First Reply After the Rain

[Isobel Serraris]

AFTER THE RAIN​

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

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.

​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

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 , and he missed 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?"

 

[Isobel Serraris]

AFTER THE RAIN​

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

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...

​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Isobel Serraris ​

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.”

 

[Isobel Serraris]

AFTER THE RAIN​

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

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. . .

​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Isobel Serraris
​

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."

 

[Isobel Serraris]

AFTER THE RAIN​

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

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.

​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Isobel Serraris​

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.”

 

[Isobel Serraris]

AFTER THE RAIN​

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

​

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.

​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Isobel Serraris
​

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.”

​

 

[Isobel Serraris]

AFTER THE RAIN​

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

​

How could it be brave to mind what to others may preach? If they may lie, what benefit would that bring her or her family above all? Mayhap it was a hazard on whatever planet he came from, but on Naboo, she would not dare evade the slanders of others. Not while silencing the urges to set them right. The people here loved to talk, loved to spread libels as easy as a leaf may travel in a gust of wind. It was abhorrent, and yet others revelled in the façades, like her father most of all. He loved to veil his secrets behind charm and 'protecting the family', but she preferred not to think of him while her friend awaited her choice of tea. "I do not like them fabricating lies and what not," The confession left her more akin to a whisper, to a secret she guarded, though it was not so. Isobel could not possibly comprehend how the important lords and rulers paid no mind to what those in their streets whispered and rumoured.

Those four cups did not encompass the Galaxy much, strength... what equated strength? Was it violence, or victory in war? Ambition or something else entirely. "People often mention different things when it comes to strength. What does that term mean to you, Lysander?" The smile on her lips tried to disguise the gravity of her question, a tactic she did not love, but the curiosity chipped away at her. Before he confessed to identifying more with the bitter tea than the sweet or the strong. As for her, he viewed her as something calming, or presumed that to be her favourite, which made her rein in her smile before it could grow unrulily into a grin. It regrettably did little to hide the rosiness on her cheeks, which she so foolishly tried to hide by placing a hand over her lips and cheek.

After a moment, she took a deep breath and removed her hand, closing the menu with her other hand. "I was going to pick the Haneli flower tea... It is a beautiful red flower, and if they serve it right, it will not turn out pink, nor be strong and bitter--" She chuckled at his other comment. "Then yes, we shall suffer together." Isobel then turned toward the server and waved her hand lightly to draw their attention, before ordering the two teas. Praying to Shiraya that this pleasant encounter would not end in disaster. . .

​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Isobel Serraris​

Hushed words drew a faint nod from Lysander, one that spoke more than acknowledgment of her statement.. but of the message it held within, a message of truth that was all too rare in the galaxy’s corners he wandered.

His teeth pressed together as he tapped an index digit at the edge of the menu. "Plain words are a welcome sound.. lies are easier to come by than honesty, in many places.”

As her inquiry settled in the air, the blonde leaned back momentarily, rolling his posture loose, as though shedding sins like autumn leaves. The teen’s gaze sank to the table, lingering, only to lift slowly, finding her once more. Time stretched thinly, a quiet breath between heartbeats, for every syllable chosen was carefully weighed, in what could've been fragile space.

“For me, strength isn’t always victory. It isn’t endurance for its own sake, either.” His look fixed on her, not piercing like a weapon, but as if he wanted the girl to see the truth in what he offered.

A bridge.

“It’s the freedom to choose what you want, even when the galaxy tells you no.. to carve your own way, and not apologize for it. That’s the only kind of strength that truly lasts.”

Caught unaware by the flush of her visage, as though a curtain had been drawn to cloak her warmth, his regard stayed quietly. A whisper of a curve resurfaced once more along his lips, not in mockery, but something softer.. more true.

Lysander’s head tilted, emerald gaze narrowing in suggestion of mirth, a shard of light slipping through glass.

“You hide it about as well as a candle in the dark,” he said softly. “But.. it suits you.”

Afterwards, he let the silence breathe, to give her space to recover.

A gracious nod, a gesture instilled into his very being on Ukatis, was bestowed upon the server's arrival. And instinctively, his frame lifted into an arch of dignity. A brief moment later, those footsteps faded.

“Haneli flower tea.” The name rolled across his tongue like it were tested for some hidden meaning. “A red bloom that refuses to turn pink. Very stubborn. I definitely approve.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “So, if it arrives pale, I will just take it as a personal insult. And if it’s bitter, I’m totally going to think you planned it that way.”

Leaning forward, elbows came to rest light upon the table. “Your family gives flowers to strangers, and now you order stubborn teas without hesitation. Is that Serraris tradition?”

A pause barely registered before he spoke anew. "If not here, offering such things, where else would you set yourself in this galaxy?"

 

[Isobel Serraris]

AFTER THE RAIN​

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

​

His view on strength did not align with any options she had thought of, it was almost as if she was listening to the ideas of her master before he had left her. This desire for freedom, for breaking one's chains and fulfilling whatever ambitions may hatch in one's mind and heart... Though with all the populations, and groups within, common views on terms was a given, and Lysander was too kind to follow in the same vague footsteps as her mentor. "I... see," Isobel began, before pondering on how strength looked in her eyes. "Strength or power lies in endurance, in holding fast with the ideas and morals you have been taught, even when circumstance may yet tempt you to abandon them." She voiced, it was akin to how seasons worked, how flowers would wither and return once more in the coming year.

His comment regarding her blush forced it to blossom brighter, the redness spreading to the remainder of her face. Her other hand too found her face, trying her hardest to veil her flustered state from the scrying eyes of the public (and Lysander). Oh how her family would scold her for this childishness--mostly her mother, who saw the art of composure as the greatest skill a noblewoman must know. How oft Isobel's face had to be thoroughly powdered when she was to meet suitors, all to conceal the scarlet that would not elude her. Compliments, be it of any form, were her weakness and learning to overcome that must be vital to ever play a role in her house's politics. "It does not suit me, it is a nuisance. A curse I cannot dispel." Part-jest, part-truth.

Once the warmth on her face began to cool, she dropped her hands once more to her lap. Quietly praying to Shiraya that the gossiping others may not have noticed her little blunder. She listened to his curious queries and wanted to answer when the server returned with two teas, placing the red-coloured tea in front of her, and the more purplish hued drink before Lysander. The Nabooan murmured a quiet thanks to the server, waiting until they had left the table. In the meantime, she tore open the packet of honey and emptied it into her drink, stirring it around with a spoon. "Not quite. . . My family is unconvential, if one were to listen to the rumours of these Twirrls." She waved her hand lightly at the other tables, but kept a smile on her face.

Upon taking a sip, her lip curled lightly at the bitterness that graced her tongue. Disappointing. "How is the tea?" The girl hoped he did not have to share her 'suffering'... "Well if you find me stubborn, you would have a terrible time with my oldest brother. He always acts without thinking, it is a miracle he must follow in my father's footsteps." A laugh left her at the memory of Sebastian explaining time and time again why he had slipped out of the estate with her. And not to mention his endless escapades to go drinking or meet with his friends or whoever they were. Yet, for one reason or another, her lord father had not chosen to disinherit him... "Serraris tradition is to... I do not know, mayhap it is our more neutral stance?" Isobel offered, looking at him with that glimmer of uncertainty in her eye.

She raised the glass to her lips again, the heat branding her tongue, but the bitterness -- despite the added honey -- was worse. "Heavy questions to discuss over tea." A giggle left her before she shook her head faintly. "I would be at the temple, training to become a Jedi Knight like the ones in the tales. The guardians of the Light, of Justice and all that comes with." The imagery of Jedi Masters she had seen around the temple filled her mind, depicting only one goal, to join their ranks someday. But for now, she remained a padawan, a learner, who had a long and steep road to traverse before she may even come close to the title of knight or master. "What of you? Any ambitions for this galaxy?"

​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Isobel Serraris
​

The server’s hand set the cups down with a muted clink. A curl of steam rose from the purplish surface, carrying a fragrance he hadn’t expected. Floral, yes, but deeper, almost earthy, with a sweetness that already clung to the back of his throat before tasting it. Lysander studied the color, enjoying the simplicity of watching it breathe.

Unconsciously so, he mimicked the girl's gesture, the amber thread of honey dissolving into his tea. A spoon traced a slow circle, tapping the rim, and then setting it aside. Lifting the cup, he inhaled deeper than he meant to, allowing that aroma to calm him, disarm even. It was far from that harsh bite of Outer Rim caf, or recycled water that’d been boiled too many times over.

This was.. gentler.

Like anything else, the first sip was a cautious one, lips brushing the rim, testing an unfamiliar weapon. Heat spread across his tongue. It was bitter at first, but quickly softened by honey. The teen’s brow furrowed, then eased, and he let out a quiet breath through his nose.

But Lysander didn’t speak right away, just watching that steam curl. Seconds passed, and it was sat down with care. The taste was still settling far after making his decision. “It’s great.. better than I expected,” he admitted. Fingers were still curled around the handle. “I’ll allow Naboo one point in its favor.”

Then those words of endurance continued to hang between him. His thumb brushed the porcelain absentmindedly. Maybe that was really just fidgeting disguised as composure.

Isobel’s definition of strength settled between them like mist. It wasn’t like his own, but he wouldn’t make any motion that could so easily signal debate. Their roads were different, and his own were shaped by inherited truths. But he wouldn’t press it.. not this time, even if he was one who thrived in the friction of different views.

Perhaps it was the rain, or the way her voice carried without arrogance. Or maybe, he just knew that some truths were better explored when the tea is finished.

Soon he found himself reflecting on his own siblings, and his mouth curved wryly. His head tilted, studying her with a look that was halfamused. “Neutral stance? That almost sounds like a diplomatic shrug.” He lifted the cup again, hiding the smile behind the rim before taking another sip.

The warmth of the tea lingered as he set it down, and his expression softened, just enough to let the jest land, absent of cruelty. “Then I should thank the stars I met you first. If your brother is worse, I might not have survived the introduction.” A hand shifted, palm brushing the table’s edge.

Lysander’s focus lifted in a way that suggested he was listening more closely than before. The steam curled between them like a veil..

“A Jedi ..that’s a rare kind of dream these days, outside of the Mid Rim at least.” Fingers tapped once against the porcelain. “But you said it like you meant it. Like it still matters.”

There was no mockery in his tone. Just a kind of reverence, as if he were watching someone speak a language he hadn’t heard in years.

“If that’s the path you’re walking, then I hope you never lose sight of it. Even if the galaxy tries to blind you.”

Then, a pause, something unguarded surfacing. “And if you ever do lose it.. I hope someone’s there to remind you.”

The sip that followed was heavier. “I once thought I’d be something like a knight. Not the kind sung about. The kind that walks alone, answers to no banner. My teachers spoke of strength, of breaking chains, of carving your own destiny.” His lips curved faintly. “But such words are dangerous in polite company.”

He could hear the percussion of droplets tapping against the glass nearby, the galaxy’s own heartbeat. “So now, I say only this. I want freedom. To walk where I choose, without anyone’s leash around my choices.”

So, the vapor thinned, but the warmth would linger. Like her words. Like the kind of strength he hadn’t known he missed.

Glancing at the bouquet, the petals still curled. “Even stubborn blooms find their way to the sun. Eventually.”

Though he didn’t lean forward, his shoulders eased, just slightly. “You said you trained at the temple. What was that like for you? Learning, discipline..carrying all that responsibility.”

Calm and patient, he was rooted. “When did it start? That.. pull toward the Light. Was it always there, or did something lead you to it?”

 

[Isobel Serraris]

AFTER THE RAIN​

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

​

The sight of him studying the tea's properties was almost amusing, as if the question of whether it was drinkable ever lay in doubt. His verdict followed ever so swiftly, a timid form of approval, but not one she would let off easily. "Only one point? After the flowers and my kindness? You wound me, Lys." A soft, exaggerated, huff of air left her lips as she feigned her displeasure. The 'lack of gratitude' tasted as bitterly as the tea she had been offered, what they had done to it, she truly could not fathom. But it did not taste like the teas her mother had made on the colder evenings at the Estate.

After two more sips, she pushed the cup aside, its flavour nigh on branding her tongue its their rancid bitterness. At least her friend appeared to be enjoying his tea, as well as bombarding her with more questions than there were pollen in spring. The Nabooan could not find the harm in entertaining his queries, if anything, the curiosity charmed her and made her feel heard. A blessing that was often lost in a galaxy drawn to the flames of war and conflict...

His remark about her house did briefly make her eyebrow quirk up, before she lightly shook her head. "We are truly neutral. Our house may have to answer to the government and the Queen, but our complete obeisance is not gifted alongside it. We have our own trading allies, our friends and foes that... I think, do span beyond the High Republic's borders." Mayhap she should have shushed herself, not given such information freely to a stranger, but... He gave her little reason to be wary, to feel as if her words may be passed on to the next stranger--be it a friend or foe. But even if betrayal lurked in her pauses, she was not the best person to approach in a search for information.

While people such as her father, her mother, and primarily her oldest brother were fully involved in the family's business, it was Isobel who stayed on the sidelines. Not quite watching, but not quite being kept away from all the happenings. They were just... careful with what she may be exposed to, sadly. "Sebastian is still kind, he has a charming smile that makes some Nabooans swoon over him." She rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face clarified her amusement. "Mayhap it is his charisma that shall guide our family to new heights." A loose prediction or a prayer, if not for future renown, their house would remain in the shadows until eternity had passed them...

The glimmer of surprise in his voice came as a shock to her, was it so odd for her to dream to become a Jedi Knight? Were they not the guardians of peace all over the galaxy? (Yes, even while the Empire controlled the Core worlds now.) "How would someone lose sight of something so grand? I grew up with tales of the Jedi of old, Meetra Surik, the Shans, the Skywalkers, the Luminous Nine..." She remembered most of the tales taught by the hearth, some by her brother, some by her father--until it was revealed that she was force-sensitive herself. "I doubt my name shall ever be among such legends, but I will strive for it regardless." Isobel's brown eyes glistened as the words came not from her mind, but from the passion in her heart.

His own ambitions seemed almost the opposite, to not be a figure with a grand name or renown, but someone free to choose where he goes and what he does. Akin to a hedge knight of sorts, the one in the fantasy novellas she had seen her other brother--Darien--read. Though... the thought of being all alone on one's travels sounded... dull in her eyes. "Would such a life not get lonely? Whatever chains may bind you, would breaking them not shatter other ties as well?" Her voice grew hushed, as she leaned a bit more forward on the table, her eyes softening and the corners of her lips tensing. "I know not of the path you have or will trod, but I shall pray its consequences shall be gentle." She offered an apologetic smile, but failed to hold it up successfully.

His question caught her off-guard, and with the gravity of their earlier conversation, she was unsure whether her answers may provide any levity. "I have not known anything other than the light side..." Isobel confessed. "The dark side is not entirely unknown to me, but it is death in the garden. And while some Jedi may shame me for saying it is necessary for the cycle of life and death, I wish not to interact with it." Her words remained soft to not grant the eavesdroppers too much gossip to spread.

​

​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Isobel Serraris​

The porcelain rested but a beat longer in Lysander’s hands, steam curling against his fingers. Still, the teen studied it with the same scrutiny as one might give a blade before battle. Only when the Padawan’s huff broke the brief silence did his head incline, a faint tilt, somehow her feigned displeasure pulling him right off balance. When the cup touched the table, it was no louder than a whisper. And when his mouth curved, it was the shadow of a smile.

“Wounded, are you?” The voice descended with the weight of stone, but there was a thread of amusement clearly woven through it, arriving effortless and genuine. “That’s strange.. I thought Jedi had endured worse than some poor score.” A pause, his gaze falling to the flowers at the side. “Perhaps I was unkind. Three points, then. One for the bouquet. One for the performance. And of course, the tea.”

He exhaled through his nose, a sound that might have been a laugh.. if he’d allowed it. Fingers rested gently on the rim of the cup before he lifted it again, as though the bitterness were a test he intended to pass, akin to the trials of those who steeped ever far into the Dark arts. And yet.. what unsettled him most was not the taste, but the ease of this moment. Indeed, it was borderline dangerous, how wholesome it felt. Lysander bore not a single bad intention in the exchange, zero calculation, no hidden blade. Only the strange warmth and perhaps what could have been quiet treachery of finding it endearing.

No interruption followed, for the tilt of one's chin betrayed the intrigue more than any stillness could suggest. For as much as he enjoyed the sparring of words, he found himself enjoying something rarer still.. the act of simply sitting here and listening. Not the hollow exchanges of court, not the mindless banter of filling silence or wearing a shield, but listening in truth. To her voice, to the conviction beneath it, to the way she spoke without guile.

“Neutral is a rare word in this galaxy.. rarer still to live it. If your house has held its ground.. maybe it is not neutrality you practice.. but strength. A quieter kind than war teaches..”

The corner of his mouth shifted. “And you still speak of it freely without fear.”

There was a name that lingered in his ear, longer than it should have. It even managed to pull notes of recollection, and before he could stop himself, his mind was wandering back to Ukatis. Banners snapping in the wind, the roaring crowds as lances shattered. There had been a knight by that name, one he favored even. Not for the victories alone, though. The noble ladies adored him, their laughter and ribbons following him just as faithfully as any squire could. Younger then, had watched from the stands. A quiet envy, maybe, towards that effortless charm, how it was like a mystical power so capable of drawing warmth in any room.

“I knew a knight by that name, long ago. He was.. favored even by me, in the tournaments on Ukatis.” His gaze shifted back to her. “If your brother carries even a fraction of that charm, then I’m almost positive your prediction is not so loose after all. Charisma can raise a house as surely as any blade. Sometimes, more so.”

Words hung in the air like incense, fragrant, unashamed even, and so he let them settle before reaching for his own. But the names Isobel spoke of were not just legends per se; they were echoes of power, war, the compounding effect of choices that once shaped empires, and in truth, left ruin in their wake.

“Striving for legend is a noble path.” It was something simply offered, rather than that being weighed. “Legends are carved from sacrifice.. but also from hope. From people who chose to stand when others knelt.”

Perhaps part of it was something he once believed.. before the Light failed him, before the silence between stars felt more sincere than any creed. It was a dream he’d held close in youth, and though he no longer chased it, he had spent many a night turning it over in his mind, meditating on what it meant to stand for peace in a galaxy that devoured it.

“If your name never joins theirs, it could be known for something just as enduring. The kind of strength that doesn’t need a fancy monument to matter..”

The Sith’s gaze absorbed her messages for a time. His gaze dropped to the space between them, where syllables fell like rain on stone, soft but persistent, so much they echoed in the small stretches of silence.

Death in the garden.

That little metaphor would be mocked in the Outer Rim.. but here.. it felt honest. Here, in the Mid Rim, honesty was dangerous for a Sith apprentice.

Fingers brushed the cup, a means of tethering himself to the present. Lysander wanted to speak..truly speak. To say that the dark was more than death, that it had begun to shape him, scar him, and whispered even now. That he once believed in the Light.

..and still did.

In fragments.

But Naboo was not a place for confessions. Their laws were strict now. Their mercy.. conditional. And he had not expected to find himself in the company of someone who made him want to be known.

So, he stared at the table, at the quiet between them, assuring the truth remain unspoken.

As his eyes finally met hers, his voice dropped to a whisper, tender as if sharing a secret, and equally fragile. "You speak of the garden as if it still blooms within your soul," he mused, words laced with a quiet melancholy. "That is a rarity in these dark times. A small but precious light in the midst of overwhelming darkness that wishes to consume us all."

None of it was a lie. But truth.. in the presence of such purity.. it would’ve been like a sword unsheathed at the garden’s gate..

That was why, the silence was held not out of deceit, but for mercy.. for her.

These days, the Jedi were falling like nerf flies, scattered about, their names fading faster than the light they clung to. The Core was every bit claimed. A golden era for the Sith had begun.

Even in that silence, the Padawan's voice echoed, ethereal tones of temple bells at the back of his psyche. Bells that could've belonged to a temple of Ashla in their softness.

There was no way he could stain a moment too sincere.

Differences had been made plain. Light and shadow. Legend and freedom.

Such depth was rare for a first meeting, but not impossible, beautifully so, when speaking from a place he never got to share. His tongue loosened during the shift, nudging the cup side with the back of a hand. Then he leaned forward, not too much, just enough to close the distance without crowding it, to remain respectful. His elbows found rest on the table, hands folding together with a sense of reverence, and his face settled against them.

“When I was younger. I tried to follow the path others laid out for me. Teachers. Commanders. Family. I wore their expectations like armor, believing it would make me strong. But it was lonely. Not the kind that comes from silence, but the kind that comes from pretending. From walking a road that never truly felt like mine.”

A harmless smile graced his lips, like sunlight slipping through temple arches. It was then he betrayed the Dark, because it couldn't be mistaken for anything but peace.

Another slow inhale before continuing, slow this time. “So.. I chose freedom. Not because it was easy.. but because it was honest to me at the time. I wanted to wake each day and be reassured that the steps I took were truly mine. Even if no one remembered them.”

For a beat, his youthful features were an open book. “It’s not a path I’d recommend to everyone. But it’s the only one that’s ever felt real.”

And then, quieter still. “Hearing you speak of your path.. it doesn’t make me doubt mine. But.. it does make me glad we crossed today.”

Rather than plunging deeper, he retreated back to something lighter.. safer. Without consequence. The next question forming was a stupid one, and knew it so, but the mirth tugging at his mouth was already betraying him.

“Are Jedi actually allowed to wear color these days, or is beige the only color the Order allows?”

 

[Isobel Serraris]

AFTER THE RAIN​

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

​

A strength not taught by war, or not applicable to war, the house Serraris was a family with many secrets and rumours she could not even comprehend. Some called them cruel, and yet she was often found in the merchant quarters helping their people with their work. How would that define cruelty? Her father was a peculiar man, yes, but all he had ever done was try to protect her and love her. From the gifts he had given her at times to the--reluctant--approval of her Jedi training. The young noblewoman listened carefully to his verdict on the matter, mayhap there was truth in it, but she had never found any evidence to be wary of her own family and of their dealings. Well... aside from that one time she spotted cloaked men whisper in their labyrinthal gardens.

His second remark drained some of the redness from her cheeks, only leaving a pallid shade in its wake. "Why would I fear my own heritage?" She answered, her words slower and stained by confusion. Her brown eyes flicking over his face as if seeking to read the answer hidden beneath the surface. Yet whatever may be the solution to this query, it could not be found. There was no point in dwelling on it, not if it would sow the seeds of distrust toward her own blood. "Some of your words trouble me, my friend..." Isobel added, softer as if to not hurt nor provoke her companion. The safe course of action . . .

So he was from Ukatis… a planet she had barely even heard of. Though from what she remembered, it wasn't nearly as advanced as most worlds near it. Ukatis always sounded like something out of the fairytales she had devoured in her youth--and still read in secret, though she'd never admit it aloud. The mention of tournaments brought a faint flush to her cheeks. The thought of people giving favours, of knights battling for credits, prestige, and honour, it sounded so wonderfully romantic. Naboo's refined culture almost paled in comparison. "Ukatis has tournaments?!" She asked, her eyes glittering with many stars. "I've only ever read about those in... stories, yes, the ones with princesses, knights, and uhm, courtly love. Back when I was a child... Totally." She stammered and rubbed the back of her head, her curls catching lightly in her fingers.

She clumsily took back the cup of lukewarm tea and sipped it to avoid how childish she may have looked in Lysander's eyes. The cooler the water, the sharper the taste, it almost burned atop her tongue, though she feigned a terribly crooked smile to appear contented. "You should take me there someday, I would love to see what it is like." The Padawan said without second thought. "If- If you want to, if... It is up to you..." Bel added, her gaze avoiding him for fear of judgment or coming across as pushy or rude. Her hands still wrapped around the mug, she brought it to her lips once more and downed the drink in a single swig. It was better to focus on a different mistake: ordering this dreadful, bitter tea.

Her attempted distraction made her miss his kind words about her ambition to become a legend, a pity. It was a youthful dream, one hardly practical for a mere Padawan. All the great legends had been born with advantages beyond reach, with their high midichlorian counts, prestigious lineages, or even prophecies to guide their paths. What chance did she have? Only time would tell.

In time she shoved the adorned cup aside, and focused her attention on the blonde-haired boy, his interpretation of her metaphorical garden was unique--almost as if he understood what it was like. The darkness was all around them, and while some flowers only blossomed in the light, others favoured the shade and shone just as brightly. The sharp lines of embarrassment softened on her face as she took in his words, and a smile drew on her face. "We must not all succumb to the lies of war and destruction. With empires rising, one after the other, we need compassion--and the light--to serve as an alternative to this tyranny." Idealistic words that felt lost to the storm within the galaxy, from what she has known and heard, there seemed to be no end to this age of darkness.

When he leaned forward a bit, she did the opposite, shifting a bit back, unsure what he was doing or attempting. Yet his story slowly nudged her forward again, looking at his eyes as her happiness left her face. It was like watching a tragedy unfold, to not be allowed freedom to do as one pleased, to feel suffocated by duty and the expectations of others. It almost made her want to get up and hug this stranger-turned-friend. The words died on her lips as he stopped talking, what could one even say to it? She hardly knew his story and still, it already deserved multiple apologies. Isobel took a deep breath, before speaking slowly. "I count myself fortunate to cross paths with you today, and... though I hardly know you, it pleases me to hear you found freedom, to still find happiness." She nodded.

His question caught her off guard, leaving her more speechless than she had been just moments before. "The robes of old have taken my fancy, but yes... there are Jedi who wear colour, and some rather strange robes." She confessed but did not elaborate. Her hand drifted to her other sleeve, fingers brushing over the delicate embroidery that adorned it. Red roses, bright orange damsel flowers, and thistles, the small touches that made her Jedi attire her own.

"My lady mother embroidered these when I joined the Order." The Padawan said with a fond smile, her memories briefly flicking back to that moment, before glancing up at Lysander. "They are quite lovely, wouldn't you say? Why do you ask?"

​

​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Isobel Serraris​

In the span of a few breaths, the blonde found himself losing his grasp on a fragile thread, where words were meant to test, rather than wound. That ache, faint as it may be, was so often crueler than any blade. A wrong syllable or two and a careless edge woven into the delicate fabric of their conversation was enough to hurt or plant seeds of doubt. To challenge, yes, but not to harm. As she returned with a softened reply, labeling him friend instead of stranger, it was surprising to find himself both relieved and reluctant that a darker moment passed.

So, one more breath left him, and the teen’s voice became reflective, and words that spilled forth were barely above a whisper. “I’ve spoken poorly. I meant no harm..”

Comparing the delicate stitches of one's tapestry from Naboo, to the raw wounds that marked his own, kept his spirit gentle.

But the next turn, surprised him in similar measure, though one he’d soon find himself welcoming. With another warm flush rising to the padawan’s cheeks, it caught him off guard, so much it could have dismissed all of Ukatis with the wave of a hand, as though it were just another backwater world in the Outer Rim.

The way she treated its name like it were some remembered legend left him disarmed.

“Yes,” Lysander spoke softly. “There are many tournaments. Crude, perhaps.. by Naboo’s standards, but no less fierce. Men take the field, and for a short time, our world forgets its troubles. There is honor in it, if you know where to look.”

Emerald orbs that could carry an entire planet in their depths rested on her as radiance bloomed at the corner of his mouth, despite his efforts to keep a fragile heart guarded. “You would not look out of place among us.”

Isobel’s mention of stories stirred something long buried. He remembered Cora’s voice, soft in the evenings, reading aloud tales of knights and princesses, of vows and impossible quests, towers guarded by dragons. Of course, rebellious from the moment he first learned to walk, he pretended indifference then, even if words were already taking root. Chivalry, or maybe the yearning for something nobler than the life he was given.. had never quite left the Sith apprentice.

Lysander leaned back a fraction, studying her gestures of nervousness, which only softened him further. Another faint smile surfaced through the cracks. “Stories have their truths,” he murmured, “Sometimes more than the histories we’re told.”

The silence, brief as it were, felt shared, rather than him sitting there with a shield. Her wonder of his home was something he could not turn away.

Driven by impulse, the foolish part of him mirrored her gesture without thought. When Isobel lifted her cup, he felt the pull upon his own, failing to veil the gentle lines tracing over his youthful skin. There was a pause, before notes of sincerity finally left him. “Yes.. I would like to take you there sometime.”

Simple, but with weight, they offered more than just a promise of travel.

Humor, long dormant, awakened. “Though I should warn you.. I’ve no speeder or the like to my name. What I do have is a horse. Her name is Nari.”

When his focus wandered, it was turned inward, to the pinto mare of his youth, vivid and alive. Sleek and spirited, her coat was perfectly dappled with white and chestnut, her breath a mist that always danced in the chilly Ukatis dawn. He felt again the steady beat of her hooves, carrying him across endless fields, long before shadows whispered claim upon him.

Naturally, she would be older now, slower perhaps, and he had not seen her in so long. The thought pressed against his chest as a muted ache, tugging at corners where strings not so easily pulled.

“I miss her dearly.”

He studied the way she almost made it believable that compassion coils stand against a storm, the cadence derived from purity. The light in her expression was evident, the kind that insisted on hope, even as the entire galaxy was currently burning with war. Compassion was a noble thing, but it would never stop a blade. Empires did not fall because someone chose kindness; they fell because someone was willing to bleed for them.

His frame eased, and the language resting on his tongue was something half-remembered, foreign in taste.. yet not unknown. “The light is needed, if only to remind us what we’re fighting for.”

He’d also seen those who claimed to fight for peace burn villages to ash on Ukatis, and false kings speak of order while his people starved.

“Compassion is rare, and surely not a weapon. A shield, if you will. And shields.. well, they are worth carrying. I’ve seen a single act of mercy change the course of a life.”

Learning forward, the gravity of story beckoning him, he caught the reflection of a similar tragedy. Duty’s chokehold, how suffocating expectation was.

Gratitude was present, gratitude for what she saw without judgement, but also discomfort.. because her kindness did not feel deserved. The body stilled, save for the faint tightening of a jaw.

Slowly, he inclined his head in acknowledgement. “You honor me with that. Freedom is not without its scars. But.. it is mine.”

His focus lowered from a truth spoken earlier. A breath caught in his chest, softer than any sigh. “I do not regret them. Only that they came so soon.”

The admission surprised him, as though it had slipped free without permission. In her presence, it did not feel like weakness; it felt like something closer to release.

Finally his steady gaze found hers. “As for happiness. I find it in moments such as this. Brief.. but real. It’s possible fortune favors me more than I thought. If nothing else, I am glad that the rain led us here.”

As he reclined, it was not borne of withdrawal; no, this was silent reveal that her gentle mercy reached him, pierced him even.. and he would not cast it away.

Never had he imagined that her voice would linger so tenderly over the art of embroidery. His study traced the graceful dance of her fingers as they swept across the fabric’s folds, where roses and thistles seemed to ignite under the touch of natural lightning. To hear her speak of her mother with such reverence was a fragile treasure, for lineage often forged shackles. That admission brushed against him like a confession; a tremor stirred.

“They are lovely I asked because.. most Jedi I’ve seen wear their robes like armor. Plain, really. But yours..” his attention lingered on the roses, then returned to her eyes, “yours look lived in. Like.. they actually belong to someone, not an Order.”

His inner Loth‑cat seemed to peek out, ever curious, just stretching out in the sun somewhere. “Besides,” he added, sheepishly, “I can’t help but admit.. the old robes are just.. so boring in appearance.”

From deep within, a soft laugh unfurled, mirth brushing the edges of his breath. “I shouldn’t say that, should I? But.. it's true. They always made me think of stage curtains, like they’re auditioning for a tragedy.. or to haunt a temple.”

True to form, amused by self-irreverence, the faintest grin stole across his mouth, though not before a small shake of the head.

"Yours, Isobel.. you make them look like they actually belong out there in the galaxy, not just in some temple wardrobe. That's a compliment.. I promise."

​

 

[Isobel Serraris]

AFTER THE RAIN​

Location — Naboo, Theed.
Tags — Lysander von Ascania
Paraphernalia — Lightsaber, Jedi Robes

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His words implied she, as a person or as a nabooan, would fit right into a society like Ukatis. A charming thought... If the tales spoke truth about the beauty of the planet, not yet sullied by the demand for 'civilisation' such as found on Coruscant, Denon and others. Places where nature had been cast aside for endless towers of apartments and stores to host more businesses and droids than people, it was a lightly disgusting thought. Though one she would not let fester for the sake of her joyous mood and the delightful company she had found herself having. "You charm me..." She said with a bright grin on her face, trying to look at him, but feeling too shy to prolong the eye contact for a moment longer than proper. "These tournaments sound delightful, if not a little too violent. But such is the way of things sometimes." She mumbled, albeit it with a sharpness which spoke discontent.

To call herself a pacifist would be a ridiculosity, a term that failed to capture any nuance whatsoever. Life and death were the natural order, and nature could in itself be violent and demanding--but she would rather await the first strike from her opponent than act first and be to blame for the consequences. Though her brief pondering was interrupted swiftly by his gentle reassurance that sometimes the lines between fiction and reality were not as strict as one may expect. "Stories are mostly stories, they tend to exaggerate a great many things. How powerful a Jedi... er- or Sith is, uhm...You get it." Isobel did not know quite how she ended up on the topic of Sith, the power-hungry and heartless corrupted by a shadowier side of the Force. While many told tales and legends of the great Jedi, there were also some who told those of the Sith, of their domination, of the fear they spread. It would brand the galaxy forever.

For a second she picked at her fingernails, her gaze astray and distant, before it gradually returned to the conversation at hand. He would show her around Ukatis, that... that was surprising. They knew each other barely and yet the thought excited her, and as did the mention of his horse. The Nabooan knew they were similar to the Guarlaras and Gualamas they bred and held on her planet. She tilted her head lightly at the glimmer of sorrow that shimmered through his words, her hands moving anxiously in front of her--as if uncertain whether to reach out or to stay her hand. Though she did not make a move.

"Nari is a lovely name, and you clearly care about her... Erm... My family breeds Guarlaras, they are I think similar to the equus you know." Isobel wanted to say more, but did not know whether it would be welcomed. "When I was young... younger, my brother would make me sneak out and get to the stables and we would try to ride a bit in the plains. I once fell off so poorly my arm wound up broken." She smiled as she told it, it was not an unpleasant memory. "What I mean to say is that-- I can ride, yes. Can't imagine you have been one without injuries either?" A warm laugh left her, hoping to mend any awkwardness or aches the memories may have left behind.

The waiter passed them as Lysander leaned forward, eyeing them with curiosity and suspicion, before taking the empty cup(s) away. That light tremor in their lip forebode that they wished to say something, but Isobel merely smiled at them--her gaze cooling lightly to converse they were not in the mood for it. Before turning back to her newfound friend and listening to his story of the scars that this 'freedom' provided him, it was still strange but nothing quite clicked as to what it may be. "I only see the scar near your eye, but-- that's it." She said, a bit foolishly, not all scars were physical and noticeable, but that was not a conclusion she had come by. "It is not that bad and... well most heroes have some defining trait of sorts, it's... charming I suppose."

When he began about robes, her eyebrow quirked up lightly. Was the common idea of Jedi truly about how dull their robes were? Though... the Ukatian had a point of sorts, they were dull and made the Jedi seem like rigid and conservative monks when there was so much more subtlety to be had. "I've only ever heard that the robes are itchy for some-- though yes the colours are not too thrilling. But stage curtains, really?" She seemed surprised, it was not a common example of sorts--Though it was not entirely non-sensical neither. "To think we are wearing the same robes as those thousands of years before us, ugh it's a bit old-fashioned, isn't it? Not that I want it to change, I like it this way." She reassured and looked around, particularly to the outside--the rain seemed to have calmed down a bit, but who knew for how long?

Her gaze returned to the von Ascania, while she bit the inside of her lip. "I worry my family will question where I am... Would love to speak more with you, Lys, but-" Isobel was torn between continuing the pleasant conversation that they were having, or draw it to a close. Still, there was one certainty on her mind as she grabbed a small holo-device before tapping on its screen twice and sliding it to his side of the table. "If you wish to talk or invite me over to Ukatis, you need only message me through this number." The girl said nervously, expectantly, hoping her words were not too forward in any sense.

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