First Reply For Old Time's Sake

[Darth Virelia]

"Drums of War."

Tags -

Serina Calis looked perfectly at ease.

Her reflection rippled faintly in the window: blonde hair, tied back neatly at the nape of her neck; pale blue eyes; a hint of soft laughter that didn't quite reach them. She wore civilian attire—a white silk shirt beneath a tailored grey jacket, sleeves rolled back just enough to make her seem approachable. To anyone watching, she could've been a diplomat at rest, a corporate envoy between meetings. Not a Sith Lord. Not a queen of shadows.

The illusion was deliberate. And exquisite.

She let her glass rest on the edge of the pool table, its contents amber and glacially melting. The sound of a cue striking resin carried across the room—sharp, clean, satisfying. The music was soft and jazzy, something that belonged to another century.

"You break," said the Selkath behind the counter, voice bubbling through a translator.

Serina smiled, picked up the cue, and leaned forward with practiced ease. She had always been good at this—angles, patience, control. The kind of game that rewarded subtlety, not strength. The first strike sent the white ball gliding across the felt, clicking into the formation, scattering geometry. Two solids sank with perfect precision.

She straightened, glass in hand again, watching the table as though it were a tactical map.

It had been a couple days since she left Malachor. Since the fire and ash, the storm and steel. She'd told herself she came here to rest, to breathe. But the truth was simpler: she wanted to remember what it felt like to pretend. To be Serina Calis again, daughter of Chandrila's golden line, who smiled easily and spoke softly and built empires with words instead of blood.

Her cue traced lazy circles over the table as she lined her next shot.

The other patrons—a mix of Selkath workers, off-duty officers, and a couple of civilian tourists—barely noticed her. Just as intended. But every so often, a glance lingered. A few seconds too long. That strange magnetism she carried, no matter the mask. The kind that drew people in even when they didn't understand why.

She could sense them watching. The faint twinge of curiosity. The way the Force hummed beneath their surface thoughts—muted, shallow, unguarded. It was intoxicating in its simplicity.

The next strike was harder. The cue ball darted, spun, collided. A striped one rolled home.

"Nice," murmured someone behind her. Male voice. Confident. Too close.

Serina's smile sharpened just slightly. She didn't turn immediately—only glanced over her shoulder, lashes low, eyes glacial and bright.

"Thank you," she said. Her voice was warm. Human. Almost kind.

But behind her reflection in the glass, deep in those clear blue eyes, something violet flickered—too fast to notice, too ancient to name.

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Claws dug into her shoulders as Adelle dug into her pocket for Phantom's medical certification chit. It was, theoretically, supposed to be accepted just about everywhere, galactic government not withstanding. She pulled it out with two fingers, flashing it at the bouncer, before he waved her inside. Fortunately, the spukami knew better than to cause a scene, becoming a rather more obedient animal once the service vest and leash went on. Phantom just preferred draping herself across Adelle's shoulders like a living stole.

The music of this lounge was soft, classic, and the atmosphere was quieter, despite it being quite popular this early in the evening. Beyond the clack of a game involving balls and sticks, there were no sharp sounds. Nothing that might immediately startle her. Perfect. The nightmares had been heinous the past couple days and she needed to get out of the confines of her ship, get away from the sharp tang of cold sweat and stale air. Adelle walked to the bar and sat on one of the stools, ordering a pint of Corellian ale, a glass of tihaar neat, and a cup of water so that Phantom would be deterred from drinking the alcohol. It felt good to just wear normal clothes, the black leather of her jacket conforming to her shoulders and elbows the more she wore it. The black tanktop underneath and the brown trousers were far lighter, more freeing than the durasteel beskar'gam she usually wore.

A small headache began, slowly pressing in on her forehead and spreading to her temples. Adelle rubbed at her forehead and her eyes, using the heels of her hands. Well, she supposed it was about time the sleep-deprivation started showing other symptoms. Idly she rubbed Phantom's chin, the feline still curled around her neck. She should be glad it was just a headache right now. Some of the other symptoms were worse.

The bartender set the three drinks down on the bartop in front of her and she pulled the credits from her other pocket, Phantom shifting to keep her place on the shoulders. Adelle made sure she included a tip and picked up the ale, clinking the bottom of the glass against the rim of the glass with tihaar.

"Cheers Na'an," she said quietly and drank. It was, maybe, for the best that Na'an and Leigh weren't here. Her nightmares and the state they left her in usually led to an argument so old it could have been a fossil. Adelle stared at the tihaar. Even so, she'd have preferred the argument to their absence.

A hard, insistent headbutt on her jaw broke the melancholy reverie she had started falling into. Adelle moved the glass away from Phantom and gently pushed the feline's head back.

"I'm fine, thanks," she told the spukami. Part of the reason she'd picked Phantom out over others was she'd been able to make a connection through the Force with Animal Friendship, one of the rare times that ability worked in her favor. Phantom sat primly on her shoulders, tail curled neatly around her paws, as she began to clean her paws and preen. Well, as much as she could wearing a brightly colored service vest.

Another clak sounded from the gaming table where a Selkath faced off against a young blonde woman. Something pricked her mind, something too fast and vague for Adelle to catch in her state. But it clung to the edge and gnawed at her. Something important. Adelle rubbed her eyes again and watched the game instead. If it was important, it'd come to her. The game itself seemed simple enough: hit one blank ball to knock in the colored ones. The trick was the very narrow point of the sticks the players used, requiring precision and consistency. Any other day, it'd intrigue her as more than just a game to watch but she was happy to be spectator today. Too much math, not enough sleep.

Except now a group of Selkath moved in beside her, blocking the view. As fun as sitting here with her own thoughts sounded, she'd much rather watch the game of precise angles. Even with the crack of colliding balls, it seemed quieter than the bunch next to her. Adelle grabbed the ale and the tihaar, threading her way through the bar. She felt Phantom's head turn back toward the bar before a soft mew chirped right in her ear.

"I can get you a new glass, keep your fur on," she said. There was fortunately an empty table out of the way but with a decent enough line of sight to the game table. Adelle sat as Phantom finally left her shoulders, delicately landing on the table and sitting as if she owned it. She made sure to keep her hands covering the tops of the glasses with the spukami so close to her drinks now.

The blonde brushed hair out of her face, intense blue eyes studying the table like it was a war map. The gnawing voice at the back of Adelle's mind started screaming. The girl's face seemed impossibly young.

"I know what I am, and what I'll never be again."

Adelle choked on her ale. For kriff's sake! It was impossible, there was no presence, she'd have felt it, it was impossible to miss-- Unless she'd hid it. The black armor and violet crystal were nowhere to be seen. Hiding, she had to be hiding. Adelle folded her arms on the table and put her head on them with a groan.

The Force had a sick sense of humor.

There was nothing to do but wait and see if Adelle had escaped notice. She was too tired to run.



Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Drums of War."

Tags - Adelle Bastiel

The sound of the ball striking home was soft—barely more than a whisper beneath the jazz and the murmur of voices. Serina—no, Virelia—let the cue rest against the table's edge, her expression unbothered, almost languid. Yet the rhythm of her pulse betrayed her. Her eyes shifted.

Adelle.

For a brief moment, something old and treacherous flickered beneath her calm. Memory.

Virelia's grip tightened fractionally on the cue, then eased. No. Not here. Not tonight.

She took a slow breath and straightened, deliberately turning her back on the bar. The next shot lined up cleanly in her mind; she didn't even need to look. The angle, the strike, the reaction—it was all simple mathematics. Control in motion. A universe she could still predict.

The cue ball struck. Another satisfying click, another smooth fall into the pocket.

When she finally lifted her gaze, she let it drift lazily over the room—casual, detached—until it passed over Adelle as if she were any other tired spacer. A woman with a headache, a drink, and a spukami. Nothing more.

Phantom.

The spukami's presence brushed against her senses first—soft, bright, uncomplicated. Her eyes lingered for just a heartbeat too long on the creature perched across the table, tail curling possessively around its paws. Beautiful thing. Loyal. Fragile. She almost envied it.

Almost.

Virelia turned back to the table, setting her glass down with delicate precision. The reflection in the polished surface showed her smiling faintly, but there was no mirth in it. "Eight in the corner," she murmured to no one, voice smooth, low, and controlled.

The Selkath opponent clicked a slow acknowledgment, curious at her focus. He didn't understand that she wasn't playing against him at all.

She was playing against the past.

Her next shot went wide—by design. She stepped back, nodding politely, letting the alien take his turn. Anything to keep her hands busy, her posture relaxed, her voice silent. The worst thing she could do was acknowledge. The moment she did, the illusion of Serina Calis would fracture. The ghosts would rise.

So she stayed in character: the soft smile, the calm breath, the mask of the woman she had been.

Her gaze drifted once more toward Adelle and Phantom, then away.