Private Family's All Here

[Sergeant Omen]

Location: Empress Teta, Home of Omen and Aren

Omen had been working overtime in the kitchen, trying to get ready for the party that Aren had told him they were having last-minute. That meant getting/making enough alcohol that Korda could get properly wasted with. There was at least one other person Korda was bringing, someone who was close to him, and it was their kid, apparently? He didn't want even to contemplate how that happened. Maybe Korda was testing about being a surrogate father? Either way, Ones helped that kid when he decided to run them through training drills.

The Clone was making fruit salad and opening up bags of party snacks for everyone to enjoy, putting them all on the coffee table. Aren should be just closing up right now and headed home. Now it was only a matter of time before someone came through the door. In the meantime, Omen could look around and smile at his amazing party-decorating skills.

Jett Vox Korda Veydran Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

By the time Aren finally made it home, she was more than ready to close the door on work for the evening. Ordinarily she might have stayed at the shop another hour finishing whatever project had caught her attention, but today was different. Ryela only turned thirteen once, and Aren had absolutely no intention of being late to her birthday party because she'd lost track of time staring at a circuit board.

The door opened and Aren stepped inside, setting her things aside before stopping to survey what Omen had accomplished in her absence. Decorations had transformed the room, snacks covered the coffee table, and enough preparation had clearly happened in the kitchen that she suspected he'd barely stopped moving since she'd left him. Her expression gradually softened into a smile. "You've been busy." She crossed toward the kitchen, stealing a piece of fruit from the salad as she passed and popping it into her mouth before Omen could object. "This actually looks really good."

It was strange to think that Ryela was thirteen already. Aren could remember when she had been considerably smaller, back when the adults around her had taken turns keeping an eye on her and trying to stay one step ahead of whatever curiosity had gotten hold of her next. Somehow that little girl had become a teenager. Aren wasn't entirely certain when that had happened, and she suspected Rynar was probably even less prepared to acknowledge it.

She wandered closer to Omen and slipped her arms around him, pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. "Thank you for getting everything ready." Her eyes swept across the room once more before narrowing slightly when they reached the collection intended for the adults. "And I see you made sure Korda won't be suffering from an unfortunate shortage of alcohol." The dry amusement in her voice made it clear she wasn't surprised in the slightest.

Aren rested against Omen for another moment before looking toward the door. There was something unexpectedly significant about thirteen. Ryela wasn't an adult, regardless of what the girl herself might increasingly insist, but she wasn't the little kid Aren remembered helping look after anymore either. She was becoming her own person, stubbornness, curiosity and all.

"Thirteen," Aren murmured, shaking her head with a small smile. "When did that happen?"

Her attention shifted back to Omen, and the smile turned mischievous. "Think Rynar's ready for a teenage daughter?" She paused for barely a beat before answering her own question. "Actually, don't answer that. Nobody's ready for that."

Sergeant Omen Jett Vox Korda Veydran

 

[Korda Veydran]

The door opened with a quiet hiss, followed by the heavy sound of boots crossing the threshold.
Korda Veydran stepped inside.
For once, there was no beskar'gam accompanying him.
That alone made his arrival feel strangely different.

The seven-foot Mandalorian had traded the familiar weight of his armor for something considerably more casual. A worn leather vest hung open across his chest, leaving much of his torso exposed beneath it. A pair of rugged jeans sat low on his hips, held up by a heavy belt whose buckle bore the cracked crimson krayt skull of Clan Veydran. Several chains hung from the belt and jeans, giving the otherwise practical outfit a distinctly rough edge.

Combat boots completed the look.
Yet the lack of armor did little to make Korda look less intimidating.
Without the beskar covering him, the history written across his skin was simply easier to see.

Mandalorian tattoos and darker anarchic markings covered much of his exposed body, winding across his arms, shoulders, chest, and back in a chaotic mixture of symbols and personal marks. They disappeared beneath the skin around his neck, ending precisely where the seal of his armored suit normally concealed them. Some were deliberate pieces of Mandalorian tradition. Others looked considerably less ceremonial.

All of them belonged to him.
A cigar rested between his teeth as he stepped farther into the house, his expression already carrying a faint amusement as he looked around.
He gave a quiet chuckle.
"Looks like you two didn't waste any time."

Oro shifted against him.
Korda glanced down toward the hognose, then toward the cigar.
"Don't start."
Apparently, she had already started.

With an amused shake of his head, Korda removed the cigar from his mouth and put it out before slipping it into a small pouch attached to his belt. He rarely went anywhere without his armor anymore, but tonight was different. Tonight was family.

And family didn't need a helmet.
His eyes moved across the room again before settling on Omen.
A genuine smile pulled at his features.
Korda crossed the room and gave Omen a firm pat across the back, the gesture carrying the easy familiarity of brothers who had long since stopped needing words to establish where they stood with one another.

"Good to see you, vod."
His attention then shifted toward Aren.

Korda straightened slightly and dipped his head respectfully toward her.
"Aren."
The greeting was simple, but there was genuine respect behind it. She was Omen's partner, and that alone made her family in Korda's eyes.
His hand remained at his side, wrapped loosely around a small wooden box.

It wasn't particularly large, but it had clearly been made with care. Dark wood had been polished smooth, with a simple metal latch securing the lid. Korda kept it tucked close to himself as he moved, careful not to jostle whatever rested inside.

Then his expression changed as his attention turned toward Ryela.
A quiet chuckle escaped him.
"Hard to believe she's thirteen."
Korda shook his head slowly.
"Thirteen."

He repeated the number as though saying it aloud might somehow make it more believable.
"Feels like yesterday she was still a little kid."
A crooked grin appeared.
"And now I'm apparently old enough to have a thirteen-year-old niece."

He let out another quiet laugh.
"Which is bullshit, by the way. I'm not old."
There was a brief pause.
"...Probably."

His eyes wandered for a moment, the humor in them giving way to something more distant.
"It feels like yesterday I was on Yaga Minor."
The words came quieter this time.
Korda's thumb brushed absently across the edge of the wooden box.

"Now I'm standing here realizing I've basically got a thirteen-year-old niece."
He looked back toward Omen and Aren, a faint smile returning.
"Time's a strange bastard."
The heavier thought lasted only a moment before Korda lifted the wooden box slightly.

"And I didn't come empty-handed."
He gave the box a small shake.
Something inside made a faint sound against the wood.
His grin widened.
"Figured thirteen deserved something worth remembering."

Tags: Aren D'Shade Sergeant Omen Jett Vox

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen was pulling a roast out of the oven when Aren came in. "Only the best for you," Aren asked him to make food for a birthday party for Rynar's kid and make a birthday party he would. "And hopefully Korda will only get inebriated and not fully belligerent. Otherwise, this party is going to a disaster." And the worst part was Omen didn't think Korda could be contained if he did. But hopefully, they would get lucky.

Running her hands along Aren's, Omen savored her touch. As she said, time went fast, and he wanted to savor her holding him while they both were in their home, not always necessarily possible with Aren's work and his compulsion to explore and travel in the stars. He couldn't help but chuckle as he raised one of her hands up to kiss. "Aka, why you are hesident to have kids?" And yet they were both considering it. What fools were they...?

As Korda came into the townhouse, Omen raised an eyebrow at what he was wearing. "You do know that this is a kids' party, right? You might want to put an actual shirt on." What Korda was wearing didn't surprise him. He was Mandalorian through and through and proud of it, even when his dress bordered on indecency. The Clone took the slap on his back with a grunt, saying back. "It's good to see you too." When Korda said it, he was surprised by how much time had passed, and he shook his head. "Just be glad you are here to witness it with your tendencies. And when is the birthday girl actually going to arrive?" As Korda rattled his gift inside the wooden box, the Clone only hoped his and Aren's gifts were good enough for the little Mando.

Aren D'Shade Korda Veydran

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren gave Omen a look at the suggestion that Korda might only become inebriated rather than belligerent. "I feel like you're setting the bar dangerously low." Considering some of the stories attached to the Mandalorian, perhaps getting through the evening without anything being broken really would qualify as a success. She smiled when Omen lifted her hand to kiss it, though his next comment earned him a narrowing of her eyes. "Hesitant," she corrected first, because naturally that was the part she chose to address. "And no. Thirteen doesn't worry me nearly as much as everything that has to happen before they get to thirteen."

The sound of the door opening saved Omen from whatever elaboration might have followed. Aren turned toward it and immediately found herself looking at considerably more of Korda than she normally did. Without his armor, the sheer number of tattoos and marks covering him were impossible to miss, and her gaze traveled over them briefly before returning to his face. Omen, naturally, said exactly what she had been thinking.

Aren snorted. "I'm staying out of that argument." She wasn't going to tell a seven-foot Mandalorian what constituted appropriate birthday attire in her own home, particularly when Omen had already volunteered himself for the task. Instead, she returned Korda's greeting with a warm smile. "Korda. Glad you could make it." Her eyes dropped briefly toward Oro, and her smile widened. "And thank you for getting him to put that thing out before he smoked up my house."

His disbelief that Ryela had reached thirteen echoed her own from only moments earlier, though Aren's amusement softened when Korda mentioned Yaga Minor. There was enough history packed into that single reference that she didn't interrupt. Instead, she watched his thumb move over the little wooden box, noticing the way humor had briefly given way to something quieter. Whatever was inside clearly meant more than something he'd picked up on the way over.

"You're definitely old," she informed him once the moment passed, a small grin appearing. "I'm pretty sure having to complain about how quickly kids grow up makes it official." Aren wasn't exempt from that realization herself. Ryela had been part of their lives for years, and there had been a time when looking after her meant making sure a little girl didn't wander off somewhere she shouldn't. Now she was thirteen, increasingly independent, mechanically inclined, and probably convinced the adults around her were preventing her from doing all sorts of things she was perfectly capable of handling.

The wooden box drew Aren's curiosity again when Korda shook it. "Should I be concerned about what you consider something worth remembering?" Given who she was asking, that seemed like a perfectly reasonable question. She stepped closer, though she made no attempt to peek inside. Whatever he'd brought belonged to Ryela, and Aren could wait along with everyone else to find out what it was. "Actually, don't tell me. I want to see her reaction."

Omen's question about the birthday girl's arrival had Aren glancing toward the time before looking back toward the door. "Rynar should be bringing her soon." At least that had been the plan. She looked between the two men, then around at everything they'd prepared before a faint smile returned. "And before she gets here, can we all remember this is Ryela's birthday? Meaning nobody gets drunk enough to make her spend her thirteenth birthday supervising the adults."

Her eyes settled pointedly on Korda.

"Yes, I'm mostly looking at you."

Sergeant Omen Korda Veydran Jett Vox

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda stared at Aren for a moment.
Then at Omen.
Then back at Aren.
His brows slowly rose.

"Old?"
There was an almost theatrical offense in his expression.
He placed a hand against his chest, looking genuinely wounded by the accusation.
"That's a hell of a thing to say to a man who just walked through your door bearing gifts."

A faint grin betrayed him.
"Forty..."
He stopped.
His brow furrowed slightly as he actually seemed to think about it.
"...something."

Another pause.
Korda's expression shifted as the realization settled in.
"Okay, that's not helping my argument."
He cleared his throat and pointed toward Omen.
"Still not old."

His gaze shifted toward Omen.
"Tell her, vod."
The request carried absolutely no expectation that Omen would actually defend him.
Korda reached down and tapped the datapad attached to his belt, pulling up the latest message. His eyes scanned the display for a moment before giving a small nod.

"Rynar and Ryela are about ten minutes out."
He shut the datapad and returned it to his belt.
"So we've got time."
His eyes moved toward Aren again as she pointedly reminded him about drinking.

Korda gave her a look of exaggerated disbelief.
"I don't get that drunk."
A brief pause.
"...Often."

He chuckled before raising both hands slightly in surrender.
"Relax. I know whose birthday it is."
The amusement faded just enough to reveal a little sincerity underneath it.
"I'll keep myself moderated tonight. No belligerence, no broken furniture, no making the birthday girl babysit a bunch of grown men."
His eyes flicked toward Omen.

"Well. I'll try."
His attention shifted downward as Oro began to move.
The little hognose slowly slithered down from Korda and across the floor, her movements unhurried as she made her way toward Aren. Rather than stopping at her feet, Oro continued forward until she was close enough to gently brush herself against Aren's boot.

She lifted her head, tongue flicking curiously.
Then, almost as if recognizing someone familiar, Oro curled loosely around Aren's foot before stretching her head upward toward her.
Korda watched the display.
A quiet laugh escaped him.

"Well, look at you."
Oro seemed completely uninterested in him now.
Korda shook his head, a fond smile pulling at his face.
"She missed you."
The little snake continued to linger against Aren, content simply to be near her.

Korda folded his arms across his tattooed chest.
"Apparently you've been replaced as her favorite person."
He glanced toward Omen.
"Don't worry, vod. She's got terrible taste in people."
There was warmth behind the teasing, the sort that came from watching something he cared about feel comfortable around people he trusted.

His gaze eventually drifted back toward the front door.
Ten minutes.
For once, there was no battlefield waiting beyond it. No mission. No armor sealed around him. No weapon in his hands.
Just family.

Korda glanced down at the wooden box still resting in his hand, thumb brushing across its smooth lid.
"Ten minutes."
He smiled faintly.
"Guess I better make sure the birthday girl doesn't catch me acting old."

Aren D'Shade Sergeant Omen Jett Vox

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Maybe he was setting the bar low, but he also thought Korda would want to leave with the new teenager in happy spirits, not sad. So he trusted the big man could behave himself. If not, even the Clone couldn't save him from Aren's Wraith.

Yes, nothing good came out of him and Korda arguing, just two soldiers that were very pissed off at each other. And so he focused on getting the last of the food ready while the others talked. Thankfully, Korda seemed to know his role. There would be no bonfires in him and Aren's living room today.

When Aren and Korda talked about his age, and Korda came to him for backup, Omen just shook his head. "Thought that big bad warrior could stick up for himself. But I would say you are in your late 30's at the oldest. Just for you." Might as well stroke the Mando's ego while he was here. Might make this thing go more smoothly.

Omen smiled as he saw Oro curl around Aren's leg as he pulled the birthday girl's cake out of the oven. "See, I'm not the only one who wants to hold you." Usually he liked to keep Aren to himself, but there was no harm in sharing with an animal. "And that's okay. You are probably the only man she likes anyway." Besides, having Oro underfoot would make it harder to decorate this cake.

Quickly taking a tub of chocolate frosting out of the fridge, he quickly started to frost it with the time he had left. Writing "Happy Thirteenth Birthday Ryela" before making a border out of thirteen candles. Hopefully it would be enough to win the young girl over, even before the presents were handed out.

Aren D'Shade Korda Veydran

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren watched Korda struggle with his own age with steadily increasing amusement, and by the time he'd landed on forty-something, she was openly grinning. "You don't even know how old you are, and you expect me to believe you're not old?" Omen's attempt to rescue him earned an incredulous glance. "Late thirties? Oh, that's generous." She shook her head, though the ten-minute estimate for Rynar and Ryela immediately caught her attention. They had enough time to finish whatever remained without rushing, provided Omen didn't suddenly discover another course he wanted to prepare.

Korda's promise to behave earned an approving nod right up until he amended it to "I'll try." "You were doing so well." Aren sighed with exaggerated disappointment before her attention dropped to the movement near her feet. The irritation vanished immediately when she realized Oro had abandoned Korda in favor of winding herself around Aren's boot. A genuine smile spread across her face as she carefully crouched, offering her hand for the little hognose to investigate before gently running a finger along her. "Hi, you. I missed you too." Apparently, Oro had decided where she belonged for the moment, and Aren was perfectly content to let her stay there.

She looked up when Korda announced Omen had been replaced, one eyebrow lifting. "I don't remember there being a competition." Omen's observation that he wasn't the only one interested in holding her earned him a look over her shoulder. "Don't encourage her. Unlike you, she can probably get away with following me everywhere." There wasn't much conviction behind the warning when Aren was still smiling down at Oro. Korda's insult about the little snake's taste only made her snort. "She seems to like me just fine, so clearly her judgment is excellent. Whatever went wrong with you must be an isolated incident."

The smell of freshly baked cake finally pulled her attention toward the kitchen. Aren carefully extricated herself from Oro long enough to wander over and inspect Omen's progress, stopping beside him as he spread the chocolate frosting and began decorating. Thirteen candles framed the message he'd written across the top, and her expression softened as she read it. Between the food, decorations, presents, and the people gathering in their home, they had somehow managed to turn a last-minute idea into something that actually looked like a proper birthday.

"That looks good." Aren leaned over and kissed Omen lightly on the cheek, careful not to bump his frosting hand in the process. "She's going to like it." She glanced back toward Korda and the wooden box still in his hand, then toward the presents she and Omen had waiting for Ryela. Whatever each of them had chosen, Aren doubted the girl would care about comparing one gift against another. Ryela had grown up surrounded by people who had repeatedly proven that family was more about who stayed than anything else, and tonight, most of them were gathering simply because she had turned thirteen.

Aren checked the time again and then looked around the room for anything they'd overlooked. "Ten minutes means we're basically ready." Her gaze settled briefly on Korda before a mischievous smile returned. "Plenty of time for you to practice looking young before Ryela gets here." She nodded toward his forgotten cigar pouch. "Maybe start by not complaining about how fast the years go. That's not helping."

Sergeant Omen Korda Veydran

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda gave Aren a long, flat stare.
"Practice looking young?"
He shook his head slowly, one hand settling against his chest in exaggerated offense.
"I've survived wars, bounty hunters, Mandalorian politics, and Yaga Minor."
He gestured toward himself.

"This is what all that gets you."
A faint grin tugged at his mouth.
"And for the record, I'm not old."
He paused.

"Forty..."
Another pause.
"...something."
His brows furrowed.

Korda looked away for a moment, apparently doing the math in his head.
"...That doesn't help."
He cleared his throat and pointed toward Omen.
"Still not old."
Before anyone could answer, a knock sounded from the front door.

Korda's expression shifted immediately.
His instincts took over before his humor could.
One hand dropped toward his belt, fingers settling around the handle of the knife holstered there. He moved toward the door and opened it only slightly, peering through the gap.

Nothing immediately appeared threatening.
Then something pale grey shot through the opening.
"Kriff!"
Cupcake slammed into him.

The Nexu's weight sent Korda stumbling backward as she enthusiastically greeted him, her reddish stripe flashing along her spine as she nearly bowled the much larger Mandalorian over.

"Get off me, you oversized furball!"
Cupcake ignored him.
A wet tongue swept across his face.
Korda grimaced.

"That's disgusting."
Another lick.
"I said-"
Another.

Korda finally managed to catch her around the shoulders and hold her at arm's length, staring at the Nexu.
Cupcake stared back.
Then she tilted her head.
Slowly, she blinked.

Korda's expression softened despite himself.
"...Yeah."
He scratched her along the side of her neck.
"Good to see you too."

Cupcake leaned into the touch, completely calm now that she'd apparently confirmed Korda was still alive.
Behind her came Rynar.
The sight of Korda being ambushed was apparently enough to break whatever composure he'd entered the house with.
Rynar doubled over laughing.

Korda slowly turned his head toward him.
"You think this is funny?"
Rynar straightened, still grinning.
"Funny?"
He gestured toward Cupcake.

"Korda, you opened the door like you were expecting an assassin."
His eyes flicked toward the Nexu.
"Instead, you got tackled by a cat."
Korda narrowed his eyes.

"She's a Nexu."
Rynar shrugged.
"Still a cat."
Korda stared at him.

"...Some brother you are."
Rynar stepped farther into the house, adjusting the brim of his western-style hat.
"You're the one who opened the door."
Korda sighed.
"Could've warned me."
"Where's the fun in that?"

Korda shook his head.
"You're lucky you're family."
His gaze finally moved over Rynar properly.
Boots. Jeans. A belt and buckle. Several rings on his fingers. The knife Dean had given him secured at his belt.

And the hat.
Korda stared at it.
Then at Rynar.

Then back at the hat.
"...Really?"
Rynar tipped the brim.

"What?"
Korda gestured toward the hat.
"That."
Rynar's grin widened.
"You jealous?"

"Of that?"
Korda scoffed.
"No."
His eyes dropped toward the knife.

"The knife's nice."
Then back to the hat.
"That thing is a crime."
Rynar laughed.

"Still looks better than whatever you've got going on."
Korda glanced down at his leather vest, jeans, chains, and Clan Veydran belt buckle.
He slowly looked back up.
"Careful."

Rynar shrugged.
"What? You're going to get old and angry at me?"
Korda stared at him.

"I'm already angry at you."
Rynar gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.
"See? Nothing's changed."

Korda couldn't help the small grin that followed.
He finally released Cupcake, who remained close to him for another moment before calmly moving farther into the house. She paused near Aren, tilting her head and giving her the same slow blink she'd given Korda.

Korda watched her.
"She's greeting everyone tonight, apparently."
His eyes moved toward Aren.

"Don't let her fool you. She's only polite when she wants something."
Cupcake looked back at him.
Korda pointed at her.
"See? Exactly."

His attention returned to Rynar.
"Good to see you, vod."
The words were simple, but the warmth behind them was unmistakable.
Rynar gave him a nod.

"Good to see you too."
Korda stepped aside, allowing Rynar farther into the house.
"You're just in time."
He gestured toward the kitchen.

"Food's almost ready. Cake's done. Aren's apparently appointed herself birthday-party commander."
His eyes flicked toward Aren.
"And she's already threatened me with consequences."
Rynar raised an eyebrow.

"Sounds like you deserved them."
Korda immediately pointed at him.
"Don't start."
Rynar chuckled.

"I'm trying to keep you from getting yourself killed before the birthday girl gets here."
Korda rolled his eyes.
"So much for having my back."
"You've survived Yaga Minor."
Rynar adjusted his hat.

"You'll survive Aren."
Korda paused.
"...Fair."
He shook his head, the faint smile still lingering.

Rynar looked toward the hallway, then raised his voice.
"Ryela?"
He waited a moment before calling again, his voice carrying warmly through the house.
"Come on in, kiddo. We're all here."

Aren D'Shade Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Aren watched Korda struggle with his own age with steadily increasing amusement, and by the time he'd landed on forty-something, she was openly grinning. "You don't even know how old you are, and you expect me to believe you're not old?" Omen's attempt to rescue him earned an incredulous glance. "Late thirties? Oh, that's generous." She shook her head, though the ten-minute estimate for Rynar and Ryela immediately caught her attention. They had enough time to finish whatever remained without rushing, provided Omen didn't suddenly discover another course he wanted to prepare.

Well, he had tried to rescue Korda anyway. Of course, Aren wasn't backing down from being her usual mean-girl self. "I think Aren bested you on this one." But hey, at least he was trying. That was at least something.

Putting the cake on the table, Omen couldn't help but chuckle as he watched Aren pet the snake. "So you can become a snake mom, but I can't even get a cat. If that isn't unfair, I don't know what is." Still, it was nice to see Aren love something that was actually alive other than him. "And it's alright, I'm probably not for everyone. Just to the ones who count." And that was all that mattered to him.

Feeling Aren's lips against his cheek, Omen took the compliment in stride. "It will be passable at the very least. Worst thing is we have a lot of leftovers to put in the fridge." Ten minutes was enough time to steel himself for getting to know a new set of people he had barely met in passing. Or at least he hoped.

Those hopes were dashed when the nexu came barreling through the door. The Clone had not been expecting that. If he had known, he would have gotten some food for her so she didn't try to eat Korda. He had the most meat on his bones after all. He then glanced at the cat's owner as they walked in, flashing a smile. "Too bad you can't kiss Aren to disarm her as I do. But it's nice to have you here, Rynar. Welcome to my home." And now it was time for the 13-year-old's grand reveal. Hopefully she didn't find this atmosphere too overwhelming.

Aren D'Shade Rynar Solde

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren had just opened her mouth to respond to Omen's complaint about the apparent injustice of her being allowed to become a snake mom when the knock interrupted her. "We are not having this argument again," was all she managed before Korda moved toward the door. The speed with which his hand dropped to his knife made her eyebrows rise. Apparently, even arriving at a birthday party without his armor wasn't enough to convince the Mandalorian that a knock at the door might simply mean their expected guests had arrived.

What happened next was considerably better than anything Aren could have said about it.

Cupcake came through the opening like a projectile and nearly took Korda off his feet. Aren's laughter escaped before she could contain it, one hand coming up over her mouth as the Nexu enthusiastically covered him in affection while he protested every second of it. Rynar's laughter from the doorway only made matters worse. "Careful," she managed once she could speak again. "All those wars and bounty hunters, and this is how you finally go. Killed by affection at forty-something." The last part was emphasized just enough to ensure Korda knew she hadn't forgotten their argument.

She was still smiling when Rynar came inside, and Aren gave him a warm nod of greeting while the two Mandalorians immediately settled into the kind of bickering that apparently passed for affection between them. "Good to see you, Rynar." She wisely stayed out of the debate concerning his hat, although the look she gave Korda when he appointed her birthday-party commander was deeply unimpressed. "I haven't threatened you with anything." A pause followed as she considered that. "Yet." Rynar's immediate assumption that Korda deserved whatever might eventually happen earned him an approving smile. "See? He understands."

Cupcake's approach shifted her attention away from them. Aren was considerably more careful about greeting a Nexu than she had been with Oro, but the familiar slow blink softened her expression immediately. "Hello to you too." She extended a hand toward Cupcake rather than simply reaching for her, letting the Nexu decide how much contact she wanted. "Don't listen to him. He's just bitter because you nearly knocked him over." Korda's warning that Cupcake was only polite when she wanted something made Aren glance toward him. "She's at a birthday party. There is food everywhere. Of course, she wants something."

Omen's comment about kissing her to disarm her earned him a slow turn of her head. "That strategy works considerably less often than you seem to think it does." The smile threatening at the corner of her mouth ruined any severity she might have managed. She moved back toward him long enough to glance over the cake and the rest of the food one final time, resisting the temptation to straighten anything that didn't actually need straightening. Everything was ready. More importantly, everyone who mattered was beginning to arrive.

Then Rynar called for Ryela.

Aren's attention immediately shifted toward the hallway, and something warmer replaced the teasing expression she'd worn through most of the evening. She'd seen Ryela plenty of times over the years, but today felt different simply because of what they were celebrating. Thirteen. No longer the little girl who needed one of them constantly watching where she'd wandered, though Aren suspected Ryela herself would argue that she'd stopped needing that years ago.

"Come on, birthday girl," Aren added, raising her voice just enough to carry after Rynar's. A smile spread across her face as she waited for Ryela to appear. "Your ridiculously old uncle has been complaining about his age all evening, and I need backup."

Sergeant Omen Korda Veydran

 

[Ryela Solde]

Ryela had heard them long before her father called her in. It would have been difficult not to, considering Cupcake had announced their arrival by apparently trying to flatten Uncle Korda, followed by enough laughter and arguing to tell her that everyone inside was getting along in the particular way adults seemed to when they had known each other for too long. She had lingered in the hallway anyway, partly because she had been finishing with one of the small tools she had carried in with her and partly because, at thirteen, she had reached the age where being summoned as kiddo in front of other people required at least a few seconds of principled resistance. Aren calling her the birthday girl immediately afterward ruined whatever dignity she might have salvaged.

When Ryela finally appeared, there was nothing particularly Mandalorian about what she wore. Her dark charcoal fatigues were practical rather than martial; the pants fit closely enough not to catch while she crawled beneath access panels, yet were loose enough to move comfortably, with reinforced knees and far more pockets than anyone reasonably needed. Several of those pockets bulged with the evidence of what she considered necessities: a compact hydrospanner, a small diagnostic probe, wire cutters, spare connectors, and probably a handful of components Rynar would eventually discover were missing from wherever they had originally belonged. A faded, close-fitting shirt disappeared beneath a worn utility vest whose smaller pockets carried the things too delicate to throw in with the rest, while sturdy work boots completed an outfit that looked far more suited to spending an afternoon elbow-deep in the Vigo than attending her own birthday party.

Her brown hair had been braided back from her face, although several wisps had already escaped and fallen around features that had not yet decided what adulthood would make of them. Ryela was unmistakably Chiss in appearance, with blue skin and vivid crimson eyes, but there was still something unfinished about her in the way there should have been at thirteen. Her limbs had begun to stretch toward their eventual proportions without quite reaching them, and her face still retained some of childhood's softness beneath the increasingly defined features of adolescence. None of that uncertainty had found its way into the way she carried herself. Ryela entered with the particular confidence of a teenager who had recently concluded that thirteen was practically grown and expected the rest of the galaxy to catch up eventually.

Her crimson gaze passed first over her father, lingering on the hat for just long enough to suggest that Korda might not have been entirely wrong about it, before moving toward Aren and Omen. Then she looked at Korda, and the beginnings of a grin immediately betrayed her.

"Forty-something?" Ryela repeated, having apparently heard exactly the portion of the conversation her uncle would have preferred she miss. She tucked her hands casually into two of her trouser pockets and looked him over with exaggerated consideration before turning toward Aren. "I don't know. He does look pretty old."

There was enough confidence behind the judgment to suggest she considered the matter settled, although the brightness in her red eyes made it impossible to mistake the teasing for anything else. She crossed farther into the room, her attention briefly finding the food and cake before returning to the people gathered there. Whatever teenage composure she had been trying to maintain cracked a little at the realization that all of this really was for her.

"You didn't have to do all this," she said, quieter now, looking toward Aren and Omen before her gaze wandered back to Rynar. A small smile worked its way onto her face despite whatever effort she made to contain it. "But I'm glad you did."

Cupcake's presence near Aren finally caught her attention, and Ryela's eyebrows rose as she glanced between the nexu and Korda. "Wait. Did she actually knock you over?" Her grin returned immediately, wider than before. "And I missed it?"

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda stood there for a moment, arms slowly folding across his chest as he looked down at Ryela.
His red eyes narrowed.
"Pretty old?"
He gave Aren a pointed look before returning his attention to the birthday girl.
"Don't encourage her."
There was no real bite behind the words. If anything, the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth suggested he was having a harder time keeping the amusement off his face.

When Ryela asked whether Cupcake had actually knocked him over, Korda's expression became considerably more serious.
He lifted his chin.
"She got lucky."
A pause.
"Very lucky."

He seemed perfectly content to leave it at that.
Then something small and familiar moved against his leg.
Oro emerged from where she'd apparently been hiding, the fluffy hognose making her way up against Korda's side before settling near his hand. Korda glanced down just in time to feel her tiny mouth close around one of his fingers.

He looked at her.
Oro looked back.
Korda slowly raised an eyebrow.
"...What?"

Oro remained attached to his finger.
Korda sighed.
"You too?"
The little hognose gave another gentle, decidedly non-threatening nom against his finger before releasing him.

Korda stared down at her for several seconds.
Then he looked toward Ryela.

"...Fine."
He gestured vaguely toward Cupcake.
"Yes. She knocked me over."
A reluctant grin appeared.
"Happy?"

Cupcake's head tilted.
Korda pointed at her.
"But only because she cheated."

Rynar immediately laughed.
"There he is."
He stepped farther into the room, shaking his head as Korda continued to glare at the two animals who had apparently decided honesty was now a household requirement.

"Can't even lie to a thirteen-year-old anymore."

Korda muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a complaint about betrayal.
Rynar let the matter go, instead making his way toward Omen.
He stopped in front of the Clone and extended his hand.
The greeting was less formal than a traditional handshake, his hand catching Omen's in a firm clasp before their forearms met in the sort of greeting soldiers tended to settle into naturally.

"Rynar Solde."
He released the grip and studied Omen for a moment.
"So you're the one Korda considers a brother as well."
There was curiosity in his voice, but no suspicion.
His eyes lingered just long enough to take in the details he hadn't noticed before. The face. The mannerisms. The unmistakable signs that told Rynar what Omen was.

A Clone.
Rynar's expression barely changed.
Whatever conclusions he reached, he kept them to himself.
Instead, there was a quiet shift in his eyes. Recognition, perhaps. And something closer to respect.

He had seen enough people judged for what they were born as, created as, or forced to become.
He wasn't about to add his voice to that chorus.
"Good to meet you."
His attention then moved toward Aren.

For a moment, his expression softened.
He looked between her and Ryela, taking in the girl standing in the middle of the room with her pockets full of tools and a birthday cake waiting nearby.
"It's hard to believe."
His gaze returned to Aren.
"Thirteen years."

He gave a small shake of his head.
"Feels like it was yesterday."
There was no grand speech attached to it.
Just a quiet observation from a father who had somehow watched an entire childhood pass while still feeling like he'd only just begun.

Rynar looked toward Ryela again.
"Happy birthday, kiddo."
Behind him, Korda folded his arms again.
"And don't let him fool you."
Rynar glanced back.

Korda nodded toward the western hat.
"He's still old."
Rynar stared at him.
"You just admitted you're forty-something."
Korda's expression hardened.

"I admitted nothing."
Oro gave a tiny movement against his hand.
Korda looked down at her.
"...Don't start."

Sergeant Omen Aren D'Shade Ryela Solde