Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Private Dark Side Gains


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Naamino Zuukamano Naamino Zuukamano

Gone was the purple robe of Derriphan that had cloaked him for most of the day. Instead, he embraced something entirely different: black athletic shorts that cut off above the knee, paired with a sleeveless black shirt. The acolyte's feet were free from the leather boots that were worn daily; now, he was sporting black high top shoes with flat soles, making it clear he was no novice to the training they were about to endure.

Around Lysander’s neck rested a pair of headphones, connected to a playlist heavy with bass. A duffel bag was slung over his shoulder, carrying an arsenal of gear that signaled he prepared for anything.

His anticipation was greatly amplified by the fizzling pre-workout cocktail within a shaker cup in one hand. Sports supplements were something the blonde totally geeked out over; his passion for it could rival a seasoned Sith alchemist. The ingredients combined were enough to challenge the Force itself. It was overdosed with vasodilators for the pump, enough stimulants to fuel a Bantha across Korriban’s vast desert, and a pinch of cognitive enhancers, to sharpen his mind like a vibroknife.

With what he believed to be a simple gesture of camaraderie, the acolyte prepared another drink for the Zabrak, using a spare cup that had already been handed over.

In truth, he was actually glad they found common ground during their detention.

With another sip, Lysander rolled the liquid over his tongue, savoring the fruity tang as they approached the gym building, which was connected to the dojo of Kor'ethyr Academy. “You'll be ready to lift an entire planet after my special blend.. it’d probably be illegal or something in the Mid and Inner Rim areas,” he stated, his tone light.

A spark of mischief then danced in the boy's emerald gaze, and a sly grin flashed as his attention shifted momentarily to Naamino. “These weights don't stand a chance."

The gym’s doors were now in view.

Finishing the last drops, he placed the empty container back in the bag and reached for the datapad, shutting it off. Lately, he'd gotten worse about checking for emails from a certain girl— even when he knew none were coming. No doubt, it was foolish, but he couldn't help himself, even after acknowledging the fact. Now, with the device no longer threatening to distract him, he could fully commit to their training session. The thought of testing his raw strength against the other student was exciting.

 
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Outfit:
Simple (but stylish) Workout Clothes,
Well Worn Boots

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Having just finished a warmup with a training saber and practice-dummy droid in the large dojo, Naamino Zuukamano met his unlikely companion at the agreed upon time outside in the vast courtyard. With a quizzical look, the zabrak accepted the offered drink and sniffed it. The brew smelled chemical but he'd just seen Lysander sip from the exact same brew he'd made for himself, so he figured it was probably safe.

The effervescence of the drink caught him somewhat off guard, but if he could handle whiskey with a straight face in front of Leshanna Leshanna and Haro Aven Haro Aven then he certainly wasn't going to balk about some workout potion in front of the new guy. The zabrak was very simply equipped in contrast to the human, but ready to move heavy stuff nonetheless.

Lysander seemed to chatter almost as much as his buddy, Haro, though the boys were very different indeed and only one had earned his unwavering loyalty. The blonde was still very much on his chit-list but Naami also held a begrudging and wary respect for him, plus it seemed as if his buddy was determined to remain cordial with him. Maybe it was a Coruscant thing?

"How long have you been weight training for?"

Direct and to the point, Naami had merely grunted and nodded with the boy's other statements.

"I've always been active but lifting was new for me when I got here nearly a year ago."

Though he didn't show it outwardly, the zabrak was getting excited for the unspoken competition as well. Lysander von Ascania Lysander von Ascania was a bit older and taller than him, but Naami was zabrak, stocky with growing muscle, and seemed to be outgrowing his clothes every other week. At the very least, this would be a great opportunity to learn more about his peer's capabilities. Something he refused to even acknowledge silently within himself, was that it was also a good opportunity to learn from a guy close to his own age who clearly had shared interests.

 

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Valley of the Swole Lords
Naamino Zuukamano Naamino Zuukamano

Lysander's gaze remained fixed ahead as the words spilled from Naamino into the space between them. The cooler air swept over his skin, something of a foreign feeling these days, but a welcome respite from the layers of robes and cloaks that he was usually buried under.

"I've been training for about two years now," he said, his voice more thoughtful than usual, "but to be honest, I didn't really figure out what I was doing until about a year ago." Memories of Naboo resurfaced, around the time he became serious about the pursuit of strength. While striking demanded speed paired with technique, and grappling just the same, the latter did offer moments where raw power could be flexed-- if timed correctly.

As they stepped into the gym, he instantly embraced the new but all too familiar setting; in a way only few could understand, it was a blend of comfort and excitement. The clanking of steel plates, competitive energy, and an aroma of testosterone filled the air. He welcomed all of it. And after a month in the bacta tank, he was simply grateful to be back in a place where he could push himself and feel alive.

Scanning the area, he noticed how everyone was focused— a stark contrast to Coruscant, where people seemed more interested in selfies and socializing. Even worse, the girls there had the audacity to post pictures of their glutes on Zikzok with captions stating they were training arms that day.

Several rows of dumbbells lined the nearest wall, but Lysander found himself gravitating straight to the heart of the training center, placing the duffel bag onto the ground, as if he were claiming his own personal spot.

The pre-workout was already rippling through him, similar to how the dark energy he’d been learning to control did. It was electrifying, the familiar jitters and tingling sensation on his face. Next, he began swinging his arms in circles while pivoting his hips; it was far from an ideal warm up, but Lysander also didn’t wish to waste too much time, especially as he was unfamiliar with Naamino’s routine.

His head turned to the Zabrak, a silent understanding stretching between them for a moment— two acolytes chasing greatness. "Well, spiky-noggin, what do you want to start with?"

The blonde felt indifferent whether they focused on the upper or lower body, for he was already envisioning the mountains of protein dense foods awaiting them at the finish line.
 
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The younger teen felt some reassurance as his slightly more worldly peer explained that it took him some time to find his stride with lifting. Naami had only just recently started to feel pretty confident regarding his own training.

Downing the drink quickly in the same way Lysander had, the boy handed the empty cup back when they entered the gym. Naami felt very at home in this place by now, but he noted that his companion moved with a kind of confidence the boy envied despite being in a new place. His eyes swept to consider Lysander's previously wounded knee.

The teen appeared unbothered and moved as if he'd never sustained what otherwise would have been a career ending injury. Naami marveled silently to himself at the kind of medicine they had access to simply by providence of being the next generation of Sith. He'd come a long way from being an orphaned farm boy on Wistril, and the thought gave him pause.

"Well, spiky-noggin, what do you want to start with?"

Naami was brought back from his reverie by the words and became suddenly aware of an almost electric sensation starting to thrum through him. His hearts were picking up speed, their polyrhythmic beat answering the zing of pre-workout beginning to thrum through his veins.

"Did a heavy ruck yesterday so imma let my legs recover," he answered gruffly, not yet fully warmed up to the banter between them but certainly less grumpy than first they'd met.

"How'bout chest and shoulders?"

He began swinging his own arms a bit, doing some shrugging motions and rolling his neck. He'd already done a bit of cardio and waking up his body to motion in the dojo but this was going to be a different level of exertion, particularly with someone else to measure himself against. Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed a set of black hand wraps to begin covering his hands and forearms out of habit.

 

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Valley of the Swole Lords
Naamino Zuukamano Naamino Zuukamano

Lysander slowly twisted his neck, feeling tension release just as a pop echoed. He found the boy's words intriguing, as they suggested he did more than simply lift heavy circles— there was a practical approach behind his routine too. With a nod of recognition, his gaze drifted to the nearby benches. “Works for me. Maybe we can throw in some neck training at the end.. helps prevent concussions,” he suggested, his voice smooth, carrying a rare undertone of enthusiasm. Perhaps the 100g pre-workout elixir coursing through his veins like wildfire had something to do with it.

Without another word, he moved toward the closest piece of equipment and slowly eased onto the surface with both feet planted on the ground. It also served as a subtle reminder of the ever-constant soreness, felt now more specifically in his upper back; between his academy training schedule and extracurricular pursuits, he'd grown used to his body always feeling like hot garbage.

But complaining wasn't an option; it never had been. The acolyte would reach up and grip the barbell at shoulder width space, unrack it, and begin a series of explosive reps. The movements, paired with blood pumping through his muscles, let him momentarily forget about the accumulation of fatigue built up throughout the week.

Finishing with a final exhale he returned the barbell to the starting position and sat up. His fingers intertwined behind his head, stretching just a little bit more and trying to release tension in the back of the shoulders. At the same time, the boy found his gaze wandering to another bench, where there was a group of three other academy students training together. Naturally, he couldn't help but begin calculating the total from the loaded plates in a way that felt as easy as adding credits, and from there, transformed into a challenge he couldn't resist; it wasn’t the first time his competitive spirit was so easily stoked.

Standing tall and moving aside he would give Naamino the space required. Already, Lysander was craving more, moving to the wall several paces over. Arms crossed over his chest, his calm expression grew more focused, brows furrowing as the heavy bass of music hammered through the gym.
 


Feeling more amped than was usual for him at the very start of a workout, Naami bounced a bit on the balls of his feet as he followed Lysander's lead. The comment about neck exercises and concussions invited one wryly raised eyebrow, but no other response was forthcoming other than a half shrug. He watched with solemn curiosity as the teen took to the bench, continuing to roll his own shoulders a bit as he finished wrapping his hands. Lys' form was indicative of his experience, the businesslike manner that he channeled his enthusiasm into the task ahead served to further the zabrak's grudging respect.

Naami counted as Lys worked, making sure he'd match his numbers if not surpass him for every activity they did. When the boy finished and stood, icy eyes followed his glance across to where fellow students worked. A small smirk touched his expression— that competitive spirit he saw within his peer was contagious and something Naami's own stubbornness would certainly stoke as well.

The zabrak settled into place on the bench and followed much the same process. His lifts were just slightly slower, favoring control rather than explosive movement. Still, he matched Lysander's general mood. Upon completing that warmup, the teen sat up and clapped hands to thighs with a look at his peer.

"Increase every round till we max out?"

His eyes flicked to the other group once more.

"Or are we going big out the gate?"

Naami relinquished the bench and stayed close to follow the human's lead, starting to feel absolutely electric with energy. It was a good thing he'd wrapped his hands, as sweat was already starting to bead at his temples— hearts and adrenal system absolutely keyed up by the pre-workout concoction he'd downed.

 
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Valley of the Swole Lords
Naamino Zuukamano Naamino Zuukamano

The acolyte caught sight of what he thought was all too familiar—a smirk at the corner of the Zabrak’s mouth. Wild and as unpredictable as a loth-cat since coming out of the womb and blessing the galaxy with his presence, it was an expression he wore often. As his training partner began putting in reps on the bench, he watched intently, assessing the technique in different areas, from his grip to the bar’s flight path. It was clear he favored time under tension for building muscle, whereas Lyander was keen on building strength without putting on more mass; each had their own merits.

Around the time Naamino finished his set, the blonde’s attention had already shifted towards a nearby mirror. Turning his body just so, he caught a glimpse of a tricep flexing; the definition was already clear, which wasn’t much of a surprise considering the hefty amount of vasodilators that’d been loaded into the pre-workout cocktail. The early stages of the pump were already settling in, and he couldn’t wait until he reached the fullness that was straight up filthy.

The sound of classing brought his attention back to the other acolyte, now weighing the question proposed carefully. One was more about calculation, while the other was high risk, a gamble. The latter had a magnetic pull on him, for curiosity sparked within. Besides, after a month of being malnourished in a bacta tank, he was dying to know where his current strength level was.

"I say we go big," Lysander finally said smoothly. A slow glance was given to the group once more, then returning to lock eyes with Naamino, passing on a silent understanding as the corner of his mouth twitched. "Feth ’em."

Without any further hesitation, he went to each side of the bench, loading the heaviest plates available onto each side of the barbell. Then, from his duffel bag, he removed a small ziplock bag containing a block of chalk. Like an artist with a brush, he began working with meticulous care, rubbing it along the calluses of his hand and fingers. Lysander then tossed it back onto the bag, watching a small cloud of dust rise into the air. Something about the sight was satisfying. His attention returned to Naamino.
"You’re welcome to try some if you’d like.. definitely helps with grip on the heavier sets. Every little bit counts.. I swear there are training cycles where I’d sacrifice my soul to Bogan just to add ten pounds to my bench press."

Once back on the bench, he went straight to work. The eccentric phase was controlled, but he’d then explode through the concentric phase as though he were trying to knock a Jedi’s head right off its body.

He pushed through a few more reps this time; there was a fine line between warming up properly to avoid injury, but also saving enough energy to perform properly on the next set, where’d go ahead and max out; no doubt, it felt necessary to make a statement to the other students present, especially if they were going to be training here several nights each week.

After finishing, he swung his body and hopped right off the bench. And though his demeanor was calm, something darker was churning within, something primal and aggressive. Not even the thicc Sith muscle mommy on the stairmaster machine in the corner of his vision could break his concentration.

From what he gathered, the warm-ups were feeling extra light, which was a good sign. "I think today's the day," he said, trying to pass on the type of motivation that only lifers could understand.

 
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