Private The First Rule of Fight Club

[Isla Reingard]

The winter descent from Shiraya Sanctuary was always a steep one, but tonight the cold felt alive. It was sharp and whispering, urging Isla forward rather than slowing her. Snow dusted the pines, catching the moonlight like scattered shards of glass as she and three fellow Padawans followed the winding trail toward the city below. Dee'ja Peak glowed in the distance, a decadent crown of lanterns and music nestled atop the mountain cliffs. The sanctuary felt far behind them now, too far to scold her conscience. That was good.

Isla tucked a loose strand of brown hair behind her ear, her amber eyes bright against the frozen wind. Excitement simmered just under her skin, a dangerous, electric current. She'd been honest with her friends about why she was coming; she wanted something real tonight, something thrilling, something that didn't involve choreographed sparring or another lecture on restraint. A vision had brushed her mind at dawn, shouts and heat and a crowd pressed close, but it had been blurred, unfinished, a possibility rather than a prophecy. She chased it anyway.

They entered Dee'ja Peak through its lower gates, where wealth and chaos mingled freely. Music spilled from terraces and perfumed smoke curled through alleyways. Teenagers in lacquered coats laughed too loudly as they ducked into hidden stairwells. It wasn't hard to find the rumor; they just followed it, down a narrow lift cut into the mountain's bones. The underground chamber thrummed like a heartbeat.

Warm air hit Isla's face the moment the door slid open, thick with sweat, adrenaline, and the metallic tang of anticipation. Tiered stone platforms circled a pit in the center, where a pair of boys barely older than her exchanged blows under bright hanging lamps. One was an academy trainee by his posture alone. The other wore the plain leathers of a fisher's son. Both fought like their futures depended on it, and they probably did.

"Isla," her friend murmured, awe slipping into concern. "You really sure?"

"Yes." She didn't hesitate. She couldn't. She stepped forward, the crowd parting just enough to let her through. A hooded attendant, someone's idea of an official though his records were obviously self-invented, held out a datapad for payment. She thumbed a few credits across, ignored the raised brows at her and kept moving. Her pulse pounded, not with fear, but with that raw, aching desire to prove herself, even if only to her own restless spirit.

In a side alcove, she pulled her hair back into a tight knot and wrapped her hands in padded cloth, a ritual both simple and grounding. Around her, the crowd roared as the match ended. "Next up!" someone shouted. Isla stepped toward the pit, her breath fogging in the warm air, her heart steadying into a fighter's rhythm. It didn't matter who her opponent would be. Tonight, they would know her name.

Elian Abrantes​

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Isla Reingard
​

Elian Abrantes grinned, shoulders squared, confidence gleaming brighter than the lights that litered the pathway through the mountain pass. The sound of his nickname rolling through the crowd sent a delicious spark through his veins. 'Easy E! Easy E!' A half chant, half celebration. He lifted a hand, acknowledging them with a lazy salute and that signature, half-cocked smile that said he belonged here more than anywhere else in the galaxy.

This was his element. The rush. The roar. The wild, pulsing heartbeat of a hundred strangers craving the same thing he did life unrestrained. He'd slipped out from Abrantes estate hours ago, trading the polished corridors of House Abrantes for this underground chaos. It didn't take to long to get this whole event straightened out. This was completely off the books, well as off the books as an undergroud fight club went. Here, no one cared about lineage or legacy. Here, the only thing that mattered was how well you moved when the world came swinging.

He stepped onto the lower tier, weaving through the crowd with effortless charm. Someone shoved a shot glass in his hand; he took a swig. Immedeiately Elian made a face, and started coughing lightly. The youngest shook his head and began to laugh. "Goodness, what's in that."

Another clapped him on the back; he laughed, warm and unbothered. Every shout of 'Easy E!' made his grin widen. He was in his rhythm now, and nothing could touch him.

Until the announcer called the next match.

"Next up, Easy E versus…..whats her name?" The Announced said as he turned to the side, but the words had already reached Elian's ears and he couldn't help but laugh.

"Her?" Elian chuckled as he glanced around, surely this had to have been a mistake. Aurelian must've set this up, payback for the whole dinner thing. Elian racked his brain and then laughed. That wasn't his fault though! He had no idea the workers were going to go on strike?! He didn't know they were being underpaid!

Elian rolled his shoulders as he walked, fingers brushing against the wraps at his knuckles. The crowd's noise grew louder with each step, cheers, chants, the heavy thud of bodies meeting in the pit. He grinned. The kind of grin that belonged to someone who wasn't entirely sane but was absolutely alive.

The heat, the sound, that was everything he came for. He'd fought in places like this before. Not for money, not even for pride. Just for that rush that made the world stop spinning for a few precious minutes.

Then he saw her.

The girl was already standing by the pit, pulling her hair back, her expression calm but intent. The crowd hadn't quite processed it yet, but Elian had. A girl, no, a fighter. The way she stood and hedr stance sure showed otherwise. He blinked once, a little surprised, then let the surprise melt into an amused half-smile.

"Well, I'll be," he murmured under his breath. "Didn't expect that."

He adjusted the straps on his hands and strode toward the edge of the pit, stopping a few steps from her. The lights glinted off his green eyes as he tilted his head, a playful spark there already.

"So…" he said, voice low but carrying easily over the din. As he pointed towards him and her. "Are you ready for this?" He couldn't help but laugh at the absuridty of this all. This had to be set up, he half expected Aurelian, Sibylla or even Cassian to come out from somewhere with a laugh, but as that hadn't happened yet.

That would mean that this was....real?

"Name's Elian," he added, nodding toward her hands. "Are you sure about this? You don't have anything better to be doing than this? Did someone put you up to this?"

 

[Isla Reingard]

Isla turned at the sound of his voice, amber eyes narrowing the moment she registered the smug, careless grin of someone who thought he'd already won. Easy E. Stars above, what a ridiculous name. Of course the crowd loved him. He looked her over like she'd wandered into the wrong room, like this was a scheduling mistake. Her jaw tightened.

"Do I look like someone who was put up to anything?" she shot back, voice sharp enough to cut the music behind them. "And yes, I'm sure. More sure than you, apparently."

He laughed again, and something prickled under her skin: heat, irritation, a flicker of the vision she'd had at dawn; the crowd pressing in, the crack of impact, the surge of adrenaline. Right. Time to start the future herself. She stepped into the pit before he could say another word, planting her feet solidly on the chalk-dusted stone. When he followed, still wearing that grin, Isla closed the distance with no warning.

Then she hit him.

Her fist snapped forward, clean and precise, weight driving through her hips. It connected perfectly against his jaw with a crack that echoed off the stone. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Elian's head snapped to the side, the grin wiped clean for the first time all night.

Isla shook out her hand once, expression flat. "You asked if I had anything better to do," she said, stepping closer as he steadied himself. "I don't." She lifted her chin, eyes steady on him. "But you," her voice lowered, almost curious and taunting, "are you sure about this? Or is there some noble party you should've run back to?" A small, sharp smile tugged at her lips. "Because I'm not stopping."

Elian Abrantes​

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Isla Reingard
​

Elian barely had time to register the movement before the impact.

The world tilted. His head snapped to the side, the sharp, ringing crack of her punch echoing through the chamber. For a half-second, all he saw was the blur of lights overhead, then the cheering hit, a wave of sound that broke over him like surf. He staggered back a step, boots sliding across chalk and dust. His jaw burned.

Then, impossibly, he laughed.

"Oh," he exhaled, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his glove. When he looked back at her, that same crooked grin was already returning, only now it carried something new, respect. "So that's how it's going to be. And it sounds like you are jealous of those parties, you don't get invited too much do you? Stuck at home? Alone? Sad? Happy? Probably sad....?"

He straightened, rolling his shoulders as the crowd roared around them. The fight circle was a furnace of noise and heat, hands slapping the rails, credits changing hands, shouts echoing through the carved stone. Isla stood dead center, steady, her eyes catching the light. Every inch of her looked composed, controlled, dangerous. He waved his hand at her, showing a big smile. "I wouldn't worry about those parties, they are overated anyway."

Elian circled once, shaking the stiffness from his neck. "You hit like a story I've heard before." he said, voice half-laughing but pitched so she could hear it. "Except those usually end with me kissing the heroine, not getting clocked by her."

He dropped into a stance, not formal, not trained, but fluid, all instinct and improvisation. His movements had that careless grace of someone who'd learned to fight without ever being taught when to stop. "Alright, mystery girl," he called out, flicking a bit of hair from his eyes. "Let's see if this certainty of yours ends with me on the floor."

"Now come on?!" Elian laughed, as he danced around. "How do they say? Let the hate flow through you." Elian then stopped as if he just had an ephiphany. "Wait, your mad because you don't get invited to those parties?!" Elian snapped his fingers and giggled. "I knew it!"

 

[Isla Reingard]

Isla stared at him, unblinking, as he rambled on about parties, loneliness, kissing heroines, and whatever else his brain tossed out without consultation. The grin, the circling, the ridiculous commentary. It was like fighting a hyperactive loth-cat that had gotten into a spice cabinet.

She exhaled sharply through her nose. "You talk too much," she said flatly. He kept going anyway. She rubbed her temple with two fingers. "No, really. So much. Are you fighting me or auditioning for the world's most irritating noble?"

He snapped his fingers again, like he'd solved some great cosmic mystery about her and parties. Isla blinked once, slow and disbelieving, before her expression tightened into something sharp and dangerous. "That's it."

She didn't wait. The moment he paused mid-gloat, Isla stepped in. Her foot slid across the chalk, her elbow driving forward in a clean, practiced strike aimed squarely at his sternum. It hit with enough force to knock the wind from him and finally interrupt whatever joke he was about to make.

"Jealous of your parties?" she echoed, voice dripping with disdain. "Why would I be jealous of an event where I would be standing around listening to you talk?"

The crowd howled, sensing blood, or maybe just enjoying watching him get verbally kicked while physically recovering. Isla stayed close, refusing to give him space to reset. Her movements were controlled, clinical, the precision of someone who practiced discipline daily, but was more than willing to abandon politeness tonight.

"Focus," she snapped, reaching to shove his shoulder back into the pit's center when he drifted. "You're fighting me, remember? Not flirting. Not giving a speech. Fighting. Try it."

He steadied himself, and she met his eyes with a pointed, bratty tilt of her chin.

"And for the record?" she added, voice low and sharp. "I wouldn't go to your parties even if you begged. They sound boring."

Then she raised her fists again, stance resetting, solid, ready, done with his mouth.

"Now shut up," Isla said, "and swing back."

Elian Abrantes​

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Isla Reingard
​

Elian blinked once when the elbow slammed into his sternum, hard enough to make him grunt, but even doubled over slightly. The grin never really left him. If anything, it sharpened, like he'd just been handed the puzzle piece he'd been missing.

"Oh, stars," he wheezed, straightening with a hand pressed theatrically to his chest. "She speaks in complete sentences and throws elbows. Someone stop me before I fall in love."

His words had the crowd laughing and roaring for more.

Elian brushed imaginary dust from his sleeve, still talking as if they were sharing tea rather than blows. "You know, you say you wouldn't come to my parties, but somehow you've got all the energy of someone who's been kicked out of at least three of them."

He lifted a finger, as it looked like she was going to throw another punch. "Ah-ah. Careful. Too much glaring and your face might freeze like...."

Then Elian moved.

He dropped low with a sudden, quick, smooth fluid shift of balance, sweeping his leg across the chalk-dusted ground. His boot hooked cleanly behind her ankle, momentum stealing her footing before she could recover, and she hit the ground with a solid, breath-jarring thud.

The crowd erupted, a wave of whoops and laughter and shouts slamming into the air.

Elian rose in a single, easy motion, brushing his hands off as if he'd swatted aside a stray leaf. He looked down at her, head tilted, green eyes alight with mischief and absolutely zero remorse.

"There she goes," he said with an exaggerated sigh. "Gravity claims another victim."

He crouched just out of reach, elbows resting casually on his knees as he flashed her that insufferably charming smile. "You okay, little girl?" he drawled, voice smooth as polished marble. "Just imagine what'll happen when I actually decide to throw a punch."

He winked at her and stood up again. "All right Princess, stand up and lets have this fight."

 

[Isla Reingard]

Isla hit the ground hard, the breath leaving her in a sharp grunt as chalk dust burst around her like a mocking little cloud. For a second she just lay there, staring up at the lights above the pit, wondering why the Force hadn't warned her about that.

Then she heard him. She heard his sigh, his patronizing call of "little girl," and saw his infuriating wink. Her eye twitched.

Elian crouched in front of her, all elbows and smug charm, as if posing for a portrait titled Most Punchable Noble in Naboo. His smile was downright criminal.

"You okay, little girl?" he asked.

Isla didn't answer. The moment he leaned a little too close, she surged upward. Her motion was sudden and sharp. She twisted her hips, planted a palm against the ground, and drove her heel forward in a brutal, snapping kick that caught him squarely under the ribs. The impact was clean, vicious, and meant to take the air out of him the way he'd taken her footing.

The crowd erupted in a mix of laughter and delighted shock as Elian stumbled back, the wind punched right out of his lungs for once. Isla rolled to her feet with quick, angry efficiency, brushing chalk from her clothes like she was offended it dared cling to her. Her amber eyes flashed as she stepped toward him, voice low, tight, and dripping with bratty venom.

"Little girl?" she repeated. "If anyone here qualifies for that, it's the one who can't shut up for more than three seconds."

She jabbed a finger sharply in his direction. "And don't crouch over me again like you're about to read me a bedtime story. I don't need your help. Or your commentary."

The crowd cheered as she resumed her stance, shoulders squared, breath steadying.

"Oh, and next time you sweep my legs," she added, chin tilting up, "make sure you stay out of kicking range, Easy E." She spat the nickname, each syllable a loaded insult and a dare.

"Now get up," Isla snarled, fists rising. "I'm not done putting you back on the floor."

Elian Abrantes​

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Isla Reingard
​

Elian doubled over the instant her heel connected, the air blasted out of his lungs in a sharp, involuntary bark. For a moment he looked less like a dashing noble and more like someone who'd just been mugged by a very determined kowakian monkey-lizard. He staggered back two full steps, hand instinctively flying to his ribs as the crowd roared with absolute delight. His eyes were wide, part shock, part admiration, part 'oh kriff she actually did that'

"Maker!" he wheezed, trying and failing to straighten up with dignity. "What, who, taught you to kick like that? A starship engine?"

By the time he got his breath back, Isla was already on her feet, brushing chalk off herself like it had personally offended her existence and jabbing a finger at him with enough attitude to power a small reactor. Elian watched her rant, watched the heat in her eyes and the fire in her stance, and for a heartbeat he forgot about the ache in his ribs.

Stars, she was fun.

He dragged a hand through his hair, still grinning even as he winced. "Alright, alright, note to self," he said, voice strained but playful. "Don't crouch near angry wildcats. Got it."

She called him Easy E. He clutched at his chest like she'd stabbed him.

"Ouch. Truly. A devastating blow." His grin widened. "You know, if you say it with any more venom, I might have to get it printed on a shirt. What size do you wear? I'll dedicate my first shirt to you, little girl."

Elian straightened, slowly, rolling his shoulders as the sting in his ribs settled into a warm throb. And then the grin returned fully, bright and reckless, the kind of smile that suggested he wasn't done either.

"Oh, I'm up," he said lightly. "And you're adorable if you think that little tap of yours is keeping me down."

He slipped back into motion, feet gliding over chalk, hands loose at his sides in that signature 'not really a stance' stance of his.

He gestured her forward with two fingers, eyes glittering. Yet, with the beckon, he took a step forward, feining a punch but quickly switched as his foot came forward and landed a perfectly placed kicked square on her chest, knocking her down once more.

He was light on his feet, bouncing a bit as he giggled. "Come on, Princess. Up and at em!" The crowd roared and laughter made him laugh and smile all the same, this was the time of his life.

 

[Isla Reingard]

Isla saw the kick coming. Elian's foot hit her square in the chest, a clean, solid strike that punched the breath out of her and sent her flat onto her back for the second humiliating time that night. Chalk dust puffed up around her again like it was mocking her life choices.

Above her, Elian bounced on his heels like this was a festival game and not a fight. Her teeth clicked together. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, hair falling loose around her face.

Isla exhaled, long and slow. Her ribs ached, but her pride hurt worse. Fine. If he wanted to play dirty, she could play better. While Elian basked in the cheers, Isla extended one hand casually, as if steadying herself on the floor. Her fingers curled. The Force pulsed through her.

She yanked. Elian's legs flew out from under him so fast he didn't even have time to flail. One moment he was smirking; the next he was flat on his back with a very undignified thud. Air left him in a startled grunt that was, frankly, deeply satisfying. Isla rose smoothly to her feet and dusted off her palms like she hadn't just broken twelve rules of "subtlety." She leaned over him, hands on her hips.

"Up and at 'em, Princess," she said sweetly, throwing his own words back with venom-dipped cheer. The crowd howled, delighted by the reversal. Isla didn't even look at him when she lifted her chin toward the officials at the edge of the pit. "Can I get an opponent who talks less?" she called out, voice loud enough to carry. "Or does this place only offer irritating nobles who narrate their every breath?" She flicked a glance down at Elian, expression smug and unrepentant. "Seriously," she added, "I paid to fight, not to listen to a monologue."

Elian Abrantes​

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Isla Reingard
​

Elian lay there for a full second, stunned, blinking up towards the heavens, like they had personally betrayed him. Because he knew that feeling. That wasn't clumsiness. That wasn't bad footing.

That was the Force.

He sucked in a breath, equal parts outrage and impressed admiration. "Oh, she did not just."

But she had.

And she was standing over him like a conquering warlord, hands on her hips, calling him Princess.

The crowd loved it. Of course they did. Dee'ja Peak adored the chaos that Elian was involved in, and he'd just given them prime entertainment by face-planting in the dirt once more. But the bigger surprise, what Isla herself, and that brought the most wicked grin to his face. He dragged a hand over his face, groaning, mostly for dramatic effect. "Stars above, she killed me," he muttered to no one in particular. "Tell my family I went out heroically. In battle. Against a dragon. Not like this."

Elian sat up slowly, ribs protesting, pride slightly more so. He squinted up at her with a half-serious, half-delighted glare. "That's impressive princess, truly. I honestly don't know what's more impressive...?" Elian stood up with a small giggle of delight, refusing to dust himself off, as he circled the ring. Giving high fives to those as he went around. The shouts and cheers growing ever more. Before he turned to Isla again with his arms crossed, a big smile on his face. "Either the fact that you used the force. Or the fact I just knocked you on your force using ass....." Elian giggled again, and held up two fingers, as his tone went very serious for a brief moment. "Twice....."

"Aren't you guys supposed to be all, all knowing and wise. Or are you one of those beginning stages of your training."

He paused.Then smirked. "Toddlers, children, babies?"

"An opponent who talks less?" he echoed, putting a hand to his chest in wounded dramatics. "Please. If you wanted boring, you should've stayed at home, where it safe." He leaned in just enough to be infuriating, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper only she could hear. More so hoping she would hit him again. If she wanted a fight, she would earn it. "And Princess?" His grin sharpened into something wicked. "If you want me to be quiet, you should try to hit harder. Come on!"

Then, with a flourish, he stepped back into the center of the pit, spreading his arms wide. He tilted his chin at her, taunting, playful, challenging.

 

[Isla Reingard]

Isla stared at him. It was the long, deadpan, aggressively unimpressed kind of stare usually reserved for malfunctioning droids or Padawans who proudly claimed they'd "accidentally" set the training mats on fire.

Elian, meanwhile, soaked in the cheers like sunlight. He strutted around with dust in his hair and absolutely no shame. The fact he looked thrilled she'd used the Force on him was somehow even more infuriating.

When he finally leaned in, whispering as if they were co-conspirators instead of mortal enemies in a chalk pit, Isla's jaw flexed so sharply she nearly ground her molars to dust. "Oh, trust me," she hissed back, "if I hit harder, you'd stop talking entirely. Permanently. Which, honestly? Tempting."

He stepped away with a dramatic flourish, arms spread like he was offering her the galaxy on a silver platter instead of round three of their mutual destruction. Isla marched toward him. Each step radiated the very specific energy of: I am two seconds away from throwing you off a mountain. "You know what's wild?" she said, loudly enough for the crowd, but with her eyes locked on him. "That you think knocking me down twice means anything."

She raised her padded fists, rolling her shoulders as she settled into stance. "And toddlers?" she echoed, brows lifting. "Really? You've got one good line and that's what you go with? No wonder you talk so much. You're compensating." The crowd ooooohed. Isla didn't break eye contact.

"You want me to try harder?" she continued, her voice dripping with sugary menace. "Fine. But fair warning: when I put you on the ground again, I'm not helping you up. I'm going to step over your body and go get a pastry." Then she crooked one finger at him, a taunting, daring, bratty gesture. "Come on then, Princess. Let's see if your mouth can keep up with the rest of you."

Elian Abrantes​

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Isla Reingard
​

Elian felt the temperature of her stare before he understood the look itself, flat, merciless, the kind of unimpressed that could peel chrome off a starfighter hull. If stares were weapons, hers was a disrupter cannon aimed squarely at his ego.

Naturally, he loved it. Every cheer from the crowd only made his grin stretch wider, brighter, cockier.

When Isla hissed at him that hitting harder might end him permanently, Elian clutched his heart like she'd proposed marriage. "Force, she threatens now," he announced to the audience. "I'm starting to feel special."

But the moment she stepped toward him, focused, furious, radiating enough heat to melt the ice off the Sanctuary, his grin tilted into a slower, more interested curve.

"Oh, that's the walk of someone about to commit a crime." he murmured, half to himself, half deliriously excited.

She told him his knockdowns meant nothing. He laughed, short and delighted.

"Of course they don't. You bounce like a rubber training droid."

When she accused him of compensating, the crowd's collective gasp washed through the arena like a tidal wave. Elian pressed a hand dramatically to his chest.

"Compens—! ISweetheart, if I compensated any less I'd sink into the floor."

Someone in the crowd actually choked. But then she said it.

Pastry. Stepping over his unconscious body to get a pastry. Forget his unconsouis body, but a pastry....without him?

Elian stared at her. Actually stared. Eyes wide, head tilted, expression caught somewhere between impressed and personally challenged.

"Did you just threaten to knock me out and then… go get a snack?" He paused. "That is, genuinely, the coldest thing anyone has ever said to me."

She lifted one finger and curled it at him. A taunt. A dare. A promise.

"Oh, no," Elian breathed. "Not the finger."

He stepped in, light on his feet, circling her with the lazy confidence of someone who absolutely should not be as confident as he was. "You're going to get a pastry?! I love pastries! Can I come with?" he repeated, savoring the absurdity.

Seeing the look on her face. "Oh yes....I forgot." She wanted to fight.

The moment her stance tightened, he slipped to the side, light on his feet, pivoting with that infuriating, careless grace that made it look like he was dancing rather than fighting. Chalk dust swirled around his boots as he spun into position.

Then his heel snapped upward in a tight arc, catching Isla cleanly along her ribs.

The impact landed with a sharp thwack, a controlled strike. The crowd erupted, some cheering, some groaning, all hungry for the chaos.

Elian didn't give her time to reset.

He stepped in close, closer than etiquette or common sense would ever approve of, and drove a punch forward. His knuckles found the side of her jaw not a knockout blow, not cruel, but fast and sharp and undeniably real.

 

[Isla Reingard]

Isla didn't expect him to actually hit her.

The kick slammed into her ribs, clean and sharp. For a split second, all the air left her lungs in a startled, undignified grunt. Before she could regroup, his fist cracked against her jaw, snapping her head to the side.

She froze. It wasn't the pain that stopped her; she'd been hit harder in Temple sparring. It was the fact that he'd actually done it. He, the loud, self-satisfied disaster in the galaxy, had truly taken the opening and struck her like this was a real match. Her eyes widened, incredulous.

"...oh, you absolute..." That was all she managed before the indignation hardened like a blade in her gut. Fine. Fine.

Isla moved. She launched forward with a burst of speed that startled even the front rows, closing the distance he'd created with a precision that cut through her earlier bratty theatrics. Her elbow slammed upward toward his sternum, forcing him back. Before he could fully absorb the hit, she drove a sharp knee toward his thigh, exactly where she'd seen a slight weakness in his stance.

No quips. No taunts. Just payback. Her fists followed in a fast, ruthless rhythm, delivering two sharp jabs to his ribs, a hook to his shoulder, and another to his arm to break his guard. Every strike landed with the tight, disciplined control of someone trained to fight without leaving lasting damage, but no less furious for it. He got one hand up to block the next blow, but she didn't give him time to breathe.

Isla dropped low, swept his legs clean out from under him, and the crowd roared as Elian hit the floor again, dust exploding around him. This time she didn't stand over him or gloat. She simply stepped back, chest rising and falling, eyes blazing with offended pride and simmering adrenaline.

"Hit me again," she spat, chin lifted, "and I swear I'll actually try."

Elian Abrantes​

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Isla Reingard
​

Elian hit the ground hard enough that the chalk puffed up around him like a smug little cloud, but the moment he rolled onto his back, he started to chuckle, like she'd just told him the funniest joke in the galaxy instead of rearranging several vital organs.

He lay there for half a heartbeat, chest heaving, ribs screaming, thigh throbbing where her knee had found its mark. Every nerve in his body protested.

He still grinned.

Then he planted a hand on the ground and pushed himself upright with a wince that he covered by immediately throwing both arms into the air like he'd just won a tournament instead of been publicly executed in the pit.

The crowd erupted.

"EASY E! EASY E! EASY E!"

Hands clapped together, feet stomped on the earth, and someone tossed a handful of credits into the fighting pit like an offering to the gods of chaos. Elian basked in it, soaking the noise into his bones as if volume alone could mend bruises.

His ribs certainly didn't agree with that theory, but whatever, pain was temporary, the show was eternal. He pointed at Isla with both hands, like she was the grand finale of a fireworks display he'd ordered personally.

"Look at you, you've been stalling? Don't go easy on my account!" he shouted over the roar, voice cracked with laughter. "Princess isn't just mad, she's super mad!"

The crowd howled their agreement.

He clutched his side, still laughing even though it hurt. "Maker, I think she's vibrating. Someone get her a warning sign 'Approach with caution.' Or, or...." he paused dramatically, eyes widening with theatrical revelation, "...a cape!"

He jabbed a finger at her, delighted. "Yes. A whole cape. Big letters across the front that say 'SUPER MAD'."

Another wave of laughter rippled through the pit.

Elian shook out his arms, ignoring the sting and the deep ache settling into his bones, still grinning like an idiot who absolutely deserved every hit he'd taken.

"Shiraya help me," he added, half to her, half to the cheering crowd, "This is the best night I've had in months."

He shifted into stance again, moving forward and slinging a kick right into her knee. Hoping something tragic didn't happen there, as he followed up with an uppercut that landed her on her ass again.

"Woohoo!!!" Elian shouted in excitement and humor. If all he got out of th is, was putting a force user on their ass for the third time tonight, that would be good enough for him.

 

[Isla Reingard]

Isla didn't just hit the ground this time. She skidded. His uppercut sent her backward hard enough that her heels scraped two ugly lines through the chalk before her backside slammed into the pit floor. For a moment she just sat there, stunned, hair in her face, jaw throbbing, breath gone again.

Then she heard him.

"WOOHOO!!!"

Something in her snapped like a stressed cable. Heat flashed up her spine, bright and sharp. The Force surged with it. Wild, reactive, answering her anger before she could leash it. Dust trembled. A stray pebble near her boot lifted off the ground. Even the air felt too thin around her, like the universe had leaned in to watch her lose her mind.

Isla's fingers curled into the dirt. She could flatten him. Put him on his back so hard he'd be coughing chalk for a week, drag his feet out from under him, yank him face-first into the floor, lift him just a little, just enough to wipe that stupid grin off his face.

No.

The realization slammed into her chest harder than any kick he'd thrown. She heard her teachers. Saw the Temple. Felt the weight of every lesson about control and restraint. This was a spar. A pit match. A loud show for a laughing crowd. Not a battlefield. If she kept going, really going, she wouldn't stop at three knockdowns.

Isla sucked in a sharp breath through her nose, forcing the pulse of the Force back down. The pebble dropped. Her shoulders trembled once before she locked them still.

She stood with precision, back straight, jaw set, eyes burning. There was too much fury blistering under her skin for grace.

Elian was still laughing, delighted with himself, basking like an overcaffeinated sunbeam. Isla didn't say a word. She didn't trust herself to. She dusted off her pants with two violent, unnecessary swipes, turned on her heel, and stormed toward the edge of the pit, ignoring the shouts, the cheers, and the officials calling after her.

Let him have his victory lap. Let him crow. Because if she stayed one second longer, she was going to break a very expensive set of rules and maybe his face. She climbed out of the ring without looking back, shoulders tight, eyes bright with frustration she refused to spill.

Elian Abrantes​

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Isla Reingard
​

Elian was still grinning, still soaking in the chaos, when he realized she wasn't getting ready for round whatever-this-was.

Isla was leaving.

Storming, really, shoulders tight, steps sharp, anger rolling off her like heat from a reactor vent. The crowd didn't even seem to notice her mood; they only saw the retreat and erupted accordingly.

"EASY E WINS!" "COME BACK!" "EASY E! EASY E!"

Elian lifted both arms again automatically, half-laughing as someone slapped him on the back. But the grin faltered just a fraction when he finally looked away from the crowd and back toward the girl already climbing out of the pit. It wasn't a playful retreat, or showboating it was a leave me along before I commit a crime against humanity. He cleared his throat as his brow furrowed.

He hopped up the steps two at a time, slipping past a pair of officials trying to congratulate him, and ducked through a narrow side exit. Her brisk footsteps echoed ahead, sharp, clipped, furious.

"Hey, wait!" he called, jogging to catch up. "Hold on." He reached her side in a few strides and fell into step, breath still a little uneven from the fight, grin still lingering out of habit.

"You can't just leave like that," he said, playful, lightly chiding. "I thought we were having fun!"

He laughed, an easy, careless sound, and extended a hand toward her, palm open, expecting something. A shake. A snarky retort. A shove. Literally anything but the stiff, tight silence she gave him.

"Elian Abrantes," he introduced anyway, as if she'd forgotten mid-punch. "We were having fun, right?"

His smile dimmed when she didn't look at him. Didn't take his hand. Didn't even lift her chin. Her jaw was clenched, eyes fixed ahead, fury written so clearly across her face even he, king of missing obvious cues, couldn't ignore it.

The grin faltered, then faded entirely.

"Oh," he murmured, dropping his hand a little awkwardly. "Uh. Okay."

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly unsure, suddenly acutely aware that the jokes weren't landing the way they always did. He cleared his throat. "How about we, um… start over? Are you okay?"

It wasn't teasing, flirting, not playful. Just a genuine question, tinged with concern he hadn't expected to feel.