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

 

[Jett Vox]

Jett's whole face and chest and shoulders turned red at that last comment, and probably the rest of her body too, "Looks expensive," she said trying to distract from her embarrassment, but she went along with Aren protesting "I know how to wash clothes, I just haven't seen a lake for months."

She was led along into a storefront with human clothing lining the walls, along with a few for near-humans with more than two arms, holes in pants for tails, simple clothing for farmers and outlanders, and simple gear that looked like it was for militia members. She broke away from Aren and grabbed a few things off a rack, basic clothes like tanktops and cargo-pants, as if she hadn't just asked about more stylish clothes.

She almost reached for a dress on the rack, but hesitated. There had been a dress her mother had been sewing for her, but that flashed into her mind with the stains of blood from her mother's brutally murdered body, and she withdrew her hand before moving onto other simpler items. A poncho, a leather jacket that looked like one Aren would wear, a wide brimmed hat, a pair of dark glasses that looked like a thin strip of dark glass embedded into a hairband.

a few other things piled on - essentials like socks, a pair of fingerless gloves, a pair of regular bantha-leather boots, and then... after a moment looking around, she paused and asked; "Does this place have underwear? Like... lady's underwear?" Was there underwear in space? There was on her home planet. Maybe it was a local thing.

"What are you getting? I don't want to shop alone. If you want to grab something, you can put it on my tab." She knew she had enough credits to treat Aren, and she was happy to. It would be the first nice thing she'd get to do for the folks who had taken her on as their ward.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren let Jett move ahead of her without trying to steer her too much, watching the way she drifted from rack to rack with that restless, searching energy she always carried in unfamiliar places. She didn't interrupt at first, even when the choices started to repeat themselves, even when the pile in Jett's arms began to look suspiciously like the same things she already owned.

Instead, she followed at an easy, measured pace, hands loose at her sides, eyes tracking what Jett picked up, what she almost picked up, and what she avoided entirely.

When Jett's arms were full of more of the same, Aren stepped in just slightly, not blocking her, not correcting her, simply easing into her space enough to be noticed.

"You wanted fashion," she said, her voice calm as her gaze dropped to the stack. "Not more tank tops."

There was no judgment in it, only a gentle redirect. She tapped one of the tops lightly with her fingers, then shifted her attention to the jacket Jett had grabbed. "This," she said with a small nod, "is a good choice."

Her focus moved to the pants next. She reached out and pinched one of the pockets between her fingers, testing the depth out of habit. "These need more pockets," she observed. "If you can't carry what you need without thinking about it, you won't wear them." Only then did she straighten again, her attention flicking briefly to Jett's earlier comment as she added, almost casually but with quiet certainty.

"And for the record, we don't wash clothes in lakes." A beat, just long enough for the thought to settle. "We use a washing machine. And a dryer." Her eyes returned to Jett, the corner of her mouth softening in a way that wasn't quite a smile but close enough to feel like one. "I'll show you when we get home."

When Jett asked about underwear, Aren didn't react beyond a small shift of her gaze toward the back of the store. "Yes," she said, as if it were the most ordinary question in the world. "There's underwear." A moment later, more practical. "You'll want more than one set."

She scanned the store again, this time with clearer intent, before stepping toward another rack and pulling free a pair of darker, more durable cargo pants, then a fitted shirt that wasn't a tank.

"If you're offering," she said, glancing back at Jett, "I suppose I could get something." She lifted the pants slightly. "Something like this. Practical." A small pause, then a quieter addition. "And maybe another pair. The kind with a lot of pockets."

Her gaze lingered on Jett for a moment, not evaluating the clothes now, but her. "You don't have to do this alone," she said, softer than before. "That's the point of today."

Then, with a faint return of dry humor, just enough to ease the moment without breaking it, "Now come on. If you're going to learn fashion, we're at least getting you one thing that isn't identical to the last five."
Jett Vox

 

[Jett Vox]

Jett stopped with a stunned look on her face, "Dad always said 'practicality first,'" she said and then tilted her head. "Perfect, thanks!" She grabbed a couple pairs of underwear, not really paying attention to anything more than size, and her eyes dropped to Aren's pants. There was no denying how useful they looked. Pockets, pockets and more pockets. Almost more than a person could keep track of. They were perfect. Jett's eyes flashed from rack to rack, and found similar cargo pants in the back.

"Oh I know I don't. That's why you're here, mo -- I mean Aren." It was a slip, but she glossed over it with a little shrug. Then she went to the back and grabbed a couple pairs of the cargo-ish pants in her size. One gray-white, and the other black-green camo. Practical again. Functional. "Yes, I'm offering. I'm not broke yet, and I'm not... doing badly when it comes to money." Unsurprisingly, Mandalorians - even bad ones - were in pretty high demand, even though their numbers were larger than since before the Great Hyperspace War. Bounty-hunters, odd experts, and survivable cannon fodder was a pretty lucrative business these days. Jett had managed to score a couple jobs with a few of these already, and in the rare times she spent apart from Aren and Omen, had succeeded in building a small portfolio.

Really, that had been her goal. Survive enough to plan some kind of revenge on the Chistori that killed her family. Not much of a personal arc, she admitted, but something to work towards. After that... her goal was pretty simple. Don't let anyone she liked get killed.

"Lead the way, Aren," she said with an exaggerated grin. Not sure if she'd pick out clothes for herself first, or if she would try and fix Jett's abhorrent fashion sense. Either way, Jett was ready.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren's attention shifted to Jett the moment the word nearly surfaced, but nothing in her expression betrayed it. She didn't pause, didn't stiffen, didn't let even the smallest flicker of reaction show. Instead, she simply continued reaching for a hanger as though the moment had passed unnoticed, her movements smooth and unhurried, the same calm presence she had carried through the shop from the beginning. Inside, though, the slip settled with a soft weight, not dismissed, only set aside in a private corner of her thoughts where she could return to it when Jett wasn't already carrying so much.

"Your father wasn't wrong," she said, her voice even and warm as she glanced over the growing pile in Jett's arms. "Practicality first doesn't mean practicality only. It just means you start with what keeps you steady."

Her gaze moved to the cargo pants Jett had chosen, taking in the colors, the cut, the way Jett had gravitated toward them without quite realizing she was making a choice. Aren stepped closer, lifting the gray‑white pair for a moment to check the stitching along one seam before handing them back with a small nod.

"Better," she said, the approval quiet but unmistakable. "You're learning what works for you."

She brushed her thumb along the fabric once more before adding, with a faint thread of humor woven through the words, "These will show dirt fast, which means they'll force you to wash them. The black‑green pair is smarter if you want something that forgives your habits."

When Jett mentioned money, Aren's eyes lifted again, and this time her attention lingered, not on the credits themselves but on the pride beneath the statement. The earned footing, the sense of having something that was hers and not borrowed from survival. Her voice softened.

"That's good," she said, the warmth in it subtle but steady. "Keep some of it. You don't need to empty your pockets just because you finally have something in them. Having choices later is worth more than proving anything now."

She shifted the pants she had chosen over one arm and began walking deeper into the store, trusting Jett to follow without needing to look back. Her fingers drifted across a rack of shirts, pausing only when she found two fitted tees: one charcoal, one muted blue. She held them against Jett briefly, gauging the fit by eye with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times for herself.

"These," she said, handing them over gently. "You need layers. Clothes that fit you properly. Things you can move in, work in, and still feel like yourself an hour later."

Aren moved toward a display of jackets, scanning with the same quiet efficiency she applied to everything. After a moment, she glanced back over her shoulder, her voice carrying a warmth that wasn't loud but unmistakably present.

"And one thing," she added, "that you choose purely because you like it. Not because it's useful. Not because someone told you it's sensible. Just because it feels like yours."

She paused at a short jacket in dark brown leather, her hand brushing the sleeve as she looked back at Jett, a softness settling into her expression that she didn't bother to hide.

"You've spent enough time surviving," she said quietly, the words gentle but grounded. "You're allowed preferences too. You're allowed to want things."

Then the familiar practical edge returned, light and teasing in a way that made the warmth easier to carry.

"Now come on. We still need to see if your questionable fashion instincts can be salvaged before we get to boots."

Jett Vox

 

[Jett Vox]

Pretty soon, Jett had a fair amount of clothing piled up, and had begun stacking it where the clerk sat. A strange bulky alien with four arms, who looked a little skeptical that the teenager could afford to buy all this clothing. He seemed assuaged by the presence of the slightly older girl, and remarked; "Buying all this for your little sister, eh?" The Besalisk store owner said to Aren, as the clothes began to pile up, but Jett interjected before Aren had a chance to say anything.

"No, I'll be picking up the tab for this, thank yew," she said with a dismissive tone, "And whatever my friend wants too." She hadn't gotten into the habit of thinking of Aren as a mother figure, though as a motherly figure, she was much more comfortable with. Jett stopped suddenly, realizing that - of all the things she'd picked out, she hadn't really found anything especially Jett. "Just a second," she said to the clerk as he was already checking tags and counting up the merchandize.

She reached over and grabbed a 'butterfly' hair-clip. It's wings were a multi-colored blue, green, black windowed affair that cast oddly colored shadows wherever it sat. It was pretty, but not particularly special. Jett liked it, so Jett would consider that her 'something she likes.' She placed her datapad next to the clerk as he was still going through her purchases one-by-one. She had around 30,000 credits, excluding her recent earnings, along with some solid assets and ownership deeds to her ship and a plot of land in the Unknown Regions. The last deed was listed as 'contested,' but that was a matter she would settle - if she could - with a blaster. As long as it remained in that state, the claimants had to disclose their location.

Chistori weren't keen on giving away their home bases, so the property listed would likely be a safehouse or a legitimate front.

Her eyes lingered on that for a moment, but they clearly flashed with anger for a split second. That was something she'd revisit sooner than later, that is - if her training continued to progress at this speed.

She tapped the datapad lightly and then turned to Aren. "Did you decide on anything? I'm ready to see what else you've got planned for today."

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren didn't correct the clerk right away; instead, she let the moment breathe, watching the way Jett stepped into it with a confidence that hadn't been there when they first walked in, answering cleanly and without hesitation, claiming her own space as though she'd finally remembered she was allowed to. There was a subtle shift in Aren's expression at that, nothing overt and nothing that would draw attention, but a quiet, unmistakable approval that settled into her features like something she had been waiting to see.

Her gaze drifted over the growing pile of clothes, taking in the choices Jett had made, the ones she had nearly talked herself out of, and the ones she had circled back for when instinct overruled caution. When the butterfly clip landed on top of everything else, Aren's attention lingered there longer than it had on any of the shirts or pants, as though that small, bright thing revealed more about Jett than the rest combined.

"I like that," she said, her voice soft but certain, the words carrying a warmth that did not need to be emphasized. She gave the smallest nod toward the clip before letting her eyes move back to the rest of the pile, as if confirming to herself that yes, this was a good start.

When Jett turned back to her, ready to move on, Aren reached for the pair of cargo pants she had set aside earlier, lifting them just enough to remind Jett they existed. "I like the pants, remember?" she said, a hint of dry warmth threading through the words, as though that alone justified adding them to the stack. She set them down with the rest, the decision already made in her mind long before she voiced it.

Then her attention returned to Jett fully, steady and purposeful in that way she had when she had already mapped out the next few steps without needing to announce it. "This is just our first stop," she said, her tone lightening as her gaze flicked toward the exit and the steady movement of the city beyond, the promise of more waiting for them outside. "We're not done yet."

She let a brief pause settle between them, long enough for the idea to take root, before adding, more casually but with a certainty that left no room for argument, "And while we're out, we're going to my favorite restaurant."

Her eyes found Jett's again, and the faintest curve touched the corner of her mouth, not quite a smile but something close, something meant for her. "You need something that isn't ration bars or whatever you've been living on," she said, not unkindly, simply stating a truth she had already decided to fix.

Then, with a small gesture toward the clerk, signaling they were ready whenever he was, she added in a tone that made the whole day feel intentional rather than improvised, "We'll make a day of it."

Jett Vox

 

[Jett Vox]

"I thought you might have wanted a shirt, or maybe a jacket to go with," Jett said, a lazy half-smile plastered on her face. She flipped her hair casually and then transferred the credits using the pad the clerk had provided. Then, the clothing was piled into a pair of bags, with the smallest one for Aren. "Are you sure you don't want to look for something else? This didn't really put much of a dent in my savings so far." Jett seemed giddy. She'd never bought anything with her own money before, and the rush of adulthood was clearly affecting her. Drunk with adulthood perhaps? Aren was being patient, kind and understanding and Jett suddenly felt like she was taking advantage of that. Time to shift gears.

"Okay, I can't wait to see what you have planned next," she nodded and handed the bag to Aren. "Hardtack," she answered when Aren mentioned what she'd been eating. Jett didn't mind the rations. It was one of the things her father had brought the kids up on early. He must have had some left over and wanted them to eat before it went bad. It wasn't the worst thing in the world, but neither of her parents had been very good cooks. Omen's soup was Colo claw fish eggs in comparison.

"I've been looking forward to this," she added in response to 'making a day of this.'

Jett slung her bags over her shoulders and tilted her head at the slightly taller woman. "Lead the way, Captain!"


Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren accepted the smaller bag from Jett without arguing about the expense again, though the look she gave her carried the quiet impression that she was still adjusting to the idea of someone else insisting on taking care of her for once. The weight of the bag settled easily against her side beside the larger satchel of tools she already carried, the leather jacket shifting softly over the dark shirt beneath it as she adjusted the strap higher onto her shoulder.

"You are enjoying this a little too much," she observed, though there was warmth beneath the dry comment now, something softer than the reserved practicality she usually wore around strangers. Watching Jett practically glow as she bought clothes with her own credits did something strange to her chest, equal parts amusement and affection tangled together in a way she did not yet know how to name.

When Jett asked again if she wanted more, Aren's gaze drifted briefly toward another storefront farther down the market street before returning to her.

"A jacket would not be the worst idea," she admitted. "Maybe boots eventually. Something that does not look like I spend all day crouched inside an engine housing."

A small pause followed before the faintest hint of humor touched her expression.

"Even if that is usually accurate."

The mention of hardtack earned an immediate look of mild disapproval.

"Absolutely not," Aren said flatly, already steering them back into the flow of the market crowd with a gentle motion of her hand toward the lantern-lit streets ahead. "You cannot survive on hardtack and stubbornness alone. I refuse to believe that is an acceptable diet."

Knowing Jett, it probably had been.

The crowds thickened slightly as they walked, voices and music blending beneath the warm glow of overhead lanterns, while the smell of roasted meat, spices, and sweet fried pastries drifted through the evening air. Aren moved through it comfortably despite herself, her pace unhurried now compared to earlier, no longer navigating the market purely as a place to gather supplies but as somewhere she had unconsciously allowed herself to exist within for a while.

At Jett's final comment, Aren glanced sideways at her, one brow lifting faintly.

"Captain?" she repeated. The title sounded strange, directed at her, but not unpleasant. Then, quieter, carrying the same dry warmth she had been letting show more often throughout the day: "That is probably the nicest promotion I have ever received."

She adjusted the bag lightly against her shoulder again before angling them toward a narrower side street where the crowds thinned slightly and the music softened into something more distant and atmospheric.

"The restaurant is this way," she said. "And before you ask, yes, you are trying real food. Not ration bars. Not hardtack. Actual food made by people who know what they are doing."

A faint pause followed while she looked ahead, though the corner of her mouth curved just enough to betray how much she was already anticipating Jett's reaction to the place.

"And after we eat," she added, calmer now, more settled into the rhythm of the evening than she had been when they first arrived, "we will figure out what your one actually fashionable piece of clothing is supposed to be."

Jett Vox

 

[Ondine]

delete

 

[Jett Vox]

Jett mouth opened in feigned offence, but quickly twisted into a thoughtful smirk, her eyes rolling up towards the ceiling. "You're right, I am," she said as she shifted her purchases onto her left arm and grabbed Aren's upper arm with a familiarity that briefly shocked even her. Her somewhat uneven gait was thankfully stemmed by Aren's graceful threading of the crowd, which kept Jett from bumping into or jostling any strangers - an act that can lead to bad outcomes even in 'civilized' places like these. "We can always swing back and grab you something, I suppose," she said absently, words that were lost to the noise of the crowd and the machines that kept things running in planetary Megalopolis' like this.

Where she had seemed briefly over-confident, Jett was again overwhelmed by the crowds and the spaces here. Her mind remarked on the levels upon levels above and below that seemed to go on endlessly, and how they simply didn't just collapse down and make sandwiches of all of them. The smells of food briefly interrupted the harsh metallic sanitized smells that had previously assaulted and simultaneously, she felt both hungry and nauseous. Her stomach rumbled, and then shot pains into her sides, unpleasant but not debilitating - and not enough to slow her down or make her flinch.

The music didn't help. It was just added sensory overload to an already overworked brain. Her ears felt tense from all the twitching as sounds that should have alerted for danger just ended up being a beeping droid or a worker high on a zamboni, or a cart squeaking loudly, or just a child crying or shouting. Just so much going on all at once. How could a sane person handle all of this all the time? Worse, how could someone live in a place like this! Jett's thoughts barely seemed to rise above the cacophony around her.

"What?" shouted Jett, "There's a rancor which way?" She looked around but frowned, realizing she had probably misheard. Then she started catching bits and pieces and realized Aren was talking about food. Her stomach flipped again in response. "OH thank a Hutt's butt, I'm starving. I could eat Nerf tongue and not complain right now. What sort of food do they have?"

The thought of food even made the hurt from Aren's mild insult about her clothes pass without comment.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren felt the brief shock of Jett grabbing her arm almost as strongly as Jett seemed to. Not because she minded it, but because it happened so naturally. A few weeks ago, the younger girl probably would have apologized for occupying the same stretch of sidewalk. Now she was holding onto her without thinking about it.

Aren decided not to comment.

Instead, she adjusted her pace slightly, guiding them through the flow of pedestrians with the same quiet awareness she brought to almost everything else. She threaded them around clusters of shoppers, delivery droids, and the occasional person who had apparently decided the middle of a walkway was the ideal place to stop and reconsider their life choices.

The crowds didn't bother her. They never really had. But she could feel Jett struggling with them even without looking directly at her. The tension in her arm, the way her attention kept darting toward every new sound, every sudden movement, every unfamiliar smell. It reminded Aren a little of a sensor array trying to process more information than it had been designed to handle.

When Jett suddenly looked around and demanded to know where the rancor was, Aren blinked once before realizing what had happened. Then, despite herself, she laughed. Not loudly, but enough that genuine amusement warmed her voice. "There is no rancor," she assured her. "Though if there was, I suspect it would have found a way to charge admission by now."

Her gaze shifted toward Jett as they continued walking, taking in the slightly overwhelmed expression and the way she seemed caught somewhere between fascination and sensory collapse.

"You are doing better than you think," Aren said quietly. "Most people learn to filter this out after a while. Your brain is still trying to pay attention to everything at once." A brief pause followed before the corner of her mouth curved faintly. "Which explains why you thought I was talking about a rancor."

The smell of food drifted across the walkway again, richer this time, and Jett's stomach chose that exact moment to betray her. Aren heard it. She definitely heard it. The look she gave Jett afterward suggested she was making a considerable effort not to comment.

"Nerf tongue is, unfortunately, not on the menu," she said. "Though considering how hungry you sound, I suspect you would eat the menu itself if I left you unattended long enough."

The crowds began to thin slightly as they moved toward a lower terrace lined with restaurants and open-air food vendors. Warm lights hung overhead between support pillars, and the smell of roasting meat, fresh bread, spices, and fried vegetables mixed together into something significantly more inviting than the sterile scent of the shopping district.

"My favorite place does grilled nuna, roasted vegetables, flatbread, and a citrus rice dish that is far better than it has any right to be," Aren explained. "They also have actual desserts instead of nutritional bricks pretending to be desserts."

Her expression turned thoughtful. "I am beginning to suspect your father committed several crimes against cooking." The accusation was delivered with complete seriousness.

Then she glanced at Jett again, and some of the dry humor softened into something warmer. "Come on. Food first. The rest of the city can overwhelm you afterward."

Jett Vox

 

[Jett Vox]

"Well, I mean good. Nerf tongue is awful." Jett responded pointedly with her nose in the air. "Yes. Yes he did." Memories of dry seasons or torrential rains where they had to 'make do' came to mind. Life wasn't terribly easy when you had to rough it without the barest technologies when other farms at least had a cheap droid or some device to make things better. Finding out her father had a ship the entire time was as much a betrayal as it was a shock.

Jett's stomach rolled again at the description of the spread. "That. Sounds. Heavenly." She gripped Aren's arm tighter, digging her fingertips into her bicep, and shoved her ear into her shoulder to help block out the noise. "Yeah, let's go there. Where you just said." She suddenly and all at once released her grip, then ran ahead when she saw a break in the crowd, she disappeared into it, only to burst from the other side, as if dancing out of a field of tall grasses or wheat.

She wasn't tall. In a place like this, no one would know her to be a Mandalorian, and no one could possibly guess she was a warrior at all. Right now she was just a teenage girl. Not like that really changed anything. What really was a Mandalorian who had completed their Verd'goten and had never even killed anyone? Aside from a droid at least.

Jett halted in front of the eatery, staring up at the brightly lit sign which hung above, spinning slowly on a chain that was propelled by a very slow turbine. Such a thing didn't make much sense to exist. It was a useless power drain. Jett tilted her head, hands on her hips as she examined it, chewing her lower lip in consternation.

"Seems like a waste," she said without any particular audience in mind.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren could not help the faint smile that appeared when Jett immediately rejected the idea of actually eating nerf tongue after declaring she would happily consume it moments earlier. "Good," she said dryly. "Because I was beginning to question your judgment."

Jett's grip tightened on her arm as she practically folded herself against Aren's shoulder to escape the noise, and Aren adjusted her pace without thinking, guiding them through the crowd with the same quiet awareness she used when navigating a workshop full of fragile equipment. Most of the people around them never even realized they had been avoided.

"Almost there," she assured her.

Then Jett was gone.

One moment, she was clinging to Aren's arm, and the next, she had spotted a gap in the sea of bodies and slipped into it like a child disappearing into tall grass. Aren stopped instinctively. Not out of worry, but because losing sight of Jett in a crowd for more than half a second would have been irresponsible. Her eyes tracked the younger woman through flashes of movement until Jett burst out the other side exactly where Aren expected her to.

The relief was brief. The amusement lasted longer.

For all the armor, training, and responsibilities that came with being a Mandalorian, there were moments when Jett was still unmistakably a teenager discovering a world larger and louder than the one she had grown up in.

By the time Aren reached the diner entrance, Jett had already become distracted by the rotating sign overhead. Aren followed her gaze upward. The turbine turned lazily, the sign rotated, lights flashed, and Jett immediately declared it inefficient.

Aren's smile widened slightly.

"Empress Teta can get excessive," she said as she stepped beside her. "This is tame." Her gaze drifted farther down the street, where massive holo‑advertisements climbed entire buildings and animated displays competed for attention across multiple levels of the city. "Give it another few districts, and you will start seeing advertisements large enough to cast shadows."

She glanced sideways at Jett. "By comparison, that is practically restrained."

The smell of food drifted out each time the diner door opened, carrying warm spices, roasted meat, fresh bread, and enough promise to remind even Aren that it had been several hours since breakfast. She reached for the door and held it open.

"Come on," she said. "You can continue your war against decorative signage after you have eaten."

Jett Vox