Private Philosophy Talk

[Aiden Porte]

Tanaab
Lyssara Thrynn
​

The freighter's landing struts groaned as Aiden Porte guided it down onto the uneven durasteel pad of Tanaab's spaceport. The engines sputtered in protest one last time before cutting out completely, leaving only the faint hiss of cooling metal and the hum of nearby ships in their stead. He exhaled slowly, fingers still resting on the throttle controls as the cockpit lights dimmed.

"Again." he muttered under his breath, leaning back in the pilot's chair. The scent of ozone and burned circuitry filled the cabin familiar, irritating, almost comforting in a strange way. He'd coaxed this ship across half the Mid Rim, and still she found new ways to argue with him. A Jedi could face battle droids, Sith cultists, and pirates without flinchin but a malfunctioning hyperdrive? That was another trial entirely.

He grabbed his cloak from the co-pilot's chair and descended the ramp, letting the evening air of the port wash over him. Tanaab's skyline was an odd mix of rural calm and urban edge: grain silos standing beside neon-lit towers, freighters parked alongside livestock haulers. The scent of rain and oil mingled on the breeze. "Mechanic first thing tomorrow." he promised himself, though he already knew he'd end up under the hull by dawn, hands blackened and robes half-burned from frustration.

For now, though, the day had earned him something simpler.

The local pub was easy to find every port had one, usually marked by laughter, off-key music, and the faint tang of Corellian ale. The sign above the doorway flickered, half the letters missing, but the sound of life inside drew him all the same. He stepped through, the weight of travel easing slightly as warmth and noise replaced the chill of the tarmac.

A few heads turned as his armor gave attention as the blue gem at the center glowed strongly but he offered a small nod and moved quietly toward the bar. The barkeep, a grizzled Ithorian with a scar across his neck pouch, tilted his head curiously.

"Not often we get monks with lightsabers around here." the Ithorian rumbled through his translator.

"Just a traveler with engine trouble." Aiden replied, a faint, good-natured smile touching his lips. "Corellian Whiskey if you have it.."

As the drink was poured, Aiden leaned against the counter, letting the murmured conversations and cantina melody wash over him. For a moment, he allowed himself the rarest luxury: stillness. The Force moved quietly through the room calm, ordinary, alive.

He took his first sip, the taste sharper than expected, and exhaled a quiet laugh.

A flicker in the Force stirred then faint, like a ripple in still water. Someone nearby carried more than the usual weight of a port drifter. Aiden didn't turn immediately. He just listened, the calm of the moment sharpening as the evening began to unfold.

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

I push open the door of the bar, and the warm, noisy air greets me at once. After the day I've had, the commotion feels almost soothing. The sign above the entrance is missing half its letters, but I'm in the right place. The negotiations took longer than expected the company's representatives wanted to revisit the terms, of course but the contract is signed. The Diarchy's accounts will finally start to balance out a little.

I let out a quiet sigh and make my way to an empty table a bit away from the counter. The floor sticks slightly under my boots, and the smell of hot metal mixes with spilled alcohol. Typical. I take off my gloves, set them on the table, and signal to the server.

"Whiskey, with ice."

I lean back in my chair, letting my shoulders drop. At this hour, the place is full of pilots, mechanics, drifters. My gaze sweeps the room without lingering. I notice a man sitting not far away looks like a weary traveler but I quickly look away.

The server returns with the drink. I swirl the ice in the glass before taking a sip. It's strong, dry, just enough to burn away the tension still clinging to me.

For the first time in hours, I'm not thinking about numbers, signatures, or ledgers. Just about the taste of rest brief, but well earned.

Aiden Porte

 

[Aiden Porte]

Lyssara Thrynn

​

Aiden had just lifted his own glass when the door opened that subtle creak of hinges half-drowned beneath laughter and the low hum of conversation. He didn't turn at first, still half-listening to the distant tick of the spaceport's traffic beacons through the Force. But something shifted in the room's rhythm, a quiet ripple of purpose among the usual disarray.

He glanced up.

The newcomer carried themselves with the kind of precision that didn't belong to a spacer or a pilot. Each movement measured, deliberate, weighed. Someone used to order or perhaps to commanding it. The faint trace of travel dust on the hem of their coat spoke of long corridors and longer meetings. Negotiations, probably. Bureaucrats and politicians were as much a fixture on Tanaab as grease stains and plasma leaks these days.

He caught himself watching a second too long, then looked away with a faint exhale, returning to his drink.

The Corellian whiskey was well, refined but its burn grounded him, much more then he wanted to admit. He hadn't come here to study strangers. He'd come for a drink, and to relax.

When the server passed by again, Aiden gave a small nod. "Another, please, and get one for her too." he said, voice calm, even. The bartender poured, the glass slid across the counter, and the Jedi took it with a faint, grateful smile. Aiden raised his glass ever so subtly towards her, before he looked back ahead.

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

The server sets down a glass in front of me one more than I ordered. A moment of surprise, then understanding follows easily. A little further down the bar, the man I'd noticed when I first arrived watches without insisting. His gaze is calm, almost reserved, but the subtle motion of his hand confirms the intent. A faint smile tugs at my lips, hard to suppress. In a port like this, politeness is rare elegance even rarer the glass feels warm beneath my fingers, its surface beaded with condensation. The amber liquid catches the light from the counter, like a small shard of sunlight trapped in glass.

The first sip burns just enough to bring warmth back. The tension from the day fades, replaced by a quiet curiosity.

"You have good taste,"

I say softly, without disturbing the low murmur around us. A brief glance in his direction not a challenge, just a polite, almost companionable acknowledgment. Around us, an old synth melody drifts between conversation and the clinking of glasses.

"And good manners,"

I add after a pause, my tone carrying a trace of a smile.

"That's not so common around here."

The glass returns to the counter with a soft clink. I turn slightly on the stool, just enough to face him without intruding on his space.
Curiosity draws me to study him a little closer: the worn coat, the measured posture, the tired eyes. Hardly a simple traveler.

"I suppose I owe you a thank-you."

A small nod follows, genuine, touched with a hint of mischief.

"So… thank you. And whom do I have the pleasure of meeting? I'm Lyssara Thrynn, from the Diarchy."

Aiden Porte

 

[Aiden Porte]

Lyssara Thrynn
​

Aiden looked up from his own drink as the extra glass was set down in front of her. The motion had been quiet, deliberate, one hand raised, a subtle nod to the bartender. Nothing more. He hadn't meant to interrupt her evening, only to acknowledge the kind of poise that stood out in a place like this.

He met her gaze, steady but unassuming, a hint of a smile ghosting across his features. "Occupational habit." he replied, voice low and even. "When your ship keeps breaking down, you learn to find small comforts."

The light caught on the edge of her glass, a flicker of gold that matched the amber reflection in his own. Around them, the pub kept moving voices, laughter, the crackle of static from a battered holoscreen but it all seemed to fade into background noise.

At her question, he inclined his head slightly. "Aiden Porte." he said. "Traveler, Jedi Knight of the High Republic. and Mechanic when the galaxy forces my hand." A beat passed, just enough for the corners of his mouth to lift in quiet amusement. "Lyssara Thrynn, you said? It's a pleasure to meet you."

His tone was polite, light, but behind the words there was a careful watchfulness a Jedi's habit he could never quite leave behind. "What brings you out today?" he asked, resting an elbow on the counter.

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

I let out a quiet laugh, almost imperceptible, at the mention of his "ship breaking down." I slowly turn my glass between my fingers, the amber liquid catching the light like a shard of fire trapped inside.

"Professional habit, huh? That, I can relate to. Machines have a special talent for choosing the worst possible moment to betray us. I'm starting to think they've got a mind of their own."

My gaze settles on him steady, direct. A Jedi. I suspected it from the start, even before he said it aloud. There's that way he holds the space around him, that taut serenity, too controlled to be natural. No arrogance, no boastfulness just that quiet vigilance that belongs to those who've seen too much chaos up close.

"A Jedi Knight of the High Republic, in a backwater pub on Tanaab... You must be either on a mission or on the run, I tease, a faint smile tugging at my lips. I'm not sure which of the two is more exhausting."

I sit up straighter on my stool, crossing one leg over the other, and take another sip from my glass before continuing, my voice lower now, almost confidential:

"What brought me out tonight? Let's just say... paperwork and endless meetings. I've spent the day convincing a board of administrators that the Diarchy's accounts won't fill themselves with pretty speeches. So here I am, looking for a bit of silence in the noise."

I shrug lightly, a casual gesture, though my eyes stay on him.

"And you? I ask, my tone softening. Did you come to drown a stubborn engine in whiskey, or is this your way of meditating?"

A brief, knowing smile crosses my lips half-complicit, half-playful. After a short pause, I tilt my head slightly, a touch more polite now:

"The pleasure's mine, Aiden Porte. Though honestly, I'm not sure what's rarer here a Jedi, or someone who still buys a drink without expecting anything in return."

Around us, the bar hums back to life: laughter, clinking glasses, an old cantina song muffled under the din. I tap my glass lightly against the counter, thoughtful, before speaking again, my tone calmer:

"If you're looking for small comforts, I think we just found one in common. And if your ship's really down, maybe I can help. I'm head of R&D for the Diarchy machines are kind of my thing. Just say the word. Hi. "

I raise my glass toward him, a quiet spark of challenge in my eyes, before taking another sip.

Aiden Porte

 

[Aiden Porte]

Lyssara Thrynn
​

Aiden’s expression softened. Her laugh, the quiet kind that spoke of someone who’d had their fair share of long days and late nights. His thumb traced the rim of his own glass as she spoke, the faint hum of the pub dimming to a comfortable blur around them.

“Machines do seem to know when to test us.” he said, a wry undertone threading through the calm of his voice. “They pick their moments like fate or mischief.” His gaze met hers briefly, steady but unguarded. “And sometimes, I think they’re just reflecting their pilot’s state of mind.”

When she mentioned the Jedi, that faint smile curved again. “Mission or on the run.” he repeated, amused. “There’s nothing I want to run from, I usually stand steadfast and face all my problems.” He raised his glass slightly before taking another sip, the warmth of the drink cutting the edge of travel’s weariness.

Her mention of the Diarchy made something flicker in his eyes recognition, perhaps respect. “R&D, you said?” he asked, leaning slightly against the counter. “Then it sounds like you’ve fought your own share of battles. Different tools, same kind of endurance.”

The offer of help earned a small chuckle. “Generous.” he said quietly His tone was light, but the gratitude beneath it was genuine.

He studied her for a moment, the way she seemed both tired and entirely present the mark of someone who didn’t know how to rest even when the work was done. “Still.” he added, setting his glass down, “I won’t say no to company, especially if they enjoy whiskey."

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, almost teasing but measured. “Tell you what, Lyssara Thrynn, you help me convince my ship to stop breaking down, and I’ll buy you a bottle or two for your next adventure. Fair trade?”

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

I let out a quiet laugh the kind that chases away a bit of the weariness. His tone, equal parts sincere and teasing, draws a smile from me.

"Deal," I say, raising my glass toward him, my gaze meeting his. "But fair warning I'm stubborn. If your ship's decided to throw a tantrum, it's going to have to learn to deal with me. I'm joking, i want your ship functional and repear. "

I swirl the last of the whiskey in my glass, then finish it in an easy sip before pouring myself another. The amber liquid murmurs softly as it fills the glass, the sound oddly soothing.

"To your ship, then," I add, a smile tugging at my lips. "And to your promise of bottles."

I clink my glass gently against his, a spark of amusement in my eyes. "Looks like this trip just got a lot more interesting."

Aiden Porte

 

[Aiden Porte]

Lyssara Thrynn​

Aiden's glass met hers with a soft clink, the faintest shimmer of a smile tugging at his lips. "To stubbornness," he said, voice low, calm but warm, "And hopefully my ship does learn some humility."

He took a slow sip, the whiskey's burn steady and grounding. For the first time all day, the tension in his shoulders eased, the kind that no meditation or maintenance schedule ever quite managed to touch. "If mine's still standing by morning," he went on, "You'll have earned more than a bottle, maybe two. My gratitude as well."

He set his glass down, fingers drumming lightly against the counter, his gaze catching hers again. "You know," he added, a hint of dry humor slipping through, "When I landed here, I was certain the Force had dragged me into another repair bill. Starting to think it had better plans."

He tapped the counter lightly with a small smile. "Let me get two bottles, her choosing." He smirked and placed the credits on the counter.

He lifted his glass once more, a small nod of acknowledgment. "Here's to interesting trips, Lyssara. When do we start?"

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

"When you're really ready?"

I wasn't joking, of course, when I said I'd help him with the mechanics of his ship. For me, that's routine work. I'm used to checking over my smuggling ship, the Solar Spectrum Ship. The one I came with today isn't a big vessel, just my personal interceptor.

All that's left is to figure out the model type for his own ship. Worst case, I'll have parts delivered if needed. The taste of the drink burns my throat a little, but it's fine I'm clearly enjoying it anyway.

I see him pull out the credits, and he offers me to pick two bottles? Fine, I think I'll go for Corellian whiskey. Two bottles will be perfect.

"Corellian whiskey, please."

Slumping against the bar, I pull out my datapad to check my comms. Aside from the usual spam from Nyva Shei, I don't have any new important messages. No appointments, no schedule to manage I'm completely available.

Aiden Porte

 

[Aiden Porte]

Lyssara Thrynn​

Aiden finished the last of his drink and set the glass down with a quiet clink. The offer had been genuine, he could tell. Lyssara didn't strike him as someone who made casual promises, and if she said she could help with the ship, he believed her.

He stood, pulling his cloak over his shoulders, the motion smooth, practiced. "Come on, then," he said, his tone light but steady. "Before the engines decide to take offense at being ignored."

Outside, the air carried that faint metallic tang of rain and starship fuel. The spaceport stretched in uneven rows of freighters, haulers, and rusted relics held together by more faith than parts. His own vessel sat near the edge of the landing bay, a compact, battle-worn courier ship, matte gray with streaks of burn along its hull.

Up close, the damage was clearer: a scoring pattern across the port-side plating from a near-miss blaster strike, the faint whine of a power coupling struggling to stabilize. A vent panel hung half open, its fasteners corroded, and one of the stabilizer fins bore a crude patch job that looked more like improvisation than repair.

"She's been through a few things," Aiden admitted, running a gloved hand along the hull. "Core routes, relief missions in the Rim, more asteroid fields than I care to count. The last jump overheated the drive core again. Power flow to the thrusters keeps spiking every time I start her up."

He crouched beneath the ship, flicking on a small handheld light to reveal a mess of exposed conduits. "Fuel line's fine, but the magnetic containment's misaligned. I've fixed it twice, but it keeps slipping. Could be the coupling, could be the entire manifold deciding to retire early."

He straightened, glancing at Lyssara with a faint, self-deprecating smile. "I've only had her for a few months, and she's new, just shows how busy I've been."

A gust of wind stirred his cloak, the hum of nearby repulsorlifts echoing through the open bay. "Still," he said, nodding toward the gangway, "If anyone can get her to stop complaining, I'm guessing it's you. The Diarchy's best mechanic, wasn't it?"

His tone carried that same calm humor as before, but beneath it was quiet trust, the kind that didn't need to be spoken.

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

Luckily, my personal ship isn't parked too far from his, so I can grab the equipment I need to repair his own vessel. While he gives me the tour, I listen carefully, not wanting to overlook a single detail. I can't help but raise an eyebrow at the problematic condition of his ship.

"Yeah, I can confirm your ship has definitely been through something… seriously, how do you even fly with this wreck?"

My judgment is final I don't want to be mean, but it's really dangerous to keep flying with this thing. Even for a freight hauler, I wouldn't risk it.

I watch him crouch under the ship with a small light, and I bend down as well to get a look. I end up lying on the ground entirely just to be more comfortable. I grimace when I see the state of the cables and conduits.

Straightening up, I pull out my own datapad and call the Diarchy's tech service. I order a series of parts I'll need to fix the ship and have them delivered quickly. Once my toolbox is nearby, I open it and look over the materials with a small smile.

"You know, I handle antimatter weapons within the Diarchy, so repairing a ship isn't exactly going to be difficult for me. By the way, if you want upgrades, now's the time to tell me."

Before starting anything, I grab a wrench and disconnect the battery, then remove the ship's processor core, and then disconnect the coaxium fuel line to avoid any risk of explosion or overload. Now that the dashboard is completely shut down and all the power is cut, there's no risk in getting my hands dirty.

I start by taking the sander and applying it to the scorched parts of the hull to give it a second life. Once that's done, I grab the metal plates in my crate and replace the defective sections with new ones so the ship will be much more stable and solid. Essentially, I'm giving it back its airtight integrity.

I also take care of the panel that was hanging out into open space I grab some screws and put it back in its original place on the ship's hull. To reinforce it, I weld it to the wall on top of the screws so it won't move anymore. Now it's much more secure than before. Then comes the part with the cables oh boy, that's going to be fun. I start by untangling the whole mess. Once everything is unplugged, I make sure to do some proper cable management.

I then show him the coupling with the badly calibrated power flow.

"There's your culprit… And judging by the state of your fuses and everything else, don't look any further. You're lucky you didn't stall mid-flight."

Aiden Porte

 

[Aiden Porte]

Lyssara Thrynn​

Aiden crouched beside her, one knee in the dust, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched her work. The glow from her tools cast soft gold across the underbelly of the Serenity's Wake, flickering over the carbon scoring and patchwork welds that told the story of too many battles, too many landings made on borrowed luck.

"Wreck,' he repeated mildly, his tone a mix of amusement and guilt. "That's the polite version. I've heard worse from Temple engineers." He leaned down, using the light from his wrist module to follow the path of the conduit she was pointing out.

When she pulled out the damaged coupling, he winced slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "That explains the jump instability. I've been compensating with the thrusters manually… probably not the wisest approach."

Her focus was absolute, efficient, precise, confident. The way she worked reminded him of a good pilot in the middle of a storm: reading the machine as though it were speaking directly to her. He found himself watching for a moment longer than he meant to.

"Antimatter weapons, huh?" he said finally, leaning back on his heels. "I can see why this is a light afternoon for you." He gestured toward the pile of defective parts she'd already replaced. "And here I thought Jedi field repairs were impressive. You're making me look unprepared."

He stepped around to the open maintenance panel, gloved fingers tracing a faint burn mark along the hull. "You're right, this ship's been through a lot. Core worlds, the Mid Rim, and more outer-rim mud ports than I'd like to admit. Some of those scars are from Imperial patrols. The rest…" He gave a small shrug. "Let's just say the galaxy isn't kind to anyone who still tries to help people for free."

He knelt again as she displayed the burnt coupling, nodding at her conclusion. "You're right. That's the heart of it. And those fuses—yeah, I bypassed them on a rush job near Chandrila." He exhaled, low and rueful. "You'd think I'd know better by now."

Then, more softly, "Thanks, Lyssara. Really. I'm used to patching things up alone."

He glanced toward the dark stretch of the hangar beyond them, the flicker of ship lights painting the floor in pale amber. "If I didn't know any better," he added, voice quiet but edged with warmth, "I'd say the Force sent me a mechanic with better timing than I deserve."

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

I let out a brief breath, halfway between a quiet laugh and loosened concentration, without lifting my eyes from the coupling still resting between my fingers. The metal is warm, tired, almost relieved to have finally been torn from its place.

Slided the faulty part into the scrap bin, then wipe my hands on the cloth hanging from my belt I don't believe in kind coincidences. I believe in machines that speak too loudly when you finally listen to them. I straighten up halfway, still beneath the hull, and reach for the crate to pull out a new coupling intact, polished, almost offensively young compared to the old one.

"the Force or not," I say calmly, "this ship was screaming that it was about to give out. I just answered."

I slide the part into place, adjust the alignment down to the micron, then lock the fasteners with a dry, satisfying click. The movement is precise, almost gentle. I take an extra second to recalibrate the magnetic field, just so it stops "slipping" the moment the engines ramp up. I shift next to the fuses, replacing those that have lived too long with reinforced models. No flashy upgrades. Just enough to make the ship stop fighting itself.

"You weren't reckless," I add while working, "just… stubborn. This kind of ship holds together because someone refuses to abandon it. But even loyalty has its limits."

After close the internal panel, then crawl out from under the hull, settling back on my heels. I reconnect the fuel line, reseat the processor core, then carefully hook the battery back up. Everything is done in the right order. Always. At last, I lift my eyes to the scarred hull, to those marks I deliberately didn't erase.

"I didn't repair your past," I say simply. "Just the immediate future."

I straighten fully, grab my datapad, and launch a series of diagnostics. The flow lines stabilize clean, obedient. A small smile, brief and almost imperceptible, forms despite myself.

"Cold start whenever you're ready. And this time… she won't complain."

i re turn on the engine, i re place the coaxium field in the machine, all is ready for a fresh start, i give a little bonk on the metal of the ship with my hand, but that's a ritual personnal, after i have Put everything away, I hand him the wrench


"Alright, your ship is finally, ready, hope you can fly for a moment with this."

Aiden Porte