Parties were not Quo-Wing-Tzun’s natural habitat. Looking around the reception for his Master’s nuptials he could see a lot of smiling faces, and more than a few of them were glassy eyed with the excesses of alcohol, or possibly emotion, although he was favouring the former. Quo was watchful, eyeing across the crowds of people, forever on his guard. This was a throng, he estimated some 1000 people were in attendance, with more expected as the night wore on.
The venue itself was bedecked in flora of many hues, ice sculptures depicting both the bride and groom’s emblems, the wolf for Bentre, the dragon for Tasha’Vel. Every person’s dining place had been depicted by beautifully wrought, golden name plates, all adorned with both the crests. Quo had his secreted away in one of his carrying pouches.
Many of the revellers had been dressed in specially designed outfits for the occasion, the extravagance of the some of them being overwhelming to the senses. Most of the men were wearing some form of military uniforms, designating their standing within the Clan, and indeed within the Brotherhood in some cases. Quo, however, had worn the same thing he wore all the time, black. His Master would not have expected anything less. It suited him, and it contained all his weapons, one just never knew when they would be needed.
Making his way around the massive dance floor his eyes took in the sound system that had been installed for the evening, providing and audible backdrop to the celebrations. Currently there was a pianist playing instrumental background music for the post meal lull in exuberances. Quo made his way behind the speakers, checking for anything unusual as he went.
It was as he passed around the back of the towering monoliths of the speakers that his evening took a side step into the bizarre. Passing beneath the cables that powered the mighty speakers one of his horns snagged on it, its razor edged sharpness passing through the insulation, connecting both the negative and positive feeds through Quo’s head. The sudden flash, and subsequent shock, passed through his body making his muscles involuntarily contract, flinging him some thirty meters. His trajectory took him through the side of the temporary structure of the reception venue, depositing his slightly smoking form into the centre of the decorative fountain within the grounds of the Versea family seat. Picking himself up, he favoured the look of a drowned rat, and the water lilies stuck within his tunic did nothing to cement the look he had achieved.
Stepping out of the ornamental fountain, Quo shook himself, water running from him in streams. He made his way back up the slight incline towards the reception area, and the gap in the panel where he exitted the structure, backwards, in a sitting position. Already the repair droids were replacing the panel as he stepped back inside.
Bentre Stahoes was stood waiting for him when he stepped over the threshold. “¨Refreshed much?” He asked the dripping Zabrak. Quo shot him a look that most people would have run a mile from. Bentre chuckled to himself, turning away to rejoin the revelling.
Quo stepped forward, turning to his right, his right arm shooting out to his right from his shoulder. “What the....?” He turned around, circling to his left. His cybernetic implant made a right angle at the elbow joint, his forearm pointing upwards. He shook his head...... his arm was signalling to other travellers which way he was turning..... from state of the art machinery to an indicator in one easy move, could this get any worse?
He moved along the edge of the dance floor, towards the bar area. As he reached the corner and turned to his right his arm indicated his intention, promptly flattening an elderly couple who were dancing the military two step. In their supine position it was now a military excuse me. Quo carried on to the bar, this could become ridiculous, and there was nothing he could do about it here. Reaching the bar he ordered a Screwdriver. There was a curious clattering noise, and a spanner slid along the bar top towards him. A quizzical look crossed Quo’s face, he caught the spanner, and looked questioningly at the Bartender. “I never was any good with machinery,” he shrugged. The withering look Quo shot him made him pour a drink quickly, and send it along the same path as the tool had travelled. Quo downed it in one, slurping the last dregs with his drinking tube. Making his way over to the pianist he sat on the edge of the stool.
“Have you got a license to drive this piano?” he asked
“A...wuh.....the.....erm.......license?” Replied the bemused musician
“Yes, a license,” said Quo with a face like granite, “you can’t drive one alone if you haven’t got one”
“Er..... No,” came the stuttering reply
“Right, move up,” added the Zabrak as he shuffled the player down the stool. Looking at the music sheet propped on the piano’s stand he began tinkling the keys. The resultant sound was akin to a Steinway falling down a flight of stairs. Quo’s face frowned, confused, then the light of realisation dawned on him. Taking a knife from his belt he sliced the bottom part of the sheet from the manuscript. He took it and turned it upside down, his fingers again twiddling the keys, this time a lot more tunefully.
“Sorted.” He said, “Chinese arm, reads from right to left,” as if this was the most logical thing in the world.
Bentros, having watched all this from the bar looked baffled. “I’ll never understand you Quo,” was the only response he could find.
Leaving the piano seat Quo smirked, he made his way left, away from the piano, his arm making the left turn signal as he did so. Bentros found himself raising his own hand, immediately wondering why. That lunatic was catching!!
“Congratulations my Master, and yo u Bentros,” extending his prosthetic arm to the groom. Bentros hesitantly grasped the proffered handshake, unsure if the errant arm was about to fling him across the dance floor. “I must go and get this fixed,” he glanced at his right arm.
Tasha’Vel was watching from behind Bentros’ right shoulder, tears streaming down her face, her shoulders shaking as she laughed. “You sure know how to pick them, love.” Bentros chided her.
“I know darling,” said Tasha’Vel, “but he’s our idiot, and we wouldn’t have him any other way”
“No, you’re right, as always,” he replied, kissing her warmly. A crashing, cries, and a pair of thuds marked Quo’s progress from the room. Turning right towards the family House he almost decapitated a drinks waiter as his prosthesis continued to indicate his progress.
Tasha’Vel needed to pee, badly! And Quo needed more training, in more ways than one!!