Private Confessions

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naniti​

The condo was saturated with the scent of a cozy dinner still waiting to be tasted. Notes of spice danced along with a faint smoky char, drifting from the stove. Nearly an hour passed since he'd put the finishing touches on it. Vegetables were softened to ideal texture, while meat was carefully seared, matching Naniti's personal preference; the habit carried over from those shared meals back on Desevro. The ritual was a secret delight, an excuse to dote on the Togruta in the moments they managed to share. Empty plates stared back from the counter.

Barely two cycles passed since the return to Byss. On Kuar, the hunt set him in the crosshairs, pursuing a Chiss once known as Remowa. Why? Even now, standing near the kitchen island, he couldn't articulate everything. In hindsight, the reason was thin, but the instinct had been solid. His brother, Acier, whistled for the hounds, so a blade was drawn and offered.

Seen from afar, there was an aura of composure around the young Sith. Up close, that illusion surely crumbled beneath scrutiny. Gone were the intricate braids that always bound his moonlit hair. A short sleeve shirt revealed scars along his arms, crawling from wrists to his elbows, flesh puckered under lightning.

Movement served as a reminder of the price paid; a sharp hiss escaped through his teeth as he shifted, clearly favoring the left leg. His ankle was still battered from where he'd been stabbed. While some bacta treatment dulled the sting, there were micro-tears pulling against inflamed tissue. Nerve signals lagged, which resulted in delays when he flexed. Earlier attempts at shadowboxing proved to be a disaster. Pivots failed, footwork lacked grace, and running became something entirely unreachable. And perhaps worse than the physical aches was the fracture of a disciplined routine. Realization of his dependency on structure took root.

The blue light of a datapad washed over Lysander with a series of reports pulled from the Core's network. Concentration remained elusive; he drifted through the information, mindlessly scrolling without really absorbing much of it. Beyond recent unrest, another array of questions clawed at him.

 

[Naniti]

Naniti had been used to moving around. Hadn't given much thought to any kind of permanency. They were always called to action; always some strategy meeting or invasion to perform. Lysander had gotten close to the seat of power in the Covenant by virtue of Mercy being his Master if nothing else. She hadn't mentioned it, but she did feel envious of him having such a powerful Master. One that seemed to favor him, in fact. 'Like him' to turn a phrase. So, for him to have established the condo on Byss as some sort of place that belonged without ties to operational matters... It was somewhere they could meet instead of flying around in Covenant space torn apart by missions.

The Togruta slipped through the door with a smile. Why shouldn't she be happy? Her 'Prince' was there and they were going to share a meal together. She had grown quite fond of these encounters -- things well above and beyond pursuing and slaughtering prey. Experiences that'd given her more than anger or rage.

"Lysander," she called as she swept into view with a small box in hand. It was prudent to announce herself. Sith didn't get fearful, but they could be paranoid. "Are you studying reports again? While you're cooking. I promise, for at least the next ten minutes no one's going to do anything remarkable out there."

She set the small box down on the counter, and circled around to carefully rub his shoulders. "You haven't been aggravating your injuries again, have you?" Wounds weren't failures, they were lessons. Some lessons required you spent a little time dwelling on them -- also known as healing. And some people felt like drawing out how long it took to heal by doing too much too soon.

Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naniti​

The holographic scroll continued holding him captive when she came in.. or most of him, anyway. A corner of his attention already turned toward the door before sound arrived, which was either trust or carelessness, and among the Covenent, the difference usually mattered.

His chin tilted toward the datapad. "Nothing here looks particularly pressing today, nothing worth stealing the evening over." Supply routes shifted across the screen, from the frontlines to activity aboard Lyrandar. Whether such details escaped her notice was another matter entirely. Experience had taught him Naniti possessed the sharper palate.. in more ways than one.

With a tap he dismissed the display into nothingness. The datapad slid toward the edge of the counter until it disappeared beneath a folded stack of napkins; perhaps burying it there might discourage him from reaching for it again.

He tipped his head back with an appreciative hum. To make her ministrations easier, a shift in weight followed. Adjusting his torso to favor the good leg, one arm encircled the Togruta’s waist to pull her snugly against his chest. His forehead settled softly against the elegant curve of her montral; silence captured him there.

Lips parted, but the words stalled; only then did his gaze lift to find those blue eyes. “Hi. Welcome back.” It was nice to have another voice in the condo again. "I’m fine," he lied, or at least, he tried to, though the hitch in his breath betrayed the pain in his ankle. "You treat me as if I’m made of glass."

He then nodded toward the box on the counter. "What secrets have you brought to the table tonight?"

 

[Naniti]

Quiet laughter bubbled up as she found herself nested in close to Lysander. He was the only one that made her relax. The only presence she didn't try to discern their true intention or if they planned to betray her. It was a shared moment she could simply... enjoy. Maybe that was wrong for a Sith to do, but Naniti didn't hate it.

She turned her eyes to look up at him with a smile on her dark lips. A soft hum followed him saying he was alright. Lysander always put on a brave face. Well, she wouldn't question just how 'fine' he was and undercut his bravado.

"Glass? You? You're more like beskar. You get scuffed up, but don't complain." The Togruta poked his chest.

A hand reached over to slide the box in front of Lysander. "Just a little something. They were out of holocrons." It was a small artifact with inscription on it she thought he might find mildly interesting to unravel. Might turn out to be important, or just a form of amusement.

"I'm equally as curious what feast you have cooking. I could smell it down the hall."

Lysander von Ascania