Private Dark Side Gains

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naamino Zuukamano
​

Gone was the purple robe of Derriphan that had cloaked him for most of the day. Instead, he embraced something entirely different: black athletic shorts that cut off above the knee, paired with a sleeveless black shirt. The acolyte's feet were free from the leather boots that were worn daily; now, he was sporting black high top shoes with flat soles, making it clear he was no novice to the training they were about to endure.

Around Lysander’s neck rested a pair of headphones, connected to a playlist heavy with bass. A duffel bag was slung over his shoulder, carrying an arsenal of gear that signaled he prepared for anything.

His anticipation was greatly amplified by the fizzling pre-workout cocktail within a shaker cup in one hand. Sports supplements were something the blonde totally geeked out over; his passion for it could rival a seasoned Sith alchemist. The ingredients combined were enough to challenge the Force itself. It was overdosed with vasodilators for the pump, enough stimulants to fuel a Bantha across Korriban’s vast desert, and a pinch of cognitive enhancers, to sharpen his mind like a vibroknife.

With what he believed to be a simple gesture of camaraderie, the acolyte prepared another drink for the Zabrak, using a spare cup that had already been handed over.

In truth, he was actually glad they found common ground during their detention.

With another sip, Lysander rolled the liquid over his tongue, savoring the fruity tang as they approached the gym building, which was connected to the dojo of Kor'ethyr Academy. “You'll be ready to lift an entire planet after my special blend.. it’d probably be illegal or something in the Mid and Inner Rim areas,” he stated, his tone light.

A spark of mischief then danced in the boy's emerald gaze, and a sly grin flashed as his attention shifted momentarily to Naamino. “These weights don't stand a chance."

The gym’s doors were now in view.

Finishing the last drops, he placed the empty container back in the bag and reached for the datapad, shutting it off. Lately, he'd gotten worse about checking for emails from a certain girl— even when he knew none were coming. No doubt, it was foolish, but he couldn't help himself, even after acknowledging the fact. Now, with the device no longer threatening to distract him, he could fully commit to their training session. The thought of testing his raw strength against the other student was exciting.

​

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Outfit:
Simple (but stylish) Workout Clothes,
Well Worn Boots

​

Having just finished a warmup with a training saber and practice-dummy droid in the large dojo, Naamino Zuukamano met his unlikely companion at the agreed upon time outside in the vast courtyard. With a quizzical look, the zabrak accepted the offered drink and sniffed it. The brew smelled chemical but he'd just seen Lysander sip from the exact same brew he'd made for himself, so he figured it was probably safe.

The effervescence of the drink caught him somewhat off guard, but if he could handle whiskey with a straight face in front of Leshanna Dromar and Haro Aven then he certainly wasn't going to balk about some workout potion in front of the new guy. The zabrak was very simply equipped in contrast to the human, but ready to move heavy stuff nonetheless.

Lysander seemed to chatter almost as much as his buddy, Haro, though the boys were very different indeed and only one had earned his unwavering loyalty. The blonde was still very much on his chit-list but Naami also held a begrudging and wary respect for him, plus it seemed as if his buddy was determined to remain cordial with him. Maybe it was a Coruscant thing?

"How long have you been weight training for?"

Direct and to the point, Naami had merely grunted and nodded with the boy's other statements.

"I've always been active but lifting was new for me when I got here nearly a year ago."

Though he didn't show it outwardly, the zabrak was getting excited for the unspoken competition as well. Lysander von Ascania was a bit older and taller than him, but Naami was zabrak, stocky with growing muscle, and seemed to be outgrowing his clothes every other week. At the very least, this would be a great opportunity to learn more about his peer's capabilities. Something he refused to even acknowledge silently within himself, was that it was also a good opportunity to learn from a guy close to his own age who clearly had shared interests.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Valley of the Swole Lords
Naamino Zuukamano
​

Lysander's gaze remained fixed ahead as the words spilled from Naamino into the space between them. The cooler air swept over his skin, something of a foreign feeling these days, but a welcome respite from the layers of robes and cloaks that he was usually buried under.

"I've been training for about two years now," he said, his voice more thoughtful than usual, "but to be honest, I didn't really figure out what I was doing until about a year ago." Memories of Naboo resurfaced, around the time he became serious about the pursuit of strength. While striking demanded speed paired with technique, and grappling just the same, the latter did offer moments where raw power could be flexed-- if timed correctly.

As they stepped into the gym, he instantly embraced the new but all too familiar setting; in a way only few could understand, it was a blend of comfort and excitement. The clanking of steel plates, competitive energy, and an aroma of testosterone filled the air. He welcomed all of it. And after a month in the bacta tank, he was simply grateful to be back in a place where he could push himself and feel alive.

Scanning the area, he noticed how everyone was focused— a stark contrast to Coruscant, where people seemed more interested in selfies and socializing. Even worse, the girls there had the audacity to post pictures of their glutes on Zikzok with captions stating they were training arms that day.

Several rows of dumbbells lined the nearest wall, but Lysander found himself gravitating straight to the heart of the training center, placing the duffel bag onto the ground, as if he were claiming his own personal spot.

The pre-workout was already rippling through him, similar to how the dark energy he’d been learning to control did. It was electrifying, the familiar jitters and tingling sensation on his face. Next, he began swinging his arms in circles while pivoting his hips; it was far from an ideal warm up, but Lysander also didn’t wish to waste too much time, especially as he was unfamiliar with Naamino’s routine.

His head turned to the Zabrak, a silent understanding stretching between them for a moment— two acolytes chasing greatness. "Well, spiky-noggin, what do you want to start with?"

The blonde felt indifferent whether they focused on the upper or lower body, for he was already envisioning the mountains of protein dense foods awaiting them at the finish line.

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

The younger teen felt some reassurance as his slightly more worldly peer explained that it took him some time to find his stride with lifting. Naami had only just recently started to feel pretty confident regarding his own training.

Downing the drink quickly in the same way Lysander had, the boy handed the empty cup back when they entered the gym. Naami felt very at home in this place by now, but he noted that his companion moved with a kind of confidence the boy envied despite being in a new place. His eyes swept to consider Lysander's previously wounded knee.

The teen appeared unbothered and moved as if he'd never sustained what otherwise would have been a career ending injury. Naami marveled silently to himself at the kind of medicine they had access to simply by providence of being the next generation of Sith. He'd come a long way from being an orphaned farm boy on Wistril, and the thought gave him pause.

"Well, spiky-noggin, what do you want to start with?"

Naami was brought back from his reverie by the words and became suddenly aware of an almost electric sensation starting to thrum through him. His hearts were picking up speed, their polyrhythmic beat answering the zing of pre-workout beginning to thrum through his veins.

"Did a heavy ruck yesterday so imma let my legs recover," he answered gruffly, not yet fully warmed up to the banter between them but certainly less grumpy than first they'd met.

"How'bout chest and shoulders?"

He began swinging his own arms a bit, doing some shrugging motions and rolling his neck. He'd already done a bit of cardio and waking up his body to motion in the dojo but this was going to be a different level of exertion, particularly with someone else to measure himself against. Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed a set of black hand wraps to begin covering his hands and forearms out of habit.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Valley of the Swole Lords
Naamino Zuukamano
​

Lysander slowly twisted his neck, feeling tension release just as a pop echoed. He found the boy's words intriguing, as they suggested he did more than simply lift heavy circles— there was a practical approach behind his routine too. With a nod of recognition, his gaze drifted to the nearby benches. “Works for me. Maybe we can throw in some neck training at the end.. helps prevent concussions,” he suggested, his voice smooth, carrying a rare undertone of enthusiasm. Perhaps the 100g pre-workout elixir coursing through his veins like wildfire had something to do with it.

Without another word, he moved toward the closest piece of equipment and slowly eased onto the surface with both feet planted on the ground. It also served as a subtle reminder of the ever-constant soreness, felt now more specifically in his upper back; between his academy training schedule and extracurricular pursuits, he'd grown used to his body always feeling like hot garbage.

But complaining wasn't an option; it never had been. The acolyte would reach up and grip the barbell at shoulder width space, unrack it, and begin a series of explosive reps. The movements, paired with blood pumping through his muscles, let him momentarily forget about the accumulation of fatigue built up throughout the week.

Finishing with a final exhale he returned the barbell to the starting position and sat up. His fingers intertwined behind his head, stretching just a little bit more and trying to release tension in the back of the shoulders. At the same time, the boy found his gaze wandering to another bench, where there was a group of three other academy students training together. Naturally, he couldn't help but begin calculating the total from the loaded plates in a way that felt as easy as adding credits, and from there, transformed into a challenge he couldn't resist; it wasn’t the first time his competitive spirit was so easily stoked.

Standing tall and moving aside he would give Naamino the space required. Already, Lysander was craving more, moving to the wall several paces over. Arms crossed over his chest, his calm expression grew more focused, brows furrowing as the heavy bass of music hammered through the gym.

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Feeling more amped than was usual for him at the very start of a workout, Naami bounced a bit on the balls of his feet as he followed Lysander's lead. The comment about neck exercises and concussions invited one wryly raised eyebrow, but no other response was forthcoming other than a half shrug. He watched with solemn curiosity as the teen took to the bench, continuing to roll his own shoulders a bit as he finished wrapping his hands. Lys' form was indicative of his experience, the businesslike manner that he channeled his enthusiasm into the task ahead served to further the zabrak's grudging respect.

Naami counted as Lys worked, making sure he'd match his numbers if not surpass him for every activity they did. When the boy finished and stood, icy eyes followed his glance across to where fellow students worked. A small smirk touched his expression— that competitive spirit he saw within his peer was contagious and something Naami's own stubbornness would certainly stoke as well.

The zabrak settled into place on the bench and followed much the same process. His lifts were just slightly slower, favoring control rather than explosive movement. Still, he matched Lysander's general mood. Upon completing that warmup, the teen sat up and clapped hands to thighs with a look at his peer.

"Increase every round till we max out?"

His eyes flicked to the other group once more.

"Or are we going big out the gate?"

Naami relinquished the bench and stayed close to follow the human's lead, starting to feel absolutely electric with energy. It was a good thing he'd wrapped his hands, as sweat was already starting to bead at his temples— hearts and adrenal system absolutely keyed up by the pre-workout concoction he'd downed.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Valley of the Swole Lords
Naamino Zuukamano
​

The acolyte caught sight of what he thought was all too familiar—a smirk at the corner of the Zabrak’s mouth. Wild and as unpredictable as a loth-cat since coming out of the womb and blessing the galaxy with his presence, it was an expression he wore often. As his training partner began putting in reps on the bench, he watched intently, assessing the technique in different areas, from his grip to the bar’s flight path. It was clear he favored time under tension for building muscle, whereas Lyander was keen on building strength without putting on more mass; each had their own merits.

Around the time Naamino finished his set, the blonde’s attention had already shifted towards a nearby mirror. Turning his body just so, he caught a glimpse of a tricep flexing; the definition was already clear, which wasn’t much of a surprise considering the hefty amount of vasodilators that’d been loaded into the pre-workout cocktail. The early stages of the pump were already settling in, and he couldn’t wait until he reached the fullness that was straight up filthy.

The sound of classing brought his attention back to the other acolyte, now weighing the question proposed carefully. One was more about calculation, while the other was high risk, a gamble. The latter had a magnetic pull on him, for curiosity sparked within. Besides, after a month of being malnourished in a bacta tank, he was dying to know where his current strength level was.

"I say we go big," Lysander finally said smoothly. A slow glance was given to the group once more, then returning to lock eyes with Naamino, passing on a silent understanding as the corner of his mouth twitched. "Feth ’em."

Without any further hesitation, he went to each side of the bench, loading the heaviest plates available onto each side of the barbell. Then, from his duffel bag, he removed a small ziplock bag containing a block of chalk. Like an artist with a brush, he began working with meticulous care, rubbing it along the calluses of his hand and fingers. Lysander then tossed it back onto the bag, watching a small cloud of dust rise into the air. Something about the sight was satisfying. His attention returned to Naamino. "You’re welcome to try some if you’d like.. definitely helps with grip on the heavier sets. Every little bit counts.. I swear there are training cycles where I’d sacrifice my soul to Bogan just to add ten pounds to my bench press."

Once back on the bench, he went straight to work. The eccentric phase was controlled, but he’d then explode through the concentric phase as though he were trying to knock a Jedi’s head right off its body.

He pushed through a few more reps this time; there was a fine line between warming up properly to avoid injury, but also saving enough energy to perform properly on the next set, where’d go ahead and max out; no doubt, it felt necessary to make a statement to the other students present, especially if they were going to be training here several nights each week.

After finishing, he swung his body and hopped right off the bench. And though his demeanor was calm, something darker was churning within, something primal and aggressive. Not even the thicc Sith muscle mommy on the stairmaster machine in the corner of his vision could break his concentration.

From what he gathered, the warm-ups were feeling extra light, which was a good sign. "I think today's the day," he said, trying to pass on the type of motivation that only lifers could understand.

​

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Like one tuk'ata sizing up another, Naami watched his peer for small signs and unfamiliar behaviors. They were still just getting to know each-other, even though they'd fought and withstood detention together, this was the first time they were truly interacting without the more easygoing presence of Haro Aven and frankly, the zabrak was surprised it was going so well.

Clearly they both had strong personalities, but Lys seemed to obfuscate his inner workings through misdirection of flashy shows of attitude and emotion or even through word play, whereas Naamino aimed to be exceedingly stoic whenever possible. Each technique had benefits, and the zabrak mused silently as these differences even showed through with their lifting.

Oddly, he found the human's bravado and encouragement motivational. He was never really the type to go in for that sort of thing, and generally Naami worked out in silence. He didn't even own something to play music off except the school issued datapad, and it had never occured to him to use it that way. Lysander's tunes and casual banter were definitely elevating the energy though, and with each set, as each of them teetered nearer and nearer to that precipice of working their muscles to failure, the zabrak was starting to really get into the spirit of things.

"C'mon you're keeping great form, I know you've got two more," Naami insisted, even as he stood at the head of the bench ready to aid.

Their combined efforts had drawn a fair bit of attention, the two of them clearly lifting heavier than the evening denizens of Kor'ethyr Academy's gym. Despite Lysander devotedly ignoring the young woman on the stairmaster, she was certainly paying attention to him now.

The preworkout was in full swing and Naami practically felt his entire frame thrumming as the human pushed through that last rep true to form, and gave up the bench for Naami to take his place. The zabrak gave a slight smirk which turned into a grimace as he kept his peer's number in mind and started in on the set with grim focus. The boy was determined to beat Lysander out by a few reps and the silent count he kept also helped him focus on breathing through it.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Valley of the Swole Lords
Naamino Zuukamano
​

Lysander was already feeling the burn in his muscles— much faster than he would’ve liked. Oddly, this didn’t feel like their first time training together; the rhythm between him and Naamino was natural, a pleasant surprise compared to past experiences on Naboo, where lifting with others felt more like a chore, serving to only slow his progress. Too much talking, too much hesitation— he wanted no part of it.

But here, the Zabrak's quietness was more than welcoming, offering just enough encouragement— words that carried true weight, even if they caught him off guard. When two more reps were suggested, it was more of an order, but given with good intention.

Though the last rep was sketchy to say the least, a feather light touch from his spotter was just enough for him to lock it out. His strength had clearly plummeted after a month in the bacta tank, but his determination was still burning bright. One full training cycle, and he'd be back to where he was before-- he wouldn't accept anything less.

When they swapped places, Lysander offered his own version of support, though it was paired with a sly grin, cheering him on with words that would definitely have sounded strange anywhere else besides the gym. "Don't be a little porg; you got this.” Between two guys chasing gains, that phrase carried more power than any Sith holocron. By then, a small crowd was gathering, either curious or impressed; in truth, he didn't really care. Lysander's emerald eyes flickered toward the cardio area, the movement in the corner of his vision somehow impossible to miss. When they reached the target, it wasn't the lekku tails he was staring at

A split second later, he diverted his focus, only to catch himself sharing a knowing smirk with Naami. The notion was harmless; besides, someone else had already been consuming his mind lately.

After racking their weights to prove they weren't complete Bantha fodder, the two moved to the incline bench with purpose. Here, hypertrophy was the main priority. Afterall, more mass was needed to properly fill out the black garments they so often wore.

From there, they made their way across the gym. He quickly adjusted a vacant bench upright to face the mirror, even catching himself lingering a bit too long on his own reflection, obviously admiring the pump that brought out more definition. Once he found a pair of dumbbells he guessed to be suitable to start with, he sat down, using his knees to aid in thrusting them up to the starting position. "Lightweight," he mused aloud, the corner of his mouth tugging upward; it was a look that might suggest he wasn’t taking the training seriously, though that was far from the truth. The mantra gave him just the right amount of fuel needed to keep pushing forward.

And instead of counting reps, he used a method called Rate of perceived exertion, which would allow him to stop just shy of complete failure and preserve energy for the next set. After the final press, they were lowered, allowing them to hit the ground which vibrated through the space surrounding them. Lysander jumped up, wiping more sweat from his brow, and handing over the reins to Naami, who was probably eager to get back to work as well.

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

There was a kind of kinship Naamino had only ever found on a battlefield, a gift of his Zabraki heritage perhaps. But there were times when he felt an inkling of that same connection during training. Even suspicious as he was of Lysander von Ascania and his smooth talking bravado, there was no denying that he was powerfully driven. Whether their time studying and training together would result in rivalry or friendship, only time would tell.

A sort of flow state took him over as they continued their workout. Naami kept up and pushed himself eagerly, but seemed content for the older boy to call the shots for their general lineup. The teen merely smirked and huffed a short laugh at the porg comment. He also didn't seem as easily distracted by the attention of others , and when Lys gave him a knowing look the zabrak merely raised one black brow quizzically. The truth was, Naami was a bit behind many of his peers when it came to matters of interpersonal connection. But he played it off and it was clear his hearts were set on the task at hand.

His keen gaze flickered toward his own reflection for only a moment, soon shifting to that of his peer and away again so as not to be rude. Truthfully, Naami wasn't sure about all the rules of decorum regarding workout partners and had been making it up as he went whilst helping to train Haro Aven and Leshanna Dromar during their agreed upon days. Lysander clearly knew the unspoken rules of gym life, and Naami intended to be a quick study.

"Lightweight," he mused aloud, the corner of his mouth tugging upward; it was a look that might suggest he wasn’t taking the training seriously, though that was far from the truth. The mantra gave him just the right amount of fuel needed to keep pushing forward.

"Your own biggest critic, huh?" Naami hazarded the guess as he waited.

There was no judgement in his tone, he felt much the same about himself. Even though he made top marks in nearly everything he did at Kor'ethyr, it was never enough. The zabrak knew he'd been a big fish from a very small pond, leaving the little known world of Wistril in order to study on the famed Korriban. So Naami held himself to the highest of standards and sought that quality in others.

Taking to the bench as Lys moved aside, the zabrak focused back in. His breathing was controlled but it was clear the need to carefully stabilize for this exercise held all his attenion. Naami was clearly obsessive about form, and he gave the set 99% of his all. Always outwardly muscular looking, the zabrak was starting to look downright jacked. Lysander's proprietary workout brew adding to the wild vascularity of his arms. Dropping the weights with a hiss at the end of his set, the teen stood again and twisted his head which gave way to a 'POP' of shifting frame.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naamino Zuukamano
​

Lysander’s gaze flicked over to the Zabrak mid-set; there was a half-smirk curling now, suggesting he’d finally found the answer to the comment from moments ago. “No room for mediocrity,” he confirmed in a low tone, no different than reciting a tenet from the Sith Code.

Behind the mask that typically suggested only banter and charm, his mind was always consumed by ways to improve himself, fueled by a hunger that was never fully satiated. Achievements felt hollow; instead, he was most thrilled by the journey itself. And the idea that Naamino was somewhere along the same road was actually exciting— even if he wasn't about to admit it.

His demeanor shifted more than once while standing in place— from the assessment one might receive from a coach, to the side-eye of a competitor noting exactly how much weight was being lifted. Still, the looks carried no envy, just observation with a hint of curiosity instead, fanning the flames of his own fire.

The acolyte reveled in the fullness of the pump, like a tangible set of armor covering the push muscles of his upper body. Tight, alive, and primed. And the best part? Isolation movements still awaited on the menu, ready to continue sculpting his body like a master artist.

His lips then twisted mischievously into a grin that could’ve rivaled a loth-cat as he noticed Naamino’s roadmap vascularity. “My pre-workout hits different, huh?” Lysander jested. He already envisioned the day where his bicep veins would possibly stand out like water hoses, like symbols of strength and dedication.

Muscles fired like a high powered engine while pushing through the remaining sets of the shoulder dumbbell presses. Beads of sweat gathered on the boy's brow, trickling down the side of his face en route to the dip station. But the challenge wouldn't be over just yet, for he upped the stakes by adding a belt weighted with plates, pushing their output to the limit. Next came the skullcrushers on a barbell, each rep executed with precision, before finally closing their training session with tricep pushdowns on a cable machine.

After the final rep, Lysander turned to the mirror conveniently placed just behind the machine. Unapologetically, he angled his body slightly, locking his hands behind his back and pressing downward, flexing the tricep. Then, shifting on his feet, he hit a front double bicep pose as though it had been rehearsed a thousand times. He savored the moment, well aware his training partner was already carrying more mass and would surely dwarf him should he choose.

Reaching for his gym bag that followed like a shadow, he grabbed a water bottle for a much-needed sip. The faint glimpse of his datapad threatened to send his mind in a completely different direction, yet for the past hour, he had at least managed to focus solely on their mission here in the gym.

In truth, it was a huge win in itself.

The blonde pursed his lips together in an attempt to conceal the mirth already escaping. "Maybe it’s just me.. but I swear I’ve seen you around a certain someone more often lately.” While speaking, his attention drifted back to the mirror. Slowly rotating his arm, he admired how the lighting enhanced the most minor details.

Even while resting, the acolyte's heart was beating like a war drum. The odds of him sleeping anytime soon were slim to none.

He knew better by now.

After a soft exhale, the conversation was purposely redirected. "Man, I could eat a whole nerf right now. Wanna go grab some grub? I got you covered, spiky-noggin.”

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Naamino followed through and finished strong. After only one training session with the tenacious human, the zabrak could tell that making this a more regular occurrence would absolutely benefit his drive and motivation. He knew seeking meaningful competition was one of the core tenets for improving oneself but he hadn't necessarily expected to find that in Lysander von Ascania . Naami observed his peer with new eyes as their workout concluded, body still keyed up as if ready for a fight despite the fatigue in his muscles.

Normally he'd spend the rest of his night in solitude, completing whatever homework was most pressing and making sure he was ready for the next day. However, the offer of free food and the teen's vague attempt at getting to know him better gave Naami pause. He cast a rare glance at his own reflection as he considered his response, surprised at the intensity he found in his own gaze and bearing.

"Appreciate it," he finally answered, "The uh— that workout drink and the offer of dinner both. I'm starving."

The zabrak turned to retrieve his pack from one of the basic storage cubbies at the front of the gym and readied to follow Lys.

"You talking about Lesh? Or Haro?" The boy was oblivious that his peer might be implying anything.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naamino Zuukamano

In truth, Lysander wasn't expecting Naamino to say yes when he threw out the invitation to grab some post workout nutrition. Part of him was even prepared for the decline. While a small gesture in terms of social interaction, it was still more than anything he tried to forge with the padawans back on Coruscant and Naboo, where he’d become a pro at maintaining distance.

He then offered a soft, and genuine smile, surprising himself if no one else.

There was a tingle still in his veins, and senses were razor-sharp. As the two of them approached the front of the gym so the Zabrak could grab his things, Lysander’s expression began to shift into a stoic mask. He even held the other’s gaze deliberately as the silence began to stretch. A slight shrug was the only physical response; his lips then parted. “...Lesh,” he said calmly, voice low. “Nothing against Haro at all, but I suppose it could be said you move just a little bit differently when she’s around.”

Stepping outside, only a few steps were taken before coming to a pause, to debate on their options for food. At this point, everything sounded amazing. The boy’s mind drifted to a steakhouse, as the idea of delving into the finest cuts the Outer Rim had to offer was surely promising. But in front of the Zabrak, it would probably come off as a weird flex, boastful even, and send the wrong message.

Given his love for all things culinary, he’d already scoped out a handful of local spots since escaping the bacta tank after the battle of Woostri. And without any friends on Korriban, sometimes it was simply a good excuse to not be present in the dorm.

"Bantha burgers do sound rather tempting," Lysander mused with a grin as they continued walking. There was an urge to reach into his gym bag and retrieve a little something. But as the acolyte's hand hovered just over the zipper, he shot a glance over at Naamino. “Do you smoke?” It was more of an invitation. "It makes the food taste better and personally it helps me get a full night's sleep."

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

The zabrak noted the mutual shift in energy as they passed through the doors of the gym. Lysander clarified his meaning and insinuated further, to the point that the zabrak finally began to catch on. Suspicion and caution warred with a tentative curiosity about what kind of ally Lysander might make.

Since they'd started off on a rocky path initially, Naamino tread carefully in regards to opening up too much but he was feeling more amicable now they'd worked out so successfully together. The zabrak shrugged on a cloak when they paused outside, not wanting to let the chill of Korriban steal too much of his warmth. He studied Lysander sidelong before answering.

"Yeah, we've been training together more— she’s one of my best friends," he said nonchalantly, "Gonna take her out stargazing soon as our schedules clear a little."

His stomach rumbled at the mere mention of burgers and the zabrak mused allowed as they got moving again.

"There's always Badlands Steakhouse, or I've heard that the local branch of Bane's Kitchen is top notch. Dunno man, I'll go with your choice since it's your credits."

The teen kept pace as they walked, and tried to pass off his inexperience with as little fuss as possible.

"Never tried it— smoke what though? Cuz spice'll get you in deep poodoo if you're caught."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naamino Zuukamano

The acolyte’s gaze flickered down to his bare arms that still possessed a gnarly pump. There wasn’t any attempt to mask the pride glimmering in his green eyes, perhaps even admiring them a bit too much. Still, he wasn’t one of those silly Nerf herders on ZikZok posting selfies every day for validation; instead, he was far from it, but there was no denying the satisfaction it brought since beginning his pilgrimage to the Temple of Gains. It went beyond something physical that most unfortunately would never understand.

Lysander mulled over Naamino's words, purposely doing so while maintaining clarity. There had been a few smoke sessions that sent him straight off into the void after a single puff. Figuring out how to be productive and useful with the substance was still a journey itself.

A genuine smile then carved across his face. Aside from lifting weights, the weights had lifted him too. No matter what else tonight held, he felt whole now. “Oh, I see,” he began, eyes following along the darkening road ahead. The blonde’s voice softened as he turned back to Naamino. “Choosing to spend time alone under the stars sounds rather.. meaningful.” But just after, images of Sibylla flickered in the mind's eye, wishing he could pursue the same connection as his classmates and training partner. The weight was definitely heavier than any barbell ever placed on his back.

Fortunately, as the zipper was pulled to open the bag, he saw the solution. A neatly rolled little bundle would ease any longing by distracting his mind. When Naamino mentioned Badlands Steakhouse, the decision was officially sealed. There was a lot that could be learned from how someone chose their steak, and his mouth was already watering at the thought of something medium-rare: classic, balanced, just like him. Or so he liked to believe. At the same time, he silently prayed to Bogan that the Zabrak wasn’t the type of guy who ruined a good cut by having it overcooked with a bottle of ketchup on the side, like a kid that never grew up.

A small flame met the tip of what was now in his hand, and no time was wasted in drawing deeply. Like any other craft, he was trying to perfect it. After holding it for several beats, he exhaled slowly and gave a solid nod.

"Fark yeah, steak it is then."

He offered the rolled herbs to Naamino with a rare, playful grin. “It’s definitely much better than spice. It’s like.. leaves from the Force itself, something that enhances wisdom typically only possessed by those in House Derriphan,” he quipped. With the steakhouse drawing near, an aroma of cooked meats drifted in the air toward them. It would be impossible to deny the invitation now. “Honestly, one hit is probably all you’d need. That'd make you the first House Rakghoul student I've smoked with, now that I think about it."

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

With a determined walk fueled by the promise of a great meal, Naami kept pace with the slightly longer stride of his companion. He was surprised to see a wide smile cross the blonde's face and kept an eye on him sidelong, taking in his words.

"S'pose so," the zabrak agreed that any time spent with Leshanna Dromar was indeed meaningful.

Naami's expression grew guarded but curious as his classmate pulled out a joint. He studied keenly the way Lysander took a drag and noted the fact he held the smoke in for a time. There was a moment of hesitation between the offer and the zabrak accepting it, but after a beat of pause he took the joint. Icy blue eyes scanned the road they were on and he stopped walking for a moment, choosing to give his full attention to this rather unexpected "first".

"Uh, ok— thanks," he mumbled before bringing the lit object to his lips.

He inhaled slowly, rather cautious with the gesture. Naami's tense frame was rigid at first, as if this was just another exercise to brace for, but as the substance washed over him he gradually relaxed. With a slight huff through the nose, Naami exhaled and blinked a bit in surprise as he made to hand the joint back. It was like a soft blanket had been laid over his senses and everything seemed a lot less urgent. Everything save for getting food.

"Huh…" he said as he blinked again, clearing his throat a bit at the lingering heat of the pull.

The boy still looked mildly confused and hadn't started walking again, but would follow if Lysander continued. His eyes looked a little unfocused and his face more relaxed, dark brows free from their customary slight scowl.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naamino Zuukamano

The blonde’s stride slowed as everything around him began fading into a blur; from there, he began slipping away into heavy contemplation. In his mind’s eye, a preview of what was soon to unfold flashed. He could see wooden tables with different cuts of meat, already tasting a smoky ribeye and the crunch from his tenth piece of garlic bread.

Soon, he became aware that the Zabrak beside him was growing quieter; even his well-known grunts had vanished. But now, the silence wasn’t awkward; for once, he didn’t have any quips at the tip of his tongue, nor any other random musings.

Something about it was comedic.

Lysander casually accepted the rolled item, lifting it back to his lips and drawing not one, but two long drags.

Badlands Steakhouse was just ahead.

He considered passing the herbs back but remembered that this was Naamino's first experience; and with that realization, a natural sense of responsibility washed over him—he had to look out for the younger acolyte.

Even if he could barely keep himself together.

With protective instincts engaged, a final hit was granted before flicking the roach off into the street.

Once inside, the scene became vibrant, quickly noting the many servers weaving about, carrying long skewers with freshly carved proteins—Nerf sirloin, grilled Nuna, Bantha short ribs.

The options appeared limitless.

A Mirialan server greeted them with warmth. His eyes quickly landed on Naamino, a brow raised with curiosity, wondering if she fit his type or not. Before she could catch him, he eased back into a composed and respectful demeanor, certain she was a student at Kor'ethyr Academy.

The facade didn't last long.

While en route to their table, he could feel sets of eyes drawn to the gym bag slung over his shoulder; the skeptical glances were impossible to miss. And he certainly wasn't shy about returning his own questionable expressions.

After being seated, she handed them each a red-green card, explaining how to signal servers when they wanted more, and then pointed them toward the buffet line.

Just after, two glass plates were set before them. Lysander's attention lingered on his own for a long stretch before his mind clawed its way back to the present. He then looked up at his companion with a lazy smirk, the haze still lingering in his youthful features.

"Brooo.. like.. this place is crazy," he slurred softly, eyes half-open, struggling to piece together his thoughts, "It's like.. this whole spot's some kinda wild animal kingdom, you know? And we're not just any creatures.. we're the Tuk’atas. Top of the food chain."

A slow exhale followed before a growl louder than a rancor came from the boy's stomach; it triggered a memory of their shared detention and the candy bar that united them. "I should probably fix a plate before someone here has to fight me."

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

With unusually squinted eyes, Naamino followed as Lysander led them to victory. His normally stern expression had faded into something comically dopey, jaw slack as he gazed around their surroundings dumbfounded. Even though he knew of this place, he'd never actually been and in his current state, it seemed like paradise.

In an unaltered state he surely would have spared the mirialan server a glance, or at least acknowledged her, but the zabrak merely followed Lysander as he slowly took in each new sight, sound, and smell. Naami didn't even notice the looks being cast their way because he was so enraptured by the feast awaiting them.

Sitting rather heavily into his seat, Naami leaned back— uncharacteristically relaxed looking, whites of his eyes pink from the smoke and mouth still slightly agape as he got his bearings. Belatedly, he quizzically examined the red-green card and seemed only to register the mention of "buffet" at which his tapered ears almost literally perked up.

When his companion addressed him, squinted eyes moved to hazily refocus on his face. Lysander's analogy took a long moment to process, but when it did the zabrak's face split into a big smile. Starting low in his belly, and rumbling up like a spring of mirth between the cracks in his self control, laughter overtook Naami. He couldn't help himself, and soon he was wiping tears of mirth from the edge of crinkled eyes at the thought of what Myunnah would say if he and Lys compared themselves to Tuk'ata in front of her.

He worked to control the laughter a bit, since his outburst was drawing eyes, but the crooked grin and Naami's dimples remained for a long while— more expressive than he'd yet been with his classmate.

"Yeah man," he chuckled, "Fethin' hells that's funny."

He took the first plate between big hands and stood to go retrieve a heaping helping, still choosing to follow the human's lead since he was feeling a bit spacey and didn't want to do anything wrong.

"Don't think anyone here stands a chance," Naami teased dryly as he got his laughter under control, "I call dibs on the rarest cut of that trakkrrrn over there."

The boy threw a friendly elbow at Lys' ribs as if to jostle him but didn't actually move fast, setting a leisurely pace through the restaurant. His normally tense frame was a lot looser and that horned head of his seemed to bobble a bit as he walked.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naamino Zuukamano

Lysander's smirk stretched lazily across his face, mirroring the bubbling laughter of Naamino and drawing him deeper into the haze; his own chuckles were low and sluggish, and his mind threatened to stray into mellow, alien corners. The stares and whispers from other tables carried no influence for him on this night; he was free to do whatever felt right in the moment.

“Bold of you to assume you'll even get close enough to claim it."

He couldn't even place what this mysterious trakkrrn was, but he was officially open to trying anything in this restaurant.

Then came the elbow—sharper than expected, but landing in just the right spot upon his ribs. It wasn’t painful but was enough to pull him back from wherever his head had floated off to; a subtle fark escaped from his mouth. He trudged towards the buffet with an obvious uneven gait; there was a mixture of excitement and dreaminess washing over him as everything stretched out like a grand feast made for royalty; it was an image that brought back memories of Ukatis, long before his journey as a Padawan began years ago.

The colors seemed almost unreal; there were roasted vegetables in hues that aligned with the dark side of the Force, along with leafy greens, which further enticed the boy's senses and beckoned him closer to indulgence.

Looking down, he suddenly realized that for some reason the red-green card was carried with the glass plate. With eyes half-lidded and scanning it over, he couldn’t help that it still felt vaguely important.

As the line began to inch forward, his head turned back to the Zabrak. "You ever think about how.." he started, the words stretching slowly, "how we’re kinda just.. floating through life, bro? Like, this steakhouse isn’t just any steakhouse. It’s, like, the galaxy’s steakhouse. Bro, think about it.. everyone here has one of those red-green cards, you know?”

Rather than succumbing to overthinking, as he was often guilty of, Lysander's slow blink was followed by an instinctive and perhaps even primal piling of his plate; a blur of violet pods and leafy sprouts built the foundation, then adorned with slices of smoked blue cheese and a fruit relish. None of it matched in the conventional sense; yet, it was all the more enticing for that very reason.

Snatching up a spoon from a nearby tray he then paused in the middle of the line. Being more curious than cautious, he took the utensil and dipped into the plate. Layers of flavors exploded on his tongue. His attention returned to Naamino. “I think this is what they call culinary meditation.”

Towards the end of the buffet line awaited some rare cut of meat; his first impression was that it appeared tougher than a Rancor's hide. The Sith's focus lingered upon it for a beat too long, pondering the effort it would require. "I would need my lightsaber to cut through that thing," he stated, not sure whether he was talking to himself or his companion too.

Eventually the acolyte found his way back to the table.

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

The hazy, lazy trail they cut through the establishment no doubt imparted their inebriation and swollen confidence upon any witnessing it. At reaching the starting point, the zabrak's stomach growled loudly and the first signs of tension revisited his previously placid face. Food was the most serious thing in the galaxy at that exact moment.

He too began with a layer of greens, as well as root vegetables— the long perfectly blanched leaves and flat strips of perfectly crisped plant matter crisscrossing on his plate like a meticulously crafted bird nest. In truth, Naami tuned in a bit late to the musings of Lysander von Ascania because he'd been so focused on planning how he was going to layer his plate.

"Course'we're floating through life..." Naami suddenly mumbled, as if just now getting caught up to the blonde's musings.

"We're on a giant rock hurtling through space, laserbrain."

The words weren't unfriendly, in fact the zabrak's tone was downright casual and lacking any of the normal clipped or terse edge it so often contained. Naami continued to shuffle along happily, horned head still bobbling rather jauntily as he good-naturedly questioned Lys' logic. It wasn't necessarily clear to him just how different their levels of intoxication were, and Naami was clearly processing a lot more slowly in general. The herb and his dogged, one track mind kept the zabrak locked in on the mission: A stacked plate to end all plate stacking.

It seemed the boy wasn't as keen on cheeses as his companion, but he went after the relish and sauces like a fiend. Making little pockets between the layered vegetation on his plate and helped himself to every kind of dip or jus on offer. Naami merely grunted happily in response to the "culinary meditation comment", nodding his head enthusiastically in agreement.

Normally adept at picking up on the general social atmosphere in a busy room, the zabrak was nonethewiser about the faint shift in energy as a few of their fellow patrons overheard Lys' joking comment about needing to use his lightsaber. Though Vardin was the capital city of a Sith controlled world, and Kor'ethyr students were just another part of day to day life for the common folk of Korriban, it did not mean they were quite so casual about mention of such things.

No one said anything, and the entitled young men were likely too caught up in the anticipation of their meal to notice, but the other customers subtly gave them a bit of a wider berth and were even more mindful about not giving either of the teens a reason to take note of them.

"Oh kark yeah," Naami muttered under his breath as he snagged a suitably bloody cut of the trakkrrrn he had his eye on.

Similarly laden down by glorious fuel, the zabrak returned to the table and wasted almost no time. He paused only for the briefest internal "thanks" to the lives his meal had claimed, before digging in ravenously. All dopey sluggishness from before gave way and Naami began to carve into the meal with impressive efficiency.