Private Raise The Bar

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naamino Zuukamano
​

Lysander was at ease in the abandoned warehouse, nestled just a few minutes from the Kor’ethyr Academy. Several areas of the floor were cracked or uneven, and despite the peeling metal panels, the place had grown on him quickly, for it was here that he could truly breathe. Everything would fall into place soon.

Close to where he studied, it was strategically perfect, just near enough to stay effortlessly connected to students turned clientele, but also far enough to keep operating under the radar. Using the last of his father's credits, he secured the old building, hoping it would offer a safer haven while expanding his business with A'Mia and her greenhouse.

The space inside was sparse, but at least possessed a new couch in one corner, along with a modest kitchen that had just enough appliances to fuel their ever-needing gains, and a growing collection of tools slowly accumulating what would be a makeshift garage, reserved specifically for the mechanic-inclined friend, Haro.

Seated now at a metal desk scarred with burn marks, his black athletic wear hung loose on his lean frame. His gaze flickered down at the datapad in one corner, where a breath control app pulsed with lights, guiding his inhales and exhales. It served well to train both his ear and mind.

Hours earlier, he stood before a broken mirror, singing softly, voice brushing against the glass. It felt more like a confession, than anything close to a performance. While there, he scrutinized every detail in the reflection, from the different shapes his mouth made to any tension that might have gripped his jaw. The practice struck the blonde as odd in the beginning, comparing himself to a programmed droid, but as the weeks passed, the efforts compounded, and improvements were becoming noticeable.

Taped next to the mirror was a worn, printed photograph of him from when he was nine or ten, standing beside his sister Corazona von Ascania , both of them making peace signs with cheesy grins. Now.. that very gesture was against the Code he followed. But somewhere along his journey on Korriban, he'd stopped hiding his roots, and accepted that there would be no return to the Light.

Emotionally, he was still searching for his voice.. something authentic, something beyond technique.

Around his neck, a pair of studio headphones rested; a song was still playing, the beat being background noise. Between new hits from the HoloWave and drops from a Zikzok creator called Outer Rim Riffs, his mind was well nourished with inspiration.

Pen poised between his fingers, it drifted across pages of his journal, doodling random sketches, random words, and broken thoughts.. hoping they would bloom into something more. Perhaps, they were secrets and desires that sought life beyond his mind. Because the ink bled from his heart, sometimes he wrote things he didn’t understand until later.. but it burned all the same.

i left the door unlocked
but not for you
just couldn't bear one more thing closed
I can no longer look at the stars
not after they watched you leave
no sleep last night
or the night before
black ink on my tongue
still tastes like you said nothing
when I needed anything
too far to fix
and too close to forget
your silence is the loudest
but I'll keep the exit soft

Silently, bathing in the natural light near a window, Lysander breathed in, then breathed out; but, he was not just surviving; he was slowly finding himself again.

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Kor'ethyr Academy courses had well and truly picked back up and Naamino Zuukamano's every hour seemed to be accounted for. There were the odd moments he was able to steal away a bit of time to spend with his girlfriend, and he certainly did what he could to socialize amidst tasks like classwork and training. For the most part though, his days and even most evenings were accounted for.

It was in one of those rare instances of total freedom, between Advanced Military Tactics and Exotic Weapons training later that evening, that Naami found himself knocking at the door of the warehouse and let himself in. The zabrak was dressed smartly in his Kor'ethyr military garb, the left breast of which didn't yet sport officer bars but soon would if Naami had his way. The jacket sported a few other marks of high ranking: one stripe to show he earned top marks in dueling, another that indicated he'd seen active combat on behalf of the Order at least three times. All in all, he looked every inch the future commander he endeavored to be, stiff 3/4 collar framing his neck and accentuating his jaw line perfectly. It was clear that he took pride in not only being a soldier, but in the institution he served.

"Oi, Lys, you here?"

His voice, deepening every day, called out into the building. Soon his question was answered by evidence of his piercing blue eyes, which took in the sight of his peer writing at the table near a window.

Naami gave a lazy two finger salute, the gesture made somewhat clumsy by the big leather bound journal clutched in that hand. He drew closer to Lysander von Ascania , looking around the place with a discerning gaze. He withheld judgment or comment on the place, choosing to get to know the space a bit better before levying either.

The teen dropped a big satchel onto a clear spot on the desk, its contents crinkling a little as Naami sauntered up to stand beside the blonde.

"Snacks," he grunted by way of explanation, "Whatcha working on?"

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naamino Zuukamano ​

Lysander's hum that he allowed to escape in the warehouse, was more an echo of a feeling carefully hidden from most. Sometimes it was steady, like a river, and other times it cracked, slipping past the facade that he chose to wear more recently. But it was never intentional, not here, as it was an honest expression, a different kind of devotion. A devotion that burned quietly. During the early morning runs, his lungs were trained for oxygen efficiency, but here, they were being trained for confession.

He turned back to the page that awaited his attention, running his fingers over the surface before a small star was traced beneath the tip of his pen. He wouldn’t say the name; he just drew another instead, something done lately when missing someone far away. Three syllables rested on the edge of his mouth, never quite gone.

The instrument served him well, spilling words not from his mind, but somewhere lower, somewhere softer. It was easier this way, and at times, more honest than explaining it through conversation with his friends. Writing didn't require eye contact, nor demanded answers that he often didn't even have the energy to give.

If life without you made sense, I'd be fine by now
If goodbye came easy, I wouldn’t still be waiting
If I knew how to keep you, I wouldn’t still be reaching
And this feeling
It won't let me go
I hate that I need you this much

Then came another sound. Naamino's boots were unmistakable as they struck concrete, echoing down the halls. He knew it without sight, the approach already announced. The pen faltered, hanging for a long moment before he finally lifted his gaze. Beyond the room, he also heard a speeder whispering down the street.

He let the judgment show. The crisp lines, insignias, all of it spoke of discipline and duty. A subtle flicker passed across the teen's emerald gaze. An amused smile then curved his lips. “Kor’ethyr’s finest gracing me with a visit, and even bringing snackies,” he said, nodding toward the satchel. “The uniform suits you,” he added, voice low but steady. “Like it’s where you’re meant to be." A pause, with just a hint of smugness lacing his words. "As long as you don't start bringing ration bars.”

Reaching forward, Lysander turned the notebook around to reveal what was basically a map. "I'm used to poems meant to be read aloud." He shrugged his shoulders, an easy nonchalance. "But I don't want everything to rhyme either. I want it more.." His index finger glided forward while searching for the right word. ".. flexible? Something that feels like breathing. Like second nature."

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Judgement met judgement for a moment of held regard, one dark brow rose and the ghost of a grin threatened to reveal itself at the edges of Naami's mouth when Lysander quipped at his appearance. There was a steady camaraderie forming between the boys so the zabrak took the blonde's banter as intended and not some kind of jab, as he might from others with whom he had less rapport.

"You and Aven both hating on the protein cubes, but I'll tell ya it's how I keep up with hunger between meals."

Naami hooked one booted foot around the leg of an unoccupied chair to pull it toward him so he could sit with a sigh and lean to examine the notebook turned his way. Pawing open the satchel of snacks he'd brought, as if the mere mention of hunger had him wanting, the zabrak absently helped himself to a smaller bag filled with strips of jerky. Lys might see he'd brought dried fruit and chips to share as well.

"Think I get what yer saying," he mused as he laid his own journal flat in his lap, not yet tearing into the piece of preserved meat.

"So you'll wanna account for harmonizing with your lyrics via the melody. Y'know? That way you can accentuate punctuation or enunciation with percussion, or draw out a flow with something steady like the baseline. You'll still probably wanna make sure the chorus is consistent or moves well with the harmony. Unless you're doing away with metering like that?"

Surprisingly technical, Naami's vernacular betrayed him as someone who didn't just casually listen to music. In fact, the zabrak had done a fair amount of self education on the topic prior to coming to Kor'ethyr since music was one of the very few luxuries his aunt and uncle readily allowed as they ensured he focused on his coursework and helping around the ranch. He was something of a self trained enthusiast.

He finally tore into the piece of jerky, the zabrak's carnivorous nature slightly on display in the flash of extra sharp canines, as he began flipping absently through his own written works. It was clear in the way Naami held the journal close that he was not an open book with such matters, and intended only to share pieces that felt complete or worth sharing.

Eventually he turned the journal around and set it down beside Lys' notebook, icy eyes observing his companion as he awaited a reaction.

Pools of sapphire,
beckoning me,
telling me I can rest now,
pulling me to their depths,
were I would gladly drown,
without any hesitance.

Gone are the days,
where duty alone reigns.
The mind knows what must be done,
but can’t stand to miss out.
So I'm loathe to turn away,
without testing those waters.

Naami guarded his uncertainties and self consciousness behind the cool mask of stoicism that he worked to master every day. Lysander had already proven himself a steadfast support when it came to matters of the heart, but this was still a little vulnerable for comfort. The zabrak moved it more toward the realm of practical by musing aloud.

"Still a bit lyrical but no strict rhyming convention. That kinda like what you're after?"

Lysander von Ascania
Mentioned: Haro Aven Leshanna Dromar​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naamino Zuukamano
​

A grin tugged at the corners of the acolyte’s mouth, subtle, but undeniable. Somehow, the mention of protein made those bland little cubes seem suddenly enticing; now, they sounded delicious, instead of just boring fuel. It at least aligned logically, with the countless hours the two of them had poured into slinging dumbbells and heavy circles around at the gym in the pursuit of gains. Without breaking eye contact, Lysander would reach for a strip of the jerky, savoring the scent long before it’ ever reach his mouth. But something also whispered that he’d eventually be snacking on a bit of everything. Besides, his training regimens were brutal to say the least, and his stomach so often felt like a black hole, ready to devour any sustenance placed before him.

When the Zabrak spoke, he surprisingly found himself attuned to some of the terminology that was sprinkled into the conversation, terms that might have flown right over his head otherwise. After a few months of delving into music theory, random findings on social media, and working on his own vocals, all of it had served well to sharpen his understanding. There was still so much he didn't know, too. But as usual, he was genuinely impressed by the depths of Naamino's knowledge, since he didn’t recall Kor’ethr Academy having a music hall. His passion, though guarded, clearly ran deep.

After another bite of the jerky, a short chuckle escaped his throat. “I think I’ll give myself permission to hang on a word... you know, hold it longer if it feels right,” he mused, brushing a stray lock of blonde hair from his face; his smile widened. “I mean.. it fits me well, considering I’ve been known to overthink those commas and linger on things longer than I probably should."

Tilting the commander’s own journal, his fingertips traced along the opening line. A gentle hum unconsciously curled after, softly. Focused on the written work before him, he simply breathed the words quietly. “Pools of sapphire, beckoning me…” Like sharing a secret, his voice naturally stretched the syllables. The stanza unfolded beneath his breath, a chord that rose and fell like waves. When he reached, “without testing those waters,” Naamino's poem had already transformed into a song.

His shoulders eased a bit as if weight had been lifted; a tremor was felt in the fingertips.

"That poem's got a strong pull to it bro.. soft, but deep? Like.. it's inviting." There was a trace of admiration in his tone. He leaned slightly forward. "Did you share this one with Lesh, or keep it for yourself?"

Then, something else struck Lysander, as he realized how it was significantly easier to find the flow state with someone else’s work, rather than his own.

“It’s strange.. Like, my voice feels stronger when it’s not my own words.”

Reaching over the desk, his fingers slipped between a few pages, flicking back three, then forward with one. Like so many other things for Lysander, it was muscle memory, and it would be clear he’d spent many hours residing in that journal.

I felt you in quiet moments

Where the dark couldn’t speak

You showed me edges of your world

And I leaned in

Your shadow framed the doorway

Say the word and I’ll be something

More than just the echo of your heart


There was more to it.. more that hadn’t made it onto paper. But he knew the rest, for the lines were tucked away somewhere in his chest.

“I.. I could try singing that one. Just to see how it lands.” No longer was he meeting the other acolyte’s gaze but still gave another small laugh. “If you’re up for it. You could give me feedback or.. you know, just be honest if it ends up sounding more like a dying bantha.” A pause, before he added, "Or.. if you've got any ideas, I'm open."

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Observing the body language of his peer, the zabrak made mental note of how emotion ran through him like electricity. It was fitting, he supposed, that the element he associated with Lys was something often hidden beneath the surface— transported from one place to another with carefully curated wiring systems. The blonde was like that, carefully curated, but in that moment Naami recognized the duality in his friend and it was something he felt kinship with.

Icy gaze darted down to where clever fingers turned pages with the same expertise a swordsman handles a blade. The thought made Naami restless to fight alongside Lysander, to truly test themselves on a field of war as brothers in arms, even as art was being discussed. Those two modalities, equally intense and vulnerable in their own ways, inspired the errant thought that they were more similar than they were different.

Naamino read the indicated lines, then listened with an intensity that belied the friendlier feelings buried beneath his arctic surface. Eventually the stoic composure melted faintly and the surly boy leaned in to regard the pages more closely. Insight struck him and he thought to provide encouragement as well as a genuine reflection.

"You sound like me, right before battle. Y'know that feeling? As if the world will end, unless you do everything exactly right."

He paused for effect, eyeing Lysander von Ascania sidelong to see if the analogy landed.

"This is the sparring grounds, man. I won't strike you down— but yeah, might leave ya with a bruise or two. Let's see?"

He leaned back again, snagging one more piece of jerky before folding his arms to wait expectantly. Naamino was the picture of a perfect audience, quiet and respectful but anticipatory.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naamino Zuukamano
​

Lysander glanced down at the notebook as Naamino flipped through the pages, filled with his scribbled poems and lyrics. A touch of gratitude settled within him, replacing the usual vulnerability, knowing that despite the never ending grind of their schedules, the Zabrak had still taken the time to glimpse into his personal world. It was a gesture that transcended their usual discussions and training sessions. Another realization struck him. He was the first to peer beyond the Sith armor and see more than just a duelist, but an aspiring musician too.

For all the blonde's openness with others, singing was a different matter altogether; more intimate, more revealing than the stray verses often running through his mind.

Mingled with that warmth was an unfamiliar fear. What if his lyrics fell flat? What if the voice he had been nurturing in solitude did not resonate with someone whose respect actually mattered?

A sliver of doubt pierced him, brief but still unsettling.

“I hear that. I’ve got my routine tuned tighter than a sniper’s scope,” he said with a faint smirk tugging at the lips. “Shift it by just a couple minutes and I’m recalculating like I just lost comms or somethin'.”

With anticipation pressing on his chest, he took a slow breath, allowing his voice to break the silence; it was oddly fragile, but filled with raw emotion, about to expose the core of himself.

"I felt you in the stillness, where the shadows dare not speak. You showed me the edges of your world, and I leaned in." As he began, his shoulders relaxed, his tone quiet, and also.. hesitant.

With another inhale, and allowing his fingers to curl around the edge of the desk, his voice became a breathy whisper, reverent like a synth note. “Your shadow framed the doorway, and I am willing to become more than just the echo of your heart.”

A note towards the end was softened, and he tilted his head slightly, allowing it to linger, a fading reverb, as Naamino mentioned. “I’ll stay past the silence, a light that won’t fade.”

With renewed strength, his voice hums under the last refrain, feeling a vibration settle beneath his ribs. “Keep me close and you’ll know, I’m more than an echo in your heart.”

The Sith’s fingers splay against the journal, anchoring himself to his own truth. After the final note faded, Lysander exhaled slowly. Eyes opened to locate his friend, before allowing a small, vulnerable laugh to slip. "Well, that.. was actually me," he murmured. "I hope your ears aren't bleeding, bro!"

There was more, but he decided what he'd shared so far might've been enough.. for now.

Still, there was no denying the way he felt himself easing into a steady rhythm, like something inside had finally clicked.

A hand drifted to his throat, the hum still lingering, a different kind of pulse under the skin. "So, how was it?"

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

A thoughtful pause overcame him, the almost continual reach for jerky ceased and Naami stilled. He was someone that had no trouble holding still for long periods, and generally maintained a calm, stony air when he was seated. But how he behaved in that moment was different than simple stillness, there was something just beneath the surface of his demeanor which showed he was truly listening.

The experience was moving and in his show of vulnerability, Lysander disarmed the zabrak in a way he hadn't been expecting. The teen had seen live music of course, had experienced various kinds of live art, but never had he been sat across from someone in the midst of finding their voice and practicing said art-form. A rush of emotion rose unbidden in his chest but he worked to maintain the same calm, almost icy exterior. His eyes though gave him away, a kind of softening around the edges and melting of their more frigid intensity.

Takes grit to really share your soul like that, Naamino mused silently.

A respectful pause filled the space between the blonde's faint self-deprecation and his more earnest inquiry. The zabrak hummed thoughtfully, subconsciously harmonious with his peer's lingering vocals.

"I won't insult you by saying 'you're a natural'… cuz I can tell you've been putting time and effort into this."

He finally said, horned head tipping back to bare his throat in the way zabrak show respect for one another.

"Seems like you have the ear for it, hitting tone and tempo right."

One dark brow rose questioningly as Naami inquired.

"You play any instruments? Or d'you think you'll focus solely on being a frontman."

The teen's eyes glittered with a bit of mischief as he let the earnestness of their conversation slip back into a bit of playful banter.

"You definitely have the face card for it— couldn't be me with my mean mug."