Private Shore I'll Be Leaving

[Ivy Maro]

Devin Virell

​

“Hey Ivy!”

Through the drone of music, chatter and waves, a familiar voice jerked Ivy’s attention towards the shore.

A lean yellow Twi’lek in a striped bikini waved her arm, calling her over.

“Join us!” Sanya hollered.

Ivy smirked, putting on a reluctant show as she pushed herself away from the counter, leaving a half-empty drink behind. Sand squished between her toes as she left the bar hut and jogged over to where Sanya stood, at the edge of a netball court drawn in the sand.

“We’re going against the civies!” Sanya said, hand on her hip, tossing a neon netball up and down with the other.

Behind Sanya were three others. A couple of them wore tattoos of Navy pride, but the aura of cockiness about them all was unmistakably those of Ivy's people, fellow crewmen. Not that Ivy knew Sanya or her friends very well. The lot of them struck her as a bit shallow and bullyish, though that could be a tinge of envy talking about their shredded abs and flying ace accolades.

For now, Ivy would play it coy. "Are you sure this is fair?” She whispered, glancing over at the opposing team.

“All is fair in love and war." Sanya winked at her.

Riiight. She was pretty sure Sanya and her gang only chose her because they knew she was a Jedi and needed an edge on their team.

Which would have been more obvious in giving her away, if she had her lightsaber on her, but currently the thing was stashed away inside her quarters on board a Republic cruiser floating somewhere above her head, in Corellia's atmosphere. Others insisted she wouldn't be needing her weapon during her time of shore leave at a relatively "safe" luxury beach resort. Best not to stress any civilians by flaunting a lightsaber around.
​

 

[Devin Virell]

Ivy Maro​

Corellia had only had him a few days, and already it was starting to feel like a slow leak. Too much sun and probably too much time to think. A beach wasn't exactly his natural habitat, nor had he ever been the type to mingle with resort crowds, all that cheerful purposefulness. Weeks since the last X-wing cockpit. Even longer since anything worth calling output had come through The Path on Odessa. Drifting maybe. And drifting things had a way of ending up on beaches.. half asleep and sunburned, trying to remember when exactly they stopped being having a sense of direction.

For a while, a crate held him up. One foot buried in sand, black shorts low on his hips, borrowed sunglasses keeping the glare at a manageable distance. Whoever's towel he'd lifted them from had decent taste.. he'd give them that. The throat ink caught the light when it felt like it. The drink in his hand was cold and citrusy, the kind of thing you order when you're pretending the afternoon has a plan. Not the first. He keeping count, which was itself a kind of answer. There was a word for what this was. Several, probably. None of them were flattering.

Pushing off the crate, his legs picked a direction before he made any kind of decision about it. Not towards the Navy crew, but the ones who were laughing too loud about nothing. The ones who probably wouldn't be keeping score. And well, he probably wouldn't even notice if someone had forgotten how to.

His gaze fell over the yellow Twi'lek, then the one closest to her. The shades slid partially down the bridge of his nose; the drink was lifted in a half-toast. Those from the Navy would probably be hyping themselves up like this was a tournament. Maybe he would've too in another timeline.

"Fair warning.. I'm so out of practice I might as well be decor. You guys can have the gym rats. I'll take whoever's left and we'll call it a fair fight. And if I eat it out there.. just tell the medics it was something cooler than it was."

 

[Ivy Maro]

Ivy exhaled through her nose, letting Devin’s comment hang in the salty air like something half serious and half performed for effect. Decor, she thought dryly. That was one way to describe a guy who looked like he'd just rolled out of bed and wandered onto the beach.

Sanya, of course, lit up like she’d just been handed a gift-wrapped victory.

“Oh I like him,” she called back immediately, pointing the ball at Devin Virell like a commander picking targets. “See? That’s the spirit. Low expectations, high entertainment value.”

One of the Navy boys behind her laughed, cracking his knuckles as he stepped up to the net. “He’s already making excuses.”

“Not excuses,” Sanya corrected, rolling her shoulder as she stepped toward center court. “Just setting the emotional damage expectations early. Very considerate.”

The Twi'lek tossed the ball up once, caught it cleanly, then jabbed a thumb toward the opposite side where the civilian team was still milling about, suddenly more alert now that actual competition energy had entered the equation.

“Alright, listen up!” Sanya called, voice cutting through the beach noise. A few nearby loungers turned their heads. Someone further down the shore even stood to get a better look. “We’ve got Navy on one side—” she gestured to herself and her four-person crew with obvious pride, “—and whatever that is on the other.”

A ripple of laughter went through the forming crowd.

Five against eight, it seemed. Let the civies think numbers would win.

“And before anyone asks,” Sanya added, spinning the ball once on her finger, “Yes, we’re calling it fair. Because I am a beacon of integrity and also because I want to win this without complaints later.”

Her eyes flicked toward Ivy briefly, sharp and knowing, like she could already see the advantage she was banking on. “And we’ve got… special support.” She clapped a hand on Ivy's shoulder in chummy fashion.

Ivy facepalmed internally.

Great. Subtlety was officially dead with Sanya. As if she didn't already stand out enough, Ivy thought awkwardly of herself, being the shortest and most decently clad member of the "gym rats" team with her relatively modest shorts and tank top.

The Twi'lek clapped her hands once. “Rules are simple. Best-of-five. No cheating, no whining, and if you get hit in the face, it means you weren’t paying attention. Clear?”

The opposing side voiced scattered agreement. Someone on Devin’s side muttered something about “surviving the first five minutes".

Sanya gave the ball a lazy little bounce in her hands, like she was weighing how much chaos she felt like introducing first. Her gaze flicked over the circle of players, then landed squarely on Devin.

A slow grin pulled at her mouth.

“Alright, decor,” she called out, loud enough for the growing crowd to hear. “Since you’ve already accepted your role as tragic backstory in motion—congratulations. You get first serve.”

A few of the Navy crew snorted. Someone in the crowd whooped.

Sanya gave the ball a sharp, casual toss. It cut clean through the air in an arc over the net, straight toward Devin.

For a moment, everything on the beach tightened. Spectators leaned in, the teams settled. Energy shifting as bodies instinctively squared up.

Ivy backed into position, taking the rear-right quadrant. Sanya claimed the middle of the court while the rest of her team each took a corner.

“Alright,” Sanya said, grin sharp now, competitive edge finally slipping into place. “Let’s see who’s actually got something worth watching.”

The wind kicked up lightly across the netball court as the spectators tightened into a loose ring around them. Loungers half-abandoned, drinks paused mid-air, voices dropping into an expectant hush.

Sanya glanced between Ivy and Devin one last time, then smirked.

“Game on.”
​

 

[Devin Virell]

​

Rules droned over him like surf; background static, all self importance. Devin let out a low, amused breath.

"Good to know the Navy still runs on fear based motivation," he drawled, voice so dry it could parch the desert.

A crooked smirk was offered back. Decor. Of course. On a day like this, sun in his eyes and a drink in hand, it almost felt like a promotion. At least decor didn't come with real duties.

He first glanced at her, the one with commander-energy, then at her squad of Navy hotshots. Then, slower, he swept his gaze over his own ragtag "team": eight half-drunk civilians who looked like they'd never so much grazed a netball. Numbers advantage, sure, but that meant little when half of them might trip over their own feet.

Fantastic. Really stacked the deck here.

Then the ball arced toward him. De saw it coming too early, giving him ample time to sigh. Fine. This is actually happening. He tipped back his drink in one smooth gesture, letting the cold citrus flood his throat, a move that looked bold but felt like self- sabotage. The cup was empty in an instant. Without even looking, he passed it sideways to the nearest sunburned civilian who blinked as if he'd just been handed the galaxy's holiest relic.

"Hold this."

Then he stepped forward into position.. all posture and poise. In truth, he had no clue what he was doing, really, but confidence was ninety percent stance, right? And he'd perfected it.

Bits of commentary drifted over. "Bold move," "He's gonna eat it," "That guy's already trashed." He tuned it out. Better this than fumbling a serve with a drink in hand. Some dignity remained, at least. Rolling his shoulders, he felt the hot sun at his back, sand shifting beneath both feet. The ball sat in his palm. The Twi'lek was shot one final look. "Alright. Just so we're clear," called out so everyone could hear, "if this goes horribly wrong, I'm blaming leadership!"

A ripple of laughter followed, a random whistle, and someone muttering, "He's got jokes."

The ball spun between his hands out of pure showmanship and zero technique, then launched his serve. It shot skyward, caught the breeze perchance alone, wobbled with optimism, and sailed over the net. Just like that, the game began.

 

[Ivy Maro]

Devin Virell 's serve cleared the net by what looked less like skill and more like blind cosmic mercy. Ivy tracked the ball immediately, knees bending on instinct as it floated in a lazy, wobbling arc overhead. The thing looked drunk. Fitting, considering who'd launched it.

The opposing team scattered into motion, shouting contradictory advice at each other as they braced for the return serve.

“Mine!”

“No, leave it!”

“WHICH SIDE ARE WE ROTATING TO?”

One guy actually ducked.

The ball dropped toward the Navy side in an embarrassingly easy receive. One of Sanya’s teammates bumped it cleanly upward without even needing to move his feet. Starting out slow and easy while Devin's team unraveled more and more like a disaster documentary in progress...

Two of them collided shoulder-first trying to recover formation. One was still holding somebody’s sandals. Another seemed to believe intimidation counted as athletic strategy because he kept pointing aggressively while accomplishing absolutely nothing.

“You said you played this before!”

“That was grav-ball!”

“Why are there SO MANY RULES?”

More spectators were laughing than cheering, at this point.

Impressively, Devin's team managed to scramble together five or six return serves, the Navy side passing to one another with slow-mo flare as they allowed their opponents to decently recover in between serves, before Sanya decided to up the pace. Ivy caught the Twi'lek’s russet eyes flashing toward her with delightful menace. “Right tail!” Sanya grinned, sending the ball high into the air toward Ivy in a clean rising arc.

Time slowed for half a second as Ivy deliberated going easy on them...

Naaah.

Her body twisted as she jumped, one arm drawing back...

Across the net, Devin's team finally seemed to realize this was no longer casual beach chaos. That the shortest person on the Navy side was about to become a problem...

Ivy slammed the ball downward with vicious accuracy. Not towards the open sand in an unguarded corner, but towards the cluster of players gathered near the center of the court...

Pure psychological warfare. The civilian team exploded apart in a panic. One guy yelped and hit the dirt. Another spun around so hard she nearly tackled her own teammate.

The ball blasted untouched into the sand between them with a sharp THWACK. Score one.

Laughter and whistles rolled across the beach as Ivy landed lightly in the sand.

Sanya doubled over cackling. “Oh that was MEAN, girl!”

Ivy shrugged. “Communication is important," she said sweetly, casting a side-eye jab across the net.

On the opposing court, Devin’s side had dissolved into finger pointing and argument. “WHY DID NOBODY GO FOR THAT?” Someone whined, throwing his hands in the air. Another was still brushing sand out of her hair with the expression of someone who had narrowly survived a natural disaster.

Sanya finally straightened up, wiping an exaggerated tear from beneath one eye. She slapped the net post, laughing. “Alright, alright—pause! Pause.” She held up her hands in referee style interjection, collecting herself.

The Navy side relaxed immediately, though their grins remained dangerous. Ivy placed her hands on her hips, breathing lightly from the spike while the other team looked collectively winded after physically surviving one round.

"Attention, beautiful civilians and future cautionary tales!” Sanya announced to the growing crowd of spectators encircling the court. “Now that everyone has seen what we the Navy bring to recreational beach activities—” One of her teammates flexed obnoxiously behind her. “—in the spirit of goodwill to the fine people we serve,” Sanya continued with mock solemnity, “We are offering a one-time mercy clause.”

She pointed dramatically at Devin’s side of the court. “If any of you have just realized you lack the courage, coordination, or survival instincts necessary for continued participation, this is your chance to switch out with someone from the crowd who actually wants the smoke.”

That earned another ripple of chuckles and murmurs from the crowd, including a few people on Devin’s side.

One of the Navy boys clutched his chest in melodramatic fashion. "Captain, your mercy humbles us," he teased Sanya.

“I know, Sham."

Ivy smirked, watching the reactions ripple through the civilian side. The joking energy was still there, but something had shifted after that first spike. The crowd felt it too. This wasn’t just drunken beach messing around anymore. Competition had entered the bloodstream. Suddenly people were paying attention.

One of Devin’s teammates raised his hands in surrender. “No thanks, I choose life."

“C'mon man, you're foldin' after one round?!” His friend shouted.

“I came here to drink, not be hunted for sport!”

“Respectfully?" Another spoke up, "That little gal is terrifying.”

Ivy gave a cheerful little wave at them.

Within moments, a majority of the less confident civilians started filtering out of the court amid laughter and heckling from the spectators.

But almost immediately, others stepped forward... Different energy this time.

A tall Mirialan woman cracking her knuckles like she’d been waiting her whole life for this opportunity. A pair of athletic-looking guys who moved with actual coordination instead of blind panic. A wiry kid with taped wrists and the unmistakable posture of someone who played competitive sports on a school field somewhere.

The crowd shifted tone as replacements entered. Now there were interested looks, maybe even bets going on, as Devin's new team settled into position beside him. And for the first time since this whole thing started... His side actually looked dangerous.

Sanya noticed it too. Her grin widened instantly. “Now THAT,” she declared, pointing across the net, “Looks like a team.”

One of the newcomers, a cocky-looking surfer dude with sun-bleached hair, caught the ball under one arm and smirked toward the Navy side. “Hope you enjoyed the warm-up round.” The man spun the ball once in his hand before tossing it lazily over the net. “Reset score,” he called, with an alpha gleam in his eye that left room for no debate. “Zero-zero. Real game starts now.”

Sanya barked a laugh. “Oh, he talks trash. I like this one.”

The ball was caught smoothly by one of Sanya’s teammates, a pink Zeltron named Cora, who immediately looked toward her captain for instruction.

Sanya didn't even hesitate. She jerked her chin toward Ivy. Big guns right off the bat.

The ball sailed into Ivy's hands. Sham, a ripped green Twi'lek, cheered at her, "Go get 'em Sunshine."

The beach quieted again. Waves rolled against the shore, wind swept across the sand, distant conversations buzzed beyond the crowd, but the immediate ring around the court sharpened into focus. People leaned forward. Watching... Waiting...

Ivy bounced the ball contemplatively in her hand, studying Devin's newly rebuilt team that had spread into formation with noticeably finer discipline. Feet planted correctly, eyes tracking her movements... They were ready this time.

Good. Much more interesting.

She slowly rolled the ball between her palms, gaze drifting across the opposing court before settling briefly on Devin himself. A smirk tugged at one corner of her mouth. Perhaps it was petty of her to target the weakest-looking link, but she had a game to win, and a backdoor reputation to uphold for fighting dirty anyways.

Ivy stepped forward. The wind shifted softly against her skin. Then she served—hard—jumping into the air and cracking the ball off her palm with a sharp WHUMP that tore across the airline fast enough to turn heads in the crowd.

The real game had officially begun.
​

 

[Devin Virell]

Ivy Maro​

The ball cracked off the woman’s palm like she’d slapped the atmosphere itself. Devin didn’t even pretend he wasn’t impressed. His eyebrows went up behind the stolen sunglasses, and a whistle slipped out before he had any chance to stop it.

“Okayy,” muttered under his breath, “so she’s.. terrifying.”

The new team around him reacted instantly; luckily, with purpose! The Mirialan figure lunged forward like she’d been waiting for this exact moment since birth. The surfer dude barked a sharp “Leeeft!” and the wiry kid with taped wrists moved like he’d been training for a varsity championship instead of a beach vacation.

Devin… did not move with that kind of purpose. He did move, though.. a half second late, sand dragging like chains at his feet, posture more so “dude avoiding responsibility” than “athlete in motion.” But.. he was totally in it now. Whether he’d meant to be or not.

The ball hit the Mirialan’s forearms with a thump, popping upward. The crowd reacted but with that electric hum of 'oh, this might actually be a match.'

Sliding into position under the rising ball, both hands went up, knees bending, desperately trying to remember anything he’d ever known about netball. Or any sport that involved not embarrassing himself.

Then he caught another’s eye across the net for a fraction of a second. She was smirking. Not cruelly. Not mockingly. Just… knowing. Like.. she’d already taken his measure and was curious what he’d do with it? “Alright, Sunshine,” fired back, “you want a real game? You got one.”

The ball dropped toward him. And for the first time all afternoon, Devin actually looked like he might try. But the Mirialan striker was already moving again, reading the trajectory before he even commited to planting his feet. With a half step to the side, she was clearly prepared to cover if he misjudged it.

.. but he didn’t. The set up was actually clean. That was all the civvies needed.

“Miiine!” snapped the wiry kid, springing forward with sharp reflexes. He redirected the ball with a controlled bump that sent it drifting toward the right side of the court.

“Riight! Go!” the surfer broski barked, sprinting.

The crowd leaned in as the civvie formation tightened. Just motion. Purposeful, coordinated motion. The surfer dude planted, jumped, twisting in mid air. A hand connected with the ball in a whap that sent it slicing over the net in low and diagonal angle.

Then the beach erupted. Someone yelling, “CIVVIES ARE COOKING!” like it was some kind of prophecy. The wiry kid punched the air twice.. ? The Mirialan clapped the former X-wing pilot on the back hard enough to jolt him. The surfer dude pointed across the net with a little smug loth-cat little chin lift.

A real team now? Maybe!

 

[Ivy Maro]

Did he just try to insult her? Ivy raised one eyebrow across the net as Devin Virell tossed the nickname back at her. Sunshine? The audacity. Worst part was that he somehow made it sound charming instead of stupid...

Ivy barely had time to pivot before the ball sliced fast across the net. Not sloppy panic-fast like before. Controlled fast. Her eyes widened a fraction as the shot angled sharply away from her position, skimming low over the sand toward the far-left (her left) side of the Navy court. Cora dove for it with burgundy hair flying, fingers stretching—

Too late. THWACK. The ball smacked clean into the sand.

For half a second, the beach seemed stunned silent. Then they exploded.

“OOOOHHHH!”

“THEY GOT ONE!”

“FIRST BLOOD, BABY!”

Surfer Dude roared loud enough for neighboring beaches to hear while the wiry kid nearly tackled him in celebration. Even the Mirialan looked smugly vindicated, crossing her arms with the expression of someone who had personally manifested this outcome through sheer competitive willpower.

Ivy remained where she stood, hands on her knees as she exhaled sharply through her nose. Well whadda ya know. Miracles happen. A grin threatened anyway.

Across the court, Devin looked genuinely shocked for about half a second before the realization hit him all at once. Their team had actually scored on the Navy. And unfortunately for everyone involved, that confidence looked very good on him.

Sanya stared at the ball resting in the sand like it had personally offended her ancestors.

“Nope,” the Twi'lek declared immediately. “I reject this reality.”

“Score one-to-zero!” Someone in the croud shouted helpfully.

“Fake news!” Sham yelled back.

Ivy snorted quietly as she straightened up, brushing sand off one thigh. She could've reached that shot. Maybe. With reflexes a little too fast. Movement a little too precise. The kind of save people remembered afterward with uncomfortable questions attached. Not worth it. Not yet, anyway... The game was still young. She wasn’t about to overreact making miracles with the Force just yet.

The ball was tossed back across the court toward Devin’s side amid cheers and heckling from the spectators. The energy had changed completely now. No more pity laughs. No more “friendly beach game.”

This was war.

The Navy team rotated smoothly into new positions, years of drilled coordination showing even through the joking atmosphere. Ivy jogged forward through the sand toward the front right corner near the net, planting herself only a few feet from the opposing side now.

Closer. Much closer. The net swayed gently between the teams as Ivy lifted her gaze and locked directly onto Devin. Competitive fire sparked instantly in her expression. The smirk faded into something sharper. More focused.

Across from her, the civilians settled into position with growing confidence. Devin looked different now too. Less like some guy who’d wandered accidentally into organized sports and more like someone actively enjoying the challenge.

Dangerous development. Ivy narrowed her eyes slightly at Devin through the netting. A silent challenge. Try it again.

The wiry kid cupped his hands around his mouth. “Sunshine looked nervous on that one!”

Ivy's eyes snapped immediately toward him. “Careful,” she warned sweetly, planting the bait for her next move. “I hit harder when I'm emotionally threatened.”

The serve came hard from the civilian side a moment later, the Miralian launching it over with enough force to draw another murmur from the crowd.

“Mine!” Sham barked. The green Twi'lek slid through the sand with practiced ease, serving the ball right back with a sharp snap that cut through the air and landed the Navy side back in business before the civilians had fully reset their formation.

The rally turned ugly fast. Ivy tracked the ball from the front line, reading the spacing, the panic, the hesitation. One of Devin’s teammates overcommitted. Another reached too late. Ivy darted into position just in time to keep the Navy side alive, passing cleanly to Sanya, who sent it right back into the chaos with delighted cruelty. The civilians scrambled, but they were still a beat behind the Navy now, chasing the pace instead of setting it.

Good. That was the difference. The Navy side worked the ball with quicker hands and sharper angles, and when it came back toward Ivy, she took the shot without hesitation.

The crowd noise sharpened again.

Ivy moved immediately, springing upward near the net as one of the civilian blockers reacted a split second too slow. Her hand snapped forward—

—but instead of a power spike like before... what she expected Devin’s team would anticipate her to do... Ivy tipped the ball lightly over the blockers’ fingertips.

Soft. Cruel. The ball dropped untouched into open sand behind them. The civilian side twisted too late.

THUMP.

“OOOHHHHH!”

Whistles and cheers broke from the crowd. Now it was the Navy side erupting. Sanya screamed loud enough to startle seabirds into flight. Sham pointed at Ivy like she'd just committed a felony. “Filthy!” Cora yelled, cackling.

Ivy landed lightly, unable to stop the victorious grin spreading across her face now as the score evened out. One-to-one.

Sham retrieved the ball with a dramatic spin in his step before tossing it once between both hands. “Ohhh, now we're cookin’,” he declared. The green Twi'lek bounced the ball once against the sand before stepping toward the service line, grinning sharp enough to start a bar fight.

Across the net, Ivy stayed crouched at the front line, eyes flicking toward Devin again with unmistakable challenge, smirking like she meant every bit of trouble she was about to bring.

With an overhand serve from Sham, the ball shot into motion again.
​