Private Manaan, Nothing Can Go Wrong!

[Darth Virelia]

"Long Time, Little See."

Tags - Niysha



Manaan's surface—so often sterile, utilitarian, and dominated by Republic and Sith bureaucrats alike—had bent to her whims in a way no treaty ever could. She didn't descend to Ahto City, with its clinical halls and political games. No. Her ship—a low-slung, winged obsidian serpent of VesperWorks make—touched down on a private landing platform half-submerged beneath the sea. Above, the sky stretched wide and empty.

Below, endless water waited to drown the galaxy's secrets. Between them, a palace had been raised not in stone, but in glass and light: her new resort, her retreat, her sanctuary carved from transparency and dominance. There was no name on the building, of course. The place existed outside of maps, outside of inquiry. As she preferred.

The last resort was maybe destroyed by a comet.

She emerged without a guard, a throne trailing behind her in the cut of her walk. The platform was lined with polished, coral-veined tiles imported from the Mid Rim, slick with salt and glowing faintly underfoot. Her attire was not armor—but neither was it casual. A sheath of black and violet synthsilk clung to her frame, slit high enough to whisper suggestion, tailored tight enough to draw the eye like gravity.

Her six-eyed helm was gone. In its place: her face, bare, immaculate, adorned only with deliberate sin. Her gaze burned like neon violet—danger hidden in beauty, while long blonde hair waved in the air. With each step, her presence radiated like a siren's call: power cloaked in decadence, invitation veiled in command.

She had come early, of course. She always did. To inspect. To own. To make the space hers in the truest sense—resonant, claimed. The open-air antechamber stretched before her now, lined with whispering curtains that danced in the ocean breeze, scented with imported incense. Beyond that, infinity pools merged with the horizon, and further still, the guest chambers—clean architectural minimalism infused with quiet indulgence. Everything was white stone, black glass, and sinuous lighting. Everything moved at her pace. Everything was waiting.

Especially her.

Virelia settled onto a cushioned recline at the edge of the primary atrium, overlooking the water. She crossed one leg over the other, draped her arm along the seat's back, and allowed her body to settle—not in rest, but in expectation.

She would feel Niysha the moment she entered the perimeter, long before her shuttle made contact with the landing ring. The little ghost never arrived like others. Her presence slipped in through the seams of the world—quiet, blurred, but somehow more definite than most. And today, it would arrive at Virelia's invitation.

And Virelia had plans. Not tasks. Not objectives. Intentions. For once, there would be no bloodshed. No ceremony. No graveyards to dig through or relics to extract from collapsed tombs.

This was a retreat. A private storm kept still.

Here, there would be taste. There would be indulgence. There would be Niysha—beneath the sun, beneath her gaze, beneath no one else's scrutiny. And perhaps, if the Force willed it, beneath her.

 

[Niysha]

Manaan was one of those worlds that Niysha had always meant to visit, but never quite found the time. Inclination, really; she frequently had the time, and now that she had her own ship she had the mobility. It's just that there were so many other places she could be that were either more interesting or more limited in when she could be there that Manaan never really fit into her impromptu, impulsive lack-of-a-schedule. She had a reason now, and that was plenty of justification for her to give it a shot.

Niysha's humble Sojourner broke atmo unceremoniously, but the Miraluka was cautious enough to pass well outside of any major settlements save the ones that Serina had indicated. Her destination was, apparently, far enough outside the capital that she'd only ping as a private citizen heading to a private estate... which was, to be fair, factually what was happening. This wasn't even illegal. It was the sort of thing that Niysha wouldn't have even been worried about if she hadn't been with Serina for months.

She was greeted by no one when she touched down on Serina's private landing pad. During the whole process - flying down, landing, locking up her ship, making her way out to the estate proper - Niysha never bothered to bury her presence. Even without her active effort, though, her relaxed state was inherently quiet. Other Sith would probably call it "soft and weak." Niysha had never disagreed with them up until just a couple of months ago. In fact, when she exited her ship, she did so with confidence.

And style. Since this was a date, she'd made sure to pick something decently flirty, courtesy of In.

Today Niysha packed light, but she was never without her bag. Some things you literally couldn't live without, and for Niysha, that list was pretty long and cheap enough to be picked up for less than 200 credits at any general store: a change of clothes, a basic utility belt, a tool kit, a couple of ration bars and a canteen of water... just about the only things that were out of place were her brand new, shiny, extremely cool and snazzy datapad, and the lightsaber that she had no problem wearing out in the open when she was around Serina.

As she passed into what looked to be a very expansive entryway antechamber, the first thing that Niysha noticed was how simple everything was here. Unlike Serina's last couple of no-boys-allowed clubhouses, this one wasn't engineered to make people afraid or overstimulated. Lots of smooth surfaces and open areas, lots of... what was probably glass, thuogh Niysha couldn't be sure. It likely gave Serina - and any guests with eyes - a great view of the water outside.

Niysha could always see that water. The ocean was everywhere and she could never escape it. Fortunately she wasn't afraid of drowning, or else this whole thing would've been debilitating. As it stood, it wasn't any worse than space. Much, much better, actually; water was full of life and existed, as opposed to the Infinite Nothing of space travel.

When she made her way past a simple modernesque counter, Niysha knocked her knuckles a couple of times on the surface and gave a quiet call into the rest of the estate. "Hope I'm not late!" Even if she tried to call out, her voice just wasn't built for it. The last word cracked badly.

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Long Time, Little See."

Tags - Niysha



Niysha's presence reached her long before the knock. It slipped beneath the sound of the sea, curled up around the polished white columns, brushed softly against the stone beneath her bare feet like an old promise returning to form. It was hers—that quiet thrum of self that never demanded attention and yet commanded it completely. And in that moment, seated beneath the open arch of the atrium, framed by wind and sun and the distant shimmer of tideglass, Darth Virelia felt a part of herself ease. The woman she had been in war—the one who carved planets such as Saijo like they were marble—folded into stillness. In her place, the sovereign rose.

"Niysha," she said, voice calm but dark with suggestion. "Lovely..."

She didn't raise it. Her tone was never raised. But it carried—a ribbon of silk and heat curling through the open space, beckoning not with urgency, but certainty. The kind of voice that knew it would be followed, and didn't need to ask twice.

Virelia stood at the far edge of the atrium, near where the floor gave way to water, the edge of her sheer robe trailing behind her like spilled ink across the stone. Her garments were soft, diaphanous—black and deep ocean violet, loose at the shoulders, high at the thigh, parted with every step. A sovereign on shore leave. A weapon at rest. And her gaze—bare now, no helm, no mask—burned with familiar gravity.

"You're not late," she said, once Niysha had stepped close enough for her words to become private. "You're precisely when I wanted you."

A gloved hand lifted, brushing a loose strand of hair from Niysha's brow, tucking it behind her ear. The touch was not chaste, but it was precise. Every motion Virelia made was laden with the same intention she brought to the battlefield. Tension controlled. Desire measured. She let her fingers linger just a moment longer than necessary before her hand dropped back to her side.

"I built this place to be quiet," she said, turning slightly to look toward the sea. "Quiet." Her voice dropped an octave, lush and almost meditative. "I needed somewhere that didn't require me to be watched. Somewhere I didn't have to impress anyone. Somewhere I could have you without the rest of the galaxy whispering about what it meant."

She turned back then. Slowly. Her hand slid to Niysha's waist—welcoming. A claim softly repeated.

"You're safe here. And you're mine here. No audience. No politics. No other Sith." Her lips curved—subtle, amused, a flicker of control offered rather than imposed. "Unless you count the sea."

Then, after a beat: "Would you like to see the water from beneath?" A pause, her gaze dropping slightly. "There's a suite further down. Entirely transparent. We could watch the creatures drift by while I remove what blocks your beautiful form. You'd have the ocean below, and me above." A blink. Slow. Dangerous.

Then suddenly, it was like a switch went on in Virelia's brain. In an almost sombre, respectful tone:

"I forget myself, how are you?"

 

[Niysha]

A big, austere mansion in the middle of an infinite ocean was probably not where most people wanted to be alone with a military-minded Sith autarch. Honestly, Niysha from a few months ago would've been in that camp. She was almost in that camp again during Serina's horrible dark evil monster beyond mortal reckoning phase, but thankfully that hadn't lasted terribly long. When it was just the two of them, with no audience and no reason to perform, she'd never varied far from the theatrical teenager that Niysha had met in a random, unmarked tomb on Korriban.

Clothes were sometimes hard to appreciate when you couldn't perceive color, but Niysha had long since found that the emotional state that they encouraged in the people who wore them was equally effective in conveying the tone they were going for. When In wore tight, low-cut shorts and crop tops, her mood was flirty. When she moved in for a kiss and pressed Niysha's finger to one of the thin little bands riding up on her hip, her mood was sultry. Both of them were conveyed beautifully in her aura.

Serina was much the same. While Niysha had literally no idea Serina's half-seethrough gown looked like either in color or transparency, nor what it felt to weather her gaze, the mood she conveyed was intimate, confident, and more than a bit predatory. That, the Miraluka presumed, was pretty much the gist of what her wardrobe had been chosen to impart. Close enough always had to be good enough.

When the human touched her juuuust so slightly, Niysha didn't try to push in any more than that. Of course she'd wanted - even expected - a warmer, more natural greeting... but it was Serina. Niysha generously filed this slip in romantic etiquette under "lack of experience, just be patient with her" like she always did and returned an earnest smile to her surprisingly shy partner.

"I'm alright," she replied with a grin, setting her bag on the simple, elegant shape of a table nearby. "Better than some people are probably doing right about now, at least." She could talk about a lot of things right now, like the situation in the core, the couple of new friends she'd made recently... but instead, she focused on the moment.

Hmm. Niysha decided to be brave and stepped in to rest her fingers gently on Serina's bare hips. "How about you? Your aura tells me you've been at war." The Miraluka didn't waste words stating the obvious; she was clearly physically fine, so no need to worry if she got wounded.

Darth Virelia