A Dysfunctional Family

[Nyx]

After several months, the sunlight hurt her eyes.
That was the first thought coming to Nyx's mind as she was escorted out of the prison, the guard with her lazily keeping his blaster trained on her. As if she was actually going to take him out as she was leaving this place. Idiot.
"Alright, missy. Here are your belongings."
Nyx took the small pile, including her signature jacket, her sword, and her two revolvers. The prison fatigues she was wearing were a light blue, and extremely baggy on her athletic form. She couldn't wait to burn these damn things.
"Want a refresher course on goings on while you were locked up? Apparently, some new group of those Mando freaks has risen up. Headed by a guy calling himself the new Mandylure. [member="Isley Verd"], I think."
Nyx's head jerked up, her eyes narrowing.
"Is that right?"
She muttered. She threw her jacket on over her fatigues as she stuck a cigarra in her mouth, the prison guard leaning forward with a light.
"Yup. They hang around Echoy'la, these days, though I heard they just hit Mygeeto. So a crim like you should probably stay out of that sector, unless you want to get strung up for having no honor."
Nyx nodded, inhaling deeply, feeling the cigarra's chemicals entering her veins.
Isley Verd. The name the orphanage she had been raised at had left for her. Her father. He was Manda'lor, now, huh?
Maybe she should ruin this day of celebration.
"Thanks, Reggie."
She turned to leave, the guard waving her off.
"Seeya in a few months, Nyxie."

The message was brief, but that's just how she was as a person.

Come to Dantooine, three days from now. Meet me outside the Screaming Tauntaun, south side of the planet. I have some info you're going to want to know.
Sincerely, an old friend.

She loitered in the alley beside the building, her cigarra lit and emitting smoke as she leaned against the wall, her hands in the pocket of her jacket. Dear old daddy was in for a bit of a surprise.

 

[Darth Metus]

Truth be told, there were a number of reasons why Mand'alor the Reclaimer was not a fan of the current situation. For one, Dantooine was not exactly on his top ten list of planets to visit. Not that there was anything inherently wrong with the world, of course. It was just that...it held special significance for folks of the "lighter" side of the spectrum. As such, any Alchemist with a brain cell made it a point not to frequent such places; lest they meet a rather nasty Wall o'Light. Now, the other reason why the Mandalorian found his nose wrinkled uncomfortably was the smell.

Cigararras. He never understood why folks smoked those things. Ah well, to each their own.

Having been summoned by an "old friend", Isley took a minor break from his chaotic schedule in order to see this missive through. In all honesty, [member="Nyx"] did not need to twist his arm to get him to show; for even Sole Rulers needed a day or two to breathe. So, despite the smell and the "light", the Mand'alor was in a decent mood upon arriving at the meeting point.

"You've got some info, old friend?" he asked. It was blunt, but that's how the Mandalorian had always been — straight to the point.

 

[Nyx]

There he was. The man that had spawned her. Manda'lor the Reclaimer, [member="Isley Verd"]. She stared upon him, trying to keep her face from morphing into one of disgust. What a piece of chit. But she contained herself, still puffing on her cigarra. She'd waited twenty four years for this day, had gone over in her mind over and over what she would do, what she was going to say. Sitting in prison, it was about the only thing that passed the time.
She exhaled a cloud of smoke, looking over at him, her face neutral.
"Does 'Honorhall Orphanage' ring a bell to you?"
Her voice was monotone, devoid of any and all emotion. She could explode at him later. Being angry right now would be a waste, as he did not know who she was, as of yet.
But he would, oh, he would know soon enough.

 

[Darth Metus]

"Honorhall?"

Now those were two words that he had not heard in...literal decades. They were a stark reminder of the "irresponsbilities" of the past. Long ago, Isley took full advantage of the Mercenary lifestyle. He went were he pleased, fought whom he pleased...and karked whom he pleased. Along the way, he had a rather "fun" series of flings with one [member="Izevel Zambrano"]. Yet, one day, she up and disappeared, leaving behind only a shred of information in her wake. Honorhall Orphanage was the obscure reference she had made, and something about a doorstep on a world Isley couldn't even pronounce.

Back then, Isley was too pig-headed to think that he had reproduced. Back then, the thought that maybe, just maybe, he was a father...never crossed his mind. He was simply content to fight, kark, and fight some more.

Yet times changed. People changed. Nevertheless, the mention of the Orphanage resonated with the Mand'alor; but he kept his tone even. "Yes, it rings a bell." he said.

@Nyx.

 

[Nyx]

Nyx was never good at deciphering the meaning behind words. She was a simple woman, used to doing what she had to do to survive. But even she caught the flash of recognition in [member="Isley Verd"]'s eyes at the mention of "Honorhall'. Good. Maybe he wasn't as stupid as she thought.
Finishing off her cigarra, Nyx flicked the butt to the ground, mushing it with the heel of her combat boots, her dog tags jingling slightly. She reached for a fresh one, sticking it between her lips as she thought carefully, stretching the silence between them.
She pulled her favorite lighter from her jacket pocket, flicking it open and holding the flame to her cigarra. As the narcotic lit, she flicked her lighter closed and took a deep drag, closing her eyes as she exhaled a cloud of smoke, feeling the nicotine course through her veins. This was much more stressful than she had thought it would be.

Finally, she turned her gaze to Isley, her brown eyes looking into a pair that nearly matched her own.
"I think you know damn well who I am."
She took another drag of her cigarra, glaring at the man in front of her.
"You cared enough to leave a name, but never to, I don't know, visit? Take me out of that hell? Not even a postcard?"