Private Glass Daggers

[Isar]

"Been a while since we did this..." Dal smirked, eyes like a red dawn staring at Nyx as he twirled the training saber in his right hand.

The length of the sparring room floor separated them - or at least the cargo bay they'd converted into a sparring room. They put some spongy padding down and hooked up some weapon racks on the walls. And by they he meant Artas. In fact, the Pureblood had been pretty fanatical about getting that and the weight room set up after the Maw gave them their new ship.

New being a relative term, of course. As far as Dal could tell, the ship was over a hundred years old. For now they were calling it the Dzu, ancient Sith for "leaf." Because there was nothing nicer to call a ship this ugly and calling it the Maka-Eekai L4000 light freighter would have been a mouthful.

But at least they had a home now.

Sort of.

Dal stepped toward Nyx, the padded floor spongy against his bare feet. His loose gray pants swished with his movement and he could feel the cold, stale air from the recyclers on his arms, exposed by the sleeveless white shirt.

"You still going to get your ass kicked?"

Venyxa Tel Alam

 

[Venyxa Tel Alam]

Venyxa was dressed in similar training garb, though hers was more form-fitting. She didn't like the feel of fabric swishing about her ankles when she was trying to train. She had arrived early and used the time to sit cross-legged near a corner of the room, meditating. This galaxy was different, sometimes frustratingly so, but in some ways it was also frustratingly similar. The block persisted no matter what. The Force, agonizingly just on the other side the block, but seeping into her as if through a kinked hose, still eluded her as much as it ever had.

Some things didn't change, she supposed.

It manifested to those around her, if at all, as limited potential in the Force. Weakness. Failure, a dark voice whispered in the back of her mind.

Isar outclassed her in that regard, to be sure, though she thought physically they were possibly equally matched, though with differing strengths.

"You want the glass blades?" she asked casually when Dal approached. "Kind of hard to pull my punches with those. I'd hate if anything were to happen to you."

 

[Isar]

"Oh I doubt that," a hint of laughter in his words, always so carefully formed, always seeking to achieve perfection.

Look how far he'd fallen.

Exiled. Disgraced. Addicted to spice.

Tel Alam would have been disgusted.

Dal's smile faltered, flickered, like a candle flame fluttering for breath in a sudden breeze. Then it snapped back into place, a gleaming white shield of verisimilitude confidence.

"But maybe use the training shotos. I'd rather not end up bleeding on the floor with you stitching me up. Again." Although those circumstances had been entirely different.

Reaching out a hand, Dal flexed his will and two short-handled training shotos flipped from the weapon racks to hover in front of Nyx's eyes. Just out of her reach.

Venyxa Tel Alam

 

[Venyxa Tel Alam]

Bloody showoff, the Keshiri thought as she watched the training shotos floating towards them so leisurely. They hesitated just outside of her reach. Bastard. She flexed her own power and took hold of the shotos. She didn't care for them; they were, to her understanding, the tragic result of a bizarre fetishization of -- well, let's just say Atrisia.

"That wasn't fun for you?"

Her tone was conversational, but her eyes had a little glint to them.

"I, on the other hand," said Venyxa playfully as she flipped the shotos gracefully, catching each carefully before flipping again. All reflex. No Force. Not when she had to conserve. "Can't remember a better day. How's that going, anyway? Show me the scar." The twinkle in her eye returned and her dark eyes traced south. "No infection?"

Isar

 

[Isar]

"Oh is that the excuse?"

He lifted the hem of his shirt, exposing lean cerulean muscle and the edge of a dark blue scar that started at the hip and followed the pelvis down beneath the hem of his pants.

"Afraid I don't go trouserless for the vanquished." Dal smirked, dropping his shirt back into place. "Now, no more stalling. Unless you want to make a bet to make this interesting. One garment loss per touch?"

Should have done more glitterstim this morning. And all his bottles of Corellian whiskey were dry. Fuck.

Snap-hiss.

The training saber sprung to life in his right hand, a bar of neon yellow.

Dal came at her, a wide, back-handed swing that seemed aimed to carve her in half from hip to shoulder, then transitioned at the last moment like a snake rearing back its head for a lightning quick thrust at her chest.

Venyxa Tel Alam

 

[Venyxa Tel Alam]

Venyxa's gaze lingered on the scar for just long enough to be suggestive before her eyes flickered up to his face. "Fine then," she told him with an enigmatic air. "Keep your secrets. Keep them forever as far as I'm concerned." The nerve of the glitterstim-addled Chiss to suggest -- indigo patches of embarrassment rose in her cheeks.

"No deal," she said firmly. "If you want to remove my garments you'll need to do it the old fashioned way. You know, with cheap booze and negging."

The Keshiri took a position opposite the Chiss and activated her own weebsticks. They were a reasonable facsimile for her glass daggers without the danger of breaking off a piece of it glass in her sparring partner, or more likely herself. She ran the left blade along the right blade and then repeated the gesture in reverse. It didn't make quite the same spine-tingling sound that glass on glass did, but it was something.

Nyx knew when she was outmatched by strength, which was -- usually -- so she was used to leveraging her other strengths. She leapt back, bringing her shotos up in a defensive X. Having thus corralled his lightsaber, momentarily as it was, she aimed a vicious kick at his midsection as she flexed her blades, trying to keep his pinned between them.

Isar​

 

[Isar]

Startled by her ability to flow with the sudden shift to violence, Dal felt his saber locked into place, then the sharp pain of a kick to the gut. He stumbled backward with a grunt, one hand clutched against his abdomen.

"Cheap liquor," he snorted, "please. You know I am one for the finer things in life."

His red eyes fastened on her as he came back again, thrusting, and slashing with quick, controlled movements that belied the man's spice rotted mind.

Venyxa Tel Alam

 

[Venyxa Tel Alam]

"Is that what you call the trash you've been putting into your body?" Venyxa asked acidly. Psychological warfare was as good a weapon as any other, after all. She reached into the Force, opening herself up to it, felt it flow. This part she could handle without issue; she didn't need to harness it or use it, just let it fill her and speak to her. It, and her familiarity with her Tel Alam brother's body -- not like that, you perverts -- let her make educated guesses as to what was coming.

Intuition only took one so far, though, so while she ably brought the shotos up like a flurry. She used the forward momentum of his thrusts to deflect them to one side or the other and aimed a kick as hard as she could between his legs, her plum-colored bottom lip between her teeth in a snarl of intense concentration and determination.

"I've seen you do worse than Boga Noga," Venyxa taunted.

Isar