Private Paging Through The Catalog

[Sergeant Omen]

Location: At Home on Empress Teta

"BEEP BEEP BEEEEP" Omen quickly shut off the alarm clock before Aren could murmur in her sleep, trying his best to slip out of bed without Aren noticing. It had been a long shuttle flight back from Ilum. When she did finally get up, she would find him in the kitchen with a plate of flapjacks covered with Jogan Syrup and a steaming cup of caf waiting for her. Unlike normal, Omen didn't look from the display he was paging through while more flapjacks bubbled over the frying pan he was handling. He was so immessersed in it what he was looking though that he didn't notice her come in.

What he was looking through was a Starship catalog, muttering to himself. "It has to be a Light Frighter to Gunship Size... And no, we are not paying for any Luxary Yatch and its many many possible add ons..." It was clear that the Clone had had enough of shuttle seats making his back ache. And while he could dig up his old transport where he had stashed it before he started his prison sentence, with the time away, he doubted he would be able to fly it anywhere, not without alot of work atleast. They needed something Aren could fly in the mean time for her work. Something large enough to have living space and a workstation for her talents or space that atleast could be converted. It also had to be small enough that she could pilot it by herself or by droid pilots. Hell, in a bigger ship, droids would have to fill every crew slot and that might work for Aren but droids had limits... Having them instead of sentient crew would have drawbacks in the creative thinking department. Still for just turrets, sliced in droids should be fine.

The ships and their various layouts scrolled by as Omen tried to decided what was best. It was only when she walked up close that the Clone spied her out of the corner of his eye. Shuting his holopad down, he turned and smiled at her as she walked up. "Hey hun, hoped you slept well. I managed to make a half-decent breakfest for you." Hoping she had seen what he wanted to be a surprise for her, he leaned her to wake her up out of her groggy state with a deep kiss. Omen had to keep his standards up by giving her the best morning greeting ever.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren registered the smell before she fully registered where she was.

Caf. Warm oil. Sugar—jogan syrup, if she had to guess. Familiar, grounding things that pulled her the rest of the way out of sleep as she padded into the kitchen, hair loose and uncombed, shirt borrowed and hanging a little too long on her frame. She paused just inside the doorway, quiet by habit, watching him for a moment while he muttered at the holopad as if it had personally offended him.

Starship schematics. Of course.

She leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, arms folding loosely as she listened, the corner of her mouth lifting just enough to betray her amusement. "Good morning to you too," she said at last, voice low and still a little rough with sleep.

Only then did he notice her. She let him shut the holopad down without comment, let him turn, let him smile like he hadn't been caught mid-planning something expensive and potentially dangerous. When he kissed her, she didn't resist—didn't melt either—but one hand came up to the back of his neck, steadying him there just long enough to make the point that she was very much awake now.

When she pulled back, her forehead lingered against his for a beat.

"You made breakfast," she observed calmly, eyes flicking past him to the plate of flapjacks and the caf. "Which means one of two things." She stepped around him to the counter, pouring herself a caf without asking, movements unhurried and practiced. After a sip, she glanced back at him over the rim of the mug. "Either you're trying to bribe me," she continued, "or you're about to pitch me something that involves engines, credits, or both."

A pause. Then, dry: "Judging by the catalog, I definitely wasn't supposed to see… I'm guessing option two."

She took another sip, then reached for a flapjack, finally allowing a little warmth to soften her expression.

"That said," she added, more quietly, "this is appreciated."

Her eyes met his again—clear, alert now, curious rather than suspicious.

"So," Aren said, tilting her head just slightly, "what problem are you trying to solve before I've had my second cup?"

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

As he heard Aren's feet pad on the floor, he turned to see her in his shirt, wiping the crud out of her eyes, and he couldn't help it. He just felt compelled to kiss her. Guess that's what being in a relationship does to you. As he pulled away, he couldn't help but smile at her. "You know, you can steal my clothes all you want if they make you look this perfect." Then again, she always looked perfect to him.

"Waaaa...? Why would I be trying to bribe you? You are unbelievable..." The Clone voice had a sense of nervousness before his shoulders slumped, letting Aren know she was right. "I... wanted it to be a surprise... You are special to me, figured I should try to make you feel it right back by getting you something you really need. If you are going to travel, I might as well try to give you something to travel in." He gave her arm a playful punch as that signature smirk returned to grace her presence. "Maybe it will also put you in a better mood when a child isn't kicking your seat after a long shuttle flight."

Bringing the list of ships back up on his holopad, he showed her the options. "I know what you probably want, but why don't you show me. At least then I'll have a better idea about what you want." Who knew what she had in mind for her personal ship, but he was prepared to nod along and say good things about it, as every boyfriend should during important decisions.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren let out a quiet breath through her nose at the compliment, not denying it, not indulging it either. She took another sip of caf before answering, eyes briefly unfocusing as if she were filing his words away rather than reacting to them outright.

"Careful," she said evenly. "If you keep rewarding theft, I'll escalate."

The corner of her mouth curved just enough to signal she was teasing—subtly, in the way she always did. She shifted her weight against the counter as he admitted the surprise, watching the way his shoulders dropped, the way the intent behind it finally surfaced. That, more than the ship catalog, was what made her expression soften.

"You don't have to buy me things to make me feel valued," she said, calm but sincere. "But… I won't pretend I don't see what you're trying to do."

Her gaze flicked briefly to the holopad when he brought it back up, then returned to him instead of the screen.

"And for the record," she added dryly, "the child kicking the seat is only half the problem. The other half is trusting a shuttle pilot who thinks maintenance is optional."

She stepped closer, nudging his hip lightly with her own as she finally glanced down at the list of ships. Her eyes scanned the specs quickly—too quickly for someone casually browsing—already filtering, discarding, prioritizing.

"I don't want luxury," she said after a moment. "I don't want something flashy enough to be remembered, or rare enough to be tracked just because someone recognizes the hull."

She reached out and scrolled the display herself, pausing on a mid-sized frame.

"Independent power routing. Manual overrides that actually mean manual. Enough room for a proper workstation and modular cargo, but not so big I need a full crew to keep it flying." A beat. "And it needs to handle rough landings. Not 'certified for,' actually handle."

Only then did she look back up at him. "I need something that works even when everything else goes wrong," Aren said quietly. "Something I can trust when I'm tired, or hurt, or thinking three steps ahead of everyone else."

Her fingers brushed his wrist—brief, grounding. "And if you're offering to help with that," she continued, steady and unguarded, "then I'll show you exactly what I'm looking for."

A pause, then the faintest hint of warmth. "But don't just nod along. If you think something's a bad idea, say it. I don't need a yes-man." She tilted her head slightly, eyes sharp but affectionate. "I already have enough droids."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

The Clone's hands slammed quickly with an audible slap against the counter between them as Aren leaned in, their faces inches apart, and he playfully hissed out, his voice slithering into her ears as a playful threat. "If you escalate, maybe I will too." Only after giving her a long look that told her exactly how he would crank up this interaction as the air crackled around them with their connection, he pulled away, leaning on the countertop opposite her to listen to what she had to say.

The corners of his own mouth curved upwards as he listened to her speak. Raising a finger, he corrected her. "I'm not buying you this because I want you to feel valued; I'm buying this because I want to keep you safe. Because if some lousy shuttle pilot crashes their ship with you on board, my heart might not be whole again. So yes, I'm being your sugar daddy for one moment and helping you get your own ship, sue me." As she came over and nudged him, he nudged back with his hip as he tried to keep a look of exasperation off his face, and if she kept it up, there would be a nudging war till the end of time.

Her requirements for a ship were the ones he expected out of her mouth. All of what she said made sense for a ship that would be fulfilling her mission roles as a long-distance reconnaissance/maintenance craft that would hold everything she needed to do her role. His only question was what her definition of "rare" was. Considering the options, he finally spoke as he watched her scroll through the pad. "Well, I guess you could put any YT or Soro-sub cargo hauler in that category, so that's still a lot of choices. To me, if I were to pick a "Legacy" option, it probably would be the Defender-Class Corvette. It's got heavy shielding, enough weapons for protection if needed, and plenty of space to put any parts and supplies, a speeder bike to take out to isolated installations. It's even got the comms dish when you want to call me and complain about your employer. Plus, I heard the Jedi are still using these ships today, making them real monsters. We would have to change it up ourselves to be that deadly, but I bet we could do it as a Couple project." It would be more supervising the work of repair droids, but hey, they would be doing it together.

There were a couple of designs that he favorited and marked for later without comment, including a Mon Cala design and one from the Madrugar starship design. His eyes held on to one ship from Trigonus Industries that was heavily armored and looked like it could take a pounding. It also looked like it could only move forward if they got out and pushed it. Saying offhandedly as he marked a Mando offering that looked like the refresh of an old design. "It just depends on what tradeoffs you want to agree to, I don't know your piloting ability and how much you trust your instincts. You know yourself better than I do. If you want me to choose for you... I'd probably go for either a Defender and customize it to your liking or go with this Mynock Class... Get some rep with your Mando clients." He couldn't choose what he wanted for her; he could only guide her path as she requested, til she made her final choice.

As he looked at the Mynock Class, he saw the name of its manufacturer, Maji Ironworks, and its owner... the infamous Shai Maji. Or the past owner now... seeing that it showed she was deceased. A soft growl came to his throat as he looked at her face, as memories of that dark day came back to him, memories he didn't want to face... In a soft tone meant only for himself, he muttered with a rough, grizzled voice that didn't hide his emotion. "Guess I got to outlive you after all, Shai... Hope that where you are right now is a better place... And that you saved a spot for me..." By the tone of voice, Aren could tell that something about this person from the past had affected him. She could also tell that he wasn't going to give the details up easily.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren didn't retreat when his hands hit the counter or when his voice dropped like that; she stayed where she was, eyes steady on his, letting the moment burn itself out without adding fuel. When he leaned back, she took another slow sip of caf, unhurried, the kind of pause that wasn't avoidance so much as calibration.

"Threat acknowledged," she said evenly, the faintest hint of dry humor threading through it. "Filed under 'mutual escalation,' to be revisited when we're not standing near breakable objects."

As he talked—about safety, about shuttle pilots, about doing this because he couldn't stand the thought of losing her—she listened without interrupting. When he finished, her expression shifted, not into softness exactly, but into something more deliberate, more careful, as if she were choosing clarity over reflex.

"I know why you're doing this," Aren said, calm and certain. "And I'm not bristling at it. You're not trying to manage me, and you're not trying to make decisions over my head. You're worried, and you're acting on that worry in the only way you know how—by fixing the problem before it breaks." A small pause, her gaze holding his. "That, I can work with."

She nudged his shoulder lightly with hers, a familiar grounding touch meant to settle the air rather than challenge it.

"And yes," she added, dry as ever, "avoiding death-by-incompetent-shuttle-pilot is a perk I'm willing to accept."

When the holopad became the focus, Aren's attention sharpened. She listened to his suggestions in full, absorbing them the way she always did—quietly, thoroughly, without rushing to speak until she'd weighed every angle. The Defender earned a thoughtful look, her fingers hovering over the specs before moving on.

"It's solid," she said at last. "Predictable systems, reliable frame, easy to source parts for." Her finger tapped the pad once, decisively. "But predictability cuts both ways. Anything still common with Jedi fleets carries assumptions I don't always want attached to me."

At the mention of Mandalorian rep, she glanced at him sidelong, one brow lifting faintly.

"You just want to watch me argue with armorers over tolerances."

She was ready to keep dissecting the options—mass-to-thrust ratios, internal volume, how much abuse the hull could take—when his voice changed. It was subtle, but she caught it immediately. Aren went still, eyes leaving the display to study his face as he murmured that name.

Shai.

She didn't rush him. She didn't press. She let the silence stretch just long enough to acknowledge the weight behind it before she spoke again.

"That wasn't just a name on a spec sheet," she said quietly, not as a question but as recognition.

This time, when she reached out, it wasn't to his face. Her hand settled lightly against his forearm, steady and present, offering contact without demanding it.

"You don't owe me the story," Aren continued, her voice low and even. "Not now, not later. But I can tell when something matters to you, and I won't pretend I didn't hear that."

Her thumb pressed once against his sleeve, grounding, before she glanced back at the Mynock-class listing and then returned her attention to him.

"As for the ship," she went on, composed again but not distant, "this is closer to what I want. Armored, unapologetic about what it's built to survive, and honest about its limitations." A brief pause. "We'd strip out the assumptions, rework the internals, make it fit the way I actually operate. It wouldn't be fast or elegant, but it would endure."

She met his eyes again, steady and intent.

"And if it carries someone else's legacy with it," Aren added more quietly, "I'd treat that with the respect it deserves."

Her hand remained where it was, neither gripping nor withdrawing.

"We don't have to decide today," she said, the cadence unhurried, thoughtful. "But if we do this, we do it properly, with both of us involved, not as a purchase but as a project."

Then, with just enough dry edge to sound unmistakably like herself: "And no, you don't get to choose for me. But I do appreciate that you're thinking with me instead of around me."

Her gaze held his, patient and open. "When you're ready," she added, gently but firmly, "you can tell me what she meant to you. If you want. I'm not going to force you to."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen smirked back as they started to scroll through the designs. "Note to self, replace anything breakable with rubber..." The clone didn't know he was solving any problems. He just wanted Aren to be safe, and she couldn't do that in a craft that wasn't under her control. Thankfully, she knew that just as much as he did.

So Mynock it was then. Omen nodded along as she explained her reasoning for picking the ship. He could have said being tied to the Jedi wasn't the worst thing in the world but he let her make her own choice and the Mynock was servicable enough for what she was planning on doing. The smirk that appeared on his face when she said the that he only wanted to watch her argue. He responded by playfully kissing along her jaw as he comfirmed her suspessions. "Not my fault you look hot while you screaming your lungs out at people other than me. When its me, you are terrifying." Thankfully, it didn't seem like that was going to happen today.

Looking uneasy, it took acouple of seconds for him to say anything as Aren looked at him concerned, feeling the comfort of her touch. "Lets just say... thats who took me in. Another one of my worst days..." The rain hitting the ground... the mud on his clothes... all of that filitered through his head as they both turned back to the listings and he got his head on straight. "I don't know how we are going to strip out assumptions of a known Mandolarian Manufacter's hull but its open to market. Anyone could own these if they had the credits. As for reworking everything it would take time but we could get it done together."

Omen didn't say anything when she talked about legacy and treating the ship with respect. Shai's legacy was probably about as misshapen as his was in all-honesty based on what little he could remember about their interactions in the past. Still she deserved to remember as much as anyone else that he met.

His smile slowly return as his thumb ran against the hand that was holding his arm in appriation. "How about this? We can sit on the couch and you can talk about what you want to exactly take out and what you want to add. I'll signal you when I'm bored by kissing you to death. Deal?" As they moved over to the couch, he let Shai drop out of the conversation. It wasn't that he wasn't open to talking about it but he knew bringing up that day would run the mood even more. Better to keep this show rolling in a positive direction.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren let the smirk linger on her face as the listings continued to scroll, watching the way he talked himself through the problem like it was second nature—solutions forming not because he needed to prove anything, but because this was how he showed care. Practical. Protective. Quietly thorough.

"Rubber won't save you from me," she said dryly, but there was no real bite in it. Just the familiar cadence of teasing meant she was comfortable enough to allow it. "But I appreciate the effort."

When the Mynock settled as the clear choice, she didn't second-guess it. She rarely did once a decision clicked into place. Instead, she nodded once, decisive, and leaned slightly closer as if anchoring the choice between them rather than claiming it for herself.

"It gives me control without announcing itself," she said calmly. "That matters. It doesn't look like a statement ship, and it doesn't scream allegiance unless someone already knows what they're looking at. I can work with that."

His kiss along her jaw earned him a sidelong look—measured, unimpressed on the surface—but the corner of her mouth betrayed her just enough.

"You enjoy provoking people who can't throw you out an airlock," she replied. "That's the real pattern." A beat. "And yes. You absolutely like watching me argue."

When his mood shifted, she noticed immediately. Aren always did. She didn't press him for more when he spoke of being taken in—she recognized the boundary by the way he phrased it, by what he left unsaid. Instead, her hand tightened briefly around his arm, grounding, steady, offering presence without interrogation.

"We don't have to dismantle the hull's history," she said after a moment, eyes back on the schematics. "Just its assumptions. Paint, transponder habits, internal routing. Identity isn't fixed. It's rewritten by use."

She paused, then added, quieter but certain, "And if it takes time, that's fine. I'm not in a rush. I'd rather do it right."

When he suggested retreating to the couch, her gaze slid back to him—assessing, amused, already anticipating exactly how much "boredom" he'd claim.

"Kissing me to death is a poor signal," she said, deadpan. "You do that when you're engaged, distracted, or thinking too much."

Still, she allowed herself to be guided over, settling beside him with practiced ease, one leg tucked under herself as she pulled the display back up. Her posture shifted into work-mode—not rigid, just focused.

"I'll walk you through it," she continued. "What comes out. What stays. What gets replaced entirely." A glance sideways, softer. "And if you derail the conversation, that's on you."

The past receded without being erased. Shai remained unspoken but not denied—acknowledged by omission, respected by silence.

For now, Aren was here. Planning. Building something forward. And that, for her, was enough.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen playfully raised a playful eyebrow as he pulled back from the kisses, taking another meaning from "Rubber won't save you from me" than Aren intended. "Ones... At least push me onto the bed before you rip my pants off, Woman. I don't think my old back can take it being on the hardwood floor." No, the Clone would ever change, that she should count on.

She was right, though, the ship would look like thousands of others. As long as they followed the usual smuggler's routine, it should be fine. No one would care about a single work freighter showing up on their doorstep as long as it was done cleanly. "I mean, you are right about the airlock thing, and it's fun seeing your face go red... But I thought that my kissing you was when I wanted to show that I loved you. It's alright though, I won't question your belief system." As they walked over to the couch and she tried to sit down, he quickly grabbed her by the hips and pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug that she couldn't hope to escape. He was good enough to leave her arms free, though, so she could still scroll through the pad. "Good thing we got a ground-floor apartment for when you want to throw me out the window."

Giving the back of her neck a quick kiss before letting her tell him all the edits the Tech Witch wanted to make. Those red animalistic eyes were still his head staring him down, though, ready to deliver his final death blow. Thankfully, Aren's voice brought him back to the present as she read out her to-do list. It reminded him why he was in this universe, to be her partner, for now and forever more.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren let out a slow breath that was half a sigh and half an amused exhale as he spoke, the corner of her mouth ticking upward despite herself. She didn't turn immediately—didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her reaction right away—but when she did look back at him, there was a warning in her eyes that was thoroughly undermined by the calm warmth beneath it.

"You're impossible," she said evenly, though her tone lacked any real heat. "And for the record, if I were planning on ripping your pants off, I'd be considerate enough to relocate us first. I'm not a monster."

When he started philosophizing about kissing and belief systems, she huffed a quiet, incredulous breath and finally shook her head, conceding the point without letting him win outright.

"You kiss when you're affectionate," she replied. "You also kiss when you're bored, smug, distracting yourself, or trying to derail a conversation." A beat. "Those things are not mutually exclusive."

She had been in the middle of sitting when he grabbed her, and instinctively her muscles tensed—only to relax just as quickly when she realized what he was doing. She didn't fight the pull, allowing herself to settle into his lap with a faint, resigned sound that suggested this was not the first time she'd lost that particular battle. Her back straightened on reflex, posture adjusting automatically even as his arms locked around her.

"Careful," she warned, dry as ever. "You keep doing that, and you're going to convince me this apartment needs higher windows."

Still, she didn't move away. She adjusted instead, shifting just enough to get comfortable while reclaiming the holopad and resuming her scrolling like this was perfectly normal—which, with him, it was. His kiss to the back of her neck earned him a brief pause, her shoulders easing just a fraction before she continued.

"Focus," she said, but there was no sharpness in it. "If we're doing this, we're stripping the stock transponder logic first, rerouting the internal power flow, and gutting anything that assumes a full organic crew. I want it modular. Redundant. Something that still functions if half of it's offline."

She leaned back against him slightly as she spoke, grounded, present, unbothered by the closeness. "And for the record," she added, quieter now, "you're here because you choose to be. Not because you owe me. Not because I need guarding."

Her thumb flicked across the pad, pulling up another schematic.

"But I won't pretend I don't like having you at my back while I build something that lasts." She didn't look at him when she said it—but she didn't need to. He was close enough to feel the truth of it anyway.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen just shook his head, chuckling as they moved to sit down. No she wasn't a monster, just a very hot woman who had stolen his heart. "My spine thanks you. And youre are too much like a detective to be a monster." If she kept calling him impossible though, he might as well put a sigh saying "The home of Mr. and Mrs. Impossible" over their doorframe. "And who knows? I might just like kissing your lips." He actually was lying abit when he said that statment. He loved feeling her lips lock into his in a dance of passion. Hopefully, they would be able to get this session of talkings before he gave into his desire.

Omen couldn't help but smirk as he held her in his arms. He could tell she didn't hate this by the way her muscles relaxed with him close by. "Don't you mean bigger windows so everyone can see how cute we are together?" When Aren asked him to focus, he quiet down and let her go through her list. Everything she said was making sense but she did forget atleast one thing. "We are going to have put some kind of countermeasure suite together inside this thing. Either use your expertise to make an ECM work or some kinda chaff launcher on this thing. Something you can use when you are caught out." Being intercepted by another ship in her line of work might be miniumal but who knows, maybe she would be thankful to have them onboard.

He raised an eyebrow as Aren lean back into him while trying to tell him not to give her a pity party. Letting her own exasperated sigh leak out of his mouth, he leaned over and turned her head so their eyes met. "No, I'm here because I love you. And I've never stopped wanting to love you since we first met." Only after he made sure she understood that fact did he let her go back to her screen, closing his eyes to relax while he spoke. The Clone couldn't help but chuckle at her last line though "Wow, you actually sound like you mean that line. I'm impressed and for whats its worth, I like having your back too. You make me a happy man Aren D'Shade." What else was there to say?

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren listened without interrupting, her attention fixed not only on what he was saying but on the care beneath it. When he mentioned countermeasures, she nodded once, already slotting the idea into place.

"You're right," she said calmly. "Passive ECM, burst jamming, something modular that doesn't announce itself. Chaff is inelegant, but it works. I prefer exits that don't rely on luck." She glanced back at him briefly. "Good catch."

Only then did she shift, leaning back into him with intention. It was not something she tolerated or evaluated. His arms around her were familiar now, chosen. She fit there. After all, she wanted to, because it felt right, because she had decided it was.

When he turned her face toward his, she met his eyes without hesitation. There was no need to measure him for threat or uncertainty. She was reading him the way she always did, for honesty. And when he told her why he was here, why he stayed, she believed him. Not because she needed reassurance, but because he had already shown her in a hundred quiet ways.

"I know," she said.

Her hand came to rest against his chest, fingers spread flat, grounded and deliberate.

"You've never given me a reason to doubt that. I don't keep people close by accident." Her voice was steady, unyielding in its certainty. "You chose this. You understand what my life looks like. That's why you're here."

Her thumb moved once, a small, absent motion.

"And having my back does matter," she added, softer now. "More than you think."

She did not dress it up. She did not soften it for effect.

She stayed there with him, composed and fully present, not because she needed protection, and not because she feared being alone, but because trust had been earned, and she had chosen to keep it.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

"Sometimes I have good ideas, like what we are doing right now." Omen squeezed her as she leaned back, letting her know she wasn't going to let go. Hell, he shouldn't have let her go the first time, and he certainly wasn't going to let her go now.

He smirked as she turned around on his lap as said having my back does matter. It mattered to him because he wanted to be there when she needed him, always, no matter what. Because that's what a partner does. "Except when you steal my clothes. Then it's a free-for-all all while I try to save anything to wear. Is it just because they are comfy, or is it because my scent is on them, hmm?" The teasing would continue till ground was given in this battle of wills.

The Clone dropped the stealing clothes subject and just... relaxed with her. With her being away a lot of the time, this was the rare times he got to stay close to her like this. And he planned to savor it as long as he could, as his hands ran over her curves to relax her. Eventually, he did say."Anything you wanted to do today? We could play a game to pass the time?" Depending on the game, this could get very dangerous, very quickly. But if you didn't gamble, you certainly couldn't get a big win now, couldn't you?

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren let herself settle into him instead of resisting, the way she might have once. Her weight shifted back against his chest, shoulders easing as his arms stayed where they were, solid and familiar. She tilted her head just enough to look at him over her shoulder when he started teasing, one brow lifting in a way that suggested he was walking straight into a known trap.

"Your clothes are comfortable," she said first, plainly, as if that alone should have ended the discussion. Then, after a beat, her tone softened just a fraction. "And yes. They smell like you. That helps." She didn't elaborate. She didn't need to. The admission was simple, deliberate, and offered without embarrassment. Her hand rested over his forearm, where it circled her waist, fingers idly tracing the fabric of his sleeve as if to underline the point that she wasn't going anywhere.

When he finally relaxed, she did too, allowing the quiet to stretch for a moment. These were rare hours when neither of them had anywhere else to be, and she treated them as she would valuable tools. Carefully. Without waste.

At his question, she shifted just enough to reach for the datapad resting nearby, lifting it and giving it a small, deliberate wave between her fingers.

"I thought we'd go starship shopping," she said, calm but unmistakably decided. "You already started it. We might as well finish the discussion while we're both awake and not half-dead from travel." She angled the datapad so he could see the paused catalog, then leaned back into him again, trusting him to look without taking over.

"It's not a game," she added, glancing up at him briefly. "But you like projects. And I like knowing exactly what I'm flying." Her thumb tapped the edge of the screen once.

"And if you behave," she continued dryly, "I might even let you argue your case for something impractical." She settled more fully against him after that, comfortable, present, close in a way she did not give lightly. "For now," Aren finished, quieter, "this is fine."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

"I think that's the first sentimental thing you ever said to me me other than when you say, "I love you."" Omen was pretty sure that wasn't wrong. Aren didn't give those statements out lightly, and he appreciated each one that Aren managed to squeeze out. The soft smile that came to her face as he felt her touch told her that he didn't blame her. "Maybe if I fit in your clothes, maybe I would wear them too."

The comfort silences with Aren were something he never thought he would find with anybody. Guess he really was the lucky one. At the thought of them finishing their discussion, Omen raised an eyebrow. "I thought we already did. What did you want to add? If you are talking about actually going to the ship manufacturer to get one new, that's all the way out of Kestri. Which will be a long, long ride to the edge of the Outer Rim." He reached around to bring up the Mynock's layouts up on the pad and examples of possible mods that could be done. He gave a low whistle at one modded versions as his fingers of one hand stroked through Aren's raven-colored hair and the other thumbed through the layouts. "I know having a railgun would be more than we need, but... railgun... Like I said before, unless you think we are going to be hosting guests, we turn one bunkroom into a kitchen, turn at least part of the cargo hold into your droid workshop..." He pointed to the garage in the right lower portion of the ship. "And I guess we are going to have to see if creating an opening to the garage for speeder access is worth losing the armor plating there, but it would make the ship more versatile. We are just going to have to choose where we want our essentials. Other than that, I think we have found our ship." The Clone couldn't think of anything else he wanted to add or change to the ship, and in the end, Aren would probably have the final say on the final design. As he trusted her in their relationship, he trusted her to make her ship her own.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren let out a quiet huff that was almost a laugh, the sound warm and unguarded as she leaned back into him more fully, her shoulder settling against his chest. She tilted her head just enough to glance up at him, amusement clear in her eyes.

"Oh," she said lightly, "it's not like going to a speeder lot down the street?" A small smile curved at the corner of her mouth. "Here I was thinking we'd wander past a row of salesmen waving datapads and promising me 'one careful previous owner' and a complimentary fuel cell."

She shifted again, deliberately this time, nestling closer so her back rested comfortably against him. One hand stayed on the datapad, the other relaxed against his arm.

"I know better," she went on, tone easy now. "I just like the idea that, somewhere out there, there are people whose entire job is trying to upsell starships to stubborn engineers. It's funny to imagine."

Her gaze dropped to the layouts he had pulled up, following where he pointed, thoughtful but calm. There was no tension in her posture, no need to correct or override. She trusted him to talk it through with her.

"You're right," she said after a moment. "We've got the bones of it figured out. Layout, workspace, what we actually need versus what looks impressive on a spec sheet. The rest is just refinement."

Then she set the datapad aside and relaxed fully against him, letting the conversation breathe.

"For now," Aren added, her voice softening, "why don't we put on a holodrama and absolutely tear the plot apart?" She glanced up at him again, that familiar dry spark returning. "You can complain about tactical nonsense. I'll complain about engineering impossibilities. It'll be productive."

She settled in, comfortable and unhurried.

"And later," she finished, quietly, "we'll finish building our ship."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

The Clone couldn't help but chuckle, his chest vibrating Aren's back as he guffawed out. "There are, it's called a marketing department." Maji Ironworks probably did have branch offices scattered around that they could go in and order from but Aren probably wanted to see the manufacting process up close and personal. She would want to see the quality of the build personailty to make sure she was buying the best ship possible. "Guess thats another day trip we need to make."

When she suggested watching a holodrama and tearing it's plot and techincal direction limb from limb, he smiled in agreement. Turning the Holodisplay on the wall on and turning it to a thriller movie about a Rebel spy operating in the classical age on the Empire. As the movie began, he grabbed a blanket off of the arm of the couch and draped it over them. "So you can't escape to your worshop half way through." As they both relaxed and the opening scene started to play, he felt the happiest he had ever been was holding Aren like he was now.

Aren D'Shade