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

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Long Time, Little See."

Tags - Niysha



Virelia inhaled slowly—sharply—not from surprise, but from the way the touch made her feel.

There was something uniquely dangerous about the way Niysha's fingers came to rest at her hips. Contact without condition. As if she deserved to be there. As if she belonged. And the worst part—the best part—was that Virelia couldn't find a single argument against it. She had no speeches prepared for this. No corrective to issue. Just the weightless truth of her own skin remembered by someone she had never once commanded to kneel.

And that made her pulse stutter.

Her hand rose again—this time slowly, deliberately—curling around the back of Niysha's neck. The contact was warm and firm, her thumb brushing lightly along the base of her skull in a gesture that was half dominance, half longing. Her eyes, glowing faintly in the low light of the atrium, bore into Niysha's covered face with something too complex to name: hunger, restraint, and the ache of a power that wanted more than control.

"Not war," she murmured. "Not quite." Her voice was deep, rich, but quieter now. Intimate. "A campaign of the mind. A victory without celebration. I returned from it with everything I wanted… and none of what I needed."

She leaned in, her lips brushing the side of Niysha's blindfolded cheek—not a kiss, not yet, but a breath. Her next words were whispered directly into the edge of skin behind her ear.

"And then you landed."

Virelia pulled back slightly, just enough to study her again, hand never leaving her neck. "I didn't think I would want softness again. Not for a long time. But you make it feel like it's mine, not something I have to apologize for."

She moved then—turning them with the subtlest guidance, until Niysha's back was to the ocean and Virelia stood before her like a monolith of warmth and sin. The breeze shifted around her, catching the sheer edges of her robe and pulling it just enough to tempt the imagination. Her other hand slid up, joining the first, both resting now at Niysha's sides.

"You ground me," she said, voice heavier now. "In a way that terrifies me."

 

[Niysha]

Serina wasn't the best at casual intimacy, or making anything appear natural or easy. Every time the two of them had a tender moment, she paced and stalked around like a caged animal. Normally, Niysha would've just fallen into the closest couch and nuzzled her head into her partner's neck while they talked about their week, but that wasn't Serina's schteez.

She was probably very used to putting people on edge by circling them, spending her time behind them to make them shudder or flinch. Niysha, as always, reacted barely more than a dead fish. She had no blind spots. "Behind her" didn't mean much beyond "slightly more inconvenient to physically reach for the moment." Similarly, the very intimate, very aesthetic sheer dress dancing in the wind barely even registered.

It was her presence that left Niysha grinning. Intentional, tender intimacy was precious no matter who gave it, but from someone not used to giving? Someone to whom the idea of vulnerability, of not being in total control of your emotions or reactions was alien and a little scary? Tenderness overwhelmed. Serina was, as always, breathtakingly gorgeous.

"Well, machines do work better when properly grounded~" The Miraluka's response came with what might've been a little giggle. With even the slightest hint of an opening, she brought both hands up to Serina's face and pulled her down into a kiss. Brief, but just as tender, intimate, and vulnerable as the Mighty Darth Virelia was being with her right now. "And you are nothing if not a machine that turns scenery into chewed scenery."

Once again, Niysha gave one of her deep, crackling giggles at her own joke. This time, though, afterwards, her brow furrowed to match an apologetic smile. "That was an experiment. I don't know if you're comfortable enough for teasing yet. Step too far, or was that fine?" In the past, Serina had, to put it kindly, flipped out a little when Niysha had tried to test her boundaries with more casual, soul-healing small acts of intimacy. There was no harm in being cautious.

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Long Time, Little See."

Tags - Niysha



Virelia did not answer immediately.

The kiss had been brief—too brief—but it lingered on her mouth like the ghost of an unfinished sentence. She tasted the warmth of it, the barest trace of Niysha's breath, and allowed herself to savor the ache that came with the restraint. She was not used to being given something like that without having first taken it. And yet… here she stood, lips tingling, her mind and body calculating what it would take to draw another from her.

Instead of responding with words, she moved—closing the last half-step between them. Her hands came up to catch Niysha's wrists, the grip neither cruel nor gentle, but final. She eased those hands down from her face, only to thread their fingers together and press them down to the Miraluka's sides, holding them there as though establishing a perimeter. When she finally spoke, her voice was lower, heavier—a private register she used only when the world could be reduced to the person before her.

"That," she murmured, "was not a step too far. If you had crossed it, I wouldn't be smiling right now." The smile was there—subtle, but real. Her eyes narrowed in a way that was not suspicion, but focus, the kind of attention a predator gave prey that had just done something clever enough to survive another day. "You forget, my little paradox, that I invite the bold. You're not in danger when you test me—only when you bore me."

Her thumbs brushed faint circles against Niysha's hips, the softness of the motion at odds with the way her body tilted forward, the way her sheer gown whispered against the Miraluka's legs. "And teasing… teasing is simply a matter of understanding the stakes. You tease a tyrant," her head inclined, lips grazing the air just short of Niysha's temple, "and you might find yourself in the stocks, or the dungeons, or in my bed. The last of those, I assure you, is the most dangerous."

She released Niysha's hands—she preferred to choose where she touched next. One hand slid up to cup her jaw, fingers curving along the line of her neck. The other drifted lower, settling with obscene casualness at the side of her thigh, just under the hem of whatever infuriatingly modest garment she had chosen for travel. Virelia didn't lift it, not yet—but the implication hung there like a drawn blade. "You know what I am when I'm at war. You've seen what I become when I'm cornered. And still you walk in here with your little jokes and your soft hands, thinking you can rattle the machine."

The pause that followed was not empty—it was deliberate, a silence filled with the heat of her gaze and the subtle increase of pressure where her hand gripped Niysha's leg. "You don't rattle me," she said at last, and there was a surprising edge of reverence in it. "You change me. You tilt the gravity. You make it harder to remember that I am supposed to keep my feet on the ground."

She leaned in then, this time claiming Niysha's mouth without asking, without ceremony—just taking it, deep and slow, as though the only language worth speaking here was the one they could make between breaths. When she pulled back, it was barely enough for the words to fit between them. "So, no. That wasn't a step too far." Her lips curved, into a dangerous smirk. "If you keep going, I'll have to start deciding how many steps I'm willing to take before I drag you under."

Her hand at Niysha's thigh inched higher, enough to make the next breath between them almost tremble. She did not follow through—yet. Instead, she shifted just enough to look down into the blindfold where Niysha's eyes would be, halting for just a moment.

And with that, she stepped back—forcing space, the same way a duelist steps out of range to watch the other falter. The absence of her touch was its own cruelty, designed to make the Miraluka's body feel the echo of it, to make her realize that every further step would now be on her terms...