Private Eye of the Tiger

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

R O O N
Interacting with: Renn Vizsla Adelle Bastiel Aurelian Veruna
Items: x x x x x

Sibylla gave a roll of her shoulders and lifted both arms overhead, holding the stretch until the faint tremor in her muscles settled into a tolerable ache. The training yard of the Mandalorian Fortress sprawled around her as other groups trained, banners snapping sharply above in the Roon wind. Sibylla took a deep breath, tasting the metal and dust in the air, one of the many reminders along every inch of her body that Mandalorian instruction did not believe in half measures.

She was sore. So deeply, undeniably sore. But it was a better ache than the first days, feeling now more like a warning hum beneath the skin. A sign that she was learning.

She wore training attire that clung close and was practical. No excess fabric. Nothing to grab. Her thick wavy hair had been braided into a crown at the top of her head, pinned tight to keep it from her face and eyes. Movement was everything here. Balance. Timing. Momentum. Sibylla intended to give none of it away for free.

Across the yard, Aurelian was already preparing, his attention fixed on Adelle Bastiel as they squared off already quipping at each other. She gave a heavy snort. Oh she wasn't sure who would out sass the other worse but she was betting Adelle would have Aurelian on his back within five seconds.

Maybe less.

Sibylla's gaze slid instead to Warden Vizsla, who stood waiting. He was taller, broader, and stronger then her -- which was exactly the point. If she was going to survive real fights, real danger, then she needed to learn how to move against opponents who could overpower her if she made a single mistake.

So Sibylla lowered her arms, flexed her fingers once, and exhaled slowly.

This was going to hurt. She knew that.

But she was ready.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Location: R O O N
Tags: Adelle Bastiel | Sibylla Abrantes | Renn Vizsla

Aurelian stepped back from the mat and caught the offered canteen, rolling his shoulder once before taking a long drink. Sweat darkened the collar of his training tunic and his smile came easy despite it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glanced at Adelle, who looked far too pleased with herself.

"I don't think this is as fun as my parties," he said lightly. "Fewer musicians. Worse refreshments. And everyone insists on throwing me into the dirt instead of applauding."

He took another swallow, eyes cutting sideways as he spoke, tracking movement across the yard. Sibylla stood facing Vizsla, calm and deliberate, coiled tight with intent. Aurelian's gaze lingered there longer than necessary. He had noticed things since training began. How she conserved motion. How she watched hands and feet before faces. How pain did not make her reckless, only quieter.

He capped the canteen and tossed it aside, turning his attention back to Adelle with a crooked grin. "I'll admit, though, the company is excellent. You do commit to the bit."

"I have to say," he said, amusement threaded with challenge, "I imagined a Jedi and a Mandalorian would put up more of a fight than this. I may have been promised something far more terrifying."

His smile softened, just slightly, as Sibylla stepped forward to meet the Warden again. He learned best by watching, and today she was teaching him more than she knew.

​

 

[Renn Vizsla]

L E S S O N S

Tag: Sibylla Abrantes | Aurelian Veruna | Adelle Bastiel




Renn Vizsla watched the training yard the way a veteran watched a battlefield, quietly, comprehensively, without wasting motion.

The Mandalorian Fortress sprawled beneath a hard sky, banners snapping and cracking in the Roon wind like challenge calls. Steel rang against steel in distant rings, shouts carried and broke apart, and the dust underfoot never quite settled. It was a place built for strain, for pressure, for learning the difference between pain that broke and pain that taught.

He stood at the edge of the sparring space assigned to them, hands loosely clasped behind his back, posture relaxed but ready. Today, there was no beskar, no helm, no sigils of rank to speak of. Renn wore a simple grey tunic, unadorned, practical, paired with fitted dark trousers and boots meant for grip rather than ceremony. The fabric moved easily with him when he shifted his weight, when he rolled his shoulders once to loosen muscle still carrying the memory of yesterday’s drills.

It was deliberate. Armor changed the lesson. Presence changed the lesson. Today was about bodies, balance, and consequence, not about the myth of the Mandalorian Warmaster looming over the Monarch of Naboo.

His gaze moved briefly across the yard, noting Aurelian and Adelle. He suspected the Chancellor would learn something painful today, likely accompanied by commentary.

But his attention returned where it belonged.

To Sibylla.

He did not size her up the way lesser fighters might, no crude accounting of reach or mass, no dismissive certainty. He had trained too many warriors, watched too many underestimate and bleed for it. Instead, he measured readiness in subtler signs: breath control, stillness after exertion, the way tension sat in the hands rather than the shoulders.

She had been learning. That much was clear.

Renn stepped forward, boots crunching softly against packed earth as he entered the ring space. He stopped a few paces away, leaving distance intact, respectful. No rush. No false dominance. He rolled his neck once, then flexed his fingers, testing the feel of the air, the ground, the quiet awareness that preceded violence.

“This isn’t a demonstration,” he said evenly, voice carrying just enough to cut through the yard’s noise without demanding attention. “And it isn’t a ceremony.”

He lifted his hands, not into a guard yet, just open, relaxed, showing nothing hidden.

“When this starts, I won’t be gentle,” Renn continued, matter-of-fact. “But I won’t be reckless either. You won’t learn from me pulling strikes. And you won’t learn from me trying to win.”

His dark eyes remained on her, steady, assessing without intrusion. He let the words settle before adding, quieter but no less firm, “If at any point you need to stop, you say so. No pride, no delay.”

Renn shifted his stance slightly, testing footing, feeling how the wind tugged at cloth rather than plates. Without armor, he was more honest; every mistake would belong to him alone. He approved of that.

“You’re sore,” he observed, not accusatory, simply stating a fact he could read in posture and breath. “That’s good. Means your body’s adapting. Means you didn’t waste yesterday.”

He paused, then inclined his head a fraction, a subtle acknowledgment rather than a bow.

“Before we begin,” Renn said, “I need to hear it from you.”

A beath.

“Are you ready to move against someone who will not give you space?” His tone remained calm, instructional. “Someone who will crowd you, outweigh you, and punish hesitation.”

Another pause, intentional. He was not watching for bravado. He was watching for resolve.

“If you think you can manage,” he finished, hands finally lowering toward the beginnings of a guard without fully settling into it, “then we start clean. When you say the word.”

The wind snapped the banners overhead again. Somewhere nearby, metal struck metal, and someone laughed through pain.

Renn Vizsla waited, still, focused, prepared, giving her the moment to choose before the lesson truly began.

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Training Yard | Roon
Tags: Aurelian Veruna | Sibylla Abrantes | Renn Vizsla

The wind blew hard enough and intermittent enough that the sound of banners cracking in the breeze punctuated the sounds of training all around them. Adelle stood with her hands on her hips, feet shoulder-width apart, waiting. For someone that had been running drills all day, she didn't look tired. The only sign of physical exertion was the thin sheen of sweat on her face and even then, the rush of wind kept that at bay. She had opted to wear a practical grey tunic today, much like Warden Vizsla, with her tank top providing a nice barrier between the rougher, sturdier fabric and the more sensitive skin, as well as a last defense for modesty. Throwing and grappling people often moved clothing out of place as much as it moved the fighters.

Opposite her, drenched in sweat and drinking from a canteen like it had air for breathing, Aurelian still smiled, still cracked jokes. Good.

She hadn't broken him yet.

"Depends on your definition of fun," she said with a shameless grin. "I'm having fun."

He brought up her history as a Jedi and her present as a Mandalorian, claiming he'd been sold a false premise. Challenge hummed lightly under his humor. Adelle raised her eyebrows.

No, she hadn't broken him yet.

But now she was tempted to try.

Aurelian's gaze and attention drifted over to another ring, his face contemplative and studious. Adelle glanced over and saw Warmaster Vizsla and Sibylla squaring up. Both masters of understatement and composure. Ah. This was becoming a problem. Aurelian's attention had kept slipping, which was why she kept throwing him.

Well now she had another excuse.

Adelle rolled her shoulders and arms, loosening up her muscles for something decidedly outside of their drills. Moving faster than she had in their drills, she closed the distance, gripping Aurelian's tunic at the wrist and shoulder. She planted a foot between his legs and threw him over her shoulder. The thump of his body hitting the ground gave her a little satisfaction.

"Eyes on me, Veruna," she said. "When we're done for the day and you and Sibylla head back to whatever accomodations you have, you can stare at her all you like during your 'private sparring matches.' For now? Better not blink or I'll have to get you a pillow."

She picked up the canteen that had been in his hand and capped it, tossing it to the side. "Again. Until you can do these in your sleep."

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Adelle Bastiel Aurelian Veruna
Interacting with: Renn Vizsla n
Items: x x x x x

Sibylla met Renn's gaze without flinching, taking a deep breath that filled her lungs with the chilly air and a wave of absolute resolution. The wind tugged at the loose ends of her braid, and while the yard was alive with noise and movement around them her focus stayed fixed where it mattered.

Even if she knew fully well just by hearing alone that Aurelian was flipped by Adelle onto the floor. Oof.

She knew how hard the woman could throw. It would be interesting to see how he reacted with his Parrlay tactics and Republic Forces training. How would that face off against a Force using Mandalorian?

For now, however, Sibylla's attention was solely on Renn. She was taking this very seriously.

"I understand," she said simply.

This was the point of all of it. Not form. Not ceremony. But her survival.

"Yes," Sibylla continued, making it clear to Renn what this meant and why it was important to her. "I need to be able to fight when people crowd me. When they don't pull punches. When they mean to hurt me… or kill me."

Kenari flickered through her mind. The Senate attacks. The kidnapping of Kalantha and as always, rival House matters that had almost ended her life with assassination attempts more than once

None of it is theoretical anymore. It was her life.

"I've spent the past year learning not to hesitate," she said. "To react. To incapacitate so I can get away… or to end a situation as fast as possible."

She tightened her jaw and nodded.

"I cannot depend on others to protect me. It isn't fair to them, and it certainly isn't fair to me." She took a controlled breath. "So don't hold back, Warden Vizsla. I need this to be real."

Sibylla shifted into a stance, her arms rising slightly to give herself some movement. She would, of course, also need to train as if she didn't have any heads up of an incoming attack, but that was after.

"I'm ready."

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Location: R O O O N
Tags: Adelle Bastiel | Sibylla Abrantes | Renn Vizsla

Aurelian barely registered Adelle's grin or the way she shifted her stance. His attention had already slipped the leash.

Across the way, Sibylla moved. Not dramatically, not loudly. A measured step. A subtle adjustment of balance. Aurelian felt it in his chest, the quiet thrill of watching someone learn in real time. He leaned slightly forward, canteen hanging loose in his hand, mind half a step ahead of what he was seeing.

Something grabbed his wrist.

"What?" Aurelian said, distracted, already turning his head back toward the other ring. The world inverted.

Adelle's grip locked at his shoulder and sleeve, her foot cutting cleanly between his legs. For a heartbeat, there was weightlessness and surprise. Then gravity hit him hard. The mat slammed into his back with a dull, unforgiving thump that drove every scrap of air out of his lungs.

He lay there for a moment, staring up at the sky, lungs burning as he dragged air back in. The taste of dust and sweat filled his mouth. Somewhere above him, Adelle was talking. He caught none of it.

She demanded his attention. The pressure of her presence finally forced his focus back into his body. Aurelian groaned and turned his head, blinking up at her, hair plastered to his forehead, smile still stubbornly intact.

"Have you seen her?" he said hoarsely. "It's hard to keep my eyes off of her."

He rolled to one knee before she could reset, annoyance sparking into challenge. The ache in his back sharpened his grin. He surged forward, hands reaching to catch Adelle's arm and shoulder, intent on dragging her balance down with him. If she wanted his attention, she was going to have to fight for it.

Now, he wanted to win.

​

 

[Renn Vizsla]

C O I L E D

Tag: Sibylla Abrantes | Aurelian Veruna | Adelle Bastiel





Renn listened without interruption.

He didn’t soften at the words, but something in his expression settled, approval, perhaps, or recognition. Not of rank, not of resolve spoken for an audience, but of a truth arrived at the hard way. He had heard those reasons before, from warriors and civilians alike, usually after the world had taught them that hesitation was a luxury.

When she finished, Renn inclined his head.

It was not a Mandalorian salute, nor a warrior’s boast. It was a simple bow, measured, deliberate, offered from one fighter to another. The grey tunic shifted with the motion, unencumbered by plates or sigils, and when he straightened, his posture had changed.

The lesson had begun.

“I hear you,” he said, voice low but unmistakably firm. “And I won’t insult you by pretending this is anything else.”

He stepped back half a pace, boots settling into the packed earth as he adjusted his footing. One foot angled slightly outward, knees loose, weight balanced and ready to move in any direction. His hands came up, not high, not tight, open-palmed at first, elbows relaxed, a stance built to react rather than dictate. No wasted tension. No telegraphed intent.

Renn’s eyes stayed on Sibylla, tracking breath, shoulders, the subtle shifts of balance that betrayed where a strike wanted to go before it ever moved. The wind tugged at his sleeves; dust skittered across the ground between them.

“This is real,” he agreed quietly. “So treat it that way.”

He didn’t circle her. He didn’t advance. Instead, he held his ground, close enough to threaten, far enough to allow choice. Crowd and counter would come soon enough. For now, the responsibility was hers.

Renn lowered his chin a fraction, gaze never leaving her centerline.

“Your move,” he said simply.

And he waited, still, coiled, prepared to meet whatever she chose to commit to first.