Private To Sink Or Swim [Ala Quin]

[Balun Dashiell]

THREAD TITLE: TO SINK OR SWIM
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, Lightsaber & K-16 Bryar Pistol
TAGS: Ala Quin

Naboo, Theed City.

Balun Dashiell had visited Naboo on several occasions, each time under the steady governance of the Royal Naboo Republic. Yet never had he imagined a day would come when he might serve within their sphere of political and social influence. His earliest memories of the planet were far more personal—a weekend retreat with Kellan Dashiell 's mother, Nouqai Veil, back when they had still been entwined by hope and affection, before the dark spiral that eventually consumed her in the ways of the Sith.

The thought of Nouqai still carried a lingering weight. Balun had once encouraged her to seek her place in the Galaxy, believing, perhaps naively, that she could walk among the Sith without surrendering her soul to their doctrine. He had been wrong. Nouqai had not merely joined them—she had been remade by them. She broke her promises, took innocent lives without remorse, and when Balun confronted her, the argument had shattered whatever fragile bonds remained. She vanished that night, only to return years later in a violent bid to steal away their son. Though Balun had defeated her, his mercy had spared her life—a decision that haunted him still.

That final confrontation had stripped away the last remnants of the woman he had loved. In her place stood Lady Falentra—a Sith without compassion or restraint. The encounter had carved deep scars across his heart, replacing memories of love and happiness with the hardened acceptance that Kellan would grow up motherless. It had been a brutal awakening, one that underscored a simple truth: he needed to be ready for whatever darkness might come for his son. If he was to one day train Kellan, to shield him from the seduction of the Dark Side, then Balun would first have to complete his own journey of preparation.

But that future was still a distant horizon. Here and now, Balun had come to Naboo not to train, but to build bridges—to find allies, perhaps even new friends. The Royal Naboo Republic held promise. Though he had not served any government since the fall of the Tingel Arm Coalition, he carried with him skills, experience, and a deep-seated desire to make a difference.

For now, however, his heart craved a brief reprieve.

He stood before the storefront of Naboo's famous submersible craft dealership, gazing with quiet intrigue at the sleek vessels designed to explore the planet's underwater marvels. He had never piloted a submersible before, but the idea stirred a boyish sense of excitement. If the experience was even half as enchanting as the advertisement promised, he knew he would return with Kellan in tow—eager to show his aquatic, wide-eyed three-year-old the hidden wonders that thrived beneath Naboo's crystal blue lakes and seas.

"Speech".
'Thought'.​

 

[Ala Quin]

It was the shimmer that caught her eye first—the polished hulls of the submersibles gleaming like captured starlight in the Naboo sun. Ala Quin, arms swinging loosely at her sides, all but drifted toward the storefront like a leaf drawn along a gentle current.

"Oh, they're even more beautiful up close!" she breathed, forgetting herself entirely in the moment.

With her face tilted upward and her dark curls spilling over her shoulders, Ala stood there in open, unfiltered wonder. The craftsmanship, the promise of unseen worlds beneath the surface, the spirit of exploration woven into every curve and gleaming panel—it all called to something deep inside her.

It wasn't until a quiet presence beside her stirred the air that Ala blinked and realized she wasn’t alone. Turning with an apologetic little laugh, she found herself looking up at a stranger—a man with a thoughtful, almost heavy stillness about him.

"I'm sorry," she said, brushing a curl from her cheek, her smile bright and a little sheepish. "I get carried away sometimes. It's just... the idea of sailing beneath the surface of a whole other world? It makes you believe anything is possible, doesn't it?"

She said it without expectation, without demand—only offering the thought freely, like a paper boat set adrift on a gentle stream, wondering if he might catch it.

| Balun Dashiell |​

 

[Balun Dashiell]

THREAD TITLE: TO SINK OR SWIM
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, Lightsaber & K-16 Bryar Pistol
TAGS: Ala Quin

Balun turned, caught off guard as Ala Quin 's voice reached him. Her attention was fixed on the submersibles, wonder glinting in her eyes as if she'd stumbled upon some marvel out of legend. The sheer sincerity of her awe made Balun grin—an involuntary, amused curl of the lips. She had spoken as though they were old friends, forgetting the world around them in her enchantment. It was refreshing. In a Galaxy often shadowed by distrust, open friendliness between strangers was a rarity Balun had learned not to take for granted.

"You're fine," he replied with a warm chuckle, waving off her unnecessary apology. "They are pretty awesome, aren't they?" He glanced back at the sleek aquatic craft lined up beneath the storefront canopy. "If I hadn't been here before, I wouldn't have imagined a society so seamlessly tied to the underwater world. Judging by the design, I wouldn't be surprised if the Gungans had a hand in their creation," he mused aloud, appreciating the rare opportunity to share conversation with someone other than his three-year-old son or the boy's ever-dutiful biot caretaker.

Even as they spoke, Balun felt it—like a ripple through calm waters—the familiar sensation of the Force subtly weaving between them. It stirred with the quiet gravity that only surfaced when two trained sensitives crossed paths. Though Balun had never completed formal Jedi training—having walked away from the Order while still a Padawan—he had grown stronger with time, shaped by hard-earned lessons and a life lived on the fringes. Yet even so, the energy radiating from this woman was more refined, more composed. She bore the confidence of someone deeply attuned to her connection with the Force.

"Forgive me for prying," he said, his tone curious rather than guarded, "but I'm guessing you're from the Order here on Naboo?" A brief pause, then with a thoughtful tilt of his head, he added, "Or just visiting them, perhaps?"

"Speech".
'Thought'.​

 

[Ala Quin]

Ala tilted her head toward Balun as he spoke, her eyes crinkling at the corners with delight. “The Gungans? That would explain the lovely curves. Everything they make looks like it’s meant to move with the water, not just through it.”

She turned back toward the submersibles wistfully, arms crossing gently over her stomach. “I’ve never actually been in one, you know. Can’t afford anything like that, not even close.” She gave a soft laugh, not embarrassed, just honest. “But I like looking. There’s something about imagining it—slipping beneath the surface and just… going.”

Before the next thought could form, a blur of motion caught her eye—a small child toddling across the tiled promenade with arms outstretched like a tiny pilot, making whooshing noises. His parent—an exhausted-looking woman with a vendor’s token still clipped to her belt—chased after him toward one of the demo crafts.

Ala’s entire expression lit up.

“Oh my stars—look at him! That little face!” She nudged Balun with her elbow, her tone a breathless whisper of awe. “He’s so cute. That’s illegal. Goodness, he is a serious little pilot isn't he?”

She laughed quietly, the kind that made her shoulders shake just slightly. After a beat, she looked back at Balun, warmth softening her gaze.

“I am with the Order here, yes.” She hesitated, then added more lightly, “Well, I live here now. Finally unpacked my last crate of tea, so I guess that makes it official.” A grin tugged at her lips.

“And you? You don’t seem like a tourist. You carry yourself like someone who’s seen the Galaxy from a few steps back. I like that. It’s peaceful.”

| Tag: Balun Dashiell |​

 

[Balun Dashiell]

THREAD TITLE: TO SINK OR SWIM
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, Lightsaber & K-16 Bryar Pistol
TAGS: Ala Quin

When the newcomer mentioned her long-held desire to ride in one of the bongos, Balun felt an unexpected pull to extend the invitation. He had, after all, come to inquire about purchasing one for himself—though he hadn't yet figured out where he'd even store such a vessel. The merchant handling the submersibles remained somewhere inside the nearby storefront, but the thought of sharing the experience made the idea feel a little less indulgent and a lot more appealing.

Ala Quin radiated warmth, a brightness that felt genuine. Her optimism wasn't the forced kind so often worn like armor, but something deeper—light woven into the very fabric of her presence. Balun sensed nothing lurking beneath the surface, no unease or subtle warning from the Force, which was rare for him. Too often, he felt the whisper of tension or danger when meeting someone new. With her, only calm.

"I was actually hoping to buy one myself," he admitted, nodding toward the floating lineup of submersibles docked at the edge of the water, sleek and glimmering like sleeping beasts in the sun. "Figured it'd be good to get a better look first."

He was just about to push past his usual reticence and invite her along when Ala's attention was caught by a youngling darting past them, laughter trailing behind the boy like wind through leaves. The child barely looked more than four or five, maybe only a year or two older than Kellan. Ala elbowed Balun with a playful grin, and he couldn't help but smile in return, watching the child gaze at the submersibles with wide-eyed wonder.

It struck Balun then—how quickly children grew, how fast time moved when measured in milestones and firsts. Kellan was changing with every passing day, and moments like these reminded Balun just how fleeting the early years truly were.

"Got any of your own?" he asked, glancing sidelong at Ala. There was something in her expression—softness, affection—that spoke of a nurturing instinct, the kind often found in those with a strong connection to younglings, whether by blood or simply by nature.

Her attention still partially on the child, Balun gave a slight shrug and offered a modest answer to her earlier impression of him.

"And yeah… you could say I've done a bit of traveling." He tilted his head with a mild smirk, the understatement deliberate. "I'm no one special. Used to serve with the Tingel Arm Coalition during their push against the Imperials out in Wild Space. Since then, I've mostly been drifting—freelancing, running my company, looking after my kid. Haven't been tied to any Order in a long time."

The truth was simple. He was just a young man trying to do right by his son, searching for purpose in a galaxy that didn't hand it out freely.

"Speech".
'Thought'.​

 

[Ala Quin]

Ala’s gaze lingered on the boy long after he’d zipped past, his laughter echoing in her ears like music. There was a joy to it—so simple, so free—that her heart ached in that beautiful way it sometimes did when she was reminded how much she loved the galaxy, despite everything.

Balun’s question pulled her back, and she blinked, turning toward him with a smile that bloomed slow and bright. “Me? No—no little ones of my own. Not yet, anyway.” Her voice held no sadness, only a kind of dreamy warmth, as if the idea of someday had just become a little more real. “But I seem to attract them like flies to sweetcake. It’s the hair, I think. Or maybe my pockets. I always have snacks.”

She gave a mock-conspiratorial glance around, as if revealing some grand galactic secret.

As Balun spoke about his past—the Coalition, the drifting, the parenting—her smile softened into something more thoughtful. She listened, fully and without interruption, as though every word mattered.

“That doesn’t sound like ‘no one special’ to me,” she said at last, voice gentle. “Sounds like someone who's lived. Someone who’s chosen love over comfort. That’s rare.”

She hesitated, biting her lower lip just slightly, then gave a little shrug and glanced at the line of submersibles again.

“If you ever do end up getting one of those… I wouldn’t say no to tagging along.” Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “I can bring snacks. And terrible singing. And probably a lightsaber, just in case the lake monsters are feeling bold.”

She looked at him fully then, no longer just a curious stranger, but something beginning to root—friendly, easy, real.

| Balun Dashiell |​

 

[Balun Dashiell]

THREAD TITLE: TO SINK OR SWIM
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, Lightsaber & K-16 Bryar Pistol
TAGS: Ala Quin

Balun supposed it wasn't unusual that she didn't have younglings of her own. She didn't appear much older than him—perhaps close in age—though her presence in the Force carried a refinement that suggested greater discipline and experience. Many chose not to have children, after all. Some out of preference, others out of fear—fear of bringing life into a galaxy that could be so cruel, or of making a mistake that couldn't be undone.

He understood that kind of caution all too well.

Love hadn't exactly been kind to him. At least, not the romantic sort. But perhaps she hadn't been speaking of lovers at all. Perhaps she meant the kind of love a parent holds for their child—the unwavering, selfless kind that Balun now knew intimately. He smiled faintly at the thought but held his tongue, grateful when Ala Quin continued speaking, sparing him the need to offer anything too personal. Besides, she had the sort of bright, effervescent charm that suggested she didn't often linger in heavy conversations, at least not on a first encounter.

"You—and your supposedly terrible singing and abundance of snacks—would be welcome company," he said at last with a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Realizing he had yet to offer even a name, he extended the courtesy with a warm nod. "Sorry—Balun Dashiell," he said, his tone open, friendly. "I've been to Naboo a few times over the years, but it looks like I might be staying a while this time. Thought I'd take the chance to get to know the Naboo Republic a little better… and of course, the Shirayan Order."

There was honesty in his words, and a quiet hopefulness as well—like a man dipping his toe back into the waters of community, unsure whether to wade deeper or keep to the shoreline.

"Speech".
'Thought'.​

 

[Ala Quin]

Ala beamed at the invitation, clearly delighted. “You have no idea how fast I would say yes to a submersible adventure. I mean—it's practically destiny now.” Her tone was cheerful, sparkling with an excitement she didn’t bother to contain.

But then something shifted. She tilted her head, brows drawing slightly together as if she'd just remembered something troubling. Her gaze drifted away from him and toward the cobblestone beneath her feet, and a thoughtful frown wrinkled her features.

“Sorry—Balun...” she muttered absently, almost like it slipped out before she could catch it. Her lips tugged down in gentle sympathy as she looked back up at him, earnest and a little apologetic. “A most unfortunate first name...”

The way she said it, though, wasn’t mocking. If anything, it sounded like a quiet lament, the kind a healer might offer after finding a long-faded scar.

She straightened a little, as if remembering her manners. “I’m Ala Quin,” she said with a hand to her heart, the sincerity in her voice clear as Naboo’s spring water. “New to the Order of Shiraya… but not new to this whole being a Jedi thing.”

Her tone shifted again—still soft, but touched with quiet pride. “I’m a Jedi Master, though sometimes I feel like I’m not yet really worthy of the title...”

She glanced back at the water, eyes bright once more. “Still—how could I not be excited to explore what lies beneath Naboo’s surface? Sunken temples, phosphorescent caverns, maybe even a giant fish or two. The Force feels different here, doesn’t it? Like it’s humming beneath the lakes, just waiting to be heard.”

She turned back to him, gaze steady. “You said you might be staying a while. Maybe that’s not by accident.”

| Balun Dashiell |​

 

[Balun Dashiell]

THREAD TITLE: TO SINK OR SWIM
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, Lightsaber & K-16 Bryar Pistol
TAGS: Ala Quin

Balun's brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of curiosity passing through his expression as Ala Quin spoke his name with an unexpected softness—almost mournful. There was something in the way she said it that unsettled him, as though it carried weight from another time or place. He couldn't know what thoughts stirred behind her eyes, whether she associated his name with someone lost or some painful memory, but he responded as though he had trespassed unknowingly.

"The New Jedi Order gave me that name," he said quietly, voice touched with something almost apologetic. "I was abandoned by my mother when I was a child. They took me in and called me Balun Vale. I didn't know my real name until my father—Judah Dashiell—found me. That was nearly sixteen years into my life."

He didn't dwell on the pain of it. The facts were simple, and time had dulled their edge. But there was still a subtle ache that lingered in the telling.

When Ala revealed that she held the title of Jedi Master, Balun's eyes flicked toward her with a mixture of surprise and reflection. She looked close to his own age—maybe a few years older at most. But the Force often disguised such things, and he had learned never to trust appearances alone. Her strength was unmistakable.

"I get that… not feeling like you've earned it," he offered in a tone of quiet solidarity. "I've walked battlefields, stood toe-to-toe with Sith and lived to tell the tale. But I left the New Jedi Order as a Padawan, and I've never moved past that—at least, not formally. Doesn't matter how much experience I've gained. Without the title, I still feel like I'm standing in the shadow of who I could've been."

It was the kind of truth he didn't often share aloud, but something in Ala's honesty made it feel safe to say.

"I guess it's all by personal design now," he continued with a small shrug, glancing toward the shimmering surface of the water. "Trying to find purpose again… reaching out to governments and Force traditions I've never been part of. Making connections." A wry smile followed. "Maybe it's fate, sure—but if it is, I'd appreciate it taking a straighter path next time. Not so many twists and turns."

He gave a quiet chuckle, rolling his eyes with mock exasperation before shaking his head, the smile still lingering at the corners of his mouth.

"Speech".
'Thought'.​

 

[Ala Quin]

The moment Balun explained the origin of his name, Ala froze—eyes wide, cheeks turning an immediate pink that spread like wildfire.

“Wait—oh stars no—your name isn’t Sorry-Balun?” she blurted, flailing one hand dramatically in front of her. “I thought… I was saying sorry to you, and then your name—like, ‘Sorry, Balun.’ I wasn’t trying to say your actual name was ‘Sorry-Balun.’ That would be…”

She trailed off, pressing both palms to her face for a moment, then peeking through her fingers with a breathless, mortified grin. “Okay. I hear it now. That’s… awful. I’m so sorry—again! Proper sorry this time. Just Balun. Got it.”

Her laughter came soft and sheepish as she lowered her hands, but there was something gentler behind it now. When he spoke of being abandoned, of finding out who he really was sixteen years too late, the joy in her dimmed—not out of pity, but out of fierce, aching empathy. Her whole frame shifted, drawn toward him like the tide.

For a beat, Ala’s arms lifted slightly—instinct screaming to give him a hug—but she caught herself halfway and turned it into a weird mid-air shrug instead. “That’s… a lot. I can’t even imagine what that felt like. I wanted to give you a hug just now but—um—boundaries. Stranger danger. Not appropriate Jedi conduct. Right?”

The smile she gave him was apologetic but glowing.

And then—then she caught the part about the New Jedi Order.

“Wait—you were raised in the NJO?” Her eyes lit up again, enthusiasm charging back in like a returning sun. “I love Valery Noble!”

A pause. Her soul visibly left her body.

“I mean—not like that! I mean—not not like that—but that’s not—what I meant is…” She groaned, dragging her hands down her face again. “Valery’s just… an old and very dear friend. Platonic. Yeah, platonic...that is a word.”

Another moment passed. Then she grinned, eyes twinkling, “Anyway!”

Her gaze found his again, softening. “You know… I think you're still a Jedi, Balun. Title or no. You’re still walking the path. Even if it feels crooked sometimes, you’re still on it. That’s what matters.”

She looked back to the water, voice lowering slightly, thoughtful. “I’ve been on a few crooked paths myself. Still am, some days. But maybe… we don’t have to find all the answers on our own anymore.”

Her eyes flicked back to his, warm and full of something unspoken.

“If you need help finding a good path, I know a Jedi Master that enjoys helping people.”

| Balun Dashiell |​

 

[Balun Dashiell]

THREAD TITLE: TO SINK OR SWIM
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, Lightsaber & K-16 Bryar Pistol
TAGS: Ala Quin

The moment of misunderstanding clicked into place, and Balun couldn't help the sudden, hearty laugh that broke free from his chest. It came unbidden, rich and genuine, as he shook his head twice and raised a hand in an easy, dismissive wave toward Ala Quin , grinning broadly all the while.

"Oh—so that's what all the sympathy was about," he chuckled, the laughter softening into a warmer hum beneath his voice. "Thank the Force that's not the case. No tragic end to report."

The amusement still danced in his eyes as he continued, clearly intent on putting her at ease. "Honestly, don't worry about it. For a second there, I thought maybe you were having a vision or something the moment you heard my name—figured I was about to be hit with some grave destiny I wasn't prepared for." He let out another short laugh, then gave a small shake of his head. "But I'm relieved. Amused. Very."

His smile remained, though it mellowed just slightly when he added, "And yeah… life's thrown a few curveballs, but I found my family in the end. I wouldn't trade that for anything." He left it at that—no long-winded backstory, just the truth in simple terms. Enough to acknowledge the hardship without dragging the weight of it between them.

When Ala spoke of a Jedi Master—someone who might be able to help him complete his long-stalled training—Balun lifted his chin, curious. There was something in the way she said it, something that made him search her features a little more closely.

"You talking about someone else, or… yourself?" he asked, brows raised just slightly in mild surprise. From the way she'd spoken, he'd assumed it was her—but he didn't want to make assumptions. Not about something like this.

The idea of being trained by someone who, outwardly at least, appeared close to his own age was strange… but not unwelcome. In fact, it made the prospect feel less like a teacher-student hierarchy and more like something collaborative, grounded in mutual respect. Still, the thought gnawed at him—not because he questioned her skill, but because it stirred a quiet, nagging doubt of his own.

Had he not left the Order… could he have reached that same level by now?

'Weird. I never cared about this chit back then,' he thought, forcing the self-doubt back where it belonged—in the past. What mattered now was the opportunity in front of him.

Still, he couldn't ignore the elephant in the room.

"Not to sound rude," he said with a faint smirk, "but… wouldn't you prefer someone younger? A blank slate you can actually shape, rather than someone like me—close in age and set in his ways?" His tone wasn't defensive, just sincerely curious. If she was considering taking him on, he wanted her to be certain. The last thing he needed was another abandoned promise or half-hearted attempt that faded before it ever really began.

"Speech".
'Thought'.​