Faction (Black Sun, Sith Order) Primeday Night Firefight

[Lysander von Ascania]

Sith Order: Leshanna Dromar Varin Mortifer Naamino Zuukamano Haro Aven Soah Ty’Jyn Avarice
Black Sun Syndicate: Arris Windrun Vestra Tane Xeykard V1-L8 Enric Hask Annasari Koda Fett

​

Lysander exhaled another slow plume of smoke, his eyes drifting closed for a moment as the deep bass throbbed through his earbud. Everything just blurred at the edges. Almost lazily, he caught a flicker in the corner of his eye; Haro appeared out of nowhere. There was something tense about his half-Kage friend, like static in the air, but he didn't seem to care enough to tune in much deeper. If anyone earned a free pass to stay cool, it was him. After all, he’d exchanged more joints with Haro than anyone else aboard this ship.

A smug grin settled on the blonde's lips, holding on just an extra beat, as if savoring a memory. This moment wasn't much different from their arcade night, chasing high scores, landing impossible shots. Piloting this freighter hardly felt more stressful.

“Chill out, bro, we’re still airborne, yea?” he murmured, voice thick with herbal warmth. He shut down all worry, refusing to poison the chill atmosphere. Worry wasn't necessary anyway; Haro's piloting skills were pretty well known back at the academy.

Then came a guttural shout, unmistakably belonging to Varin. The muscle in his jaw barely moved. “Ignati must be on some banthachit again."

The teen stretched out at last, his joints popping, fingers cracking. Only after the ship's landing gear hissed, did he find the urge to rise from his seat. Smoke tendrils clung to his hair as he began heading down the corridor.

Upon entering his personal quarters, he made his way to a corner where crates sat beneath a wall decorated with travel stickers. He flipped the latch to one, removing a small pouch inside that contained glitterstim; it was a precious ration he decided to keep after a recent visit on Taul with Skye Mertaal . Still potent, still personal. He slipped it into an inner pocket, and from there, moved over to a small locker that was more decoration than anything else, but he liked to keep personal things in it. Lastly, he retrieved a vibroshiv, one stim patch, and a shattered datapad.

Making his way further down the hold, he came upon the others, and it was impossible to miss the jagged claws that scarred the floor, there was only one person here who could've been the source. His focus shifted to the Felacatian, then back to the scars, then back again, maybe five times between them in total.

A half smile appeared, almost amused. Except he wasn't. Lysander shook his head. "Gurl, you got more anger than sense. You can pay me for that when we’re back on Korriban."

He pivoted, already on his way to the hatch, eyes flicking to Lesh along the way, though they didn’t linger for too long. Lysander already knew she didn't like him; that truth had been sealed since a single comment that landed in botany class. Maybe helping rescue her idiot boyfriend would finally smooth things over.

For all they knew, Naamino was out there living his best life right now.

Varin came last, and he placed a palm on the slugslayer's shoulder, offering a knowing look, basically bro-code language that said, 'I'm hyped for this.'

Almost as if rehearsed, the cargo bay hatch began its descent just as he approached. He proceeded to walk down the ramp, stretching an arm over his body like waking from a long nap, inhaling the air. Somewhere between Korriban and Nar Shaddaa, he'd gone over a brief plan with his co-pilot. With enough spice to drop a rancor twice, and Haro's effortless charm, he already knew they were about to rizz the feth out of Smuggler's Moon.