Private Profits and a Padawan

[Lysander von Ascania]

Danger Arceneau

It didn’t take long for him to feel the weight of Danger’s gaze, one that seemed to cut through the usual nonchalance he carried. An unexpected flicker of disappointment coursed through him, but he managed to suppress it with an amused twitch at the corners of his mouth. He allowed the pinky to linger while mulling on her message. For Lysander, it was a simple gesture, an offer of camaraderie, having shared similar moments with other Padawans before both trials.

With unhurried grace, the hand finally fell back to his side. “I guess it was just my way of saying I have your back down here.” Their conversation on the way to Otoh Ganga managed to resurface a lot of lessons from his father’s aide that were still instilled in him. He was already quite selective about who he invested in but wasn’t about to voice that part. Instead, he offered a warm smile. ”You’re right. I’ll think twice before making any promises, just like you said.”

Returning his gaze to the viewport, the Gungans were drawing closer to their ship. Lysander pivoted in his seat; his mind churned as he filtered through the myriads of thoughts. For a stretched moment, silence enveloped him. His heart rate increased as he reviewed the knowledge possessed, meticulously putting together a plan. He couldn't afford to falter; deep down, the thought of failing in front of Danger bothered him. With a simple nod to himself, he finally rose from the seat. “Ok, Ms. Dangereuse. I’m ready.”

The submersible’s hatch opened with a hiss, and he stepped out, scanning over the gathering before him. The weight of their task began to feel heavy, but he wasn’t about to show it. Leading the group was an elder, clearly distinguished from the others. “Good day, respected Gungans,” he said smoothly, maintaining a firm gaze ahead. Still, there was an instinctual pull to glance at the tradeswoman for guidance, even though he knew what to do in the current moment. It was strange. “We are here to converse with Mossi about matters that could benefit both of our communities; your cooperation would be greatly appreciated."

At first, they appeared cautious; their spears gleamed in the dim light. Their eyes darted among one another as they assessed the newcomers. Finally, the elder made a gesture that was clear, one that went beyond words. The rest of the group then lowered their weapons. With an air of authority, the elder would then motion for them to follow.

 

[Danger Arceneau]

Interacting with: Lysander von Ascania
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​

The sight of Lysander's pinky, hesitating midair before curling back to his side, tugged at something deep in her chest. She might have indulged the boy with a pinky swear if he had been younger. But Lysander wasn't a child. He was a bright-eyed young man, eager to prove himself, ambitious in a way that reminded her of folk who had something to prove. She wouldn't diminish that. Instead, her hand found his shoulder, a warm, steady squeeze meant to ground rather than placate. A silent way of telling him -- I see you. You're doing just fine.

Perhaps she had been a touch too sharp with him at first. He had all the makings of someone keen to live up to expectations, the kind of green that still held its shine. But he was learning. That much was clear in the way he carried himself now, the way he spoke to the Gungans with a poise that, while still youthful, had gained a measure of weight. When Lysander stole a glance her way, she gave him the smallest of nods.

Good. He's catching on.

So when the Gungan guards conveyed they would take them to their elder, Danger's lips grew into a slow and knowing smile.

Progress.

She inclined her head, gracious but unreadable. "Much obliged."

Soon, they arrived at a grand chamber, its great walls of plasma membrane offering a view of darting fish and the slow sway of kelp forests. At the center sat Boss Mossi Pommu, his wideset yellow eyes tracking their approach. The guards announced them, and Danger stepped forward, poised as ever, giving a broad cordial smile.

"Boss Mossi Pommu, it is a pleasure. The name is --"

"Missah Arceneau."

The interruption was punctuated by a deep, rolling laugh as the Gungan leader pushed himself to his feet. "Hah ha hah. Yes, I know you. All know you. Your face on fuel canisters and blue milk jugs."

Danger blinked, just once. She wasn't quite sure how to take that particular introduction, but if the stars had taught her anything, it was to take surprises in stride. Her smile didn't waver, her manner as smooth as a well aged Corellian bourbon.

"Well now, Boss Pommu, I reckon that's a claim I don't hear too often," she said, her voice laced with warm amusement. "I do hope they caught my good side."

Pommu let out a snort, his nostrils flaring as his wide ears twitched. Then his gaze flicked to Lysander, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Ah, and a Jedi pup."

Danger kept her expression neutral, but she knew well enough this moment could tip in any direction.

Pommu settled back into his seat, his tone turning shrewd as his eye stakes peered down at them. "So. Why Trade Queen visit my city, yes? What you come to try and sell as your own?"

Now, there it was.

Danger's smile was a subtle thing, a mere curve at the corner of her mouth, deliberate and measured. They had to be careful here. Gungans were not tolerant of anyone who threatened their peaceful culture. They had very strict laws, and would go to the extremes to punish anyone who had committed a minor crime. Vandals, for example, could be given a sentence of exile, caning, or even stoning. However, they truly loved to have visitors and warmly welcomed them; however, they would remain suspicious until the visitors had earned their respect.

"Boss Pommu," she began, her voice smooth with just the faintest husk, "I'm not here to pitch a sale. I'm here to see if you'd be interested in a partnership. PharmaTech's lookin' to expand its biodomes on Naboo, tappin' into local agriculture -- not just for crops but medicinal herbs, too. Part of that vision includes underwater farmin', and that's where your expertise comes in. Your knowledge of aquatic cultivation and plasma field technology could be the key to makin' it thrive."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Danger Arceneau

Lysander strode neither before nor behind Danger; his steady stride mirrored the dedication in his heart while following the group of Gungans. His green eyes, tempted to wander, remained locked on the path ahead, focused only on the task at hand. While business exploration was obviously foreign, topics of palace intrigue were familiar; he was no stranger to the politics and careful negotiations forged through different parties. While there were many differences, he did believe some knowledge from that realm would serve him well here.

Appearing calm on the surface, it didn't stop the anticipation swirling within. As he soon stood in the grand chamber, a place of foreign elegance, his eyes scanned the figure of Mossi Pommu. No doubt, this interaction was a dangerous dance, a balance of power. And for Lysander, the notion of such danger only added more thrill.

A soft, yet confident smile graced Lysander's features; it was a small reflection of the etiquette ingrained in him. Still, he couldn't help but twitch internally at the Jedi pup comment. Countless scenarios were calculated in his mind prior to Danger's arrival on Naboo, but mockery hadn't been one of them. He wasn't even sure how he felt about being called a Jedi, a title not fully embraced yet. Yet still, he held his composure. Lessons of the past on poise swept over him.

It was also pretty clear that Pommu’s direct attention on him expected some kind of acknowledgement. Or so he thought. “It’s an honor to meet you, Boss Pommu Mossi. I am Padawan Lysander, of Shiraya’s Sanctuary.” His voice was firm but gentle.

Whatever Lysander lacked in experience, he hoped to gain through observation today. Standing still in his spot, he waited for her to finish before speaking; a subtle gesture that conveyed his respect, despite the random urge to interject with his own thoughts, something he'd gotten away with quite a bit on Coruscant and Naboo.

“I also believe this endeavor could serve to bridge the gap that has unfortunately only widened between those on Theed and Otah Gunga since the Cataclysm." He stole a quick glance at the tradeswoman, hoping she didn’t mind him speaking up so soon.

 

[Danger Arceneau]

Interacting with: Lysander von Ascania
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​

When Lysander spoke, his words carried the crisp formality of someone tryin' a mite too hard to get it right, but his voice was steady. She even caught the faintest twitch of tension at the corner of his mouth. So far so good...Then came the misstep -- the mention of the Cataclysm.

Pommu's expression hardened and his good humor vanished beneath a tide of emotions recalling that during the Cataclysm, the rest of Naboo, even the Jedi, had not assisted the Gungans in their time of need. The lack of support from Naboo's human population after the Netherworld Crisis, which caused significant damage to underwater structures and numerous Gungan casualties, had reinforced Boss Pommu's conviction that humans viewed the Gungan society as inferior, exacerbating long held resentments. The air grew heavier, silence sharp enough to cut. Boss Pommu's golden eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing through Lysander like a harpoon finding its mark. His voice rolled out, deep and edged with old wounds.

"Yousa believin' dis endeavor bridges da gap, eh?" Pommu rumbled, leaning forward, his broad shoulders casting shadows under the chamber's glow. "Bridges be built wit' both hands, paduwan. But when da Cataclysm came, only one hand reached -- ours. Da other? Neva there."

His words hung heavy, like thick silt stirring in still water. "Hopeful words, dey float light, but da weight of da drownin' -- dat stays. Yousa Jedi speakin' of unity, but unity not patch da domes dat cracked, not raise da Gungans who sank."

Danger didn't miss a beat. She stepped forward, her smile warm but edged with purpose, the kind that for decades had softened tension without diminishing authority.

"Boss Pommu," she began, her voice a low, smooth current with a velvet drawl, designed to steer the mood back on course, "the Padawan speaks from a place of hope, though perhaps with less familiarity of the weight history carries here. Our purpose ain't to dwell on the past, but to honor the resilience your leadership has forged since. The strength of Otah Gunga stands as a testament to that."

She let that settle, her gaze steady, respectful.

"Arceneau Trade ain't here to offer empty words. We're here to build, to collaborate, and to ensure that your people's future shines brighter than any shadow left behind. It's reputation along with mine span decades, and experience shows we have done our best to assist where necessary for rebuilin'. Your expertise is unparalleled, Boss Pommu, and it'd be an honor to work alongside you to create somethin' worthy of Otah Gunga's legacy."

The tension eased, just slightly. Just enough. Danger didn't expect to win Pommu over with words alone. But she knew the current now, and she was doing her best to adjust the steering.

Now it was a matter if Boss Pommu would follow the current or not.

However, as a traditionalist, Boss Pommu would only see this err fixed a certain way -- in a manner that would require Danger and Lysander to prove themselves worthy here and now.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Danger Arceneau

In an instant, the chamber’s walls began to feel unwelcoming as Pommu’s words faded into an icy silence. A chill gripped the air, one that Lysander not only saw in the shift of demeanor from the Gungan but felt too. Still, he maintained an air of confidence, even if his heart quickened, a reminder that he had perhaps spoken too freely in the presence of Otoh Gunga’s new leader.

Known for his wit and clever remarks amongst peers and mentors, this was still a new arena for the Padawan, and the consequences were much higher. Even laughter seemed like it could be fragile. Lysander’s attention then shifted to Danger, who expertly seized the moment with a grace that fascinated him. Her voice was steady as she took the reins, expertly maneuvering through the uncertainty. The Padawan couldn’t help but take note of her finesse. Though she wouldn’t have been able to catch his gaze then, there was undoubtedly a hint of admiration gleaming in the boy's emerald eyes.

But even so, Mossi’s anger became palpable.

"Empty words, yousa spake?" Boss Pommu's tone was noticeably sharper now. "Arceneau Trade's reputation may span decades, but reputations are built on actions, not promises. Wesa've heard many outsiders spake of collaboration and rebuild, yet when dha cataclysm struck, and dha nether creatures ravaged our homes, wesa saw nosa aid from beyond our own city. Dalee’s been a group of gungans displaced by dha nether creatures from dha cataclysm. Desa’ve been start raids and steal kaadu and nerf from farms. Desa’ve been caus trouble and try to sabotage dha power generators on Otah Gunga." His eyes narrowed. "Mesa just recently discovered dha location of their hideout, within dha Lianorm stickygooshy. Nosa more gungans should have to lose their lives to disa," Pommu continued, "if dha duey of yousa can dispatch their warchief, mesa will consider dha deal. Our people need actions, not flattereh. Show us yous commitment by aid in dha elimination of dha raiders who threaten our rebuild efforts and stability. Only then will wesa begin to consider yous partnership." His golden eyes bore into both Danger and Lysander. "Prove yous worth through deeds, and perhaps then wesa shall spake of build a future together.”

A war chief dispatched? To Lysander the task actually sounded.. fun! That also meant he got to hang out a with Danger a little longer. However, he was positive she didn't share the same excitement, and was also certain the woman would have something to say about his misstep. Criticism from other Padawans all the way up to Jedi Masters was generally met with an eye roll or "whatever", but this time, it caused a bit of anxiety to linger.. a foreign feeling that felt gross.

When they stepped away from the chamber, they were escorted by the same group of Gungans. The trip back to land was silent on Lysander’s end. He found himself reflecting on the events that had just taken place, offering only nods to Danger, allowing his mind to just work through the implications of everything.

Before long, they stood at the edge of the swamp. As he glanced down at his datapad, he saw a trail mapped out to the stronghold, to guide them in the proper direction. Turning to the tradeswoman, he felt the regret from still lingering. “I’m sorry about earlier, Ms. Dangeruese, really” he said, his voice calm. “It felt like the right thing to say at the time, and my intention was good. I wanted to help you." The corner of his mouth twitched, revealing a hint of humor that still danced under the boy's exterior. "And I’m not one to try and make excuses.. but now that I think on it.. I feel like they would’ve wanted something from us to prove ourselves anyway.. something absurd.” His gaze turned mischievous. “And I was kinda sorta waiting to hear the compliment about his aquatic charm.”

He paused; his expression became thoughtful. Next, he recalled what was gathered from the Gungans who escorted them out of the underwater city. The rebels were at a stronghold, and luckily, their numbers were few. He totally had enough fighting spirit for both of them! Sure, his negotiation skills may have been lacking, but combat? That was a realm where he thrived. “If it comes down to it, and we have to throw a few punches at some of these Gungans.. or even worse.. I won’t tell a soul! ...I’m not like the other Jedi. No one will ever know what happened. I mean it.”

 

[Danger Arceneau]

Interacting with: Lysander von Ascania
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​

Well, feth me.

Of all the tangled knots they could've found themselves in, it had to be this bucket of Giju with Boss Pommu. Danger Arceneau kept her expression smooth as polished durasteel, cordial and poised, but inside? Her mind was racing faster than a swoop bike with a faulty governor. Not that she'd let that show, of course.

Justice, now -- she wasn't shy about of. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Anyone dared to touch what she considered hers, she'd deliver retribution gift wrapped with a bow of legal contracts, political sway, and just the right amount of menace -- maybe even kicked right into the belly of a Sarlacc. But when it came to matters outside her immediate orbit? Well, that required finesse. Calculations. The kind of decision making where emotions were liabilities, not assets. These days, she preferred to pull strings from afar, letting others do the heavy lifting while she sipped something strong and waited for the updates to roll in.

Unfortunately, this particular problem didn't seem like the type she could solve from the comfort of a command chair.

Boss Pommu's words echoed in the chamber, heavy as duracrete.

Dispatch their warchief, and mesa will consider dha deal.

Danger offered the faintest incline of her head, her smile never slipping.

"Mighty generous of you, Boss Pommu," she drawled, voice smooth as silk with a throaty undertone, sweet enough to coat the steel beneath. "But, if you'll pardon my clarifyin'...are we speakin' strictly on bringin' these displaced raiders to your esteemed presence for justice to be enacted by your hand? Or is the expectation leanin' toward... a more permanent arrangement?"

Her words hung there, delicate but edged, the kind of question that gave a body room to retreat gracefully if they'd overstepped. But Pommu's golden eyes narrowed, unblinking.

Later, when they were escorted out of Otoh Gunga's slick, gleaming corridors, the silence between Danger and the Jedi Padawan Lysander stretched thin. He looked like he was chewing on his own thoughts, which suited her just fine. It gave her time to recalibrate, to weigh the cost of involvement against the potential gains. It wasn't about the warchief, not really. It was about the precedent. About what it meant to her ledger, her reputation, and the carefully spun web of alliances she maintained.

At the swamp's edge, Lysander finally broke the quiet.

I’m sorry about earlier, Ms. Dangeruese, really” he said, his voice calm. “It felt like the right thing to say at the time, and my intention was good. I wanted to help you."

Danger turned to him, one brow arching ever so slightly, the corner of her mouth twitching with restrained amusement.

"Well..." she murmured with a wry chuckle, her drawl wrapping around the word like velvet and thorns, "that was mighty thoughtful of you. Though, next time, maybe consider that help is sometimes best delivered with a little less... flair."

“And I was kinda sorta waiting to hear the compliment about his aquatic charm.”

Danger huffed a soft breath, something close to a laugh but not quite.

"I reckon if charm were the currency, Boss Pommu'd still be in debt." The humor faded, replaced by that calculating sharpness in her gaze.

"Listen here. This ain't about bruised egos or wounded pride. It's about the balance of things. Actions carry weight, and we just agreed to carry somethin' mighty heavy. Don't mistake this for a simple scrap. It's a ledger entry, one that'll be called due sooner or later."

Danger smiled then, but it was all teeth and no warmth.

"ANd I ain't worried about who you'd tell. I'm worried about what it'll cost us when the story makes its rounds anyway. A reputation now a days is all a lady has. "

With that, she turned, her stride purposeful as they set off toward the Lianorm stickygooshy, the map glowing faintly on Lysander's datapad.

"Alright...first let's get our bearin's and see what we can find out about these folks Boss Pommu has a bone to pick with. I'ma see what I can get my assistant to search round while we traverse."

She glanced down at her attire and gave a heavy amused wry sigh.

"I certainly did not dress for muckin' around in a swamp though."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Danger Arceneau

As he stood at the edge of the swamp, his expression shifted while listening to Danger’s words. The Padawan's features transformed into a mask of stoicism. As the woman's voice cut through the air, he felt a faint flicker of tension in the back of his mind; now, Lysander was debating whether the manner in which he was addressed was acceptable or not.

The mood shift falling upon him was frustrating. Only a heartbeat ago, Lysander's confidence was surging to new levels, believing they could tackle this obstacle ahead with ease. However, that notion was quickly stripped away.

The boy's brow furrowed slightly as his gaze drifted away momentarily, before returning to Danger. Disappointment was carved into his youthful features. A sigh then parted from his lips. In truth, he didn't want to say what was swirling like a storm in his mind. “You sound more scared than worried,” he stated, shaking his head, fighting to suppress the irritation. “Trust me. I know exactly what that sounds like. I’ve spent enough time at different Enclaves..and what you’re saying? It sounds just like it.”

He couldn't help but compare her to the Jedi. “I truly don’t see how disposing of some stray rebel Gungans, which the Order of Shiraya failed to do recently because they're lazy, would matter. Let's both be honest here.. no one has ever given a single chit about the Gungans, and I don't see anyone starting to once a business deal is struck.” His eyes narrowed. “They’re most likely just going to remain buried deep in their own community.. unbothered by outside business.”

"Mossi doesn’t even like you," he added, wasting no time with continuing. “I know how boys look at girls when they like someone, and it wasn’t like that at all. In fact, I'm positive that Mr. Pommu doesn’t even like himself!”

Internally, he found himself reflecting on the tribal and pragmatic mindset that had always been a part of his essence. In any group, there were roles, and everyone needed to rely on one another; weakness only turned people against each other. This he truly believed.

Inhaling a deep breath, the Padawan attempted to ground himself. “I already told myself that I never want to face a challenge with someone who isn’t a hundred percent certain that we can succeed ever again. I've already done it countless times on Coruscant and Naboo.. and it really sucks. I believed in you, Ms. Dangeruese. Why did you have to start doubting me?”

Her comment about not being dressed appropriately for the task also lingered at the edge of his mind.

Finally, Lysander's gaze fell upon the shawl, and he nodded to it. "I do know one thing that'll help," he said before extending his hand toward her. "Maybe you know some things about business.. but I have a better eye for fashion. Let me see it."

 

[Danger Arceneau]

Interacting with: Lysander von Ascania my
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​

Danger caught the way Lysander's jaw twitched, just the barest of tells, but telling it was. He was falling into the chaos of his own mind now, getting lost in the tangle of thought and feeling, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. Teenage boys were particularly prone to it, their pride and tempers often running hotter than they realized. She'd dealt with enough of them in her time to recognize the signs.

She let out a slow breath as she picked her way through the swamp, each step careful to avoid sinking into the muck. The last thing she needed was to lose a boot mid lesson.

"Ain't nothin' wrong with fear," she said, shaking her head, her voice even but firm. "Just gotta make sure you're the one in command of it, not the other way around. But no, it ain't fear in my voice -- it's experience." She glanced over at him, arching a brow as she elaborated. "I didn't build Arceneau Trade as big as it is by overlookin' how each of my actions affects another. And above all else, I've learned that perception can be twisted in ways you'd never expect. The trick is knowin' how to control that perception, how to shape it so the narrative unfolds the way you need it to."

She adjusted the shawl draped over her arm, rolling her shoulders as she stepped over a gnarled root. "Don't misunderstand me, Lysander," her voice drawling out his name," -- anyone who comes after me or mine won't find mercy. If they so much as harm a hair on their heads, they'll feel my wrath with the heat of the Twin Suns." Her tone was as smooth as silk, but beneath it lay a blade's edge. "But the question isn't whether or not I'll deal with them. It's how I go about it."

She watched his expression carefully, measuring how much to temper her words. He was young, headstrong, but he wanted to learn. And if he wanted to learn from her, then he'd need to understand that brute force was rarely the best move in a long game.

"Being neutral means that any action I take could be twisted to fit another man's agenda. The best way to handle that is to make sure the path I choose is the only one that makes sense...to leave no room for doubt or misinterpretation." She glanced at him.

"That's why I asked Boss Pommu if I could turn them over to his justice. Gungans have long upheld their own ways of dealin' with traitors. It's more personal that way. More final. If I were to take it into my own hands, it might seem efficient, but it would also give others cause to question my intentions. This way, justice is served, and no one can claim I overstepped."

She let that settle, watching his reaction.

At his remark about Pommu not liking her, Danger merely huffed a quiet laugh. "No, he doesn't," she agreed, tilting her head slightly. "But that don't matter. It ain't about whether he likes me. It's about whether he respects the way I do business."

She heard the disappointment in his voice when he spoke again, the way his belief in her had turned to doubt. That was something she couldn't ignore.

"I never said we wouldn't succeed," she said, her voice dipping lower, calmer. "I said there's a right way to do things. You can walk into a battle with a blaster fully charged, certain you'll come out the victor -- but certainty alone won't win it for you. Strategy will. "

Then, as if to break the rising tension, he reached for the shawl with that defiant little claim about knowing fashion better than her. Amusement flickered in her gaze as she handed it over, arching a brow.

"Then by all means, Lysander," she drawled, "show me what you got."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Danger Arceneau

As Danger spoke, Lysander's pride and bravado began to vanish; a sharp sting of regret and embarrassment crashed against whatever defenses he believed himself to have. Despite the sudden heavy weight of them, anxiety was absent; instead, it was replaced by a cool detachment, as he'd faced enough disciplinary actions on Coruscant to become indifferent towards consequences in general.

For those who knew him better, his silence would've spoke volumes; his mind was often a machine of thoughts and calculations, drinking in every word. When the blonde glanced down at his boots, his gaze lingered on the muck that clung to them, but it felt insignificant compared to the lesson that was now unfolding before him.

The air was thick with humidity, as if mirroring his mind, trying to grab ahold of the image of fear that she expressed. The Jedi believed the emotions led to anger, while the Sith often used it as a means of destruction; however, she made it sound more like a tool for survival.

Lysander’s strides became steady; a quiet confidence seeped in. Walking side by side with Danger, even if only for a heartbeat, he felt that maybe she could be right. “Ms. Dangeruese,” he began, his voice taking on a more practical tone, “how do you channel fear into something more productive when it feels.. overwhelming?” Much like their ride to Otoh Gunga, the Padawan found himself enjoying the simplicity of their conversation more than anything else, appreciating the straightforwardness, which in truth, was something he didn’t receive often. Each step with her felt like a manifestation of his journey, rather than the uncertainty that clung to him in the different enclaves.

His expression shifted as she spoke his first name, left feeling uncertain on the meaning behind it, but fortunately his attention was diverted as Danger extended the shawl. Lysander's brow furrowed in deep contemplation as he accepted the fabric and began to deftly drape it over her head, fashioning it into a headscarf. “I know it’s one of your favorite words,” he said, a note of humor escaping his seriousness, “but please don’t call it flattery. I’m just trying to help you.. since you’ve been helping me. I don’t really have anything else to offer to someone like you.”

The movements were deliberate, even if he'd only witnessed it done a handful of times before. With a few more twists and turns, he gently pulled the ends. Though unsure of its snugness or comfort, he wouldn't let it show.

Stepping back, a hint of amusement touched his lips as he viewed her new appearance. “It’ll keep your hair in place, which is one less thing I’ll have to worry about whenever we run across these rebel Gungans,” he stated with a wry smile. “And honestly, I think it looks pretty cool. More modest, too. Perhaps even Boss Pommu will take a liking to it.”

Lysander ran a hand through his own hair then. "I’m really sorry for the outburst earlier," he said with a soft sigh. "It just kind of happened before I even had a chance to process what I was feeling. Whenever I have a task to do alone, it’s always completed efficiently and successfully. I never leave room to doubt myself. But when I’m forced to work with others who don’t share that, it kind of has a way of dragging me down too. And for some reason, your words earlier reminded me of that. Maybe I.. misinterpreted them.”

A moment later, he leaned against a tree. “So,” he started, tilting his head, “what do you think is the best way to tackle their camp whenever we arrive?” He then began to rub the back of his neck. “It sounded like Pommu was only interested in the war chief himself, so maybe we could take out the others and then find a way to haul their leader back to Otoh Gunga? I may know something that can knock him out cold.. but I don’t have any restraints for his hands or feet.”

 

[Danger Arceneau]

Interacting with: Lysander von Ascania
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​

Danger let Lysander's silence settle between them like a weighted pause in a negotiation. She didn't press him to speak, didn't cut through the stillness with reassurances or empty words. A boy like him that was full of pride, sharp-minded, and quick-tempered needed time to process, to sift through the tangled thoughts running circles in his head. His confidence had faltered, but there was something valuable in that. Reflection often followed.

The humidity hung thick around them, curling against her skin, making every breath feel like it carried weight. It wasn't unlike the air of a tense trade deal, the kind where stakes were high, and every word could tip the scales. But this was different. The stakes here weren't credits or business ventures; they were lessons --ones that, if taken to heart, could shape the boy walking beside her into something more than a blunt edged blade.

At his question, she tilted her head slightly, considering.

"Fear is like fire," she said, her voice smooth but firm. "Let it burn outta control, and it'll consume you. But keep it tended, focused, and it becomes a tool -- somethin' that can light your way or forge steel." She stepped carefully over a patch of sinking earth before glancing back at him. "The trick is learnin' how to recognize when it's takin' the reins. When fear grips too tight, you have to ground yourself. Anchor to somethin' real. Sometimes it's skill, sometimes it's a plan, sometimes it's just trustin' the people beside you. But the moment you let fear dictate your actions, you ain't the one in control anymore."

She caught the subtle shift in his posture, the way he walked more steadily now, not just beside her, but with her. It was a small thing, but small things mattered.

Then, as she handed him the shawl, she watched with mild amusement as he worked to wrap it around her head. He had deft hands, precise movements, though she suspected he was working more from observation than experience.

“I know it’s one of your favorite words,” he said, a note of humor escaping his seriousness, “but please don’t call it flattery. I’m just trying to help you.. since you’ve been helping me. I don’t really have anything else to offer to someone like you.”

"Well I am mighty grateful for the help, Lysander. Thank you." she told him, letting out a quiet chuckle but still giving him a winning soft smile. That was the way of young men -- convinced that what they had to offer wasn't enough, when the real measure of worth had never been in grand gestures, but in intention.

"I’m really sorry for the outburst earlier," he said with a soft sigh. "It just kind of happened before I even had a chance to process what I was feeling. Whenever I have a task to do alone, it’s always completed efficiently and successfully. I never leave room to doubt myself. But when I’m forced to work with others who don’t share that, it kind of has a way of dragging me down too. And for some reason, your words earlier reminded me of that. Maybe I.. misinterpreted them.”

His next words carried a weight of their own, spoken softer now, with the barest trace of hesitation. An apology. That, more than anything, signaled the real shift in his thinking.

She let him speak, let him voice the frustration that had been simmering under the surface. Then, with an easy patience, she responded. "You're young yet, Lysander," she said plainly. Not to aggravate him or insult him, but just the measure of the fact. He still had plenty of experience to learn as he grew older. "And young folk often make the mistake of thinkin' certainty alone will carry 'em through. I was no different myself. But confidence without adaptability? That's a quick way to lose your footin'... a lesson I learned the hard way that I rather you not face." She adjusted the shawl headscarf slightly, ensuring it sat comfortably before continuing.

"You ain't wrong for wantin' efficiency. But workin' with others, real leadership, ain't just about expectin' them to meet your level. It's about understandin' their strengths, accountin' for their weaknesses, and guidin' them toward the outcome you want. You'll learn that in time."

Then, shifting her focus, she considered his question.

"You are right -- Pommu's interested in the war chief, which means the others are just obstacles standin' in the way of his goal. We could go in quiet, take down their sentries before they have a chance to raise an alarm. The fewer we have to deal with at once, the better. If you got a way to knock him out cold, that's a start, but we'll need restraints. Lucky for you, I don't take to business negotiations without a few contingency plans." She tapped the side of her belt, where she pulled out her comm. A call to Aeri might work out for the best in getting some back up. Maybe even wrestle up a distraction to take the majority of them elsewhere.

"We get him secured, drag him back to Otoh Gunga, and let Pommu handle the rest. Quick, clean, and without unnecessary losses."

She met his gaze, her tone measured. "Reckon that's the kind of efficiency you're lookin' for?"

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Danger Arceneau

Stillness fell over Lysander as she spoke, anchoring any wandering thoughts. Taking a deep breath, he grounded himself, a practice he often tried to do, allowing her words to sink in without the impulse to interject and defend his own viewpoint. It was a rare shift for him, but in this new space, frustration melted into understanding, and though he wouldn't show it outwardly, he felt the warmth of gratitude tugging gently at him; for she was offering something invaluable to him: her wisdom.

Most of those he dealt with came off as figures of authority, rather than mentors, so it was significantly easier to open up now and even recognize how self-assured he truly was. While he enjoyed leading, or at least trying to, he was beginning to realize how much he still didn't grasp about it.

It took a moment to let the emotions settle, the calmness of Lysander's demeanor becoming palpable, his emerald orbs steady. "Thank you for opening my eyes," he said, another thought then crossing his mind. "I guess I always tend to focus on the end result rather than the actual process of it all. What do you think is the best way to identify the strengths and weaknesses of whoever I'm working with?" He paused, then added, "Or maybe after we finish this, you could explain it more in depth.. if you have the time."

When Danger tossed the word ‘efficiency’ back at him, the corners of his lips pulled upward into a smirk. “Would it be better to go at night if we’re trying to sneak in?” he mused aloud. “But that feels like we’re wasting a lot of time.. not that I’m really in a rush to head back to the enclave.” As the words slipped from his mouth, he narrowed his gaze. “What do you think would be best?”

The Padawan couldn't shake the mental image of them pulling Pommu back through the mud, and the mere thought had him chuckling. He then shook his head, contemplating what sounded more like a burden than anything else. “I’m not lazy by any means, but are we really dragging him all the way back? I'm not worried about Mossi waking up.. I can always knock him back out.” His expression brightened. “Maybe if there’s a Kaadu nearby, we could just throw him on the back of that.” He glanced at Danger's belt, his brows lifting in surprise, though he probably should have expected it from someone like her. "Uhh.. do you have any rope too, by chance? Or.. something to keep him from falling off!"

 

[Danger Arceneau]

Interacting with: Lysander von Ascania
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Danger watched the boy carefully, listening as he mulled over her words with more patience than she'd seen from him before. That was growth -- small, subtle, but important. There were some lessons a person had to learn the hard way, but if she could spare him a few missteps by sharing a bit of wisdom, she'd do it gladly.

Her smile was warm but measured, the kind that encouraged rather than coddled. "You're askin' the right questions now," she said, nodding in approval. "Leadership ain't just about havin' the loudest voice in the room or knowin' where you wanna end up. It's about understandin' the people you're workin' with. You watch 'em...see how they react under pressure, where they shine, where they hesitate. Some folks don't know their own strengths 'til you put 'em in the right place to use 'em. And weaknesses?"

She gave a knowing hum. "Most folk will go outta their way to hide 'em, but the key is payin' attention. If you can figure out where someone's lackin' before they have to admit it, you can prepare for it, adjust your plan, and keep everything runnin' smooth."

She let a pause settle before adding in her soft drawl, "And yes, we can go more in-depth on that later. I've got plenty of examples, some from my own past that might be worth hearin'." There was a ghost of something behind her eyes then, just for a breath -- memories of deals made in smoke-filled rooms, of the slow, methodical revenge she had wrought on Noxu. Of how hollow victory had felt when it was all said and done. But that wasn't for now.

For now, she had a boy to mentor and a job to see through.

At his suggestion of waiting for nightfall, she gave a thoughtful tilt of her head. "Night would give us the advantage of cover, but that ain't always the best approach. We don't wanna risk them bein' more alert or havin' too many unknowns in the dark."

Then, at his question about dragging Pommu's war chief back, she let out a low, rich laugh. "I can find plenty of rope and a sturdy pair of manacles. We'll have him bantha-tied onto a Kaadu in no time --won't be much of a dignified ride for him, but I imagine Boss Pommu won't mind that part one bit."

With that, she pulled out her holocomm, fingers moving with well-practiced ease as she sent a quick message to Aeri. There were bound to be a few local mercenaries on Naboo who wouldn't mind a quick payday. They wouldn't be running in with blasters blazing, but having a bit of backup nearby wouldn't hurt. Always best to have a safety net when dealing with unknown variables.

As she finished, she turned her attention back to Lysander. "We'll meet up with the boys at the location and get a lay of the land before gettin' the others to distract and move in."

That way, they could head there now and cater to Lysander's desire to act while scoping out the area first to get as much information as they will need.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Danger Arceneau

Lysander nodded slowly; his brow furrowed. "I think I get it," he said calmly, wanting her to know he was paying attention. "So, it's like.. it’s not just leading from the front, but being able to guide from wherever needed?"

Every little gem of wisdom dropped brought more clarity, allowing him to further digest the nuances of leadership. He was conscious of the shift in his behavior around Danger now; rather than being impatient to prove himself, as he was known to do around peers, he felt content with just being a student, drawn to her knowledge. And rather than being driven only by ambition, it was now intertwined with more curiosity.

The intrigue only increased as she offered more of her time to share past experiences. Lysander’s pulse quickened; the excitement was hardly containable. A warm smile stretched across his face. The Padawan was a firm believer that some were simply gifting with the art of storytelling, and he was more than positive that she was one of them. “I can’t wait,” he murmured.

While their task was out of the scope from the missions he’d already been involved in with the Order of Shiraya, his mind began churning with strategy, nonetheless. He contemplated different angles they might be able to enter from and even escape routes should things go south.

The Padawan caught a few of her words through the holocomm; skepticism clouded his mind at the mention of mercenaries. Ukatis was considerably underdeveloped compared to many planets, and back home they were known as sellswords. Considering their morals were always swayed by coin and their loyalties always up for negotiation, they earned zero respect from Lysander and much disdain.

Yet, he wasn't foolish enough to voice any doubts, not again. When she mentioned laying the land, a response was already on the tip of his tongue. “I totally wouldn’t want us to get caught with our pants down out here,” he quipped. A broad smirk flashed across his lips as the memory of their first encounter surfaced.

For a time, the two of them traveled further into the depths of the swamp. The trees cast eerie shadows, slowing his navigation as they carefully avoided getting sucked into the mud. Throughout it all, he constantly kept an eye on watch, and double checked his datapad on occasion to see how far out they were. The curved hilt was already drawn and spinning unconsciously in his hand, a gesture the entire Order would have frowned upon, viewing it as reckless. But Lysander knew the activation button was built within the hilt, rather than the outside, and it even had a small cover protecting it. Afterall, it was designed by his overprotective sister.

As time passed, an old fortress from the heart of the swamp finally came into view. The walls of stone were weathered. Heavy fog surrounded it. The boy began to slow his steps, gaze fixed ahead. Through the Force, he reached out, searching for any lurking danger, or approaching patrols. While his senses picked up nothing that was threatening, he was still unsure of how to communicate with the tradeswoman now. Lysander didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention.

In an attempt to get a better picture, the Padawan extended outward with Force Sense. With ease, he allowed his concentration to sharpen, hoping to calculate the exact number of Gungans within the towering walls. Unfortunately, his lack of experience with the skill made it difficult to gauge. A few seconds later he glanced back to Danger. The Padawan leaned in a little closer to whisper. “There are like.. twenty of them.. but they're all over the place. I can't really tell which one is their leader. But I’m sure he’d be more recognizable once we’re closer. If we did have some type of distraction.. I doubt he’ll be one to leave his position.”