Public [Zinder Event] Ilum's Grand Life Day Extravaganza!!! [Zinder Event]

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren stopped dead the moment the words left his mouth.

Not abruptly enough to draw a crowd — but enough that the tug of her hand on his halted, and the air around her shifted from dry amusement to something much sharper. She stared at him for a long beat, eyes narrowed, jaw set, the kind of look that promised consequences rather than noise.

Slowly, deliberately, she turned back toward the counter.

"Hi," she said flatly to the attendant, her voice calm, controlled, and unmistakably adult. "We'll be paying for two."

Then — without breaking eye contact with the staff — she reached back and grabbed Omen by the front of his jacket, fingers curling into the fabric with practiced ease, and hauled him half a step closer to her side.

"He's not under ten," she continued, tone cool as durasteel. "He's just old enough to know better and dumb enough to try that anyway."

Only then did she look at him.

Up close, her expression wasn't explosive — it was worse. Tight. Focused. That dangerous stillness she got when something hit a nerve she didn't joke about.

"You do not get to make jokes about that," she said quietly, each word placed with care. "Not about your age. Not about where it came from. And definitely not in front of strangers."

Her grip loosened, but she didn't let go entirely — thumb still hooked in his jacket, an anchor as much as a warning.

"Yes, I know you're technically younger than me," she went on, voice low, edged with heat. "And yes, I know you were grown in a tube and thrown into a war before you had a choice." Her eyes flicked briefly toward the attendant, then back to him. "That doesn't make you a child. And it doesn't make you a joke."

A breath. Measured. Controlled.

"And if you ever try to make me your 'legal guardian' again," she added, tone dry but lethal, "I will leave you here and tell them you wandered off."

She released his jacket at last, turning back to the counter and sliding credits across without ceremony.

"To answer the unspoken question," she muttered as they stepped away, just loud enough for him to hear, "yes — I'm mad. And no — you're not getting out of it by being cute."

But as she retook his hand and pulled him toward the tour entrance, her fingers squeezed once — firm, grounding.

"…and don't do that again," she finished, quieter now. "You're not something to be laughed at. Not to me."

Mad? Absolutely.

Leaving him? Not a chance.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Yeah, he probably shouldn't have said the legal guardian joke, and the menacing energy Aren gave off confirmed that. The attendant was perhaps wondering if he should call security from the way the Clone was sweating, but thankfully, they just gave the tickets over to her and wished them a good tour. They also hoped the demon-lady that was on his own would see as she took a picture to figure out if that man really was a Clone Wars fossil.

If Omen was about to fart, Aren's face would have made him suck it right up before it ever got a chance. But when she said that Omen couldn't make jokes about his age, that made him raise an eyebrow as they walked inside. "So you get to joke about us about doing an activity where I can't touch everything like I'm a toddler in public, and I can't do it to myself? That's a double standard..." Trying to get his point across was going to be hard, but he had to at least try for his sanity's sake.

Letting out a sigh as that echoed around the cavern, he tried his best to convey his point. "I joke about my age and my growing up in a tube, as you say, to make it feel normal. I guess making myself laugh is my therapy. Just like you, making machines and droids is yours. It makes me happy just like practicing scowling does for you. But I can understand "legal guardian" being over the line, and I apologize. I would kowtow to you, but that would look even more weird in front of people. He squeezed her hand as they walked around, hoping she knew how much he cared for her.

As they continued to walk through, Omen couldn't help but smile at her, saying that he wasn't something to be laughed at. Leaning in, he kissed her cheek, whispering. "Glad you care for me even when you're mad. I might not have to do my big pouty eyes after all." Putting his arm around her and pulling her into his side, he looked around at the dazzling display of crystals before their eyes. "If only these outcroppings had your beauty, they might have to drag me out of here."

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren didn't pull away when he slipped his arm around her. She let him draw her in, her shoulder fitting against his side like it always did, but the tension hadn't fully left her yet. Not anger anymore—something steadier. Something that needed saying before it could fade.

She listened. All of it. The joking defense, the attempt at logic, the apology tucked inside the humor. When he finished, she exhaled slowly, eyes lifting to the crystals for a moment as they passed beneath the cavern lights, buying herself a breath before answering. "I'm not mad that you joke," she said at last, voice low, even, carried easily by the echoing space. "And I'm not trying to police how you cope. I know you use humor to take the edge off things that shouldn't have happened to you. I'm not taking that away."

Her gaze shifted to him then—not sharp, not scolding, just intent. "But there's a difference between you making light of it in private… and you turning yourself into something small in public. Especially in front of people who don't know you. Who don't know what you survived."

She slowed her steps just a fraction, enough to make the point land without stopping him outright.

"When you joke like that out there," she continued, quieter now, "they don't hear 'self-awareness' or 'therapy.' They hear permission. Permission to see you as less than what you are. As a novelty. As a relic. As something that belongs to history instead of standing right next to me." Her hand slid up his arm, fingers pressing lightly against the solid line of his shoulder—grounding, deliberate. "And I won't stand there and let that happen," she added. "Not to you."

At his apology, she didn't gloat or soften immediately. She just nodded once, accepting it for what it was. "The legal guardian thing crossed a line," she said plainly. "You knew it. You owned it. That's enough."

Then—because she wasn't made of stone—her mouth curved just slightly at the corner when he kissed her cheek and whispered. "Don't get used to it," she murmured back, dry but warmer now. "Caring while I'm mad doesn't mean I won't stay mad if you push it."

She leaned into his side a little more fully as they walked, eyes lifting again to the crystalline walls glittering above them. "And for the record," she added, tone quieter, meant only for him, "you don't need to make yourself smaller to make me comfortable. Ever."

A beat. "…Also, if you try the big pouty eyes in here, I will pretend I don't know you."

But her fingers tightened briefly in his jacket—just once. Still there.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Naniti]

Naniti's brow drew down as she gave him a lopsided smirk with his reassurance he didn't plan to 'doom' her. "You're getting better at maintaining your balance," she said a moment after they'd cleared the other skaters. Oh, she'd noticed the near-slam right into their midst, but Naniti hadn't been overstating things earlier. If the duel had continued there was a good chance the cave would have become a blood bath. For some reason she'd begun to cross the line between one of Lysander's sessions and the sort the Togruta was used to; and in those sessions everyone and everything was fair game. Well, her lack of concern wasn't limited to just duels.

Her expression evened out with her brows lifting a bit at Lysander's comment he'd be the one in pieces if something happened to her. Why? It was the natural question that didn't require conscious effort to manifest. Why did he care so much? More importantly, why did she care so much? It wasn't right. But she didn't want to stop.

It was nice. Skating there with Lysander while holding his hands. The two of them traveling around the galaxy doing whatever they wanted -- or had to do. Everything didn't feel quite so unbearable with him around. There was something more to think about than some mysterious Machine in her future.

That said, when it came to asking about warmth all he could manage was something about his focus. Her dark lips parted as her eyes narrowed slightly, but at first no words followed. Naniti closed her lips and then managed, "I was asking how I could get dried." The Togruta sighed. "If getting warm is all you can think about, why don't you tell me what makes you warm looking at me?" Well if he was going to beg the question, she was going to ask it.

The side effects? Of him getting warmed up? "I have a frozen lake to dunk your head if it gets too hot. I can handle myself." Naniti smiled as if to challenge him to make her prove it.

Food? Oh, she liked tasting the galaxy as much as them laying claim to all its entertainment and stimulating views. But to call it a Force Ability? "Now that is hubris. I don't see you flexing this ability back at the Academy." Apparently it was a very situational Force Ability. Like Force Speed.

When he left go and started doing circles around her, Naniti slowly turned her head to follow half his track. Not only had he gotten better, the man was getting bold too. Just meant the next duel on the ice would be all the more difficult.

A soft harrumph could be heard at his question. "Something that'll warm me up. And then a place where I can sit beside you."

Lysander von Ascania