Private Profits and a Padawan

[Lysander von Ascania]

Danger Arceneau

Lysander’s head tilted slightly, acknowledging the task at hand, clearly welcoming the challenge that lay before them, rather than shying away from it. With grace, he brushed back several strands of hair that were plastered to his forehead. Beads of sweat trickled down the side of his face, but they didn’t dull the Padawan’s spirit; instead, they added a gleam, akin to the brightness that typically followed a training session.

“Maybe sometimes it’s about gut instinct, and mine says it’s ok.”

He also knew, deep down, that she wouldn’t have come this far if she didn’t trust him— even if only just a little.

The next time he gazed upwards at the tradeswoman, there was a spark of something he rarely allowed himself to feel with anyone: hope. It was like a light, a vulnerability he never showed. But in this moment, it was surprisingly easy to let it through.

“We won’t fail, Danger.” Each word that tumbled from the boy’s lips felt like a divine spell, capable of shaping their reality. He practiced such before every visit to the enclave, and in truth, the power felt more motivating than the outdated tenets of the Jedi code.

“Let’s give this swamp a glow up the Gungans never saw coming!” A grin stretched across his face, signaling readiness.

Underneath the bravado, Lysander was very much focused and determined.

 

[Danger Arceneau]

Interacting with: Lysander von Ascania
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Danger let out a low, indulgent chuckle, tilting her head as she regarded the Padawan. Brave words, laced with the kind of conviction only the young could afford.

"Well Lysander, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were fixin' to make yourself a legend tonight," she mused, flashing him a knowing smile.

She ignited the saber with a flick of her wrist, its glow casting a warm shimmer across her face. The hum of it curled around them like a whispered promise, its edge licking the air like a serpent tasting a storm.

"Some folks earn respect with words," she quipped, lowering the blade to the fuel-soaked path, "but somethin' tells me Gungans prefer a bit of spectacle."

The moment the plasma met the fuel, fire leapt to life with hungry fingers, consuming the path Lysander had so carefully laid. A single spark -- that was all it took. The blaze spread with ruthless efficiency, licking up trunks and curling through the swamp like it had been waitin' for this moment its whole life.

The night came alive.

Shouts echoed in the distance, the guttural barks of rebel Gungans catching wind of what they surely thought was an encroaching force. Danger didn't wait to see their reaction -- no, she was already moving, deactivating the blade then flipping her comm open with a flick of her wrist.

"Time to earn your credits, gentlemen," she purred, sending out the command. The mercenaries, lying in wait beyond the ridge, would begin their own calculated advance. Another pressure point in this grand orchestration of war and wit.

Snapping the comm shut, she turned back to Lysander with a slow, knowing grin. The flames reflected in her dark green eyes, and for a moment, she looked every bit the woman who had turned more than one battlefield into a business opportunity.

"Alright then, Lysander," she murmured, stepping in beside him. "Time to see if we can get ourselves a warchief."

With the fire raging behind them and the first echoes of approaching warriors in the distance, the real game was about to begin.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Danger Arceneau

With a playful smirk dancing across his lips, Lysander felt the thrill of chaos already course through him. It was a feeling he had tasted many a time. “My natural talent for interrupting the Jedi’s peaceful ways has already earned me legendary status at the enclave,” he stated. With a gleam of mischief in his emerald gaze, the Padawan then leaned in closer, as curious as a child, to watch Danger put their plans in motion.

His eyes widened as she ignited his lightsaber, and the moment the fire came to life, his senses began to sharpen. The distant shouts of Gungans were like drumbeats of war. Whenever the tradeswoman stepped next to him, he gave a confident nod, and they would begin moving towards the fortress.

The smoke thickened, threatening to disorient him, but Lysander could still make out the outlines of the armed Gungans as they surged forward, their weapons raised with determination; clearly, a force to be reckoned with. He presumed they were headed for the mercenaries, but anything was possible.

The entrance was seemingly wide open, almost too good to be true, like a trap just waiting to spring. As they prepared to pass through the threshold, Lysander’s gaze was drawn back to Danger; and then, a warm smile crept onto his lips, reassuring her that they were in this together. He was also silently hoping that she was enjoying this adventure just as much as he was.

Inside, makeshift tents were spread across the grounds, a collection of torn fabrics and poles that still possessed more charm than Mossi.

The blonde’s mind was already racing ahead, calculating where the location of this warchief might be.

Inside, he heard a shout. Four Gungans that remained behind quickly began advancing. Fortunately, none of them bore ranged weapons; their spears were only sufficient for close combat, though they could certainly be a threat if they were able to close the distance.

“This will totally make for a cool story worth telling someday,” he quipped as adrenaline mingled with the laughter in his voice.

His lightsaber remained in the woman’s grip, but it hardly fazed him. With an instinctive motion, he extended his hand while summoning raw energy into his palm. The Force surged as he then unleashed a powerful push, sending three of them hurtling back into the wall with a loud thud.

The fourth Gungan, however, managed to stand his ground.

 

[Danger Arceneau]

Interacting with: Lysander von Ascania
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Danger's lips curled in quiet amusement at Lysander's quip about it being a cool story worth telling someday.

"Well that's one tall tale that will be interestin' listenin'." she drawled out, moving beside to support Lysander just as he sent the trio sprawling, but there was still a bit of sadness and aggravation there at sight. Not at Lysander, no, but at the thought that Jedi would take these children and train them up in battle. Lysander was a boy playing at war when he shouldn't have to. He should be enjoying his life as any young man should. Not here.

Either way, her fleeting thoughts were swept away to focus on the matter at hand. HEr eyes flashed right, watching just in time as the last Gungan braced himself against the push with a guttural growl, his webbed feet digging into the swamp packed floor of the fortress, dragging lines across the packed mud.

"Oh, don't press me, I ain't in a mood to dance," Danger drawled out in warning, holding up her blaster at him.

There was no time for pleasantries. CLearly, the Gungan did not take her words to heart, lunging at her. The Gungan came at her with all the fury of a beast cornered, spear raised high, muscles taut with battle fervor. But Danger had danced this dance before. With a flick of her wrist, she deactivated the saber and with the other, she snapped her blaster up, sending a volley of blaster bolts out, striking the Gungan. He let out a shuddered twitch, but by then it was too late, Danger side stepping as she let the warrior's own momentum betray him. The poor fool barreled past her, stumbling straight into Lysander's waiting grasp.

The camp beyond was still in chaos, the fire serving its purpose well. Gungans rushed past in frantic waves, some heading for the blaze, others shouting orders as they tried to rally. And there, at the heart of it all, past the smoldering wreckage of overturned crates and flickering swamp torches, stood their prize.

The Warchief.

He was taller than the others, broad-shouldered and battle scarred, his ochre hued skin marked with deep ceremonial etchings. His armor was mismatched; some parts old and dented, others clearly stolen from offworld sources. The great curved blade in his grip gleamed under the firelight, and his eyes, black as the deep, locked onto them with the cold calculation of a seasoned predator.

He had been waiting for them.

What were the chances he would listen to some swaying conversation? At this point, likely not high at all.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Danger Arceneau

The aggressive Gungan faltered as Danger's lethal bolts hit him. Amid the adrenaline and determination, something else twisted deep inside— a flicker of concern.

Still, unlike other Padawans who were often uncertain of their own abilities under pressure, Danger's confidence served as an anchor, which allowed Lysander to perform better. He was already on high alert, and fortunately, his consistent training would now pay off, for martial instincts were drilled into the boy’s reflexes. With a more strategic jab, his arm locked, asserting control and creating a small space that allowed him to avoid the spear their foe wielded. With a precise pivot on the lead foot, his movements then became lethal; twisting both his hips and shoulders, an arm swept over, the elbow like a hammer that cracked against the Gungan’s skull.

He felt the being's life waning through the Force as he crumpled, though suspected that trajectory had already been set before delivering the final blow. Either way, the simple strike at least allowed him to gain real world experience, something that simply couldn’t be obtained at the enclave.

As the Warchief came into view next, calmness settled over him. Lysander's chin tilted slightly, as if he were in the halls of court, needing to remind someone of their place

Negotiations felt like they were off the table, so it left the only language that could be spoken: violence.

His emerald gaze lingered on the Warchief. The contours of muscle and scars spoke volumes of him being battle-tested. He wouldn’t be an easy opponent, but the Padawan wasn't going to allow himself to think that way. As he looked at Danger, a grin spread across his face. "Don' look much diff'rent than the oth'r nerf fly if ya ask me," he drawled, forcing himself to believe the words that just rolled off his tongue.

Lysander had one plan in the back of his mind. Between his grappling prowess and knowing the body’s anatomy like the back of his hand, he believed it was possible to submit him by getting a firm grasp on an arm or leg. Until then, he would just have to feed off the tradeswoman.

With a flick of his own wrist now, and harnessing the Force energy flowing through him, he summoned mud from the swamp floor. A mass of it lifted and surged toward the Warchief's face like a veil. It was a small distraction, but it would hopefully buy them a little time.

 

[Danger Arceneau]

Interacting with: Lysander von Ascania
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Danger watched the Warchief flinch as the swamp's own filth lashed across his face, slinging thick, wet grime into his eyes. Lysander's trick was clever, quick -- Good! He was a boy who'd learned that in a fair fight, you don't always fight fair.

The Warchief let out a guttural snarl, shaking his head to clear the muck, but Danger was already moving forward, slipping into the opening Lysander had carved. Her fingers brushed the hilt of her blaster, but she didn't draw -- no need to waste a good shot when they still needed him breathing to turn him in. Instead, she reached for the saber still clipped to her belt.

With a snap-hiss, violet light bathed the space between them. The Warchief barely had time to register the threat before Danger deactivated it again, using the flash alone to disorient him as she swept low, twisting like a silk ribbon caught in the wind.

Her boot connected with the back of his knee.

The Warchief buckled, giving Lysander the opening to react and perhaps capture him once and for all.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Danger Arceneau

The Padawan’s heart thrummed with satisfaction to see an overused tactic still unfold with the same success. But he knew better than to let overconfidence cloud his thinking. His focus flickered over to Danger, catching the exact moment she reignited his lightsaber. Instincts kicked in once more; Lysander darted forward, each step a fine balance between acting out of aggression, and the need to protect both of them.

Having anticipated the strike with his purple blade, he was effortlessly caught off guard by the kick that was delivered instead. Either way, he naturally fed off the energy radiating from the tradeswoman and was already transitioning into the next move as he drew closer. With the Warchief’s body falling forward, he began positioning himself strategically.

Rather than taking him from behind, Lysander opted for a guillotine choke from the front. An arm snaked around the Gungan’s neck, instantly finding its place just under the chin. The other arm locked in place for support. A guttural groan escaped from the Gungan as the blonde began applying pressure, even engaging his core to increase the output. Just like the other encounters in this swamp, he was further gifted with experience in real world technique that was simply invaluable; or, as others who trained in the art called it, fight IQ.

The Warcheif’s large ears began flapping as consciousness slipped away, and the massive spear fell from his grasp. But rather than wasting more energy, he let their captive’s limp form slump into the very mud they stood upon. When he glanced over to Danger, his gaze still burned with same admiration for her guidance; a faint smile also reflected the respect he carried for his mentor, as if the violent exchange just seconds ago had never even happened.

It just felt like another lesson.

At this point, it may have been too obvious that he didn't embody the Jedi's idealism.

Finally, he broke the silence. "Well, that was easier than expected, huh?" Scanning the area next, Lysander would continue. “How much time do you think we have?” His tone carried more curiosity than any notes of concern.

He also saw the presence of Kaadu, tethered to a makeshift post. "At least a mount is already here; that should help us make the escape quicker, right Ms. Dangeruese?" The boy wasn’t worried about lifting the Warchief— not the lightest alien, but not overly bulky and definitely not outside his strength level.

 

[Danger Arceneau]

Interacting with: Lysander von Ascania
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Danger took a slow breath, savoring the moment. The Warchief lay sprawled at their feet, his breath heavy with the weight of unconsciousness. Lysander, ever so pleased with himself, stood nearby with that spark of mischief still burning bright in his emerald gaze. The boy was rough around the edges, but she had to give credit where it was due as he had a good feel for a fight, and more importantly, he wasn't above learning.

"Well..." she murmured, deactivating the saber and offering it back to Lysander. "Ain't often things go this smooth. Almost makes me think the stars are tryin' to butter me up for somethin' worse down the line." She then gave a look around, her feline green eyes narrowing. "Time's somethin' we don't got much of so I suggest we get movin' before his friends get curious."

She rose in one smooth motion, gesturin' toward the Kaadu. "Well you are right. That Kaadu will help speed things up for us. Help me load him up. Be a shame to waste a perfectly good mount."

With that, they had the Warchief secure, but they had to get going. The swamp was already stirring The distant sounds of footfalls squelching through the mud made her press a little closer to Lysander as they swung themselves up behind their captive. "Keep an eye out...just 'cause we bested their leader don't mean the rest'll let us waltz outta here without a proper sendoff."

The Kaadu lurched forward, and Danger felt the rush of air against her face as they cut through the fog-laden swamp, the fortress behind them melting into the gloom.

By the time they reached the edge of the swamp, dawn was a whisper on the horizon, staining the sky in gentle hues of pink and gold. Took a bit of finangling to get him to the shore, but the Gungan sentries took notice, their wary gazes flickering from the unconscious Warchief to the two unlikely victors who'd brought him in.

The sentries took the Warchief then, intending to take him down Otoh Gungan. They all made their way to the underwater city and, in no time, stood face to face with Boss Pommu himself.

Boss Pommu himself was already stridin' forward, his broad face unreadable. He let out a slow, heavy breath before speaking.

"Youssa return wit' da Warchief." His eyes, dark and sharp, studied both Danger and Lysander, as if weighin' their worth in his mind. "Dis is… unexpected."

Danger dusted off her hands as she cast the Boss a charming smile. "Unexpected? Now, I take offense to that. You hired us, didn't you?"

Pommu let out a low, amused rumble. He stepped closer, inspecting the Warchief before glancing at Lysander.

"Youssa show strength, show respect," he said. "Now we talk."

Danger's smirk deepened.

"Well then," she purred, "let's talk business."