Private &nbsp; Technically, I Didn’t Start It

Acier Moonbound · May 28, 2025

D E N O N
INNER RIM

The cantina buzzed with the usual cacophony of clinking glasses, murmured conversations, and the occasional outburst of laughter. Neon lights flickered overhead, casting a miriyad of colors onto the patrons below. Acier sat alone at a corner table, nursing a drink that had long since lost its warmth.

His white hair fell messily over his brow, hiding the forlorn features on his freckled face. Ace's recent escapades - the journey to a damp, nameless world in search of a phantom Jedi Temple, and the unsettling encounter on Botajef - played on a loop in his mind. Each misadventure had chipped away at his confidence, leaving a residue of frustration and disappointment.

Ace glanced down at the lightsaber hilt clipped to his belt, hidden by his jacket - it was a relic of a past hidden from him and a symbol of power he didn't know how to wield. It had served as a bluff more than once, but bluffs had their limits. The galaxy was unforgiving, and he needed something tangible, something real.

Tonight, he was to meet a contact who promised to procure an illegal blaster pistol. The arrangement was simple: no names, no questions. Just credits. As he waited, Acier's gaze drifted across the room, observing the sea of beings lost in their own worlds, their own stories.

He took another sip of his drink, the bitterness grounding him. The cantina's door hissed open, and a figure stepped in, silhouetted against the city's neon glow. Acier's hand instinctively moved closer to his belt.

One could never be too careful.

Pisti Caleida · May 29, 2025

D E N O N

If buildings could blink, it would have been an intense staring battle.

Pisti stood on the other side of the street, gaze fixed on the otherwise unremarkable building in this neglected street. With one hand she clasped her dark cloak shut, the other held a half-eaten bantha burger in a paper wrap. Even with fiery-red hair, she didn't stand out much more than the average pedestrian did.

For the first time since arriving in the system, she truly had her own mission. Alone, away from the prying eyes of her senior Jedi compatriots. It wasn't that they didn't trust her alone - well, it was - but simply that there were too few of them to cover the playing field in duos. An impossible truth for them, but a gift from the Force for her.

She'd checked off the first item on her long list - grabbing a Denon-style bantha burger. Admittedly, that came with protests from the chattering BB-unit next to her - the little supervision that her seniors had managed to stick to her. But droids weren't really made to listen to, were they? Besides, it wasn't as if she spoke binary - Pisti simply nodded along when the droid chattered. Then tended to go left, instead of taking a right to follow after the droid.

Munching on her burger, Pisti made the executive decision to cross the street. It came accompanied by the sound of disapproving droid whistles. "Oh give me a break QT-3!" she managed with a mouth full of burger. "I'm on it! S'gonna be fine, 'kay?" The beeps that came sounded an awful lot like doubt. Pisti huffed. "Trust me, place like this s'gotta get us some leads."

The rusty steel door slid open to permit her entry. She'd heard about a place like this. It was what the locals - after much prying - called a 'Hell'. They were the lowest of the low. Dirty and dimly lit, where the revnog and ale were cheap and still not worth hallf what you paid. The food was even worse, and anyone who gave you so much as a wink was trying to pick your pocket or had men waiting outside to crack you over the head.

Bantha-burger in hand and green eyes full of hope and anticipation, Pisti stood expectantly in the doorway. That shifted to disappointment almost immediately. No fights? No proper stink? She scanned the crowd, earning her some threatening glances back. At least there were some dice and sabacc games going on. You could find those in a proper Hell at any time of the day. Especially afternoon hours like these.

QT-3 let out a concerned chirp as it rolled in beside her. "Hey! Relax."" She smiled at the little droid. "It's not as bas as it should be." Pisti laughed. It made her doubtful, had she followed the right directions? Or were the Hells of the Inner Rim wimpy compared to what Wild Space had offered?

With a little squeezing, she managed to claim a spot at the bar. The bartender towered over them in his capsule, spinning round to prepare drinks with colours and smells she did not know existed. The drinks traveled down through small glass tubes and were tapped by the real bartender - a slender looking alien with a thin snout and clearly not in the mood to work his shifts.

Pisti waved energetically to get his attention. His head shot over to her. "Oi! You can't bring outside food in 'ere!" it snorted in tones she barely understood. Pisti stared back, wide-eyed. Then she pouted. "Fine." Shifting on her bar seat, Pisti handed the half-eaten thing to her droid. "Can you wait outside with this? Pleaaaase?" It's single black lens stared at her, zooming in slightly. "I won't do anything you wouldn't do?" she tried. The droid stared at her a heartbeat longer. Then pliers extended from its body, took hold of the burger, and the small droid road off with an indignant chatter.

Pisti smirked.

Now this assignment was truly hers and hers alone.

Rheyla Tann · May 30, 2025

The air in the Blue Drift hadn’t gotten any cleaner. It just got thicker.

The table creaked slightly as the Weequay muttered a curse, pushed away from his chair, and stalked off in the direction of the sabacc crowd—wallet light, pride lighter. Three left. Four, if you counted the house. And the house, Rheyla had noticed, was watching now.

Good. Let them.

The pot had swelled to something respectable. The kind of respectable that got people killed on Denon if the wrong hand hit the table. Rheyla liked it just fine.

The Rodian twitched again, fingers tapping the edge of his cards in staccato. His gaze flitted between players like he was expecting a knife. Not paranoid—just not fast enough to live with that level of nerves.

Across the table, the Duros leaned back, arms crossed, coat collar up like he thought it gave him mystique. Too clean. Too confident. Rheyla had tagged him as the type that didn’t need the credits—he wanted the win. People like that were predictable. Emotional. Easy to steer.

And then there was Burn-Neck.
Still scowling. Still silent.
Still watching her like her heartbeat annoyed him personally.

The number on the board was 12. Rheyla’s last draw had put her at 15. Not a great number, not a bad one. But it hovered in that quiet zone—too close to call, too far to fold. She still had two side cards left, tucked quietly beneath her primary: +1 and –2.

She hadn’t moved yet. Just let the tension hum. Took a slow sip of her drink—still bitter, still bad—and let her wrapped lekku shift slightly, tilting her head just enough to catch a glimpse of the bar. Some red-haired kid was negotiating with a droid over a burger. Wide-eyed, energetic. Didn’t fit. Rheyla filed the sight away—not important, not yet. The kid had that look people had before something dumb or unlucky happened. Probably both.

The Duros drew. A flick of the wrist, silent confidence, and the smug little bastard didn’t even blink.

The Rodian hesitated. Sweating. He cursed again and tapped out. Folded. Couldn’t take the heat.

Down to three.
Rheyla.
Duros.
Burn-Neck.

She let the corner of her mouth curl. “Looks like the fun’s just starting.”

Rheyla, the Duro and Burn-Neck all drew from their main deck.
Rheyla drew 4, changing her total number to 19 and with her +1 card in her hand, she changed her total to 20.
A smirk spread on her lips and chose to stand.
The Duro drew a 10, landing on a 27 for his total, making him curse and throw his cards on the table, before collecting them and left, probably to skulk.
Burn-Neck, however, wasn’t finished.

He looked down at his cards, lips pressed in a hard line, that scarred throat twitching once as he reached for his side deck. The silence around the table stretched, heavy and waiting.

Then he slapped down a Double card—and the air changed.

The move was legal, but rare. It meant he’d play the next main deck draw twice—a high-risk gamble that could turn the game or crash it completely. Rheyla's eyes narrowed just slightly, the smirk on her lips holding firm, but now with the kind of edge that meant she was watching. Burn-Neck reached for the deck. His calloused fingers curled around the top card. He flipped it.

First draw: 2.
Second draw: 6.

The board clicked up, counting for him. 12 + 2 + 6 = 20.

A perfect match.

Burn-Neck didn’t smile, didn’t gloat. He just stared at Rheyla like he’d personally walked over and pissed on her boots. The kind of stare that said, Don’t think you’re clever. I see you.

Rheyla’s smirk didn’t fade. But something in her posture shifted—just slightly. A subtle coiling. Calculating. The pot sat there between them now. Just the two of them. Equal hands. Equal danger. But this wasn’t over.

They had gotten quite the audience now as both Rhey and Burn-Neck had thrown in quite a large sum of credits, turning this game into a very dangerous situation.

Acier Moonbound · May 30, 2025

Like a sudden chord in a silent room, Ace felt it. The Force stirred, not with the solemn weight he'd come to expect, but with a vibrant, effervescent energy that danced at the edges of all five senses. It was a sensation both foreign and oddly familiar, reminiscent of the first time he'd encountered

Valery Noble

Turning his head, Ace's eyes settled on the source: a woman with pink-to-red hair and a pale orange complexion, her presence as vivid as her appearance. Her imprint in the Force was a whirlwind - playful, chaotic and unrestrained. It pulsed with a rythm that defied the stoic and balanced presence of a traditional Jedi. A melody of curiosity and passion radiated within her.

Ace couldn't help but smirk to himself, though he remained seated. He was here for one thing and wanted to be on the move again as soon as possible. Where was this contact anyway? He'd been here for what felt like an eternity.

A figure then breezed passed the corner of his eye before sitting on the seat opposite him without a word. This must have been seller. She carried herself like a storm barely held in check - gritty, striking, unapologetically bold. Warm, brown skin with dreadlocks tied into a wild bun crowning her head, the shaved side indicated "don't mess with me".

"Leta Tynen?" he asked.

"Mmhm." she confirmed.

Ace blinked. For a moment, he sensed something different about her too - not as strong or present as the Jedi that just walked in. It was similar to a whisper, or the crack of a sun's rays through a cloudy sky. She was like him too, touched by the Force. Whether she knew, or whether she wanted it to be known was something else entirely. Ace kept his thoughts to himself.

He eyed her carefully. No smile. No pleasantries. Just that unreadable look and the way she leaned back like this was routine.

Ace slid a few credit chips across the table with his palm, slow and deliberate. Leta didn't reach for the chip, not yet. Instead, she kept her gaze locked on him like a predator. "You always this twitchy when buying heat?"

"If it's our first meeting, yeah." he replied, carefully hovering his hand across from his lightsaber - showing just enough to make sure she got the picture.

Leta's eyes flicked down toward the barely concealed weapon attached to his hip. A hint of recognition showed on her face but was gone in an instant. Then, a smirk. "Grandfather had one of those. So do a few of my cousins." she stated. Leta reached under her coat and pulled out a sleek, worn but clearly cared for blaster pistol.

"DL-27 Corellian mod. No serial. Modified grip for quicker draw. Tuned for overcharge costs... if you're brave."

"Depends on the day." Ace retorted. His fingers hovered over the blaster, its weight foreign "Thanks."

"Thank you." she said with a smirk, pocketing the credit chips before rising from her seat "Pleasure doing business with you."

She playfully saluted him before departing. Ace, placed the DL-27 into the new holster he had just purchased, then he watched as Leta departed. She was an interesting character, piquing his curiosity at the mention of her grandfather and cousins owning lightsabers.

With that over with, Ace stood up himself and made his way toward the exit. Nothing left for him here now.

Pisti Caleida · Jun 1, 2025

D E N O N

Pisti swiveled on her seat to face the bar again. She planted down an elbow and leaned forward a little to plant her head on it. "So..." The bartender had move a little ahead, but now glanced at her with a suspicious glare. "Never been on Denon before." she tried. "Lovely place y'all got 'ere." Clearly they weren't in the mood to strike up a conversation. Nobody was - this sort of place asked one to keep their head low and their voice lower. "Heard it's got some real reputation too." She cocked her head to the side, green eyes intent on sparking uproar. "You had a run-in with the law before?" The three to her right shot her warning looks. Only a Rodian in a pilot-suit kept his eyes fixated on his drink. "Oh me?" She pointed at herself with big eyes even though nobody had asked. "Well, I'm wanted in at least nine systems in the expansion region." She gestured as if it were nothing. "You?" None of the thugs responded. Two talked in low voices among each other. The others did their best not to make eye contact. "Awh come on... Rodian?" Addressed more directly, the Rodian stirred. He gave her a startled look, she returned a broad smile.

The Rodian glanced over his shoulder, then spoke in drawling Huttese. "Hi chubi di naga?!" Pisti's brow furrowed. "What I want? A conversation!" She complained. The Rodian made a gesture. "Ahhh E chu ta!" She sat up straight and, from the corner of her eye, saw two men shift behind her. "Well that was awfully rude of you. I'm just looking for a drink and good conversation." Shaking her head dismissively, Pisti turned to the other side. "Can ya believe this guy?" Again, glares. These people didn't make for nice conversation partners.

She'd got what she wanted though. Almost.

"And here I was, lookin' for a crew. 'ad a nice bit of credits ta pay too." Laying it on thick with an overexaggerated shrug, Pisti rose from her seat. "Guess I'll find 'em elsewhere." With a stride as confident as she came in with, Pisti marched for the door. Another was leaving - a teen with snow-white hair and dark skin. Another potential target.

She quickened her step just a little to reach the exit at the same time. "No way!" She began a touch too cheerfully. "Is it really you? Pisti turned to face him fully, making use of the opportunity to covertly glimpse back at the bar.

The Rodian was downing his drink. The two men who had sat to her left had already begun moving.

Faking as best she could, Pisti continued. "Oh- sorry. Wrong person!" With an apologetic smile and a wave, she squeezed herself through the still opening door to the outside.

Rheyla Tann · Jun 2, 2025

The noise in the Blue Drift faded to a background hum.

Not silence—no such thing existed here—but something quieter. Focused. The kind of hush that filled a room when a thousand credits were on the line and two players stared each other down with hands they didn’t intend to fold.

The final game had begun.

Rheyla and Burn-Neck sat across from one another, backs straight now, no more lounging or posturing. The crowd had closed in around them like a noose, drawn by the smell of blood in the air—not literal, not yet, but the kind that clung to bad luck and worse grudges.

The pot glittered like bait between them. Nearly a thousand credits.

The first draw came quick.
Rheyla’s card: 5
Burn-Neck’s: 6

No words. Just movement. Calculated, deliberate. Rheyla tapped the deck again.
8. Her total: 13. She played it cool, didn’t reach for her side deck yet.

Burn-Neck followed. Drew another 6. Sitting at 12.

The crowd murmured, a ripple of noise and shifting boots and half-drawn breath. Somewhere behind her, Rheyla heard a bottle clink, a chair scrape. Didn’t matter. Not now.

She drew again. 3.
16 total. Close. Dangerous.

Her fingers brushed the edge of her side deck. She still had her –2. Still had control. Burn-Neck watched her the way predators watched prey deciding whether to bolt or bite.

Then he laughed.
Dry. Low. Not the kind of laugh you wanted to hear at this kind of table.

“You’ve got some nerf-sized audacity showing your face here,” he rasped. The first words he’d spoken all game. His voice was rough, scorched down to gravel—like his throat still remembered the burn.

Rheyla’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t take the bait. Not yet. “I get around.”

“I bet you do,” he muttered. “Came through Narvath three months back. My buddy Keelo disappeared the same week.”

The crowd stilled.

Rheyla’s face didn’t change, but inside, something clicked.
Keelo. Short temper, shorter career. She’d bagged him on a minor bounty run—nothing personal, just business.

Apparently, Burn-Neck had taken it personal.

“I’m sure he’s making friends wherever he is,” she said smoothly, tapping her –2 side card onto the table.
Her total: 18.

Burn-Neck drew. His jaw set, fingers stiff.
9.
His total: 21.

A hush fell like a blade.

Rheyla blinked. “Bold,” she murmured.

Then, with a smirk as casual as it was pointed, she reached for her last card—the +2—and laid it down like it was nothing at all. Total: 20.

Burn-Neck’s smirk twitched. He didn’t say a word.

She didn’t need him to.
Instead, she reached forward—calm, confident—and began collecting her winnings.

Chits scraped across the table with a satisfying weight.
Stacks of credit markers clinked into her pouch, her fingers moving quick but precise. Like a job. Like a habit.

That’s when Burn-Neck snapped.

“You don’t get to walk away!”

He surged up, arm knocking through her drink, sending the glass flying. In the same breath, he flipped the table, cards and credits and fury scattering in a metallic storm.

The crowd erupted.
Shouts. Blasters drawn. A bottle cracked against someone’s head. Chairs scraped back, and bodies lunged.

Rheyla had already moved—pivoting on instinct, ducking low, one knee hitting the ground as she drew. She wasn’t sure if the bolt that burned the wall behind her was aimed for her or just the room. Didn’t matter.

The Blue Drift was on fire now.
Not literally. Not yet.

But the chaos had arrived.
And Rheyla was already in the middle of it.

The air lit up with red and gold blaster fire, bolts sizzling past her shoulder, burning into walls, tables, and people. One shot hit the bar with a crack, shattering bottles and sending a wave of glowing blue liquor across the counter. The bartender vanished behind a security hatch like he'd trained for this exact moment.

A chair flew overhead and smashed into a sabacc table, sending its occupants sprawling. Someone screamed—maybe in anger, maybe pain—as two patrons grappled, knocking over a neon sign that burst in a shower of sparks.

A Trandoshan launched across the room, tackling a Nikto into a support beam hard enough to dent the steel. A Twi'lek dancer ducked behind a broken holo-projector, dragging another civilian to cover. And in the haze of smoke and flashing light, a ventilation grate overhead exploded from a stray bolt, the blast sending a burst of scalding steam and metal shrapnel raining down into the middle of a sabacc game. The force of it sent credit chits skittering like insects across the floor, followed by a very loud Bothan shouting curses and ducking for cover.

From the open door, people had already started fleeing into the alley—others running toward the fight, drawn by noise and fire like moths to a burning sky.

Rheyla moved low, fast, one hand clutching her half-filled pouch of credits, the other gripping her blaster as she slid behind a flipped table. Someone crashed down behind her with a wet thud and groaned once before going quiet. She didn’t look back.

“Hope that wasn’t the waiter,” she muttered, checking the charge on her blaster with a flick of her thumb. “Still waiting on my change.”

Acier Moonbound · Jun 2, 2025

Nearing the exit, Ace barely registered the voice at first—assuming it was meant for someone else. But then someone cut ahead, blocking his path. She was a little taller than him, standing just in front of the door. Ace's eyes flicked upward. It was her—the Force-sensitive he'd sensed earlier. And now, she turned to face him.

"Is it really you?" she asked, voice tinged with too much excitement to be natural.

Ace blinked, skeptical. "…What?"

She quickly backpedaled, waving off the moment with an apology. Mistaken identity, she claimed. That didn't sit right. Something was off. His instincts tensed.

He hovered a hand halfway between them. "You're good." he muttered, suspicion sharpening his tone. He stepped to move past, but she was already gone—slipping through the door before he could react.

A voice shouted behind him. "You don't get to walk away!"

Ace paused. A man had jumped to his feet, flipping a table with a crash. The room burst into noise and heat. Ace rolled his eyes. Just a sore loser, he thought. Another drunk who couldn't handle losing at Pazaak. He was about to turn to leave but then he froze. At the table, his gaze landed on a familiar face.

Rheyla karking Tann.

His stomach sank. The bounty hunter from Botajef. The one who nearly turned him in… but didn't. What was she doing here? Following him? Or just a coincidence? Before he could figure it out, the chaos erupted.

A blaster bolt cracked through the air, grazing over his head. Without thinking, Ace dropped low, instincts flaring. The Force had warned him again. Ace realised it was beginning to become easier to anticipate these things. Scrambling beneath a table that hadn't been touched by the brawl yet, his breath was steady Another day, another mess. He sighed. The exit was right there. He could still make it out clean.

Then he remembered.

You owe me, Sparkleboy.

Acier remembered the note she had left him back on Botajef. That stupid debt. He tutted and grit his teeth. Ace hated owing people, especially shady ones. But she'd spared him when she didn't have to. That counted for something, whether he liked it or not.

He looked down at the lightsaber clipped to his belt and considered it before shaking his head. It would've brought too much unwanted attention.

Instead, he reached for the DL-27 tucked into his holster. The one he'd just bought. Might as well give it a proper test.

Moving into a crouched position, Ace peered over the table and scanned the chaos. Amist the blaster fire, overturned chairs, shouting and bodies, Ace's eyes snapped toward Rheyla behind a table. They weren't far from each other, and the pair would both be visible to one another. Behind her, he also spotted the man who caused all of this - Burn-Neck.

Teeth bared, eyes filled with fury, he was making a beeline for her table and made a mess of anyone who got in his way. His eyes narrowed, Ace aimed low. Burn-Neck was so focused on getting Rheyla, he didn't notice the snowy-haired youth aiming a blaster pistol right at him. The DL-27 hissed with a clean shot, bolt searing into Burn-Neck's thigh. The would-be murderer collapsed hard on the floor, dropping his weapon.

"Debt repaid!" he called out to her, ducking back into his cover.

Pisti Caleida · Jun 2, 2025

D E N O N

She'd only just passed the teen in the doorway and found herself confronted by QT-3. The droid rolled over, almost stabbing her with the burger she'd left it with. "Things are going according to plan, Q." The Force danced as she walked, tugging at her with anticipation. If she let it take her by the hand now, there was no telling where it would lead. It often came to her like that - a rhythm or swing that only the quick-footed could possibly keep up with. One that grew with each twirl and lead as well as it followed. Usually, that was enough of a warning. But her mind was still on the boy.

He'd not been remarkable, not to the trained eye. Yet there was something off about the boy. In the way he carried himself? His look? Surely someone more observant would have been able to catch it. That alone made her consider going back in. The determining factor was the sudden eruption of violence.

QT-3 made a shrill sound, it's single ocular lens focusing on the now open doorway behind her. Pisti took her burger back from the startled droid, lazily turning to lean in the doorway. "Ha!" She said triumphantly. "So it was an Hell after all!" People rushed past her outside, but her eyes were trained on the storm of blaster bolts in the room. In a matter of seconds, tables and chairs had become cover or vantage points, the bar had been raided, and at least three windows had been shattered.

Pisti leisurely moved her head to the side to let a blaster bolt fly by, frowning in the general direction it came from. Her heartbeat hadn't quickened a pace, but her senses were still abnormally sharp.

As were those of the boy, apparently.

She watched with casual interest as he ran straight at one of the thugs in the firefight. His reflexes were good - better than what they should have been. She watched as he evaded blasterfire and narrowly avoided death by vibroknife. Granted, that last was her work. He hadn't seen the man behind him. A small telekinetic jab at the man's unbalanced foot had been enough to topple him backward.

Content with her work, she took another bite. Then grimaced. It'd gone cold. "Think we should leave, QT? Get a new burger an' all?" She glanced back and found the droid hiding behind her legs. It beeped affirmatively.

Rheyla Tann · Jun 4, 2025

Rheyla jolted—just slightly—as Burn-Neck crumpled behind her with a grunt, the heavy thud of his body slamming into the floor at her back. A blaster bolt had caught him clean through the thigh, and his weapon clattered uselessly to the ground.

She pivoted halfway to face him, gun still raised, breath sharp and caught mid-fight response—

Then a voice cut through the chaos:
“Debt repaid!”

Her head snapped toward the voice—and her expression twisted into something halfway between a smirk and a groan.

No karking way.

Sparkleboy!

There he was, crouched behind cover like he hadn’t just shot a man out of nowhere and announced it like a punchline. Rheyla blinked once, twice, then let out a breath that sounded a lot like a laugh—though it came with a shake of her head and the unmistakable fire of exasperation in her eyes.

“Why does chaos follow me every time you're nearby?!” she called out, already rising into a low run as another bolt sizzled past. “You got some kind of curse, or are you just gifted like that, Sparkleboy?!”

She ducked behind another overturned table, snapping off a return shot toward someone firing from the bar. A bottle exploded. The guy behind it hit the ground.

She didn’t wait for a reply.
She was already moving again, heading for the front door.

She cursed herself for only having managed to gather half of what she won before Burn-Neck decided to go full primate on the table. The rest of the credits were scattered across the floor, probably being pocketed by every lowlife still breathing.

Of course. Of course she couldn’t have just one clean win.

Then she heard it.
A hiss. Sharp. Surgical.

Rheyla turned her head just in time to see Burn-Neck, flat on his back near where she’d left him bleeding, shove a stim stick into the side of his thigh. His teeth bared, face twisted in something far too pleased for a man who’d just been shot.

The stim hissed again as it emptied. His limbs jolted with forced strength. His body shouldn’t have moved like that—but it did.

He shoved himself upright, stumbling once, then standing tall. Blood still leaked around the wound, but his eyes burned like a man who hadn’t noticed—or didn’t care.

“You think this ends here?!” he bellowed across the room, voice raw and ragged as he pulled a combat knife from his boot. “I’ve buried better bounty hunters than you just for looking at me wrong!”

“Oh, good,” Rheyla muttered under her breath, turning slightly as she kept moving sideways toward the doorway. “Now he’s full of drugs and drama. Couldn't Sparkleboy have shot him in the head or something?!”

Burn-Neck barreled forward, faster than he should’ve been. Shoving past chairs, kicking bodies out of the way, knife in one hand, the other dragging a second stim from his belt.

Rheyla raised her blaster and shouted, “You really wanna do this with one leg?! I’ve got half your damn blood on my boots already!”

But he didn’t stop.

And neither did the chaos behind him.

Acier Moonbound · Jun 4, 2025

Staring down at the floor, Ace heard Rheyla shouting at him from across the cantina. He didn't know her well—hadn't even known her long. But from what he did know, yelling across a blaster-filled skirmish like it was nothing? That was about right. With a sigh, the freckle-faced youth shook his head and shouted back, voice nearly drowned out by the chaos.

"Could ask you the same thing!"

Before she could respond, or he could think of anything cleverer, Ace heard screaming. His attention snapped to a man charging him head-on, a vibroknife glinting in his hand. He was already too close, way too close for Ace to get a proper shot off.

Still, he wasn't about to just roll over. Ace raised the DL-27, praying he had enough time to fire.

Then, suddenly, the man dropped. Not a stumble. Not a tackle. He just collapsed backward, hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Blinking, Ace glanced ahead and caught sight of her again: the orange-skinned woman from earlier, standing coolly in the doorway, handing off a half-eaten bantha burger to a BB unit like this wasn't a warzone.

Ace called out, "Was that you?!"

The man on the floor stirred, starting to rise with a wheeze. Ace didn't hesitate—one bolt to the shoulder, another to the foot. The guy went down for good. His focus returned to the woman. He studied her now. Really studied her. The way she stood. The ease in her movements. That quiet confidence, it reminded him of Valery. But the Force… it flowed around her differently. Raw. Wild. Was she a Jedi? Or just someone deeply connected to the current?

A second shout from Rheyla snapped him out of it. He turned, peeking over the edge of his makeshift cover.

Burn-Neck. Somehow, the karking guy was back on his feet. Ace raised a brow. How? As if it even mattered. With a steady breath, Ace extended his free hand just past the edge of the table. Ever since Botajef, he'd been working on his connection to the Force. He couldn't lift anything, not yet, but he was getting good at pushing things.

He flicked his middle and index fingers forward. A small but focused burst of kinetic energy slammed into Burn-Neck like a shove from an invisible hand. It didn't launch him like that guy on Botajef, but it knocked him off balance—just enough to give Rheyla her opening.

Ace ducked back behind cover, smirking. He clenched his fist and pulled his arm in tight, a quiet gesture of victory. His connection was still raw. Still growing. But it was growing.

Pisti Caleida · Jun 8, 2025

D E N O N

Pisti's eyebrows climbed. Still chewing on her burger, she pointed at herself. "Ya talkin' to me?" It wasn't a deception she could keep up for long - it had been her letting the guy slip after all. She just hadn't thought that this snow-haired guy would catch on. How had he done that anyway?

Squinting, her gaze followed him as he took place again behind his cover. The Force hadn't really alerted her to his presence yet. He didn't occur as anything other than an ordinary guy, but the Force did jump around in wild dance here. The kind she couldn't trigger alone.

A Duros sprinted past her outside, firing his blaster pistol as he went. She took a step to the side to let him pass, raising a hand to show she meant no harm. The blaster pistol shifted to her for a brief second, but the Duros - with a glare - decided it wasn't worth it and made his way onto the streets. Pisti smiled. She stood on the edge of the conflict. Shooting her would warrant taking this fight outside. There was no telling what would happen then.

Outside. That reminded her - she was here for information.

She glanced at the bar, but found the Rodian she had goaded lying dead beside his barstool. "Oh by Surik's blade..." she muttered. She'd been sure the Rodian was a local and would've been able to tell her something useful at least. Now she was just left with well, with what exactly?

"QT, I think we better-" Her head snapped back to the boy as he flicked his fingers. A man not far off staggered - a minor detail but unmistakable hint to her.

Pisti pushed herself away from the door and moved in, weaving through blasterfire and knife fights. It was the speed at which she moved that kept her from becoming involved in any of the ongoing fights and in no time, she'd reached the boy's cover. Pisti somersaulted over it, landing right beside the boy. "Yo!" She put up a hand. "Wanna talk about what ya just did?" She poked a finger at him. "'Cause I saw that. Ain't no way I'm gonna let that slide."

Rheyla Tann

-

Rheyla Tann · Jun 8, 2025

Burn-Neck should have been down for good. Shot clean through the thigh, stimmed halfway to madness, and now stumbling like a war beast that didn’t know when to karking quit.

Rheyla had almost made it to the door when the Force itself—no, something like it—hit him. She didn’t see where it came from, but she felt it, like a ripple. Enough to knock Burn-Neck sideways into a stack of chairs.

She didn’t waste the opening.

Rheyla spun, dropped to one knee, and fired. The bolt slammed into Burn-Neck’s shoulder, spinning him half around with a roar of pain—but somehow, somehow, he stayed upright.

"You really don’t quit, do you?!" she shouted, rising again.

Then came another voice, clearer now through the din.

Rheyla barely heard the colourful chick poke a finger at Sparkleboy like he was getting a damn lecture in the middle of a brawl turned shootout

Rheyla’s head jerked toward it, only to watch the doors blow open.

A deafening crack split the air as the cantina’s front entrance burst inward, kicked in by an armoured boot the size of a landspeeder's grill. Riot troopers poured through the smoke—six, eight, maybe more—visors down, shields raised, blasters primed. The lead officer barked something unintelligible over a speaker, but it didn’t matter. The moment they were in, the room shifted.

Everyone hit the floor—whether they were shooting, screaming, or just trying to finish a drink. A second later, one of the troopers fired a sonic stunner into the ceiling. The shockwave rippled through the cantina like a punch to the gut.

Rheyla staggered, hand on her ribs, teeth bared. “Oh great, sure—why not add internal bleeding to the list?” she snapped.

That girl—the overly relaxed burger-eater—was in the middle of the fight now, practically shoulder-to-shoulder with Sparkleboy behind cover. For a second, she just stared.

“I swear,” Rheyla muttered, ducking as another bolt shattered a fixture overhead. She shot a glance toward Ace and Pisti, incredulous. “Glad to see I’m not the only one allergic to self-preservation.”

Rheyla skidded to a stop beside Ace and the burger girl—whoever she was. Rheyla didn’t know her, didn’t care. Not right now.

“Don’t know who you are, lady, but I’m getting out of here and dragging Sparkleboy with me,” she said flatly, tone all grit and urgency. “Follow or don’t. Not my problem.”

She turned to Ace, eyes sharp. “I didn’t let that bounty drop just to watch you die in a dive bar or get your ass kicked in lockup.”

Before he could protest—or even blink—Rheyla grabbed him by the collar and yanked.

Burn-Neck, screaming bloody murder and bleeding from two limbs now, surged forward again, knife flashing. Fueled by stims and hate. His bad leg dragged, but it didn’t slow him as much as it should have.

Rheyla backpedalled. She couldn’t keep trading shots forever.

“I can't believe I have to save your ass again!” she barked while nodding toward the corridor behind them. “Backdoor access. That’ll take us out to the side alley”

She snapped off another bolt—hit Burn-Neck in the gut, but he kept coming.

“I came here to win some easy credits, not get chased by a stimmed-up psycho with a knife or knocked down by Riot Troopers!” she groaned, ducking behind a cracked table and keeping low as she sprinted while dragging Acier toward the bar, where a side door promised a way out.

Acier Moonbound · Jun 9, 2025

A flash of orange suddenly appeared beside him, startling him so much that Acier almost left his cover. It was the woman again. Before he could get a word off to ask her how she just suddenly appeared next to him so fast, she beat him to it.

"Hi...?" he responded, confused.

She had noticed his usage of the Force, somehow amidst all the carnage. Acier tracked her hand as it pointed at him in some sort of accusatory manner. The golden-skinned woman declared she wouldn't let what happened slide, which somehow made Ace feel as if he was in trouble. Immediately, his brows furrowed and he felt his guard go up.

Sneering "And what? 'S a free galaxy!" he argued.

Then the entrance exploded inward, the lound bang ringing in Acier's ears. Now riot troopers had arrived. Full armor, visors, shouting and loud boots - the whole shebang. One of them barked orders through a voice modulator that made him sound like a pissed off protocol droid.

Ace's heart dropped into his stomach. He did not need this heat on him right now.

"Fanatastic." he muttered, flattening himself tighter against his cover.

He peeked up just long enough to see one of them body-slam a Bothan into a wall and fire a stun round into the already unconscious guy. Ace's gaze then caught the sonic stunner adhere to the ceiling. It didn't take long for him to figure out what was coming next.

The blast hit like a sledgehammer to the skull. Ace's ears screamed and his vision blurred. Every thought in his brain collapsed into static. He dropped hard behind cover, hands cramped to his head, teeth clenched - like it would help.

Despite it all, Rheyla had somehow made it to the position he and burger girl were at. She called him Sparkleboy... again. If he could, Ace would have loudly groaned at the nickname he'd suddenly been shackled with. Tne name still didn't make any sense to him. Then, she turned to him, reminding him that she didn't want her efforts of dropping his bounty go to waste.

That was... nice?

Before he could respond though, he felt her grab and pull him up by the collar. Annoyed at the sudden manhandling, as well as having flashbacks to their first meeting - he slapped her hand away in frustration.

"Get off, man! I've got legs!" he protested before turning to his head to meet the burger girl "You want answers? Get us the hell outta here!"

First the riot troopers, and now Burn-Neck was somehow still here? How hadn't the riot troopers taken him out yet?

"My ass?!" he exclaimed, replying to Rheyla "The reason I'm still here was 'cause I saved yours! Twice!"

Ace's gaze then followed where Rheyla had nodded toward. Backdoor access it was. In tandem with the Twi'lek, Ace drew his own blaster and shot at Burn-Neck's other thigh - nothing. The man was fuelled by his disdain for Rheyla. Honestly, it was understandable.

If Pisti was following, he would call out to her "Can you do something about him? Please." with an extremely exasperated tone.

Ace continued following Rheyla, evading as much collateral damage as possible. However, a riot trooper rounded the corner, tall and armored, cutting him off from following Rheyla and standing directly between him and the exit.

The riot trooper didn't say a word. Why would he need to? His rifle was already raised. The black visor reflected the chaos behind him - smoke, screaming, firelight. But all Acier could focus on was the click of the rifle charging up. He was too close, there was no cover, and nowhere to run.

Time slowed, not a Force thing, but adrenaline chewing at the edges of his thoughts. The blaster flared and Ace moved without thinking. His hand snapped to his belt, the hilt already hot in his grip. The blue blade ignited with a violent snap-hiss. Its glow bathing the corridor in pale light as he stepped in, not back, and brought the saber up across his body.

The trooper fired, but it was too late. The bolt glanced off the humming plasma - wild and uncontrolled. In that same motion, Ace pivoted hard, blade dragging across the trooper's arm. Something clattered to the floor, it might have been the trooper's arm but Ace couldn't bring himself to look. It was all but confirmed to him, however, when the trooper fell to his knees with a cry. Writhing and clutching at what was left of his arm.

Though Ace's expression was emotionless, internally, he was a storm. He never enjoyed bringing harm to others but this was survival. He'd harm a thousand men if it meant he could live.

Pisti Caleida · Jun 10, 2025

D E N O N

"A free galaxy?" Pisti repeated in disbelief. "Clearly you've never bought a bantha burger!" Unperturbed by the violence around her, Pisti's disbelieving green eyes remained firmly fixed on him. "Or tried to park your speeder on Coruscant!" She shook her head in disbelief. "No but seriously freckles, ya can't just do that, it's gonna 'ave some nasty-" She was interrupted by the screeching of steel at its limit. Concrete broke, the door came down with a loud slam, and smoke filled the room.

Pisti lazily glanced in the direction of the newcomers. Her skin prickled - the Force demanded her attention. It could only mean that these men were about to do something quite unpleasant. Pisti sprang to her feet when the sonic stunner came into view and took the Force its hand in a passionate dance. That surge, the thrill and warmth of life so close, demanded her full attention. Drowned out her surroundings and led to new surges of unrivaled vigor. The sonic blast reached her but the Knight stood unphased, red hair dancing with the wave of dust. Not all blows could be shrugged off easily, but this level was well within manageable limits.

Her metaphysical dance slowed, enough to return a level of awareness. She blankly stared at the blue twi'lek talking to her, face a puzzle. "Oh-" She said something about the teen - sparkleboy, was it? "'Kay!" She stuck up a thumb. "I'll be right behind you!" Pisti beamed her best smile. People liked smiles.

These people? They didn't.

The two had more sharp looks and hard remarks to throw at each other than to be impressed by how fervently she brushed her teeth. She shot a quick glance back, but the armored men were more concerned with the individuals who were actively resisting. Stun bolts and blaster bolts began painting the room in a vast array of colours again.

She was only distracted for a moment, yet it was enough to separate her from the duo again. A knife-wielding brute had come between them. Was he with them too? No! She remembered - that was the guy that sparkleboy and the woman had shot earlier. Pisti nodded in understanding. An eye for an eye, wasn't it? She glanced back again - a little more cautious of the ensuing firefight than before. Then came the teen's call for help.

Pisti looked back. "Ya really shootin' a guy and askin' me to stop him?" Pisti visibly cringed a little. "'bout three steps too late friend." Nevertheless, the Jedi moved.

She'd crossed the distance in an instant, dropping low in whirl, foot extended. The brute was miraculously swept off his feet by the smaller woman, slamming hard against a nearby table. He rolled aside, knife swiping out behind him. Pisti evaded and rose in the same liquid movement. "Gonna have ta stand down big guy." Saliva dripped from the corners of his mouth. His eyes were bloodshot, and the burn marks of blastebolts were all over him. A spike of dread hit her. The brute was a dead man standing. He'd collapse when the stims worked out. And she knew he would not be getting up again.

The brute lifted himself up, knife held in reverse-grip by a shaking hand. Would he-

The snap-hiss of a lightsaber came out of nowhere. Pisti jerked her head in the sound's direction, to find that teen - sparkleboy of all people - lob off a man's arm. "Wha-!" Something big slammed into her, launching her through a table. The weight stayed on her, but the figure was a blur. She reacted instinctively, lashing out with a telekinetic blast that threw her assailant against the ceiling. Ignoring dull pains, she rolled aside and came back up, letting the body of the brute drop on the table's wreckage.

Her eyes sought out the pair immediately. By Surik's blade, she'd let this get out of hand.

Maybe it was time to step up.

Be a Jedi.

"Stand down now." Pisti bellowed, voice amplified tenfold by the Force. She ignited a brilliant blue saber. Her voice had drawn attention. The blade, authority. Awe. Fear. "Anyone looses a shot. Anyone." She glanced at the riot troopers. Even they had stopped to assess the new threat. "And I shall be forced to act."

Rheyla Tann · Jun 10, 2025

Her lekku twitched like they’d just heard a ghost.

She turned her head—slowly.

“Oh, for kriff’s sake,” Rheyla muttered. “She’s a Jedi, too? What, is there some kind of laser sword clearance sale I wasn’t invited to?”

Her gaze snapped between the burger girl’s glowing blue sabre, Sparkleboy’s still-humming blade, and the riot trooper on the ground—clutching what was left of his arm and screaming through his helmet filters.

She threw up her hands. “This is why I work alone.”

For half a second, the room hesitated. But these weren’t stunned onlookers in a civilised district—they were gamblers, gangers, smugglers, and half-drunk nobodies. The kind who took one look at a Jedi and thought target, not temple.

The riot squad sergeant barked another command—sharper this time, his voice modulator hissing over the noise.

Just like that, the chaos snapped back into motion.

Stun rounds cracked. Chairs splintered. Someone screamed something about spice. Someone else threw a bottle. Rheyla didn’t wait.

She grabbed Ace by the collar again, half-hauling him as she darted for the side exit.

“And you!” she hissed over the noise, dragging him faster. “I didn’t drop your damn bounty just for you to carve limbs off riot troopers! Expect a damn front page bounty with your face plastered on it”

“You wanna paint a giant neon sign on your back that says ‘hunt me again?’ Because that’s how you get hunted again!”

They rounded the edge of the bar. Smoke curled through broken fixtures. The override panel blinked. Rheyla slammed her hand into it, hard enough to hurt.

The side door hissed open.

“Go,” she snapped and shoved him out the door and into the alleyway. “Go now. Before the next genius throws a thermal detonator!”

Rheyla followed hard on his heels, pivoting as they crossed the threshold. She raised her blaster and fired—not at the riot troopers directly, but at the floor near their boots, the walls near their helmets, the doorframe they were about to rush through. Sparks burst from scorched metal, smoke curling upward to meet the lingering haze.

“Just a little something to remember me by,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

It worked—barely. The troopers flinched, reflexes kicking in as the errant bolts clipped too close for comfort. A couple veered off, uncertain whether to push forward or return fire. The rest hesitated, caught between chasing a lightsaber-wielding suspect and trying to avoid getting cooked by the chaos still unfolding behind them.

Acier Moonbound · Jun 10, 2025

The hum of his lightsaber throbbed in his ears. His brown eyes were glazed over as they stared at the downed riot trooper, still writhing in pain. The storm continued to wage within him, his feelings a flux of remorse, disgust, shame while being countered by indifference.

Ace's focus returned and his eyes blinked in response to the sound of another snap-hiss. Slowly, he turned his head to the origin of the noise. It was her, the redheaded, golden-skinned Jedi. Her lightsaber confirmed it. Her seemingly carefree and quirky personality was gone, replaced by uncharacteristic authority and sternness. The cantina went silent, the tension felt heavy. Ace blinked again before glancing back at his humming lightsaber.

The chaos resumed following the golden-skinned Jedi's warning. She may have been a Jedi, but within a hive of scum and villainy - they were too ignorant and stupid to realise the danger they were in.

Ace felt Rheyla's gloved hand wrap around his collar in a familiar grip. She yanked, leading him behind her and berating him like some sort of parent. It earned her another smack on her hand and a protest from the boy.

"Stop. Pulling. My. Collar!"

Following behind Rheyla toward their escape, Ace took one last look at the Jedi. A sense of yearning filled within him. She could have been a chance to learn more about the Force, or maybe how to use a lightsaber a little better - anything. But now, it seemed fate... or circumstance had put them on different paths.

Rounding the edge of the bar alongside the Twi'lek, he watched as she managed to get the side door open. She ordered for him to go on ahead before making a comment about a thermal detonator, reminding him of their meeting on Botajef.

"Who, someone like you?" he retorted snarkily before heading through the door.

He turned to look at Rheyla who was now outside with him, and had fired random shots at the riot troopers. Seemingly to deter them from pursuing, he didn't wait to find out. Ace extinguished his lightsaber and rushed toward the end of the alleyway - goal to disappear into the bussling mass of Denon's wandering citizens. He partially felt guilty for running off like that, but he and Rheyla both knew how these things went - splitting up left less of a chance of getting caught.

Now amidst the sea of bystanders, Ace kept his head low and clipped his lightsaber to his belt. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth in frustration. Frustration at being cornered into using his lightsaber in such a public manner. Now heat was definitely going to be on him, not only for being seen with a lightsaber, but for using it on local law enforcement. There was a million different ways to tell Acier he was screwed.

He would need to lay low for a while... then, get off this rock and start again. Then, fleetingly, Acier wondered what was going to happen to the Jedi they encountered, or Rheyla was going to run off to next.

- E X I T -

Pisti Caleida · Jun 11, 2025

D E N O N

Her announcement left a short, precious pause in the conflict. Then, the second uproar began. Disappointment welled up inside of her - a better Knight would've defused it at that. No, a better Knight would've prevented all of this from happening.

She glanced a final time at the duo that had intrigued her - they were making their escape now. Part of her wanted to run after them. Join them in whatever weird adventures would come next with a pair so confounding. She almost felt regret over her actions. Yet duty called, as it always did. She'd sworn an oath at Knighthood, one that could be bent and concealed. But not abandoned, nor broken. Resolute, Pisti sought out the Force, chasing it's rhythms like a fox on the hunt. She fell into its warm embrace immediately, and let it wrap around her tight. Protecting her, then casting her out again. And so the dance began.

Bottles were caught mid-air. Her blade was a fan of blue light to some, a lightning bolt to others. She swirled, leapt, and rolled. Each move dedicated to evasion or her rain of punches and kicks. She worked her way through the room in blissful solace, the hum of her blade accompanied by the Devaronian's light-hearted laughter in the sweat-stained air.

Until the dust setttled.

She stood atop the bar, blue blade in one hand and what remained of a rifle in the other. Her heart pounded like a drum. Sweat had found its way to her back, and she could not stop panting. The Force had held her in its strong grip for too long. It was always unable to give her away after the dancing had started.

Pisti dropped down, glass crunching under her boots as she landed, and tossed the broken rifle aside. A beep came from the doorway, and Pisti found a black ocular lens focused on her. "Yes QT..." She mumbled. "I got a little carried away..." The droid whistled. "Fine. I'll stay close..." Pouting, she extinguished her lightsaber.

- EXIT -

Rheyla Tann · Jun 12, 2025

Rheyla didn’t follow Ace into the crowd—not immediately.

From the mouth of the alley, she watched him disappear, swallowed by the blinking neon and press of bodies in Denon’s restless sprawl. He moved fast. Smart. Good. That meant she didn’t have to.

Her lekku twitched. A sigh hissed out through her teeth.

"Should’ve known I’d walk out with more trouble than credits," she muttered.

Her gaze swept once more down the alley, then upward—toward the jutting pipes and grime-slicked ledges above. No sirens yet. But they were coming.

Too hot. Too fast. The riot troopers would be crawling every corridor in ten minutes, and who the hell knew what that burger-eating Jedi was gonna stir up next? Whatever it was, she wanted no part of it.

With a practised flick of her wrist, Rheyla engaged the rockets in her boots. The ignition hissed low, then roared to life, sending her upward in a controlled burst of heat and smoke. Her cloak snapped around her legs as she soared, angling herself just enough to land hard on the rooftop above the alleyway. Dust kicked up around her boots as she straightened.

Her eyes swept the skyline—towers stretching like jagged teeth into the haze. Somewhere out there was her ship. Her escape.

She reached up and tugged the loose fold of her headwrap over her crown, tucking it tighter around her lekku and jaw. Just like that, the wild-eyed Twi’lek from the cantina was gone—swallowed beneath brown fabric and grit-stained anonymity. Only her eyes remained visible: sharp, tired, and very done with Denon.

“Half the pot, two new headaches, and a lightsaber circus,” she muttered, turning toward the rooftops.

She didn’t look back.

~Exit~