Private Visitors to the Iron Citadel

[Korda Veydran]

Korda watches Omen leave.
Doesn't react immediately.
Then he pulls the cigar from his mouth, drops it to the stone, and crushes it out beneath his boot.

He follows.
Long strides. Not rushed. Not angry.
He catches up before the inn.

"Omen."
Not sharp.
Not loud.

Just enough to stop him.
"I said she would be acceptable to any clan."
A beat.

"She said she wanted this one."
His voice stays level.
"I did not offer her Veydran until she made that clear."
He steps closer, not towering now. Just present.

"You think I'm pressuring her."
A slow exhale.
"I understand the worry."
His jaw tightens slightly.

"But I would not send her on a mission I would not take myself."
No theatrics.
"No assignment I would not walk into first."
He taps his chest plate once.

"She has a life ahead of her."
A faint, almost humorless breath escapes him.
"I'm not even certain I'll wake up some mornings."

There's no self-pity in it. Just blunt truth.
"My way of life has cost me enough."
His voice lowers.
"Pain. Loss. Things I don't get back."

A pause.
"I can't even have offspring because of the path I chose."
He doesn't elaborate.
Doesn't need to.

"I'm not forcing her into my clan."
A firmer edge now.
"I'm not forcing her to choose."
"This is hers."
He studies Omen for a long moment.

"I love you like a brother."
The words are simple. Unadorned.
"She's acting more mature than you right now."
Not cruel.

Honest.
"You think I don't understand fear?"
His hand lifts to his helmet, clipped at his belt.
He turns it slightly so Omen can see the etched tally marks along the edge.

"I trained four Mandalorians who landed with me on Yaga Minor."
His voice doesn't waver.
"They're gone."
A beat.

"They were like children to me."
Silence stretches between them.
"They chose their path."
"I gave them every exit I could."

"I charged in first. Every time."
Another pause.
"I wish they'd made it."

No anger. Just weight.
He steps back slightly, giving Omen space.
"You need to grow up."
The words are calm.

And because they are calm, they hit harder.
"I say that because I love you."
"I'll bully you. I'll be a hard ass. I'll lift you off the ground when you call me fat."
A faint ghost of a smirk.

"But if I didn't care…"
His voice lowers.
"I'd let your anger eat you alive."

He nods once toward the direction Jett went.
"She deserves mentors who don't let fear decide for her."
A final look.

"You cool off."
"I'll be here when you're ready to talk like my brother again."
Then he turns.
And walks back toward the courtyard.

Sergeant Omen Aren D'Shade Jett Vox

 

[Jett Vox]

"No no," Jett shook her head watching Omen depart with confusion and a little irritation that he'd run off after that, "I mean I want to be a part of this clan," she said, waving her armor to indicate Omen, and Aren, and Korda. "It's not a... family... without people I know I can depend on, and not to offend, but I don't know anything about you, Korda." She huffed and then blew her matted hair out of her face, "Aren, I know you can fix this. It's not going to be hard, and I know it's my fault for not being clear. Just... if you can... talk to him. I reeeeaaally need this shower." Then she turned towards the communal baths and walked quickly, shouting as an afterthought; "Or I can do it after I shower, after because I'm not waiting!"

She hurried towards the communal showers and entered the... area? building...? It didn't matter which. The spouts convinced her she was in the right place, and after fiddling with the controls until one of them shot hot water, Jett stripped quickly out of her tanktop and undies to wash away weeks of grime. After which, she used the soap and spouts to wash out the inside of her helmet, and soak her clothes and armor, just as she would have done back home. Of course she had no stick to beat out the grime from either, so she made do with just the suds and soap... She took about an hour and a half to finish all of this, and then found a random stone to hang her clothes and armor separately, trying to give them as much open air as possible.

The towel - after using it to dry herself (she'd been taught not to use a towel until thoroughly clean) wore it as a makeshift robe, covering all the unsightly bits. Even her socks, which were a homespun fabric like cotton or wool. Whatever it was, it clearly came from an animal and was knitted together by an expert. Each one she very carefully tended to. Clothing was precious in the most remote colonies. Most mass-produced garments were out of the reach of the common farmer, so Jett knew how to keep them from tearing or falling into disuse, or stretching or losing their elasticity.

Finally after she was satisfied with her cleanliness, she returned to the courtyard to see if she could find Aren or Omen, suspecting that they would have returned by then-- or to at least see what was next for her. Training or otherwise. The shower had done wonders working the knots out of her muscles and refreshing her. She felt like she could sprint or lift or fight for an extended amount of time... though she would prefer to relax, she knew she was in for a long and brutal few weeks... or more.

Aren D'Shade Korda Veydran Sergeant Omen

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren didn't react when Korda lifted Omen. Not at first.

Her gaze followed the motion with calm, measured attention—no alarm, just assessment. She knew both of them well enough to recognize the difference between danger and… whatever this particular display was.

Still, the moment Omen's boots left the ground, her voice cut in, quiet but unmistakably firm.

"That's enough."

No heat. No challenge. Just a line drawn exactly where it needed to be. Her eyes moved from Korda to Omen as he was set back down, a brief check for injury—none, of course. Only pride.

When Jett began stripping out of her armor, Aren shifted slightly, turning just enough to give her space without making a performance of it. She accepted the towel being handed over with a small, approving nod.

"Showers are down that corridor," she said, gesturing toward the path Jett had already chosen. "Take your time." Her voice softened, barely. "You'll feel better after." And she let her go.

The energy shifted almost immediately—Omen's frustration simmering, Korda's certainty pressing back against it. Aren stepped back, not withdrawing, simply refusing to insert herself into a conflict that wasn't hers to solve. Her arms folded loosely, posture relaxed but attentive as she watched the two of them clash in their own way. She didn't interrupt. Didn't mediate. She just listened, reading tone more than words.

When Omen turned to her, clearly done, she didn't try to hold him there. Her expression gentled instead. "Take the time," she said quietly.

His kiss to her cheek was met with a light touch to his arm as he passed—steadying, not clinging. "I'll be here." And she stayed.

When Korda followed after him, Aren remained where she was, gaze drifting once toward the showers, then back to the courtyard as it settled into silence again. She didn't fill it. Didn't try to repair what wasn't hers to repair.

She simply waited.

When Jett returned—cleaner, steadier, wrapped in the towel and looking more like herself—Aren's attention shifted fully to her. A faint warmth touched her expression, something close to relief.

"Better?" she asked, gentle but sure. Her eyes swept over Jett once, not judging, just checking. A small nod followed. "Good." She stepped a little closer, present without crowding. "Omen needed a minute," she said, calm and honest. "He'll come back."

A brief pause. "And Korda… means what he says. Even when he says it badly." A flicker of dry humor softened the words.

Then her focus settled fully on Jett again. "You did a lot in a short time," she said. "Fought. Learned. Chose."

Her head tilted slightly, the gesture quiet but reassuring. "You don't have to do the next part all at once." She eased back a fraction, giving Jett room to breathe. "But when you're ready," Aren added, voice low and steady, "we'll figure out what comes next. Together."

Jett Vox Sergeant Omen Korda Veydran

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda returns from the cobbled path a few minutes before Jett does.
Helmet in one hand. Flask in the other.
He doesn't look victorious.
He looks tired.

He takes a slow sip, then pinches the bridge of his nose as if bracing himself for a different kind of battle entirely.
When Jett steps back into the courtyard wrapped in a towel, his eyes flick up,
and immediately shift away.
Deliberate. Respectful.

"No offense taken," he says evenly.
He lifts the flask slightly.
"If anything… think of me as the uncle who supplies explosives when you need them."
A faint curl of humor touches his mouth.
"Every clan's got one."

His gaze stays fixed somewhere just over her shoulder.
"You're right," he continues. "A clan isn't numbers. It's people you trust to show up."
He rolls the helmet once in his palm.
"I never offered before you said you wanted this one."
Simple. Direct.

"You chose first."
A slow breath.
"But understand something."
His tone shifts, not heavier. Just more grounded.
"Trusting the people in front of you is the foundation. That's the fire."

A slight nod toward the space Omen had disappeared down.
"But a recognized clan banner?" His thumb taps the edge of his helmet. "That's structure."
He takes a few measured steps across the courtyard.

"A legitimate sigil means supply lines. Ammunition that isn't scavenged. Replacement parts that aren't stripped off wreckage."
"Armor maintenance done right."
"Contracts that pay enough to keep you fed through a cold season instead of gambling job to job."

He glances at her briefly, then looks away again.
"It means if you're injured, you're not alone in some ditch hoping someone comes back for you."
A beat.

"It means other clans think twice before testing you. Because you don't just answer for yourself. You answer for something established."
He shifts his weight.
"Protection isn't just standing next to someone you like."
His voice lowers slightly.

"It's having a network that answers when you call."
He gestures lightly with the helmet.
"Clan Veydran isn't large. Not yet. only me"
No pride. No apology.

"But it's structured. Accounted. Supplied. kinda, I got a person for the supplies"
His gaze steadies.
"When I say you train under my banner for a month, that isn't symbolism."
A pause.

"It means access. Resources. Standards."
Then, softer:
"It means your growth isn't limited to what three people can carry on their backs."
He exhales slowly.

"As for Omen…"
A faint shake of his head.
"Love him like a brother."

Another sip from the flask.
"But he ought to set a better example."

His thumb brushes the tally marks scored into the helmet's edge.
"I trained four Mandalorians who landed with me on Yaga Minor."
His voice doesn't waver.
"They're gone."

A quiet beat.
"They chose the path. I gave them every out I could. I charged first. Always."
He lifts his eyes to her again.
"You won't be sent anywhere I wouldn't go myself."

Firm.
"You've got a lot of life ahead of you."
A faint shrug.

"Some mornings I'm not convinced I do."
No self-pity. Just wear.
"This life costs."
He straightens slightly.

"I'm not forcing you into Clan Veydran."
Clear.

"You stand under my banner for a month, you train. You learn what it demands."
Another measured pause.
"At the end of that month, you walk if you want."
His voice steadies into something unmistakable.

"That choice is yours. Not mine. Not Omen's."
A faint, tired smirk.
"And for what it's worth… you're acting more like an adult than he is right now."
He slips the flask back to his belt.

"So."
A small nod of approval.
"You cleaned up."

He steps back into command without pressure.
"Get dressed."
Then, even and certain:
"When you're ready… we start light drills."
A brief beat.
"Under the banner."

Sergeant Omen Aren D'Shade Jett Vox

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen wouldn't have fought as much as he did if he actually knew what Korda's grand plan was before he had sprung it on them. Now it seemed like he had been invited to a person he wanted to protect, being snatched from him with no notice. And it was clear now that it was going to happen, whether he liked it or not.

When Korda came after him, he didn't say anything as he listened before rubbing his temples, looking more tired than he should have been, even after the long flight here. Omen's head was spinning after that confrontation, and he just wanted it to stop. "She's 16 Korda... She doesn't have the experience to know what she is signing up for as part of your Clan. But I never said she shouldn't do this to her; I just meant she shouldn't make a split-second decision about something while the Used Speeder salesman's right there, smiling imposingly, right next to you. Ones, who knows, I might even want to join." At the mention of Korda sending her on a mission that he wouldn't take on himself, Omen looked unimpressed. "Okay, so that means you want to lead her into insanity then." Something that didn't make the Clone feel any better about her chances of getting out alive.

At least Korda wasn't blind either, and Omen gave an appreciative nod of understanding. Guess it was time to share his point of view. "I fought for the GA, the Jedi, and the Enclave for a long time... And sure, I had some good memories out of it and met some good people. I also got my business torched by people who should have been my Vod and a long prison stint when I finally broke. I almost committed suicide, and I would have missed out on finding Aren, Jett, and you if it had been successful. Mistakes tend to be repeated from generation to generation. Just trying to make sure she doesn't make them too." The point was made. Yes, there would be a cost. There always was. Omen just wanted to figure out if it's a cost Jett really wanted to pay.

An inquisitive eyebrow shot up, and half a smirk appeared on his face at the "Love you like a brother" line. "First time anyone has ever said that to me, so thanks. And you're probably right. Then again, I'm only an angry young teen mad at the world, so I don't know better, do I?" Who knew his age would give him plausible deniability? But Korda was at least somewhat right; he should have probably just kept his mouth shut and talked to Jett in private instead of reacting right away, even though the Clone thought he was doing the sensible thing in the moment. " I'll help her and you as much as I can, no matter what. I'll even settle for calling you big boned instead of the F word. Acceptable?" In his mind, he was hoping Korda would see this as him trying to compromise. He also knew that once Korda got going, he was hard to stop.

Whether Korda accepted or not, Omen didn't come back with him. He was a little tired of people running over him before he said his unpopular opinion, and then saying he was the fly in the ointment. So, he did what he usually did: either shut down completely or go somewhere else for a bit to try to get his mind straight. The Clone would come back for dinner whenever that was being had or whenever enough time had pass he felt he could reintroduce himself without getting his hand slapped. Besides, he wondered if this place could get his favorite entertainment programs, and now was the right time to find out.

Jett Vox , Aren D'Shade , Korda Veydran

 

[Jett Vox]

The first thing she did when she returned, wet hair and all, was hug Aren, long and hard. She didn't need space, not from her. Murmuring so only Aren could hear her, "You're awesome, Aren, I wouldn't be able to do any of this without you," she said, holding back the tremor that threatened the warmth in her voice and in her hug. The towel was still a little damp too. When she let go, she put her hand on the towel to keep it from falling and noticed Korda returning, tugged it up to keep covered. She was still a self-conscious teenager, after all.

She listened to him explain long and in detail, and said quietly; "Fifth time's the charm." He finished with the order to dress, and Jett winced, hoping his lecture was long enough for her clothes to dry. She turned about and returned to her armor, which was still soaked, but drying, hung over a rock. She peeled it off of the rock and hung it a bit higher to give it a chance to further dry. She even turned the boots over until water was dripping out of them. They smelled better, so Jett counted that as a 'win.'

Finally she found her tanktop and underwear, and started by slipping the slight garment on underneath the towel. When it touched her skin it was still cold and still damp and she cringed again. "Ugh, gross." Then she undid the towel and put on her tanktop, which was actually damper than the undies. But at least the tanktop wasn't touching her... well... 'there.'

Jett paused and thought about returning to the courtyard in just this, but thought better of waddling back there barefoot with her butt hanging out, and wrapped the towel around her waist. It would have to do for now. Knotting the towel at the front, she hesitated and then returned to the courtyard. Her damp clothes clinging, her towel a makeshift skirt.

"Where's Omen? I thought he'd be back by now." She furrowed her brow and looked across the courtyard to see if he was just hiding behind a pillar or lurking in a doorway. "He's not still sour, is he?"

Jett huffed and said; "This isn't going to be a thing is it? I don't know if I can take this becoming a thing." Then she looked at Aren, "Are you gonna go get him or should I? I don't want to do this whole thing if he's not gonna be here. Omen brought me into this, and he'd better be here to see this through." Jett's face softened after she said that and she sucked her lip between her teeth, chewing on it nervously. "I swear," she said letting it snap back into place. "...I'll drag him back by his ear... or something... more painful."

Aren D'Shade Korda Veydran Sergeant Omen

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda listens to her ask about Omen.
He doesn't answer immediately.

Instead, he studies the way she's standing there in damp clothes and a knotted towel, trying to look composed while clearly not feeling it.
"He's not sour," Korda says at last.
A small shake of his head.

"Something just landed wrong."
He rolls his shoulders once.
"Omen protects by reacting first and thinking later. It's his way."

A faint, knowing exhale.
"He's been through things I'm not even going to try to compete with."
No edge in it. Just fact.

"You didn't do anything wrong."
That part is firm.
"He just needed time to cool off before he said something he couldn't take back."
His eyes flick downward briefly.

Then back up.
"…You planning to make the towel standard issue for recruits?"
A ghost of a smirk touches his mouth.
"Because I'm not rewriting the dress code."

He gestures vaguely toward her damp tank top clinging in all the wrong ways.
"At least knot it tighter. You threaten to drag him back by the ear dressed like that and he'll think you've lost your mind."
He stretches then, long and slow.
His back gives an audible pop.

He freezes mid-motion.
"…I miss being sixteen."
Another pop as he straightens fully.
"Thirty-one is less forgiving."
A brief pause.

"But that's on me."
No self-pity.
"Path I chose."
He looks at her more seriously now.

"If you get only one thing from training with me…"
His voice steadies.
"Don't be like me."
A beat.

"I'm reckless."
Another.
"And dangerous to be around."
He says it without drama.

Just acknowledgment.
"This life will sharpen you."
His gaze holds hers.
"But you don't have to let it hollow you."

He shifts his weight.
"And for what it's worth… Omen isn't trying to stop you."
"He's trying to make sure you know what you're choosing."
A slight nod toward the direction Omen left.

"He'll be back."
Not hope.
Certainty.
"And if he's not…"
A faint curl at the corner of his mouth.

"I suppose we'll see how committed you are to that ear-dragging threat."
He adjusts the helmet under his arm.
"Get your armor dry enough to move in."
Then, almost casually:
"If you ever want context on why I train the way I do…"

He taps the helmet lightly.
"I've got holotapes of my fights."
A faint, dry humor returns.
"Educational material."

He pauses.
"…Mostly what not to do."
Then he steps back toward the center of the yard.
Not pushing.

Not filling the space.
Just giving it structure again.
"Five minutes."
"Then we start."

Sergeant Omen Jett Vox Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren returned Jett's hug without hesitation, one arm coming around her shoulders with a steadiness that was more grounding than demonstrative. She did not rush her out of it, and when the girl murmured against her that she would not have been able to do any of this without her, something in Aren's expression softened in a way that rarely happened in front of other people.

"You could," she said quietly, her hand settling briefly between Jett's shoulder blades before she let her go. "It would just be harder, and there is no reason for it to be harder than it already is."

She stepped back only enough to let Jett readjust the towel, her gaze turning briefly toward Korda as he returned and began explaining Omen in his own way. She listened without interrupting, though her eyes narrowed very slightly at the remark about the dress code, and then eased again when he shifted back into something more serious.

By the time Jett came back in the damp tank top and knotted towel, asking where Omen was and whether this was going to become a thing, Aren had already made her decision.

"He'll come back," she said first, calm and certain, answering the fear before anything else. "He doesn't leave people in the middle of something that matters to them."

Her tone was steady enough that it sounded less like comfort and more like fact.

Then the faintest hint of warmth returned to her expression.

"And no," she added, "I don't think he's still sour. I think he's embarrassed, tired, and trying very hard not to channel either of those feelings into a second argument."

Her eyes flicked briefly in the direction he had gone, then back to Jett.

"So I doubt he's brooding dramatically behind a pillar."

A pause.

"If I had to guess, he's probably found food."

That landed in the air with the same quiet certainty as everything else she said.

"He does that when he needs time to reset. He fixes things he can fix. Finds something useful to do. Makes sure no one goes hungry." Her mouth curved faintly. "It is one of the ways he takes care of people when he doesn't quite trust himself to speak yet."

Only then did Aren move fully into the center of the moment, looking from Jett to Korda and back again, as though calmly stitching the torn edges of the afternoon together before they frayed further.

"You," she said to Jett, and her voice gentled just enough to make the word feel personal, "are not responsible for managing everyone else's reaction to your choices."

She let that settle.

"You are allowed to want this. Omen is allowed to worry. Korda is allowed to be too intense for his own good." Her eyes shifted briefly to him as she said it, dry but not unkind. "None of that means the entire day is ruined."

Then she stepped a little closer to Jett and reached up to adjust the knot of the towel at her waist, tightening it with practical efficiency so it would hold better if the girl moved too quickly.

"There," Aren said. "Now you're slightly less likely to accidentally create a second crisis."

Her gaze flicked over the damp shirt and the lingering discomfort in Jett's posture.

"As for training, not in wet clothes," she said simply. "You'll be cold, irritated, and distracted, and none of that improves your decision-making."

She looked toward Korda then, her tone staying level.

"Five minutes can wait until she's actually dressed."

Not defiant. Just sensible.

Then back to Jett.

"You need dry clothes, water, and probably food. After that, if Omen hasn't returned on his own, we can go find him." A beat passed, and the corner of her mouth lifted just slightly. "Preferably before you try dragging him back by the ear in a towel."

Finally, her eyes settled on the open space of the courtyard again, then on the path Omen had taken, and when she spoke next, there was a quiet confidence in it that made the whole situation feel less fragile than it had a minute ago.

"He'll come back," Aren repeated. "Most likely carrying too much dinner and pretending that was the plan all along."

She folded her arms loosely then, relaxed but present, the shape of her calm making the courtyard feel steadier again.

"So," she said, looking first to Jett and then to Korda, "we can either stand here imagining worst-case scenarios, or we can assume the most likely one, which is that he's somewhere nearby acquiring food for everyone because it gives him something useful to do with his hands."

A faint pause followed.

"My recommendation is that we let him."

Sergeant Omen Jett Vox Korda Veydran

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Oh Omen came back alright, about 5 minutes later with a tray of stews for them all. Right in time see something no father figure wanted to see, his charge without any pants on. One hand, he didn't want to embarress her but on the other... "Just tell me you have underwear on under that..." Because if not, he might be the dying of emberassment for having a charge half naked in front of everyone.

When Korda and Jett finally met in the ring once again, Omen and Aren if she choose sat down to eat at a small table observing the action. "Sorry, guess I'm still getting used to Korda's... personality. And you know how spiny I get when I think I'm getting belittled. It would be easier if this wasn't the path she wanted." He reached out to put his hand on hers as he flashed her a tired smile. "But then again, our journey wasn't easy either. Guess I should be used to it. Still, it would have been fun to have a daughter to dress up. I'm just gonna have to wait and respect Jett's wishes. We all know she is going to be a wonderful warrior. We just all need to find the right way to get her there. And moderate our voices to the right level." And so they watched as Korda instructed or beat the tar out of Jett depending on how you saw it. Deep down, he knew Korda was the best to teach her based on the skills she showed in the arena. But it was hard letting go, loosing control over a situation and potiently not being in Jett's future. It was also hard not being able to teach his craft. Maybe he should ask Korda if he could teach some shooting and sniping classes here, just to fill his schedule.

Korda Veydran , Jett Vox , Aren D'Shade

 

[Jett Vox]

"Oh fine," Jett said under her breath and went back to check on her armor. Still damp. So she went through the insides with a probing hand, looking for something that might help, maybe shake out the water. Then she found a hard nodule and felt at it. What's this...? Her fingers felt at it, turning and poking at it. Then with a light click sound, the suit came to life. A blast of warm air shot through it and it was suddenly blasted dry. The remaining water turned to steam and darkened the ground underneath. "Oh, dank ferrik, this was here the whole time??"

The armor fluttered as a humming drying sound blasted through it. Then she shed the towel, and climbed into her armor. Jett in hindsight wished she'd put her clothes inside the suit when she used that feature, but this would have to do. Hopefully she wouldn't chafe the entire time, and maybe the climate controls inside her suit would know their job. Once she was fully suited up, Jett twisted her hair up and stuffed it in her helmet, then she returned to the courtyard, luckily, within the five minutes, if not a few seconds later. Putting on full armor is hard work!

"Omen! You're back!" Jett ran to give him a hug, "Oh good, and you brought food." She leaned over trying to smell the pot of stew. "Good food." Jett let go of him so he could set the table. She looked around, catching the last part of his statement. "Dress up? I haven't played dress-up or had new clothes for... like... a long time." She twisted her mouth in thought. "My dad liked to pretend we didn't have a whole ship or a hoard of rare metals--" she pounded her fist against her front plate, which was probably a beskar alloy and not pure anyway, but it was very old, so it could be the real thing. After all it was pretty light compared to the durasteel mixes.

"Aren was right, it was the best case scenario!"

Aren D'Shade Sergeant Omen Korda Veydran

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda did chuckle, low and amused, when Jett mentioned the drying system like it was some hidden miracle.
"Almost all beskar'gam has climate control," he said, folding his arms briefly. "Some of us use it. Some of us pretend we don't need it." His eyes flicked toward Omen with faint mischief. "Personally, I prefer not to steam in my own armor unless I have to."

He disappeared for a moment and returned with three dented metal tankards hooked in one hand and a clear glass of water balanced in the other. He set the water directly in front of Jett without comment, then placed the tankards down with a solid clank.

"If you two don't drink those," he added casually, "I will."
A faint grin tugged at his mouth as he nodded toward the stew. "Good choice," he said to Omen. "You've got decent instincts. That counts for something."

he set down his helmet then, setting it on the table with care. The movement loosened the heavy line of his shoulders, and as he sat, Oro coiled lazily around his neck and across his chest like a living mantle.

"You mentioned beskar," Korda added, glancing at Jett. He tapped his own chest plate. "Mine's alloy. Perfected one. Clan Veydran keeps the mixture under lock and key." A flash of pride there, not arrogant, just rooted. "We don't share the recipe."

Then he lifted his tankard.
For a second, it seemed like he might make a joke, something sharp, something irreverent.
Instead, he surprised them.
"In Mando'a," he said, voice steady, "there's a phrase we use for warriors who don't quite fit the lines drawn for them. a little modifications on my part for it"

His gaze moved from Omen, to Aren, to Jett.
"Vhett'ni par'yaim. Vhett'ni par'yaim gar. Akaan kyr'amur solus par'yc kyr'amur."
He raised the tankard slightly higher.

"'Epar beskar'gam, Ven'kyr, cuyir paryaim'kama, bal paryaim'la kayshya solus."
He said
A faint smirk returned then, because he couldn't help himself.
"Bal par'beskar'mah. Ner vod'ika, ori'jagyc cuyir paryk akaan'tra beskar'la bantha kar'taylir."

He tipped the tankard back.
Oro flicked her tongue, unbothered.
Across the table, the courtyard felt warmer, not because of the stew, not because of the ale, but because, for once, none of them were standing alone in it.

Aren D'Shade Jett Vox Sergeant Omen

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren sat beside Omen when he settled at the table, accepting the bowl without comment at first, her attention still following the space Jett had disappeared into and the path Korda had taken earlier. She did not rush the silence between them. She let it settle, the way she always did when something needed to cool before it could be understood.

When Omen spoke, she listened. All of it.

Her hand turned beneath his when he reached for hers, fingers threading lightly with his instead of just resting there, a quiet answer that she was present, that she had not stepped away from him even when she had stepped back from the argument.

"You weren't wrong," she said after a moment, her voice low enough to stay between them. "You were early."

Her thumb brushed once against the back of his hand, grounding, not dismissing.

"She is sixteen," Aren continued, her gaze dropping briefly to the table before returning to him. "And she is trying to decide who she is in front of people who already know who they are. That is… not a fair position to be in."

A small pause. "But it is also hers." She didn't soften that part.

When he mentioned wanting a daughter, something in her expression shifted, not startled, not uncomfortable, just… thoughtful. Present. Her grip on his hand tightened slightly, just enough to be felt.

"That isn't something we have to decide today," she said gently. "Or in the middle of someone else's beginning." Her eyes held his for a second longer. "But it is something we can talk about. Later. When it's ours to talk about." Not dismissed. Set aside with care.

Her gaze flicked briefly toward the courtyard again, then back to him, the faintest hint of warmth returning.

"And for what it's worth," she added quietly, "you didn't lose anything today." A subtle tilt of her head toward where Jett would return. "She ran toward you first and will again." That mattered.

Then, as Jett's voice carried back into the courtyard and Korda followed not long after, Aren let the moment with Omen ease back into the present without breaking it completely. Her hand didn't leave his right away, but her posture shifted, opening back up to the group.

When Jett returned fully armored and immediately went for Omen, Aren's mouth curved faintly at the edges, something quiet and approving in it.

"Told you," she murmured, almost under her breath.

Then she accepted the rhythm of the table as it formed, taking in Korda's presence, the tankards, the stew, the way the tension had shifted into something… livable.

When Korda spoke, her attention settled on him, steady and analytical as always, though there was less edge to it now. She listened to the explanation about the armor, the alloy, the structure behind it, taking it in the same way she took in everything else, without interruption, without immediate judgment, simply… understanding it for what it was.

And then the Mando'a. Aren didn't understand all of the words. But she understood the weight behind them.

Her gaze moved briefly among the three of them as he spoke, lingering a moment longer on Omen before returning to Korda, something quieter in her expression now. Not agreement, not concession, but recognition of what he was trying to build, and why.

When he lifted the tankard, Aren reached for her own, fingers curling around the worn metal. She didn't echo the words, didn't try to mirror something that wasn't hers to claim, but she raised it all the same, a small, deliberate acknowledgment of the moment and the space they were standing in together.

She took a drink, then set it back down, her posture easing as she settled into the table rather than holding herself apart from it.

"Then we do it properly," she said, her voice even, unhurried, carrying just enough weight to be taken seriously without turning it into a challenge. "Not just pushing her until something breaks, and not just letting her run on determination alone."

Her gaze shifted briefly to Jett, then back to Korda.

"If she's going to stand under your banner, even for a month, then she learns all of it. How to fight, how to think, how to stop before she burns herself out trying to prove something to people who already see it."

A small pause followed, her expression softening just slightly as her attention flicked toward Omen at her side before returning forward again.

"And she doesn't do it alone," Aren added, more quietly now. "Not in the parts that actually matter." She let that settle, not pushing it further, not overexplaining. Just stating it.

Then she leaned back slightly, one hand still loosely resting near Omen's, her presence steady, grounded, and fully part of the space now instead of observing from the edge.

Korda Veydran Jett Vox Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen quietly listened as Aren replied, giving her the same consideration she had given him. And like usual, she made sense. She was a kid overwhelm by all sides and he shouldn't be adding to it. Her touch seemed to calm like nothing else did. The Clone was surprised though that she wasn't totally opposed to the child thing. He thought hanging diapers would be the last thing Aren would want to do but he guessed she had the parental instinct after all.

Well, Jett certainly got some looks but most of the onlookers moved on with Korda's and Omens glances around. Guess Korda really was the head rooster around here and everyone knew better to stare. Omen smiled as he got up and took the hug, only shaking his head at Aren's comment. "I could only stay away for so long." He gave her a swirl around before sitting down again. "And yes I got food, I know you are going to need it." The Clone didn't correct her that he didn't mean armor. All of her life, she had worn only armor. Why did he expect that to change now?

As usual, Korda was up to his tricks but Omen didn't rise to take the bait. "Well, we aren't on Hoth or Mustafar now, are we?" The only reason he ususally needed them was if the environment required it. Otherwise, he usually just managed his internal body temp on his own. Taking the Tankard, he decided take a swig. The last thing they all needed was Korda gettting beligerant. "And its not as good as I can make but it will do." Ones knows he could probably teach the kitchen a thing or as well.

The raised eyebrow did tell Korda he was impressed. Not many people had a recipe like that hanging around nowadays. And he thought Korda's Clan only did the destorying bit. Omen could help but smirk though as he listened to the sayings. "We are certainly are that... The Clone managed a chuckle at the last line, give Korda a salute with his tankard. It certainly wouldn't be the last one. "But yeah, what my partner who knows much more than me said." Because even more than Korda, Aren was never wrong.

Aren D'Shade , Korda Veydran , Jett Vox

 

[Jett Vox]

Jett was already stuffing her face, mostly oblivious to the arguments and biting clap-backs between the 'adults' in the room. She ate as fast as she could swallow, bringing forward the question of whether she'd leave any for anyone else, but she stopped suddenly while there was plenty left. She was warm, and she was full now, and so she stood up, still chewing; "Shoulsh wme begif...?" She took a second to swallow "So, should we start?"

She hopped up to her feet and brushed the crumbs off her face. Then she walked around the three, grabbing a cup and taking a long drink before she did. "I don't smell like bantha," she said indignant, then raised her arm to sniff underneath, saying nothing after that to indicate whether she smelled it or not, "...maybe you do." She said under her breath, and then considered. "I'll be right back."

Jett turned around and left the courtyard, she was gone for a short while, but when she returned, she was armed again. Her rifle slung across her back, and her pistol at her hip. All weapons she brandished during the Trials, when she was thrown around like a rag-doll and nearly killed in what was supposed to be a non-lethal fight.

After which she slipped her helmet on again, and went through her weapons. A burst of flame from her gauntlet, her whip cord extending a few feet and then zipping back into place. Lastly, a humming vibroblade extended with a shink and then retracted. There was only one weapon she did not check. The boot knife. A weapon she always kept secret until she needed it.

"I'm ready I guess." A somewhat contradictory statement. Still, she looked ready.

Aren D'Shade Sergeant Omen Korda Veydran