Private Turn a Left at Taul!

[Lysander von Ascania]

Location: Who cares
Tag: Skye Mertaal

Despite things not unfolding as planned, for they seldom did, there may have been the faintest flicker of reluctance in his emerald gaze. No blasters had been fired; no blood stained the floor. There was no reckless brawl with the furry reinforcements, nothing at all to just mask the sting of that moment earlier. But even then, it didn't bring comfort.

Bitterness coiled like a serpent in his gut, replacing pride. Sure, he played the part, shoulders slumped, every single step of cruel reminder.

Anger simmered beneath Lysander's exterior, hotter than their initial encounter. That little collision in the alleyway had already sparked a fire, and now, the flames were just climbing higher.

But it was the audacity of her collar grab that cut the deepest; it was straight up disrespectful. Credits, bounties, alliances, all of that felt meaningless compared to someone grasping his neck like he was no better than the Rodian thug. Back on Korriban, he'd already ended several acolytes for far less.

His reputation was built upon control, poise, and above all, respect. This wretched woman went on and trampled over every fething piece of it without the slightest hesitation.

The blonde's tongue was burning with all kinds of retorts, words primed, ready to be unleashed. He clenched his jaw so tightly that the muscles now ached.

Neon banners and every thrum of that venue slowly blurred. And he was certain she clung to the collar longer than necessary, or perhaps time simply slipped away during all his burning fury.

But soon, it was just the two of them and an unconscious Rodian. The fact that she was still holding his marked prize didn't help either.

When they finally halted, the silence before them was beyond suffocating in its awkwardness. Lysander could no longer contain that storm inside. Eyes narrowed into cold slits, and he finally spat. “How dare you drag me like I’m some crate of spice.. boxed, and beneath you. You must be new to this game. I don’t come quietly. And I definitely don’t come that cheap.”

He inhaled, but it wasn’t to steady himself; it was to keep from screaming. “None of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t tossed that stun grenade like it was gorram glitter. I had him. I was right there! And you stole the moment.”

Both hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling. A laugh escaped his lips, but it carried no joy. “Brother? That’s rich. You throw a grenade in my face, sabotage my hunt, and now I’m family? Weak excuse. Does that mean I get to ruin your hunts too? Just keeping it fair.”

During the brief pause that followed, he didn’t blink; he probably didn’t breathe either. “And the green guy belongs to me.”

 

[Skye Mertaal]

TAG: Lysander von Ascania

The kid never shut up.

By the time they hit the edge of the landing pads, Skye was convinced he was less teenager and more nerf fly in human form just constantly buzzing, needling, trying his hardest to wring a reaction out of her. Her jaw worked beneath the helm, but she said nothing. He wanted her attention. He wanted the fight. Well, he wasn't getting neither.

[ That so. ] she said flatly, tone cold. Her T-visor didn't even bother looking toward him once.

She swung her gaze away just as quick, voice command activating the Shadow Phoenix's slave circuits. Engines hummed alive with the familiar growl, ramp sliding open in a smooth glide of durasteel. Home turf. Fethin' finally.

[ Well. Wait your turn, kid. ] she said flatly, tone the verbal equivalent of a door slammed in someone's face.

The Rodian sagged over her shoulder like a sack of muja apples, every step heavier as the nausea churned in her gut. Her skin had gone several shades too pale, the ache of withdrawal nipping harder than she'd admit.

Just needed to get inside. Get answers. Figure out what was on the datastick and tablet, get her credits, and get the hell off Sejong before the Tigerkin or anyone else came sniffing.

The brat's rant kept rolling behind her, every word dripping with nail-screaming, aggravating, wounded pride and venom. The Huntress didn't bite. Didn't slow. Just kept moving, one gauntleted hand coming up to tighten her grip on his collar as if to punctuate who exactly was steering this mess.

If he wanted to throw his tantrum, fine. She had bigger problems to deal with. Like staying on bloody karkin' feet long enough to cash in.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Tag: Skye Mertaal

Lysander’s brow quirked in disbelief as her comment hung in the air. His shoulders were even tensing in response. A note of self-doubt sparked in his gaze, even as he tilted his head in a gesture that clearly displayed he was actually listening. His gaze snapped down to her fingers, confusion soon spreading across his expression. Why wouldn't she let go? There was a storm of retorts that quivered on his tongue, each one sharper than the last, desperately wishing to break free.


A harsh laugh broke from Lysander’s throat, but that wasn’t before he writhed in her grip. “You’ve got a death grip, huh? What? Afraid I’ll fly off if you let go?” His breath hitched, twisting his body slightly, trying to wrench the collar free once more. “That checks out, I suppose. Another stage five clinger, terrified of losing the real prize if you let go.”

This was an almost alien position for him, to feel confusion in the midst of confrontation. Words always came easily, often harsh and careless, yet he already restrained himself from succumbing to ideas he might've recklessly leaned into before.

The lightsaber clipped at his belt was a constant reminder of his restraint, a reminder that he could easily remove her hand with a flick of his wrist. But that very thought unsettled him, leaving a knot in his gut.

And so, pragmatism gnawed at his conscience.

If it earned him credits, would he hesitate? Somehow, it felt hollow if it meant becoming a monster to get what he wanted.

That admission weighed heavily on him and even carried into his every side alongside the other bounty hunter.

Gradually, the intense heat of his anger began to ebb, retreating just enough to clear a path in his mind. During that brief stretch of quiet, his thoughts sharpened, and he weighed his next words more carefully.

His voice lowered. "We split the credits fifty-fifty when this is over."

He turned his head, attempting to glance over his shoulder for any potential signs of pursuit. "And I'll watch your back if you watch mine. That's all I'm willing to offer."

It was rare for him to extend an olive branch, even if it was heavily wrapped in frustration.

“No betrayals.”