Private Silver and Gold

[Zesiro]

The bar was neither ornate nor ostentatious. Its walls were old stone repurposed into a place of low lantern light and heavier shadows, the kind that swallowed corners where travelers preferred not to be seen. Music drifted through the room in a slow, worn rhythm that suited weary souls and tired wanderers. It was the sort of establishment that didn't ask questions and never offered answers unless someone paid for them.

Zesiro wasn't here for distraction. Not really.

She stood near the far end of the bar, her cloak draped loosely over her practical attire, her posture relaxed in a way that still left room for alertness. A glass of dark amber liquid rested at her fingertips, untouched more out of habit than disinterest. This place, like much of Ossus, carried echoes. Ghosts of what had been, flickers of what might be. She could feel it in the way the Force didn't whisper here so much as watch, quiet and patient.

She was far from home, far from titles and façades and the careful choreography of political halls. Here, no one cared about the High Lady of Kesh, or the former head of security, or the Dark Jedi Padawan without a master. Here, she was simply another traveler passing through, and that anonymity suited her far more than any honorific ever had.

Her blue gaze moved across the room with quiet curiosity, lingering on a patron slumped over a drink, a pair speaking in hushed tones, a stranger whose eyes held more intent than most would admit. Ossus drew all kinds, and the bar reflected that truth without apology.

Zesiro didn't tense. She didn't reach for a weapon. Her senses remained open, not searching for danger but acknowledging its possibility. Peace in a place like this was something earned through observation first and conversation second.

She finally lifted the glass, letting the warmth of the drink rise toward her without yet tasting it.

That was when she felt the shift.

Not a warning. Not a ripple of threat. Just the subtle awareness of someone settling into the space beside her, close enough to register but not close enough to intrude. The presence brushed against her senses with a quiet steadiness, neither demanding attention nor hiding from it. It was simply there, part of the room now, as naturally as the lantern light and the drifting music.

Zesiro set the glass down with a soft tap and allowed her attention to turn slightly, enough to acknowledge without inviting, enough to observe without assuming. Her eyes were steady, calm, and unhurried, taking in the newcomer the same way she took in the rest of the bar: with curiosity tempered by experience.

The room continued its low hum around them, shadows shifting along the stone walls, conversations rising and falling like distant tides.

Zesiro didn't speak first. She didn't need to. She let the moment breathe, letting the Force settle between them in its quiet, watchful way.

Whoever had chosen this spot beside her had simply arrived, and she was content to see what shape the moment wished to take.

Searal Nis

 

[Searal Nis]

Searal could not have looked more uncomfortable had she tried. She looked regimented, her back so stiff it looked almost brittle, her head alert as if she were standing in formation. She radiated so much tension and unease that it made the cosy tavern feel bizarrely cold and uncomfortable, like cold air crawling out of a door . She walked down to edge of the bar with a palpable unease. Her entire life, she had been drilled, trained and conditioned, always training or studying. Of course, she was not a complete stranger to recreation, but that was limited within the walls of the Imperial Knight academies. She never left the academy without permission, and when she did, it was usually to run errands or to train. But she didn't resent it; in fact, she grew to depend on it. There was a structure, rules, expectations, responsibilities and punishments if she ever failed to do what was asked of her. The nauseating, suffocating choices of civilian life seemed exhausting to her. Having to decide what to eat, what to wear, where to go, what to do with your day, how could anyone live like that?


Now, she had far more freedom than she knew what to do with. When she had time off, be it hours or even days, she could do whatever she wanted with it. She could leave the academy, she could even go to another planet, even out of Imperial space if she truly wanted too. The irony was that the Imperial Confederation had deposed its own Empress, its head of state, when she was promoted. This fragmented the Imperial Knights, leaving them scattered and directionless, with many leaving the order outright. So here she was, with freedom and no idea with what to do with it. She stared at a board behind the counter, with the names of drinks chiseled in chalk. She had never drank before, let alone gone to a tavern or bar of any sort, but apparently that was the sort of thing you did when someone had time off. There was a woman who had hair like gold, and tried as hard as she could not to sound like a complete idiot. "What drinks do they have here?" She said, sounding both confident and yet utterly out of her depth.
Zesiro

 

[Zesiro]

Zesiro had noticed the young Twi'lek the moment she stepped through the door.

Not because she entered loudly. Quite the opposite. It was the way she carried herself, too straight, too precise, as if the room were a drill yard rather than a tavern. Zesiro had spent enough years standing just behind positions of power to recognize that posture instantly. Soldiers rarely stopped being soldiers simply because they changed environments.

The tension around the girl seemed to ripple through the room, though most of the patrons were too deep in their drinks to notice. Zesiro did.

She watched quietly for a moment from her seat along the bar, the amber liquid in her glass barely disturbed as she studied the scene. The way the Twi'lek scanned the chalkboard. The hesitation behind the question that followed. Confidence layered carefully over unfamiliar ground.

Zesiro allowed herself a faint, sympathetic smile.

"You might want to start with something simple," she said gently, her voice calm and even as she turned slightly on her stool. Her blue eyes regarded the Twi'lek without judgment, only quiet observation. "That board lists far more options than most people actually need."

She lifted her glass slightly, letting the dim lanternlight catch the liquid within.

"This," she added, "is a Corellian amber. Strong enough to taste, not strong enough to punish you for trying it." A small pause followed before she continued. "Or if you would rather ease into the experience, most places like this carry spiced cider. Much kinder to beginners."

Zesiro studied the girl a little more closely now. The stiffness, the careful composure, the unmistakable weight of training sitting on her shoulders.

"You do not come to places like this often," she observed quietly, though there was no accusation in the words. Only certainty.

She turned her gaze briefly toward the chalkboard, then back to the Twi'lek.

"If it helps," Zesiro added, a hint of warmth touching her voice, "the first drink is rarely chosen for taste. It is chosen so you can say you tried."

Her fingers rested lightly against the rim of her glass.

"And if you would like advice beyond the menu," she said calmly, "you may ask. I promise the room is far less complicated than it appears."

Searal Nis

 

[Searal Nis]

"You might want to start with something simple, that board lists far more options than most people actually need." Her tone was gentle and reassuring, making Searal feel a sharp pang of embarrassment. It was painfully obvious to everyone, or at least to her, that she was completely out of place. She loathed being percieved as incomptent, even at the most trivial and minute thing. Though she didn't blame this woman for noticing, instead offering a painful, awkward smile that looked as if puppet strings were pulling at the corner of her mouth. "Thank you, I'll keep that in mind."
"This." She watched as the woman held up the drink. "is a Corellian amber. Strong enough to taste, not strong enough to punish you for trying it, or if you would rather ease into the experience, most places like this carry spiced cider. Much kinder to beginners." There was a competitive glint in the Twi'lek as she stared at her with a steadfast resolution that would be more appropriate on a battlefield than in a tavern. "I'll have what she is drinking, please." She spoke to the bartender, who gave a sort of grunt in response as she passed over the Imperial credits. As soon as he had finished pouring out the drink, she took a hefty mouthful. It felt like starship fuel burning in her mouth, but she didn't dare show that. She gulped it down, offering a smile. A few seconds later, she felt a warmth giggling its way through her, and suddenly she felt the need to sit down. "It's.." She said with a small cough. "Good. I see why you like it." She lied through her teeth, it tasted atrocious, but she was rapidly beginning to understand why people subjected themselves to this vile taste.

"You do not come to places like this often," Searal looked slightly offended. "I have important responsibilities." She replied, as if she were being accused of something. "I'm.." She felt a need to compete with this woman, and with the Corellian Amber swimming inside, her better judgment was quickly being overrun by her ego. "I'm an Imperial Knight, I do not have time to sit all day and drink." She said, and no irony was lost on her as she took another heavy sip, quite enjoying this new sensation. "If it helps, the first drink is rarely chosen for taste. It is chosen so you can say you tried." The Twi'lek scoffed. "I don't know what you're talking about, I like it." She lied.


Zesiro

 

[Zesiro]

Zesiro watched the exchange without interrupting, her glass resting lightly between her fingers as the Twi'lek made her choice. The competitive spark in the younger woman's eyes did not escape her, nor did the determined way she lifted the drink as though it were a challenge issued rather than a beverage ordered.

She had seen that look before.

Battlefields and briefing rooms often produced it.

Zesiro took a slow sip of her own drink as Searal swallowed the amber in one bold mouthful. The reaction was subtle, but not subtle enough to escape a trained eye. The stiffness in the shoulders, the momentary pause before speech, the cough that followed. Years spent reading rooms, and intentions had sharpened her awareness of such things.

Still, her expression did not change.

When Searal insisted she liked it, Zesiro simply gave a small, knowing nod.

"I'm glad you do," she said gently, the faintest hint of amusement warming her tone. Not mocking. Not pressing the point. Just accepting the claim for what it was.

Her blue eyes lingered on the Twi'lek a moment longer, studying the posture that still carried the weight of training and expectation even while seated at a tavern counter.

"Imperial Knight," Zesiro repeated thoughtfully, as though placing the information somewhere in memory rather than reacting to it. "That explains the posture."

There was no judgment in the observation, only quiet recognition.

She took another measured sip from her glass before continuing. "People who live by discipline often find places like this… confusing at first." A small pause followed, her gaze drifting briefly toward the chalkboard menu and the murmur of the room around them.

"There are no orders here," she added calmly. "No structure. Only choices."

Her attention returned to Searal, steady but relaxed.

"It can feel strange the first time you have them."

Searal Nis