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After enough time, the pain of a heartbreak simmers down to a vague, dull ache. It never disappears completely, but on most days, Sy Snootles can forget about the hurt.
Right after she killed her previous love when she shot Ziro in the heart, the pain returned with a vengeance. All she could think about was the life they could have lived, mourning not Ziro, but the light of the hope she used to feel when they were together. Murdering Ziro gave Sy a moment of much-needed catharsis, and the galaxy was better off for that scumbag no longer being alive. Regardless, the euphoria faded away quickly and all she was left with was the emptiness in her chest.
Now, nearly thirty years later, Sy rarely thinks of Ziro. She’s spent the time since growing her career as a singer and traveling the galaxy throughout its upheaval. She would take the occasional bounty if she was ever short on money any particular month, but really, she just finally fell in love with the music she was making. It wasn’t that Sy had ever hated her job, but now she could pour her pain into her lyrics, transforming it more success for herself.
About four years ago, Sy actually performed at the infamous party before Jabba’s murder at his palace. Nobody ever believes her, but it was that outlandish incident that inspired her to settle down and build a home on Tatooine. Sure, the heat and the sand were a bit rough, especially for her skin, but she was getting too old for hopping around the galaxy from party to party every weekend, and she could make more money in a stable position at the Mos Eisley cantina.
Sometimes, in her weakest moments, she lets herself yearn for a partner to keep her company during the sandstorms. But if Sy’s really being honest with herself, she knows she’s found a family in her bandmates. She almost had a fling with Max a few years prior, but she’s just glad to have him as her annoying little brother. She’s perfectly content with what she has, even if having somebody special in her would be a nice addition.
Sy sips her drink at a booth in the cantina, joking around with her friends after their successful performance earlier that night. She glances around the crowd idly, taking stock of who’s old and new, like one vaguely familiar Mandalorian, but she quickly ends up choking on her rum when she spots her.
Max notices, of course, because Max will take every opportunity possible to tease Sy. “What’s goin’ on, Snooty?” he asked, nudging her in the side. Sy almost doesn’t respond, still too mesmerized by the beauty of an amphibian lady hanging out in the corner of the room next to a container of something.
“It’s nothing,” Sy says, rolling her eyes and smacking Max in the head with her snout. He just laughs and easily follows Sy’s gaze where it’s locked onto Frog Lady.
“She sure doesn’t look like nothing,” he says, nudging her back more forcefully. “You gonna go talk to her or what?”
Sy huffs. “Max, I’ve told you so many times before, I’m not looking for a date anymore.”
Max chuckles. “I never said you had to go out with her, you know, but since you brought it up—”
She shoves him back, and they continue their nonverbal back and forth until Max elbows Sy hard enough that she slips out of the booth. She glares at him and he just responds with his most obnoxious wink.
Sy grumbles under her breath, but since she’s standing up already, she might as well give it a shot. It’s been a while since she’s hit on anybody, but hopefully she can remember her old flirting skills in the moment.
When Sy makes her way over to Frog Lady in the corner, she’s chatting in Frog with a human mechanic Sy vaguely recognizes as Peli, a regular at the cantina. She waits for a moment before making eye contact with Frog Lady and oh, her eyes are even more gorgeous up close. The rest of the room fades away as Sy stares into Frog Lady’s magnificent eyes, thinking she could study them for days on end.
Sy’s a bit rusty in her Frog; she used to be able to speak it fluently, but she’s gotten out of practice while on Tatooine. She can still understand the language, though, so she makes the universal sign for “Basic?” and luckily Frog Lady nods.
“What brings a beautiful lady like you to Mos Eisley?” Sy asks, cringing at the line and how totally un-suave it is. Somehow, Frog Lady doesn’t leave right away, only grinning widely in a way that stretches out her lips beautifully. Sy aches to plant a kiss on that mouth.
“I could ask that of you too,” Frog Lady croaks, and Sy flushes embarrassingly and resists swooning. “But to answer your question, I’m trying to get my eggs back home to my husband so he can fertilize them before the equinox,” she says, gesturing at the container next to her that suddenly makes so much more sense. “They’re the last of my line.”
Sy droops instantly. “Alright, I understand, I’ll let you get on your way,” she says, retreating in shame. But before she can get too far away, Frog Lady shoots out her tongue and wraps it around Sy’s spindly arm. Sy shivers and locks eyes with her again.
“I have two hands, you know,” Frog Lady says, and Sy’s breath catches in her throat.
“So you’re sure your husband wouldn’t mind?” Sy asks, because this can’t be real, there must be a catch. She wants to spend the night with Frog Lady, of course, but she doesn’t want to ruin a marriage and break another heart.
Frog Lady snorts. “Believe me, he definitely won’t mind, I swear on my life. Besides, I might not even need to get back to Trask so soon. Pa’lowickian biology is compatible with my own, if you catch my drift,” she says with a wink, and Sy’s brain shorts out.
Sy feels practically electric with hope when their lips finally touch.