Private The Exchange

[Kaila Irons]

Location: Canto Bight, Red Ronin Club
Wearing: Armor
Tag: Lysander von Ascania

Darth Anathemous arrived at the rooftop of the Red Ronin Club resort.

It was a private landing pad, usually reserved for her own ship, but today it hosted a bounty hunter fresh from the field. The seas of Cantonica on one side, the bustling casino-city of Canto Bight on far below the cliffs on the other, sun setting over the harbor, it was a scenic location in harsh juxtaposition to the business now occurring, and those who facilitated it.

The Lord of Blades wore her signature armor, golden hair spilling over wide pauldrons forged from imperial Darksteel, expensive furs fastened to her shoulders by an aurodium chain. She looked every part the woman who gripped the Sith economy by the throat, but so too did she have the bearing of a warrior.

What a woman like her would do with these scientists was anyone's guess.

Fiery eyes watched the descending craft, glow piercing the evening darkness with predatory curiosity, not so different from the glowing white optics of several SB-H commando droids at her flanks. With nary a gesture, she sent the automatons to work forming a perimeter around the landing pad, to ensure it's cargo could not escape.

All the while she stood in silence.

​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Kaila Irons
Armor

​

The freighter hummed as it glided over the Red Ronin’s private landing pad, its hull catching the light of Catonica's dying sun. A pair of vertical thrusters flared. After a precise shudder, the landing struts extended.

With a hiss like the breath of a sleeping beast, the ramp lowered. So he descended the steps, guiding the scientists onward, one’s bloodied lab coat snagging on his greave, another’s exhale drifting into the air, the third’s fingers trembling against the stuncuffs.

Shadows swathed the rooftop in eerie silence, the air almost ceremonial.

Each piece of armor hugged the contours of his form with an impeccable fit, forged to perfection. But where the helm was absent, a youthful visage emerged, framed by messy golden locks, an echo of her own.

He advanced, shoulders remaining squared, chin lifted just so, clearly a nod to noble decorum. Every step was measured, like a guest attending a grand gala rather than some covert delivery. This was a performance born of discipline.

At the invisible barrier formed by rows of droids, he halted.

Memory of courtly etiquette eclipsed all Sith doctrine rattling in his head.

There would be no flourish, no arrogance, no boast of triumph.

In the depths of his luminous jade stare there lay no tremor, only curiosity that simmered beneath the surface.

After all, Sith lords were the living embers of the galaxy's darkest fires.

In a display of courtesy, he inclined his head towards the figure waiting.

"Darth Anathemous." The words fell softly, like an offering laid at the altar of a deity.

A catch echoed in his throat as his left hand rose, palm open, as if in supplication. And there, embedded in his glove, a data spike gleamed, shaped like a venomous fang.

"I have collected all that you require."

 

[Kaila Irons]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Lysander von Ascania

Her head would tilt slightly, like a curious corvid.

Not what she expected, not at all. Regal bearing, respectful attitude and no theatrics. This was neither a common bounty hunter nor dramatic charlatan.

"I have collected all that you require."

She smiled, just the faintest curl of her lips, and returned the respectful nod.

"Ah?"

Anathemous stepped forward, each * thunk * against the duracrete unnaturally heavy even for one so armored as she, and accompanied by the rustling of Dathomiri seals suspended from her pauldrons, or wrapped around her ceremonially around her gauntlets.

The data spike left Lysander's hand seemingly of it's own volition, and only when it was within reach did she lift her hand to allow the device access to her wrist-computer. It slot in without much issue, greedy eyes searching the Arkanian data projected in blue hardlight.

Her smile grew, just a little.

"Well done." she hummed.

Those eyes fell upon the Arkanians then, examining bruises, tasting the fear, spotting the cuffs.

A slight sight. this complicated things, a little.

"SB-13?"

The droid closest to her snapped to attention, distinguishable only by the weathering around his optical sensor.

"Take our guests to the VIP lounge, have them cleaned up, fed and cared for. I'll explain to them shortly."

"Roger roger." said the droid in it's deep, mechanical voice.

The guards began rounding up scientists and escorting them indoors whilst Anathemous handed off the data-spike to SB-13, who secured it within a modified mag-pouch on his chasis before leading the others in formation. Only then did the Dark Lord turn her attention back to the bounty hunter, gesturing to follow her.

"Walk with me, Hunter." she said, turning towards the doorway.

"You are... different, from other's I've hired."

"What do they call you?"

​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Kaila Irons
Armor

​

A shadow deepened beneath his brow, gaze gently narrowing, finding himself trying to read Darth Anathemous’ expression as the data-spike slipped from his hand into her grasp; the exchange spoke more in silence than words could. Lysander's stance shifted, a single boot sliding just a whisper back, retreating into introspection.

The weight of his dark plates felt oppressive, each ridge pressing another question into his spine as if itself bore witness to this exchange. His other hand unclenched at his side, breath paused for the barest moment.

Mercy could be sharper than any blade, so he wasn't entirely surprised when hearing the orders given to the droids.

It was only when her voice cut through the hush that he registered another change. The formal chill between them thawed. And so, with a swiftness that outran even his own mind, he fell into rhythm beside the Sith.

Self-awareness nudged him, for he had no alternate names to veil him in mystery. An old part of the teen toyed with spinning a lie then and there. Sure enough, that was a sweet poison on the tongue, even as the logical side of him knew it would betray him in the end.

Quietly, a breath was drawn through the nose, as if drawing calm itself into his lungs. Lysander shifted his gaze to her face, searching for some sign in the arc of her cheek or what lurked in the irises.

“No hunter’s alias. Just Lysander.” Warmth threaded through each syllable, and his focus slowly shifted forward to the open walkway. “Truth is the best armor, even if it leaves you exposed.”

Then, the question that burned like incense finally rose. “Different, perhaps. But I wonder.. what did you expect?”

Another step and his gaze drifted–not to her armor, nor her poise, but the sunlit strands. A quiet smile broke the thin line across his lips.

“Maybe not so different from you,” he suggested, voice low, amused, but not in a mocking way. Just an honest and harmless observation.

 

[Kaila Irons]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Lysander von Ascania

"Lysander." she murmured as though playing with a taste.

Really she was trying to figure out from what culture he might hail.

“Different, perhaps. But I wonder.. what did you expect?”

“Maybe not so different from you,”

A brief pause.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, following his gaze until... ah?

"Are you also half-Vahla?" she asked, brow raised "or are our golden manes coincidence."

It seemed such a silly thing to notice, but admittedly there was a certain boyish charm to it she supposed. Her lips curled again, faintly as usual, before she turned her attention to the long corridor. Up ahead the droids escorted the Arkanians into a lift, but Anathemous continued passed them, heading for what looked like glass doors.

"I was expecting something more... brutish, rugged." she admitted.

"A Mandalorian or cyborg perhaps."

"You have the bearing of an aristocrat, I've seen it before."

The thought made her frown, as she recalled having learned it from her...

They passed through the doors and onto a patio, upon which sat a single, small table and only two hover chairs. Beyond that was a pool that was currently covered, and a cliffside view of the beach below.

"Your payment will be up in a moment." she said, sitting down.

"Do you drink, Lysander?"

​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Kaila Irons
Armor

​

Twin orbs of emerald blinked slowly as words tumbled from his lips once more. "There is no Vahla blood in my veins, pure coincidence. It is not often one finds such a mirror in another. I think.. it has simply been far too long since I last did," he admitted with a slight nod, a gesture as light as mist.

His shoulders lifted in a casual shrug, a display of nonchalance that belied the sharpness in the teen’s gaze.

Lysander's focus drifted toward the Arkanian scientists in the distance, their presence barely registering in his peripheral vision now.

His focus was then drawn to his own reflection in the glass doors.

The faint smile softened, melting into a more composed, neutral line; a mask of calm worn often. "I was raised to wield words before weapons," he mused thoughtfully, the irony not lost on him. He had spent many years steeped in the art of political nuance, shaping him far more than his lightsaber ever had. Yet it was a role that demanded anything but diplomacy that had brought him to this very spot. Some of the choices made back on Arkania fell heavily on his shoulders for the first time.

"My upbringing taught me the importance of ceremony, while my studies back on Korriban taught me the consequences of my actions. I try to carry both in equal measure these days."

He followed her, soon finding his way to one of the hoverchairs awaiting them. His posture remained relaxed, but precise, refusing to slouch regardless of the weariness from traveling.

Ever since the battle on Brosi, he’d been on the move constantly.

For a moment, his attention fell over the horizon beyond the patio, taking in the scene before him.

It was easy to note that Canto Bright was one of the nicer plants he'd been on in a very long time.

The blonde turned back to Darth Anathemous. "I'll admit, I'm more of a smoker," he offered. "But I have been known to drink, although rarely without reason," he added, hoping to dissolve any pretenses.

A brow, one that bore a scar, arched after the confession.

"What do you recommend?" No rehearsed lines, just curiosity.

He paused, turning inward, then spoke again. "I have seen many worlds.. but few with this kind of balance. What keeps you here?"

 

[Kaila Irons]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Lysander von Ascania

Words before weapons, she mused.

"Manners will get you far in the order."

"Too many acolytes and apprentices die before learning cordiality, it's a... harsh lesson."

One she had half a mind to teach, all too frequently.

Lysander though, his faintly jovial demeanor was far from out of line, somewhat disarming even. So she listened, always keen to learn about those she met, and watched the boy take his seat across from her. Mention of Korriban seemed to pique her interest, posture adjusting slightly from reclined to less so.

"Ceremony and consequences, things many of us are still learning." she admitted.

But with talk of smokes, she smirked.

A gloved hand reached out, summoning forth a little box from a table beside the doorway. She withdrew a smaller box from inside, labeled "Fiora" and pulled a cigarra for herself before holding the out the box for Lysander to partake of.

"We share some nasty habits." Anathemous stifled a chuckle.

"Fiora makes the best, recently secured import rights into the Blackwall through Echnos. expensive, long lasting."

"I have seen many worlds.. but few with this kind of balance. What keeps you here?"

She glanced up, still fumbling for a lighter that seemed misplaced.

"Hm," she paused "nature, I suppose."

Then back to searching for that damned lighter.

"I'm also Dathomiri on my mother's side, the half-witch in me has always been drawn to the wilds."

"It started with the money but... I'm fond of the mountains."

She gestured over the fence, where a gravel path led to misty jungles.

"What of you, Mister Lysander, what are your favored haunts?"

​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Kaila Irons
Armor

​

“Manners,” he echoed softly, leaning back just enough to suggest ease. Lysander’s voice held no edge, only the assurance of someone who’d already paid the price for that lesson.

And remembered it well.

“Some lessons never stop teaching,” he finally agreed, “Korriban made sure of that.”

Along with one particular individual.

When she offered the Fiora box, his gaze fell to it briefly, then down to his own belt. One gloved hand reached out, taking a single cigarillo. “Through the Blackwall.. that’s no casual indulgence.”

As if prompted by the exchange, one gloved hand slipped to the utility pouch, fingers brushing the worn nerf hide before drawing out a perfectly rolled joint. He imagined Madrona A’Mia would've approved. “I brought something too,” he said, rolling it idly between his fingers. “Finest herbs from the Holy Worlds, possibly in the entire galaxy.”

It was then placed at the center of the table.

“And now that the last Imperials have been driven off Brosi, there’ll be new strains taking root there. The soil’s good… better than most realize. Untouched in many places.”

He continued listening without interruption, his gaze following her gesture toward the jungles. The mention of Dathomir drew another lift of his brow, not in surprise, but in interest.

“Nature,” he murmured, as if testing the familiar word on his tongue. “I can see that. Nature sure does have a way of reminding us how small we are.. and how dangerous.”

At her final question, he let a breath slip through his nose, gaze drifting momentarily to the horizon before returning to her.

“I’ve never been one to stay in one place long. But lately, I’m drawn to the edges.. old ruins, forgotten ports. Places that feel like they're holding their breath.”

A faint smile graced his countenance.

“Ukatis. I should see it again, before it forgets me.”

He settled back further in the hoverchair. “Dathomiri blood and a taste for Fiora.. not a pairing I’ve come across before.”