Private Zinflix and Chill

[Varin Mortifer]

He chuckled.

“All things considered”

He mirrored what she said.

“I too slept well. I actually dreamt, and it was…pleasant for once. But damn it was hard getting out of the couch. Next time we should probably sleep in the bed.”

He looked at what she was making, taking in the scent then he let his eye wander around the space around him, taking in the area and how she lived. Though it was a cave, it was a very comfortable living. No doubt something that took time to do, and a lot of sleepless uncomfortable nights.

His hand gently trailed down her back as he turned around to look at the different utensils and tools in her kitchen.

“Do you like to bake at all?”

He faced her his eyebrow arched upward. Then he spoke softly, clarifying why he asked.

“I…do a bit of baking myself. But thats more of a personal guilty pleasure.”

He picked up one of the pots to investigate it, looking at the handles and the general shape.

“But by no means am I…great at it.”

He looked back at her, the sounds of the kitchen revolving around the both of them as the scents started to reveal themselves more clearly.

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren shook her head first, a small, almost apologetic motion, before answering him. Her mouth curved faintly as she turned back toward the pan, the motion practiced and unhurried.

"Not really," she said. "I'm not much of a baker."

She glanced at him over her shoulder, expression easy, unembarrassed by the admission.

"I can cook," Seren added calmly. "So if you need a casserole, or an actual meal, I can help with that. Just…nothing baked for dessert."

There was a quiet note of amusement in her voice, as if she had already learned that lesson the hard way.

"You'll have to forgive the lack of sweets," she finished lightly. "Malachor encourages practicality more than indulgence."

She turned back to the food, letting the scent rise again, comfortable with him moving through her space as if it were already shared.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

“Oh well, baking isn’t too hard.”

He started investigating her kitchen, pulling out a couple of mixing bowls and some other ingredients.

“Unfortunately, Malachor leaves me a bit limited on what I can do. But, I learned how to bake in a desert. I'm sure I can do it here.”

He smiled at her as he set up utensils and various ingredients.

He worked beside her, prepping the sweet dish with her as she cooked a course. He worked efficiently around her, sometimes accidentally stepping into each other's way and quickly correcting it. Some spaces he was still trying to learn, but soon enough he began mixing the liquid mixture in the bowl until it was a liquid with no lumps.

He then handed her one of the whisks he mixed with.

“Here, try it. A little peek at what's to come soon.”

He then distributed some fruits into the mixture, stirring it one final time before pouring it into a baking dish.

He then looked at her and spoke softly.

“Alright, no loud noises. Any sudden loud noises can cause the dish to collapse.”

The scents intermingled as they worked throughout the kitchen, Varin finally sliding the dish into the oven giving it time to bake.

“And hopefully this turns out good.”

He leaned back on the counter, watching her as she worked with familiarity of the space, eye lingering on her, not noticing he was beginning to stare.

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren watched him work with a quiet sort of interest, not hovering, not interfering, just tracking the way he moved through an unfamiliar space with growing confidence. The food she was making was simple—nothing ornate, nothing that required ceremony—but it was steady, practiced, something she could do without thinking. That alone let her pay attention to him instead.

When he made the comment about loud noises, her brows lowered immediately. Not in irritation—more in disbelief.

She shook her head once and gave a small shrug, the corner of her mouth twitching.

"Do we have to whisper the rest of the day?"

She took the whisk from him anyway, tasting the mixture with mild curiosity before handing it back, entirely unconcerned about the supposed fragility of the dish.

"Because if the survival of baked goods on Malachor depends on silence," she added dryly, "they were never meant to live here."

Seren turned back to her pan, stirring slowly as the hearth crackled.

"I'll try not to shout any prophecies or summon anything catastrophic," she continued, tone light. "But beyond that, the cake is on its own."

She glanced back at him once more, catching his stare without calling it out, her expression calm, unbothered.

"If it works, I'll admit you know what you're doing," Seren said. "If it doesn't, we still eat. Either way, no whispering."

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Varin let out a quiet laugh.

“No, not all day of course. Just for a little bit, less than an hour.”

He watched her work on the meal as he waited on the baking to finish. He looked over at the screen for a moment to see the other show he put on was still playing, a familiar one, but he couldn't quite remember the name, just some of the plot. He remembered trying to watch it and becoming uninterested some time ago. Then his attention came back to her.

“It collapsing doesn’t ruin the taste. It just won’t look as pretty. Some people find that off putting, some don’t mind. Me? I will eat it regardless. But I figured you would like to at least see what it looks like, or what it’s supposed to, I should say.”

As the timer ran down closer to finish, he picked up some fruits and started chopping them into a bowl, adding some sweetened liquid and some water. Working with what he had, it may not be exactly what it’s supposed to be but he was going to try to get it close.

He mixed up the bowl and poured it into a saucepan, placing it on the stove on an unoccupied burner. He let it heat up for a bit, occasionally stirring.

“This was one of my family's favorites. A rare thing we would make. Not native to just my planet, it’s really a common dish. That's why we liked it though.”

He looked back at her and gave a soft smile.

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren listened while she worked, the steady rhythm of what she was cooking never really breaking as he talked. She glanced at the screen briefly when he did, then dismissed it just as quickly, attention returning to the kitchen and to him.

At his explanation, she gave a small, amused huff through her nose.

"Then we're aligned," she said mildly. "If it's edible, it's acceptable. Presentation has never impressed me as much as effort."

She watched him move again, the way he adjusted to the space, the care he put into something that clearly mattered to him. When he mentioned his family, her hands slowed just a fraction, not stopping, just acknowledging the weight of the words.

"Those are usually the things that last," Seren said after a moment. "The ordinary ones. The dishes people don't guard or ritualize because they were never meant to be rare—just shared."

She shifted the pan aside, giving him room without thinking about it, then glanced at what he was preparing on the stove.

"I like that you chose something like this," she added quietly. "Not impressive. Not ceremonial. Just… familiar."

Her gaze lifted to meet his, a faint warmth in her expression.

"You can tell a lot about someone by what they remember from home," Seren said. "And by what they choose to recreate when they're far from it."

She turned back to her cooking, the hearth humming softly between them, the space feeling settled in a way that didn't need to be named.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

He paused for a moment after she spoke. A moment of contemplation.

“I could make some form of a delicacy from my home, something incredibly rare. But, those dishes were not made for the closeness of our family. They were made for special gatherings, where enemies pretended to love our family.”

He stirred slowly, looking down in the pot as the steam rose.

“But it wouldn’t be made out of fond memories.”

He smiled lightly and spoke quietly.

“Changes the flavor, spoils the meal.”

He pulled the pot off the burner to cool as it formed a fruity syrup. The sauce took on various fruits giving it a blue and purple hue.

“We had better memories with common dishes.”

He fell silent again as the baked dish finished cooking, in a slow smooth motion he pulled out the cake dish. The sweet aroma filling the space and the spongey consistency of the cake itself was evident of care for how he made it, as well as moist.

He set it aside and slowly poured the syrup on top of it, chunks of the fruits slid across the top surface as the cake absorbed some of the color and flavor.

He sighed as he looked at it, the memories flooding in of his mother making it and teaching him and his sister how.

Then his eyes fell to Seren.

“It is done.”

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren watched him through the small, careful motions—through the way his stirring slowed when the memories crept in, through the pause before he poured the syrup, through the breath he let out when the dish was finally finished. She did not rush him, did not fill the silence while it worked its way through him.

When he looked at her and spoke, she stepped a little closer, not crowding him, just enough that her presence was felt.

"I wouldn't ask you to make something that brings back bad memories," she said gently, her voice low and steady. "Food should nourish more than the body. If it carries the wrong weight, it stops doing that."

Her gaze moved to the dish, taking in the color, the care in it, the way it had been finished with intention.

"This," Seren continued, "this feels like something meant to be shared, not performed. The kind of meal you make because you want the people around you to be full, not impressed."

She looked back at him, a small, sincere smile touching her expression.

"Those are the memories worth keeping," she added softly. "And the ones worth making new."

She gave a quiet nod toward the counter.

"It looks perfect," she said, and meant it.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

He smiled softly when she finished speaking and lightly kissed her forehead. He rested his finger under her jaw as he gazed in her eyes. A sincerity in both his eyes and voice.

“Thank you.”

He spoke softly as his thumb gently rested on her chin, giving it a light rub.

“This is technically a second surprise for you, a surprise for me as well, but I want you to try something that brings a taste of my home to you.”

His other hand gently took hers, fingers curling around hers in a light grasp.

“I see this as an art just like fighting, and just like writing or drawing. A bit of your soul goes into it, to be shared with others.”

He looked back at the dish then back to her.

“Its one of the more sacred things that can be shared, when it isn't being searched for fame or over recognition. Gifting it to someone you care for, I think that is much more rewarding then recognition from strangers.”

He gently kissed the top of her hand and lowered it slowly.

Though he had a moment of memorizing pain, she always had a way to steer him back. He saw that, recognized it. And he was thankful for it. Truly.

The hearth kept its peaceful soft sounds around them as the holo panel that had faded to just background noise continued the plot of whatever drama was playing. His attention had been on something far more important to him, and he knew that would not change anytime soon.

Well, it smells delicious in here, boy

Ignati spoke quietly in his head.

Dare I say, this might be your best work yet out of the oven.

A faint curve appeared on Varin's lips as he quietly chuckled.

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren did not pull away from him when he leaned in. She stayed where she was, steady beneath his touch, letting the moment settle instead of rushing past it. When he finished speaking, she lifted her hand slightly in his, her thumb brushing once over his knuckles in a quiet, grounding gesture.

"Then I'm honored you would share it with me," she said softly. "Not just the dish, but the part of yourself that came with it."

Her gaze moved briefly to the cake, the colors still vivid, the warmth lingering in the air, before returning to him.

"You're right," Seren continued. "Anything made with care leaves an imprint. It doesn't have to be perfect or impressive. It only has to be honest."

She gave a small, knowing smile.

"And I can feel the honesty in this," she added, her tone lighter now. "Which means I'll take my time with it. That seems only fair."

Her fingers tightened gently around his for a moment before she let her hand rest against his arm, comfortable, unguarded.

"Go on then," Seren said, glancing back toward the dish. "Serve it. I'm ready to taste a piece of your home."

The hearth continued its low, steady hum, the holo playing on unnoticed as the morning settled into something warm, quiet, and shared.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Her thumb brushed over his fingers as he held hers loosely, the feeling both inviting and grounding made it easier for him to think, and to be himself. When she tightened over his hand he smiled as she showed her enthusiasm of trying the dish, then her fingers rested over his arm. His hand dropped from her chin and he whispered back.

“As you wish.”

At her request he searched for two plates and set them aside, then cut into the pastry. The syrup ran down the blade like a river split by a dam. Carefully he picked up a piece and set it on its side on the plate. The syrup was still warm and flowing.

Perfect

He thought to himself as he slid her plate onto the table, then retrieved his slice and sat down.

“I’m honored you would try it.”

He spoke softly as he sat up, back straight in the chair.

“I hope you like it, if not,”

He shrugged.

“Well, then more for me I guess.”

He waited for her to enjoy the first bite before he touched his. Something he was taught was the cook always ate last. A courtesy of patience and manners and to give the other partakers a chance of first impressions.

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren watched him for a moment before she reached for her fork, not the dish itself, but him, the care in how he cut it, the pause he held while waiting, the way he sat as if this were something that mattered.

It wasn't the food yet. It was the intention.

She took a small bite, deliberately unhurried, letting the warmth and sweetness settle before she said anything. Her eyes lowered briefly as she tasted, then lifted back to him, thoughtful rather than performative.

A quiet breath left her, something between approval and relief.

"It's comforting," she said honestly, not rushing the word. "Not just sweet. Grounded. Like it knows what it is without trying to be impressive."

Her thumb brushed the edge of the plate absently as she took another bite, this one slightly larger, less analytical, more instinctive.

"I can see why it's a family dish," Seren added. "It doesn't ask for attention. It just stays."

Only then did she smile, small and genuine, and glance at his untouched plate.

"You're allowed to eat now," she said softly. "I promise I won't steal it all."

She leaned back just enough to give him space, but not distance, the warmth between them unchanged.

"And for the record," she continued, quieter, "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't trust the hands that made it."

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Varin watched her take the first bite, listened to her words that broke down how the dish tasted and what the meaning was for its purpose to be made. Many times she had cooked him a meal and he enjoyed it, this time he felt he would return that to her.

He chuckled.

Not as a favor, but as a want.

"I know, I just like to watch first impressions. Also like a dong or a drawing you like to see the audiences reaction."

He picked up his fork and started eating slowly. His eyes closed as he remembered the taste of nostalgia, the sweet warm memories framing themselves from the dish itself.

The times where he felt he truly belonged.

“I would never break that trust, I hope you know that. Trust given and trust gained are never easy feats.”

He took another bite, smaller and slowly chewed, savoring the flavors.

“Do you have any dishes that you hold sacred? Something of fond memories to savor?”

He looked at her with a curiosity in his eye, the question had crept up in his mind before but it only announced itself louder this time.

“Perhaps we could make it together.”

He spoke softly as he continued eating.

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren shook her head slowly, not dismissively, just honestly, her gaze softening as she watched him eat.

"I do not remember my childhood the way you do," she said quietly. "There were no kitchens like this, no hands guiding mine through recipes meant to be kept. It was halls and stone and discipline. Tomes stacked higher than I was. Meals taken because they were scheduled, not because they were shared."

She paused, turning her fork once between her fingers, thinking.

"Food was fuel there. Clean. Measured. Forgettable." A faint curve touched her mouth, not quite a smile. "I learned far more about the Force than I ever did about comfort."

Her eyes lifted back to his, steady, present.

"But that does not mean there was nothing," she continued, a little more warmth entering her voice. "There were long nights studying by dim light. Tea that was brewed too strong because it helped keep focus. Simple things that stayed the same when everything else was demanding."

She reached for another bite of his dish, smaller this time, thoughtful.

"I might be able to come up with something from those days," Seren said. "Not sacred in the way yours is. More improvised. Something made to endure long hours rather than celebrate them."

Then, softer still.

"And if we make it together, perhaps it can become something new instead of something missing."

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Varin ate slower as she spoke of her past and experiences with specific dishes. How they were meant to only nourish, not to truly fill or be enjoyed. It brought a softness to his gaze.

He knew that training with Jedi led to neglectful living, but to make it seem soulless, it did not sit right with him. Every once in a while there had to be something that brought excitement to their students, right?

It turns out, that wasn't the case. From the sounds of it they couldn't even enjoy a simple cup of tea.

But according to her, there was still something that she held dear about it. Perhaps he was reading her wrong. But to him, that life seemed…lacking.

Varin let out a soft sigh and leaned back in his seat, searching her eyes.

“I think I would love to do that with you.”

He set his hands on the table, crossing his fingers from one hand to the other.

“Maybe it's just me, but, that kind of living just seems…empty.”

He thought for a moment.

“Not all of it of course. You have your fond memories of portions of it, and that's something.”

He exhaled lightly as if trying to wrap his head around what he was trying to convey.

“My training, was not easy. It had its grueling, painful moments. But there was always some form of reward. Not a gift from someone else, but a feeling of self fulfillment. On the rare nights where something big was achieved we would have something like this.”

He looked at the food.

“It made everything we endured, worth it.”

He looked back at her.

“Did your training have something similar?”

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren listened without interrupting, her attention steady on him as he spoke. When he finished, she gave a small nod, thoughtful rather than defensive, as if weighing memory instead of arguing it.

"Yes," she said quietly. "There were moments like that. They just weren't personal in the way you describe."

She glanced down at her plate for a moment, then back up to him.

"When something was achieved, it was usually celebrated by the whole class," Seren continued. "A trial passed, a technique mastered, a concept finally understood. It wasn't about indulgence. It was recognition that progress had been made."

Her mouth curved slightly, not quite a smile, but something softer.

"Day to day was…quiet. Repetitive. Sometimes dull," she admitted. "But almost every day, we learned something new or proved we could do something we couldn't before. That was the reward. Incremental, but steady."

She folded her hands loosely in front of her.

"It wasn't empty to us at the time," Seren said, honest and even. "It just wasn't warm. Fulfillment came from improvement, not comfort. From knowing you were closer to understanding than you were the day before."

Her gaze met his again, calm and open.

"I didn't realize what was missing until much later," she added. "Not because it was wrong…but because it was incomplete."

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

He listened to her. Every word that she spoke rang true that they had vastly different training routines. That part did not surprise him.

He thought for a moment after she had said her piece, digesting what she had given to him in information.

“I guess that is the difference between a larger class and a smaller one? I think I was a bit…spoiled? You could say.”

He chuckled.

“We only had each other when it came to training. It was all family members. Two students, two masters.”

He ran his fork over his food.

“Our Father, he trained us on physical discipline, strength and combat.”

His thumb ran over the end of the utensil as if he were processing what all he was saying.

“Some days were…easier than others. But that's a common theme when you take training seriously. Even when doing chores, it was training.”

He relaxed his posture exhaling slowly.

“We had certain postures we had to make while chopping wood, we had to learn calligraphy, we learned the ancient Sith language. But whenever we failed…there was discipline involved.”

He tapped his fingers on the table as if he were letting go of something he held in for so long.

“Whenever my sister would be disciplined, I would try to take the brunt of it. I would always get her into trouble…but I was also there to”

He paused for a moment.

“Get her out of trouble. She admired me, and saw me as a role model. I wish she didn't, but you can't always control what other people see, especially if they see you as their hero.”

He took a deep breath.

“My mother, she would teach us alchemy, sorcery and gardening. My sister was the one who was more adept with alchemy and gardening. She was force dead and couldn't do sorcery, so it fell to me.”

He smiled slightly.

“I was horrible at it.”

A quiet laugh left him before his eyes looked at his hands.

"But she was so patient with me."

He looked back at the dish.

“But when the day came to a close, when the training and the discipline was done. We always sat down together. We always dined together.”

He looked her in the eyes, a slight exhale leaving his mouth as a quiet chuckle.

“What was your biggest achievement?”

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren listened without interrupting, her attention steady and unbroken as he spoke. She did not look away when he spoke of discipline, of punishment, of the quiet weight of being someone his sister leaned on. She did not soften her expression out of pity, nor harden it in judgment.

She simply listened.

When he finished, and the question finally came, she lowered her gaze for a moment, considering it. Her fingers rested lightly against her plate, unmoving.

Then she looked back up at him.

"I do not think my Order would have called any of them… achievements," she said quietly. "They preferred the word 'progress.' Something that never quite finished."

A faint, thoughtful smile touched her lips.

"But…" she continued, after a breath, "if I am honest, the first time I was allowed into the restricted archives on my own."

Her eyes drifted slightly, as if seeing it again.

"Not escorted. Not supervised. Trusted to read what most initiates were never shown."

She looked back at him.

"It was not a reward. It was a test," Seren added. "To see if knowledge would make me reckless… or careful."

Her thumb traced a slow circle on the table's edge.

"I passed," she said simply.

There was no pride in it. No boast.

Only fact.

"Later, there were missions. Trials. Meditations that lasted days," she went on. "Moments where I was expected to dissolve myself into the Force and return unchanged."

A faint, almost wry curve touched her mouth.

"I never returned unchanged," she admitted.

Then she met his eye again, more directly now.

"But my greatest achievement was not something they awarded," Seren said softly. "It was the day I realized I could walk away… and still be myself."

She let that settle between them.

"Everything I am now came from that choice," she finished.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

His body language changed a bit at the mention of delving into the forbidden wing without needing escorts. A body language of interest and curiosity. He had been in a forbidden section before but he had to find ways to sneak around.

“Interesting. I had only been to a forbidden section once, and that was before I came to meet you the first time. The security in most of those sections are extremely tight and for good reason.*

He looked at her when she finished her story, quiet at first.

“Not many people would pass that test. I likely would be among them. The amount of restraint you need to refuse over indulgence in a place drowning in what you crave, it's no small feat. That is something that would have been celebrated in my home.”

When she spoke of her personal greatest achievement a smile came to his face.

“So many do not realise their own freedoms. Either too ignorant or too afraid. You realised you had the freedom to forge your own trail and build yourself the way you wanted, maybe even the way you needed.”

He paused for a moment.

“Before you made your decision, what were you feeling? Were you scared, nervous, confident? Those feelings also matter when you see how far you have come.”

He relaxed sitting back in his chair as he watched her and listened. Keeping all of his attention on just her, fully absorbed into her story.

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren did not answer immediately.

She lowered her gaze to her plate for a moment, idly tracing the edge of it with her fingers, as if organizing her thoughts before allowing them into words. When she looked back up at him, her expression was calm, but more open than usual.

"I was not confident," she said quietly. "And I was not fearless."

A faint breath left her, almost a quiet laugh without humor.

"I was exhausted," Seren admitted. "Not physically. Spiritually. Mentally. I had spent years proving that I could fit into something that was never shaped for me."

Her eyes stayed on his as she spoke, steady and sincere.

"Every question I asked was tolerated, not welcomed. Every insight was measured by how well it matched doctrine," she continued. "I was praised for discipline, but quietly discouraged from curiosity."

She paused, choosing her words carefully.

"By the time I stood there, with the option to stay or leave," Seren said, "I already felt like I was disappearing."

Her thumb stilled against the table.

"So yes," she went on softly, "I was scared. Of being alone. Of being hunted. Of being wrong."

A small, thoughtful smile touched her lips.

"But I was more afraid of becoming someone who survived by shrinking," she added. "Someone who stopped asking because it was easier."

She leaned back slightly in her chair, shoulders relaxing.

"Leaving was not brave in the way people imagine," Seren said. "It was quiet. There was no dramatic moment. No speech. No declaration."

Her gaze softened.

"I packed what I could carry," she finished. "I walked away. And I decided that if I was going to be lost, I would be lost honestly."

Then, after a brief pause, she added more lightly,

"Confidence came later," she said. "After I survived the first few years."

Her eyes met his again.

"Fear just happened to be the first companion."

Varin Mortifer