Private Brews and Bruises

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Outfit:
Belt of Strength, Field Com-Scan Link,
Well Worn Boots, Weal & Woe [hidden], Vibro-knife
Moon Blue & Black Robes, Phrik Breastplate

​

Wrinkling his nose at the pollution, Naamino couldn't help the scowl that rested all too easily upon his stern face. He disliked environs such as the Ashline Terminal. It wasn't that he took particular issue with industry and modernization but more that he much preferred trekking through deserts and jungles rather than gritty city streets.

Alongside his trudging, heavy footfalls, his friend and brother in arms stalked elegantly beside him. Naami, ever the warrior. Lysander von Ascania , ever the social shapeshifter— his ability to become whatever the situation called for was a trait that inspired no small amount of envy in the zabrak.

They made their way to "Smokestack Row" after a few inquiries about Mercy had pointed them there. Most provided them leads with a careful, neutral tone, but one rather war-torn looking esh-ka gave an estimation of her whereabouts with a tone that implied you poor bastards.

These interactions did nothing to tame the trepidation Naami felt at facing the mountainous Sith again, but she was the best lead he had regarding Black Sun dealings and the presence of Lys stacked the odds enough in their favor that he pressed on toward their destination.

"Time to grow your empire, eh?"

Naami asked dryly, alluding to the recent successes in business that Lys had caught him up on. The zabrak hadn't gone into great detail about his own motivations for seeking Mercy out, merely that he'd be willing to claim the open invitation she'd given him when last they crossed paths.

A sign for the "Hungry Jackal" cantina came into sight and the young men veered toward it. Naami had to duck his head slightly at the entryway, his horns hardly clearing the archway. Ice blue eyes gazed around, but the muscular woman stood out so much that his second pass over the interior was merely for the purposes of casing the place in the off-chance that things went completely sideways.

"More polite to grab a drink before approaching, or should we jump right to business?"

Naami continued to scan cautiously as they properly made their way into the crowded cantina. More than a few sets of eyes scanned back. In truth, the zabrak was calling on Lys' expertise in dealing with people like this. Naami was a military man and the rules of engagement were far different in a mess hall or naval bar.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Mercy Naamino Zuukamano ​

The same cocktail of scents hit him wherever he was on Nar Shaddaa: spice, oil, and the kind of Twi'lek hustle that could make credit chips rain.

Whereas the Naamino found distaste with every breath drawn, Lysander inhaled deeply like he was savoring incense at some unholy liturgy. Whether Korriban, Brosi, or The Ashline Terminal now, he walked with the same elegance he'd been born with, boots whispering against the grimy tone. A dry barb from the Zabrak drew a curl of Lysander's lip, and he unconsciously adjusted the cuff of his sleeve.

And sometimes, beneath the poise, he still wished to be the seventeen year old.. the one who laughed at everything and carried no responsibility, rather than the ambitious creature the galaxy was trying to shape him into.

So, he allowed the moment, tone smooth, stripped of the usual polish. “Bro, I’m pretty sure all empires start in smoke and ruin. But don’t you worry, the marble halls will come one day.” Attention flicked to his little-big brother’s scowl. “Right now, we’re just in the everything smells like burning trash phase.”

There was no unease.. only protectiveness. This shady world was becoming a second home, and that made him feel responsible for his guest.

Lysander fell silent for a second as the Naamino spoke once more, weighing the options.

A booth in the corner had its own allure, for it offered a view of the entire room and exit alike, and certainly the more strategic option.

Mercy’s success at the Galactic Kaggath was no secret, and the Zabrak getting the chit beaten out of him by the same figure might’ve been one between the two of them. But in truth, Naamino’s physical prowess surpassed Lysander’s own. In the world of fighters it was well known.. you had to be the nail before you ever got to be the hammer.

Today, he had no desire to be the nail.

Finally, his head inclined toward the bar. “Business is always easier when the table’s set properly. A drink and.. perhaps something juicy.. like fried nuna wings. Everyone loves fried nuna wings.”

Sweeping the cantina once more, cataloging what he could, he set the course. Striding unhurried, he turned his head back to his companion.

“Between your strength and my smile, we can make her believe anything.”

Better to find comfort in wearing a mask, than bleed like a beast..

 

[Mercy]

Naamino Zuukamano | Lysander von Ascania

Mercy had virtually zero points invested in the more sensible aspects of the Force.

Quite literally she couldn't sense her way out of a handbag. It meant that Naamino and Lysander, two accomplished Sith, could walk into the same bar as Mercy and she frankly had no idea. She was at the bar, tipping a glass up and swallowing the burning fire whole without hesitation. The line of glasses looking suspiciously similar to the one in her hand would underline that Mercy had been here a while.

And she was having fun.

But while she couldn't use Force Sense, she did have eyes in her head and while Lysander was just an average pretty boy, those horns of Naamino stood out anywhere.

"Hey, pin cushion!" She yelled, her voice cutting through the room like a knife. "I would recognize that horny head from anywhere." She slid off of the stool, which groaned in gratitude, no longer having to carry her weight. And half a dozen glasses in or not, but her tread was steady as Mercy pushed her way through the crowd towards Naamino and Lysander.

Once they came into view without a mass of people between them Mercy's expression brightened noticeably.

"Fucking knew it. The Zabrak Boy Wonder himself. How's the face? How's the... well, everything, I really did a number on ya." Mercy drawled lazily as she glanced on over to Lysander. Hm, he looked familiar, didn't he?

"You, pretty boy, I seen you anywhere before?"

Mercy didn't immediately make the connection to Corazona von Ascania , even though they looked faintly similar.

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

As if on cue, the zabrak's stomach growled. The sound would surely blend in to the noise of the place, but Lysander's timing brought a half smile to his otherwise stony face.

"Bet."

Naamino shadowed the blonde like an highly corporeal ghost, clearing the way without Lys really needing help in doing so. The surly young man pushed forward a credit chip to cover their drinks and meal, when Lysander von Ascania ordered and before he could balk. Immediately after which, an all too familiar voice cut through the noise and icy blue eyes slid to regard Mercy .

The bartender who took their order hastily returned Naami's credit chip and bustled elsewhere, likely so he could watch the moment unfold from a safe distance. Turning to face the giant of a woman, the zabrak kept his expression neutral and remained leaned on the bar. Physically feigning that he was at ease in a way he didn't actually feel.

"Been through worse."

He hadn't. Not physically anyway.

"Healed up fine."

His fething sternum popped every morning now when he first woke and stretched.

Naami was cold and cautious, but aimed to avoid being outright rude. There was a delicate balance between wisdom and setting aside personal grievance to obtain what one wanted from a situation. One dark eyebrow rose as she addressed Lysander, and he offered his own name in case the human decided he'd rather introduce himself differently.

"Name's Naamino— rude of me not to say so before, but I was busy learning yours is a bit of a misnomer."

His tone was measured and flat, the dry humor would land or it wouldn't. Either way, it might let him take a measure of the woman’s mood.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Mercy | Naamino Zuukamano

​

The clink of the credit chip sliding across the bar caught him off guard more than Mercy’s booming voice would. For a second, Lysander just stared at Naameh’s hand, that little square of durasteel radiating under the establishment’s lights like a holocron. His little-big bro never paid. Not for drinks. Not for meals. Not for anything that wasn’t somehow tied to duty or honor. And here it was.. offered without hesitation. His lips twitched, not quite a smile.. but something close. Perhaps, it was a surprise and a note of pride. Maybe the Zabrak was really moving up in the order. Maybe the galaxy was shifting under their boots in ways neither could name.

He wouldn’t dwell on it, the woman’s words cutting through the cantina like a vibroblade through cloth, sharp, and impossible to ignore. Lysander flinched, hopefully not enough for the entire room to notice. The sound was still rattling through his chest as he turned, eyes catching the line of glasses stacked like trophies. Half a dozen, maybe more? Naturally he logged that little detail. It could work in their favor.. loosened tongues, dulled edges.. but it could just as easily turn the entire room into a battle royale if she swung her weight the wrong way.

True to himself, the Ukatian Loth-cat found himself intrigued, the notion tugging at him like a string of yarn.

The bartender’s retreat only confirmed it. Everyone expected trouble. Inhaling slowly, Lysander would try to steady himself, letting the smoke and spice fill his lungs. Mercy’s vulgarity rolled over him next, and instead of recoiling, he just let it settle. From experience, people who swore freely were often the ones who hide the least. Even jagged honesty was easier to deal with than masks.

Being sized up, he let the corner of his mouth curl.

Levity was the only weapon worth drawing here.

“Season two of The Rule of Two Hearts,” he said smoothly, tilting his head just enough to sell the jest. Hopefully. A little flick of blonde hair might've helped too. “Guest appearance. Terrible script, but the lighting was fething flattering.”

He always did have a soft spot for holodramas.

Only then did he take his drink, lifting it calmly, the glass cool against his fingers. He brought it to his lips, tasting the bitter edge of the brew, letting it settle in his chest, ignoring the fact that he was in the presence of the Galactic Kaggath champion, and also ignoring the memory of being yeeted from the Wroshyr tree in the first round.

 

[Mercy]

Naamino Zuukamano | Lysander von Ascania

"Been through worse."

"Oh, yeah? Glad to know you noticed I went easy on ya." Mercy drawled lazily before her attention shifted back towards Lysander. Was it some sort of talk show that she had seen him on?

A drama holo-flick?

Without hesitation she moved to snatch his chin between her fingers before he could swallow his drink. Instead Mercy shifted his head so she could properly inspect the cut of his jawline.

"No, that ain't it. You remind me of a girl I was with at a bar." Mercy continued before letting go of his chin. "She was whining about her friend being beaten to chit during the Galactic Kaggath." Then of course it had devolved into a beatdown. Starting with her smashing her glass over her and Mercy headbutting her in the face.

The rest turned fuzzy because Mercy had been several drinks in at that time.

Mercy was pretty sure she hadn't killed Corazona von Ascania though.

"You must be the boy Cora was so concerned about. You know, it's not polite to make women worry, they ought to have better things to do with their time."

Then unless intercepted she'd move past them towards the bar. Grabbing hold of a bottle behind it, since the barkeep decided to make himself scarce, on account of valuing his life more than his livelihood.

"Ya here for me, horny boy? Wanna try an' rearrange my face now that ya ain't got that ankle bracelet anymore?" Mercy didn't seem particularly worried about that outcome.

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

With speed belied by his size, Naamino's hand snapped up at the first sign of movement from Mercy. He cut the interception short just in time, but his reaction was telling. Controlling his breath, the big zabrak let his pulse simmer back down and chose instead to pick up his drink.

Cool gaze sliding sidelong to gauge Lysander von Ascania 's reaction to the name of his sister, Naami turned to keep Mercy well within his view. Taking a long slow swig of the ale, he let it wash some of the bitter soot and cloying smoke from his senses— if only for a moment of cooling clarity before the brew began to do its work.

"Not opposed to a rematch."

Now was not the time to show trepidation.

"But I sought you out for a different reason, for syndicate business."

His voice was low, unhurried and without much inflection. He could only hope that naming the organization wouldn't turn heads any more than Mercy already naturally did.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Mercy | Naamino Zuukamano​

The grip came out of nowhere. One blink he was lifting the glass, the next his chin was seized, in a way that made the entire cantina hold its breath. The ale caught in his throat, burning, choking. He coughed hard a bitter spray, spitting back into the glass and onto the floor.

It wasn’t just the grip that’d rattled him though.. it was the mention of his sister.

Corazona von Ascania

Humiliation flared hotter than the alcohol.

But Mercy was already moving, bottle in hand, except rather than a drink, it looked like a weapon begging to be swung.

And it wasn’t only the bartender shifting. Even without turning, the teen could hear the scrape of chairs, the shuffling of boots. Through the Force, the ripples of unease pressed against his senses. Patrons were already calculating exits, while others too weighed whether to stay or bolt. Lysander was confident that regardless of the decision made, every one of them was armed.

She was more erratic than him, and that was a real problem. Lysander thrived on chaos, this was no secret, but even he could still be reasoned with. If the woman wasn’t reined in, this entire building was going to ignite soon.

An arc of pristine white broke through the warmth of his grin.

“Cora’s always been sentimental,” he said lightly, lifting the glass in mock toast as if nothing had happened, trying to ignore the pain in his throat. “It’s practically her favorite hobby.”

Just a mask over bruises he wasn't ready to acknowledge. One day, he'd probably downplay the entire galaxy burning.

“But my brother’s right.. we didn’t come here for rematches. We came for business, Mercy.”

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Elsewhere in the galaxy…

With each successive mention of her name on the scum moon of Nar Shaddaa, the ache between Cora's temples grew just a little more intense. With a frown, she pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, attempting to massage away the pain.

When that failed, she reached into the voluminous sleeves of her tunic, then her pockets, rifling for a bottle of painkillers while grumbling to herself.

"This has been happening an awful lot lately…"

Mercy Lysander von Ascania Naamino Zuukamano