Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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First Reply After the Rain



AFTER THE RAIN

Location — Naboo, Theed.
Objective — Gift the people of Theed bouquets of flowers. . .
Tags — Open
Paraphernalia — Double-bladed lightsaber, Jedi Robes


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Petrichor, the unique scent which lingered whenever the rain fell down upon the Nabooan soil. It was pleasant, almost as if the flowers expressed their delight through it. Even the bouquets Isobel held within her grasp seemed to shimmer a little brighter upon the lightest blessing of the skies. The vivid colours of the composition of roses, millaflowers and orchids appearing to pop amid the bleak day. A glimmer of hope, of life amid the gloom that may consume it otherwise. And that was exactly why the girl had been sent to the streets of Theed on this day, why she was pacing through the cobbled streets towards the main square.

Every few days, often once a fortnight, the House Serraris would hand out a handful of flowers and bouquets to its civilians and even foreigners. Meant to bring a smile to their face, a light if their day was shrouded in darkness. It had become a habit that some of its civilians seemed to look forward to, for the bouquets may otherwise be too expensive or--a luxury they simply could not afford yet. Hence why it brought the young Jedi Padawan a sense of fulfilment, to be able to aid others when they were unable to aid themselves. Yet, despite the honourable motives she held behind the tradition, she could not turn a blind eye to the economical and political machinations that fueled it. If civilians saw their mercy, their generosity, they may declare their support more easily for the house, and promote the floristry business to others.

Nevertheless, Isobel paid those flaws little mind when she arrived at the square, standing amidst the large puddles as she watched for anyone who might catch her interest... Someone who might need a gift, her gift. Yet as a handful of weary workers passed by, none stirred that necessary spark within her. Her brown eyes proceeded to wander over the serene city, still searching, still waiting for the moment that might ignite the flame once more.

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Isobel Serraris Isobel Serraris

To Lysander, it felt like an eternity since he last trod the streets of Theed, but in truth, more than a year had passed. Perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, that was little more than a blink, but this place had seared itself into his soul like a brand. In the crucible of war, time had a way of easily slipping.

Along the cobbled streets he moved, hands folded behind him, posture straight, shoulders squared. The scent of stone and blooming gardens rose like incense. So, he drew it all in. For the first time since he could remember, he would admit that he missed this place.

Naboo was a jewel in the galaxy, a soft place in a path that demanded life be hard, where so much of his own path was shadow and death.

Like a blade sheathed, his Force signature was buried. The skill came easy these days, a combination of measured breathing, and the tightening of will. Allowing it to ripple out into the city would be dangerous.. unfortunately.

And unlike most days, he was not wholly wrapped like a wraith. Garments were a tapestry of indigo, charcoal, and wine. A silver clasp glinted at the collar. Not the stark black of the Order, but hues of mourning.. somber, yet capable of commanding in some reaches of the galaxy. Not here.. not in Theed.

The rain left the city glistening, and had he glanced down, he would’ve seen familiar domes in those puddles. Before long he came to a corner, eyes narrowing slightly, observing the square. His sisters were here now.. or so he believed, though contact had been sparse lately. And yet the bond of blood refused to be severed so easily. The thought stirred a primal feeling in Lysander's chest; not longing, but a heavy weight that reminded him of the importance of family.

He missed Corazona von Ascania Corazona von Ascania , and he missed Fatine von Ascania Fatine von Ascania ; in truth, he missed more than a few souls scattered across the Mid Rim..

His gaze shifted amidst the crowds. Workers.. merchants. The sight of children darting between the puddles prompted a faint tug at the corner of his mouth. Then, there was color.. bouquets in the arms of a young woman.

It was easy to spot on a gray day. Light and shadow. Beauty and gloom. He stood between them for so long now.

Instead of lingering in curiosity, he let his boots carry him forward. His gait was unhurried; his hands still clasped behind his back as though he were strolling the halls of his own home.

“It’s rare to see someone give without asking anything in return. Most people I’ve met want credits.. or favors, or names to remember them by. But you..” Lysander gestured toward the flowers, offering a half-smile “you make it look as if hope itself can be handed out. What’s the occasion?"

 
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AFTER THE RAIN

Location — Naboo, Theed.
Objective — Gift the people of Theed bouquets of flowers. . .
Tags Lysander von Ascania Lysander von Ascania
Paraphernalia — Double-bladed lightsaber, Jedi Robes


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The mercy of men was but a scarcity these days, an anomaly among the wrathful and cruel. They would rather battle their foes, live for the rush than to take a second to appreciate the beauty there is in life rather than in delivering death. So as some civilians ignored her and her flowers, it became not a question of who was worthy, but more of who would listen to her offer. Who would even see her? She was a stark contrast with her environment, her clothes were a light pink, adorned with floral embroidery upon her puffy sleeves, whilst most was hidden by the brightly coloured bouquets she tried to hold. It was not oft that she would have to stand there for so long, and now the weight of the items was slowly beginning to have its effects on her arms--but she refused to let it diminish her smile.

So as a taller blonde man approached her, Isobel shuffled a bit on her feet to adjust the weight of the flowers. "Not everything needs to be a purchase..." She began, trailing off lightly as she studied the darker garbs. Did he favour such robes or was he mourning something? With the amount of hours she had spent in her family's memorial gardens, dark clothing was often a sign of grief of some form... So with that rushed deduction, she handed him one of the bouquets. "My family gifts the people of Theed flowers to bring them some sunshine on a cloudy day." The girl corrected with a smile, before her brown eyes darted around the square, the skies were still dark, and more civilians began to draw back to their work or home. It would no doubt rain once again in mere minutes.

"Though I fear the weather shall leave my efforts in vain." She said light-heartedly, a soft giggle leaving her. As her eyes drew back to the man, or should she say boy, as he seemed to be closer to her age than any of her brothers. "Please, do take care of the flowers. They need to be watered daily or once every two days and placed somewhere where the sun can reach them, but not too much sunlight-- that is bad, they will dry out." Isobel advised him, more so praying the stranger would not plunge the flowers into the nearest canal or trashbin...

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The bouquet was lighter than he expected, blooms like ghosts in his calloused hands.. a gentle force he could not refuse. For once, his grasp bore life, not death. His head inclined, fingers grazing the stems, hesitant to disturb their beauty, undeserving after what war in the Outer Rim had carved into him.

And for a brief moment, Lysander studied them.. roses, orchids, colors that seemed defiant amid today’s forecast.

Then, without even thinking, he drew them closer, drawing in the faint sweetness, which only conjured both longing and guilt.

“Not everything needs to be a purchase,” he echoed her words back, the phrase feeling foreign on the tongue. It may have been obvious that he carried the weight of someone who had seen too many exchanges where blood or credit was the only currency.

Especially back on Smuggler's Moon..

Here, on Naboo, speaking freely as a Sith came with consequences. A terrible thought it was, to think that honesty required a disguise.

The cobbles caught the tap of boots as his posture shifted, and for the first time his hands were not clasped behind the back, but occupied. One brushed a bead of rain from his sleeve. Tentative, the motion betrayed him, suddenly aware of how out of place he looked among her brightness.

But he was always intrigued by the unique customs of others.

“Your family bestows them up on others freely?” A slight tilt, his gaze lingered on her, the moment brief, but not unkind. There was no judgement. “That is.. unusual. Most families I’ve known would sooner hoard beauty like trophies.”

A wry curl bent his lips. “I tend to forget that Naboo breeds a different kind of generosity.”

Then, a sound between a chuckle and a sigh escaped.

His emerald gaze returned to the arrangement, as if seeing it in a new light. "Rain does not mar them. It reminds us they breathe.”

A touch of something indefinable flickered across his visage.

With the fall of her instructions, his expression softened further.

“Ok.. water daily, but not too much sun.” Lysander spoke dryly, as if reciting some kind of mantra from training. “You do realize you’ve entrusted me with flowers, not a bantha, right?”

Around them, civilians were drifting about their daily lives. Memories of the Mandalorian invasion flashed in his mind. Ironically, his own helmet now bore the same infamous T-visor.

“Tell me of your family,” he prodded, tone polite. “What drives them to give, when so many others only take?”

He stole a glance at the sky, then back at the bouquet. “If they drown, I’ll blame Naboo’s skies, not your instructions.”
 
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AFTER THE RAIN

Location — Naboo, Theed.
Objective — Gift the people of Theed bouquets of flowers. . .
Tags Lysander von Ascania Lysander von Ascania
ParaphernaliaLightsaber, Jedi Robes


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Naboo was a unique sort of garden, while flowers bloomed in all shades and sizes, there were some pests sullying all life within, be it the petals or the roots providing them stability. Nonetheless, to stare endlessly in the abyss, awaiting each bad omen was futile. Though she had yet encountered a scarce number of nobles, she believed that even the corrupt and disillusioned, possessed a light within them, a seedling that may yet prosper in the right soil. "Flowers are not trophies." Isobel defended. "My family trades in them, but why would we keep such beauty under lock and key?" Mayhap she had not seen enough of this galaxy to know otherwise, but the mere thought of these bouquets, of gardens, not being opened to all people was a... disgrace. How else would people connect with their loved ones?

Though the raindrops tapped lightly on her robes, she continued to listen to the individual. His thoughts were fascinating, but also currying a bit of doubt about his worthiness of a bouquet. "It is a bit small for a Bantha, indeed." A soft laugh escaped the young girl, before she shook her head, her curls grazing past the bouquets still in hand. "But a life is a life, whether it is a large creature, or a small flower. We all breathe, nourish, live, so why would one life not deserve the same treatment as the other?" Mayhaps it was a tinge dramatic, but in her family flowers were taken care of in better ways than most creatures elsewhere. It was only reasonable for nature to be cherished, for we would all one day return to it and wish to be treated with care and respect.

As the skies unleashed heavier rain, the petals in her bouquet gradually closed, forcing her hand to swiftly be raised and cast a faint -- and fragile -- barrier over the flowers. The shield still permitted a handful of droplets to flicker through. . . "I would love to tell you more, but I fear I am ill-dressed for this weather." Isobel began to shift on her feet, trying to keep herself warm as her clothes absorbed most of the water. "There is a café nearby, or we could speak more at the Serraris Estate." She proposed, unsure whether the stranger would wish to delve deeper into flowers, families and Naboo. Either way, she'd rather not suffer a cold the next few days and miss the lightsaber training at Shiraya's Sanctuary. . .

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As the girl's words fell upon his ears of flowers not being trophies, the thought itself would echo like the unfurling of a delicate bloom. As though a veil had been lifted, he suddenly felt the stems pressing against his palms. At first, calloused fingers found themselves hesitant. Then, cautiously, a thumb grazed the edge of a petal, wondering if that small touch would bruise it.

But that conviction also stirred something in him. For in the halls of his upbringing, beauty was currency, another blade to be wielded, especially in the never-ending dance of politics within courtly halls. A family like hers, with open hands, would have been devoured by greed.

Worse still, the Sith realized how far he drifted since.

The next breath left him slowly. "Back where I come from," he spoke softly, "beauty was a currency to be protected. If parted with too casually, you would be preyed upon." Beneath emerald depths, an ember flared, another echo, this one being of his younger self, visible for but a second before retreating. "But maybe your home is wiser than we are. Maybe it is meant to be shared.”

A corner of his mouth tugged upward, an involuntary reaction to the fleeting music of laughter, and he turned his face toward the rain, allowing it to hide the slip. If there was one thing the dark hadn’t managed to carve out of his being, it was his knack for being an idiot at the right moment, for drawing moments of levity from others. That, at least, remained.

His voice fell silent, words striking deeper than he expected, but not in a way that left him feeling ill; for there had been a time, years ago, when he too believed in such notions. But two wars under the Sith Order's banners, and wandering the Outer Rim, had shown him otherwise. Perhaps he could've dismantled such idealism with a barrage of bitter truths. And now, he found he had no desire to do that.

Head inclined, droplets fell from blonde hair into his lashes. “You make it sound so simple. Dangerous words, in most places. But here, in the rain, I almost believe you.”

A barrier glimmered into existence, unmistakable to one of his kind. Lysander's gaze narrowed in recognition. Force-sensitive. He'd been so intent on masking his own signature that he hadn't recognized hers until now. It did not unsettle him; after all, this planet always had a way of disarming others.

With a stary drop cutting across his cheek, he let the smile slip through this time, small and genuine. “Seems I’m not dressed for this dreary weather either." He tugged lightly at the collar for emphasis. "So much for the promise of fine stitching"

The hand fell back to his side before shifting, suggesting willingness to follow her lead.

“A cafe nearby sounds.. sensible. And I’d rather not leave puddles across your family’s floors.”

The bouquet was drawn closer under his arm, shielding it. “But then again.. if your family opens its gardens as freely as you say, I’d like to see them for myself.” Beads clung stubbornly as he made no effort to brush them away. “If the storm wants a fight, it'll have to try harder."
 



AFTER THE RAIN

Location — Naboo, Theed.
Objective — Gift the people of Theed bouquets of flowers. . .
Tags Lysander von Ascania Lysander von Ascania
ParaphernaliaLightsaber, Jedi Robes


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The dilemma between enduring the rain longer to vanish into her family's estate or to go the easy path and approach the nearby cafe was not as difficult as she thought it would be. With a swift nod, Isobel began walking past the fountain, and swaying from left to right, trying to avoid making her boots wet. "It is that easy, if you were never taught otherwise." She explained, in all of her youth, she had shown people the same message over and over again. Even when she was at the receiving end of it... "I have heard endless tales of cruelty among our kind, and of others, as if violence and death are tools we must turn to to be proven right. Colour me naive when I think it is not needed." Nevertheless, the tales of (self-)justified retribution remained too frequent, and mayhaps they held some truth in them she had not been able to witness herself.

With a gasp, the Nabooan hopped over another puddle before turning into a narrow alley. "The cafe is just around the corner, they serve these wonderful teas and caf." Her heel landed in the puddle, earning a soft noise of annoyance, before she paused and looked at the blonde man. "Or anything else, I am certain they can make drinks from your planet too." Isobel attempted to add, they were strangers, not even familiar with one another's name nor origin, so she would not dare assume more about him. Mayhap that needed a slight change... Just, not now.

The girl continued her nigh on acrobatic steps around the puddles and cracks between the cobblestones, before they encountered a cozy building in an equally narrow street. Outside the workers were busy trying to get the tables and stools away from the rain, whilst inside warmly coloured lights shaped the environment. Accompanied by easygoing Deva music and the chatter in both Galactic Basic and the infrequent gossip in Nabooan language, mostly about the other guests. Disgusting. "Here we are!" She placed the two bouquets in her hands on a table outside--yet under their roof-- the telekinetic barrier vanishing as swiftly as it appeared.

Not even a moment after she had entered the cafe, she immediately heard her name behind the counter. A Theelin woman, that had worked there ever since she came here, waved towards the pair and gestured towards one of the tables. "Thank you, Ceci," Isobel inclined her head, a habit born out of etiquette she had not been able to shake off... Still, she led her friend to the table, but remained standing for a moment longer. "I meant to introduce myself earlier but, I am Isobel Serraris. . . As the owner had already spoiled." She allowed another laugh to leave her lips, but held out her hand all the same. An invitation to a new friend or ally.

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A dance of liquid diamonds, the fountain's spray caught the natural light as he unconsciously matched her rhythm. Lysander did not hurry, nor did he lag behind the girl; he simply carried the stride of someone accustomed to arenas where every step was controlled. The bouquet remained nestled under his arm, his free hand brushing only once against a damp stone as they passed.

The rain was certainly no stranger; he’d walked beneath that veil on countless worlds across the galaxy. And yet, here, far from the place now called home, it felt different. Lysander simply let it bead against him, let it trace the lines of his collar. Part of him wished it were capable of washing away the sins he carried.

There were no thoughts of Spore Industries, nothing of Smuggler’s Moon, and zero urge to check the datapad in his pocket. For the first time in months, he just allowed himself the rarest of disciplines, one even the Sith could not teach him.. to surrender.

An exhale left him, but it would be lost to the patter of rain. The girl spoke as if kindness were the natural order of the galaxy. Hearing someone insist that violence and conflict was not inevitable may have even stirred something he couldn’t quite place a finger on.

A discordant note, enough so to unsettle the Sith, but one he found himself willing to embrace out of curiosity.

No bitter retorts followed. He’d still taste the syllables before releasing his next words, as though he were speaking a foreign language.

“Naivety can be a luxury, depending on who you are, and who you stand before.”

Another puddle. Another hop. It wasn’t a smile that surfaced, but the ghost of one, so he maneuvered around the water in the same cadence still.

The alley that she led him through was unfamiliar, even after six months in Theed before. It was always the Mandalorian raids that brought fire and ruin, that threatened to surface in his mind's eye. Now, it was restored, alive, and against his better judgement.. he felt something like gratitude.

From his blonde locks rain dripped, and in that moment, Lysander couldn't bring himself to reveal his origins. Not yet.

“If you can keep flowers alive in this weather, then I imagine I’ll survive whatever Naboo calls tea.”

Music and warmth welcomed him as he entered the esablishment.

“Introductions come when they’re meant to.” He shifted the bouquet carefully to his other arm before taking her hand with a delicate touch, followed by a slight bow of the head. “Isobel Serraris,” he repeated, a gentle curve softening his mouth. “Lysander von Ascania.”

Once more, his head dipped, like a sigh of grace, that she had managed to draw levity from him.

“You laugh easily. That is rarer than you might believe.”

With that, he nodded toward the table the server had shown. A chair eased back beneath his hand.. not with flourish, but with respect. He paused, giving her the chance to settle first, then lowered himself opposite her.

A server soon would draw close, placing two menus before stepping away. As he began to settle in, the aroma of roasted coffee beans and brewing tea drifted to him. The flowers were arranged just off to the side of the table.

Fingers paused on the menu’s edge before slowly unfolding it. “I could spend the entire day studying these pages, but I have a feeling you already know what’s best here. What do you recommend?”

Amusement brushed the edges of his voice. “And don’t just name it, you have to convince me.”
 



AFTER THE RAIN

Location — Naboo, Theed.
Objective — Gift the people of Theed bouquets of flowers. . .
Tags Lysander von Ascania Lysander von Ascania
ParaphernaliaLightsaber, Jedi Robes


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Even the infrequent bitterness in his words made her smile and chuckle, it was amusing, though not in a mocking manner. It was merely... their different ways to view life that fascinated her. Why one was so drastically different from the other... And yes, it may colour her naive in the eyes of others, or peculiar, but it was everything but to herself. Or mayhaps her companion was simply the opposite, a bit narrow-minded, hence why he judged Nabooan tea before he had even tried it (in this cafe). Or mayhap it were something else, and she could endlessly and wrongly guess about it.

When they finally exchanged introductions, Isobel smiled, and rather awkwardly held his hand before repeating. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lysander von Ascania." She tried her best to pronounce his name correctly, repeating it once more under her breath, before releasing her hold. And following him to the table. When Isobel finally sat down, she kept her back straight and her hands on her lap.

The comment about her laugh brought a light blush to her cheeks, it was a flaw that made her terrible at lying (even the harmless white lies.)--It was the wrong that made her family's allies question whether she was even of Serraris blood. "I-- Er... My Lord father would agree with you, Lysander..." She nervously confessed or rather admitted a plain truth. If only she could grow past such a weakness... Because as rare as it was, not being capable of handling one's secrets made her a great target for foes and the like. A fact she was confronted with daily, especially by her own kin.

Once the server handed them their menus, it was not the text on the paper that held her attention, it was the endless gossiping by the other guests. Another table near them spoke in a Nabooan dialect, a language barely spoken when Galactic Basic had conquered most of the known galaxy. Their chatter revolving around the royal houses and their drama, be it affairs and assassination plots, all were trying to drive the Nabooan houses towards a civil war or conflict of sorts. But they were not blind to the presence of a Serraris in the cafe, accompanied by a foreigner of all people, and a boy.

Isobel opened the menu and stared at the list of drinks and pastries. Barely acknowledging the comment by her friend until a few moments later. "Uh... The Flower teas are pretty good here. You did say you were interested in the teas, I think." With a trembling finger she turned the page toward the list with teas. "Rose tea is sweeter, hm... Haneli Flower Tea is good too, it is calming, just like the Millaflower one, but that one is more bitter. Er-- Floral Tea has a combination of a lot of flowers, I personally think it is too strong, but if you fancy that." She eventually looked up from the aurebesh and offered Lysander an almost apologetic look for the lack of clarity or persuasion.

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Whispers wove through the cafe, scandals and secrets curling in a tongue that Lysander knew all too well. More familiarity than he cared to admit.. the names of noble houses drifted on the breath of several figures, followed by betrayal, a dance he had witnessed too many times from the Core Worlds to the Outer Rim. Fortunately, it was easy enough to let those murmurs slip past like a breeze, just hums in the background.

Once, he might have leaned in.. dissecting syllables for some sort of advantage. But that was another life. Back then, courtly politics had been his study hall, where the dance was not much different from the grace of fencing that had once been his forte on Ukatis.

Just one more thing to remind him of the current trajectory, knee deep in the Dark, and now destined for power moves on Nar Shaddaa. A place that had no room for flowers, yet here he was, carrying them all the same.

With a quiet glance he caught her perch, posture poised… perhaps too precise for a humble little establishment such as this. Through another lens, it might have been discipline, born of habit, or something else entirely. He noted it nonetheless, as a soldier might with terrain.

His hand hovered, a silent waltz, over the menu still, fingers paused at the edge as though he were still contemplating whether to open it.

When the names of teas tumbled out, he didn’t interrupt, didn’t correct, only listened. It was an invitation to a foreign world. The cadence of her words was uneven, but honest.. and somehow that honesty carried more weight than anything polished could.

When the final word fell, he let the silence linger. A small smile blossomed before he could stop it, almost shy, soft as morning light.

“I think no matter what, they’re going to make up stories.” His tone was calm, just as the rain outside. “You listen to the room, even when you’re speaking to me. That’s wise. Brave, perhaps. Dangerous.. too. But.. wise.”

He inclined his head toward the menu. “Sweetness, calm, bitterness, strength… you’ve basically just described the galaxy in four cups.”

The names were slowly given back to Isobel. “Rose. Haneli. Millaflower.. Floral.” Squared shoulders dipped by a fraction. “If I had to pick one for myself, maybe it would be Millaflower. Bitter, but.. always enduring.”

Steadying his gaze on her, it gentled at the edges. “You, though.. I’d say Haneli.” Something unknotted in the teen's expression, the shift appearing almost accidental.

“I’ll follow whatever you pick. If it’s completely awful, I’ll suffer it with you.”
 

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