The dev who looked suspiciously similar to his Dev wouldn’t stop staring. In the dark red hues of the Palace’s bar and lounge, Bowie wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference unless Nile had warned him ahead of time.

“You’ll know him when you see him.” They said, “He’s Saros’ favorite for a reason.”

Bowie was beginning to think that both Dev and Saros hadn’t quite gotten over each other. Perhaps couples therapy or some kind of intervention would be the only way to ease the awkwardness Bowie was starting to feel about the situation.

Because both Dev and Saros had claimed him in their respective domains and Bowie had a sneaking feeling that if Saros knew about the situationship he had going with Dev, the Wretched King of Paradiso might just set the galaxy on fire.

“You’re Bowie, right?”

Bowie blinked. He hadn’t even noticed not-Dev sliding into the seat beside him at the bar. This close, Bowie could smell the cologne he used, a sharp, minty smell that reminded him of a mojito.

“That’s me.” Bowie said, trying to keep it casual, “And you are?”

Not-Dev smiled, resting his head in his arms and looking at Bowie with hooded eyes, “Oh, you don’t know? He doesn’t talk about me around you?”

And how was Bowie supposed to answer that? Not-Dev had set him up for failure. He swallowed, becoming very interested in the bright, chemical looking liquid in his short glass.

“I’m screwing with you,” not-Dev said, “the name’s Acer.”

Bowie frowned at him, brows furrowed. He wasn’t sure what to make of the code switch, so subtle that if he wasn’t used to seeing it around the Palace, he wouldn’t have caught it. There was a way that people acted here that wasn’t quite themselves. It was like they were all in perma-customer service mode and the customer was one phone call away from ruining their lives.

“Acer.” Bowie tried not to think of personal computers and human tech that seemed far less advanced in the black of space, “For the record, nobody talks about you.”

Acer smirked. He was dangerous in a different way. If Saros and Dev were hard power, swords and money and fleets of star craft at their beck and call, then Acer was soft power. A spiked drink or an empty promise, everything you wanted done up in black leather and sky high heels. Bowie was as attracted to him as he was terrified.

“What a relief.” Acer says, "First impressions matter, you know? And my reputation," the bartender set a drink in front of him, “isn’t very flattering.”

Bowie stared. On Earth, he wouldn't bother with people like Acer. People looking to start a scene or gossip about it later. Bowie left all his niceties in Georgia, years before Kansas, and decades before Paradiso. 

“Listen here, partner,” he said slowly, his drawl slipping thickly into those devonic vowels without meaning it to, “I’ll tell you the same thing I told Theron. If you got something to say," he picked up Acer’s drink and knocked it back in one, and then he took his own drink and did the same, setting both glasses down so softly that they didn’t make a sound when they hit the counter, “You better just say it.”

Acer watched him and then looked away, smiling almost to himself, “Saying stuff like that’ll get you in trouble, y’know.”

“Good.” Bowie said, standing up, “I like trouble.”

###

“You met him?” Saros hissed, fangs poking over his lip. They pinched the skin, threatened to make it bleed.

Acer had let himself into Saros’ office and was making himself a drink, “Yes, he’s got a bad attitude. And he insulted me in front of the bartender.”

Saros scrubbed a hand down his face, expression tight, “This is why I didn’t want you two around each other. I knew you wouldn't get along.”

Acer hummed, “you think so? That's too bad, I like him quite a bit. In fact, I think you should invite him to one of my shows.”

“Absolutely not.” Saros said, “I told you not to be here when he was here.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

Acer scoffed, “He’s just a human. We all look the same to him anyways.”

“He’s not just any human. He's his human."

Acer blinked, lips parting, then closing, “I didn't think his majesty would have a taste for humans."

“He's never been predictable.” Saros said, looking out over the city--  his city-- “That's why you're not allowed to see him again. Do you understand?"

###

Somewhere on the outskirts of the colony, a compact star craft had been docked. The metal panels were warped and covered in heat scores, the nose was painted with teeth. It looked more like an American fighter jet than a star craft.

“You met him." It was a statement more than a question.

Blade, having just come back from her job with Nile, was too exhausted to be cleaning up Bowie's messes. She hadn't been expecting him to pull up on his light craft. Actually, she had been hoping to send Nile on their way and have the evening to herself. Instead, the three of them were posted up in the tiny kitchen aboard the Selena. Nile and Bowie were sat shoulder to shoulder in the small booth at the table.

Yes, why didn’t you tell me he looked like the admiral?” Bowie asked.

Blade gave him a short glass of whiskey. Proper whiskey. From Earth. Bowie had no idea how she got it and she wasn't about to tell him.

“We didn't want you to go in with any expectations.” Nile said.

Blade snorted, “Expectations. You could just say that Saros has a type. Anyone blue or purple with long hair will do.”

“Yea but it’s not even just a passing resemblance.” Bowie pressed, “they look like they could be related.”

Blade and Nile exchanged a look.

“There’s a rumor,” Blade said, “that the prince’s grandfather was a shady character who sent all his problems to the frontier.”

“You’re saying it wasn’t the current Emperor? I’ve heard plenty of stories about him.” Bowie said, taking a drink. He was glad to have something stronger than devonic liquor, which was about as potent as cold medicine.

Blade scoffed, pouring herself a glass of whiskey too, “The Emperor loves his wife more than he loves breathing. Unless this happened before they met, which I doubt, it has nothing to do with him.”

Nile didn’t eat or drink anything, just listened, “It's his smell that makes me think there's more to him than he lets on." They said, "He doesn't just look like the Emperor, he smells like him too."

“It’s really weird that you can tell when people smell alike.” Bowie muttered, lost in thought. He wondered what Dev would make of it. He wondered if he should tell him when they meet again.

If they meet again.