Private Visitors to the Iron Citadel

[Korda Veydran]

The courtyard had drawn eyes.
Other armored figures had slowed along the upper walkways. A pair of younglings had stopped mid-drill. The air carried attention now.
Korda felt it.

He exhaled slowly.
When he spoke again, his voice was steady, no bark, no flare.
"I was quick," he admitted.

Not loudly. Not defensively.
"Too quick."
His helmet turned toward Jett.
"I do not take well to my culture being insulted by someone wearing its armor."

There was no venom in it now. Just truth.
"But you were not mocking it. You were repeating what you were given."
A small pause.
"For that, I should have measured my response better."

His gaze shifted briefly to Omen.
"You're right. This life is not for everyone."
Then back to Jett.
"And not all Mandalorians are warriors."
He gestured outward, toward the distant forge complex.
"Some are armorers. Some are engineers. Healers. Mechanics. Archivists. Shipwrights."
A slight tilt of his helmet.

"Some never draw a blade unless forced."
His tone lowered a fraction.
"The armor does not decide your path. You do."
His attention moved to Aren now.

"I won't be too harsh."
A beat.
"But shielding her from pressure entirely won't help either. I can tell when I am pushing too hard."
Not accusatory. Just measured.
"Stress reveals what you default to. What you cling to. What you forget. Lessons learned under tension tend to stay."
He looked back to Jett.
"You stood correctly. You prepared mentally. You didn't argue."

A faint nod.
"That tells me more than any apology would."
The courtyard seemed to settle.
Then...

His stance shifted slightly.
Not aggressive.
Balanced.
"Jett."
A pause.
"Would you like a friendly spar?"

He lifted one hand slightly, palm open.
"No humiliation. No shouting."
A faint edge of dry humor returned.
"And no exploding fruit."

The faintest murmur of amusement drifted from one of the watching trainees.
"This is not about proving anything," he continued. "It's about seeing where you are. So we know where to build."
His voice softened just enough to matter.
"You choose."
Korda then glanced at omen
"also for the record the detonators was a one time thing"

Aren D'Shade Jett Vox Sergeant Omen

 

[Jett Vox]

<bzzt> "Daylan Vox, SIR" Said Jett in the best soldier voice she could muster, she hesitated, considering she didn't have her rifle with her so, she reached down and drew her blaster pistol. "Father told us nothing of Mandalore, great or otherwise, and didn't teach us anything but Mando'a and how to live off the land. Dad... always said he wanted us to live peacefully, but death came anyway." She hesitated again, deciding between which was left and which was right, but then she turned hard left facing, still staring at the blaster,

"...but he kept this armor and these weapons, and the ship he gave me to escape with, so he must have... known... or at least, he must have wanted to be prepared. He did teach us how to wrestle, how to punch someone's throat or thumb out their eyeballs. He also taught us how to maim someone's genitals--" <bzzt> Jett cut herself off at that point, embarassed. Aren's kind words

Jett only knew attention as a prelude to punishment. When she or her sister snuck out at night or went with a boy he didn't approve of. Typical kid stuff. She knew attention, she guessed 'present arms' and she knew 'hard left' and 'about face' among a few others, but she just reacted automatically to an authoratative voice - especially when it felt like she'd done something wrong, and at this moment she felt like she'd done a lot wrong. <bzzt> "Yes sir, sorry sir!" <bzzt>

When Korda spoke to her again, this time more gently. Offering a spar, she nodded slowly and the tears stopped. Any distraction from her thoughts would be welcome. <bzzt> "Hand to hand? Armor only?" <bzzt> Jett holstered her pistol. She knew she probably couldn't take him in a straight fight, but Omen had only begun training her with blasters, and that training had been partial. Her best chance was toe-to-toe.

<bzzt> "No exploding fruit," <bzzt> she agreed, not aware of the inside joke.

Korda Veydran Aren D'Shade Sergeant Omen