Private Two-Thirds and a Rock

[Vizion Trozky]

A ROCKY BEACH
FAR NORTHERN NABOO

​

It had been a while since his brother’s arrival on Naboo, and Vizion Trozky hadn’t had much time to spare to connect with Dominic, such were the demands of his being a council member, Briana’s confidant and lover, and the reality of the Planeshift that upended and upset nearly everything. So too did Dominic’s schedule have its own demands. Finding the time separate from everything else was nigh-impossible, and with an upcoming mission that would have Vizion away for longer than he’d ever been since joining the Order of Shiraya, he didn’t know when else it would happen.

And that wasn’t the only thing weighing on his mind. The postscript to the mission into the Nether had shone a great deal of light on why Briana continued to push him away, despite how abundantly clear it was that she wanted him around. Wanted him, full stop, and kept pulling him in, nonetheless.

He had context, and he didn’t want to leave her without some sort of reassurance. Something more than words alone could give, when time, patience, presence, and more still didn’t change the situation between them. So he had an idea.

So he would kill two birds with one stone… but maybe not with the rock he was looking for.

“Didn’t think you would make it,” Vizion admitted, meeting Dominic at the agreed-upon shoreline, a beach in the far north of Naboo that would offer a variety of stones to choose from, “figured something would’ve come up.”

That was the story of his life, ad nauseum, lately. Their lives. Everyone's lives, possibly. Vizion pulled back the hood of the hoodie he'd decided to wear - this kind of casual wasn’t something either of them got to do that often, and that went for this outing, too. No Jedi, no politicians… just two brothers, a rocky beach, and no bystanders.

Would there be a murder? Maybe. In a manner of speaking.

Dominic Praxon​

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic didn't say anything at first. He just stood there, taking in the shoreline and the lake as if he were letting it speak first.

He was overdressed for the setting, of course—dark slacks, formal coat, gloves in his pocket he hadn't realized he was still carrying. Habit. He hadn't come from a meeting, but he looked like he had. That was the thing about masks. Sometimes you forget you're still wearing them.

"I made it," he said finally, quiet, not defensive. Just tired.

He peeled off the coat, folded it once, and dropped it gently onto a flat rock. His boots came next, tugged off and set beside each other. Socks, too. Pants rolled up to the calf. He stepped into the water and exhaled like it had been waiting for him all week.

Didn't need to ask why they were here. Didn't need to talk about what might be said. It was enough to be here, to not perform, to just be.

The silence was good. He didn't break it.

There was only one thing he was hoping wouldn't come up. He didn't look over his shoulder, didn't fidget, but it was there in the set of his jaw—the vague discomfort of wondering if his brother had heard about the kiss. The Bastila of it all.

He crouched near the shore and picked up a flat stone, running his thumb over the edge.

"...This one's got potential."

Vizion Trozky​

 

[Vizion Trozky]

A ROCKY BEACH
FAR NORTHERN NABOO

Vizion had already shed his shoes and socks, and left them to sit on a large rock well away from the water, before his brother had arrived. The large majority of stones along this stretch of beach had their edges smoothed by the coming and going of the tide over eons, so the possibility of stepping on a sharp one was terribly low.

He meandered down to the shore, setting his feet into the water, hands hooked into the pockets of his sweats, following a moment after Dominic. Watched the soft ebb and flow from the horizon, until his brother’s claim pulled his attention that way and down. The slight tell in his voice, born from the set of his jaw. Hallmarks of discomfort. Too easy.

It was much harder to entirely hide the anxious undercurrent that ran it all, though. Like hell he was talking about a rock. Vizion had heard nothing, but teasing it out wasn’t much of a challenge. His brother not pulling was a statistical improbability.

“Just one?” Vizion lolled his head back to the view. “You’re slipping.”

A scant beat.

“Not that one, too flat.”

The water lapped at the shore as if to punctuate his words, and receded, leeching his cares bit by bit.

Dominic Praxon​