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

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naniti
​

Lysander’s lips pressed tightly together to stop the laughter from spilling out. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure why he bothered. Whatever the reason might be, the effort made the corners of his mouth twitch harder. His shoulders eased into the snow as if he had zero intention of getting up anytime soon. It had nothing to do with how close she was either. He just felt comfortable around her.

The finger jab coaxed a quiet breath, carrying more amusement. Nothing like tossing a sincere comment into the air and letting it land where it chose. From what he was gathering, things were shaping up to be a back and forth moment. “There it is. The melodrama I was looking for.. took you long enough, Naniti.”

Accusations followed. Of all things to feel during their delivery, it was some kind of fondness blooming in the teen’s chest. He tried to smother that too.

Another curve touched the corner of his mouth. “Look here, Togruta. If I caught your arm then obviously, I was just acting out of self preservation. Besides, falling alone would’ve been far less interesting.” The idea of catching her was convenient enough to lean into now. “So yeah, if you were going to use me as a landing pad, I’d have preferred the warning. Try not to forget next time.”

A hum suggested agreement; his words did not. “I’m starting to lose feeling in my spine, yea, but I figured numbness was acceptable if there’s comfort.” Lysander stayed reclined longer to make the point, even as she started to gather herself. “Dignity is overrated anyway.” Or lying there in absolute denial about his spine, that might've been more accurate.

The offered hand was taken, which helped with how unsteady the skates were beneath him. The pair of sticks scattered across the lake were someone else’s problem now. Her fingers slipped from his one by one. The last lingered just a fraction longer

Lysander had seen a few versions of Naniti by now. But dramatic Naniti.. that might have been his favorite in some ways. It spoke to his inner Loth-cat, a history was filled with unpredictable moments, entertainment, and maybe batting at shiny things too. “Relax. I’m not pulling you down.” He paused, trying to make it suspicious. “Not deliberately, at least. And if you bury me in this lake, all that training goes to waste. You wouldn’t dare undermine my.. academic legacy like that.. would you?”

With a swipe, one sleeve was brushed off to look less like a powdered donut.

His focus wandered from purple leggings up to lekku and montrals. No hair meant he was robbed of a perfectly ridiculous quip about dandruff. “So.. what would you like to do next? Assuming you don’t turn me into some frozen exhibit. Food? Trouble? Both?”

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren didn't immediately answer his question about work. She took the steaming cup from his hand with a small nod of thanks, letting the warmth bleed through her gloves. She blew across the surface once, watching the steam swirl away into the frozen air.

Only after a quiet sip did she finally speak.

"Work is work," she said, voice even. "Some people bring me problems and expect miracles. I give them something functional and tell them not to break it again."

Aren wasn't annoyed — she rarely was about work — but her tone carried an edge and a thoughtful quality. As though her mind wasn't really on the project she'd left behind, but circling back to that moment he was still trying not to think about: her eyes on him, assessing him, reading him like a set of schematics.

Then, she glanced sideways at him over the rim of her mug.

"Relax," she murmured, as if she could hear the anxiety gnawing under his ribs. "I'm not dragging you off to a back-alley lab to replace half your body."

Her expression didn't soften, not exactly — but something steadied in it, a shift from analysis to clarity. She lowered the mug and turned slightly toward him, boots sinking into the snow as she claimed a firmer place beside him.

"You asked what I'm giving you for Life Day," she said. "So I'll tell you."

No teasing. No buildup.

Just Aren, cutting straight to the truth.

"I want to redo your arms."

The words didn't land sharply — she didn't throw them like a verdict. She said them as one states a simple fact, a decision already weighed, measured, and settled.

She held up her gloved hand slightly, indicating him without touching.

"They're outdated. They're overworked. And they're not keeping up with the rest of you anymore. I've seen the way your right shoulder catches when it gets cold. I've seen the micro-delays when you grip something too tightly. You've got wiring in there that predates half the technology the galaxy uses now."

Her gaze held his — steady, clinical, but underneath that, something unmistakably protective.

"I'm not talking about changing you. I'm talking about giving you a function you should have had years ago. Better articulation. Better sensory feedback. Better strength control. Something that responds to you instead of forcing you to compensate for every glitch."

She took another sip, unbothered by the weight of the subject.

"I'm not rewriting you. I'm not modifying who you are. I'm fixing old hardware that's been neglected by everyone but you."

Then her voice dropped, quieter, but not softer — just truer.

"I want you to have a body that isn't a relic. I want you to have tools that don't hurt you every time you use them. And I want…" She hesitated, just briefly. "I want to give you that because you deserve it."

Aren looked away then, not because she was embarrassed, but because the admission had reached its limit.

"And because I can."

She let that settle between them — the honesty, the intention, and the subtle promise tucked beneath her tone.

Then, with practical finality, she added:

"If you don't like the idea, say so. I won't push it. But don't pretend you're not operating at sixty percent when you think no one's paying attention."

A faint breath left her, not quite a sigh.

"You don't need to be afraid of me working on you, Omen. I'm not going to break you. I'm trying to give you something better than what the Republic left you with."

Only then did she nod toward the path ahead, almost as an afterthought.

"And yes. I'm ready to keep going."

But the look she gave him just before she stepped forward said the rest clearly:

This wasn't just a gift. It was care. It was an intention. It was hers — for him.
Sergeant Omen

 

[Naniti]

"Alright," Naniti straightened up with her chest puffed out, "I am going to use you as a landing pad next time. And every time after that. Consider yourself warned." Why did she need to wait until it was about to happen to claim it? She'd claim it now, and she'd expect him to remember she did so next time. See how he'd handle that nugget.

A squint and turn of her head followed his comment about numbness being fine long as he was comfortable. What was he talking about? So it'd be okay if he broke his back long as he felt comfortable? Men!

The Togruta shifted her center of gravity and weight distribution as she tried to help Lysander back to his feet. Tried. If she thought for a second he meant to actually deliberately pull her down she was letting go. See how numb his butt got hitting the ground then! Fortunately -- for him -- he didn't try to do that, which suited her just fine. A man should only rack up so much karma in a short period of time.

"Never. I'd tell them you died a warrior's death," to enshrine his Academy legacy. "A Padawan killed you." Or not. For someone that seemed to enjoy facing off against Jedi or not-Jedi Masters that should be a nice enough barb. Naniti even smiled; she felt accomplished.

Though not as accomplished as she'd feel a moment later when she retorted, "Why would I want Trouble? I have you."

He walked right in to it. Just bam straight in. Right in.

Naniti did dust a little snow off her montrals though, especially in the curve at the top of her head. A soft noise of annoyance emerged as a light dusting fell down the front of her face. "Why don't we go over to the shack over there and get something warm to eat or drink?" Her blue eyes turned to a little place nearby obviously made to serve visitors to the lake. "And somewhere dry to sit."

"I don't suppose you know a Force power that and dry clothing, do you?"

Lysander von Ascania

 

[Eurydice]

"It sounds as though you are…fond of your Master?"

So the ability to wander hasn't been a gift - it was circumstance. Unfortunate circumstance. Idly, she had to wonder what sort of person Varin's Master was if he felt grief over her perceived death.

Eurydice cocked her head to the side in thought; what would she feel if Nefaron were to fall tomorrow?

Relief. Perhaps even joy. But the man was already dead, and what remained seemed unkillable.

The name Lysander drifted in her ear like a sour note; she knew well all of the noble families of Ukatis. Studying them had been apart of her work as a Seer - and the Ascanias, once loyal to the crown, had been nothing but trouble.

The bright lights and cheerful din of the festival weren't new to her, but now she was among them rather than hugging the wall as an observational shadow. The idea that she could now freely participate was strange.

A faint excitement bubbled up in her chest.

"I have no preference," she admitted regarding the selection of food. "And I've never tried hot cider. Is it good?"

Varin Mortifer

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naniti
​

He blinked once, slowly, processing Naniti’s threat.. and finding it strangely endearing. A landing pad? Every time.. that sounded like a big commitment, but at least she was honest about her intentions, even if it meant instant spinal realignment. This was affection, right? Violence with implications. Had to be.

The next breath that slipped from him was a mixture of laughter and disbelief, “Being crushed by you doesn’t sound so terrible,” Lysander admitted with a shrug, “there are worse ways to go..” Brows knitted tighter. Maybe his mouth and mind weren't on the same script.

Naniti wasn’t shy about poking holes in his pride. But why did he enjoy letting her? A gentle sigh escaped. “Oh that’s low. Even for you. If a Padawan ever kills me, you’re not allowed at the funeral.”

His expression shifted instantly, looking like it belonged to some much younger version of him. A rosy hue dusted along his cheeks.. not a full-on blush, but plenty of warmth to make it clear he was not prepared for that one. She said it so easily..

“That was rude.. and accurate.” The muscle in his jaw betrayed him with a tiny jump. Zero chance of tucking that one away behind a mask. "Now you’ve done it. You’re stuck with me.. and I'm kind of okay with that."

Her annoyance quickly pulled a smile out of him, because the sight was.. adorable. Not like he was about to admit that aloud, even if it melted something stupid in his chest. He followed her gaze over to the shack with lantern like lights in the windows. His attention snagged on something else too.. skaters moving about while holding hands. It looked nice.. comfortable even. Lysander would’ve been lying to himself if he claimed he didn’t want that too.

Blades whispered over the ice to separate the distance between them. Now the cold didn’t stand a chance. Both hands anchored at her hips, meant to guide, like muscle memory he didn’t even realize he carried with the Togruta. “That sounds perfect.” Except he didn’t let her turn around. Instead, the blonde pushed forward, keeping her turned away from the direction they were gliding.

A tilt of the head and Naniti’s gaze became his world, looking up into that blue.. something he might sink into still if he wasn’t careful.

“Think of it as a lesson in trust. I’ll totally get us there in one piece.”

Another push of his skates moved them along a little further. There was no rush.. any momentum with her was pretty cool.

“Well.. I can make a flame, if that helps.” A perfectly reasonable solution. “Strong enough to roast a whole nuna, dry sleeves.. and your ego.." Lysander's digits flexed, if only to steady himself. ”The best solution I’ve got is.. well. Me.”

 

[Varin Mortifer]

He chuckled to the idea she had never heard of cider. It was almost baffling.

“You have never had it? Its almost like a hot juice with sweeteners. Honey or cinnamon. I usually go for cinnamon.”

He thought for a moment before answering her first question, and a soft scoff left his lips, like he was surprised he was about to share the story with her.

“She is the reason I am still alive.”

He spoke softly as he led her to one of the cider vendors. The scent of fresh fruits and cinnamon surrounded them both as he pressed some credits over to the vendor.

“Two, please.”

The vendor wasted no time starting up all of the heaters and pressing the fruit.

“I met her when my ship crashed in the Korriban desert.”

His voice was somber, like he was remembering something fond.

“Broken arm, major concussion, pierced lung. Bleeding out, but still standing.”

He paused for a moment, processing he may be giving too much detail.

“I saw her standing there and I drew my sword. I was ready to fight until the end.”

He took a breath, a sight to ease some of the tension in his voice.

“She could have cut me down. But she didn't. She took me in, and I woke up in a medbay.”

He looked at her and gave a faint smile.

“I owe her my life.”

There was a soft fierceness in his eyes, like he truly believed he owed her his life. Before his gaze softened again and he grew quiet.

The vendor quietly passed the two hot cups of liquid to Varin. Slowly he turned around to lead them to a couple of seats.

Eurydice​

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Work was just one of the topics Omen could ask about to keep the conversation going. And it may surprise her that he was actually half interested in what she did for a living and kept their bank accounts full. "I see why you are so adept at handling me now." The Clone was one of the ultimate problems for her, and who knows when the Tech would figure out why the Clone adored her so.

Aren would see a quiet exhale as the Clone's body relaxed somewhat as he heard her plans. He knew better than to think that Aren would tear him apart and rebuild him, but you never knew for sure with her. It's not like she painted her thoughts onto a wall. Taking the first sip of his Coco to help him calm down, he looked at her with a smile that he was glad that she wasn't going to rip off his face. "I knew that, just... you're hard to read at times. Anyone tell you that?" Her plan on redoing his arms was a good gift, the Clone had to admit. Omen thought about how it felt like he had arthritis some of the time, with his fingers not responding to his mind's command. It wasn't enough to be a real hazard, just enough to be annoying. He really did need to get these replaced, and he had put it off for long enough.


He gave her a smirk as they continued walking, with Omen listening to the sights, sounds, and music all around them. As Aren said he could say no to any operation she had planned, the Clone reached for her hand to hold it, intertwining their fingers again. "I half think you want to do this operation just so you can hold my hand normally." After a quick kiss to her cheek, he tried to confirm that replacing his arms was the right decision. "Its probably better if you just yank the arms off and put on new ones. You'll just have to check if all of the connection points are still alright." As they walked on, Aren would hear one last whisper in her ear. "Don't worry, I know I deserve you. Even if you or I have to remind me of it at times."

As they continued to walk, Omen would suddenly stop as he looked at one of the store's front windows. It was clear that he had spied something out of the corner of his eye. "Remember no more Loth-Cats... Yeah, I might not be able to fulfill that request..." Leaving her hand for only a moment, he decided to head inside. Given the sign above the storefront said "Core Animal Society", Aren probably needed to stop him now before he actually adopted a pet.

Aren D'Shade

---

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren didn't answer him right away when he joked that she was good at handling him. Instead, she gave him a sideways look over the rim of her cup — the familiar, unreadable one that always made him second-guess how far he'd pushed. But there was no edge in it—just quiet assessment, softened by the fact that his shoulders had finally eased.

"Handling you implies effort," she said evenly. "Most days, you just… complicate yourself." A pause, then a faint, dry addendum. "I just make sure you don't short yourself out in the process."

When he admitted she was hard to read, her mouth twitched despite herself. She didn't deny it. She never did. "That's on purpose," she replied. "People who can read me tend to think they can predict me. That usually ends badly."

As they walked, her attention drifted — not away from him, but inward, already mapping what she'd seen and felt through his arms over the last few months. The hesitation in his grip some days. The fractional lag occurred when his fingers flexed. He wasn't wrong about the arthritis-like stiffness, and she didn't need diagnostics to know it was only going to get worse.

"I'm not yanking anything off," she said calmly when he suggested it, squeezing his hand once as if to anchor the statement. "We'll do it clean. Incremental. Interfaces first, then musculature. I want your proprioception intact before anything else." A beat. "You'll still feel like you."

When he teased her about wanting an excuse to hold his hand normally, she glanced down at their joined fingers, then back up at him. "I already hold your hand normally," she said. "I just want you to stop pretending the delay doesn't bother you."

The whispered comment about deserving her earned him a look — not sharp, not dismissive, just steady. "Careful," she murmured back. "That's the kind of thinking that turns into pressure. We don't need that."

They'd gone maybe another ten steps before she felt it — the shift in his posture, the way his attention snapped sideways. Aren followed his gaze to the storefront window, immediately clocking the sign above it.

Core Animal Society.

She stopped dead.

"Omen." His name wasn't raised, but it was final.

Before he could get more than a step inside, she caught the back of his jacket and hauled him gently but decisively back against her side. "No," she said flatly. "We are not adopting an animal on an ice world while we're transient, under at least two questionable jurisdictions, and still arguing about whether your arms need a firmware rewrite."

She angled herself between him and the entrance, eyes narrowing just a fraction. "You don't need a Loth-cat. You need upgraded actuators and a full system recalibration."

Then, softer — and only for him — "And I need you not to disappear into impulse decisions because something looks cute through a window."

Her thumb brushed once over his knuckles, grounding, deliberate. "We can come back. Later. When we're settled. When you can actually pick one up without lag."

A pause.

"…And when I'm sure it won't end up sitting on your head while you sleep."

She released him only after she was sure he wasn't going to bolt back inside, giving his hand one more firm squeeze before tugging him gently onward.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Jorryn Fordyce]

// Lady Jorryn Fordyce //
// Objective I // Are You My Mistletoe or Mistle-foe? //
// Focus // Kirie //

A small chuckle escaped the dark lips of the Echani as she heard of Arris apology for bruising the girl, the image of seeing the tough mercenary trainer taking aside an ailing Kirie to apologise for shooting her. It was amusing to imagine. Despite Jorryn's initial reaction to the act, she could understand the Talusian's method of teaching.

"That's good." An easy smile remained on her lips as the amusement remained in her words. "If she hadn't, I might have gone and dragged her here to make the apology."

As her hand was brought to the abdomen of her date, Jorryn herself caught a small blush along her cheeks. It was nice to know that Kirie was comfortable with her, but the blush wasn't entirely innocent. The touch didn't apply pressure, hoping not to flare up any injury, but it did inspect the woman's stomach.

The fabric raced under her touch as she admired the form of the girl, allowing her eyes to fall downwards towards it. The hand softly move to the waist of the girl, a suggestion of being pulled in the light touch. It didn't commit to the act though, she would wait for the excuse of mistletoe for that part.

"Is that all?" Again an easy giggle took her breath, before leaning against the ear of her companion. "I'm sure it's worth the price."

Exactly what she meant by that would be left vague.

Continuing to their drinks, the warmth filled Jorryn's body and spirit. A small bit of cream contrast the black lipstick that the Echani wore before her tongue cleaned it off and a satisfied breath drew a soft cloud in the air.

Then Kirie pulled back a moment, taking the chance to talk about this more casual side of Jorryn. A hint of embarrassment flushed her cheeks as the moment flustered her, though not as much by the compliments. She enjoyed them of course, but there was another truth to the matter that the former Lord Inquisitor didn't often share.

"Well..." She took a moment to think of how to phrase her next words, eyes falling to the side as she thought of a way to not sound pathetic. "The truth of the matter, at least in my past life, is that much of my success had been granted by happenstance."

Thumbs fiddles with the mug in a nervous dance, tapping against the ceramic.

"Not that I'm particularly awful, but my mastery pretty much began and ended at my blade skills and my ability to manage paperwork and investigations." This time the amusement in her voice came from awkwardness instead. "Not that I'm not a powerful Sith Lord or anything, of course, but our order is blinded by monsters and idiots that would burn worlds as well as rule them."

It wasn't the best topic for a date, but Kirie deserved to know more about who she was going out with than whatever had been assumed. Truth had been her office at one point, and that pretty little word formed much of her person.

Then Kirie directed the words towards the date itself, and the Echani allowed the discussion of the Sith to fall away for a more appealing moment.

"Oh that one is more simple to answer." Her body turned to face towards Kirie more fully, a hand brushing the brunette's hair behind her ear before the limb rest upon the girl's cheek. "It's because you're beautiful, Kirie."

The words were allowed a moment to set in, and find their purchase in the air between the two.

"Not just the way you look, but in your character." A thumb drew a line across the girl's cheek. "I'm sure everyone else sees your potential. I see it too of course, but I find the woman you are far more appealing. There's an understanding and softness in the way you are, I noticed it back when we served together."

Her lips curved into an easy and gentle smile, more sincere than she often wore.

"I asked you to go out with me because I like you, and I want to get to know you better." She allowed the sincerity of the moment to sink in, though she couldn't allow such an unfamiliar sentiment to last forever. "Maybe kiss you sometime too, I'm not sure yet."

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Well... She wasn't wrong... Omen certainly knew he could run himself in circles when he didn't understand the situation around himself. Sometimes it just took him awhile to figure it out. "I guess I should thank you for your coming lifetime of service then."

The Clone couldn't help but smirk as he watched her facade fade alittle. "I can just predict you blushing when I give you public affection and thats about it. So you do a great job" The way she acted set her apart from the crowd and while it would easier to be paired with someone with their heart on their sleeve. Instead, he got her exact oppisite, pushing her to feel excitement while she tried to bring him back to Earth.

Omen immeditly saw she had taken the wrong meaning from his statment, putting his hands up to stop her. "I just meant, I don't know how much of these old things we can reuse. I'll follow doctor's orders, even when she orders me to give her smooches." He knew getting used to a new arms would be tough so doing everything piecemeal was probably was the right approached. The Clone just wondered how long it would take.

All Omen could do is chuckle Aren's newest glare away. "Fine, then I'll try to let you do the thinking for both of us since you are so much better at it then I am." Which in a logical point of you wasn't far from the truth. Its the reason he let her steer him away from the animal shelter because at the end of the day, she was right. They still were sorting their lives together and no wasn't the time to add more potiental problems to it. That still didn't stop him from playfully pouting though as they walked away. "You could have atleast let me pet them..." Hearing the line about trying to protect him from apsfexion from cat hair did get a small laugh of him as they walked away. "Good to know you care"

As the pair kept of walking, they would see signs for tours of Ilum's caverns and museums of the natural gems like the Kyber crystals that were found on the world. Omen gave a half smile that gave off "You wanted to wear the pants in this realitionship, now you get the responibility with them." vibes as he asked "Fine, since you didn't like my idea, what would you like to do? Unless you just want to walk around in endless circles. As long as I get glance over and look at you, I'll be entertained all day." He would go along with whatever Aren wanted of course. It would unwise for him to reject any propsition she brought to the senate floor. Who knows, he might even have fun doing whatever she picked out for their second date.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Prystill Oasay]

Objective: Zinder Event: Let's go to the stalls
Location: Festival stalls, Ilum
Outfit: Maroon Winter Dress
Tags: Ronhar Tane | OPEN

Ronhar looked at the ornament that Prystill fancied, and then he locked eyes with her. Just that intense focus was enough to make Prystill blush again. She had been the focus of desire before. That was nothing new. The looks that Ronhar was giving her were different however. It was deeper than what Prystill had experienced. When he told her that the ornament was not as beautiful she was, Prystill's cheeks warmed so much that it looked like all of her spots had connected. She even needed to fan herself for a second despite the cool temperatures they were in.

Then Ronhar told the vendor that "we" will take it. Prystill was still a bit flustered from Ronhar's glare and his words that she did not jump in to protest. Though that would have likely been her response to him continuing to spend credits on her, Prystill was glad that she was not acting quickly on her instincts. Being gallant was something that she was told happened often on dates. Insisting on paying for herself may have made Ronhar think she was not interested. And that was far from the truth. The vendor packaged up the ornament and handed it back to Ronhar, who told Prystill he would be happy to hold it for her. The Theelin woman hummed joyfully and squeezed Ronhar's arm. "Thank you so much," Prystill responded, she was so overjoyed that it came out as a tender whisper that only Ronhar would hear.

Ronhar expressed interest in taking a walk in the forest but gave Prystill the choice to continue shopping as well. He mentioned that the forests were lovely on Ilum this time of year. A fact that Prystill didn't doubt. The only thing that caused even a second of hesitation was the question of whether the locals had kept the market a bit warmer than the true environmental temperatures were on the planet. Further in the forest things might get much colder. As she thought more this brought a coy smile to Prystill's lips. Colder would mean that Ronhar would need to keep her warm and based on his chivalrous behavior to this point in the date Prystill had little doubt he would do just that. "A walk in the forest sounds lovely. I trust that you will make sure that I don't get to cold…I fear that if you allow me to shop more that I will fill up your arms, which I don't intend to do with the wares of this marketplace, and take all your credits, which I don't intend to do at all." She batted her eyes at Ronhar flirting. "Lead the way.”

 

[Valaine Valentine]

Tags - Kito

Valaine didn't question the fact that Kito tucked the gift she had spotted away without much a word, instead she just played along and feigned ignorance with a smile. She took a seat on the bench as she started fitting the skates on, and thankfully they seemed a perfect fit as she started to fasten the laces back up. "Well give yourself a pat on the back, you guessed right." smirked the Sangnir as she glanced back towards Kito. It seemed she didn't need help to put them on, besides, how complicated could it really be? Standing up might be a different issue though.

"... How are you with the cold anyways? I know you run pretty hot compared to most other people, but does it bother you at all? I always thought the hotter you are on the inside the colder everything outside must feel." Valaine asked with a lightly raised brow. She knew Kito could manipulate heat and flame around herself, but did having a more heated core really benefit in colder climates?

She offered a light hum in response, "As for skating... Never. How about you?" she asked in return as she placed a hand gently upon the Shaper's shoulder to start steadily using her as support in standing herself up. "... Am I meant to like, balance on these...?" she muttered in annoyance as her form shook unsteadily. A tired gaze shifted towards the ice, ready to make the attempt as soon as Kito was.

​

​

 

[Naniti]

"It's what you deserve calling a woman heavy," the Togruta retorted immediately to his complaint about his manner of death. Crushed by her! Perhaps next time -- Force allow it -- she'd used Force Push to add some extra momentum. And an elbow.

She was stuck with him?! No, he was stuck with her! ...why did that sound backwards? Almost like a reward. Naniti was totally not attracted to Lysander. What was there to be attracted to? His good looks? His ability to engage in death-defying feats? The fact he had a measure of authority despite being 'just' an Acolyte? What about that devil-may-care attitude? And that smile! No, there was nothing attractive at all about him.

At least he'd seen sense in finding somewhere warm and dry after their time on the icea. Naniti gave a short nod of approval. Until he didn't let go of her hands and seemed to be guiding them anywhere but the shack. How could it be perfect if they were going away from shelter?

Of course, Lysander wasn't showing any signs of being a threat. He was holding her hands. Smiling. Gazing into her eyes like she was the world. So there was no need to plant him in the ice as she'd threatened earlier. Sith Lords, she wasn't a monster. It was the only rational thing to do to hold his hands and listen to him say she should trust him -- all things they definitely did not teach in the Academy.

Naniti stared back into Lysander's eyes. Her face showed no signs of annoyance or hostility to any degree. There was a hint of uncertainty what was going on, and a darkening to her cheeks. "You had better, Lysander. You said I was stuck with you; that won't be true if I'm in pieces." Her tone was light, almost warm as she pretended to admonish him.

A faint narrowing of the eyes accompanied his quip about roasting her ego. "Huh, so you're going to dry me using yourself? And just how does that work?" she demanded with a faint air of dubious vexation. Perhaps he would have to demonstrate this talent of his. Not that it would work! Or, perhaps she would say it worked a treat, but in ways he had not intended nor desired. They might not be fighting with sticks any longer, but she'd reveal a talent in wordplay if he opened up the possibility for it. As well he'd witnessed already.

Lysander von Ascania

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren didn't rise to the bait of his first teasing line — not visibly, anyway — but the faintest exhale escaped her nose, the kind that was somewhere between a sigh and a laugh she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of hearing.

"Don't thank me yet," she murmured. "You're a full-time job, and the benefits package is questionable."

When he added the bit about predicting her blushing, she turned her head just enough to narrow one eye at him over the edge of her scarf. That was very close to dangerous territory… but the corner of her mouth betrayed her, curving just barely.

"You can predict when I'm going to punch you, too," she replied dryly. "That doesn't mean you should keep provoking it."

Still, the blush was there, faintly warming the tips of her ears under the knit hat he'd put on her. And he knew it.

When he clarified the thing about the arms, she softened a fraction, the tension around her jaw easing. She didn't interrupt; she let him finish, then gave a slight, approving nod.

"That's better," she said. "And good. You should followthe doctor's orders. Especially if she threatens you with sedation."
A beat. "Or kisses. Depends on your compliance level."

Her tone was steady, but her eyes flicked sideways with a quiet amusement only he ever got to see.

He commented, letting her think for both of them, and she didn't correct him — not because she agreed, but because she knew he was trying to lighten the moment. Letting him tug the mood upward was its own kind of peace.

But the pout about not being allowed to pet the animals?

That earned him a look. A long, patient, shockingly affectionate look.

"You won't die if you don't touch a Loth-cat for five minutes, Omen."

A pause.

"…probably."

When he added the bit about her caring, she didn't deny it. She didn't confirm it either — just brushed her fingers across his knuckles again in that small, controlled way that always felt more intimate than anything loud or obvious.

As they passed the signs for tours and crystal caverns, he tossed the decision at her with that half-smile she'd come to recognize — the one that said he was giving her control and enjoying making her take it.

She took a slow sip of her cocoa, considering.

"You want structure," she said finally. "Something with a path to follow and walls so you don't get distracted by every glowing object you see."

Her hand slipped from his only so she could adjust her scarf, then she caught his again, firm and sure.

"Cavern tour. You'll like the lights. And I won't have to chase you out of another shop."

She nudged his arm lightly with her shoulder, the gesture subtle but familiar.

"And for the record," she added, almost under her breath, "I don't need entertainment. Just… company."

Aren rarely admitted that out loud.

But she did now — quiet, steady, sure — and then gave his hand a slight tug to lead him toward the tour entrance.

"Come on," she said. "Before you find something else to get attached to."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Eurydice]

Eurydice tried to imagine it; a man, broken and bleeding after crawling from the smoldering wreckage of a crash, refusing to stand down.

Instead of striking, she'd saved him. Became his Master. Was it out of kindness, or did she see untapped potential within him? Potential she sought to mold for her own use?

That line of thought was interrupted for more pleasant happenings - the warm scent of spiced fruit drifting like steam through frigid air. Eurydice received the cup with a soft "thank you".

As Varin lead them to the outdoor seating, she pressed her lips to the rim of the cup, testing the heat of the cider. She didn't drink just yet, instead reflecting on how disarmingly pleasant this interaction had been.

Still, she was braced for the other shoe to drop. Possibly onto her neck.

"Is that why you've remained under her? Because you feel as though you owe her a life debt?"

Nefaron had warned her that the kindly Sith were the most sinister of them all; instead of embracing their true nature, they hid the monster behind gentle smiles and thoughtful affection.

But it was just a mask. Nothing in the galaxy came free, least of all love.

Eurydice

 

[Varin Mortifer]

He watched as she tested the hot liquid, casually taking a sip of his. The sweet nectar filled his mouth coating every taste bud and his entire body seemed to ease as a deep exhale left his lungs. Steam curled from his mouth as he relished in the pleasant taste of the cider.

“Truly this is one of the best drinks to grace the galaxy.”

He spoke softly as if embracing old memories of enjoying the beverage at a younger age. He then brushed the frost off of the seat near him for her to sit as the frost from his melted away. The passing voices and laughter clung to the air, every now and then a noise would catch his gaze but he would relax again and enjoy his drink.

He tapped his cup as he thought of an answer to her question and a smile came to him.

“No, it’s why I remain an ally to her. I remain her acolyte because she has proven to me time and time again that she wants growth from me. To not stagnate and decay.”

He took another sip.

“Even when certain lessons I need that she can’t provide answers for, she always finds a way for me to get the help I need.”

He looked at her again.

“I am loyal to her as an acolyte because she is genuine, I have seen the proof.”

He grew quiet for a moment.

“You asked if my master forced me to come to this event.”

He paused to choose his words carefully.

“Did yours force you to come?”

His voice was low, only to be heard by the two of them.

Eurydice​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naniti
​

Was that a threat? Well, it earned a soft hum from him either way. Whatever mental image he conjured next coaxed a laugh.. one he swallowed it before it could escape. There was comfort in him; the banter let him relax, which was nice, considering his pulse vaulted like he’d been thrown off a cliff rather than crashing on ice. earlier

Guiding her between his hands, Lysander leaned into the gliding rhythm, angling them across the ice. “Just trust me,” he repeated. Certainly not words the Academy taught him. “Besides Naniti, if I were leading you to your doom.. I wouldn’t be smiling this much.” Both skates cut another arc, trying to use momentum to pull them to the side, so that they were headed in the proper direction. A pair of younger skaters yelped as they veered too close. Whether luck or skill, he angled them away at the last possible second. Of course, he tried looking smooth while nearly causing a small massacre.

After her warning, he rolled his eyes, even if her phrasing lightened something in his chest. “If I break you, I’m the one who will end up in pieces.” Too late to pull those ones back, but he carried no shame in them.

Asking how he would warm her was like asking him to trip over his own skates. Still.. he wanted to give her something she could twist back on him. Naniti enjoying the sparring? That was a game he could entertain for quite some time.

The shack was drawing nearer now with warm lanterns glowing across the ice. He allowed himself a glance toward her, but only one! Any more and they were steering right into a family of bystanders. Or worse.. a miserable Jedi who already looked like he’d lived enough battles. Actually.. not a terrible idea.

Another breath, the cold biting pleasantly at his lungs. “It’s pretty simple, actually,” words stretched into a lazy and confident cadence. Maybe it could annoy Naniti the right way. “I focus on you long enough.. and everything warms up.”

Words vanished in a haste. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she laughed at him, honestly. It probably would’ve been deserved. But in the strange pocket of space that existed between them after their little duel, it was.. kind of cool, actually.

“But the real question,” voice deadpan, “is whether you can handle the side effects.”

Maybe the smugness should’ve melted the ice. His lips pressed together against the mirth. It would be too dangerous to let her see how much she affected him. With the shack just a handful of strides away, he suddenly wished the path were a little longer.. just a little.

Right.. food. Warmth. Civilization.. or something like that. Plenty of good incentives to stop acting like an idiot.

“Behold,” Lysander intoned like he were narrating an ancient holocron, “the most powerful Force ability known to acolytes everywhere.. hot food.”

Just beside the waiting line, he pushed off and began looping small circles around her, clearly trapped in her frozen orbit.

“Look, not a single Sith Lord demanding our souls in exchange for a beverage. A miracle.”

Another pass while trying to gauge her reaction. “So whatcha in the mood for?”

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen just shook his head, muttering to himself as they walked. "You weren't complaining about the package the last night we were together..." Nor was she really complaining now if her tone had said anything. The way she looked at him, wanting him to drop it, only confirmed his point.

Leaning forward to kiss the bridge of her nose to break the gaze of Medusa, she was right. So was he in the way. "I guess it depends on what I do to provoke you. You might like punching me just for fun." He had gotten used to Aren's signs and knew she wasn't even close to her boiling point. Her threatening kisses proved it. "Huh... First time you've told me you wanted to kiss me...~ Guess I'll have to comply with my Mad Droid Doctor of a partner, huh?" If it meant feeling some affection from Aren, he always would

As much as he wanted to flop around in the snow in a fake tantrum just to see Aren try to drag him along, for now, though, he just looked incredulous. "You really doubt my ability to stay alive that much, huh...?" Given the brushing across his knuckles and that, he guessed she didn't want them both to find out.

Trying not to feel even more offended by her saying she needed structure like his was a little school child. Shaking his head, let her tug him along into the Tour's Entrance. "If I didn't like your company, I would be complaining more." As they walked up to the front desk and waited in line, he looked up at the signboard, board said "10 and Under Free," and he crafted another devious thing in his head. Hopefully, it would be worth facing Aren's wraith.

As they came up to the counter, Omen quickly started before Aren could butt in. "Hi, I'm with my legal guardian here and under 10. I was hoping we could take advantage of that free tour offer. I promise I won't touch anything and stay by my parents' side the whole time." Aren would receive a playful hip check as the young female human staff member looked about both of them, mystified, their mind trying to wrap around this living relic in front of her. The Clone wondered how long it would take for Aren to sort the confusion out, but it would be worth the cheeky grin that had sprouted on his face.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Darth Nefaron]

SECOND DATE: Corazona von Ascania

She was right.

He would not admit it, of course, but Nefaron did not have the power or resources to crush the reigning Dark Lords.

But it mattered little. The Corpse Lord was always scheming, always plotting.

If Cora would not serve him, so be it.

But within her lay the keys to her own bondage. Should Nefaron take hold of her child, she would have no recourse but to obey.
​

So distracted was Nefaron by this new scheme that he nearly allowed himself to be shredded by the oncoming flurry of sharp stones. Though he managed to slink away, he was not unscathed as sharp pieces cut away at his flesh and ripped his cloak. His anger was building now, a truly terrible thing for a man who so desired to see a galaxy consumed by nightmares.

With a horrid sound akin to a grunt, Nefaron ripped a hole in the storm of snow and ice that consumed him, just enough to reveal both himself and the Jedi he now faced. In a quick motion, the Terror Lord's hands arose, and from his ruined fingers leaped a storm of lightning, terrible and fierce, directed right at the Jedi Knight. Perhaps he would kill her here as a message to the remains of the floundering Jedi Order; perhaps she and her child were not worth all the trouble that he was going through.

But oh, how sweet it would be to see her bow to him, to destroy his enemies and lead the forces of Darkness to consume the galaxy. Her fear, so carefully hidden behind a wall of resolute purity, would be all-consuming.

"Oh, a girl, is it? How wonderful you'll get the chance to carry on the traditions of your father!"

The blast of lightning intensified as Nefaron advanced, step by step, toward the Jedi.

"Your father sold you to the highest bidder. You protect a world that views you as lesser simply for being born a woman. What will your child think when she witnesses that injustice? The very same you allowed to continue on, even after what you endured?"

Another step.

"You call me a monster and think yourself righteous. I wonder how you will react when your daughter looks upon you with the same disgust."

He was laughing now. Cruel and terrible. Step by step, darkness inched closer under a barrage of terrible power.

"Perhaps she will do what you cannot. Perhaps she will see the only possible path to ensure peace is to destroy. The moment she even considers that, she will be mine."

 

[Olyssandra]

Location: Ice Skating Cave - Ilum
Attire: Jumpsuit
Notable Equipment and Effects: Midnight Harmony (2)
Thread Objective: He was a Skater Boi and I was a Skater Gurl!
Tag: Tintinallë Nyxara Hyartë Vaelune

Lyshara.

Olyssandra had an innate knowledge of the Quendeshi deity of beauty, sensuality, and forbidden ecstasy. She visualized a figurine of a petite Goddess with exaggerated feminine proportions, her form clad in gossamer robes with iridescent snakes coiling around her wrists. Her facial features were similarly pulchritudinous, featuring upturned eyes with long, star-dusted lashes, a delicate nose that centered her features, and plush lips set in an expression that was equal parts playful and ominously knowing.

Thus, as Tintinallë placed her cheek against hers, Olyssandra melted into the intimate gesture in kind, her features blossoming with a rosy flush of delight!

"This is Hyartë Vaelune, hunter and fellow follower of Lyshara's Desire," Tintinallë announced, her hand still hovering on Odyssandra's hip.

“I am Olyssandra,” she breathed, her voice soft with reverence. “You are both priestesses of Lyshara?” The words were spoken with a tone of awe as a smile crested her lips. She already knew the answer to her question, of course. It was simply the fact that she had yet to fully comprehend her fortune at not only meeting fellow Quendesh, but also encountering ones who were priestesses of Lyshara at a Zinder event, of all places!

"It is good to see another of our kind out in the galaxy."

“It truly is a miracle! I just can’t believe that you’re both...here!” Olyssandra replied to Hyartë before turning towards her. She offered the huntress a similarly intimate embrace then, rising onto her toes to press her cheek against the other elleth. She held the hug for a few precious moments, savoring the connection before reluctantly drawing back with a flutter of self-consciousness, not wanting to go too far in a public space.

“I agree with skating!” Olyssandra piped up, her reverence giving way to girlish exuberance. “I was just getting ready to put my skates on.” After offering the two Quendesh a smile (and Tintinallë a playful wink!), the small-statured Quendesh quickly slipped her skates onto her feet and laced them up. Once she was done, she took Tintinallë’s hand and led the way out onto the glimmering ice.

“I can’t believe it,” she confessed as she glided forward, her tone coming as a hushed murmur. “Priestesses of Lyshara? If you don’t mind me asking, what do you two do? How do you worship Her?”