Ep V: Chapter 18

It’s morning.

The knock at Enthea’s door brings her out of her resting state. She’s sitting cross-legged on the bed in her room, meditating while using the **** to monitor the situation in the penthouse. It’s the best way for her to do her job while getting something like sleep.

Maybe she should’ve stayed on the roof all night. Or maybe she should’ve accepted Scora and Myra’s invitation to keep an eye on them without stealth. There was no point agonizing about maybes. It had been a quiet night, at least after Myra and Scora had finally gone to sleep.

Enthea gets to her feet and answers the knock. She’s almost bowled over by all the hairy, brown arms that come windmilling through the door, pushing a cart.

Enthea leaps back and throws an arm out, all set to summon her lightsaber to her hand. She stops herself.

“Good morning!”

The intruder is a big Harch in a white uniform with a towel over his shoulder. He closes the door and his six arms industrially begin to transform his cart into a table.

“I’m sorry, what are you doing here?” Enthea asks as the table takes shape.

“I’m your massage. Boss sent me here personal,” the Harch replies, and his arms never stop moving. One of them pulls a clothes hanger out of the cart with a frilly maid’s uniform on it. “She said I was supposed to wear this. You want I should put it on?” the Harch massage therapist speaks incredibly loudly.

“Um, no.”

“OK, it’s the boss’s credits. Don’t matter to me,” the Harch replies, deploying a second table. One arm tosses the maid outfit aside carelessly while others line up bottles of oil and lube. “All right, let’s go!” Several arms pat the table. “Take those clothes off and get up here. I ain’t got all morning. There’s a singer from Yavin that booked me for three hours later on. I’m gonna have to rest and hydrate first, if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t think I need a massage this morning.”

“Excuse me?” The Harch is suddenly in front of her, looming over her. His six orange eyes gleam dully and his huge mandibles twitch. “What did you say?”

“I said that I don’t think I need a massage. I guess you get the hour off,” Enthea replies.

“What’s the matter with you? You don’t like wellness? You don’t like healthy living? Is that it?”

“Um, no. I mean, I do.” Enthea is still waking up. “I just usually get massages in the evening, that’s all.” And not typically from Harches. It’s typically from… pleasure droids in Coruscant’s red light district. And they typically only massage one part of her. Sometimes two.

“That defeats the purpose,” the Harch retorts without hesitation, bristling visibly and literally.

Despite herself, Enthea is thrown. “How? You do it at the end of the day because tension builds up.”

“No, you do it first thing so you carry the benefits with you through the day,” the Harch explains, making a sweeping gesture with all six arms.

“What benefits?”

“Get on the table! I already told you. I got that Yavin lady later. You trying to mess up my schedule?”

Enthea frowns and reaches out with the ****. Things feel peaceful.

“Well, all right,” she says, shrugging out of her robes.