Private Sunset in a Distant Land

[Niijima Izumi]

The sun had only just dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in a wash of fading gold and deepening crimson. Wisps of violet bled into the edges, the last remnants of daylight swallowed by the slow encroachment of night. Lanterns along the street flickered to life, their glow soft and uneven, swaying gently in the evening breeze.

Niijima Izumi moved quietly through the unfamiliar streets, a traveler in a land not her own. Her figure was striking even in the waning light—her kimono of black silk trimmed in red shifting with each measured step. Over it, pieces of lacquered armor caught the lantern glow, gleaming faintly like shadows given form. At her hip hung the twin blades that marked her for what she was, their lacquered scabbards bound tight in red and black cord.

A wide straw hat, pulled low across her brow, shielded her features from the curious stares of passersby. It was a small comfort, though she was well aware that even without her face, her presence alone set her apart. Foreign lands had a way of reminding a traveler they did not belong. Izumi bore it as she always had—with silence and composure, her hand resting lightly against the curve of her shorter blade.

The sound of laughter and clattering cups drew her toward a narrow building tucked between merchants' shops. Warm light spilled out through its doorway, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of rice wine and roasted meat. Izumi paused for only a heartbeat before stepping inside, the straw hat casting her features into shadow as the door slid shut behind her.

The hum of conversation dimmed, just slightly, as she crossed the threshold. A samurai, far from home, carrying steel into a place meant for ease. Her gaze swept the room once, calm and deliberate, before settling on an empty space at the bar.

She did not announce herself, nor did she seek company. Instead, she lowered herself onto the worn wooden stool, the weight of her blades shifting softly at her side.

When the server approached, Izumi's voice came quiet but firm.

"Your strongest drink."

Nothing more. For now, she was simply another wanderer in the night—though anyone with eyes could see the storm that lingered beneath the surface.
​

 

[Drexan Ordo]

S U N S E T​

Tag: Niijima Izumi ​

The Mandalorian made his way through the crowds, his stride long as he moved through the confusion with practiced swiftness, his eyes scanning the crowd as he moved through his eyes lingering over every aspect of the streets for a mere moment before moving onto the next. The sun still warm across the faces of those around as they began closing down their business for the day, and those who made their business at night began to stir.

Drexan made his way into the bar that he had frequented since his childhood, the noise stopping once more as they looked upon the armored man as he nodded towards the company, a few new faces he was unfamiliar with in the crowd but many who recognized the Alor that called this planet his ancestral home.

His helmet crackled to life as a voice came through his ears, "Master Ordo, besides the few Mandalorian's from out of town, we have a guest from outside our boarders." the voice of his AI assistant feeding him the basic information that he could gather much faster than Drexan could. His eyes flashed towards the woman sitting at the barstool, the server taking her order.

The Alor made a grunt noise as the AI made an affirmative chime in his ears as he made his way over to the woman sitting down.

"Sorry to disturb your drinking Madame, we noticed that you are not from our boarders and would like to welcome you to the planet of Ordo, if you are in need anything please let us know." The AI voice crackled from Drexan's helmet as the Mandalorian moved his hands along with the words, although with slightly less enthusiasm then his assistant gave.

 

[Niijima Izumi]

Izumi did not turn immediately when the voice reached her, the brim of her straw hat still casting her features into shadow. Only after the Mandalorian's words settled did she shift, lifting her gaze enough that the faint light of the bar caught the sharp line of her eyes.

A foreign tongue, yet she understood the intent well enough. Hospitality, offered not from the server's lips but from the helm of the armored man who now stood at her side. She let the moment breathe, measuring him with the quiet patience of one long accustomed to weighing strangers before speaking.

At last, she inclined her head, the motion small but deliberate.

"Thank you," she said, her voice low, steady, and carrying none of the warmth of feigned courtesy. "The road has been long, and the land unfamiliar. A drink will do well enough for now."

Her hand brushed lightly across the rim of her cup as the server set it down before her, though she made no move to drink.

"I seek no trouble, nor do I bring any," she continued, eyes flicking briefly to the helmet that disguised his features. That was perhaps too much talking for someone of few words, in front of someone she didn't know. But the words had already escaped her lips, and there was no turning back.

Izumi let her words fall there, returning her attention to the steam curling faintly from her cup. Yet her posture remained poised, her presence neither yielding nor hostile. It was the stance of a wanderer who had no desire for entanglements, though she made no effort to dismiss him outright.

A moment later, she spoke again, her tone still calm, though edged with the quiet curiosity of one who sought clarity.

"Tell me, do you greet all outsiders so directly, or only those you deem worth watching?"

Her question carried no challenge, only the faintest press against his intent, as though she were testing whether his welcome was genuine or simply another mask.
​

 

[Drexan Ordo]

G R E E T​

Tag: Niijima Izumi

Drexan listened to the words that came from the foreigners moujth as she spoke to him, her words not intending any malice, but having no amount of subtleness on her cautiousness and a sense of reservation in her discussion with the Mandalorian.

Drexan's hands moved to his hips as he gave a shrug and letting out a grunt towards his companion.

With another chime in Drexan's helmet the AI's voice cut through the bars near silence,"We thank you for your assurance on not causing any trouble nor do we mean to assume that is the reason you have set foot on our planet, we forgive any rudeness that might have been taken for that was not the intention. Myself and Master Ordo have made it our job to make pleasantries with those who make a stop at our small planet of Ordo." The voice sounded organic enough, with warmth and emotions being conveys through his speech, but still felt somewhat hollow after he finished talking, his words seeming to end abruptly even if he was finished with his sentence, the fake warmth ending as sudden as a blaster shot ringing through the night.

The bar continued its usual business shortly after their conversation began to take hold, soldiers ordering another round at the bar as other patrons spoke loudly about their glorious battles they had during the last war or whatnot. All exaggerations but all apart of the atmosphere. A gruff voice seemed to echo across the bar towards the pairs conversation, "Drexan don't you have administrators or police that can deal with the out of towners, why do you always gotta do this silly bantha crap."

Drexan turned towards the man noticing his sigil as one of the lesser Clans that made Ordo their home, another grunt escaped from his throat as the familiar chime hit his ears, "Master Ordo would like to remind you and those of your house the outstanding balance you hold after the purchase of blasters you ordered after your last shipment was... misplaced." The warmth the AI had shown moments before switching to a calculated coldness as he spoke to the other Mandalorian that had interrupted the pair. All the mandalorian could do was mumble some sort of an apology as he turned away before Drexan turned back to the outsider hoping to continue the small conversation the pair had started.

 

[Niijima Izumi]

Izumi remained still upon the barstool, her hands folded neatly in her lap as the exchange played out. The voice from the Mandalorian's helm carried a warmth that rang hollow to her ear, yet she gave no outward sign of judgment. She had long since learned that every people dressed their intentions in different garb, whether it be smiles, silence, or steel.

Her face, half-hidden beneath the brim of her straw hat, revealed nothing but composure.

"You carry yourself as one accustomed to more than pleasantries," she said quietly, her tone neither accusing nor complimentary, but simply observant. "The weight of authority sits plainly upon you. Even when others doubt it, you remind them why their tongues should hold still."

Her eyes lingered on him a heartbeat longer before dropping briefly to the cup before her. She lifted it at last, sipping once, the taste sharp and burning, before setting it down again without the faintest twitch of expression.

"It is no concern of mine how a host greets their guests," Izumi continued, her voice level, her words deliberate. "I require no apology, nor do I mistake courtesy for weakness. But I have walked many roads, and I know this much; kindness is often a blade with two edges. Sometimes one does not know which way it cuts until it is too late."

Her words were not spoken as warning, nor as challenge, but as fact; simple, unembellished, like the sharpening of steel on a whetstone.

For a moment, she turned her gaze away from him, studying the patrons as they laughed and drank, the noise swelling once more into its natural rhythm. Then, without shifting her posture, she spoke again, calm but firm.

"Still, I will take your words as they are given. For tonight, a drink and quiet will suffice. Beyond that, time will show me what kind of land Ordo is, and what kind of men call it home."

She did not dismiss him, but neither did she invite him closer. Her tone made clear: Niijima Izumi was not one to be won with hollow gestures, yet she had not closed the door entirely. She would wait, watch, and judge in her own time.
​

 

[Drexan Ordo]

O R D O​

Tag: Niijima Izumi

The Mandalorian did not stir, eyes fixed upon her as if weighing each syllable she had spoken. When at last the reply came the words were smooth, formal, deliberate.

“Your words are heard with care, traveler. Authority is not a mantle one claims, but a burden one proves worthy to bear. Ordo has taught him this truth, as it teaches all who call this soil their own.”

The voice carried no haste, each phrase unfolding with a practiced clarity that matched the stillness of the man who wore it.

“You are correct. Kindness may serve as both shield and blade. Yet strength need not always roar to be felt. Sometimes it is found in silence, in restraint, in the knowledge that a single word may weigh more than a dozen swords.”

Drexan’s gauntlet shifted faintly, resting against the bar with quiet finality, and the voice continued, softer now though no less steady.

“For tonight, he asks nothing more than your peace beneath Ordo’s sky. Should you choose to walk its roads, you will see its people as they are—scarred yet steadfast, proud yet loyal. In time, you will know whether this land greets you as stranger, guest, or ally. Until then, his silence will remain his answer, and his regard will not waver.”

Looking towards the server Drexan waved her over, a grunt escaping once again from his throat as the chime once again rung in his ears, "The first two rounds are on the house for this traveler tonight, but once she cannot bear the weight of herself then it is of her own accord on how she pays for her drink."

Life wasn't easy, Drexan knew that as good as anyone else, but sometimes a kind gesture can do much to aid in ones journey, and he knew it wouldn't kill him to show a new face some kindness that was rare in these parts.

 

[Niijima Izumi]

Izumi listened without interruption, the brim of her straw hat hiding the subtle arch of her brow as the Mandalorian spoke. His words were not wasted; each carried the weight of someone who had lived them, not merely recited them. That, she could respect.

When the server returned and set another drink before her, she let her hand rest on the cup but did not lift it. Instead, she inclined her head slightly toward Drexan, a gesture more measured than grateful, but no less sincere.

"You speak as one who understands the weight of silence," she said at last, her tone even, steady. "It is a rare thing. Many believe strength lies only in what can be shouted, or shown at the edge of a blade. Yet restraint… restraint is the mark of those who endure."

She let the words linger before lifting the cup and taking a slow sip. The drink burned no less than before, though her expression remained composed.

"As for your kindness, " her eyes narrowed slightly, more in thought than in suspicion, "it is received. But I will carry my own weight. A traveler who grows dependent is soon no better than a burden."

She set the cup down, turning it lightly in her hand before continuing.

"No matter, a kind gesture shan't be dismissed, for it would be just as disrespectful, especially according to the bushido code of the samurai." Her gaze met the visor of his helm then, calm and unwavering. "For tonight, I will accept your peace beneath Ordo's sky. Beyond that…"A quiet pause. "We shall see what the road reveals."

Izumi fell silent after that, her posture steady, her presence sharp yet composed. She had offered no promise, no refusal; only the quiet assurance that she would judge both man and land by what they proved in time.

"What brings you here anyway...?" a not-so-subtle question of inquiry, that if returned to her, she would have to think of a believable answer. Her golden brown hues rested on the liquid as she awaited her companion's answer.
​

 

[Drexan Ordo]

H E R E​

Tag: Niijima Izumi

Drexan’s helm remained inclined toward her, the glow of its visor steady and unreadable. When the answer came, it flowed once more, formal yet calm, measured like a councilor speaking across marble halls rather than a soldier across a bar counter.

“Ordo does not take lightly the presence of travelers who carry themselves with such composure. Your words honor restraint, and in them, he finds a truth long known to his people. Endurance is not forged in fire alone, but in the silence between battles, when one must stand and hold fast without faltering.”

His thumb played with his index finger, rubbing together like he was sifting through sand, a gesture absent of impatience, as though the act itself carried memory.

“You speak of burdens. Ordo is no stranger to them. Each who walks its soil carries weight, whether the scars of war, the labor of survival, or the legacy of kin who came before. The Alor does not offer ease, nor does he believe you seek it. He offers only acknowledgment. To walk among his people is to stand as one who bears their own weight with dignity.”

There was a pause, the quiet between words filled by the low hum of voices and the clatter of tankards around them. Then, the voice turned to her question, its timbre lowering slightly, not with secrecy, but with solemnity.

“We are here because the Alor must be among his people, not above them. The bar is no less a hall than the council chamber. Here, laughter, silence, and struggle weave together the truth of Ordo more clearly than any decree. To sit at this counter is to remember what is being governed, and why.”

The voice softened, carrying a shade of personal weight within its formal cadence.

“We walk among them not for ceremony, but for clarity. And tonight, in that clarity, your presence has been marked. Roads reveal much, as you say. Yet sometimes, they reveal not where one travels, but who walks beside them.”

Drexan inclined his helm a fraction, not as challenge, nor as dismissal, but as recognition an answer as much in gesture as in word.