Private Breaking Homeside

[Darth Virelia]

"Can I never catch a break?"

Tags - Aiden Porte

The vaulted cellar beneath the estate dripped with condensation, beads of water racing down the carved pillars like nervous courtiers. Candles guttered in alcoves, throwing every shadow long and jagged, as though the walls themselves had teeth. Naboo was always a nice setting, especially when hidden.

She made them wait. Of course she did. A woman like her was a calendar event, not a guest.

When at last the door sighed open, Darth Virelia stepped into their little cavern theatre wrapped in the violet shimmer of her armor — Tyrant's Embrace, each plate glistening like it had been carved from midnight and welded together with prophecy. Six soft-burning lenses studied the room with slow indulgence, like a lover taking in a new conquest, violet glow trailing over every one of the gathered cutthroats, smugglers, and ladder-climbers who fancied themselves important. The way they shifted in their seats betrayed the truth. They were nervous. Hungry. Terrified.

"Please," she purred, voice lilting, distorted just enough by her mask to make the air between words vibrate. "Don't rise on my account. I wouldn't want you pulling a muscle for me. Unless, of course, it's the sort you're paid to pull." A low chuckle slid under the remark — half-mockery, half-invitation.

The crime boss at the center, a broad man with the look of a butcher's son who never outgrew his apron, cleared his throat. "You came alone?"

Virelia tilted her head, cape whispering as it swayed. "Does it look as though I require accompaniment?" A long pause. Then, teasingly: "Though I admit, I might need more muscle on my body."

A ripple of uneasy laughter went around the table. She let it hang, then moved closer, her boots striking the stone like a metronome of inevitability. Each step pulled the light toward her. Each step felt rehearsed, deliberate.

"I am here because you have something I want. And you — all of you — want something you can't have without me." She drew a lazy circle in the air with her gloved hand, as though sketching the entire room into her orbit. "Protection. Access. Power. The sort of things you whisper about after too much wine, or in the dark, when you think the walls won't gossip."

The butcher's son leaned forward, trying to recover his footing. "And what do you want, Lady…?"

Virelia stopped at the head of the table, the faint hiss of her respirator punctuating her silence. Then, with velvet suddenness, she set one hand on the table's edge and leaned down just far enough that her mask's glow filled his vision.

"My name," she said, almost tender, "is not important. What I want… is everything. But tonight, let's start smaller. Your ships. Your routes. Your loyalty. In return—" She straightened, a smile audible in her voice, "—you'll discover I'm far more generous than I look. Which is saying something, because I look magnificent."

The silence broke this time into laughter, real and uneasy both, as she claimed her seat like a queen descending to a throne that had been waiting for her all along.

 

[Aiden Porte]

He had been on the trail, it had been several hours already and they finally stopped for the day. The group had been on the move Aiden hot on their trail. And there was something else of a more seemingly sinister nature that he followed too. The trail seemed laced with darkness yet eagerly searching its next conquest or even target.

"I am here because you have something I want. And you — all of you — want something you can't have without me."

Aiden could hear the voice of her echoing through the theater, he could sense the emotions of the smugglers and pirates as they exchanged nervous glances at each other. Unsure of whether to go along with her plan or to just disregard entirely. It seemed either way, things were about to go south, in a quick hurry.

Aiden moved from shadow to shadow, the force as his ally as he moved into a good position once more. To intervene when it was necessary.

"—you'll discover I'm far more generous than I look. Which is saying something, because I look magnificent."

He smirked at the scattered laughter, as she took a seat. And while it seemed she had won them over, there was still fear in their mind. There was a darkness about her, Aiden could sense it.

"Well, I wouldn't say magnificent." The Jedi Knight's voice echoing lightly across the theater as he then appeared from the shadows. "You are all under arrest by order of the High Republic." Aiden spoke calmly and firmly as they looked at each other and began to disperse. No doubt they would get caught up in the after party that they would soon meet upon their retreat.

And now it seemed he was forced to deal with this....Lady Virelia.

"What is your business here, Lady Virelia...."

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Can I never catch a break?"

Tags - Aiden Porte

Darth Virelia rose slowly from her chair, the motion unhurried, like a queen indulging a coronation that happened every time she stood. The smugglers scattered as expected — rats fleeing fire — but her gaze never left the Jedi in the shadows. The violet glow of her mask lenses caught his silhouette as though she were tasting it.

"My, my," she breathed, voice silk pulled across steel. "A Jedi Knight. I had almost convinced myself your Order had forgotten how to appear where it mattered." She let the words hum, neither insult nor compliment, but a needle dipped in honey.

The crime lord who had moments before puffed his chest now tried to slink toward the door. Without looking, Virelia lifted a gloved hand. His body froze mid-step, suspended as though the air itself disapproved of cowardice. She didn't tighten her grip. She didn't need to. The implication was enough to send the rest scattering faster.

"They bore me anyway," she said lightly, releasing the man with a flick of her wrist. He bolted. "But you… you I find interesting."

Her steps echoed as she closed the distance, cape sweeping the stone floor, until she stood a blade's reach away. Her helm tilted, as though appraising a jewel. "Magnificent was the word, yes. And you corrected me. Fair enough. Magnificence is relative. Compared to you, perhaps I am merely… breathtaking." A soft laugh followed, the kind that might belong in a lover's ear rather than in a cavern dripping with crime.

"You ask my business here, Knight. Respectable of you, but redundant. You already know, don't you? The Republic's records paint me in lurid colors: corruptor, conspirator, murderer, tyrant. And yet—" her voice dropped, velvet and conspiratorial, "—maybe I want to be such things?"

Her head cocked, violet light glimmering as if amused. "So tell me, noble Jedi: what's your plan?"

The air between them tightened, not with violence yet, but with something subtler — an invitation dressed in danger, the suggestion that perhaps this dance didn't need to end in blades.

 

[Aiden Porte]

The Jedi shifted from the shadows, the hood falling back just enough to show his eyes. They were steady, calm, stoic.


"You wear your reputation like armor," he said, voice calm but not unkind. "And perhaps it serves you as well as any blade. But I didn't come here to weigh whether you are magnificent or breathtaking. Titles and whispers mean little to me."


He took a single step forward, enough to meet her presence without shrinking from it, though his hand did not yet stray to his saber.


"You say the records are lurid. That you choose to be what they call you. If that is truth, then you already know my plan." His gaze lingered on the violet glow of her mask, as though looking for the woman beneath the menace. "If it's not truth, then you've shown me something else: that you're not finished deciding what you want to be."


A pause, deliberate, quiet in the cavernous space.


"So tell me, Virelia. Do you want me to see the tyrant? Or the woman who hasn't yet chosen?"

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Can I never catch a break?"

Tags - Aiden Porte

A soft exhale came through the respirator, more intimate than any laugh. She tilted her head, the gesture almost tender, almost mocking.

"You mistake me," she said at last, voice low, each word enunciated as if she meant to etch it into his chest. "Armor is not reputation. Armor is what I built when reputation threatened to become truth."

She drifted a step closer, not aggressive, but close enough that the candlelight bent across the glass and painted her like a phantom of something human.

"You speak of choice as though it is simple. As though paths divide neatly—woman here, tyrant there. But choice is never a fork. It is a tide. It pulls. You resist until you learn the shape of drowning, and then you swim because the water does not care."

Her hand traced the rim of the table, slow, almost playful, violet light scattering across its surface. "So if you ask me what I want you to see… the tyrant, the woman—" she paused, voice softening to a whisper that was almost conspiratorial, "—the answer is yes. Because the tide has carried me this far, and both shadows live in me."

Another silence. She let it breathe between them, her posture relaxed, but the tension in the chamber drew tighter with every second she refused to fill it.

At last she inclined her head, respectful, almost courtly. "I don't ask you to weigh magnificence. I ask you to believe what your senses already tell you."

She lingered in the words, then added, quiet, a confession or a weapon—it was impossible to tell which: "The woman is still here, Jedi. That is the danger you feel."

Her helm turned slightly, as if inviting him to close the distance, as if daring him to decide what he had seen.

"Now," she murmured, voice silk stretched over steel, "what will you do with it?"

 

[Aiden Porte]

The Knight let her words settle, the stillness stretching until it almost became its own answer. At last, he spoke, his tone even, quiet, but steady enough to stand against her velvet lure. "You speak of tides as though they erase choice. But tides only carry what surrenders. I've known others who learned to stand in the water. who felt the pull, the weight, the promise of drowning… and still planted their feet."

His hand hovered close to his belt, but not yet to the saber, as though restraint itself was the weapon he chose to wield.

"I believe what my senses tell me," he continued, gaze unflinching. "They tell me the tyrant is real. They tell me the woman is real. And they tell me the danger is not that you are both, but that you want me to accept there is no difference."

He leaned just a fraction forward, not closing the space but showing he would not be pushed back.

"I will not fight the woman. I will not embrace the tyrant. If you insist on being both, then you leave me no path but to resist you. But if the woman is still here…" his voice softened slightly, a thread of warmth amidst the steel, "then I will not turn away from her."

"Stand down."

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Can I never catch a break?"

Tags - Aiden Porte

Her helm dipped, just enough to suggest a smile he could not see.

"Stand down?" The words came as a hush, equal parts amusement and reverence. "You think I've crossed Naboo's underbelly to practice surrender?"

The air thickened, charged, her presence swelling in the Force like a storm cresting over a horizon. She lifted one hand slowly, deliberate as a dancer, palm opening as if to offer him something precious.

"You speak of feet planted against the tide," she continued, voice silken and sure. "But tell me, Jedi—what happens when the tide is lightning itself?"

The cavern dimmed around her as violet sparks licked across her fingers, serpents of crackling light coiling hungrily up her arm. Shadows jittered on the stone walls, elongating her figure until she seemed less woman, more looming revenant.

"I will not be measured in halves. Not by you. Not by anyone."

And then she let go.

A jagged arc of violet fury erupted from her outstretched hand, the Force made electric, hungry, alive. The chamber roared with the crack of power unleashed, drowning out the smugglers' gasps, drowning out breath itself. Her laughter rode the current—low, knowing, merciless—as she advanced one step through the storm she had conjured.

 

[Aiden Porte]

For a moment, it was like standing at the edge of a cliff in a thunderstorm, the whole world daring him to step forward and be consumed.

And he did not yield.

His saber leapt to life with a snap-hiss, blue fire catching the violet arcs as they struck. The hum deepened, grounding him, a tether of calm against her tempest. Sparks clawed across the blade, lighting his features in hard flashes, but his stance remained unshaken.

"You think lightning is the tide?" he called over the roar, his voice carrying not by volume but by steadiness. "It's only fury given form. And fury burns itself out."

He stepped through the crackling haze, the current lashing but parting against the blade as he moved. The chamber shuddered with the contest of energies, her storm pressing forward, his calm cutting through.

"I will not measure you in halves," he said, breath controlled, gaze never leaving the mask. "But neither will I let you choose to be only storm. If both shadows live in you, then I will face both. And I will not drown."

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Can I never catch a break?" (OOC NOTE: sorry for the late response)

Tags - Aiden Porte

The storm snapped back upon her as his blade cleaved through the torrent, blue fire carving a path that split her fury in two. For a heartbeat, the chamber belonged to him—his calm, his tether. The backlash kissed across her armor, a searing arc finding the seam at her shoulder. Tyrant's Embrace hissed, scorched violet light sparking as the smell of burned metal bled into the air.

Virelia staggered half a step, then straightened with a predator's patience, not shame. "Not drowning, then," she murmured, her voice rich even beneath distortion. "Good. I detest easy prey."

Her free hand swept outward, fingers curling in command. The Force surged, a sudden telekinetic tide crashing against him, not to destroy but to throw the ocean back, to carve space. Dust shuddered loose from the vaulted ceiling, candles guttered in the violent wind of her will.

Without pause, she turned. One elegant, armored hand tore a weapon from its mount upon the wall—a massive phrik halberd, ceremonial no longer. Its haft groaned under her grip, the blackened edge catching the erratic light.

She set her stance, cloak unfurling like a banner of war. "Then face both, Jedi," she called, voice cold silk. "But know—I sharpen storms."

 

[Aiden Porte]

The halberd's weight sang as she leveled it, the storm still alive in the air around her. Sparks hissed off the scorched seam of her armor like embers refusing to die.

The Jedi adjusted his grip, saber steady, the blue glow cutting a calm arc against her weapon's shadow. He could feel the Force surging in her wrath sharpened into elegance, like a storm bound to a blade. But beneath it, beneath the tempest, was the whisper she had confessed: the woman, still there, still reaching through the tide.

He let the thought steady him. Not to hesitate, but to remember why he fought.

"You sharpen storms-" he said quietly, voice carrying through the charged chamber, "but storms break against stone. Against roots that hold fast. That is who I am."

Then he moved.

A few steps forward, measured but unstoppable, saber cutting upward against her. Blue fire and Phrik would soon collide.

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Can I never catch a break?" (OOC NOTE: sorry for the late response)

Tags - Aiden Porte

The clash came like thunder. Blue plasma kissed phrik with a shriek of metal and light, the halberd groaning under the saber's pressure. Virelia pivoted with practiced grace, twisting the haft so the blade slid along its length rather than biting deep. Even so, his strike broke through—searing across her side in a grazing arc that scorched armor and rattled bone beneath.

Her breath hissed through the vocoder, but her stance did not falter. Instead, she flowed with the momentum, spinning the halberd in a low, sweeping arc that forced space between them. Every motion was a marriage of elegance and brutality, each strike less a brawl and more a dance—measured, precise, inevitable.

"Stone cracks," she said, voice steady despite the pain. "Roots rot. Storms endure." The violet glow of her helm fixed on him, daring him to doubt it.

She shifted her grip, sliding one hand higher on the haft, the other braced near the end, weapon poised in a guard that was both open invitation and lethal trap. Sparks still spat from her wounded seam, but her movements remained fluid, controlled.

"Come, Jedi," she murmured, halberd's edge gleaming. "Show me what stands when storms refuse to die."

 

[Aiden Porte]

Darth Virelia
​

Her grace was undeniable, every motion deliberate, as much performance as attack. He would back up and then move forward once more immediately as the halberd sweeped.

But he did not dance. He did not posture. He stood.

"Stones crack," he answered, stepping into her guard. His blade rose, feinting high before slicing down intending to drive her back a pace. "Roots rot. Yes. But they also grow again. They hold fast where storms have long passed."

He pressed, a surge of strikes, measured, not frenzied, each one meant to test her poise, to remind her that even storms had limits. The chamber would ring with the rhythm of it, every impact a drumbeat of resistance against her relentless tide.

"I do not endure to conquer you," he said between blows, his voice as steady as the saber in his hand. "I endure because I must."

He broke the rhythm with a sudden spin, saber sweeping low toward her halberd arm, the Force flowing through him in a calm surge. The move was not meant to wound but to disarm, to shake her balance.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Can I never catch a break?" (OOC NOTE: sorry for the late response)

Tags - Aiden Porte

His low sweep bit true—saber skimming her vambrace and biting heat through to bone. Haptics screamed, Tyrant's Embrace vented a sharp breath of ozone at the seam. Virelia absorbed the pain, let it narrow the world to angles and leverage.

"Better," she said, almost approving.

She ceded a half-step to draw him in, then bound his blade along the halberd's langets, palms sliding to the midpoint. The phrik haft became a lever; a sharp twist shoved the plasma line off center while she stepped oblique to his outside. The butt-spike snapped forward in a clean, straight jab—nothing wasted, a threat to breath and balance—then retracted as she rotated the weapon through a tight moulinet that shaved along his guard.

Her grip shifted again—rear hand low, forward hand high—turning the crescent beak into a hook. She scythed low, the halberd's heel sweeping toward his lead ankle, and in the same breath the beak rose to catch at wrist or emitter, a disarm drawn from geometry rather than strength. A kicked chair leg skittered across the stones toward his stance, clutter disguised as footwork.

"Roots tangle," she murmured, voice calm despite the scorch. The halberd flowed on—hook to bind, haft to pry, edge to press—an elegant, ruthless ladder of attacks meant to take weapon, line, and will in a single, spiraling pattern.

 

[Aiden Porte]

Darth Virelia
​

The chair leg skittered across the stones, he saw it, felt the ripple of its movement in the Force. But timing was cruel. His pivot carried weight onto his lead foot just as the splintered wood rolled beneath it. Balance faltered.

Only for a heartbeat, but a heartbeat in combat was eternity.

His saber caught the halberd's beak, but the misstep blunted his precision. Instead of redirecting the blow, he absorbed it, sparks clawing across his guard as the phrik dug closer to his wrist than it should have. The jolt burned through his arms, muscles tightening with the effort of correction.

He exhaled sharply, centering, but the stumble cost him ground. Stone grated under his boots as he gave a step he hadn't meant to yield, cloak snapping with the forced retreat.

Roots tangled indeed, snaring his footing, pulling him into her storm.

Now he was on the defensive.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Can I never catch a break?" (OOC NOTE: sorry for the late response)

Tags - Aiden Porte

Virelia did not waste the heartbeat he lost. She moved into it, every ounce of grace turned to pressure. The halberd's haft slid along his saber with deliberate friction, sparks cascading as she bore down, twisting the weapon in a grinding bind meant to lock him where he stood.

"Better," she whispered again, though now it was less approval and more promise.

Her stance shifted—rear foot pivoting, hips rotating with a dancer's poise—as she drove the butt-spike forward in another thrust, not wild but measured, aimed to force his balance further backward. Even as the strike carried through, the crescent beak circled up and over, an elegant coil designed to trap his guard against himself, to close the vise.

Stone echoed with each precise step she took, her cloak dragging violet shadows across the chamber's floor. Tyrant's Embrace still hissed from the wound at her side, but pain sharpened her rhythm rather than slowed it.

"You endure because you must," she said evenly, violet glow fixed on him, "but I press because I choose."

The halberd whirled, haft snapping horizontal, cutting through the air like a dividing line—her storm folding in, unrelenting, pressing until there was nowhere left to stand.