Private Actually, It's Not A Big Deal

[Niysha]

Brain't.

Everything was a pleasant, miserable, very complicated blur for a very long moment. Fortunately, most of that cleared up when Niysha was gently guided to a sip of water... which turned into a gulp, and very quickly mutated into just taking the glass from Serina and downing the whole thing. With a satisfied sigh and a throat full of cool, revitalizing h y d r a t i o n, the Miraluka found the debris of her mind and started piecing it back together.

By the time she was properly aware of her surroundings again, Niysha was snuggled up against Serina's side, head on her shoulder, with her arms gently around her waist. That was a pretty good position to serendipitously find herself in. When her sight came back into focus, literally the first thing she saw was the powerful, warm, currently very protective aura of the woman she'd spent the night with.

"If you'd like," Niysha began, her voice only a little crackly, "I can take it off. There's not much to see."

A little cough to clear her throat later, the Miraluka was sitting up only a little taller, still hip-to-hip with Serina. There was a conversation they needed to have, but she'd need to consider her approach carefully. After a long moment of consideration, Niysha settled on a natural segue, rather than a full capital-C conversation.

"So, you like wine, big capes, and a couple of my whimpers," she commented gently, bringing her fingers up to fix her tangled mess of hair. She'd obviously need another shower, and this time she didn't really have any more clothes. It'd be back to the same set again... which Serina probably wouldn't object to. She seemed to like them. "What else do you enjoy? I'm trying to make a list of things to do with you that you'll just... really get a kick out of."

Showing her things that Niysha enjoyed would be a much trickier proposition. Serina was a bit of a rage-baby on occasion, and the last thing Niysha needed was her hurling Dr. Chromslor across the ship because a nurse cap on an orange tree was so whimsical that it set her off. It was borderline impossible not to treat her like a live grenade, at times.

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Deep, into the waiting dark."

Tag - Niysha



Serina Calis was still glowing.

Not in the literal, "light-side-redeemed-angel" way, of course. No, hers was the afterglow of a very different sacrament. Her aura flickered with contentment, coiling in soft plumes like slow-burning incense—warm and languid, all stormclouds with nowhere to go. Her hair was a tousled battlemap of victory, and her skin bore the subtle edge of fingerprints, as though some deity had handled her and left little claims of possession.

So when Niysha stirred beside her, nestled in the curve of her arm like some morally flexible miracle, Serina didn't even pretend to be surprised. Her hand reflexively curled across Niysha's side in a protective arc, and her chin tilted slightly to rest atop that wild mop of hair with something dangerously close to tenderness.

And then—

"If you'd like, I can take it off. There's not much to see."

Serina made a noise.

Not a word, not a breath, not even a laugh. Just a low, dangerously reflective hum that trailed out of her throat like a blade being slowly unsheathed.

She turned, just slightly, enough to speak close to Niysha's ear.

"…If you think I haven't fantasized about that exact moment—slowly, carefully peeling away the last thing you hide from me—then I'm afraid I've given you a terrible impression of how obsessive I can be."

She smiled, soft and sinful.

"Still. A moment like that deserves to be savored. Not shared with the post-ordeal dehydration whimpers. I'd like to be upright. Possibly robed. Ideally seated on a throne."

She turned her head back with a barely-contained grin, fully aware that she was doing a terrible job of pretending she wasn't just picturing it right now.

Niysha's voice again—clearing, testing its strength—and Serina listened with the bemused satisfaction of a woman who'd reduced a threat to a treat.

"So, you like wine, big capes, and a couple of my whimpers..."

Serina let out a soft laugh—just a single puff of breath through her nose, but it was genuine, and for once, not laced with menace or performance.

"Well," she replied smoothly, "wine is ritual. Capes are power. And your whimpers…"

She tilted her head, mock-considering it, as her fingers began idly to trace little arcs on Niysha's bare thigh.

"…Your whimpers are a symphony of surrender. A reminder that some things are too perfect to be forged. They must be unearthed."

She looked down at her, that crooked little smile still dancing at the edge of her lips.

"But as for what I enjoy…"

There was a pause. Longer than it should have been. A flicker of her usual tension returned—not because she didn't know the answer, but because admitting it was so very mortal.

"…I like control, Niysha," she said at last, quietly but without hesitation. "Not just having it. Maintaining it. The practice of it. The slow alchemy of will made manifest."

Her eyes flicked back to the glass sitting empty on the nearby table, then past it, into the stars streaking by beyond the viewport.

"I like things with design. Purpose. Control is structure. Control is order. I find pleasure in dominance, yes, but more than that, I find meaning in the web it spins. Not chaos, not domination for sport—but precision. To know something so completely I can reshape it. Guide it."

She looked down again, this time more gently.

"That's what I love most about you."

She brushed a knuckle under Niysha's jaw. "You're not trying to become anything for me. But you respond. You offer yourself to the process. You allow me to refine."

Her smile became just a little shy.

"…And I suppose I do enjoy those moments where you surprise me. That little line about being my weakness? You really shouldn't say things like that to someone who's already trying not to adore you."

Then—another beat, softer still:

"I also like books. Specifically old ones that haven't been translated into modern Basic. I like the quiet hum of servers when the rest of the facility's gone dark. I like ancient tools still sharp enough to cut, and women who stare too long at danger and decide it's just another type of puzzle."

And then—playful again:

"I also really like droids."

She ran her hand gently along Niysha's outer thigh.

"I like that you carry half your past in a lockbox and the other half in an aloof little smile."

Finally, she gave a little sigh—genuine, exhausted, warm.

"…And I like that when I start talking like this, you don't roll your eyes. You just watch me. Like I'm worth deciphering."

A pause.

Then, more lightly:

"Also: I like silk sheets, secure databanks, vintage astromech parts, and fried noodles with chili oil. And I would kill for decent chili oil."

Serina nuzzled Niysha's temple, whispering just loud enough to tease:

"Your turn, my little ruin. Tell me what you enjoy. And do be warned—if your list doesn't include 'being collared,' 'being kissed,' or me, I will be very disappointed."

 

[Niysha]

"Hmm," Niysha responded as she sat up more properly. Even sitting at the same vertical level, she was significantly shorter than Serina, so it was easy to keep her head on her partner's shoulder. The room was relatively warm, too. With her coziness levels maximized, the Miraluka took a long moment to ponder over exactly what she should tell Serina... or more accurately, what it definitely wasn't safe to tell Serina.

For instance, no one in Sith space was learning about In if it killed her. Not that any of them would give two whits about a random spacer without anything important to her name or history. If In went the rest of her life as a very boring sidenote in Niysha's quietly swelling career of drama, that was fine by her.

"Well, for starters, I'm not big on books," she responded with a wry grin. "I've held them before, and I can confidently say they don't do anything for me." Ink on parchment was entirely color-based, and so functionally impossible to read. "I do like reading, though. Obviously. If I didn't, I wouldn't have gotten into relic hunting."

She paused a moment to take another drink of water, fixing her hair just a bit. It was tragically a complete catastrophe, so she'd need to go through the arduous process of washing, drying, and grooming it again to tame it into a more manageable disaster. "I'm a big caff person. For a long time all I got was the chemical, slightly coffee-flavored sludge they serve on passenger freighters and junker stations. That's changed recently, and I've really been into trying new stuff."

Mm. That was a good secondary point, actually. "...Probably the only thing I do way more often than dungeon-dive is travel. I'm basically a hyperlane ghost, most of the time. Spent most of my life going from starport to starport, out in Wild Space. I like the freedom, and seeing new things." Her grin got a bit nostalgic. "The sound of a sublight engine or the life-support kicking on is legitimately relaxing."

Reading, caff, history, spacer trash... Niysha struggled for more. "Honestly, other than that, I'd say I like... pretty normal things. Mundane things. Holovids, peace and quiet, junk food..." She smirked and bumped her hip against Serina's. "Losing hours of my evening to the dark hungers of a deceptively humanoid creature of utter darkness. The usual."

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Deep, into the waiting dark."

Tag - Niysha



Serina listened with a rapt sort of poise, head tilted just enough to suggest regal attention, but her eyes—those burning, sharp-cut gems—were softened by something far less performative. Each word Niysha gave her was another piece of the puzzle, a new glyph in the long-scroll incantation that was decoding her. She didn't interrupt. She didn't preen or correct or grandstand.

She just… listened.

The moment Niysha got to "books don't do anything for me," Serina made a pained little noise in her throat—somewhere between a tragic gasp and a very performative sigh. It was too practiced to be real grief, too indulgent not to be affectionate.

"Stars above, and here I was considering you the future Empress of my heart," she murmured dramatically. "And now I learn you've committed unforgivable heresy against leather-bound aesthetics."

Still, she smiled at the clarification. "Though, I suppose I can forgive blasphemy if it's committed in pursuit of artifacts. You're fortunate that I respect obsessive archival behavior more than I do paper."

Then came the bit about caff, and Serina blinked, visibly surprised.

"Caff?" she repeated, as though it were an alien word. "Really? You—you like caff? That… that's adorable." She mock-squinted. "Are you secretly a suburban librarian in disguise? Should I be worried you'll start using coupons and scolding me for dripping blood on the carpets?"

But her tone was warm. Teasing. A little amused, and deeply fascinated.

And then—Wild Space. The nomadic history. The peace in the hum of life support and engine whine. That stopped Serina cold for a moment, her expression flickering just slightly—like the page of a book being turned behind her eyes. She nodded, slowly, as if tucking that away somewhere private and permanent.

"You like the sound of systems keeping you alive," she said softly. "That's poetic. And very you."

Her hand—previously resting around Niysha's waist—trailed up her back and came to a stop at the nape of her neck, drawing slow, calming circles with a single fingertip.

"I like knowing those systems won't fail. That no one will forget them, or let them rot, or think you expendable just because you're clever enough to keep moving."

Her voice didn't get louder, but it did get firmer.

"Stay near me, and that sound will always be there. You'll always be warm. Always fed. Always dangerous, and mine."

There was a long pause then, not heavy, but charged. And finally, Serina leaned down and kissed the top of Niysha's head, letting the moment stretch out like silk in slow unspooling.

And then—

"Losing hours of my evening to the dark hungers of a deceptively humanoid creature of utter darkness. The usual."

Serina snorted. She actually snorted, and then immediately masked it with a hand to her mouth and a prim cough.

"Well then," she said, regaining her composure with all the grace of a court performer hiding a wine spill, "I do hope I've set a standard. It would be very tragic if I turned out to be only mostly monstrous. Bad for branding."

She gave Niysha's thigh a squeeze and leaned in with a mock-whisper.

"If I ever lose track of my darkness, remind me with something. Or wear the shorts again. Both work."

The quiet between them lingered for a few more moments—comfortable, earned, steady. The mood aboard the ship matched it perfectly: low hum of systems, slow pulsing lights dimmed to an ambient lull, and the far-off shimmer of stars gently curving into static as the Aspidochelone slipped from realspace into the perimeter of Polis Massa's quiet orbit.

Serina's gaze turned subtly toward the viewport.

Polis Massa.

Her dominion, in the same way an empty tomb was home to a ghost. Cold, oxygenated domes glimmered like glass beads across jagged stone. No native life. No distractions. Just memory, and mystery. And Serina, in full control of it all.

The console gave a soft tone.

They had arrived.

Serina's entire demeanor shifted—not abruptly, but with purpose. Like silk drawing tight across armor. She gently untangled herself from Niysha, moving with slow, deliberate grace. Not to retreat, but to resume.

To re-crown herself.

"You may stay aboard while I arrange clearance," she said, her voice gentle but layered in command again. "Or join me. I'll be heading to Dome Seven."

She glanced over her shoulder—one last little indulgence, one smirk like a secret kiss, before marching off, ready to disembark.

 

[Niysha]

Niysha had become adjusted to the cadence of Serina's affections. First, quiet moment. Second, taken off-guard by a comment that made her feel human. Third, gently sardonic response. Finally, intentional mask-on and back to the air of pomp and circumstance she carefully cultivated. Steps one through three were precious, and the Miraluka filed every single one of them away in a safe place, so she'd never forget that she had a girlfriend, in case she needed to be reminded that she wasn't just some egotistical woman-child's throne kitten.

Still, there was clearly something here that merited dignity, and Niysha hadn't brought long pants. Of the two, her more casual, less actively conspicuous change of clothes was a strappy top and hiking shorts, so that was the one she opted for. As she was in Sith territory and escorting a Sith, she didn't need to hide her lightsaber, so she wore it in a much more conspicuous place than usual: on her belt and accessible, opposite her blaster like a badge of office. It was considerably more accessible, but more importantly she could allow it to be visible here.

She still took her bag, of course. That had too much stuff in it for her to leave it anywhere. She never knew when she'd need her holocomm, a few civilian-grade detonators, a medpack, and so on.

Unfortunately, she couldn't see out the viewports; even at her best range, she'd only manage a bit over a hundred meters. Anything beyond that would be farsight, and she didn't have time. Instead, Niysha prepared by bringing up a few documents on Polis Massa on her datapad. It'd give her a basic outline of where she was going and, more importantly, something to study to keep her mind busy while she waited for the shuttle to dock.

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Deep, into the waiting dark."

Tag - Niysha



The shuttle ramp hissed open with the slow, theatrical patience of a stage curtain, spilling faint atmosphere and sharp light across the polished black hull. Beyond it, Polis Massa loomed—bleak, monolithic, controlled. It was a realm sculpted not from architecture but from austerity. Vast corridors of matte stone and transparent durasteel, oxygen domes glowing like bioluminescent jellyfish tethered to ancient rock. No trees. No birds. No distractions.

Just function. Just purpose.

And now, Niysha.

Serina was already standing at the base of the ramp when Niysha arrived, coat drawn over her shoulders once more like a coronation mantle, trimmed in deep, mineral reds that caught the light like garnet. Her eyes flicked up with that familiar, slow precision—scanning Niysha head to toe and pausing, just briefly, at the visible lightsaber. A smirk ghosted her lips. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to.

Instead, she extended her hand. Not urgently. Not proprietarily.

Just… inviting.

"Dome Seven is beneath the central ridge," she began, her voice a comfortable hum now, rethreading itself with that blend of practiced dominance and quiet warmth. "Ostensibly a research district. In practice—my personal sanctum. I maintain public appearances by letting a few exoarchaeologists tinker in the upper levels, but the real work happens down below."

As she walked, she kept Niysha close. Not dragging, not leading—escorting. Guiding, yes, but not pulling. Her gait was proud, commanding, but her hand remained loosely in Niysha's, like a tether that existed solely because she wanted it to.

The corridors of Polis Massa were absurdly clean. Not sterile—this wasn't a hospital—but clean in the way of deeply ordered environments. Every panel was secured. Every light cast just enough illumination, but never wastefully. People—techs, aides, researchers—bowed or stood respectfully as Serina passed. None addressed her. None dared.

The air itself carried a particular weight—an ancient, subtle hush. It wasn't fear. Not precisely. More like a cultural agreement: this is where knowledge is kept, and knowledge is earned.

"Polis Massa was once a graveyard," Serina said, her voice low, and the echoes of her boots down the corridor gave it just a touch of sermon. "A natural one, formed when its original inhabitants were annihilated. The asteroid belt is what remains of their homeworld. Their civilization ended with a scream so vast it tore their language from the Force itself."

She turned to Niysha then, smile soft and dark and knowing.

"I find that...inspiring."

They reached a broad lift and stepped inside. It began its descent without a single sound. Serina leaned slightly against the side rail, her eyes fixed on Niysha with something between amusement and reverence.

"You'll notice the infrastructure isn't military. That's deliberate. Power is more stable when it appears passive. The entire surface facility is a decoy—functional, yes, but irrelevant. The real heart of Polis Massa is three kilometers down."

The lift stopped. The doors opened with a sigh.

And the room beyond was a marvel of whispered madness.

Dimly lit by vertical red veins of energy coursing through crystal spires, the chamber was cathedral-like in its structure: wide floors of black alloy, carved into hexagonal channels; massive display monitors forming curved halos overhead; data streams flowing visibly like rivers of light. Suspended containment fields lined the far walls, their contents difficult to discern but unmistakably ancient. Fossils. Relics. Machines. Bodies.

And at the very center of the room: a floating schematic of a world split down its core. Animated runes swirled across its broken crust like insects orbiting a wound.

Serina walked into the chamber like a queen coming home.

"Welcome to ICHNAEA."

The lights responded to her voice. The schematic shifted. The runes reformed into Basic. A feminine voice, serene and old, purred into the air:

"Command presence verified. Lady Calis. Access: unrestricted. Observers: recorded. Processing… guest designation accepted. Niysha, Class Five. Welcome."

Serina turned toward her again, expression impossibly smug.

"She likes you. That's rare."

She led Niysha to a slightly raised dais at the edge of the central holospace, gesturing for her to sit or stand as she wished. Her tone dipped to something softer—still proud, still radiant, but laced with something unmistakably hers.

"I could show you weapons. Armies. Things I've buried inside these rocks that would make Sith Lords break ranks just for a whiff. But I'd rather show you this. Me."

She looked away, momentarily shy, almost—but only almost—nervous.

"I don't bring people here."

And then, regaining her full composure like it had never slipped, she turned back and lifted her chin.

"This is the part of the galaxy I've already taken. Not with fire. Not with fear. With precision. Calculation. Time. The slow, invisible storm that reshapes every map before anyone realizes it moved."

She stepped forward, brushing Niysha's cheek with her knuckles.

"And now, I'm showing it to you."

Another pause. Then—*

"…So, yes. I'm giving you the tour before I throw you into the sarcophagus room. I want you to think I'm impressive first."

She grinned. Earnest. Wicked. Shy.

"But don't get used to all this transparency. I still have a reputation to maintain. And a throne kitten to punish."

 

[Niysha]

It was truly adorable how Serina wanted to hold hands while they walked. Niysha didn't even bother trying to fight it, and instead followed at her heels through the whole facility like a chaste little high school version of arm candy. She wanted quietly to bring up the fact that "tinkering with some exoarchaeologists" sounded like just about the best possible passtime in the galaxy next to actually conducting exoarchaeology. Still, she'd have time to play with the locals when Serina was done gushing about all of the stuff she had and the things she was doing.

It was more than a little odd being inside a "building" that felt so much like a ship. The fact that there was less than a meter of metal in some areas separating the two of them and everyone within screaming distance from the violent, gaping maw of the infinite vacuum wasn't nearly as intimidating to Niysha as it had once been, even if she was far more aware of just how much Nothing there was on the other side of those windows than most. Instead, it was the lack of engines that was the most unsettling. Space stations had engines, ships had engines... asteroid bases had life support and power stations, and those power stations were often very distant and secluded.

Niysha didn't really say much until the two of them found the privacy of a lift. Safely tucked away from the thin windows of immediate death into a speeding tube of equally-immediate death, she finally offered the quietest little response. "I'd love to pick some of your scientists' brains sometime. I don't exactly have a degree, but just talking to them could be fun."

Three kilometers of speeding death-tube later, there was something else to focus on. The center of Serina's little world seemed to be a very lonely cave of computers with a bit of museum tucked away inside. When her hostess stepped forward to give a big, dramatic introduction - followed immediately by the equally dramatic introduction of the booming AI voice that served as the room's only other inhabitant - Niysha quietly applauded.

"It's a quiet space to keep your secrets. I understand the appeal," the Miraluka replied with a gentle smile. "Thank you for showing it to me." It was Niysha; she wasn't big on showing things like "impressed" or "breathless."

For a long moment, Niysha adapted to her new surroundings. The room she was in was slightly larger than her comfortable range, which would be anxiety-inducing in the long run. The longer she spent with walls barely passing into and out of sight, the more unhinged she'd wind up feeling. It was better to just... tighten up a bit. There. Now she'd only see walls if she moved considerably towards any individual edge of the room.

When she was done, Niysha walked forward and took Serina by both hands, gently holding the human's fingers in her own. "But you didn't have to show this to impress me, Serina," she reassured her. "Your will to succeed, your flexibility, your sharp mind... every bit of you is impressive. This is just another incredible thing to add to a list of incredible things so long that I'm going to need a second drive to store it on."

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Deep, into the waiting dark."

Tag - Niysha



For once, Serina Calis didn't rush to speak. That alone was a miracle.

She stood there—still, quiet, softly radiant in the crimson glow of her subterranean sanctum—her fingers curled around Niysha's with an almost impossible gentleness. No gauntlet. No performance. No monologue queued up like blaster fire. Just touch. Just warmth.

For a woman who'd orchestrated mass excavations, hidden assassinations, and psychic rituals in the same day, this tiny moment of silence might've been the loudest thing she'd ever allowed herself.

Serina didn't look at the floating schematic. She didn't glance at the monitors. She didn't posture or pose.

She just looked at Niysha.

That unnervingly calm smile flickered again, but this time it was different—smaller, soft at the edges, shaped by the kind of joy she didn't know how to name yet. It trembled a little before it settled.

Her thumbs brushed slowly across the backs of Niysha's hands.

"…You're going to make me dangerously sentimental," she finally murmured, the humor in her voice no more than a ripple over something far deeper. "I might start naming stations after you. I'll be insufferable."

But she didn't laugh. She just let her hands rest there, enfolded with Niysha's, as if the act of holding on was, in itself, a ceremony.

The silence stretched again—but this time it was mutual, rich instead of tense. Her gaze lingered, unguarded, like someone watching starlight filter through water. No mask. No storm. Just Serina.

After a few long seconds, her head tilted—barely.

She leaned in, kissed Niysha's forehead once, then rested her brow against hers for just a breath more.

No fire. No hunger.

Just gravity.

Then she whispered, barely audible:

"…Don't go far. Not from here. Not from me."

That was all.

And she stayed like that, for as long as Niysha let her. Holding hands in a vault of secrets, with a dead planet above and eternity humming quietly beneath their feet.