier on and while he did some suspicion rose in him. Together with a chunk of bile. “The tea.”

    “Which you had to spill before drinking it completely. This way the truth serum does not work.”

    “Aren't I lucky,” he joked, but there was no humour in his voice. Just dread.

    “No, you are not,” the former Naboo handmaiden said. “Now we need to find other means to get the necessary information on Miss Krennic.”

    And with that, Doctor Robotham got unceremoniously teasered by about five-hundred volt.

    ********************************************************************

    Sabé, whose birth name was Tsabin, looked sorry at what she had done, but Fierro was still outraged. He had not liked the plan beforehand, knew it to be failure sooner or later. Doctor Robotham had turned into a good friend the past eighteen years. Due to the Krennic girl. But it had been clear all the time that he held valid information on her back.

    “He is no good to us dead,” the paediatrician shouted and stared down at his unconscious colleague.

    “I know.” She gave him a brief military nod. “But if we want direct access to the Dark Lord and his household, we need to sacrifice our morals.”

    “Then we are not better than him.”

    She raised her small chin with the elegance of a queen. “Bhagavad Gita: Chapter 10, Verse 11.”

    With clenched teeth, Fierro did her the favour and quoted, “Teṣhām evānukampārtham aham ajñāna-jaṁ tamaḥ nāśhayāmyātma-bhāva-stho jñāna-dīpena bhāsvatā.”

    And as simple as that she translated: “Out of compassion for them, I, who dwell within their hearts, destroy the darkness born of ignorance, with the luminous lamp of knowledge.”

    The paediatrician gave her a dark look. “No svāmin on Naboo that I know of would agree with your self-serving text interpretation.” He pointed at their victim who had started bleeding out of his nostrils. “Or the violence used to achieve your goals. This is not the way.”

    “And what about the violence the Empire used to steal the holy kyber crystals from the Guardians of the Whills on Jedha?” She did not raise her voice, but it's impact was like that of a whip anyway. “What about the enslavement of the Wookies throughout this galaxy?”

    “Stop!” he yelped, tired and uncertain.

    “Fierro. I do appreciate your criticism. Blind obedience is indeed for the henchmen of the Emperor.” Conciliatory, she reached out to him. “But I do what I must to find Padmé's murderers. Even if I have to train an Opee sea killer to devour Vader.”

    He started laughing, but her calm demeanour told him that Sabé was not joking. She meant it.

    A shiver ran through the devastated doctor. He should have chosen another resistance group against the Empire. Preferable one that did not want to harm Cassandra Krennic. The girl was innocent of her father's crimes. And she could not help that the infamous Dark Lord had claimed her a couple of months ago. She was a teenager still. And his former patient.

    Sabé placed a hand on his trembling shoulders. “Help me to get him into our base without too much attention from your neighbours.”

    ********************************************************************

    Cassandra Krennic had done her best to give the appearance of a Mirakula. The hair, done in two neat braids, had been coloured white. It was hard to tell that it had ever been ginger. A facial veil covered the eye region and a quarter of the tanned skin.

    But Sabé could see right through this camouflage.

    “And you are again?” the girl repeated incredulously.

    The former handmaiden gave her best to look helpful and friendly. “Doctor Imānadārītā. His temporary replacement.”

    “Right.” Cassandra Krennic pushed to her feet, her expensive velvet robes whispering with every movement of hers. “Well then we all hope that Sebastian gets better after his stroke, don't we.”

    Sabé was losing her and this was the last thing she could afford to do. “But Miss Irluuk, you already paid for today's appointment.”

    “Since I am a private patient, this won't be a problem for my health insurance. I pay a lot to keep them happy. Have a nice day, Doctor.. um,… Imānadārītā.”

    Under the table the Naboo woman reached for her teaser weapon. “But won't you consider…”

    It happened within the blink of an eye.

    A small dart from the girl's right wrist hit the resistance fighter straight in the aorta.

    Next, an entire bookshelf came crashing down, creating a sudden barrier between them.

    Cassandra Krennic was a Force user. She had to be. And that was a clue why Lord Vader had claimed her.

    “I have no freckin' clue who you really are,” the girl shouted and tore off her veil in a temper. By doing so she revealed a perfect pair of eyes that no true Mirakula would ever be able to possess. “But I can tell that you are full of bantha poodoo. You are so not Sebastian's replacement. I even doubt that you have a Ph. D. in Psychology or Medicine.”

    Due to the anaesthetic in her system Sabé was not able to move or to speak.

    “I am getting tired of all the freaks that are chasing me through this galaxy since the Day that the Death Star blew up.” An ugly frown marred the young woman's brow. “And right now I don't even care what faction you belong to.”

    Another bookshelf came down and blocked the door to the outer office.

    “I was really, really looking forward to this appointment here. And now...”

    With shaking hands, Cassandra Krennic came closer, but instead of wringing the life out of Sabé, she simply reached out for a personal comlink.

    “Hallo, space taxi? I need a quick lift from my doctor.”

    While the girl gave the taxi office her exact whereabouts, her gaze never left Sabè's face.

    “Okay,” Cassandra Krennic concluded after she hung up. “Since His Lordship is very busy at present, I will not waste his precious time by telling him about you. From now on, stay out of my life. Or I will find the worst scum of the galaxy to come after you. Boba Fett still owes me a favour or two. And Prince Xizor dotes on me, for what daft reasons ever.”

    Like a typical teen the girl rolled her eyes. And Sabé suddenly realized how young the other person really was.

    “He is so narcissistic and positively easy,” Cassandra moved on. “Anyway, I bet you have a weapon on you that I can borrow.”

    Quick, keen fingers wandered over the body of the resistance fighter.

    “Ah!” Cassandra whistled in recognition. “A standard LEG-3A blaster pistol. That will do.”

    In wonderment, Sabé watched the girl opened the curtains wide. Then Cassandra stepped back and shot at the window. The thick glass had no chance against a blaster, that was able to tear off the head of a battle droid. It broke into a thousand pieces. But there was still a lot of it in the way.

    Cassandra, obviously no spoiled Imperial officer's brat was at the practical side of things. An impression that deepened when the girl took an empty plank out of one of the book shelves and used it to clear her path. Only when she was finished she glanced back over her shoulder.

    “If there is anything amiss with Sebastian, I will find you. No matter in which hole you are able to crawl.”

    Outside, a space taxi honked enthusiastically. “Hey, gorgeous!” somebody called out in a thick Corellian accent. “Your ride is here!”

    “Gah!” Cassandra cursed, but an instant later she put a winning smile. “Coming, my big boy!”

    “Really?” the man teased her throatily, his voice out enough to be heard in the busy Coruscanti air traffic. “And I even haven't started my magic yet.”

    “No tip!” the girl muttered to herself before climbing out of the shattered window. “No tip.”

    ********************************************************************

    After a rather dramatic entrance into the night club, with a Gamorran bouncer ending up pretty hurt in his lower regions, the clone had marched up to his table. Since Boba Fett did not want anybody else to listen in, they ended up in a rear-room, reserved for exclusive business meetings only.

    “Now you have my permission to talk,” the bounty hunter said to Cassandra Krennic, locking the door behind them and taking off his helmet leisurely.

    In the harsh lamp light the clone looked pretty vulnerable. But despite her obvious fear she began talking again. “Doctor Robotham. Some madwoman took him. Her.”

    She reached into her décolleté and threw a charcoal drawing in front of his feet. In complete silence he scanned it.

    “How much to rescue him and bring her in?”

    At least Cassandra Krennic had learned to make a long story short. So living with the Dark Lord had paid out for her.

    “How much?” the clone repeated, impatience and worry in her features.

    “I heard you the first time,” Boba Fett said matter-of-factly, deciding that play time was over.

    “Is my money not good enough for you?”

    He counted to ten, enjoying the expression Cassandra Krennic was giving him. Then he said delightedly, “Oh, Imperial credits are always fine, but I am not taking any from you.”

    The clone produced a standard LEG-3A blaster pistol out of her topknot and dared to point it at him. “You freckin' Mando imitator! I have no clue which of your billion Fett brothers took a pee against your leg recently, but...”

    In an instant, Boba Fett kicked the weapon out of her hand and brought her down on the ground, not sparing her any of his usual brutality. His right boot came to rest on her throat. “Robotham is a good man. And this is why I will help him. Not because of you.”

    Her eyes glowed wild. “You simply could have said so.”

    He took his foot off. “Where is the fun in that?”

    ********************************************************************

    The encrypted HoloNet message came from a certain farmhouse on Chandrilla. Not many beings in this galaxy used Sith runes so flawlessly. It did not say much apart from: “I need a break. Very much appreciated. Thanks! Please take care! Hate you!”

    Eventually, Darth Vader got back to the sender.

    It had been another crazy week for the Dark Lord since his master had come up with several plots against him. Every single one of them had the goal to finish him off. Nothing new, really.

    One by one, he had eliminated all his adversaries, only leaving the mean old man alive.

    Cassandra had explained to Darth Vader over and over again that it was the way of the Sith treating one another like this. But instead of playing such deadly power games non-stop he would rather have preferred a calm match of Dejarik once in a while. It got boring and was wasteful.

    On an extraordinarily bright afternoon the Dark Lord finally made it to the Krennic apple farm.

    Cassandra was already out on the porch, swinging back and forth in an antique looking rocking chair. As he came closer his visual sensors showed him that she was wearing a T-shirt and dungarees. She was even bare foot and wore wild flowers in her brown hair.

    At his sight, she jumped up and started waving. “Hi, Darth!”

    With every step he made towards his young cousin, his well-prepared speech to her shrunk until it dissolved in complete complacence.

    “Tough week, huh?” she asked anxiously and he found himself nodding to that, even though he disliked her jovial use of Basic at times. Any bar keeper in Mos Espa would have talked more refined than her. She certainly was not a Sith lady but a Krennic through and through.

    Not much later the Dark Lord was standing next to her and gazed straight at the apple blossoms, that were in full bloom.

    “Yeah, I know I caused some chaos in town,” and with that comment she unmistakeably meant Coruscant.

    “Really?” he offered.

    “But it was such a bummer! Some blasted rebels caused my poor shrink to end up like Gramps. And that Corellian bloke, the space taxi driver, he deserved a good kick in his… you know. I am a lady after all.”

    Darth Vader was trying to make sense of her words, but he was afraid to get caught up in some of Cassandra's rather complicated mind-blowing affairs.

    “Would you mind paying for his early retirement?” She puffed into his side with her elbow, very lightly, but still. “He did not give any of my secrets away and this is a good thing right? With me being a Palpatine and such.”

    That painfully reminded him, who was responsible for his own existence. But facing the brutal truth on a daily basis was somewhat helpful. For it fuelled his immense hatred with his master.

    When grasping a clear thought again, Darth Vader inquired with a politeness only reserved for her, “And where would you like Doctor Robotham to live?”

    Cassandra beamed all over her face. “Here, of course. Jay and he could keep each other company and I could visit them once in a while.”

    It would be better to kill off the psychologist. But then again it was dangerous to upset a pregnant woman.

    “Do we have a deal?” she asked hopefully.

    Deep inside Darth Vader started praying that she would not alter it.

    “Good!” satisfied she made herself comfortable in her rocking chair again. “Very good!”

    There were times when he asked himself if Cassandra was not the more dangerous scion of House Palpatine.

    “Jay, can I have another milk shake?” she called out.

    “The sugar percentage of blue milk is not good for you, Mistress Cassandra!” came the crisp answer of the medical droid, who was somewhere inside cleaning up. “Let me suggest a more appropriate alternative!”

    “Blast it!” she cursed softly. “Darth, can you possibly re-program the old trickster?”

    ********************************************************************

    When his new ward finally arrived on the Krennic farm, Jay was happy to serve again. He had the same condition as dear Master Agrippa used to have. Apoplexy. There was a big difference between them though. Master Sebastian was more eager to do his rehabilitation program, especially the speech exercises.

    When Mistress Cassandra came to visit several weeks later, the former clinical psychologist was able to tell her his tale personally. He was not easy to understand but Jay helped out like he had his original master.

    “A former handmaiden of Queen Amidala? And she believes that Darth killed his great love? I knew that silly bantha cow was full of poodoo.”

    The droid saw that Master Sebastian still clung on to the bouquet of windflowers that Mistress Cassandra. His human face, mostly a frozen affair after the taser attack, was grim.

    “That Sabé or whatever name she goes under cannot escape justice. I will get to her personally.”

    “Beware!” the former clinical psychologist got out.

    “Of course.” The young woman kissed his brow tenderly. “I have my resources.”

    “But first you will be polite and wash your hands!” Jay reprimanded Mistress Cassandra. “Tea time is ready.”


    Sources:
    The song “To the West” for the movie “Lord of the Rings: Return of the king” by Annie Lennox (2003)
    The name of a real NY fitness studio
    Bhagavad Gita: Chapter 10, Verse 11
    Wookieepedia – The Star Wars Wiki
    Hidden quotes from SW movies and the SW universe
     
    Last edited: Mar 11, 2021
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  2. WarmNyota_SweetAyesha

    WarmNyota_SweetAyesha Chosen One star 8

    Registered:
    Aug 31, 2004
    Excellent conversations, reminiscing about Nagina and comparing Leia to Padme ;) and the mood-shifts with Cassandra =D=
     
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  3. earlybird-obi-wan

    earlybird-obi-wan Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Aug 21, 2006
    twists and turns in a great story
     
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  4. Kahara

    Kahara FFoF Hostess Extraordinaire star 4 VIP - Game Host

    Registered:
    Mar 3, 2001
    What begins with tea and flowers quickly goes off the rails when Cassandra is involved! Interesting that Robotham and Damodaran met and became friends for many years through her, only for it all to end in the near-death of one of them. I'm curious to see if Sabe ever shows up again, and it was definitely unexpected for her and Cassie to have such a confrontation. :eek:

    [face_laugh] This seems very on brand for Cassie and Vader.
     
    Last edited: Mar 12, 2021
  5. AzureAngel2

    AzureAngel2 Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Jun 14, 2005
    @Actually, I wanted to post that during the International Woman´s Day, but then I changed and re-wrote stuff as you might have noticed... [face_blush] First because I had noticed that (according to cannon) Veers junior does leave the Empire after the Battle of Endor. So, our Cassie cannot be pregnant in 1 ABY. And then I wanted two female characters in the beginning in the story and more Boba.


    That coming from you is a great compliment, dear @earlybird-obi-wan. Thanks for taking the time to read and comment!


    @Kahara: In the first version it said: I love you, but then my husband, DarthUncle, remarked that there might not be a Sith vocabulary for love. And this way it would be much more cooler. [face_laugh]

    As for Sabé I might write more stories containing the Amidalans from the latest SW comic books.:amidala:
     
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