Private Can't Creed on an Empty Stomach || Adean

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

KETARIS - TEMPORARY FORTIFICATION

Shortly After the Events of Creedfall...

The air still held the scent of ash.

It clung to the skin, even after days of rain and reconstruction, curling into the corners of the fortification like it belonged there. But the people were beginning to breathe easier. That was what mattered.

Aether Verd moved through the heart of the encampment with sleeves rolled and helmet clipped to his belt. His armor, scarlet and iron, caught the pale light between tents and prefab shelters. He passed out water, stopped to lift a child so they could reach a crate, offered a nod here and a hand there. No fanfare. No titles. Just presence.

The line for the communal meal stretched down the center walkway, winding between scattered tables and canvas shade. Steam rose from metal containers, thick with the scent of cooked grain and stewed root. It wasn’t much, but it was warm. And for most here, that was enough.

He offered a quiet thanks to the warrior ladling portions beside him, then took a tray for himself and stepped into the gathering.

Faces met him. Worn. Hollow. Tired. Some offered small smiles in return. Others looked away. A few stared too long, trying to reconcile the stories they’d heard with the man in front of them.

One woman sat alone. Not far, not isolated, just apart enough to be overlooked. She held her bowl with both hands, eating slowly, posture steady. Not guarded, but deliberate. As if she wanted to be invisible without seeming like she did.

Aether paused.

There were still datapads to review. Still medical tents that needed extra hands. But for the moment, he had food in his hands and a minute to breathe.

He stepped toward her table.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, his voice calm but clear, eyes meeting hers without judgment. “Figure I’ve got time to eat like a man before I go back to playing Mand’alor.”

He offered the faintest smile, something quiet and wry, before lowering himself onto the bench if she allowed it.

His tray clinked against the surface. No guards. No advisors. Just a man in armor taking a moment to sit.

“You holding up alright?”

​

Adean Castor

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Aether Verd

There comes a point at which one hits capacity with their panic. Adean had discovered as such long ago, though the timing of that sweet spot between panic and rolling with the punches was forever in flux. More recently, that time had lessened. Adaptability was both a skill and a curse in that regard, something she absolutely relied on.

When it became clear she wasn't to be put to death for impersonating (if one could even call it an impersonation) one of their own, only then did Adean entertain letting the Mandalorian medics assess her injuries more thoroughly. Even then, she'd kept a careful grip on both her story and inventory. The lightsaber that she handled with disdain, even in Sith Space, still horrified by her own actions in getting it, was something she very much wanted to avoid coming up. She didn't need the weight of that cylinder's deeds on her shoulders, or the terror they were known to spread, not when she was so very outnumbered.

Outside of that very real concern (and the looming thought of how long it'd been since she'd been at either academy), even she could admit it was a breath of ash-filled air to be given time to heal. Her leg was making good progress, her gait almost returning to normal, save for the occasional instances of an unexpected bad step. Soon enough, she'd be strong enough to spirit away back to Sith space, as if she'd never been here to begin with.

In the meantime, Adean had split her attention between helping out where she could - menial things, nothing that could be taken as especially noteworthy - and studying what texts she'd been able to stow on her person when she'd started her exit from the lab. A diary from a 'patient' long gone had especially captured her attention, both for the gruesome detail that she could only assume was written with morbid accuracy and for its almost charming narrative voice.

She'd begrudgingly forced herself to part from the diary long enough to eat a meal. She'd noticed the beginnings of a rather boisterous table forming and had taken the table next to it, letting that crew draw any and all focus to them so she could eat and observe unbothered, unnoticed. That'd been the intention, at least.

A mixture of surprise and concern pulled at carefully conditioned features as Adean was addressed. She'd overheard enough conversations, seen the reverence in other people's interactions, to register that going 'back to play Mand'alor' was hardly a joke. And yet, he was addressing her of all people? Perhaps her luck had run out.

Or perhaps not. She didn't detect any malice in his voice, nor malintent in his eyes when their gazes met. Curiosity tugged against better judgment, further supported by the whisper of the idea that an audience with the Mand'alor could work in her favor later on. "You're welcome to it," she gestured toward the aforementioned seat with a casual shrug. A brow rose a fraction in response to his smile, not out of judgment, but curiosity.

"As well as anyone can in these times, I imagine. What of you? Well enough to take a break from playing Mand'alor, or enough to need a break?" A small smile, similarly wry in nature, tugged at her lips, indicating she by no means meant offense.

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

KETARIS

Aether nodded his thanks and took the offered seat, settling in without ceremony.

He balanced the tray with one hand and broke off a piece of the crusty bread with the other, dipping it into the stew. The broth clung thick to the edges, rich with whatever root vegetables and protein the Mandalorians had managed to source nearby. He took a hearty bite as she spoke, chewing slow, listening.

The bread gave way with a satisfying crunch. Simple. Filling. Honest food.

When she finished, he swallowed and set the bread down, thumb brushing along the rim of the tray as he looked over at her again.

“What did you do here, before it all came down?” he asked, tone still calm, still even. “Have you been seen for housing yet, or are they still cycling you through the queue?”

His words carried no urgency. Just interest. Just a man trying to connect point A to point B.

He glanced down at the bowl again, then back up when she returned the question.

The pause stretched a second longer.

“I’m doing well,” he said eventually, as if testing the words as they left his mouth. “Lot of fires to put out. Some of them real, some of them not. Feels like I’ve spent more time chasing problems than solving them.”

He took another bite of bread, hungrier this time, as if reminding himself he still had time to finish it.

“So this,” he added, gesturing loosely with what was left of it, “is a welcome break.”

The corners of his mouth lifted. It wasn’t quite a smile. But it was close.​

Adean Castor

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Aether Verd

"Oh, uh, I'm not from here." Adean's gaze drifted back to her own bowl, turning sheepish. So this was when the questions began. All of a sudden, the food that had been lackluster in seasoning but abundant in its kindness felt like poison. A trap laid by the laws of hospitality. "I'd meant to study at the university, got redirected along the way." It wasn't a lie, not yet at least. But neither was it the full truth. There wasn't enough time in the stars for the full truth.

The housing question was a surprise to her. Then again, perhaps it shouldn't have been. She'd seen the reports of the devastation wrought by the Firebreathers, overheard medics discuss how short on supplies and hands they were. It would make sense that there were plenty in need of homes, too. "Not much of a point. Once I'm good to travel, I'll find a way to the next spaceport. Better housing goes to someone who needs it."

Her brow rose as he started to answer her own questions, catching the experimental pause of one trying out the answer right then and there. A part of her wondered if this was the same speech pattern he led as Mand'alor with or if this was an honest peek at the man behind the title. Or, equally possible, though somehow Adean doubted it being the case, a front put on to appear more personable. Either way, it was a puzzle to be solved, a thread to pick at. "Forgive my saying so but I don't think chasing problems is especially worth the time."

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

KETARIS

Aether nodded along as she spoke, quietly chewing another bite of stew-soaked bread. When she admitted she wasn’t from Ketaris, his head tilted just slightly in acknowledgment.

“Ahh. I see.”

There was no judgment in his voice. Just understanding: calm and easy.

“You have the means to get where you need to go?” he asked, lifting his gaze to meet hers again. “If not, say the word. We’ll make sure you get there comfortably. Safe.”

He reached for another piece of bread, tearing it slowly.

“Even if you didn’t grow up here, you came to learn here. Study. You were a guest of Ketaris, and that makes you part of it.” His tone was steady, with just the faintest edge of quiet conviction. “So our outreach applies to you too. Making you whole again? It matters to Mandalore.”

He took another bite, chewed, and chuckled lightly as he washed it down with a sip of water.

“Of course,” he added, a small glint behind his eyes now, “bright minds are always in short supply. If you change your mind and decide to stay, I’m sure Ketaris would be better off for it.”

He let the silence stretch a bit after that, taking the chance to enjoy a few more spoonfuls. Warmth lingered in the bowl. The simple kind that filled the stomach and calmed the edges of the day.

When she spoke again, Aether nodded thoughtfully.

“Normally I’d agree with you,” he said between bites, voice low, half amused. “Chasing problems can feel like running in circles.”

Then he smirked, the expression subtle but real.

“But problems that don’t get chased? They eat. They grow fat. They turn into real headaches when you’re not looking. I’d rather run ‘em down while they’re lean.”

He gave a soft exhale, something that was almost a laugh.

“At least that way, I stand a chance.”[/clor]

He glanced her way again, a flicker of warmth in his voice.

“Besides. Some problems are worth solving.”​

Adean Castor

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Aether Verd

Adean expected the boot to drop then, be it banishment, arrest, or something worse. It'd only make sense. She was, and seemed always to be, found at the wrong place and the wrong time.

And yet, his next words were another surprise.

She couldn't wipe the confusion from her face by the time he back up. Offering passage? To her, of all people? "I'll find a way. Always do." The answer came out before she could stop it, telling in its own right. 'Means' was subjective, in her experience. The real question was, would she be in the right or wrong place at the right or wrong time?

Her brow furrowed a moment, contemplating what it could possibly mean to be 'whole', let alone 'whole again'. Perhaps it was the blanket of grief that covered every native, every resident, she'd come across. Or perhaps it was the air of uncertainty that pervaded the encampment like a heavy perfume, only slowly losing its scent.

Or perhaps it was something beyond what came to mind. That was an even more terrifying notion.

But that was a thought for another time, perhaps when she wasn't faced with not-so-subtle attempts at recruitment. "Oh, I'll let you know if I find any," she offered with a slight, practiced chuckle. "But I'll keep that in mind. You and your crew have been exceedingly kind to these people."

It was a strange relationship, Adean and silence. By her lonesome, she thrived in it. In a large group, she sought it out. But in the small group or one-on-one setting, silence was a grave she had to fill.

Or, more accurately, get someone else to do so, as seemed to be the case here. Her head tilted as she politely listened. "By that notion, would they not be easier to handle when they're fat and complacent? A lean one is eager to run into more problems."

"Oh?" A dark brow rose, catching that flicker of warmth in his voice and feeling it tug at the corners of her lips in the slightest smile. The sort of smile that met the eyes, but only on the barest surface level. Enough to fool a quick glance or the imperceptive, not so much anyone who was actively paying attention. "Any problems in particular at the moment?"

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

KETARIS

The spoon settled gently against the bowl as he considered her words, steam curling in the quiet space between them. She was quick to claim she would find a way, the words tumbling out with the reflex of someone who had spoken them often enough to believe them, even when they did not want to. Aether let the corners of his mouth lift, not in mockery, but with the quiet understanding of a man who had once lived by the same stubborn creed.

“Good.” he said, voice low, the single syllable carrying the weight of approval rather than dismissal. “The ones who find a way tend to survive longer than most.”

He reached for another piece of bread, letting the warmth sink into his hands before tearing it and dropping it into the broth to soak. Her comment about bright minds drew a deeper smile, one that found its way into his eyes, if only for a moment.

“Then I will trust you to let me know.” he replied, rolling the words softly as if the conversation were drifting down an easier path. “But if you do find any, make sure you count yourself among them. Too many forget to.”

His gaze lifted, holding hers easily. Her question about problems, the lean and the fat, was met with a quiet huff of amusement, his shoulders shifting slightly as he rolled them back.

“You are not wrong.” he admitted, tapping a finger lightly against the rim of the bowl. “A problem that grows fat on neglect often grows lazy. But complacency does not make it harmless, and it does not make it easy to move when the time comes. It just makes it bigger. Makes the ground shake when it finally does decide to stand.”

His eyes flickered with something sharper then, though not unkind, as if weighing the memory of heavier choices and what they had cost.

“I prefer to meet problems while I can still look them in the eye, rather than at their ankles, hoping they do not notice me.”

He dipped the bread into the broth, letting the silence settle around them like a comfortable cloak as he considered her last question. The one that held weight, despite the ease of her smile, despite the tilt of her brow that suggested it was a harmless inquiry.

“Always...” he said, simple and true, his tone warm enough to soften the edge of the admission. “There are always problems worth solving. Ones that do not simply go away because we want them to.”

He took a slow bite of the bread, eyes dropping briefly before returning to meet hers again, steady as the ground beneath them.

“Right now, I would say the biggest problem is the one that keeps these people from feeling like they have a future again. That is a problem worth chasing, lean or fat, until it stops running.”​

Adean Castor