Private Fresh From the Vine

[Seth Denko]

NABOO

The appointed hour found Seth Denko at the door.

Pressed uniform, freshly shined boots, cloak squared over his shoulder. His saber sat tucked at his hip beneath the folds of that familiar red-and-gold cloth — the mark of his new life, the Order of Shiraya. The other half of him, the Navy pilot born of Kraljica blood, carried itself in the straight line of his back and the steady weight of a gift in his hand.

A bottle of Skywind Reserve. Finest vintage, clear glass shimmering faintly green where the light kissed it. A small ribbon tied at the neck — neat, simple, purposeful.

He knocked once, knuckles sharp against the frame. Waited.

When the door eased open, Seth offered the bottle forward first, his other hand tucked politely behind his back. His smile was there, soft at the corners, just enough to warm the room without setting it aflame.

“Miss Abrantes.” His voice was low, even, the faintest touch of Naboo polish smoothing out the rough Nar Shaddaa edge. “Padawan Seth Denko, at your service. I’m told I’ll be under your wing for the week.”

A pause, brief but thoughtful.

“Figured it’d be rude to show up empty-handed. Skywind Reserve — my people’s best work. Thought it might pair well with politics.”

His eyes met hers fully then — not challenging, but not ducking away either. Equal parts respectful and curious. There was a quiet eagerness beneath the calm, the way a pilot watches the horizon for weather.

“If I’m early, I don’t mind waiting.”​

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

NABOO
Interacting with: Seth Denko

Sibylla stepped forward, the soft rustle of her silken gown barely audible against the polished stone floor as she opened the door. There stood Padawan Seth Denko , whom she'd met back on Vendaxa. She kept her expression politely schooled but warm. She hadn't expected him so promptly, and certainly not with the bottle of Skywind Reserve in hand.

"Padawan Denko," she greeted, voice even and bright, touched with just enough warmth to suggest welcome without relinquishing poise. "Please, come in."

She took the bottle from him as he stepped across the threshold, their fingers brushing. The glass was cool and dark, the seal unbroken, genuine Skywind, by the look of it. Her brows lifted slightly, impressed. Genuine. Thoughtful. And, if she was being honest, quite clever.

"How considerate," she said, tone wry but appreciative.

"I've never quite mastered the art of turning down a good vintage. My family's estate overseas cultivates over three thousand hectares of Taruel vines and blossom fields. Domaine de la Maison sur le Lac, perhaps you've heard of it?"

House Abrantes vintages were a staple at state dinners and private gatherings alike. The kind of bottle that opened doors or sealed them shut, depending on who poured.

"And no need to stand on ceremony. We're both early, and the Senator's not likely to object to us claiming a head start on civility."

The office aesthetic was tasteful and exacting, with just enough warmth to disarm. Tall windows opened out onto the Naboo countryside, framing sweeping meadows and the distant thunder of waterfalls cascading through Theed's foothills. Sunlight filtered through pale gold drapes, casting a soft glow over shelves of antique data scrolls, interstellar trade ledgers, and intricately carved stone statuettes.

A wide glass desk, its edges trimmed in electrum filigree, sat near the open arch, flanked by a pair of sculpted chairs upholstered in deep plum velvet. Sibylla motioned toward one.

"Please, sit."

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. From what she knew, House Denko leaned toward personable rather than political. Steady hands, not clenched fists. They greeted with wine, not titles. It was, admittedly, refreshing.

This begged the question: Was Padawan Denko of House Denko also, or was the last name a mere coincidence?

"So, Padawan Denko, are you part of the Shiraya Order?" Lysander von Ascania had informed her after their initial explosive meeting in the wake of the Mandalorian assault that he was a Jedi reporting to the Shiraya Order. She had yet to meet any other Force Organizations outside of Naboo, so she was curious if Seth was a local or not.

 

[Seth Denko]

NABOO

Seth stepped lightly across the threshold, boots landing soft against the polished stone. He moved with the care of a man who knew when he was standing somewhere important — not just in the room, but in the conversation.

His eyes followed the bottle as it passed from his hand to hers, the faint brush of fingers noticed but not lingered on. When she gave that wry note of approval, he let the smile at the corner of his mouth warm just a shade further.

“I’ve heard the name,” he answered, nodding once, slow and appreciative. “Domaine de la Maison sur le Lac — the Taruel blossom vintages, especially from the western terraces, are just about as fine as they come. My father always said their ‘69 Dawn Harvest was the bottle that won his seat at half the tables he ever sat.”

There was no flattery in the remark — just the practiced fluency of someone who knew the scene well enough to mean it.

"I'd say that our Skywind reserves and the Abrantes vintages are...neighbors in the same field. And in my experience, gatherings are sweeter with something local on the table."

When she gestured him toward the plum-velvet seat, Seth gave a polite nod of thanks and settled in, posture upright but comfortable — formal enough to respect the setting, casual enough to keep things human.

His gaze drifted briefly across the room, taking in the open windows, the soft fall of the drapes, the careful arrangement of scrolls and stonework. A thoughtful glance at the ledgers on the shelf — the kind of thing you noticed when you’d spent enough hours staring at a cockpit console and could appreciate a different kind of precision.

“You’ve got quite the view,” he said, voice easing into the softer, more conversational cadence of someone genuinely at home in the moment. “The countryside’s always had a way of making the world feel smaller. Easier to remember what’s worth protecting.”

But when the question came — clear, direct, curious — Seth met it the same way.

“Padawan of the Shiraya Order, yes,” he answered, with that same steady tone. “Born here on Naboo. House Denko’s my blood.” His smile tugged a little wider, honest. “So I’m afraid you’re stuck with the full package.”

He let the humor settle a moment, then leaned back slightly, hands resting easy atop his knees. His gaze stayed steady on her — not probing, but present, engaged.

“If you’ll forgive the bluntness… I realize I know very little about you, Miss Abrantes.” The smile softened at the edges, the question genuine beneath the charm. “I know the name, of course — hard not to, if you pay attention to who’s actually moving the pieces on Naboo. But I’d rather not fill the blanks with secondhand stories.”

His head tilted, just a touch.

“So if we’re to be working together this week, I’d like to hear it from you. What should a Denko know about a daughter of House Abrantes?”​

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Location
Interacting with: Seth Denko

Sibylla's lips curved in the slight beginning of a smile held carefully at bay like a card not yet played. She rested the bottle on the desk between them, letting her fingers trail across the neck before sitting down.

"A fair question," she allowed, tilting her head slightly. "And a fair answer in return."

She smoothed an invisible crease from her gown, the motion small but deliberate.

"I am Lady Sibylla Ynez Abrantes, second born of House Abrantes, granddaughter of the Domaine's first Matriarch. Scholar of political history, student of diplomacy since I could walk... and like you," she added, her hazel-green gaze catching his, steady and bright, "a creature of Naboo's soil, though the paths we walk may differ."

Her voice dipped, thoughtful.

"My House has tended vineyards, secured treaties, and served the Royal Republic for generations. We are taught early that loyalty is not a matter of convenience, but a matter of identity."

A pause, lighter now, as she let her eyes twinkle just a little.

"Granted, my House has never had to wrangle the lifestyle of an ascetic; the Force is more of a curious anomaly than a tool to use. No one in House Abrantes history has ever been part of a Force Order, much less used it." at least from what Sibylla knew of her House's history. Instead of wielding the Force, they wielded their tongues and swayed the massages for the betterment of Naboo and her people.

The corner of her mouth lifted, finally giving in to a wry, Nabooan sort of smile.

She leaned forward, just slightly, as if confiding a secret.

"So tell me, Padawan Denko, if you would humor my curiosity, why the Shiraya Order? I admit, my knowledge of the Force is limited and rarely required to be discussed at court save for when a few Masters come to provide counsel to the Assembly and the Queen."

 

[Seth Denko]

NABOO

Seth watched her settle into the chair with the kind of grace that felt too precise to be rehearsed. Even the way she smoothed her gown — subtle, practiced, almost subconscious — struck him as deliberate. A quiet kind of elegance, woven into every word, every movement. The sort that didn’t demand attention but never failed to command it.

He listened carefully as she spoke, nodding once, then again — the kind of gesture that said I hear you, not just I’m waiting for my turn.

When she mentioned loyalty as identity, he allowed himself a faint smile, one brow lifting slightly in respect.

“I’d say your House wears its legacy well,” he offered, voice low, genuine. “Even beyond Naboo, I’ve heard the name Abrantes spoken with a certain... reverence. Not just for your wines, but for your consistency. The kind of loyalty that doesn’t sway with the season. That matters.”

There was no flattery in his tone. Just acknowledgment. One steward of legacy to another.

As she spoke of the Force — or rather, the absence of it in her family’s bloodline — Seth’s thoughts turned inward for a beat. His gaze drifted to the open window beside them, to the soft sway of green beyond the sill.

“It’s strange,” he said after a moment. “For us, the Force is… almost the opposite. If anything, it’s part of what defines the Denko name. My father, my uncle, cousins—our history is written in the Force. It’s what we’re known for, even when we wish we weren’t.”

He said it without weight, but with a hint of something reflective under the surface. Then, to her question, he let out a soft hum and rubbed his chin with the edge of his thumb, the familiar stubble catching against the calloused pad of his finger.

“The Shiraya Order was the obvious choice,” he said at last. “My father—Abel Denko—he once served beside the Grandmaster’s mother, back when the Confederacy still flew its banner. Naboo is home. The Order was born here. It serves the Light, and it serves her people. It made sense.”

He paused, then exhaled through his nose and ran a hand back through his hair, a rare crack in the otherwise polished facade.

“But if I’m honest… there are days I don’t feel like I fit. I know I’m Naboo. I know I’m no lover of darkness. But still…” He trailed off, gaze dropping for a breath before lifting again, steady. “The others—they burn so bright. Noble. Serene. The kind of Jedi you read about in old stories. And the closer I get to that light, the more I see every blemish on myself. Like I don’t belong in the same frame.”

The admission wasn’t bitter. Just… real. Spoken softly, like something not often shared.

He blinked once, then offered a quiet, apologetic smile and lifted his hand slightly, palm open.

“Forgive the glum answer. That wasn’t meant to sour the mood.”

He reached again for his glass of water and lifted it lightly, letting the conversation breathe, the fire crackle, and the honesty settle between them without urgency.​

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Seth Denko

Sibylla's gaze lingered on Seth a moment longer than politeness required in a manner that was measured, but not unkind.

"You don't need to burn to be seen," she said quietly. "Some lights are meant to guide, not blind."

She let the words settle before offering a faint smile, one corner of her mouth curving with just a hint of warmth.

"I've stood in enough rooms full of suns to know that steadiness often lasts longer than brilliance."

Her fingers brushed the wine bottle idly, then stilled.

"And don't apologize for honesty. It's rarer than charm, and far more valuable."

She leaned back slightly, eyes thoughtful. "So tell me, Padawan Denko, when duty is quiet and no one's watching, what brings you joy?"

 

[Seth Denko]

NABOO

Her words caught him off-guard in the best way. Not because they flattered—but because they landed. Like water on dry ground.

Seth met her gaze, quiet for a moment, letting the weight of her insight settle between them. Not everything needed to be responded to right away—not when it was spoken with that kind of care.

“I appreciate that,” he said at last, voice softer than before. “It’s easy to forget, sometimes… that there’s value in being steady. In staying, when others blaze and fall away.”

He let out a slow breath and glanced toward the fire again.

“My father would probably agree with you. He never chased brilliance. Just kept showing up. Day after day. I think that’s what I’ve always admired most about him.”

Seth turned his glass slowly in his hands, watching the light catch the rim.

“And you’re right—honesty’s rare. Harder to hold onto when people are watching. Even harder when they’re not.”

Then came the question.

What brings you joy?

It wasn’t the sort of thing he was used to being asked. Not like that. Not without expectation, or weight. Just… curiosity.

He smiled—small, but real—and leaned back slightly in his seat, the posture more relaxed now, like something had unclenched beneath the surface.

“Flying,” he said. “Not for war, not for duty. Just… flying. Low across the lakes. Threading through the clouds. That feeling when it’s just you and the sky, and nothing below has teeth.”

A pause, and then, more quietly:

“And teaching. There’s a Knight—Tasia Palpatine. I’ve been helping her with her flight hours. She’s sharp. Brave, too. Watching her start to believe in herself… I didn’t expect that to mean so much. But it does.”

He looked at Sibylla again, this time not as a noble or a political advisor, but as someone who’d asked a question that mattered.

“What about you?” he asked gently. “When the guests are gone, and the House is quiet—what brings you joy?”

He wasn’t deflecting. He was offering something back—an invitation into the same honesty she’d made space for.​

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Interacting with: Seth Denko

Sibylla let the question hang in the air for a beat longer than needed; not out of hesitation, but because she rather liked the weight of it. The stillness that came with real conversation. So rare, in her world of curated smiles and carefully barbed words.

Her gaze softened.

"I imagine you'd be a good teacher," she said simply. "You have the sort of presence that gives people space to grow in."

Fingers paused on the stem of her glass, Sibylla's gaze distant for half a breath as she considered the question. It wasn't one she was often asked, not without strings attached, not without someone angling for something beneath the surface. But Seth had asked it plainly. Genuinely.

And so, she answered.

"The piano," she said, voice quieter now. "That's where I go when everything else is too loud."

Her eyes flicked toward the far corner of the room, where a sleek, antique holopiano sat halfshadowed by a bookcase, its surface reflecting the firelight.

"It's old, restored from a Nabooan concert hall before the Sundering. A little temperamental. But when I play… the world settles. The rhythm, the sound; it's the only time I'm not thinking ten steps ahead."

Her smile grew smaller, a little wistful.

"My mother used to say I played like I was arguing with the keys. These days, I think I'm just trying to listen to them."

She looked back at Seth, that same calm presence in her gaze.

"There's a kind of honesty in music. No titles. No politics. Just the truth of how you feel in that moment."

 

[Seth Denko]

NABOO

Seth’s smile came easily this time. Not practiced. Not polite. Just real.

“Thank you.” he said simply, the words holding their own weight.

When she spoke of the piano, his gaze followed hers to the holopiano across the room. It was beautiful in a quiet sort of way, like the rest of the space. Like her, really. He listened without interruption, nodding once as she described it. When she smiled, he took note of it. Something in it reminded him of the way pilots looked when they touched down after a perfect run. Not triumphant. Just at peace.

“I’ve never heard one in person,” he admitted, voice low. “Not really. Never been to a concert hall. Closest I came was on Nar Shaddaa, back when I worked some 'summer jobs' down in the lower districts. A few spots tried to use holo-performances to class the place up. Background noise for cheap drinks and bad luck.”

He gave a short breath of a laugh, more amused than bitter.

“But the way you talk about it... that’s how I feel when I’m flying. Not for orders. Just for the joy of it. There’s a kind of quiet there that nothing else touches.”

He looked back to her now, thoughtful.

“Forgive me for saying so, but it sounds like politics and titles might be a weight on your shoulders. Upon everyone's really. I’ve heard my father speak about lordship the same way. He used to talk about the early days, before House Denko meant anything beyond our valley. Said there was more freedom in the quiet than in any council chamber.”

Seth turned the glass in his hand again, the reflection dancing across the table.

“And hearing you speak about music... it makes me wonder.”

His voice didn’t press. Just offered the thought gently into the space between them.

“If the road forked tomorrow. No consequences. No obligations. Naboo still in good hands. Your family still proud. Would you still be Sibylla the noble?”

He paused, head tilting slightly.

“Or would you be someone else?”​

Sibylla Abrantes​