First Reply Blowing Off Steam

[Ben Khal]

The clock was ticking. Soon the day of reckoning would come for Padawan Ben Khal. He was still able to roam freely within the confines of the Jedi Temple, attending classes and completing assignments. But he couldn't leave. Not until the Council had decided what to do with him.

The shadow of the Hapan Crisis hung over him always, haunting his every step. Contact with his family wasn't prohibited, but he had been deliberately avoiding communications with his parents. Despite that, he had developed a bad habit of checking the Holonet for news from back home constantly, inevitably being sucked into the black hole of his own despair and disillusionment. It was difficult to crawl back out of that hole.

There were other offline distractions to occupy his time. Sparring had become strangely cathartic, though he always did it alone. Ever since the day he had practiced against Vera Noble and suffered flashbacks to his duel against Drystan Creed , it had become clear that fighting another living, breathing person was too much for him. But the training droids, he could tolerate.

Provided whoever had been beating up every droid in the dojo for the past hour hurried up and let him have a turn with them...

 

[Ilaria Morvayne]

Opening Post – "Blowing Off Steam"

Chapter One - A Return to the Temple
Ben Khal

---

Jedi Temple, Coruscant
Evening

​

Ilaria did not acknowledge the presence behind her at first. The rhythmic hum of her training saber filled the air, its blue edge carving precise, deliberate arcs through the dimly lit dojo. Footwork steady, posture upright—every movement was a measured response to an opponent that did not exist. A Makashi duelist had no room for wasted strikes. No need for aggression. Only control.

It was supposed to be meditative. An escape.

Instead, she could feel the frustration simmering beneath her carefully honed form, twisting with every elegant flourish of the blade. Each calculated thrust should have been effortless, but tonight, every motion felt weighted—dragged down by an exhaustion she refused to name.

She struck the droid's defense module again, harder than necessary. A mistake. She corrected her stance immediately, adjusting for the imbalance.

The voice behind her barely registered at first, drowned out by the controlled tempo of her own breath. But she had heard it.

Ilaria exhaled, lowered her blade, and turned.

Ben Khal.

Her sharp green eyes flickered over him, noting the tension in his shoulders, the restless set of his expression. She had seen him before, of course. Heard the whispers. The Hapan Crisis was not something easily ignored within these halls.

She deactivated her saber and clipped it to her belt, glancing at the sparring droid. A thin line of smoke curled from the point of impact where she had last struck it.

She hadn't meant to hit it quite that hard.

Ilaria folded her arms, tilting her head slightly. "If you want a turn, you'll have to wait until this one reboots."

Her tone was composed, cool—not dismissive, but not particularly accommodating either. She studied him for a moment longer before turning back to the droid, stepping aside just enough to give him space, should he insist on taking over.

"You might have better luck with one of the others," she continued, nodding toward the row of training droids lining the room. "Unless, of course, you're as particular about your opponents as I am."

There was a thread of something unreadable in her voice. Not quite a challenge. Not quite an invitation.

Merely an observation.

​

 

[Ben Khal]

Ben didn't say anything, waiting for the woman to either notice his presence or finish her spar. He didn't know her, not even in passing. Perhaps she was new to the Order. She was violent, but that was par for the course when it came to the training droids. Everyone beat them up more than they would with a sentient partner...

"If you want a turn, you'll have to wait until this one reboots."

She had beaten it so badly it had to reboot? That level of violence against the training droids was less common, but still nothing to write home about. Ben nodded at her in silent acknowledgment, already walking toward the row of other droids.

"You might have better luck with one of the others. Unless, of course, you're as particular about your opponents as I am."

Normally he wouldn't contradict a woman, but he had no idea what she was talking about. "They're all the same," he replied. "You just adjust their programming depending on your level of skill." Activating one of the other droids, he told it, "Padawan Ben Khal, reporting for training. Set to Level Six, Soresu."

"Greetings, Padawan. Level Six active." The droid positioned itself Soresu-style, ready to defend.

Ben waited a moment longer, expecting the woman to leave. But she didn't. In fact, she seemed intent on watching him spar. Though it made him feel uneasy, there was nothing he could do about it. He stood across from the droid, activated his lightsaber, and attacked.

There was nothing showy or spectacular about Ben. He was a capable fighter, efficient almost to a fault. It was clear he derived no joy from dueling. Catharsis, yes, but he couldn't have that as long as the eyes of a stranger were fixed on his back. Part of him was hoping she would lose interest and go away, so he could get on with the real spar. But if she insisted on hanging around, there was nothing he could do about it.

Ilaria Morvayne​

 

[Ilaria Morvayne]

Post #2 – "Blowing Off Steam"

Chapter One - A Return to the Temple
Ben Khal

---

Jedi Temple, Coruscant
Evening

​

Ilaria hadn't expected him to stay.

Most people would've taken her words for what they were—a quiet dismissal. Not out of rudeness, but because she had long since learned that most Jedi, particularly those in the Temple, were more comfortable keeping to themselves. Especially when they carried the kind of burdens that made them seek solitude in the training rooms rather than the company of others.

But Ben Khal did not leave.

He was pragmatic in his movements, she noticed. No wasted flourishes, no unnecessary aggression. Even his activation of the training droid was devoid of any real energy, as if he were running through the motions of a task that held no meaning for him beyond obligation.

Her arms remained crossed as she watched. Not out of any particular interest in his form—though she did note the efficiency of his technique—but because, much like him, she wasn't quite ready to leave yet. The thought of returning to her quarters, of facing the silence and the weight of her own thoughts, was somehow less appealing than lingering here, in the dim glow of training sabers and the steady hum of mechanical voices.

The droid moved defensively, responding to Ben's attack in the precise, calculated manner of a Soresu practitioner. It was a good style—structured, resilient.

Predictable.

"They aren't all the same," she finally said, breaking the silence.

Her voice wasn't challenging, just… matter-of-fact. A quiet certainty, much like the way she carried herself.

She stepped forward slightly, just enough to observe the flow of his movements more closely.

"You can adjust a droid's programming, but its responses will always be limited to what it has been coded to do." A pause. "People aren't like that. You can never fully account for what they might do. Their unpredictability is what makes a fight real."

She needed to hear these words as much as he did.

Her emerald gaze flickered toward him, studying his reaction even as he continued his spar.

"You don't like fighting, do you?"

It wasn't really a question.

​

 

[Ben Khal]

"They aren't all the same."

Ben had no idea why she was arguing with him on this, unless she knew something he didn't. And even then, he didn't want to be invited into some secret fight club with hijacked droids or whatever else that might entail.

Sure, it was predictable. Most fights were. The Jedi and the Sith relied upon the same lightsaber techniques and forms that they had for millennia, and it was rare to see any deviation from them where combat was concerned. He was starting to become annoyed with her argumentativeness, though he forced down his feelings of frustration. It was unseemly for a male to show irritation with a female.

"You don't like fighting, do you?"

Ben successfully broke the droid's guard, dealing a lethal blow. He deactivated his lightsaber and bowed, signaling to the droid to end the session early. If she was going to insist on talking to him, he couldn't fully concentrate on sparring.

"I don't know anyone who does," he answered. The closest he could think of would be Vera Noble , but it wasn't the fighting itself she seemed to enjoy. She was competitive and wanted to win. "We don't like fighting Sith or going to war. We do it because we must. Because we're compelled to take action against evil and injustice."

Except it wasn't evil and injustice which had compelled him on Hapes. He had joined the Consortium side out of loyalty to his nation, believing he had to defend it from terrorists seeking to overthrow the government. Even when he watched his fellow Hapans kill civilians for the crime of being even vaguely associated with the insurgents, he still threw his lot in with them. Because he was a Hapan too.

Ilaria Morvayne​

 

[Ilaria Morvayne]

Post #3 – "Blowing Off Steam"

Chapter One - A Return to the Temple
Ben Khal

---

Jedi Temple, Coruscant
Evening

​

Ilaria tilted her head slightly as she watched him disengage his saber, bow, and dismiss the droid. If she had been any other Padawan, she might have taken the gesture as an unspoken invitation to continue the conversation. But she had spent enough time observing people—truly observing them—to recognize the truth.

He was irritated.

Not visibly, not openly, but it was there, simmering beneath the surface of his controlled expression. The way he answered her, the way he had cut his training short, the way his body held just a fraction too much tension.

And yet, he still tried to smother it.

How… Jedi-like.

She should have let the conversation end there. Should have left him to whatever internal battle he was fighting, walked away before she found herself drawn too deeply into something she had no right to question.

But she didn't.

Instead, she folded her arms, expression unreadable, and let the silence stretch between them for just a moment longer than was comfortable.

"You don't know anyone who does?" she echoed, her voice quiet, contemplative. Not challenging. Just considering. "Then maybe you haven't been looking closely enough."

She turned slightly, pacing a few slow steps away before pivoting back to face him.

"There are plenty of people who enjoy fighting," she continued, the edges of her voice edged with something distant. "Not because they seek competition, not because they want to win, but because it's the only time they feel truly in control. The only time they can shape their reality into something tangible, something immediate. There's no war, no politics, no impossible questions to answer—only the moment. The blade. The fight."

Her emerald eyes locked onto his, gauging his reaction as she spoke.

"Some people were raised in violence. Others found purpose in it. And then there are those who fight not because they enjoy it, but because it's the only thing they know how to do."

A pause.

"Which one are you?"

She could see it—the flicker of something dark beneath his carefully measured words. Not anger, not hatred, but something far worse.

Guilt.

That was what had made him stop. Not frustration with her, not exhaustion, but the weight of something unresolved. Something he had yet to make peace with.

And Ilaria understood that feeling better than she cared to admit.

When he didn't answer immediately, she exhaled softly, her gaze lowering for just a moment before returning to his.

"You say we fight because we must," she said, more measured now. "Because we're compelled to take action against evil and injustice."

She shook her head.

"That's what they tell us. What they want us to believe."

Her voice was steady, but there was something deeper beneath it—something she had not yet spoken aloud to anyone else.

"But not every war is as simple as good versus evil. Not every battle is as clear-cut as right and wrong. And not every choice we make is made because it's the right one. Sometimes, we choose a side because it's our side. Because it's what we know. Because we're afraid of what it would mean if we did anything else."

The shadow of the Butcher of Telos held high.

The words felt heavier than she expected, settling into the air between them like dust on an old, forgotten relic.

She had not meant to say that much.

A muscle in her jaw tightened. She hadn't even known him for more than five minutes, and yet, here she was, exposing the edges of something raw. Something unresolved.

Perhaps, in some strange way, she recognized herself in him.

Finally, she broke eye contact, glancing toward the disabled droid.

"If you don't like fighting," she said, quieter now, "then why are you still here?"

It wasn't an accusation.

It was a real question.

Because she wanted to know the answer.

​