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

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen raised an eyebrow as she seemed to steady herself. Thankfully, Aren slowly deflated instead of bursting up in his face, and he could take a relaxing breath of his own. When her reasoning was fully explained, he couldn't help but sprout a smile that was reminiscent of the one he had during their park walk. His fingers gently ran up and down her side as he leaned in to whisper. "It's cute when you admit you want to protect like my Lady Knight in shining armor." And she looked even cuter under the crystal's colors dancing over her face.

As they continued along, Saul shrugged off what people thought. "People are gonna gossip and have opinions. You can't program them into being your droids and following your every command. I matter to you, and that's all that matters to me. So say it with me... @#%& them, those nerf dung cowpaties." He had gotten used to normal people being invasive over the years. It came hand and hand with being a rare person in this galaxy. Like always, though, Aren and her happiness were the only things that mattered. Guess that meant keeping the Clone jokes to a minimum.

Omen nodded at her request, giving them both time to admire their surroundings. He was glad that he didn't have to change himself for Aren to accept him. "Well, for the record, you look amazing when the lights shine over you. There are times that I think you could act less like a Hapan Queen on a dias up high, but I guess that's a part of your charm." The playful squeeze on her hip told her he was only kidding... mostly, but he loved Aren just how she is, good or bad, and he always would.

As they finally exited the cavern, Omen had a smirk on his face as he thought of something they could do next. "I have a challenge for you. I know you are redoing my arms, and that's enough of a present, but I want you to try to find me something I would like here. It doesn't have to be big or break the bank, but something that you think would be special or meaningful as a gift. Let's say... 15 minutes?" If Aren were to say yes, the Clone would put his arm up in the air like it was a starting flag. "Ready... Steady... GO!!! GO AREN GO!" And with that, they were off to the races with Omen wondering what she would pick till watching Aren's behind shake as she ran made him lose his concentration. "Her butt does that to me every time..."

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren slowed when he said it.

Not stopped—just enough that he felt the shift beside him, the subtle recalibration of her presence as the words Hapan Queen on a dais settled into the space between them. She didn't bristle or snap. She turned her head, eyes lifting to him with that cool, level look that always made it clear she had heard exactly what he meant.

"Hapan Queens," she said evenly, "learn very young that standing tall keeps knives from reaching their ribs." Her gaze flicked briefly toward the cavern—the crystal light, the milling people, the quiet awareness required to exist in a place like this—before returning to him. "If I look like I know where I'm standing," she continued, calm and precise, "it's because I do."

Then, just as smoothly, she let the tension ease. Her hand slid back to his side, thumb pressing lightly through the fabric, not a reprimand so much as an underline.

"And if that reads as regal to you," she added, the faintest trace of dry amusement threading her voice, "that's your interpretation. I'm not performing. I'm surviving." A beat passed. Her mouth curved—not quite a smile, but close enough to count. "Besides," she went on, quieter now, "you don't stay at my side because I'm gentle. You stay because I'm steady."

She gave his hip a brief, deliberate squeeze, familiar and grounding. "Careful with the metaphors, clone," she murmured. "You're very close to sounding like you admire me." Then she turned forward again, posture settling into that composed, unyielding line—not a queen on a dais, not a subject below him—just Aren.

They hadn't gone far when he called out his challenge.

Aren stopped short, boots crunching lightly against the ice-dusted stone as she turned back toward him. For a heartbeat, she just looked at him, unimpressed, arms folding across her chest while his enthusiasm bounced off the cavern walls. "…You are impossible," she said flatly. There was no real heat in it—only the faintest curl at the corner of her mouth that gave her away.

She watched him throw his arm up like a starting flag, listened to the dramatic countdown, and when he shouted GO, she didn't immediately move. Instead, she stepped in close, close enough that the crystals overhead washed pale gold and blue across both of them, and tapped two fingers against his chest.

"First," she said calmly, "I didn't agree to a time limit." A pause. "Second, if you yell like that again, I'm leaving you here and telling people you wandered off on your own." She leaned in just enough for her next words to be his alone. "And third—don't distract yourself on purpose. You'll miss the point."

Then she straightened, turned, and moved—long, purposeful strides carrying her into the flow of stalls and visitors with the confidence of someone who didn't wander, even when she hadn't said out loud what she was looking for yet.

Aren didn't browse aimlessly. She never did. She watched, assessed, filtered—passing polished trinkets, novelty holos, carved kyber replicas that screamed souvenir. Her attention finally caught on a quieter stall tucked slightly away from the main path: simple chains laid out on dark cloth, each holding a single untreated crystal, glowing softly in the cold light.

She stopped. Yellow. Not the blazing gold of a saber blade, but something steadier—warm, grounded, resonant. Purpose without cruelty. Strength without hunger. A crystal that didn't shout to be used, only waited to be chosen.

She didn't touch it at first. She closed her eyes briefly, reaching out with the Force—not to dominate or bend, but to listen. The response came calm and immediate, a low harmonic that unsettled her with its familiarity: resilience, persistence, a will reforged again and again without breaking. That decided it.

When she returned, she didn't announce herself. She stepped back into his space and held the necklace out in her palm, the crystal catching the light between them. "I don't buy gifts because they're pretty," she said evenly, eyes on his rather than the crystal. "Or because they're symbolic in a way people expect." She closed his fingers around it, firm but careful, making sure he felt its weight.

"This isn't a weapon. It's not a promise of what you should be." Her thumb brushed his knuckles once, grounding. "It's a reminder of what you already are. You endured. You adapted. You stayed human when you had every reason not to." A slight, deliberate pause. "And yellow," she added quietly, "is for people who walk a line without letting it hollow them out."

Her gaze met his fully now, unflinching. "You don't belong to the past. You're not a relic. And you don't need to make yourself smaller so the galaxy knows what to do with you." Then—because she was still Aren—her head tilted slightly. "Also, it won't get caught in your arms when I replace them. I checked." She stepped back half a pace, arms folding again, expression unreadable but steady. "Time's not up yet," she said. "But I'm done." And for once, she waited—to see how he would answer that.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naniti
​

His brows lifted just a touch when her question arrived, and a breath slipped from him that should've been a laugh.. if only he’d let it be. Very clever. Of course she’d corner him like that. What a menace.

“Well, if we’re being technical, you’re skipping a few steps in the process.” A glance slid her way, green eyes bright with mischief. He’d given up on hiding it since the duel ended. “You see.. warmth usually follows proximity, shared momentum, and a complete disregard for personal space. You’ve checked at least two of those already, Naniti.”

His skates traced another lazy arc; he shrugged lightly. “But since you asked so directly.. it’s the look you give when you’re about to call me out and decide not to. That one. It’s kind of distracting.”

Her threat about dunking him was enough to earn a huff. Why stop now? “If I’m being precise. It’s also how you look at me like you’re not impressed.. but I think you’re still curious.” A ghost of a smile flashed. It was impossible at this point to remain composed. “That threatens to short circuit my brain too.” That wasn’t everything.. but it was enough!

His mouth opened again, already reaching for something clever.. but found nothing. Her comment had some accuracy in it. Another shrug, to concede this time. “Fair,” he admitted dryly. “Some abilities at the campus are..uhh.. off syllabus.”

Finally, he came to a stop. Actually, it was from running out of momentum. A glide carried him a little longer and motion just.. thinned. No sharp brake or fancy pivot. The line crept forward slowly. When it shifted, Lysander’s shoulder brushed Naniti’s once.. then again. Maybe the crowd was helping him? Calmly, an arm slipped into place with Naniti’s with a hook at the elbow. “We’ll reach the counter in approximately forty-six seconds,” he murmured while fixed ahead with seriousness.

.. It was a little longer than that.

By the time there was only one couple in front of them, his gaze narrowed at the menu, squinting like it were anything but a board with pictures. “Hmmm. Spiced caf. Sweet caf. Caf with implications. Very strong offerings here on Ilum.” His eyes flicked briefly to the food section.. yes, he registered it existed.

“I’ll take whatever you’re having.”

Trusting a Togruta with this meal felt slightly less dangerous than trusting her with a weapon.. statisically. At least he would get to sit next to her at once of the wooden tables nearby.

 

[Eenia Vahn]

TAG: Adelle Bastiel
Wearing: [X]


The playful jab at least made Eenia feel better about the dip their conversation had taken. "Well, I suppose if I break something falling so hard, at least we can heal it, hm?" Further proof that she didn't mind the teasing. Besides, she had drug poor Adelle down with her. "Though all things considered, did I fall for you, or did you fall for me?"

The grin she bore at her own returned tease softened as the subject of her sister was brought up again. It made Nia wave a hand and shake her head. "No, don't apologize. I don't mind talking about her." she assured. "Besides, there were so many good things between us and they far outweigh the bad." It was merely the fact that the bad had left a rift that was hard to close, that was all. "She and I are the only two Force sensitives, that we know of. I'm sure there are some in our ancestry somewhere." There was a slight tip to the blonde's head as she looked to her friend. "Being an only child is probably just as hard, if not harder than having a sibling." She informed, smiling a little easier again. "For example, Anora is so much more physically adept than I am. She took to movement, to lightsabers, to all of that so quickly, and I've only just managed not to lop and arm or leg off. It always made me a little envious."

Nia's tongue clicked. "But on the other side of that, I took to Force use faster. Not that she minded." she mused.

There was a long pause from the blonde as she considered questions of her own, and she nodded when told to tell the other off if the need arose. "So, what was it like to be an only child?" she asked curiously. Being the younger sister, Eenia had never experienced the lack of a sibling, so now she was curious too.

 

[Eurydice]

Eurydice didn't drink. Not yet. Instead, she gave Varin her full attention as he relayed genuine belief in his master. Willing belief.

Love was not a foreign concept to her - she wasn't that sheltered - but it had simply never been meant for her. Eurydice couldn't navigate the feelings of others properly, and was better off observing from the shadows.

She would get hurt less that way. Hurt others less, too. Varin's question was cautious without probing too deeply. A proper answer would require some thought.

Eurydice finally tilted the cup a little further, ushering a few droplets of cider into her mouth. A note of surprise hummed from the back of her throat. Oh, that was good. Warm and crisp, but with a rich flavor and little tart notes to offset the sweetness.

"You were right," she licked her lips while glancing down into the cup, "this is nice."

Next, his question. Not answering probably would've sent a worse message, so she had to say something.

"Yes. But out of all the places he's brought me, this has been the most pleasant." She glanced toward the line of trees, watching the flicker of the lanterns strung between green needles, brushed with snow. "He said he had to meet someone, and left for the forest."

She wondered if there were Jedi lurking among the wood. After all, this was where they'd fled after being crushed on Coruscant. Were they still here, or had they moved on?

"Didn't Ilum…belong to the Alliance not long ago?"

Varin Mortifer

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

The curtain of snow and icy wind parted under Nefaron's will, and the world narrowed to the stretch of white between Jedi and Sith.

Tiny hairs prickled the back of Cora's neck before cruel lightning jetted toward her. Caught on her blade, the blue of dark-sided electricity crackled against the blue of her lightsaber. Ruthless as always, Nefaron took every scrap of knowledge she'd given and levied it against her. Perhaps that was her own fault, serving weakness up to a monster who thrived on psychological warfare.

Her daughter.

Unborn, but already loved more than anything else in the galaxy. Unlike her pain, the pregnancy wasn't something that could be hidden beneath layers of practiced control. No matter what she suffered, whether it be under his hand or another, it would never be enough for him. Nefaron would always find some flaw, some chip in the diamond to turn against her. And Ukatis was hardly a diamond.

"Righteous?" Cora muttered when Nefaron took a step closer, grimacing while she retained control of her saber absorbing his lightning. "That isn't mine to claim."

Because it wasn't about being righteous anymore; she suspected that it hadn't been for a long time. What was righteous about killing your own father, about seizing control of a world only to play puppeteer from the shadows?

Even if she were to emerge as a figurehead, those shadows would always cling to her. To her kin. To Makko and their daughter, who was now under threat of being weaponized against her. What if Ukatis never changed, and her daughter – who she would not allow to befall the same fate as so many women before her – grew to see her mother as an embodiment of all that was wrong with Ukatis? A woman who'd consolidated power on the little agriworld, unable to change the direction of the wheel that turned for centuries. A wheel that had crushed so many lives beneath its spokes.

A grunt tore from somewhere deep in her chest. Cora stumbled under the assault, Nefaron's lightning forcing her saber out wide. Her left hand moved from her side to curl around the hilt, pausing as it hovered over her abdomen.

A pulse of warmth drew it inward, laying over the curve of her stomach. The little Light inside of her wasn't even conscious, but still called to her all the same. Pure, in an uninhibited way. Calm, despite the storm.

Cora exhaled slowly. Steadily, she pushed against the lightning, guiding the saber back towards her center. The electricity racing between them was a conduit of hatred, but a conduit all the same.

"It won't be the same for her. Her choices will be her own."

Soft golden threads began to eat away at violent blue arcs, gliding slowly as they fought their way over the current. Even if they didn't reach him, Nefaron would feel it; a mother's love – dark or light – burned bright. Not for him, but he would feel the echoing, enveloping, all encompassing warmth of being loved unconditionally.

Perhaps, it would stir something in him. A memory that lay ensnared to the cobwebs of his mind, of a time where even he was loved.

Perhaps, such a thing did not exist.

Darth Nefaron

 

[Varin Mortifer]

He took a sip of his cider as she took her first real taste. The warmth of comfort spread about his body as he gave off a slow sight and relaxed in the chair further.

“I tend to know my beverages.”

He chuckled lightly.

Her answer did not necessarily surprise him. Sith Masters were known for taking their acolytes to dangerous territory. It was part of living as a Sith. If you couldn’t handle it then you perished. But something felt different about her. The constant looking over her shoulder, the jumping, the fear. His eyes squinted just slightly.

“How often do you come to events like these?”

An innocent enough question in his book, something to start gauging her relationship with her master.

“I can see you don’t come to these kinds of events often.”

He paused for a moment.

“That didn’t come out right.”

He sighed while scratching his head.

“What I meant was, you seem like you don’t get to experience something nice very often.”

Varin, I’m telling you, her scent is just like-

I said quiet, Ignati. I am figuring this out.

Ignati gave a low growl as he went silent once more.

“Are you hungry?”

He took another small sip of the warm liquid, the last of what was left in the cup. His brow furrowed slightly as he tipped the cup over to watch the last drip hit the snow, then placed the cup back on the table.

“Theres never enough in the cup.”

Eurydice​

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Tags: Eenia Vahn

Nia turned the teasing around on her easily and Adelle laughed. "Touché."

Good to know that her teasing could be matched. It was quickly followed by assurances that Adelle hadn't overstepped a boundary. Nia talked about her sister, their relationship with each other and the Force, as they slowly slid along. Adelle was starting to feel more comfortable with the skates and probably would have tried pushing the limits but she didn't want to leave Nia behind. And getting Nia to push her limits would probably result in the same thing that had just happened. Adelle wanted to avoid collecting more bruises.

Then Nia asked how being an only child was. That Adelle could answer truthfully, if not completely.

"To be honest, I don't quite remember? My old Order approached my parents when I was around six and I was brought to their temple," she said. "Last time I was really in my parents' care . . . It was after an incident, a little bit after my Knighting. The hospital released me to my parents instead of the Jedi, figuring that my recovery would be better. It was nice, I guess. I wasn't in the greatest shape so that colors things a bit but--" Adelle huffed a sigh, running a gloved hand through her short hair. "I did have their undivided attention. If I needed something, they were able to help. My mom, especially, was incredibly gentle and kind. Tried to anticipate what I needed, that sort of thing. I . . ."

Adelle paused considering her words. "I've never felt like I deserved her. She was always on my side."

Blood. There was so much blood. The sound of a thousand crimson wings as screams tore through the air.

Phantom mrow'd from the bank, lifting one paw from the snow but attentive. Adelle took a steadying breath, staring ahead and through the other skaters on the frozen lake. Ilum. This was Ilum. She was here with Eenia Vahn. And the confrontation with Krayt on Coruscant had been nearly eight years ago.

But to be on the safe side, she'd probably need to head off more questions about her parents.

"They're both gone now though," she said quietly. "Mom died a while back and Father was on a CorSec mission when he was fatally injured."

Even after his death, she'd never gotten used to calling him Dad. Granted, their relationship hadn't been exactly warm while he lived.

And she'd just done exactly what she'd been trying not to do earlier. Even if all that came out of it was a better understanding of her friend, Adelle actually wanted this to be fun.

"I do have someone judging me and my friends though," she warned, trying to regain some of her earlier levity. "Phantom can be a harsh critic, especially if there's a lack of petting."