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

 

[Fatine von Ascania]

In all honesty, Fatine von Ascania should've known better.

Cmon, baby, the Iktochi agent had crooned in her ear. He grinned wide, showing off teeth stained spice-yellow as one fleshy finger lifted to slip an errant dark curl back behind the girl's ear. If you want to be a star, you've gotta take risks!

Fatine shuddered as her heels clicked harshly on the duracrete sidewalk. She could still feel the way his stale breath had drifted against her ear, igniting both goosebumps and a sense of alarm.

Stupid! She chided herself. If I'd have known he was looking for that type of actress, I never would have-

Well, at least she'd left the Iktochi with a fine handprint on his cheek.

The bar wasn't the most welcoming sight, but at least it was populated. Probably not with the sort of clientele that she'd find comforting, it wasn't some sleazebag's "office" in a decaying building that should've been decommissioned years ago.

Maybe a drink would calm her frazzled nerves. The crowd was difficult enough to maneuver through, and just when she neared the wooden countertop, a familiar sight yanked her interest away from whatever her reasons were for being here.

"Ohmigosh, Ly-san-derrrrr!"

Relieved and perhaps too overjoyed, Fatine was quick to throw her arms around Lysander from behind. She rested her chin on his shoulder and grinned.

"Am I glad to see you! What are you doing in a place like this? It's grimy and soooo not-"

A pause took her as she realized that her brother was not here alone. He was sat with an extremely muscled woman and a Zabrak.

"Oh," she said, dislodging herself from Lysander and giving poor Naamino a very obvious once-over. "Lysander didn't tell me that he had any cute friends."

Her painted lips curled into something approaching devious as she offered him her hand.

"Fatine von Ascania," she purred by way of introduction. "Charmed-"

The girl threw a glance at Mercy over her shoulder, that grin full of unearned confidence still present.

"-I'm sure."

Mercy Lysander von Ascania Naamino Zuukamano

 

[Mercy]

Lysander von Ascania Naamino Zuukamano Fatine von Ascania

Mercy noticed the quick jerk of Naami's hand, even if he stopped himself before he could react.

"Down, boy, I am not going to hurt your pretty boytoy." Mercy murmured sweetly as she finished pouring herself a drink and then glanced from one to the other.

Business. They said. That would be refreshing. Most people in this world took things too personally. Yes, she had absolutely kicked Naami's chit in and left him bleeding on the ground. But that hadn't been personal. It had been done to serve as a lesson and a test. To check and see if the Zabrak was someone worth letting go or not.

"Syndicated business..." Mercy echoed there airily, but maybe a little intrigued as well, as she sipped from her glass, her back now leaning fully into the edge of the bar. That put herself with the two of them in front of her.

If they decided to attack now there was nowhere she could go.

"I usually prefer pleasure before business, but-" A soft shrug as her eyes tracked the newcomer coming in. Fatine came in like a star, all splendor and confident attitude, someone who seemed used to command the room by.

"Is darling Tina also part of our business?" Mercy's eyebrows going up, as if it was a genuine question, rather than just another way to get a rise out of Lysander and see how he'd behave in that. She had already clocked him as someone similar to her. A messy person, someone who was used to make that everyone else's problem.

"I am not sure she is cut out for the sort of dealings we will be doing here."

Mercy smirked there as she put the glass down and replaced it with a cigarette, lighting it up for a smoke.

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Nose wrinkling and lip curling in mild disgust at the "boy toy" comment, Naami took another sip of his ale to wash down his distaste at the implication he and Lys were anything more than comrades in arms. It wouldn't do to let Mercy make a fool of him with words alone. If she wanted to piss him off, she'd have to bleed for it.

"I usually prefer pleasure before business, but-" A soft shrug as her eyes tracked the newcomer coming in. Fatine came in like a star, all splendor and confident attitude, someone who seemed used to command the room by.

"Oh," she said, dislodging herself from Lysander and giving poor Naamino a very obvious once-over. "Lysander didn't tell me that he had any cute friends."

Her painted lips curled into something approaching devious as she offered him her hand.

Naami’s icy gaze tracked the arrival of an unexpected guest much as Mercy had, but his rather stony expression soon became more wide eyed and boyish at the girl’s bold introduction. His tapered ears pinned back faintly and he straightened up into the telltale posture of a soldier suddenly attending to decorum. The zabrak set his drink down on the bar and hesitated, before moving to accept her proffered hand.

“Well met, Fatine von Ascania ,” the hand that took hers oh so gently was calloused from years of training hard and lifting heavy.

He bowed his horned head, but instead of kissing the top of it as she might expect, he opted for the rather more Zabraki gesture of pressing his brow to it. Something rankled within him faintly at exposing his neck like that in front of Mercy, but his high regard for Lysander von Ascania and his inherent sense of manners won out.

The young man straightened up and was careful not to allow his gaze to linger upon the girl overlong.

“Naamino Zuukamano, at your service.”

His eyes slid sideways to the smartass remark by Mercy but rather than challenge the woman’s statement directly, he opted instead to undermine it.

“Would you care for a drink?”

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Mercy Fatine von Ascania Naamino Zuukamano​

Elsewhere, the cantina had gone a little quieter than he liked. From experience thus far, Nar Shaddaa never gave complete silence, but in that quieter way where dice rattled, laughter thinned. Now, everyone nearby angled toward the storm brewing at the bar. Probably nothing unusual here. Probably just another night on Smuggler’s Moon.

Still, it prickled at the back of Lysander's neck.

Then came his name. Drawn out, musical.. unmistakable.

A wry laugh escaped the blonde's lips, a sound that that was half genuine, half armor, as he leaned back into the familiar chin resting on his shoulder. For a second, he basked in the warmth of it, catching the grin in the corner of an eye. What he would say next betrayed the gesture, like a cloak over sincerity.

“Okayyy, but seriously? You’re, like, totally ruining my whole dark and broody aesthetic. People are gonna think I’m approachable now. Or beloved even. Ew.”

The line earned him a few confused chuckles from patrons, and he wasn’t sure if they were laughing with him or something else.

Either way, it didn't matter.

The mask slid back into place, for Mercy’s voice was cutting through the haze once again.

Another test. He was certain of it. She wanted hesitation, the scent of weakness. Well, he wasn’t going to give her any. Lysander was forced to decide on the spot, because stalling would’ve been blood in the water. And because Fatine, for all her bravado, still pulled at heart strings he simply couldn’t ignore. Cora could fend for herself. But Fatine was different.

“But of course,” he said smoothly, as if it were all part of the plan. “Fatine’s talents are.. invaluable. You’ll find she has a way of turning even the most hostile rooms into nothing but admirers. Consider her our ace in the deck.”

A half truth, at least. The brunette always had a way of winning hearts.

Speaking of..

The Zabrak’s sudden courtesy toward his sister. His gaze lingered, far longer than it should have, purposely so, brows furrowing. What was that? He never got a fething hand to the forehead. The closest he’d ever come to that was the thin scar etched across his left eyebrow, a little souvenir from the fight with Naamino aboard Srina’s shuttle.

The entire sight sat wrong with him. It was no more suspicious than one of the Twi’lek dancers whose smile widened when his credit purse started jingling.

Unconsciously pulled back to his seat, a part of him longed to sink into the feast of greasy nuna wings awaiting.

Then, a light caught the cantina’s dim lightning. Smoke curled between them.

If the Sith muscle mommy smoked cigarettes, then surely she smoked other things. So, he let the next thought slip into words. “If you’re going to light up, might as well do it properly. Brosi's own Spore Industries produces the finest medicinal herbs. There is no equal when it comes to cultivation.”

 

[Fatine von Ascania]

Fatine had never stopped to wonder what sort of friends her brother kept in his enigma of a life. At the moment, she was simply thankful for his fortuitous presence on this garbage heap.

"Ruining?" She clicked her tongue and playfully flicked Lysander's ear. "It was ruined before I got here, dear brother."

The zabrak might've been a carnivorous hunter, but the way he was startled by her approach had Fatine's lips curling into a predatory pout.

"Oh," she crooned as he dipped his forehead to press against her hand. "What a perfect gentleman~"

Again, a glance was thrown over her shoulder, this time aimed at Lysander. "My brother could certainly learn a thing or two from you, Naamino."

It was clear that Fatine was enjoying the attention. Even Mercy's jab would be absorbed into her ego.

"A drink would be lovely. I'll leave the order up to you, but remember…"

With a deliberate slowness, Fatine leaned in closer, across the bar, towards the poor zabrak until her breath would - hopefully - wash over the shell of his ear. "…I prefer something sweet."

She pulled back with a giggle, clearly pleased with herself. Perhaps a little too much. Fortunately for Naamino's personal space, a basket of hot, greasy nuna wings appeared before them.

"Oh thank feth, I am starrrrving after the day I've had!"

Fatine was quick to help herself to bar food that had not been ordered for her, snatching up a wing and tearing into it as if the years she'd been forced to attend Madame von Berlioz's Fishing School meant absolutely nothing.

"Of coursh I'm in-val-u-ble," she insisted through a mouthful. Chew, then swallow. Grease-stained lips pursed as she gave Mercy a very obvious once-over.

"If whatever you're planning needs someone cute and charming…then yeah, you do need me." With a flick of her wrist, Fatine brushed rogue curls over her shoulder, the body of her hair absently hitting Naamino in the face. "Fortunately for you, my latest gig happened to be a total dud, so I'm free!"

It hadn't yet occurred to her to ask just what undoubtedly nefarious scheme the odd trio had embroiled themselves in. Fatine was still riding high off of her brother's praising of her abilities, and flirting with a boy who was unsettled by her.

Still, it couldn't be that bad, right?

Mercy Naamino Zuukamano Lysander von Ascania

 

[Mercy]

Naamino Zuukamano | Lysander von Ascania | Fatine von Ascania

It was a strange feeling, being upstaged by a petite girl, when it was usually Mercy that demanded and maintained the focus of every room that she was in.

Strange, but currently not annoying.

Not when she accepted some medicinal smoke from Lysander with a grunted nod. Her eyes still on Fatine and the way she reduced Naami into a whimpering fool without even doing much of anything. This was the feminine touch that her mother, the Empress of Tion, had spoken of in her young young youth.

It was what she had wanted from her back then. To stop being a wild child that leaped off cliffs and climbed trees. And become a woman who could turn men stupid, so they'd do as she wished... simply by smiling and asking for it.

It should have disgusted her, instead Mercy could only find amusement in it.

"The smoke is good, pretty boy." Mercy finally addressed Lysander after using his herbs to roll a cigarette, giving it a few puffs. "So, tell me then. What kind of business did you want to discuss with me..." Eyes flickered briefly back to Fatine and then back to Lysander. "That requires a 'cute and charming' girl like that?"

You could practically feel the parentheses around that quoted part.

"It better be good, because I am pretty sure your friend is about to die from a nose bleed, the way he is sneaking glances towards your sister."

She had noticed the slight tension in Lysander, when he noticed the shift in behavior in Naami when Fatine showed up.

And Mercy was a relentless shit stirrer.

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

It was as Naami hoped, that Lysander was quick enough on his feet and even tempered to the point of moving conversation along. The guy even managed a plug for his business. Naami might've huffed out a wry laugh, thinking of what Haro Aven would think if he could see them now after all the lecturing the zabrak had done about not getting roped into trouble by the blonde. But before the mirth could play out, the dark haired girl was leaning toward him with mischief in her eyes as she answered his question.

Straightening up to his fullest height, which had the blessed effect of shifting his face farther away from Fatine, the shell of Naami's tapered ears turned a bit pink. Just when it seemed the young man's teeth might crack under the pressure of his clenched jaw, the wings arrived.

His wings, which were immediately beset upon by the ravenous girl.

Eyes widening, Naami had to contest with his own growling stomach and the casual way she'd just helped herself to his meal. Never in all his years had he been treated thus, not even Leshanna Dromar just dove in to his meals— she had the decency to ask, knowing of course that he couldn't refuse her.

Just when the zabrak was about to interject, mustering a polite but clipped reply, the girl flipped her hair into his face and half agape mouth. Dark brows scrunched together and Naami spluttered faintly, his breath huffing at the tickling sensation and the indignation of it all. Any words nearly conjured had died in his throat with that and the young man seemed merely as if he was trying to ground himself in the reality of his situation, surreal as it was.

Beckoning to the remiss barkeep, Naamino barked a deep, rumbling order for more wings and a "Moogan tea, extra sweet." He decided to occupy himself with what remained of his ale, unaccustomed to the fuzzy sensation it brought and blaming the warmth he felt upon the beverage.

Mercy's commentary brought forth a stern glower from the zabrak, he carefully left plenty of distance between himself and any possible combatants as he polished off the rest of his drink. Before Lys hand the chance to answer their ornery target, Naami growled back.

"Listen, Lys runs a helluvah operation and he'll tell you all about it I'm sure. But 'the girl' ain't some bargaining chip, ok? The reason I'm here is to build bridges between the Order and Syndicate. Think we can manage that?"

His fist was tight on the empty glass as he set it down, the distant sizzle of the fryer taunting his hungry stomach. Finally he relented, his intense ice blue gaze settling down in the mid-distance as he huffed out another breath, waiting for Lys to add his thoughts.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Mercy Fatine von Ascania Naamino Zuukamano
​

One eye stayed locked on Mercy. Couldn’t afford not to. After all, that one was all smoke and menace, joint glowing like a fuse. The other eye betrayed him, tugged toward Fatine and Naami, his sister leaning in, majestic curls smacking the Zabrak’s face, Naamino's’s ears pinking like a cute little cadet caught out of line.

His bro. His sister. And he was stuck between them, trying to watch two fires at once.

Grease and spice cut through the tension like a joke told at a funeral. Lysander’s stomach growled, and before he could stop himself, he leaned forward, snatching one up.

"Oh thank feth, I am starrrrving after the day I've had!"

The grin that spread across Lysander's face after his sister's comment was pure loth-cat magic.. sharp, mischievous, the type that promised trouble more than anything else. He gnawed on the wing like someone who'd grown up fighting siblings for scraps. Because he had. Whoever ate fastest usually ate best. Cora was the champion.

The woman's voice reeled him back in. But then his jaw flexed, catching Naami’s order, cocking a single lone eyebrow, making sure he saw it too. Not anger, not quite.. just a silent little you sure about this, brother?

A grin was still locked in place, cold as phrik, as his gaze finally found Mercy.

“Let him bleed then.”

The words were casual, tossed like dice across a table. But in his head, he knew it wouldn’t be blood that spilled.

It’d be credits.

“Business, then. The kind that needs charm, muscle, and a little chaos. You’ve already got the last two covered.”

Lysander watched the ember flare in Mercy’s hand like it was already advertising for Spore Industries.

“See, that’s the thing,” he continued, voice smooth. “Nar Shaddaa’s been drowning in spice for too long. Same old fething glitterstim, same old dust, same old burn. Folk here are tired of it. You can only sell the same poison so many ways before the market starts yawning.”

Draping himself against the bar, the younger Sith propped an elbow, letting the cuff gleam. Too smooth to be accident. “What you’re smoking? That’s different. Smooth burn, a more mellow edge. It’s not about frying brains.. it’s about keeping people coming back for the taste. That’s the future.”

A pause, just long enough for those words to settle. “We start exporting it here, and suddenly Nar Shaddaa’s got an option. Something new. Something that doesn’t reek of the same ol' syndicate chokehold. You know as well as I do.. people don’t just buy the high. They buy the story. And this?” He gestured toward the smoke curling from her lips. “This is the story they haven’t heard yet.”

The half eaten wing was set down carefully like some priceless Sith relic from Wild Space. Slow as sin, he then dragged his tongue across each finger, cleaning off the greases. It wasn’t hurried, not entirely sheepish either. Almost.. provocative. The kind of move that belonged in a holodrama with immaculate lighting and lower stakes.

Might’ve even made Naamino’s ears go pink again.

But Mercy? Well, that was a gamble. Maybe it was to mock the situation or just make her believe he wasn’t afraid.

Or it could even get him punched square in the jaw.

Maybe both.

Honestly, probably both.

 

[Fatine von Ascania]

Suddenly, this seemed serious. Like, an actual drug deal. Lysander had alluded to the nature of his work before, but Fatine hadn't decided if she didn't quite believe him or if he was simply embellishing.

Perhaps she just did what most aristocrats were trained to do - politely ignore what made you uncomfortable.

When the moogan tea arrived, Fatine sipped through the straw with a hum of approval. "Oh, you have good taste," she purred to the stricken zabrak. It even came with a little umbrella. How fun!

Fortunately for the acolyte, the girl seemed less occupied with harassing him and more interested in the food. She'd already reduced his initial order of nuns wings by half its size, content to watch her brother's negotiation unfold. This level of applied charisma was something she hadn’t ever witnessed from him, sheltered as her life on Ukatis had been.

Lysander's gamble was punctuated by a rather long, rather loud slurp as Fatine washed down her meal. She leaned closer to Naami, the loud whisper of her voice carrying easily.

"Huh. Didn't think he was into big women."

Mercy Lysander von Ascania Naamino Zuukamano

 

[Mercy]

Naamino Zuukamano Lysander von Ascania Fatine von Ascania

Naamino was strung up tighter than a guitar's string by the way of his reactions.

"Tut, tut, for a Sith, you are remarkably focused on that honor of yours, little Naami." Mercy purred softly while her eyes flicked to Fatine and that comment of hers. "Oh, everyone is into me, darling, I wouldn't blame your brother for simply following along with what nature intended." She drawled lazily, even if she knew it was hardly the truth.

Plenty of people who had no taste at all, poor wretches.

"I do enjoy business, my dear Lysander, I do. So you wish to use the Terminal to kick-start your medicinal revolution..." Mercy shrugged there lightly. "Why not. But keep your fingers to yourself, boy, that might work on blushing virgins and our dear Naami here, but it only makes me want to reach out and snap those fingers into a position you wouldn't like."

As if it to punctuate her golden arm unraveled into tendrils at the end... reaching past Lysander and plucked one of the nuna sticks from the basket.

Leaving the Zabrak without a second time.

They were truly cruel to him tonight.

"How big is your operation? And what is the cut you'd like to keep?" The language was not subtle. It immediately suggested that Mercy didn't even consider the smaller cut of the two sides.

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

For a few long, agonizing moments, Naamino was frozen in place by a cacophony of emotions whirling through his body. He fought very hard to maintain a stoic expression, but it was ultimately in vain.

A wave of confused aversion rolled through him first, soon to be replaced by some dawning realization that Lysander von Ascania was playing some sort of strange social angle, not in fact attempting to flirt with the giant crime boss. All while his sister Fatine von Ascania merely seemed to be messing with the zabrak.

Relief and a kind of settling back into wary observation were short-lived as Naami watched in perturbed outrage as Mercy's arm transformed before his very eyes, and she used the cursed appendage to snatch up some of his wings.

Without thought, spurred on by anger the likes of which he'd believed had been under his control for some years now—honed by training and discipline. Suddenly, he snapped.

His hand shot out to grasp Mercy by what once had been her normal forearm, and pulled back to prepare a brutal hand strike at her elbow as he rumbled angrily.

"Touch my food again and I'll make sure you need another limb replaced."

The actions and threat might appear out of proportion to the crime against him, but Naami suddenly couldn't shake the sense of righteous indignation that this woman thought she could walk all over him without consequence.