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A Very Mando Meeting (Fabula)

Lynn Caromed

With song and steel!
Character
The sun was still shining when we stepped off of my Constable and onto the grass - it knew not, cared not for the dark errand ahead of us. Callous, unblinking, it's merry gaze mocked us with every step. The wind blew cheerfully between my calves, setting my skirt to flutter. It wanted to flee, to leave this place on the same winds that had borne us here, and oh that I could set it free and ride with it from the duty ahead! It was not to be.

Dark hours were coming. A long day of sound and fury, of pain and hatred and the mocking laughter of those who should be closest. Duty insisted I lend my presence, and so I would. But even a seasoned warrior as I must, in our lives, look the hideous visage of pure terror and death in the eyes, and acknowledge that it was one and the same with our own souls.

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"Auntie Lynn! Auntie Lynn!" A small human child - likely around five years old - dashed over to the leg of a handsome, dark-skinned woman in a yellow sundress. He disregarded her heels and hugged with impunity, until she leaned down and scooped him up.

"Noishe. You are looking healthy." Lynn commented with her usual stoic flatness, as the young boy squirmed slightly and fussed. "Where is your father?"

"In tha baffroom. Are you gonna teach me about Beskad t'day?" The boy asked hopefully.

Lynn raised an eyebrow. "Do you have someone you need to kill, Nephew?" She asked dryly. Noishe looked somewhat taken aback. After a moment, he shook his head. "...as I thought. Do not be so eager, dearheart. Find your father and tell him I'm here." She suggested blithely, before kissing the boy's forehead and sending him on his way with a pat on the behind.


The Mandalorians were known as warriors without peer throughout the Galaxy. Throughout history. A large part of that lie in the roots of the Mandalorian culture - as it was, in essence, as much a religion as anything else. What most people outside the Mandalorians failed to realize, however, was that there lie as much emphasis on family and cultural unity as there was on strength. A Mandalorian who could not contribute to her clan was worthless. A Mandalorian who did not contribute to her family was contemptible.

Which was, in essence, why Lynn was here on her family's estate. Cultural unity and togetherness. Pavilions had been set up to establish a decent foundation for the Caromed's extended family to meet - an event that warranted a great deal of food, alcohol, and medical supplies. Normally, a family reunion was a cause for celebration. And indeed, for most of the Caromeds there, it was.

But even a long time ago in a Galaxy far, far away, a woman was allowed to be wary of coming out to her parents and irritated that she'd been given two weeks advance notice to fly halfway across the Galaxy to be home for her mother's annual 'let's upstage last year's reunion at my sisters' festival. Lynn watched Noishe retreat into a crowd of half-familiar faces and almost-there names, pausing to stare at one of the brawls going on in the sparring circles, before dashing off towards the Caromed house. Her parent's house. As big and imposing as it'd been the last time she'd been guilted into coming home.

Uncomfortable in just a dress and sandals - without a single weapon on hand! - Lynn sought to project authority by putting her hands behind her back. She glanced to her left, and for the first time in this scene, cracked a smile. After all, someone very important was coming. Had it not been for her presence, Lynn would likely have found a reason not to come.
 

Fabula Caromed

Belle of the Brawl
Writer
In her short time lurking in the fringes of the Jedi temple, the strangest thing had happened to Fabula. Her Bloody Pilgrim, one of her oldest and dearest friends, had begun to feel less like a home and more like a simple ship. Her wanderlust wasn't changed in the least, but now she had a different place to call home, to rest her head in. When she stepped off of the Pilgrim and onto Lynn's world, some part of her seemed to remember a day when leaving her precious ship behind would have made her pause to frown. The fact that she didn't feel the need to do so made her pause, and frown.

Fabs straightened out her simple white gown and looked around a planet uncomfortably similar to Coruscant. She thought herself overdressed for a Mandalorian party, but considering her dress and dainty heels were entirely clashing with Alna Merrill's toolbelt, being overdressed was the last of her concerns. When she looked to the other ships landed near the private Caromed estate and found no sign of Lynn's Constable, the more pressing matter on her mind was fitting in until her date arrived; Fabula's Mando'a was barely at a high school level, broken and hardly conversational, and she knew no one at the party.

Still, the Force didn't seem to have abandoned her. Within a few minutes, Lynn's familiar ship touched down to the right of Fabs' own Pilgrim. She held back for a moment still quite nervous at the idea of meeting so many strange and reputedly violent people, but quickly found her courage when she got close enough to meet Lynn's eyes.

"Sorry I was a bit early. If the waystation on the juncture of the Hydian Way had been a bit more clogged..." Yes, Fabula. That's right. Apologize for being on time. Fortunately, she shut up quite quickly, offering a smile as tiny as her voice while her eyes very briskly ran over Lynn's frame. "...You look amazing."
 

Lynn Caromed

With song and steel!
Character
A vision of beauty - skin soft enough to make a cloud jealous, a smile that could melt Durasteel. Fabula Cavataio, standing before me in the flesh. In heels, no less, which was something of a surprise. Unlike the discomforting and callous sun ahead, my life would be lessened considerably by the absence of this source of radiance. She is simultaneously the best part of me, and my greatest weakness - a duality as plain as her tiny twin feet and nervously entwined fingers.

I greet Fabula as I always do - with a kiss. Brief, but not chaste; and certainly not sisterly. I'm able to think clearer as I take her hand, a smirk sneaking it's way onto my face.
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"Not as lovely as you, my beauty." Lynn replied reflexively, glancing past Fabula before moving to stand at her side. "I am glad you made it here - and I am sorry for the wait. I've only just arrived, myself." The mocha-skinned woman admitted reluctantly. Did she want to admit she'd been building up her nerve and courage for this? No. Would Fabula likely infer it through a base knowledge of her? Perhaps.

Better to change the subject. "Are you hungry at all? I'm told my second cousin is cooking. He's quite the chef." Lynn explained offhandedly as she escorted Fabula into the pavilions by the hand - into a sea of men and women with various shades of dark skin and easy-going smiles. Alna could have faded into this crowd and would have never been seen again; Lynn stuck out like a sore thumb, simply because of her dour professionalism and military bearing.
 

Fabula Caromed

Belle of the Brawl
Writer
However much of a sore thumb Lynn thought herself to be, Fabula - the lone fair-skinned woman on the entire estate - was practically a spotlight for conspicuousness. She berated herself with every step for not picking a darker dress, just so she wouldn't draw so much attention to herself (or Lynn). As nervous as she was, though, she could feel her partner's mind ill at ease much more strongly than her own. Fabs would never find the heart to tell her cyar'ika that she was such a fountainhead of glaringly obvious emotional turmoil to one even marginally sensitive to the Force; such a realization might cause more damage to their presumably fragile relationship than an actual fight.

Topic change. Pay attention, stupid girl. "I...haven't eaten in a while." A day and a half. Every time she looked at food she felt sick to her stomach. As it turned out, meeting your girlfriend's family for the first time worked up a slight bit of nerves, and Fabula was already a roiling mass of unconfidence. She didn't need the help. "If nothing else I'd love to see him cook. I'm sure that would be a sight!"

The faintest hint of excitement crept to the little Witch's eyes. Excellence at anything, devotion to any craft whether it be combat or cooking, was something to be admired. Had she a better grasp of the culture she was attempting to integrate herself into, Fabula would've been on the edge of her seat, awaiting the different displays of excellence from the multitude of artisans gathered at such a party. She was clueless, however, and her naive little eyes lit up at the idea of someone who was good at something other than hacking people apart with swords.

Not that there was anything wrong with that.
 

Lynn Caromed

With song and steel!
Character
We made our way through a half-familiar crowd hand-in-hand. I could feel eyes on me in every direction, silently laughing. Mocking. Judging. 'There goes Lynn,' they thought to themselves. 'Look at her, with that busty dar'manda. Fell prey to the weakness of flesh, to softer emotions. And to think she was a proper Mandalorian.' They jeered behind innocent smiles and half-waves. Their disgust piled up on my shoulders, reeking of filth and contempt. In all directions, hidden hatred and schadenfreude. Were I not duty-bound to attend and participate in this 'social gathering', words would be had.

I'd not just walked into a roast. This was the caldera.

The best thing to do was to hold my head high, and suffer the disgrace of sharing my life with as much dignity as possible.

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Lynn and Fabula found their way without any serious incident. Aside from the warrior culture, the Caromed were a usually cheerful, friendly assortment - and Lynn was just another of the crowd, hardly worth noticing. True to her word, Lynn's second cousin put on an impressive show. He was not only a cook, it seemed, but a performer - slinging sliced meat and vegetable alike with knife and spatula, flipping food around on a massive hibachi-like grill. The young stood by, mystified, eager to catch the occasional morsel he'd challenge them to snap out of the air with their teeth. Couples hovered nearby, not unlike Lynn and Fabula - Caromeds bringing beloved outsiders to what was thus far the more interesting portion of the reunion aside from meeting family and watching the never-ending sparring circles go at it.

"She's over here! SEE?! I TOLD you!" Noishe insisted from behind the couple. He approached, hand in hand with a short, stocky man who fit in about as well as Fabula did, herself. Which was to say, not at all. His skin was a rich shade of emerald, his face ritually marked by geometric tattoos. A Miralian. Adoption was not uncommon in Mandalorian culture, and in fact encouraged and rather commonplace.

"So you did. Lynn - glad to see you made it." The Miralian man greeted with a wan smile.

Lynn kept her face the same stoic mask it was most of the time. "Tienda." She responded matter-of-factly. Of his own accord, the Miralian stepped forward and embraced Lynn, hugging her tightly - after a moment, she released Fabula's hand long enough to return the gesture, relaxing slightly. A hug from her brother; he was not harboring hatred for her. Yet. A profound relief. "Tienda - this is my girlfriend, Fabula." Lynn introduced a moment later, motioning to the olive-skinned Dathomari at her side. "Fabula. This is my older brother, Tienda. He is a doctor."

"A pleasure to meet you." The Miralian man said with a wide, genuine smile, opening his arms in a clear offer. It seemed he was as generally warm as everyone else was, and just as physically affectionate - something Lynn reserved for time alone. "Noish told me that his aunt brought an angel to the reunion - I suppose I won't have to punish him for lying, now."

Lynn glanced down at her nephew with a raised eyebrow. Noishe turned red and looked down at the grass, until Lynn ruffled his hair absently.
 

Fabula Caromed

Belle of the Brawl
Writer
Showmanship was always fun, no matter what you were doing. A professional chef was as entertaining as a dancer, and Fabula found herself staring with childlike fascination. Spinning, flipping knives, a spatula wielded like a sword...every second she stared was another moment the transfixed girl was too happy for words to be a part of this event, even if she was just a spectator. Without realizing she was doing it, Fabs clutched into Lynn's side-

Her eyes shot to one side when she heard someone new. 'Nonhuman. Unconventional Mandalorian. Relaxed and refers with kinship. Likely adopted. No threat.' Her body bristled for just a moment, but Fabula quickly relaxed into a smile when the boisterous and charming man pulled Lynn into an awkward hug. Why was she even worried about being attacked here? That was ludicrous.

However much Fabula blushed when Lynn called her her "girlfriend," she almost melted when Tienda implied she was an angel. She simply couldn't meet his gaze no matter how kind and, admittedly, silky smooth he was. Instead, she diverted her eyes towards the child from earlier...Nosh? "Well now, how am I supposed to infiltrate this party if I have perceptive young gentlemen blowing my cover?" That was considerably wittier than Fabula was used to being. Apparently that charming silver tongue that Caromeds seemed to share was quite contagious.

Eventually, Fabs worked up the nerve to accept his hug. Being touched was still odd for her, but Lynn was helping. "The pleasure is all mine, Doctor Tienda." She fell into his arms with a bit more hesitation than she would her cyar'ika's, but found herself enjoying it just a bit more than she expected. Fabs tried her absolute best to pull away with some amount of dignity, which wasn't easy considering she was wearing heels and not exactly proficient in them yet. With a step or two backwards, she resumed her place hanging onto Lynn's arm and bowed her head slightly.

This day might get a bit troublesome if all of them wanted to hug her.
 

Lynn Caromed

With song and steel!
Character
Had it been any other enveloping my woman's side with such familiarity, my heart would have burned with jealousy at each touch - every extended moment where she gave her warmth to another. Tienda was different, however. He was my brother, and a good one at that. He'd brought honor to the clan and to our house, and had endured the loss of his wife with considerable dignity. That my nephew remained a relatively well-adjusted and cheerful child was testament enough to my brother's positive qualities.

When they seperated, however, my arm snaked itself possessively around Fabula's side and drew her close with the intention of making up for lost time. I was not ashamed of our love, or the spiteful resentment it drew from a heartless crowd. Let all know whom I'd selected.

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Noishe turned a deep shade of red and hid behind Lynn's skirts as Fabula payed him both a compliment and attention in one fell swoop. Lynn smirked and held his head to her hip tolerantly, until Fabula returned. A young boy's natural wariness of strange adults (even really really pretty ones!) kicked in and Noishe found his way back over to his father. "Your accent - it's very mild. You're Dathomari, aren't you?" Tienda guessed with a faint smile, picking his son up with only a little strain. Clearly he wouldn't be able to do so for very long. "Suppose you two serve as living evidence of the merge, then." He commented.

"I would love her no matter her previous affiliation." Lynn insisted defensively.

Tienda gave her a reassuring look, raising a hand slightly to calm an argument before it began. "I meant nothing untoward, Elle, I assure you. Merely making an observation." He promised gently.

Lynn looked slightly less reassured - but to a degree, she WAS reassured. "...very well, Tienda." The dark-skinned woman sighed, nodding a bit. Tienda, who understood perhaps a bit more of what was going on under the hood than most folk there, nodded gently and let the subject drop.
 

Fabula Caromed

Belle of the Brawl
Writer
One of the first things Fabula had been taught in her life was possession. It was a core facet of Dathomiri tradition. Women possessed men, Clan Mothers possessed Witches, Witches possessed rancors, and so on. Fabula had been a special case, in that she hadn't been a real Witch, or a member of the standard Night Clan hierarchy. She was Petra's daughter...or whatever the equivalent clone term was. She had belonged directly to Petra from the moment she first woke, and she was conditioned to feel most comfortable when someone asserted ownership over her. So when Lynn grabbed her waist and pulled her close, Fabs found herself purring like a kitten.

Tienda had placed her accent. This wasn't surprising, considering what little she'd heard from home had included something of an alliance between her people and the Mandalorians. Blushing, Fabs nodded and prepared a response before Lynn jumped to her defense (a bit unnecessarily). She kept herself silent and looked between the two of them during their little exchange. After a moment she laid her head against her lover's shoulder. "It's alright, Lynn. I'm not ashamed of my heritage."

She was ashamed of her mother's Sith reputation, but it was unlikely a modern Mandalorian would know about that. Fabula had to be a bit careful when speaking to Jedi, of course, as they never seemed to forget about who used to be a Sith Lord and who spent hundreds of years butchering Jedi across the galaxy. Here, there were no grudges she had to worry about. She was from Dathomir, whatever that translated to. A guess, closely watched or honored, it made little difference. It made even less difference to Fabs; she wasn't their guest, she was Lynn's guest.

Offering that same soft smile as before, Fabula held on just a bit tighter to Lynn's arm than she had been...which was like saying that a pillow is heavier than a feather. "Your ears are quite sharp, Doctor Tienda. My name is Fabula Cavataio, formerly of the Night Clan. I'm sorry for not offering a name sooner. The word 'Nightsister' tends to come with some...negative connotations."
 

Lynn Caromed

With song and steel!
Character
"Well, they cannot be that negative - I've never heard of them before." Tienda joked, though it was perhaps in poor taste. Lynn gave her brother a dry look, but said nothing in response, preferring to keep a hand on Fabula's hip and scan the crowd idly for familiar faces. Likely people she didn't care for, or something of that nature. The Caromeds were a large group, it seemed. "But regardless - welcome, Fabula Cavataio, Formally of the Nightsister clan. You seem a decent sort, and if Lynn approves of you, then you're alright in my book."

Lynn opened her mouth to say something snarky, but swiftly shut it. She wasn't about to insult her brother in front of his son. That was very poor form.
 
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