Dominion TINY UMBRELLAS || ME Dominion of Zeltros

[Platinum]

TINY UMBRELLAS
"Be silly. Be honest. Be kind."​

ZELTROS
Colonies

Huh? Oh, hey, is this thing on? Ahem. Greetings from ZELTROS! No, wait, that sounds like a postcard. Heya, Big Guy! No, too informal. Right.

Hiya! This is Cali Ziiva , Merchant of Fun, Party Thrower, Engineer, and Galactic Cutey calling from Zeltros. The Galactic Alliance is kind of suffering at the moment and believe me, Zeltros is in a pickle for it. Everyone knows we're peace-loving, friendly sorts open to just about everyone getting away from it all on our shores; but that doesn't mean everyone wants it to stay that way, you know? We could really use the MANDALORIAN EMPIRE's help keeping the more, uh, militant types from marching in.

I know, I know, Mandalorian Empire. Militant. No, no, it's not a joke. You guys are disciplined, but you aren't trying to conquer the galaxy or dictating how people should live. Well, unless they swear to your Resol’nare, but that's a personal, cultural choice, right? So, we're kosher.

Anyway, Zeltros can be a real benefit to your Empire in exchange for protection. I doubt you'll find many cuties picking up weapons, but your Mandalorians need a break every now and then don't they? I think you have a Shaman Warmaster that would totes be on board for somewhere for your people to chill, unwind, reset mentally for the next challenge. That kind of thing. So, if that's up your alley... Could you, maybe, drop by so we can talk? We’ll keep the tihaar, ne'tra gal, and kri'gee on ice for ya. Or is that not on ice? We’ll do both!

ZELTROS BEACH PARTY!​

There's no Beach Party in the Galaxy like a Zeltros Beach Party. The sands are warm, the drinks are cold, and the water is crystal clear. Tiki huts offer bars and a view, while nearby trails take you by live bands and private beaches alike. Volleyball, limbo, and countless other games can also be found scattered across the sands. Everywhere you go you'll find men and women of pink, purple, and red with smiles and an insatiable need to make sure everyone's having a great time. Your enjoyment is literally their enjoyment, and the party lasts all day and all night. Drop on by, grab a drink, and take a load off. The galaxy'll still be there tomorrow. Or next week.

ENTERTAINMENT DISTRICT!​

What most don't expect is there is more to Zeltros than the beaches. Their cities are filled with endless entertainment venues with flowing architecture, vibrant colors, and plenty of plant life to engage the senses. Visitors don't need to worry about whether they'll leave satisfied or not, every form of entertainment appeals to a Zeltron's taste for romance -- whether of the heart or sheer adrenaline. If they're satisfied, offworlders are bound to be bombarded with sights, sounds, and excitement that'll leave them collapsed on the floor of their luxurious accommodations just shy of making into bed. Art, games, holovids, sports arenas, racing tracks, theater, and dancing clubs galore.

BRING YOUR OWN PARTY FAVORS!​

Do whatever! That's the Zeltros creed. Well, do whatever is fun, exciting, fulfilling, and totally not a downer (that last one will get you a Zeltron on your arm in short order trying to cheer you up). It's a free world and everyone's welcome to find something to do. Even if that's hiking in the lush forests to truly get away from it all.

Spoiler: Tags

Aether Verd
Malachi Vokat
Jonah
Manti Wyrvhor
Itzhal Volkihar
Jaikell Wyrvhor
Valah Hagen
Vytal Noctura
Runi Kuryida
Siv Kryze
Nephthys Nardithi-Verd
Ze'bast Verd
Klavatora Verd
Incitrix
Suleiman Lok
Ro'talius Emanti
Athena Faar
Sanguina Krev
Janous Ryss
Vyse de Valorous
Zurak Bruul
Add/Update Faction Tag List!
Renn Vizsla
Warpriest Prime
Sibylla Abrantes
Cordelia Malkavian
Hanna
Adelle Bastiel
Arden Priest
Aselia Verd
Kuben Woods
Muphinz
Valeria de la Vallée
Talohn Atar
Zlova Rue
Korda Veydran
Liorra
Rynna
Aren D'Shade
Sidonia
Edward Ashcard
And Friends! 'Cause it's a Party~

 

[Warpriest Prime]

​

O B J E C T I V E | Party on The Beach
L O C A T I O N | Manda Beach Camp
S W I M S U I T | Sinful [X]

O P E N​

There was no place in the galaxy more perfectly, deliriously, recklessly suited to Dima's brand of holy hedonism than Zeltros.

And the Zeltrons knew it.

The invitation had gone out across the Empire with all the flourish of a fireworks parade, wax-sealed, perfumed, shimmering with holographic glitter, honoring the loyal protectors of Zeltros' carefree way of life. In appreciation for Mandalorian shields and Imperial oversight keeping pirates, warlords, and opportunists from ruining paradise, Zeltros offered the one thing it excelled at above all else:

The Ultimate Beach Party.

Warm sands. Crystal waters. Tiki huts stocked with drinks that could seduce the dead. Colorful lantern trails leading to private coves, live bands, fire dancers, and endless games, volleyball, limbo, jetboard racing, body painting, the whole planetary soul vibrating with music and pheromones. Everywhere Dima looked, pink and crimson Zeltrons wore wide, irresistible smiles, determined to ensure every guest experienced euphoric bliss.

Delicious divine indulgence. And Prime had come to get a taste...well, maybe even a bit more than just a taste.

Oh, she brought the karking party.

If the rest of the galaxy burned in her absence...well, it would just have to hold that thought until she was done tanning her scales.

She lay sprawled atop an oversized beach lounge like some decadent dragon goddess, three enormous reflective mirrors angled perfectly to soak every millimeter of sun into her shimmering blue hued scales. Her deep purple bathing suit hugged the curves of her alien anatomy. Loosened, freed, and gleaming with oils and sun-warmth. With her armor gone, the bizarre beauty of her form was on full display: the overlapping plates of organic metal, the hypnotic glow of her eyes, the twitching fins and silken membranes dancing lazily along her ribs.

She didn't care.

She was here to feast on pleasure.

Her massive goblet of fruity alcohol sat in her claws, complete with a ridiculous twisty straw and a tiny umbrella. She took a dainty yet utterly unhinged slurp, ears fluttering like a flustered schoolgirl as the sugary liquor hit her tongue.

"Ohhhh that's sinful," she sighed, tail thumping against her oversized towel like a pleased predator ready to purr.

Around her, Mandalorians did exactly what Mandalorians did when told to "let loose on Zeltros", some hit the waves with surfboards and war cries; others joined Zeltron hosts in competitive games, stirring cheers and flirtatious compliments from every direction. Even the stoic Sword Saints had swapped beskar for tragic floral swim trunks, which delighted Dima to no end.

She propped herself up on all four elbows, striking a pose so calculated it belonged on a holonet billboard.

"YOU!" she barked, pointing at a nearby serviceman of zeltros, or probably just a random zeltron. Either way, he now had task to preform. "We need a refill, and dessert~". Her tongue slid across her lips at the thought of sugary delights. "And bring back something decadent. If it's got chocolate, syrup, or heat levels that could kill a normal person, I don't want it, i NEED it~"

She waved him off imperiously, nearly tossing her umbrella straw on accident.

"Go! Power, plunder, pleasure!" she proclaimed, raising her goblet high enough that several Zeltrons turned eagerly at the sound. "As god wills it, go! Indulge! Excess!"

Oh yes. Prime had come to Zeltros. And Zeltros. Poor, beautiful, party-loving Zeltros, was about to regret nothing.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

BYOO - Yacht Party​

Location: Zeltros
Tags: Sibylla Abrantes | OPEN

Aurelian had expected Zeltros to be loud. He had not expected it to be this relaxing.

The yacht rocked gently on a turquoise sea, so clear he could see the shadows of curious fish drifting beneath the hull. Bright pennants snapped overhead, catching the warm breeze. From the distant shoreline came the faint pulse of music, Zeltron basslines that somehow sounded like winks and promises.

He still couldn't get over it: Mandos on Zeltros. It was a joke the galaxy was clearly in on, and he had decided to play along.

His steps were slow, unhurried, the sun turning his skin golden as he padded across the pristine deck with two drinks, each crowned with a tiny umbrella that offended him deeply and delighted him even more.

Sibylla was already exactly where she deserved to be: stretched long across a lounge chair at the bow, one arm draped over her eyes, dark hair spilling like ink over her towel. She was relaxed, unarmored, and soft in a way she never allowed herself around anyone but him.

He took a second just to stare. Shiraya, she was right; they really did need this.

Aurelian handed her the drink with a flourish, sliding onto the chair beside her before she could comment. The silk shirt he wore fluttered open as he leaned back, letting the sun soak into his chest. His swim trunks were far less modest than he'd pretend if asked, not that he expected Mandalorians to complain.

"They're going to think we're trying to seduce their entire Empire," he murmured, clinking the rim of his glass against hers. "Which, to be fair, is a valid diplomatic strategy on this planet."

The first sip hit like chilled fruit and happiness. He sighed, a genuine breath of contentment.

"Alright," he admitted, relaxing so fully he almost melted into the cushions, "fine. You win. This was absolutely the right call."

Below deck, he could hear the distant clatter of crew preparing the yacht: lights, music, and the absurdly large bar he'd stocked with Mandalorian-strength liquor that could probably kill a normal man.

Guests would hopefully would be arriving soon. Armored, deadly, hungry for a break from war, they were ready to turn this floating pleasure palace into the kind of story warriors bragged about for decades.

He turned his head toward Sibylla, his smile slow and dangerous.

"Let's hope some accepted our invitation." he said. "If the Mandalorian Empire wants a vacation, we'll give them one they'll never forget."

He took another sip, another breath. The sun was warm, the sea bright, and the woman beside him perfect. Yeah, he could get used to this.

​

 

[Ajalurk-Chaidth Kryze]

“And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon‘s that is dreaming.” — Edgar Allan Poe​

Objective - Have Fun?
Tags - OPEN

[

Ajalurk-Chaidth Kryze guided The Black Revenant through the cerulean mist that curled along Zeltros' upper atmosphere, the ship's obsidian hull slicing through the haze like a silent omen. As he descended, the skyline unfurled before him, towering crystalline spires that shimmered with rose-gold luminescence, their surfaces alive with dancing reflections of the sun. The city below thrummed with synesthetic color-pulses, each district glowing with its own rhythm, as if the metropolis itself were a living organism breathing in time with the planet's energy.

From the cockpit, Ajalurk-Chaidth felt that familiar prickle of cosmic awareness; the faint tug of unseen currents whispering along the edges of perception, telling him that Zeltros, beneath its radiant veneer, shimmered with energies older and stranger than its reputation for pleasure and decadence suggested. "This will be interesting," he mused, his eyes, hidden behind the midnight-colored visor, looking out through the viewport.

The Black Revenant touched down upon a landing terrace carved from violet stone, its surface etched with geometric inlays that flickered softly beneath his boots. Warm, fragrant air rolled over him the moment he stepped into the open, carrying hints of exotic nectar, ozone, and an almost musical hum born from the city's collective emotion. Below, the streets curled like rivers of light, populated by Zeltrons whose very presence radiated empathic warmth. Ajalurk-Chaidth paused, letting the atmosphere wash over him: its vibrancy, its seductive beauty, and the undercurrent of dreamlike power that threaded through every heartbeat of the city.

Ajalurk-Chaidth Kryze stepped into the racing track's grand hall, where the air shimmered with neon sigils and holographic banners that twisted like living constellations above the crowds. The building itself seemed grown rather than constructed, its interior walls shaped from bioluminescent stone that pulsed in harmony with the roars of the audience gathered within.

"Impressive architecture...but not my flavour," he said transforming his thoughts into reality, his eyes locking on the gamblers clustered around betting obelisks, their faces illuminated by swirling projections of racing beasts and star-born steeds. Some wore robes threaded with starlight, others glittering masks that reflected cosmic patterns, yet all shared the same feverish gleam in their eyes. As he passed by them, the empathic buzz of their hope, greed, and reckless ambition brushed against him like charged winds, and he could feel the pulse of fate coiling tightly around the room.

He approached a towering race schedule carved from a single monolithic shard of chromatic crystal, its surface rippling with revelations of the upcoming heats. Names of creatures bred from worlds whispered about in ancient myths shifted across the display, each one carrying a weight of legend and peril. Ajalurk-Chaidth folded his arms, studying the shifting odds, letting his instincts stretch outward into the ether where potential futures flickered like distant stars.

The temptation was strong; the currents of cosmic chance felt unusually fluid tonight, as though the universe itself were leaning closer, inviting him to play. A slow smile curved at the corner of his mouth. Perhaps he would make a few bets; just enough to see where destiny wished to lead him. One more quick investigation of the names on the neon board; chuckling quietly at one stand-out name. "Old Scratch Snuggleshine it is."

Spoiler: Gear Loadout

• Armor
  • The Black Devil's Armor

• Weapons
  • Veritas et Iustitia (Dual Revolvers
  • "Widowmaker" (Sniper Rifle
  • Moonshadow (Slugthrower Scatter Gun
• Ship
  • The Black Revenant

 

[Vytal Noctura]

​

"The only thing a Zeltron knows about plunder is when they pull the most garish thing possible out of their wardrobe," a silky smooth, yet deep feminine voice remarked in the wake of Domina's commandments.

As remarkable as a bright pink Zeltron, a pale woman whose skin showed signs of never having been touched by a sun appeared behind and to the left of the lazy yet commanding woman. Dressed in little more than a barely-concealing white bra and a dark short skirt, the Dathomiri witch's emerald eyes slid over the bright landscape.

"And telling them to indulge is begging never to see them or your refill again." It wasn't that Vytal hated Zeltrons. They were a fine people. Had no talent whatsoever for magick, but otherwise more tolerable than members of many other species. But she knew just how quickly they set on fulfilling their base desires. Dima hardly needed to encourage them.

"Is your god here, on holiday, as well, Sister?" Vytal stepped along side the tall alien's physique. "Or are you just proselytizing in their name between desserts?" Black lips curled at the corners as she gazed down at the lethal woman that acted surprisingly carefree almost everywhere she went.

And, yes, Vytal had brought a few other witches with her. They were elsewhere. Indulging as Domina commanded. Why not? Just because Dathomir was an unforgiving world that demanded only the best did not mean they couldn't enjoy somewhere more... comfortable for a time. A short time. Wouldn't want the younger ones to think the Zeltron's hospitality was endless -- it very well could be, if you let it. They were friendly devils in beautiful skins. The sort that didn't demand your soul, but would drown it in pleasure all the same.

Warpriest Prime | Open​

 

[Warpriest Prime]

​

O B J E C T I V E | Party on The Beach
L O C A T I O N | Manda Shore Camp
S W I M S U I T | [X]

Vytal Noctura

O P E N​

Dima nearly snorted her drink when Vytal materialized beside her like some pale, half-dressed moon spirit making commentary about Zeltron fashion choices. The xeno's five eyes blinked wide, then narrowed fondly as a girlish, impish laugh bubbled out of her, high, delighted, and utterly at odds with the image of a war-born killing machine. She wiped a bit of fruit foam from her lip with the back of one hand while her other three fluttered dramatically at her chest.

At the question of her god, Dima scoffed warmly and waved it away like a lazy breeze. "He's probably busy ferrying souls to the Manda," she drawled, tail flicking with amusement. "So I'm here to lounge in lavish opulence for him. Besides, dessert is wasted on ghosts~"

She scooted over on her nest of towels, pillows, and lush fabrics, patting the free space with inviting enthusiasm. The sun caught across her obsidian scales, her thick sculpted legs stretched out languidly, talons curling into the warm Zeltros sand. "C'mon, Vy. I got some really good stuff. Sit with me!"

With a flourish that showed she had practiced this far too much, she pulled forward an enormous hookah engraved with mandalas and flame motifs. Bright pink herbs flared as she sprinkled them in, the ignition lighting her features in soft, rosy glow. Smoke began to curl upward in sweet clouds.

And once Vytal settled beside her, Dima softened, visibly, embarrassingly so. She tried to play it cool, but her five eyes kept drifting, tracing Vytal's pale curves, the contrast of her dark lips, the delicate deadliness in her emerald gaze. The Warpriestess preened like a lovestruck teenager, fluffing her wild mane of hair, subtly adjusting the cloth draped around her hips so it hugged tighter to her armored scales, shifting into poses so artfully "relaxed" it was obvious she'd rehearsed them.

For someone built like a divine monster and feared across a dozen systems, she suddenly looked shy.
And smitten.
And entirely too pleased that the witch accepted her invitation.

"You look, umm, uhhhh...r-really good~" Dima murmured, cheeks darkening to a warm plum hue as she pretended to focus on the hookah valves. "Makes me wanna...I dunno. Stare or something~"

Her tail curled in a pleased little thump-thump-thump against the towels.

 

[Taryn Alvor]

Tags: Open​

Wearing: [No coat or gloves]​

​

Of all the places in the entire expanse of the universe, Zeltros was not the place that came to mind when searching for a gathering of Mandalorians. Maybe it should have been, considering the amount of jobs that had personally been run here, but it still seemed a bit out of place when considering other clans and the like.

That didn't stop Taryn from finding her way there. It should have, but it had been many other things that had kept her away from the broad revival of her people. The loss of her own clan had been enough to keep her on the move, never settling in any one place for any longer than a job would last. Fear of becoming acquainted with people, friendly, attached, it all kept her motivated to keep moving, to keep people at arm's length.

Yet it was some deeply rooted hope for familiarity that finally brought Tar out of her pattern. That hope brought her to the bustling planet of pleasures and chaos, and as she broached the beach she lifted a hand to shield her eyes while her gaze cast along the shores. Of course she didn't expect to see someone she knew or hoped to see right away, but that didn't stop her from looking around anyhow.

There were those loitering about, enjoying themselves, clad in garments that made Taryn feel a lot less exposed than she had felt moments before. She hadn't dressed for the beach, but she also wasn't being hugged by beskar either, and that alone was enough to make her feel bare.

A lengthy sigh escaped through her nose, and her hand lowered to her side as she made her way further onto the beach. Whether she found anyone or not, or if any of her clan somehow remained or not, she was here now, and it was completely possible to relax and maybe even have an enjoyable moment or two while keeping her eyes peeled and her ears tuned in.

Maybe…there were definitely plenty of distractions bustling about.

​

​

 

[Arden Priest]

WARBAND REBUILDER
ZELTROS
TAGS: Taryn Alvor ​

Arden squinted against the glare as he jogged down the shoreline, wincing every time the sun hit his shoulders. It felt like standing too close to a forge: bright and relentless. But he didn't hate it. The sand was between his toes, the breeze felt warm, and people were laughing without a war at their backs. This freedom was strange, but he could definitely live with strange.

His warband had scattered across the beach the moment they landed, swallowed by music, games, and exotic drinks that appeared faster than he could learn their names. Arden had lasted maybe five minutes before a pair of Zeltron women latched onto him, one on each arm, their smiles wicked and encouraging. Every time he so much as glanced at something, they ran off to fetch it, giggling and waving his credits around like confetti. He wasn't sure if he should be alarmed or flattered. Probably both.

He was kicking a ball toward one of his warband when a bad bounce sent it veering sharply off course. It sailed straight toward a light-haired woman walking the edge of the surf. Arden cursed under his breath and sprinted after it.

"Kriff, sorry!" He skidded to a halt in front of her, winded, scooping the ball up from the sand. He straightened, breathing hard, making sure his posture was easy and nonthreatening. "Didn't mean to launch that at you. Beaches aren't exactly my natural terrain."

Now that he'd stopped, he took her in properly. She had rigid shoulders and old caution in her eyes, carrying herself like someone who didn't trust a place this cheerful. He understood that more than anyone else here probably realized. Still, the excitement buzzing in him never quite dimmed. He gestured broadly at the scene behind him: the music thumping, the waves glittering, the pink people dancing like the galaxy wasn't in pieces.

"Isn't this place… incredible?" he said, almost in awe. "Sun's trying to kill me, but I hope they station us here permanently. Could get used to this real fast." He grinned, looking young, earnest, and completely unarmored. "I'm Arden, by the way."
​

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

THE JASMINE DRAGON, ZELTROS

The offer from Zeltros arrived with all the color and charm their people were known for, yet beneath the glitter lay something far more familiar. Fear. The Galactic Alliance had collapsed like a pillar kicked out from under a great hall, and a thousand worlds that once stood upright now wobbled in the storm. Aether understood that silence between empires well enough. When the foundations of power crack, every world must choose how they wish to survive.

He had not expected Zeltros to reach out so quickly, but he respected the clarity of their intent. Worlds that once relied on distant democracies now looked to the clans of Mandalore, because the clans did not waver, and their word held firm even when the rest of the galaxy buckled. Freedom under Mandalore was not the same as freedom under the Alliance, and he did not pretend otherwise. To stand behind the seal of the Mand'alor was to accept stability purchased through strength. Yet it was honest stability, and honesty had become a rare commodity.

For now, he allowed his warriors to breathe. Zeltros had opened its shores to them as a gesture of good faith, and the Mand'alor saw no reason to refuse. His people had endured enough fire and steel to earn a day on warm sand with cool drinks in hand. To see the Great Heathen Army and the Nite Owls and the Star Corps scattered across beaches instead of battlefields was almost surreal. Mandalorians lining up for limbo challenges. Mandalorians sampling drinks with names that sparkled neon in the light. Mandalorians letting waves lap at boots that had marched across too many ashes.

He did not begrudge them this. The galaxy spun itself into chaos every handful of days, and a rested warrior was a sharper blade.

But Aether himself sought none of the music or revelry. When he stepped away from his warriors, it was not toward the heart of the party, but toward a quiet corner on the edge of the Entertainment District. Zeltros possessed a thousand indulgences, yet he hunted only one moment of stillness.

There was a woman he had once asked to share tea with him. The moment had never come to pass, not in the masquerade on Naboo where masks hid truths and laughter hid danger, and not in the storm of battle where the Diarchy pressed hard enough to make the ground itself tremble. The promise of tea had lingered without a place to land.

Here, in the least likely place imaginable, it found one.

The shop he chose was small enough to be forgotten by those who sought thrill instead of quiet. Its entrance was framed by hanging scrolls that caught the breeze, and the air that drifted from within carried the soft perfume of steeped leaves. Candle-lit lanterns dangled from the ceiling in clusters, their glow turning the room into a dim cocoon of warmth. Several booths lined the walls, each with a low table polished smooth by years of use.

When Aether stepped inside, helm clipped to his waist and crimson cloak trailing behind him, conversation faltered. His charcoal armor caught the lanternlight in muted reflections, and for a heartbeat he looked like a shard of a different world dropped into this gentle one.

A Zeltron woman, wrapped in an elegant Atrisian kimono, approached with a smile bright enough to bridge that divide. Surprise flickered across her features, but she mastered it quickly and greeted him with a voice trained in courtesy rather than curiosity.

“How many, honored guest?”

Aether answered without hesitation, his tone quiet but certain. “Two.”

Persephone had not yet arrived, but he wanted the table waiting for her regardless. The host inclined her head and guided him to a booth near the door, a place where he could watch the street and still enjoy the serene hush of the room.

He settled into the seat, resting his forearms along the edge of the table. When the host offered to begin preparations, he lifted one hand with a subtle motion.

“I will wait,” he said. “She knows the leaves better than I do.”

Then he grew still in a manner entirely unlike the reveling Mandalorians outside. The Mand'alor sat amid candlelight and distant music, a warrior king in a quiet sanctuary built for gentler souls, content to wait for the woman he had invited into this rare pocket of calm.

The galaxy could roar outside. In here, he allowed himself one quiet moment, steeped in the promise of tea and the presence of someone who made silence feel like peace instead of tension.​

Persephone Halcyon

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Y A C H T * P A R T Y
Interacting with: Aurelian Veruna | Open
Items: x x x x x

Sibylla was almost half asleep when Aurelian's voice tugged her from her reverie. A slender arm lifted from her face to shield her eyes from the sun, though her lips were already curving into a smile at his remark about seducing the Mandalorian Empire.

She accepted the offered glass and eased into a sitting position, the cool breeze coaxing her loose chestnut waves to dance about her shoulders and tickle her cheeks. Her hazel eyes cut toward the culprit himself, the would-be walking seduction scandal with a tan so perfectly even it was downright unfair across every bit of bare skin he insisted on showing.

There had been no escaping the teasing he subjected her to about how often her gaze wandered in his direction. According to him, it was proof that she kept a constant eye on him because of his dashing good looks. Her own personal guilty pleasure. He had dared to laugh at her earlier, utterly smug and delighted after offering to indulge in whatever attire would most effectively capture her attention. The pillow she had thrown at him in retaliation, heart-shaped face blazing in crimson heat, had been answer enough.

Now, though, she was far too relaxed to hold the indignity against him, especially since he had brought her a drink! She took a sip, brows lifting in surprise.

"Oh, this is tasty," she admitted, combing her fingers through her hair to push the thick length back as she took another appreciative drink. And of course, her eyes drifted over the rim and tiny umbrella right back to him.

Amusement warmed her exasperated expression though it was softened further by her easy agreement on being right. With a smile, Sibylla leaned over to clink her glass to his as she made a soft, pleased hum, lifting her glass in casual victory.

"I accept your concession graciously," she said in a tone all light civility layered over unmistakable triumph, the right corner of her mouth quirking upward as mischievous mirth made the gold flecks in her eyes shimmer beneath the Zeltros sun.

"It is so rare to see Aurelian Veruna admit someone else wins that I really ought to commemorate the occasion."

She took another sip of her drink, followed promptly by licking her lips and another soft, mmm. Shiraya, it was good! Zeltros had no shame about indulgence, and part of her was secretly thrilled and grateful for them for it.

For a moment, she took a deep breath, letting relaxation seep in. Another soft breeze gently ruffled the soft, gauzy knitted linen dress she wore over a cornflower blue one-piece swimsuit. Her wide-brimmed hat lay tucked beneath her lounger alongside her sunglasses, abandoned for the moment as she simply allowed herself to enjoy the warmth, the peace, and him.

Truly, they needed this. Even if only for a few days.

She exhaled slowly, feeling the tension that usually wound her a distant memory. Her hand reached out blindly until her fingers found his forearm, resting there with the easy familiarity of someone who had finally allowed herself to stop protecting her heart in his presence.

"As for guests...well, to be frank..." She glanced around at the crystal water, the bright shoreline, and the indulgent entertainment sector right behind it.

"Zeltros does provide more options for pleasure or relaxation than one could ever need. Perhaps they will come sooner or later; regardless, we will be all the more ready for it."

When she turned back toward him, her smile widened. There he was, stretched beside her, long and tanned and entirely too self-satisfied. Unable to help herself, Sibylla tipped her head to the side as if studying an art piece.

"Mmm. Although one wonders if you are dressed for leisure, or merely auditioning for the galaxy's least covert distraction tactic?" she murmured with a grin, then leaned just close enough to flick the edge of his open silk shirt, smirking as the fabric fluttered against his tanned skin.

 

[Persephone Halcyon]

ZELTROS
[-| THE JASMINE DRAGON |-]
Direct: Aether Verd
___________________________
_______​

Persephone found the tea shop, ironically, by following the wrong scent.

Zeltros was sugar, salt, and synthflesh perfume, neon heat pressed into the skin. The streets around the Entertainment District pulsed with ever-changing music, and just about every third doorway promised something she probably shouldn't be seeing. She had seen swaths of Mandalorian Empire personnel thread through the area like bits of iron scrap being yanked about by a giant magnet. She witnessed flashy armor, weapons, laughter, sloshing drinks, and someone explaining the rules of "Limbo" in Mando'a to a very confused Zeltron bouncer.

It was fanciful and light-hearted.

She should have liked it more than she did.

A medic was supposed to be glad when people were loud and drunk instead of quiet and bleeding. But…There was part of her that still fought, flinching at every peal of laughter, waiting for it to turn into screaming. The Diarchy seemed to pop up everywhere, claiming to be on the right side of things, while leaving bloody rivers in their wake. Her beskar…It felt too heavy. It was newly acquired with white and silver plates affixed over a lighter underlay. She walked with the helm clipped at her hip with gloves tucked into her belt. A light cloak rested over her shoulders, still, creating a slender silhouette.

She'd pulled waving platinum hair half up with the same plain white ribbon she'd worn on Naboo, as if that might soften the lines her helmet rubbed into her cheeks. It didn't. The mirror back on her transport had still shown the same woman. Too pale from lingering beneath the fluorescent lights of a med bay, eyes a little too tired, and a smile that didn't quite touch sky-blue eyes.

It was an incense that eventually drew her in the correct direction, even though she had no idea where she was going. Zeltron wasn't a place she had visited before she'd left the Core, and she hadn't had much time for sightseeing. Hiding was a full-time job. The smell was familiar enough that it reminded her of an old Jedi Temple that no longer existed. It was probably just a fluke.

Steeped leaves and candlewax could exist anywhere, but her feet turned to follow it. Something was pulling her in that direction, and Persephone couldn't think of a single reason not to follow through. The tea shop that she happened upon looked almost shy compared to its neighbors. No holo-signs, just hanging scrolls that moved like slow banners in the breeze, with inked characters telling stories. Poems? Lanterns hung in clusters beyond the doorway that made things…Softer.

Much less garish than many of the other shops. Quiet, even.

It didn't take long for her eyes to adjust, and it took even less time for her to recognize the form of Aether Verd seated at a low table. When the Mand'alor called, it was her job to answer. The reason didn't matter. But…With the empty seat across from him and two cups sitting neatly aside on a tray, she could only assume this was a social visit. He hadn't been joking, then, on Naboo.

Tea, sometime.

She had thought…Hoped and dreaded all at the same time…That the galaxy would make a liar of him on her behalf. It was inevitable that a dozen more crises would bury his soft promise in ash and necessity because he was the leader of an entire nation. He had enough to carry without adding her to the list.

And yet…Two cups. Waiting.

She stepped fully inside and the conversation in the room faltered once more, though, for different reasons. The Mand'alor in full armor was one thing. A woman in white beskar, standing awkwardly at the front, want another. He was comfortable in this armor. She still had a terrible case of impostor syndrome…But she was lucky. People only looked long enough to realize she was with him and then most politely looked away.

The Zeltron host appeared as if summoned by her doubt and guided her neatly to the table. The closer she got, the more acutely she noted the familiarity of his presence, like gravity. Her nerves tried to translate it as danger…But something deeper recognized it as the opposite. She stopped at the edge of the table and inclined her head, first, respectful as always. "Mand'alor…", she greeted, her voice soft, and sweet enough that it barely disturbed the air. He seemed not to like it when she was overly formal but it was the lingering effects of training she had never lost. "Had I known you were going to pick somewhere this civilized I might have left my armor on the ship…"

The corner of her mouth threatened a smile and treacherously, she let it, before gracefully slipping down into the seat that was obviously saved for her. Somehow, she did so silently. Her armor never made a sound. "So…Do they have enough honey and sugar in the district to make you like tea?"

"Or do you need a lozenge?"

 

[Jonah]

BEACH PARTY
Das Beach, Zeltros

Jonah could not remember the last time he had stood on sand. He had marched through ash, waded through mud, crossed glassed plains still warm with the memory of orbital fire, but a beach was something that existed in other people’s stories. To take a day away from the mission of the Nite Owls, to set foot on a shore where the tide whispered instead of roared, felt almost unreal.

He had left his obsidian beskar'gam aboard his transport the moment they landed. There was no point dragging war into a place built for soft laughter and small pleasures. Instead he wore dark swim trunks that clung just above the knee, and the sunlight caught on the curve of his crimson sunglasses. No shirt, no armor, no edges except the ones carved into his frame by years of battle. The breeze smelled like fruit and saltwater, and it felt strange in a way Jonah did not mind.

His fellow Mandalorians scattered across the coastline like children discovering their first festival. Some dove into the water with whoops of surprise, others challenged Zeltrons to drinking contests that were absolutely unwinnable, and a few had taken to volleyball with the single minded intensity usually reserved for combat drills. Jonah let them have it. They had earned this.

He claimed one of the lounge chairs near the surf, sinking into it with a quiet appreciation. An umbrella arched overhead, shading his eyes just enough that he could relax without losing the warmth of the sun across his skin. A long breath slipped from him, steady and content, and he let his muscles loosen for the first time in what felt like months.

That tranquility lasted exactly three seconds.

A young Mandalorian barreled across the sand in a frantic pursuit of a runaway ball, kicking up a spray of grains as he skidded to a halt just short of Jonah’s chair. The warrior looked winded and apologetic, but the apology was not for Jonah. His eyes were fixed on a light haired woman at the surf, someone who held herself with the rigid wariness of a person who did not trust joy to last. Jonah watched the exchange unfold with mild amusement tugging at the edge of his mouth.

Arden apologized, straightened himself, and introduced his name like he was not half a heartbeat away from sprinting into the game again. He threw his whole spirit at the moment in a way Jonah recognized. Youthful. Earnest.

Jonah lifted his chin, let one eyebrow drift upward, and allowed a small smile to cut through the line of his beard as he spoke.

“You're not made of glass, vode.”

His tone carried the easy warmth of a man in no danger, a man willing to let the sun soften him for a day. The words were a gentle jab, a teasing nudge meant to steady rather than mock, and the humor behind them glowed like embers catching a slow breath of wind. The beach was new, but camaraderie was not, and he let that truth settle between them before leaning back again, shoulders loosening as he let the tide roll in and out like a distant drum.​

Tag: Taryn Alvor , Arden Priest + Open

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

THE JADE DRAGON, ZELTROS

For a time, the Mand'alor let the quiet do most of the work. The soft clink of porcelain from some distant booth, the low murmur of Zeltron voices, the faint music leaking in from the street all folded into a single steady hum that made the room feel even smaller, even more removed from the chaos outside. In that stillness, his mind did what it always did when his hands were idle. It went hunting through memory.

First, it dragged him back to fire and stone. To the roar of engines and the shriek of weapons over Eol Sha, where agrocite had burned hot enough to turn a battlefield into a furnace. He remembered the Basilisk War Droid beneath him, every servomotor and repulsor tuned to his will, and Persephone seated behind him, a white shadow at his back. When the time had come to face the Diarchy head-on, he had dismounted with a clear command in mind, already prepared to order his partner in iron to stand down or fall in behind him.

Except it had not.

The machine had accepted her without protest, without a single correction from his helm. She had moved with it as if she had ridden that war creature a hundred times before. The Basilisk had taken her guidance and hurled itself back into the fray while he strode forward to fight the Diarchs. Aether had not missed that small defiance. Basilisks were loyal, territorial things. For his to welcome another rider without his command was more than a fluke.

“That was a good sign...” he murmured under his breath, barely audible even to himself.

From the fire, his thoughts leapt to marble and music. Naboo. The masquerade. Formal beskar'gam polished to a mirrored sheen, masks that let powerful people pretend they were only dancers for one borrowed evening. He could still see her in the gardens, seated on that marble bench, white ribbons in pale hair, looking like some stubbornly gentle spirit that had wandered into a war too late to turn back. Beauty and strength, woven together so tightly that he had forgotten himself for a moment and stared.

He remembered, very clearly, the dry voice in his own skull chastising him for it.

He huffed once, quiet, and dragged his hands down his face as if he could scrub the memory away by force. As if he could scrub away the way his focus tried to lean toward her the moment she entered a room.

Why was this so different? He had broken bread with warriors whose hands were still stained red. He had hosted monarchs, admirals, Sith, and survived their company with unshaken calm. He had stood close enough to those responsible for razing Mandalore that he could count their breaths, and he had not so much as flinched.

Yet here, in a tea shop with nothing more dangerous than a tray of ceramic cups between them, his stomach felt off, his skin felt too warm under the beskar, and his fingers felt damp inside his gloves. He did not give the sensation a name. Aether Verd did not do nervous. The word did not belong to him.

The room’s murmur faltered again, and this time he knew exactly why. His gaze lifted, and there she was, framed in the doorway. White beskar catching the lanternlight, pale hair gathered by that familiar ribbon, blue eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dim. He felt his hand lift almost on instinct, as if to signal his position, then halted as the obviousness of the gesture struck him. He stuck out in this place like a blade in a jewelry box. She did not need help finding him.

His mind bared its teeth, ready to mock the impulse. He shut it down with a practiced inner growl and instead let something far simpler rise to the surface. He offered her a warm smile, the kind that settled more in his eyes than on his mouth.

She inclined her head, voice soft and respectful as she greeted him by title.

“Persephone...” he answered, letting the name sit between them like something sacred. “I am glad you could make it.”

The words came easily, because they were true.

When she confessed that she might have left her armor behind if she had known he would choose somewhere so civilized, he could not help the quiet chuckle that followed. His head tilted slightly, crimson cloak shifting along his shoulders.

“Come now,” Aether said, a hint of amused pride threading through his tone. “I am not all blasters and landslides.”

He let the jest breathe for a moment, then added with a softer emphasis. “For the right company, I can be civilized.”

She settled into the seat opposite him, white plates and soft ribbon falling neatly into the pool of lanternlight, and the sight eased something in his chest that he had not realized was braced. Two cups sat waiting on the tray. Two places set. The promise kept.

Her remark about honey and sugar landed exactly where she aimed it, and his laughter came freer this time, low and genuine. She was not going to let him escape the confession he had made about his history with tea, and he did not want her to.

He lifted one gloved hand, palm open in mock surrender.

“Look at me,” Aether said, spreading his other hand lightly over his chest. “Picture of health. No fever, no broken ribs, not a single cough. Zeltros’ honey supply is safe from me today.”

The corner of his mouth curled further as he continued, the Lanterns catching the faint gleam in his eyes.

“But...” he went on, “I was hoping you might show me how to drink this stuff when I am not dying of the worst plague known to our people: the common cold.”

He nodded toward the neatly arranged cups and the waiting kettle, then back to her with a conspiratorial tilt of his head.

“For this day only, you have my undivided obedience.” he said. “Consider me your Padawan in the noble Order of Tea Knights. Teach me, if you will, how to enjoy it without half a jar of sweetener and a lozenge on standby.”

The smirk that settled on his lips made it clear that he absolutely amused himself with the title he had just invented. Yet beneath the humor lay something steadier, an unspoken admission woven into the small act of ceding control.

He had chosen to sit here, in a quiet shop on a loud world, and let someone else choose the leaves in his cup. For him, that was not a small thing.​

Persephone Halcyon

 

[Reina Daival]

Tag: Open
Objective: Beach

The beach made for a nice change of pace, even if Reina wasn't the biggest fan of Zeltrons as a whole. They tried too hard to make you feel...welcomed. It was like a spider trying to spin their web around you. Holding you in place. The various scents and smells that wafted along the beach was an assault on Reina's senses, amusing in a way considering she had her own pheromones to deal with. Yet unlike the Zeltrons, Reina had always struggled with her own. It hadn't been something she had been taught to use since she had been turned into an Ersansyr.

Either way, it was the exact reason she was focused on spending as much time as she could below the waves. Down below the sea, most senses were far more dulled. It felt as if time had slowed down as she drifted with the tide back and forth, strands of red hair floating amidst the salty water. Letting herself enjoy the peace and quiet of the waves, as opposed to the chaos that was happening above on the surface. The games of Volleyball, Limbo and more. They weren't exactly something Reina would have enjoyed herself, at least not with strangers. Which is what this planet was filled of for her. Strangers and strange people. Smiles. Warmth. But it wasn't the comforting kind. It was the kind that screamed in your face. That insisted you to be happy with them. Whereas Reina was happy here

Sooner or later however, Reina would have to breach the surface to get some form of snack. Maybe some shaved ice could work. It would make for a nice change of pace compared to trying to get something fish related. With that being said, the redhead made her way across the beach towards the nearest shaved ice stand she could find.
​

 

[Vytal Noctura]

​

The Manda. Now there was a topic Vytal had avoided like the plague. Nothing more dangerous than discussing an entire culture's deeply held beliefs. This Witch had seen a great many things in the Nether; in some of the most remote corners of the infinite domain. Not everything, obviously, she was no ancient relic, but enough.

"Ferrying," the pale Witch scoffed. That entity did not ferry anyone anywhere. Not to say Dima's faith was misplaced. Just that certain deities -- much like the Fanged God -- were not socialites. Which was in fact a good thing. Having him on Zeltros would not be the sort of party the Zeltrons wanted.

"Tis certain they do not appreciate desserts." What did the dead need with sustenance? Not that it kept some from desiring the flesh to indulge such baser desires. Plenty of dangerous creatures prowled the other realms in search of a body to call their own.

At Domina's insistence, the Dathomiri lowered herself to the woman's nest. "Good stuff, have you?" A small smile graced her dark lips. "Flavors to shock the senses?" Vytal hadn't come to Zeltros on business, so there was no harm in partaking in whatever entertainments were on offer. Certainly not when there was a Sister nearby to enjoy the moment. So few of those since Ryloth.

Emerald eyes regarded the hookah that Domina retrieved. She hoped the herbs weren't the type designed to bring you closer to your deity. Vytal would rather just enter the Nether and give said deity the rough side of her tongue rather than hazily interact with them through the fog of even natural drugs.

After a few moments, and hearing Dima's stammer, the pale Witch pivoted a bit and leaned in closer to the woman of many arms. "Only stare?" A hand set down amidst the pillows beside the flustered companion. "I know that's what many do with you around, and I see why, but how many ask to hold your hand?" Vytal extended her other hand out toward Dima. Her appearance did not frighten the Witch.

Warpriest Prime | Open​

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Zeltros, Inner Rim

| Objective | Zeltros Beach Party

A refreshing chill swept in from the coast, offering a delightful reprieve from the oppressive heat of the sun, which beat down from a clear blue sky. It's sweltering gaze left delicate beads of glistening sweat to trickle down a sculpted expanse of pale skin, the trail of old wounds buried beneath a thousand tales, with toned muscles languidly stretched out across the sleek white frame of a sun-lounger, their modesty preserved with a recently purchased set of black shorts that clung to the skin, a sharp descent near the hips held in place with a tied grey string that danced merily with the passing breeze.

A small white plastoid table sat beside the sun lounger, its feet buried in the sand. Sleek legs, the colour of snow, stood the four honour guards of a sheltered black ale laid upon a chariot of ice, and contained within a silver bucket covered in a faint layer of rime.

It had been a long time since Itzhal had allowed himself to relax, a faint memory, a flicker of laughter silenced with a trail of kisses that closed the gap between lips. Unguarded, a soft smile slipped across his lips, untarnished by the smell of sea salt and the cry of birds above, the memory slipping away like a gentle dream.

Around him, Mandalorians and Zeltros alike partied in countless different ways, with each glance of the area revealing a new activity or a return to the treasured favourites. A few, like himself, enjoyed the moment to simply relax under the rays of the sun, the faint hiss of showers and auto-sprays in the distance, though the latter had not entirely replaced the 'manual' method, he noted before quickly moving his attention elsewhere. It would be rude to stare.

In the reflection of his sunglasses, the emerald sea shimmered in welcome. He ignored it.

Tags: Open​

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

BYOO - Yacht Party​

Location: Zeltros
Tags: Sibylla Abrantes | OPEN

Aurelian watched her savor the drink, eyes half-lidded, amused and smug in equal measure. Months ago she'd barely touch anything stronger than tea, but now she was enjoying Zeltron cocktails like she'd been raised here. He wasn't sure if that made him proud or concerned, but the warm flutter in his chest suggested pride was easily winning.

"Tasty," he echoed with a low laugh. "Of course it is. Fruity little trap like that will have you flat on your back before you realize there was actual liquor involved." His grin sharpened. "A terrible influence, I know, and I refuse to apologize." He took another slow sip, making a soft noise of contentment, letting the sun soak into every inch of skin he was intentionally displaying. When she raised her glass in triumphant acceptance of his concession, he tilted his head toward her.

"I don't mind admitting it to you," he murmured, swirling his drink lazily. "But if anyone asks, I will deny everything with righteous indignation and compelling theatrics. I have a reputation to maintain." Her fingers brushed the edge of his shirt, and his gaze flicked down to the movement before lifting back to her with a sly curl of his mouth. Her teasing made something warm coil in him.

He shifted on the lounger, purely to adjust his brazen trunks, absolutely aware she was watching. "As for the Mandos," he went on, his tone lazy and honest, "they can come or not. We've made the offer. I'm already satisfied with the company I have." He followed this with a slow, practiced wink that cut right through her composure.

He let his head fall back for a moment, listening to the gentle lap of water against the hull, feeling the yacht's subtle sway. Sibylla rarely let herself relax this way, and seeing her do it now tugged at something deep in him. He turned toward her again. "You know," he said at last, his voice low and thoughtful in a way he rarely allowed, "I might need to buy a boat like this when we get home." His smirk softened into something warmer.

"Park it near a secluded island off Kadaara. Somewhere quiet, where I can drag you off when you start working yourself into a grave." He nudged her knee with his own. "We could escape more often. Let Tona and Cordé handle everything. They'd be thrilled or furious, hard to tell with those two." Aurelian lifted his glass in a lazy toast. "But us? I think we'd make excellent use of a private yacht." His gaze drifted over her again, seeing her sun-warmed and utterly unguarded. For once, he felt no urge to run from the softness curling through him. "Shiraya," he murmured, lips curving, "you look good like this."

​

 

[Aren D'Shade]

The shuttle touched down with a soft hiss, warm air rushing in as the ramp lowered. Salt, sun, and the distant pulse of bass-heavy music washed over Aren like a wave. Zeltros… she'd never been, but she'd heard enough to know it was nothing like Empress Teta or Denon. This place didn't hide its chaos; it celebrated it.

Her boots sank slightly into warm, rose-tinted sand as she stepped out, the neon glow of beachfront tiki torches reflecting faintly across her features. No armor today—just a cropped black jacket left open over a fitted tank, utility-cut pants, and lightweight bracers that held a few discreet tools. Nothing heavy. Nothing marked her as anything more than a traveler. But she was never truly unprepared.

The party stretched in both directions—laughing Zeltrons, swaying lights, drinks the color of starfire, and a few Mandalorians already scattered among the crowd, even they looking slightly out of place amid so much color and skin. The ocean breeze carried the scent of fruit, spice, and something she was pretty sure was engineered to loosen inhibitions in about three sips.

Aren took exactly one.

Not because she needed to relax—but because she needed something in her hands before anyone tried to hand her anything else.

Her gaze swept the clusters of people until she spotted him—broad-shouldered, dark-haired, unmistakably Mandalorian even without his helmet. Dral Kar'taal. She'd never met him, only heard his name passed between clan runners and Empire comms. A fighter, a loyalist… and, apparently, someone with a sense of humor if the reports were true.

He stood near one of the sun-shaded tables at the waterline, a cold bottle sweating in his grip.

Aren approached with the quiet, measured confidence that usually made people assume she'd been there all along. She stopped beside the table, ocean wind tugging playfully at a loose strand of purple hair near her cheek.

"Dral Kar'taal?" she asked, voice low but carrying. Her brown eyes flicked over him briefly—an assessment, not a challenge. "Aren D'Shade. I hear we're supposed to talk about… alliances. Or parties. Or both."

She raised her glass in a small, wry salute before sliding onto the bench across from him.

"I'll be honest—this is the least dangerous meeting I've been sent to in months."
A sip. "Still deciding if that's a good thing."

The surf rolled in behind her, neon reflections dancing across the water as she leaned back slightly, one knee propped up, expression finally softening into the faintest smile.

"So." A tilt of her glass.
"You buying the next round, or am I?"

Dral Kar'taal

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Yacht Party
Tags: Aurelian Veruna | Sibylla Abrantes | Open
Wearing: Swimwear

The small ship ferrying Mandalorians to the yacht party bounced on the waves, sunlight glancing off the water in shards. Adelle held Phantom securely in her lap, the small spukami for her part not complaining. The wind whipped the thin white shirt she wore as a pseudo coverup over her bikini, ruffled her short hair. She took a grateful breath of salt air. It wasn't Coronet City, but it was nice. There was a general excitement in the air--it had surprised Adelle initially when she found out that the Mandalorians weren't just about glory and war but living life to the fullest. More than a few in the small group were quite happy that Zeltros sent out the call. And a few were a couple drinks in.

The yacht came up quick, all Zeltron luxury but fairly modest for being on a party planet. Their ferryman tied the smaller vessel to the deck at the yacht's stern and then welcomed them to the Republic's yacht party. Adelle helped Phantom onto her shoulders and boarded the yacht. Quite a few of the Mandos made a beeline for the bar or other entertainment, but she made her way to the deck where she saw loungers. Two further down were occupied. The lady--she looked too put together to be anything less than an aristocrat--had a vague feeling of familiarity to her but Adelle was hard-pressed to name why. The gentleman she knew from HoloNet News--Veruna, Aurelian, interim Chancellor. Both were very clearly enjoying a moment together. Nothing scandalous but the vibes were ... personal.

Alright then. My bad. Not like they wouldn't have heard the group board the yacht for the party.

"Should we come back later?" she said, only half-genuine. The Mandalorian habit of not deferring was starting to rub off on her in a way that only encouraged her Corellian side. It would probably come back to bite her in the shebs. "I could probably convince them a race back to shore would be kandosii'la."

Phantom hopped down from her shoulders and promptly curled up on a sunwarmed lounger, flicking her ear back as if to say "Good luck getting me to move."

 

[Persephone Halcyon]

ZELTROS
[-| THE JASMINE DRAGON |-]
Direct: Aether Verd
___________________________
_______​

Persephone tried very hard not to stare when he spoke her name like that.

Casually.

It wasn't the title, the rank, or any of the other things that usually turned people careful around the Mand'alor. It was the way her name came out, quiet and sure, as if he had known her for a decade instead of a few months. It was too familiar, all things considered. She hadn't done anything to deserve that type of camaraderie or acceptance…Nothing that he hadn't done, nothing that others probably wouldn't do in the future.

These people were the protective sort.

When he called himself civilized, however, her eyebrow rose and she nearly snorted into her own hand.

"Mm…Debatable.", she returned, eyes slowly brightening. "…But I'll allow it."

The joking surrender about honey and sweetener loosened something around her shoulders. The war with the Diarchy lingered in her mind, but for the moment, it shifted to the back seat. His hands spread as if to prove he wasn't feeling under the weather, teasing, but the healer in her ran the checklist anyway. Color…Good. Breathing, steady. Voice?

Only dramatic when he wanted it to be.

"How tragic…", she spoke with a sigh, leaning back slightly. "And here I was prepared to save Zeltros from a critical lozenge shortage. The newest additions to your people thank you."

When he declared himself her "Padawan" in the "Order of the Tea Knights" she couldn't help but blink and the absolute ridiculousness. Then, she laughed. It was a melodic sound that filtered through the shop as if it had a mind of its own. It was surprisingly joyful; something flowed out honestly before she could smooth it into something a bit more dignified. "Oh-ee-no-ee…", Persephone responded after a moment, forgetting that she was speaking to the leader of a nation.

Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to mock someone who could legally remove her head with none the wiser.

"You realize that the next time someone needs medical attention, I'll have to introduce you as my apprentice. Mandalorians gossip, you know. From Mand'alor to scrubbing poultice pots…You'll never hear the end of it."

Regardless…The flaxen-haired woman began to settle from joining in his silliness. She reached for the kettle when the host returned, fingers steady, from the memory of old motions. Pouring tea in the meditation hall had been one of her main duties as a Padawan, learning grace and patience. She added a few of the ingredients to the steeping tool, letting it settle, before letting instinct tell her when it was ready. "Lesson one…", she trailed off, steam curling up, fragrant and warm when she moved to pour him the first cup. "Good tea doesn't need to be a fight to be worth drinking. If you have to drown it with sugar, it's either bad tea…Or you want your teeth to fall out."

She poured for herself then set the kettle aside, letting the brew breathe.

"Lesson two. You don't have to like it the proper way. You're Mand'alor—Not a monk. If you end up wanting honey…We'll get you honey. Simple as."

Persephone offered the man across from her a light smile while holding on to her teacup. The faint scent of lemon and lavender wafted up, soothing, even though it was midafternoon. She had deliberately avoided the chamomile, but that didn't mean they didn't need to relax.

After all, wasn't the next fight right around the corner?

Persephone would take all the downtime they could get.