Private Beach Episode

[Varin Mortifer]

Attire​

Scarif, a small tropical planet known for its many islands and hot beaches. Not to mention the secret imperial base that used to be housed on the planet holding secret planetary destructive plans. But that was many many years ago. Now the planet was under the Mandalorian Empire.

Varin however had very little knowledge of this when he offered Lysander and Acier a fun little trip to the beach. He felt the three of them had been doing nothing but move forward for a while, every now and then it was good to rest. He only picked this planet because it was outside of Sith space, outside of responsibilities.

He also had never been to these kinds of beaches. He was used to dark, dreary, cold and cloudy cliff edges looking over towering frigid waves. And the only experience with sand that he had was on Korriban.

Varin looked down at his attire. Shorts fit for swimming and that was it. His legs, arms, torso and head were all exposed. In secret he hated that. He felt vulnerable and open all around, and already he could feel other people gawking. He pulled the smaller sleeved legs closer to his knees as if trying to cover up a bit.

“I look ridiculous."

He looked over at Acier and Lysander, a small hint of frustration in his voice.

“What am I supposed to do when an enemy strikes and I have no armor or weapons?”

His feet touched the warm sand as they stepped forward, the warm tropical breeze circling the trio as the sound of small waves crashed over the shore line.

Carrion called to one another as they flew overhead, searching for any bit of food they could scrounge up. His pale body was almost like a beacon in the sun, bright and very lacking in the sun tanning department.

“What do “beach goers” do for fun?”

He kicked some sand out from between his toes as he stepped, the bits of granule rock proving to be bothersome.

But he had to admit, the weather felt really nice.

Lysander von Ascania | Acier Moonbound​

 

[Aether Verd]

Wearing:
Beskar'gam - Darksaber​

MANDALORE

Scarif shimmered beneath sun like a jewel left forgotten on the rim of the High Republic’s shadow. The Mandalorian Empire had reshaped the world into a frontline paradise, a tropical shield that hid a spine of sensor grids, anti-orbital arrays, and watchful eyes that never slept. Beneath the warm illusion of gentle surf and whispering palms, the territory hummed with vigilance. Turrets tracked distant skies. Proximity sweeps rolled across the archipelago with patient regularity. Even the seabirds seemed to circle with purposeful rhythm rather than idle grace.

Which was why, several sectors away on Mandalore, alarms began howling.

Priority alert, Code 2319, Code 2319.​

The comms tower at Sundari erupted with overlapping voices, half confusion, half panic, all because three shirtless sithlings had decided to play in the sand. Across the palace grounds, an intelligence officer sprinted with a level of urgency typically reserved for orbital bombardments. He carved a path through hallways, nearly collided with a pair of archivists, steadied himself, then forced his breathing into a dignified cadence as he crossed the threshold into the throne room.

Aether Verd watched him approach, helm tilted slightly, posture unmistakably regal even in stillness. The datapad was delivered with trembling efficiency. One glance at the image upon it transformed the Mand’alor’s silence into something sharper. Something knowing. Something that promised mischief with the precision of a vibroblade kiss.

Acier, baby brother of House Verd, had been sighted in peak sun’s out, bun’s out form.

Aether offered the officer a quiet nod and a low, appreciative, “Good work.” Then he dismissed him with a flick of his fingers, already opening the group channel with predatory calm. This was not a diplomatic crisis. This was not a battlefield emergency. This was a sacred obligation of elder brotherhood, enshrined by tradition, reinforced by the Resol’nare, and carried in the blood of every Verd who ever lived.

It was his solemn duty to roast his brother alive.​

Aether uploaded the image to the House Verd chat with the serene precision of a warlord deploying an orbital strike. The feed ignited instantly.

@BigIron: Sibylla did a number on our boy huh ( Aether Verd )
@ChildSupportEnthusiast: The lack of women on that beach is disturbing ( Isley Verd )
@GodsCanBleed: It’s 902 ABY, no kink shaming in here ( Xerxes Verd )
@SunglassesAtNight: Kink shaming is my kink tyvm ( Jonah )
@TokenWhiteVerd: Can we deploy some emergency Zeltrons??? ( Aselia Verd )
@TrembleBeforeZeBast: Don't think Zeltrons are enough, we gotta get some Twi’leks in there! ( Ze'bast Verd )
@FamilyFavorite: We must refer to Acier as animal control from henceforth, due to the amount of strays he is catching today. ( Srina Talon )

Aether soaked in the chaos with something that almost counted as joy. His voice finally broke the throne room’s quiet, smooth and edged with amusement that tasted faintly like a challenge.

“You wanted a vacation, little brother? I hope you packed your dignity.”

Lysander von Ascania , Acier Moonbound , Varin Mortifer

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Scarif

Equipment:
Swimming Shorts | Cybernetic Arm

Ace sensed a disturbance in the Force. A sudden chorus of presences flaring to life, overlapping, talking over one another, laughing. Teasing. Judging. Completely merciless. It was as if dozens of voices had suddenly cried out in mockery… and then were suddenly silenced.

He exhaled through his nose, the feeling passed as quickly as it came, leaving behind nothing but a faint itch between his shoulders. Ace stood there for a second longer than necessary, scanning the horizon, then the beach, then the skies above Scarif. Nothing. No threat signatures. No hostile intent.

He dismissed it, it was probably nothing. The Force loved being dramatic about absolutely mundane nonsense. Ace turned his attention back just in time to catch Varin's question.

What 'beachgoers' did for fun? He considered that. Genuinely.

"I don't know..." He said finally. "Sunbathe. Swim. Play… games."

The pause before that last word betrayed him. Like he was reciting something he'd read once, rather than lived. He shifted his weight, the water brushing around his ankles, sand sticking stubbornly to the joints of his prosthetic. Every line of his posture said I would rather be doing literally anything else.

If he had free time, it should've been spent somewhere quiet. Somewhere shaded. Somewhere with Fatine von Ascania , her presence grounding instead of this relentless openness.

Still. Ace tilted his face toward the sun despite himself, eyes closing briefly as the warmth settled into muscle, bone, and his freckled features. He didn't smile, but he didn't pull away either.

He'd always liked the sun. Even when he didn't like the place.

Opening his eyes again, he glanced at Varin. "If someone's stupid enough to attack us on a beach?" Ace said dryly. "We improvise. Until then, try not to fight the sand."

He stepped forward, letting the surf climb higher around his legs.

"It's coarse, rough, irritating... and it gets everywhere." He rested his hands on his hips. "At least that's what some guy told me."

Varin Mortifer | Lysander von Ascania ​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Varin Mortifer | Acier Moonbound​

Lysander’s feet sank unevenly into shifting sand. Those gritty bits were clinging between toes and around the arches. He’d never felt anything like it.. never stood on a beach before. Of course, Desevro came to mind instantly. Gray clouds and cruel winds, paired with the smell of rot. Total bantha chit compared to Scarif. Here, the sun struck with clarity that was.. brutal, forcing him to squint against the brightness. The warmth on his skin was nice though, different from Korriban and other planets that’d been called home over the years.

Given that he was something of a nerd when it came to training, part of him was ready to run drills, test balance, torque, and pivot about in this foreign terrain. So.. the next step forward was measured, followed by a more controlled spin. He did not go so far as to place an imaginary opponent in front of him like he did with shadowboxing or katas.. but that alone was enough to force adjustments that solid flooring simply did not provide.

His gaze flicked to Varin, enough to catch the tension and obvious confusion of short shorts. A corner of his mouth lifted in dry amusement.

“You’re counting grains of sand like they’re enemy formations. Honestly.. that’s fething impressive, and terrifying at the same time, brother.”

For all the rivalry their kind lived on.. Lysander never struggled to acknowledge how fortunate he was to have Varin on his side.

“A planet that wants to promise peace.. it’s not wrong to think it’s all a lie.”

Well, according to the Sith Code, which always had a way of always echoing somewhere in the back of his mind.

He also let those words linger in the air, aware that no response could untangle the knot of the question his former co-apprentice had thrown at them.

Then, he turned to Acier. “We’re close enough to Republic space.. I’d say there’s plenty of local white girls if someone feels like scouting the territory.”

Of course, that was followed by a very slow, knowing look, letting the humor sit so his training partner would feel it. He didn’t care so much for a response.. but there was acknowledgement of what he knew about Ace and his sister, Fatine von Ascania . No point overthinking it. If she was happy, what more could a brother want? That was enough..

“I didn’t come all this way to build sandcastles.”

A tightening of his gaze took in the brute of their group again “Or wrestle a palm tree.”

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Varin looked down at the sand over his feet, silently counting to himself. Realising right about at the tenth granule he needed to stop, giving his head a shake he looked over at Lysander.

“Perhaps counting sand is not the best use of our time on the beach. But I do wonder, how many are on this island? Is it more than the total population of Naboo? If so then by how much?”

He rubbed his temple, the quickfire questions giving him a slight headache. Then he paused.

“Sand castles? We can build actual fortresses?!”

He looked down at the sand then back to the duo that arrived with him.

“Maybe I could build the mightiest sand fortress the Empress herself would be impressed.”

He chuckled to himself and a sigh left him as he began to soak up the sun.

“Also there is no way I could lose to a palm tree. I mean look at them!”

He gestured to the closest one, a pitiful looking thing that had many years attached to it, the very trunk sagged low towards the ground, the fruit that it beared already too ripe for the picking, some even falling to the sand, feast for the critters of the sea.

The mention of looking out for ladies did not fly over his head, he looked at them with a stunned glance.

"I don't know if I could do that! Seren would skin me alive and use me as a rug."

He then looked at Acier.

“Swim?”

The word sounded almost alien coming from his mouth, then he hesitated for a quick second.

“Uh…I…I can’t swim guys.”

He looked at the duo, the towering member of the group known for his brutality and effectiveness in combat, swam like a rock that was dropped from the tallest cliff into the deepest depths.

“Our waters were always too cold to swim in, so I never learned.”

He looked down at the waves that washed over his feet, then slink back into the ocean.

“Probably should have been something I mentioned before….”

He stared at them with the most dumbfounded look.

“Taking us on a beach trip.”

A scowl formed over his face then his hand rose to smack his forehead, running down his face.

Lysander von Ascania | Acier Moonbound​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Scarif

Equipment:
Swimming Shorts | Cybernetic Arm

Ace hadn't moved when Lysander spoke. He stood facing the sea, gaze fixed on the slow rise and fall of the water as if it might eventually explain itself. He listened not just to Lysander's words, but to the cadence beneath them. The familiarity. The ease.

It struck him, not for the first time, how close the two of them were. Varin and Lysander moved like people who trusted one another without needing to announce it. Genuine regard, sharpened by time and shared pressure. Ace found that… strange. In the Covenant, attachments were tools. Pressure points. Things you either exploited or kept hidden.

Watching them interact felt less like Sith rivalry and more like something he'd seen elsewhere... bonds hammered out in combat, loyalty forged under fire. It reminded him of the Mandalorians he'd seen in battle.

Then Lysander spoke again. talking about 'scouting' and 'local girls'. Ace's fingers curled slowly into fists and he turned his head sharply, dark eyes snapping to meet Lysander's emeralds with unmistakable annoyance flickering behind them.

"What're you--?" He started, the words coming out fast. "You know me and Fatine are--"

He stopped, but not from embarrassment. Ace stared at Lysander for half a second longer than necessary, then looked away again. The truth was unhelpfully loud all at once... how often he thought about her, how every quiet moment bent back toward her voice, her smile, the way his chest felt lighter when she was near. The way his stomach twisted when she wasn't.

He didn't have a word for it. Didn't know where to file it. Didn't know what shape it was allowed to take. He shut the thought down before it could spiral, forcing his attention elsewhere just in time for Varin's next admission to land.

He couldn't swim? Ace turned back fully this time, one eyebrow lifting.

"Seriously?" He asked. It wasn't mocking. Just surprised.

He considered it for a beat. Bonadan hadn't exactly offered swimming lessons, an industrial world of durasteel and smog, water kept in pipes and vats. He hadn't learned to swim there either. Although, he'd learned not to... drown. Once. During a stretch involving an underwater Jedi enclave and the Hidden Path. Survival had a way of teaching the bare minimum.

"What if we're in a fight on Manaan?" Ace said, tone dry, thoughtful. "Or Mon Cala. Or Kamino. Or anywhere that involves being underwater."

He glanced Varin up and down, assessing, not judging.

"Big warrior like you wasn't prepared for that?"

Lysander von Ascania | Varin Mortifer​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Varin Mortifer Acier Moonbound​

Lysander’s visage might’ve suggested he was only half-invested in the conversation at hand, but he’d been listening the entire time. His former co-apprentices' monologue about sand, fortresses, palm trees, and imminent death earned a very slow blink.

Crouching low, he gathered the sand in his palms, holding it for a moment before releasing slowly. A smile eased across his mouth.

"Varin,” words calm as the tides as he spoke, “you’ve managed to turn this into some sort of census report, a military project, a diplomatic incident, and a confession.. all in under a minute. That’s quite.. ambitious and I even admire the enthusiasm.. but maybe we should pace ourselves.”

His gaze drifted to the palm tree once more. The damn thing looked like it had given up on life back during the Clone Wars.

“You’re right. If you lose to that.. I will bury you in the sand myself and tell Seren there was a tragic accident..”

Ace’s stumble didn’t just register.. it basically waved a flag. At least it wasn’t red?

The voice that cut through wasn’t necessarily sharper. Just.. different. Weight behind a familiar name.

Fatine.

Of course, the sound of it pulled Lysander’s attention, the way one might turn toward a disturbance in the Force. He didn’t move much though. Just a tilt of the head, a narrowing of the eyes.

“Ace,” he drawled, “you do realize I’ve known her entire life, right?”

Then he pushed himself upright, unfolding to his full height with a lazy stretch. A brow arched, equal parts fond and wicked, before a laugh escaped.

“Well, go on. Pretend you weren’t about to say something incriminating. I can play along.”

To be fair, that might’ve been textbook projection only a moment ago. Every time he returned to the Mid Rim, it felt like a new headache waited with his name on it. And Bogan knew he had a special talent for repeating the same mistake without ever learning the lesson. He and Acier had more in common than just being pugilist enthusiasts.

For a few more seconds, he went along with the logic, and even managed to map out some random hypothetical underwater battlefields in his mind. None of them had Mon Calamari lifeguards. Still, the Covenant had been on a streak lately.. taking whatever it wanted, wherever it wanted. There was a chance it could become a real scenario one day..

“All warrior’s have a blind spot, right? His just looks like the entire ocean.”

A small breath left him, and he lifted a hand to brush a stray lock of hair behind the ear, fingers resting at his temple.

Another radical thought..

"I think we're just supposed to just.. be. Slow down.. breathe. Yeah. I mean, there's not a single blaster in sight."

Down the shoreline, a group had set up a net and were hitting a white ball back and forth. Lysander also noticed umbrellas and a handful of vendors rolling in. It almost looked like a party.

The Sith in him sized them up out of habit. Yeah, the trio could definitely shut this whole beach down if things ever went sideways.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

He looked over to Acier.

“I would simply stay out of the water, it’s not a difficult science! Obviously I would try to end the fight before that had a chance of happening! Of course I was prepared for that!”

He pointed his finger towards him, though he was not angry or even frustrated about the question, his voice did raise a bit as he answered the question that seemed absolutely ridiculous to him. But, in hindsight, learning how to swim would certainly have its merits.

He tried to fix his shorts again.

“BOGAN ALIVE these just keep riding up! How is this comfortable?”

He paused.

“Wait a minute….”

His eyes widened a bit.

“You’re dating his sister?!”

His mouth dropped wide open, his attention grabbed by Lysander again, his finger tapped on his chin as he thought back to his previous words.

“Huh, am I moving too fast? How do you relax when there is nowhere for cover?”

He looked around the beach. Sure enough, no soldiers, no blaster bolts screaming past him, though he felt naked without his armor the feel of the wind was rather relaxing. His eye found the people slapping a ball over the net.

“They are terrible at that game, I would have rammed that person's face with that ball at least six times by now, what are they doing?”

He started to walk over, pushing the nearly dead palm tree over with a dull crack from its mostly dead base. Light wisps of smoke curling off his shoulders as he approached.

“....uh…is that guy on fire?”

One of the players caught a side glance of him approaching, confusion enveloping their faces.

Lysander von Ascania | Acier Moonbound​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Scarif

Equipment:
Swimming Shorts | Cybernetic Arm

Ace's gaze shifted to the palm tree Varin had so confidently threatened. It leaned at a defeated angle, trunk warped, bark split and sun-bleached to the color of old bone. Half its fruit had already surrendered to gravity. The rest clung on out of stubbornness rather than strength. Ace studied it for a moment.

Varin's argument about simply staying out of the water pulled his attention back. Ace shook his head once, slow and unimpressed.

"Guess you're going to find out the hard way."

His tone wasn't cruel. Just matter-of-fact. The galaxy had a way of dragging people into the one place they swore they'd never stand. For Ace, it happened to be Nar Shaddaa. Often.

Lysander's voice cut back in. Ace didn't look at him immediately this time. He felt the weight of his words, the familiarity in the way Lysander mentioned his sister. The ownership of history there. He chose not to answer.

Then Varin's head snapped between them, loudly assuming that he and Fatine were... together. Ace finally turned, jaw tightening just slightly.

"We're not… dating." He said.

There was the faintest thread of confusion in his tone, subtle, but there. Not defensive. Not embarrassed. Just… uncertain. As if he'd stated a fact he still wasn't entirely sure how to measure.

Thankfully, Lysander pivoted. Blind spots. Ace exhaled softly through his nose.

"Yeah." He said. "I guess so."

The admission settled easily enough. Everyone had one. Varin's just happened to be several thousand cubic kilometers of water.

Then Lysander said something else. Slow down. Breathe. Just be. Ace's eyes drifted back toward the ocean. Peace. Stillness. The absence of incoming fire. It was what he claimed to want. What he'd fought for. What he'd bled for. A chance for the galaxy to quiet down long enough to exist inside it without bracing.

He just didn't know how to do it. Didn't know how to turn the vigilance off. Didn't know how to stand somewhere without scanning for angles, exits, pressure points. The only time he ever really felt present... fully, unguarded, was when he was with-- He cut the thought off before it finished. Again.

His gaze followed Lysander's down the shoreline instead. A net. A white ball arcing lazily between two uneven teams. Umbrellas staked into sand. Vendors rolling carts toward clusters of laughter.

"What?" Ace asked flatly, catching the direction of Lysander's attention.

Varin's commentary arrived first. Speaking of ramming someone's face with the ball. Six times. Ace glanced at him.

"I don't think that's the aim of the game, Varin."

Varin was already marching toward the group, palm tree casualty smoking faintly behind him. Wisps curled off his shoulders as he approached the net like it had personally offended him.

Ace sighed, quiet, resigned, and followed. If anyone was going to accidentally start a beach incident, it would be the seven foot walking furnace.

One of the players stared at Varin in open confusion. He caught them asking if Varin was on fire. Ace stepped up beside them, arms folded loosely.

"It's a manifestation of his temperament." He said dryly. And then he looked at Varin. "Try not to start an interplanetary incident."

Lysander von Ascania | Varin Mortifer ​