Private The Kind of Day You Remember

[Aren D'Shade]

Empress Teta never truly slowed. The city moved in layered currents, foot traffic weaving through itself with practiced ease while speeders traced steady paths through the air above. Voices blended into a constant, low hum that never quite resolved into silence, a rhythm that carried everything forward, whether anyone paid attention to it or not. Aren stood just off the main thoroughfare, positioned where the flow thinned enough to breathe but never fully stopped. Her posture was relaxed, but her attention moved quietly through the space around her, not searching for anything in particular, simply aware of the way the city shifted and folded around itself. She read the movement the way she would a system, noticing where people hesitated, where paths crossed, where something small disrupted the expected pattern.

Her hands rested loosely at her sides until one lifted, brushing the edge of a datachip she hadn't realized she was still holding. After a moment, she slipped it into her pocket, letting it go without a second thought. This wasn't work, and the distinction mattered more than she would ever say aloud. She let the city breathe around her, let herself settle into the rare feeling of being somewhere without a task already shaping her next step.

Her gaze shifted when she caught a familiar break in the rhythm of the crowd, something quicker and less measured, something that moved with its own momentum and never bothered pretending to blend in. She didn't need to look twice to know who it was. Jett's presence cut through the noise in a way Aren recognized instantly, not disruptive, just unmistakably hers. Aren didn't call out or move to intercept her. Instead, she adjusted her position just enough to make herself easy to find, a quiet kind of anchoring that didn't pull or direct but made it clear she was there, steady and waiting.

When Jett reached her, Aren's attention settled fully, and for a moment, the constant motion of the city seemed to soften at the edges. Her gaze moved over her, not critical and not assessing, simply checking in the way she always did, making sure Jett was steady, comfortable, herself. "You're early," she said, her voice calm but carrying a warmth that hadn't been there a moment before. She let the words linger, then added, "Or I am," with a softness that threaded through the space between them.

Her attention drifted briefly toward the line of shops stretching along the street, fabrics catching the light, small tech displays humming quietly, vendors calling out to passing customers. It wasn't a place either of them usually spent time, which gave it an unfamiliarity that felt almost welcome, like stepping into a part of the city that didn't expect anything from them. Then she looked back to Jett, her focus returning with an ease that made the rest of the noise fade again.

"Was there something you wanted to see," Aren asked, her tone open and unhurried, "or are we deciding as we go?" She gave her the space to answer, not rushing her, not filling the quiet that settled comfortably between them. "If we're not on a schedule," she added, her voice gentler still, "then we can take our time."

A brief pause followed, and when she spoke, the warmth in her tone deepened again, subtle but unmistakable. "We don't get many chances like that." She remained where she was, steady against the city's movement, but her focus stayed with Jett completely now, patient and present, ready to follow wherever the day took them.

Jett Vox

 

[Jett Vox]

Jett hadn't been out of her Mandalorian armor for months, and without it she felt naked. Instead she wore spacer pants and a simple black tanktop, which had been among the limited outfits she had left. The only thing left of her armor was the wrist-part of her gauntlet which contained her whipcord and flamethrower. It had been a shock to her to find out that it was modular, but there were plenty of things about being a Mandalorian that still surprised her. She reckoned it would be a while before she ran out. Jett stared up at the catwalks and shifting bodies that made up the population and architecture of Empress Teta, the first ecumenopolis she had been to. It was overwhelming. Like vertigo, except the dizziness came from looking upwards.

"I didn't know when you'd be here, and I didn't know if I'd make it on time," Jett replied, her voice breathless with awe. In spite of their relationship, Jett and Aren weren't that different in age, with the older girl only being not even five years her senior. So enrapt by the constant motion around them, Jett almost didn't notice the small motion of Aren hiding away the datachip. "What's that?" she asked in mild curiousity. "You didn't get me a birthday present, did you?" and then she answered her own question. "Oh right, I never told you guys my birthday was coming up." She dismissed the datachip from her mind. Surely Aren would tell her if it was important anyway.

"There's so much here, I wouldn't know where to start! How does a place like this get built anyway? Is there even a surface to this place, or did they build the whole planet? Shock, it's just so big." Jett said the last under her breath. Her father would have scolded her for swearing, but Jett didn't know that 'shock' wasn't an expletive in the wider Galaxy. It was just something her dad had made up.

"I could use some new clothes. I don't really have much except for this," she gestured to her current outfit, and then shoved her hands into her empty pockets. "What do you want to do, Aren?"

"We could tie a couple off, drown our sorrows, get tanked, wasted, huh...? Huh...?" She teased, nudging Aren with her elbow and a mischievous grin on her face. "It might help me deal with all this noise. What do you think?" Her voice had that ever-present Concord Dawn accent that some older Mando's still had. The ehh and ahh in place of the 'ey' and 'ar' sounds. The same accent a lot of old Clone troopers - the ones who survived this long - had.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren listened without interrupting, letting Jett's words spill out in that quick, breathless way they did when the world was throwing too much at her at once. Her attention settled on her with a softness that wasn't obvious, but unmistakably present, the kind that came from understanding exactly what Jett was feeling even if she didn't say it aloud. It wasn't just Empress Teta's noise that overwhelmed people. It was the scale, the movement, the sense of being small inside something that never stopped moving.

Her gaze moved over Jett briefly, taking in the lack of armor, the way she carried herself without it. Different, yes, but not wrong. Just unshielded in a way she wasn't used to yet. "You made it," Aren said quietly, as if that alone mattered more than anything else. "That's enough."

When Jett asked about the datachip, Aren's hand brushed her pocket in a small, absent motion. "Work," she said, simple and unembellished. Then, with a faint warmth threading through her voice, "And no. If I were getting you a birthday present, you'd know." A beat passed, her expression shifting just slightly. "You'd also probably try to take it apart."

Her attention followed Jett's upward glance, not with awe but with a quiet understanding of why the city felt overwhelming. "It was built in layers," she said, answering without overcomplicating it. "Started as a surface, then expanded. Infrastructure stacked on infrastructure until the original ground stopped mattering." Her eyes returned to Jett, steady and sure. "It's normal to feel off‑balance in a place like this. It passes." Then, with a small, almost teasing softness, "Eventually."

When Jett mentioned clothes, Aren's gaze dropped again, taking in the outfit with a little more focus, not judging, simply assessing what would make her more comfortable. "That we can fix," she said, the certainty in her tone quiet but absolute.

Then came the elbow, the grin, the suggestion. Aren exhaled softly, something close to amusement slipping into her expression as she glanced at Jett from the corner of her eye. "Are you sure you want a purple‑haired technologist helping you make a fashion statement?" she asked, one brow lifting just slightly. The smallest hint of a smile followed, brief but real.

But when Jett suggested drinks, Aren's expression settled again, grounded in that steady way Jett had likely already come to recognize. "Let's stick with lemonade until we get home," she said, not shutting the idea down, just redirecting it with calm certainty. A moment later, more gently but with a clear line drawn beneath the words, "Drinking happens under controlled circumstances."

Not a refusal. Just a boundary.

Her attention shifted back toward the line of shops, then returned to Jett with a softer warmth. "Clothes first. Something you can move in. Something you actually like." She let the thought breathe before adding, quieter still, "And something that still feels like you, even without the armor."

Aren stepped forward then, not pulling Jett along, but moving with the quiet expectation that she would follow, angling toward a cluster of storefronts where fabrics and lights spilled out into the walkway. "We'll start there," she said, her voice easy, unhurried.

For once, there was no urgency in her at all.

Jett Vox

 

[Jett Vox]

To her question about wanting a purple haired technologist to give her fashion advice, Jett responded with an enthusiastic "Oh absoluuuuuutely. I have zero style. I still have bangs. Nobody has bangs. Do you think purple could look good on me?" Tugged by Aren's momentum, Jett put up no fight, she was enthralled by the surrounding architecture and the bustle of people and aliens milling about. She let out a mildly disappointed grunt that Aren hadn't fallen for her 'joke', but said nothing more about it.

"The armor isn't really me though," she said lightly. "It just sort of became me." She glanced about as a group of Rodians and a Duro passed. She hadn't much experience with aliens, aside from a couple that lived in her colony, so she stared, probably very rudely. At least she tried her best not to 'ooh' and 'aah' at the sight of strange creatures and strangely dressed humans.

"What do you have in mind?" She asked curiously. "I should probably get a data-pad too. I don't really have one except in my ship. I should have something portable." She said as she noticed a data-pad in the hands of one of the Rodian children.

Thankfully Jett had a concept of personal property. Many outlanders did not. Some came from egalitarian societies where property was shared, but Jett was not, and she knew better than to just take what she wanted. There was something a bit more dangerous about frontier colonies, where you had to fight for everything you had. Jett's father had been a Mandalorian though, and so they always enjoyed a sense of safety... until the reptile men came of course.

Jett peered her hazel eyes forward now, and tried to get a look at the storefront Aren was leading her too. Eventually she let herself catch up and wrapped her other hand around Aren's bicep. Her insecurity was on full display as she drew herself closer to the older woman. Like a child hiding behind mother's skirt.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren didn't pull away when Jett slipped closer. If anything, she shifted just slightly, a small, instinctive adjustment that made the contact easier, more natural, as though she had already accounted for Jett being there and was simply settling into the shape of it.

Her gaze followed Jett's earlier line of sight, catching the datapad in the child's hands before returning to her with an ease that suggested she had already made up her mind about it.

"You don't need to buy one here," Aren said, her tone smooth and unhurried. "I have plenty at home, and they're all better than anything you'll find in these shops. We'll get you something that actually works."

When Jett mentioned purple, Aren's eyes shifted again, studying her with a more deliberate kind of attention, not critical, not discouraging, just the same quiet assessment she applied to everything she intended to understand properly.

"Purple is probably not a good color for you," she said, matter-of-fact but not unkind. "But I'm not opposed to you trying it. The worst that will happen is you'll look washed out and pale."

Her hand lifted in a small, subtle gesture between them, as if to illustrate the point without making it heavier than it needed to be.

"I'm a lot darker than you are. It works differently. It's all about complexion."

As they continued walking, her attention shifted forward again, scanning the storefronts with a clearer sense of purpose now, filtering through options with the same practical efficiency she brought to her workbench. The noise and movement of the city didn't distract her, it simply existed around her as she focused on what mattered.

"Clothes," she murmured, almost to herself, before directing the thought back to Jett. "Let's start simple. Jeans, cargo pants. Something you can actually move in."

She considered for a moment, her gaze flicking briefly to the bags displayed in a nearby window before returning to Jett.

"Do you want a bag?" she asked, offering the choice without assuming the answer. "Something you don't have to carry in your hands. Something that's yours."

Her eyes dropped to Jett's current top, taking in the thin straps and the lack of coverage before meeting her gaze again, her expression steady and practical.

"Shirts," Aren continued. "You'll need more than tank tops. Some t-shirts, and maybe a jacket. Something you can throw on without thinking about it, something that works in more than one place."

Her hand shifted slightly where Jett held onto her, a small grounding motion that felt almost unconscious, but intentional all the same.

"We'll figure out what feels right," she said, her voice softening, not losing its steadiness but carrying something warmer beneath it. "Not just what looks right."

A brief pause followed, long enough for the thought to settle without pressing it.

"And if we get it wrong," she added, a touch of lightness returning without undercutting the sincerity beneath it, "we adjust."

Jett Vox

 

[Jett Vox]

Jett looked momentarily dejected at the statement that Aren's style wouldn't work for her, but she nodded anyway, and then walked with the slightly older woman, laughing at the idea of looking 'washed out and pale.' Slightly cheered up by Aren's explanation, she agreed "I suppose you're right," but she was instantly distracted by the noise and the shops, then stopped as Aren described the kind of clothes she needed. Cargo pants and tanktops.

"What about something like that?" She pointed to a shop where a fancy Naboo dress hung in a window, on a mannequin. The dress was one of those high-collared insanities, with a long train that probably needed servants to carry.

She stopped suddenly, along with Aren's gesture. Jett nodded again. Aren was endlessly practical, not prone to flashy displays or expensive tastes.

"That sounds good," she agreed again and then grabbed Aren's hand. "C'mon, we're burning daylight." She didn't even know if there was daylight in this place. The city seemed to blot out any sense of the natural world. Unsettling to someone who had grown up on farms. This place just seemed like one giant box.

"Are you getting anything for you? A wardrobe upgrade would probably be good for you too," she teased gently.

Then she added, "I'd like to try something on soon. I mean I've been in these clothes long enough," she said, then thumped her chest, which sent out a cloud of dust and dirt that was so unexpected, even she looked surprised. "Gross," she said softly.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren didn't miss the way Jett's expression dipped at first, even if it only lasted a moment. She let it pass without drawing attention to it, the way she did with most things that didn't need to be made heavier than they already were. Jett adjusted quickly, and that mattered more.

Her gaze followed where Jett pointed, settling on the elaborate Naboo dress in the window. She studied it for a second longer than expected, not dismissing it outright, just… measuring it.

"It's beautiful," Aren admitted, her tone neutral but honest. "And completely impractical." Her eyes shifted back to Jett, softer now. "You'd spend more time trying not to trip over it than actually moving in it," she added. "We can circle back to something like that later, if you still want to try it. No reason you shouldn't, just… not first."

When Jett grabbed her hand and pulled, Aren let herself be guided without resistance, adjusting her pace easily to match the younger girl's energy. The movement was natural, almost expected, as she had already accounted for Jett pulling her along before it happened.

"Burning daylight," Aren echoed lightly, glancing up at the artificial glow above them. "We'll pretend that still applies." Her attention shifted forward again as they moved, scanning storefronts with quiet purpose, already narrowing down where they'd actually stop.

At Jett's question, she gave a small, almost absent shrug. "I suppose I could get something," she said, not entirely committed to the idea. "Pants, probably. The kind with a lot of pockets." There was a faint thread of practicality in it that didn't quite hide the fact that she wasn't used to shopping for herself.

Then Jett thumped her chest. The cloud of dust that followed made Aren pause mid-step, her eyes dropping to the fine particles hanging in the air before lifting slowly back to Jett. There was a beat. Then, very calmly: "We're going to have to teach you how to wash your clothes."

Not judgmental. Just… inevitable.

Her hand shifted slightly in Jett's grip, giving a small squeeze before she started guiding them toward a more grounded storefront, one lined with durable fabrics and simpler cuts.

"And soon," she added, a faint hint of dry humor slipping in, "before you create your own weather system."

Jett Vox