Dean
The metallic rhythm of her blades echoed through the high-ceilinged training bay, a steady cadence that seemed to bend the ambient hum of Aurora Station to its will. Each movement was precise, economical, a dance of efficiency and control honed by years of repetition. Dean's wiry frame coiled and released like a predator aware of every particle of air, every faint vibration beneath her boots.
She sensed another presence and turned, eyes narrowing beneath the shadow of her brow. The male Chiss regarded her with equal stillness. Dean lowered her weapon just enough to acknowledge him without abandoning form, studying his posture, subtle shifts in weight, and the way the light glinted along his features.
"I am Tenge'deanez'zoza," she said deliberately, each word formal, measured, and precise. "Dean—Sable Talon." Her crimson-tinged eyes met his directly, unblinking but not hostile. The faint tilt of her head was neither casual nor deferential; it was acknowledgment, a marker of recognition and intent. "And you are?"
The training bay seemed to hold its breath with them, the soft hum of the station and distant clatter fading beneath the quiet intensity between two operatives who measured as much with silence as with speech. Blades lowered but remained at the ready, Dean's stance balanced for movement or defense. Every slight motion of the male Chiss was catalogued, every pause analyzed, as she waited for a response that would reveal more than words ever could.
Zinayn
She sensed another presence and turned, eyes narrowing beneath the shadow of her brow. The male Chiss regarded her with equal stillness. Dean lowered her weapon just enough to acknowledge him without abandoning form, studying his posture, subtle shifts in weight, and the way the light glinted along his features.
"I am Tenge'deanez'zoza," she said deliberately, each word formal, measured, and precise. "Dean—Sable Talon." Her crimson-tinged eyes met his directly, unblinking but not hostile. The faint tilt of her head was neither casual nor deferential; it was acknowledgment, a marker of recognition and intent. "And you are?"
The training bay seemed to hold its breath with them, the soft hum of the station and distant clatter fading beneath the quiet intensity between two operatives who measured as much with silence as with speech. Blades lowered but remained at the ready, Dean's stance balanced for movement or defense. Every slight motion of the male Chiss was catalogued, every pause analyzed, as she waited for a response that would reveal more than words ever could.
Zinayn