Devastation and Reform, attn: Lilly Martine

[Ezekiel Valtieri]

“Aruetii vessel, you do not have permission to approach. If you persist, you will be destroyed.”

“Lovely,” he muttered without engaging the comm. These were not the best set of circumstances he'd ever faced. Ship shot to hell, half his systems offline, and his quarry lying unconscious within the small—thankfully still operational—energy cell in the back. The pirate captain remained his prisoner, but Zeke hadn't counted on the crew's sister ship showing up after he'd disabled the engines of their yacht. The Adamant Axiom was fortunately armed to the teeth, and the second vessel had been crippled as well in the ensuing firefight. He'd gotten away with his engines intact, but weapon systems and shields were down. Worse, multiple microfractures had begun to form in his hull and life support was at half capacity.

Opening the channel again, he replied, “Yeah, see I understand the whole wanting to keep your superior Mandalorian recycled air away from my dirty aruetii disease of cowardice or whatever, but I'm leaking my atmosphere out into the black here.” Of all the ships he had to run into that could possibly save the day, it had to be this ancient Mandalorian monstrosity. He swore the galaxy was doing this on purpose just to mess with him. Everything going according to plan. Whoops, second ship dropping out of hyperspace right on top of you. Manage to disable them with your engines intact to make a (hardly) clean getaway. Oh, hey look, all your oxygen is slipping out through these microscopic cracks in your ship. But joy of joys, here's a massive cruiser where you can dock and make repairs! Oh wait, they won't let you near because your armor isn't made of the right metal and you don't have a goofy T-shaped visor in your nonexistent helmet and you speak the wrong language. Totally had you going, though.

Thanks, galaxy.

“Our weapons are locked on. Desist immediately.”

The bounty hunter sighed. This was getting him nowhere, but that's about where he was headed regardless. There were no systems near enough for him to reach before he suffocated, or possibly froze to death if life support gave out entirely. This was his only option. “Love to, but there's nowhere else I can land within range. Before I get anywhere, my devilishly handsome face is gonna be a deep blue from the cold and a lack of air, and as a proud Zeltron, I cannot abide having a blue face, so I'ma go ahead and do what I have to. You've gotta do the same, vod.” He still wasn't quite sure what that last word meant, but they called each other that, so it probably wasn't an insult, unless maybe it was coming from an outsider. Oh well, it wasn't going to make much difference in a few seconds. The moments ticked by in silence as he continued to approach the docking bay. Finally the comm crackled back to life.

“Proceed to the docking area. You will be boarded and everyone aboard will be detained until the veracity of your situation can be verified. Offer resistance and you will be killed.”

Zeke exhaled. “Thank you, I hope you have a wonderful day too.” So it might not be his last day after all. You tricksy galaxy. There were no further surprises as he completed docking procedures. Leaving the pilot's seat, he removed his gloves and left them on the plush cushions. Pistol and rifle were both set out on the deck plating just within the airlock, and he took up a position about afoot behind them, standing easily. When at last it opened and a dozen or more heavy blasters were leveled at his face, he smiled pleasantly. “I have a prisoner locked in the back. The code is E-3-2-6-3-6 if you wish to move him. He's a bounty; please don't kill him,” he explained as he was led out.

Glancing about the hangar bay, a sea of helmed faces looked back. No, not all wore their helmets, and... well that was odd. Was there some rule on the ship that females couldn't wear helmets? No... several of those with concealed faces were apparently female as well judging by the molding of their breastplates. With a tiny smirk, he considered how this was keenly reminiscent of the intro to a fairly well done holoporn he'd watched years back.

Then his face slackened into a blank stare of disbelief. On a high balcony there stood a solitary figure, devoid of helm and armor and gazing back down at him. Squinting, he focused on her rich pink face as his jaw nearly hit the floor. Then she turned and walked from his view as several of the armed woman before him moved closer. “Lilly! Wait! Lil!” he shouted, finding his voice and waving his arms even though she couldn't see him anymore. His sudden exuberance must have been misread, as the nearest Mandalorian promptly slammed the butt of her rifle into his abdomen. The fabric of his armor absorbed some of the impact, but still his shouting ended in a gasp as he doubled over.

[Chaya Ha'rangir]

“Gaanla’vod, an aruetii vessel is requesting permission to dock. For repairs.”

“Armed?” Chayaikir shot back, sparks flicking in her hand as she thumbed the firelighter’s activator. With an air of reverence, she touched the small flame to the blade of her sword, the length of metal traced with rainbows from the thick oil that coated its surface. Light danced across her face as the fire exploded, rushing down the blade. Dropping the lighter to the sand of the training circle, Chaya twirled the flaming length about herself, squaring off against her training partner, a similarly-armed Devaronian woman.

Standing on the raised platform that surrounded the training ring, Cin’ciri, the Arkanian akaan’vod who addressed the Zeltron, back straight, white helm tucked beneath her arm, snickered. “I suppose it was at one point. It’s in poor shape now. Our scanners show the life support at fifty percent, and falling fast.”

Small flames dripped to the sand at her feet and steel sparked as blades met, filling the room with clang and rasp of metal on metal. Grinning when the Devaronian parried her first few attacks, she stepped back, mismatched eyes remained on her opponent but she still tilted her head at the waiting woman. “Let them onboard. I doubt we’re ill-equipped to deal with any trouble, love. I’ll be there once Ersee knows what sand tastes like.” A wink and a grin was thrown in the Devaronian’s direction.

“Elek, Gaanla’vod.” Cin’ciri dipped her head in a quick salute, before addressing Chaya’s opponent. “It doesn’t taste good, vod. Good luck.” And then, she strode from the room, replacing her helm. The Zeltron spent just a moment gazing after her, the terms of respect weighing heavy on her shoulders. She was still getting used to the position, used to being accosted for decisions like this... Her musing was interrupted by a cry of challenge from Ersee, and falling back into concentration, she swept her sword to up to meet the blow.

Several minutes later, the Zeltron wiped sand from her feet and legs and flecks of blood from her forearms as she made her way to the hangar bay, still wearing her training gear. She was by no means the only one Sister so attired, in the black shorts and short-sleeved hoodie, and she wasn’t about to inconvenience herself with dressing up for the simple inspection of an aruetii ship. The cool deck felt nice beneath her bare feet as she padded through the corridors, flanked by two other akaan’vode.

The durasteel doors to the hangar hissed as they slid aside, revealing the hulking, smoking mass of the heavy courier, and the beskar cyar’tomade milling about. Coming to the balcony railing, she leaned against on her elbows, Cin’ciri following suit. Chaya glanced at the expressionless mask the Arkanian wore, and then peered down at the ship as the docking ramp whirred open.

“We’re thinking he came from the wreckage we found some parsecs away. Limped into our air space, being cheeky, but he knew some Mando’a.”

Absorbing this in silence, Chaya nodded, watching several cinarin’haale enter the ship, weapons primed. After a few minutes, they started backing out without having discharged their weapons, and the Zeltron nodded again, “ There’s a reason he got this far, and we found him. Help him repair his ship, we’ll soon learn why Kad Ha’rangir has brought him to us–”

Her words died in her mouth. The man was a Zeltron, that much was clear from the hue of his skin, but... She gaped. Of all the Zeltrons in the galaxy, it had to be him. Closing her mouth, she straightened, fingers tightening around the balcony railing.


“Gaanla’vod?” Cin’ciri ventured, standing as well. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Arkanian’s four-clawed hand hovering over her pistol. Chaya’s hand whipped out and rested over the gauntleted hand. When her Sister sought to look at her face, Chaya simply shook her head.

“Send him up to my office.” The woman commanded, voice low. She glanced at the akaan’vod, who nodded. “And wear your helm, suit sealed.” With that, Chaya whirled away, the shouts of a name she hadn’t heard in twenty years ringing in her ears.

---

Apprehension was not Chayaikir’s friend. The Zeltron paced her office from wall to wall, arms crossed tightly over her stomach. Was it really him? Maybe she’d mistaken... No, he’d called out her name. He knew her, she knew him. Twenty years, twenty whole years, and in the whole galaxy... Why hadn’t she changed her clothes? Fierfek, she suddenly nervous as a school girl, heart thumping in her chest.

Resting back on the huge desk, the centerpiece of the office, she closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Calm. She needed it. It was just as she opened her eyes that the door slipped open on a cushion of air. She swallowed, then smiled.

“Zeke.”

[Ezekiel Valtieri]

Expecting to be struck again or at least sternly warned—hells, possibly even shot—Zeke was a touch surprised when his “saviors,” gave him some space. “Follow, pink aruetii,” said the one that had struck him, and he complied readily enough. As they walked through the parting crowd, he mumbled “Alizarin crimson, actually,” but the woman leading ignored him. That was fine; he was really too distracted by thoughts of the ghost he'd seen to care overmuch.

By the time they exited the hangar, a second armored woman was moving to meet them. The two Mandalorians stared at each other for a moment, which struck him as odd until he realized they must have been communicating over their headsets, the external speakers of their helms switched off. Sealed systems, then. There went gently persuading one of them to explain why exactly their colossal vessel seemed to be the wet dream of every boy who'd ever heard tales of the strength and passion of Mandalorian women, to say nothing of why a girl who'd died two decades before seemed to be alive and well among them.

Frowning as he considered that, he began to grow honestly concerned that this was all some sinister illusion cast by some telepathic race that had captured him and crafted a psychological cell that would stimulate both his adventurous spirit, his sensuous desires, and grant him a return to some joys of his youthful innocence. Or maybe he was just incredibly hallucinating, oxygen starved brain trying to retreat into a more pleasant fantasy while he lay dying on the deck of his ship.

“The Gaanla'vod would see you, Zeltron. Follow.”

The voice that finally did crackle through the speakers of the newcomer's helmet drew him from his musings, and with a nod he began to follow, waving pleasantly to the one who'd led him this far. The white mask seemed to stare for a moment before shaking in dismissive disapproval, the unsurprisingly violent woman returning to the hangar. Pinching himself just in case as he walked, he noticed no disruption in his surroundings. Everything seemed to be real enough: the ship, his guide, her voice. Her voice... It had come through electronically, and that similarity to when he was still arguing for permission to board led him to the realization that she was the one who'd been on the comm with him.

Giving the woman's strolling form a once over, Zeke nodded appreciatively. The armor was pragmatic, but it hinted still at the feminine form beneath. Moving to catch up a little more, the only distinctive thing he could note was how each hand seemed to hold only four digits. The gauntlets also ended in pointed tips on each finger, but that could easily have just been the armor. Too little to be certain, it still narrowed down her species considerably. If she would just take off her helmet, he could probably sate his curiosity.

“So I see you really took that 'superior Mandalorian recycled air' comment to heart, huh,” he offered as banter, commenting on her closed system. The barest glance was turned his way before she silently continued forward. He could read some curiosity on her as well, more than he'd honestly have expected, as well as a hint of amusement. He did so enjoy the way his empathy stole some of the advantage of those masking helms they wore. A grin took his features as he considered how Rhia would have called that “cheating” as well.

As he was wont to do, Zeke plagued the woman with more largely inane talk, rarely receiving any reply at all, but still noting more amusement than irritation. He did get the Basic translation of “Gaanla'vod,” out of her. Chosen sister. Huh. That definitely lent a somewhat cultish feel to the whole thing. Shrugging, he'd followed along regardless until they reached the apparent leader's office. He stepped forward,but as the door slid open he spun back to face the departing armored figure. “Hey, you think maybe you could give me the full tour later?” He could only imagine the smirk she must have worn as she replied without turning back, “Ask me again some time, if you're still alive.”

“Zeke.”

Breath catching, he slowly pivoted back to face the open door and the Zeltron woman beyond, leaning against a large desk. It had not been a trick of the light, then, not some sign that he was getting old and his vision failing. Lilly Martine, a girl he'd known—and successively mourned—long ago, before he'd ever stepped foot offworld or even been rightly called a man. But she'd been killed along with her family when pirates attacked the cruise liner they were on. Everyone had, the whole ship obliterated. How was she... How could this even be possible?

In that moment as his eyes fell upon her so soon after she'd spoken his name—clear a sign as any that it was her and she remembered him—the hows and whys didn't matter. Rushing forward, he nearly bowled her over the desk as he collided with a tight embrace, arms pressed firmly into her shoulders and back as his face was lost in her hair. Several quick, unconscious kisses were placed along her neck before he leaned back, hands still gripping her shoulders. His grin threatened to split his head clean in two as he drank in the sight of her, shaking his head before he finally managed to speak. “Karkin' hells, Lil, how're you...? I mean, frell, you're alive! How is that even...? What'd you do to your eye?”

[Chaya Ha'rangir]

His back was to her at first, and beyond him, she recognized the armored form of Cin’ciri, silvery-white plates flashing in the light. The exchange drifted to her ears from the corridor, and it had her smile increasing by a notch, both from the implication, obvious to Chaya’s perceptions, and her akaan’vod’s interest in such. Memories, old and dusty, but still good, were being revived by the familiarity of Ezekiel’s emotional signature, his warm accent, his tone of voice.

“Not fifteen minutes aboard, and you’re already asking for trouble.” The woman laughed, the Basic spilling from her tongue tinged with an accent.

Finally, he turned to look at her, the door sliding shut behind him, the hiss louder than Chaya ever remembered. Breathless seconds were suspended in time, trickling by. Twenty years. Twenty years during which she was dead for him. And by any interpretation, her old life was dead to her as well. Yet, here they were, ghosts of the other’s past. Kad Ha’rangir wished something of her. Mismatched eyes fixed on Ezekiel’s face, the woman pushed away from the desk, unsure for the first time in a long time. She could read his disbelief and she shared it.

She was glad that they were the only two in the office. Suddenly, Ezekiel was closing the distance in several long strides and Chaya braced herself, one subtle foot sliding back for balance. Their bodies collided with enough force to sting, Chaya having only fabric between her flesh and the full armor her old friend wore. Despite her efforts, the hug nearly had her falling backwards over the desk with his weight, but no complaint was made or even thought of as she returned the crushing embrace, locking her arms at the small of his back.

The aggressive affection, the kisses that inspired goosebumps where they landed, was easily and happily reciprocated, her own lips tracing along his jawbone. Her grip loosened reluctantly when he leaned back, her hands instead going to his broad waist, fingers curling into the crevices of his armor. Craning her neck, she gazed up at him, teeth bared in a wild smile.

Standing there, the memories which had been slowly reviving themselves came back in fuller detail than ever before. That familiar look in his eyes, the grin. It seemed that the years had been very kind to him. Quiet overtook again, and Chaya opened her mouth to speak, but Ezekiel found his words first.

“Karkin' hells, Lil, how're you...? I mean, frell, you're alive!”

With a deft nod of her head, she echoed him, “I am alive.” In the rush of words, the old nickname was alien to her ears, and at first interpreted as a Basic word she didn’t know or remember. When she realized what it was, a twinge of nostalgia gripped her, making the woman inhale sharply.

“How is that even...? What'd you do to your eye?”

Questions, questions... Of course. The burden of how many he would likely be asking made itself known, and the woman’s shoulders drooped, even as she laughed. Eyes falling from his face they soon found the stand of her armor, the thick ivory plates gleaming, the T-visor resting atop them looking on vacantly. How he might react once the initial shock wore off, Chaya did not know. Oh, the Red-Handed God was truly testing his Gaanla’vod.

For the first few moments, she chose not to answer, instead leaning up to steal a kiss. Their lips separated with a small pop, before she extricated herself from his arms. Hips swaying, she sauntered around the desk and slid into the great chair there, dwarfed by the piece of furniture reinforced to hold a woman in full armor. A barrier was good, before their proximity or their shared emotions overwhelmed her.

“I took a hit to the eye a little while back. It was either bad vision or a prosthesis.” She said, settling back and then gesturing to a chair he could pull up. A moment of silence and then, she picked the lightest topic she could think of: “How is everyone back on Zeltros? Does ZAP work bring you all the way out here?”

[Ezekiel Valtieri]

The woman's ease with affection, her natural acceptance and reciprocation, were gratifying to the man who'd spent a long while away from his kind, mingling with the far more reserved species of the galaxy. Still, not having expected to find a Zeltron—particularly this Zeltron—aboard the Mandalorian cruiser and still reeling from the revelation of her being alive, mild surprise took hold at her lips' ministrations along his jaw and showed on his face, though it blended seamlessly with the overjoyed surprise at her presence. Bright smile only intensified by the light sensation of her fingers he could feel through the softer parts of his armor, his own gave a light squeeze to her shoulders as he continued to bask in the knowledge that she lived.

“I am alive.”

Zeke's fingers squeezed again when she leaned in unexpectedly and pressed her mouth to his, eyes sliding closed as he enjoyed the all too brief kiss. Blue eyes were drawn inexorably to her swaying hips as she moved away. He'd been thrilled at the idea of being mistaken these last two decades about her death, but he hadn't considered all the potential perks until now. The possibility of resuming their long lost sexual relationship still wasn't at the top of his mind but it was rising. Just like... Yup.

“I took a hit to the eye a little while back. It was either bad vision or a prosthesis.”

He nodded, though her information was sparse at best. It had been an injury, not merely an “upgrade,” which brought about mixed feelings. Glad that she hadn't taken to tearing out pieces of herself needlessly, yet he did not fancy the idea of her taking fire. The initial shock still going strong, it was nonetheless beginning to wane, and some of the questions he'd yet to speak began to find tentative answers in his own assumptions. She'd taken a hit to the eye. She'd seen combat. She'd become a Mandalorian...

“How is everyone back on Zeltros? Does ZAP work bring you all the way out here?”

Uncertain what to think, trying to keep from jumping to conclusions, and still riding on quite a bit of joy—both his own and what he felt of hers—at the reunion, he only shrugged as he moved forward, neglecting the indicated chair in favor of rest one thigh on the desk itself, the rest of that leg dangling off the back while his other remained planted on the ground, body twisted further so that his torso mostly faced her, held up by one palm pressed atop the desk. The position wasn't terribly reverent, but he more meant it to be relaxed. Plus, in his moderately heavy armor, fully sitting wasn't always comfortable.

“Various shades of red,” he replied with a crooked smile. “No, things are alright, last I saw. I haven't been home in a while.” He didn't bother thinking up exactly how long. If anything truly cataclysmic had occurred, he'd had been notified. Shaking his head, he moved on to the second question. “I haven't actually been with the ZAP for almost fifteen years. And if I was I wouldn't be out here. That work never took me more than a few dozen kilometers from Zeltros' surface. I'm... freelance, I guess you'd call it, now.”

Again he shrugged. Perhaps he was giving the impression that he didn't care about his work, but... well, no. For the the moment that was true. He wanted to hear about her, not rehash his own life. “But frell me, what about you? What've you been up to? You look fantastic, but you know that. Where've you been for the past forever?” He grinned at the exaggeration, tossing a wink in there too. Other questions occurred, but he didn't want to be too overwhelming.

[Chaya Ha'rangir]

Fabric slid against skin as the Zeltron crossed her legs, one over the other, and sunk back into the chair, elbows propped on the hefty armrests. Chaya was glad she put something between herself and Zeke when she did; the man’s growing interest in a more carnal reunion was infectious. The woman was, of course, more than willing, one side of her mouth quirking up in private delight. But, not yet. There were things to be discussed.

The past year had been rife with ceremony and decorum for the Gaanla’vod, and though things were settling down with her vode, the women slowly recalling that she was still Chayaikir, their fellow akaan’vod, it was too slowly, by Chaya’s estimate. Thus, the casual way Ezekiel perched on the edge of her desk was something to be enjoyed. They could speak as equals this way, despite Chaya being so enthroned in her massive chair.

“Various shades of red,” And man was still as cheeky as ever. Pursing her lips in a quiet smile, she snorted, resting her chin on her knuckles, one eyebrow quirking as she waited for him to continue. “No, things are alright, last I saw. I haven't been home in a while.”

Full lips turning in a small pout, she frowned at the unsatisfying answer. Chaya was not intent on going back to Zeltros, but sometimes she wondered, so any scraps she could get were welcome. She didn’t begrudge him his lack of information, though. Rather, she found it interesting that he hadn’t been home in quite some time. The Mandalorian remembered that she’d always thought of Zeke as something of a loyalist to the Zeltron way of life and homeworld, especially so with his recruitment into the police force. Which made his next bit of news all the more surprising. Eyebrows flying up, she tilted her head, bemusement plain on her face.

“You?” She hummed, “You left the ZAP to become...” Chaya recalled further information about his arrival, what the cinarin’haale who escorted him from the ship reported to her. “A bounty hunter.” The bounty hunters that the Mandalorian knew were largely scum, heartless mercenaries. Was it the same for Zeke?

“But frell me, what about you? What've you been up to? You look fantastic, but you know that. Where've you been for the past forever?”

Chaya couldn’t help her laugh, but it was a faint thing. “Oh stars, you jump right to the difficult questions.” Sucking on her teeth in contemplation, her mismatched eyes left Zeke’s face to dart around the room. Finally, she waved vaguely at the stand of armor and there was a tinge of pride in her words, “I was adopted by the Mando’ade. Twenty years ago, Clan Ha’rangir. Since then, I’ve been training and fighting. Skirmishes, culling pirates, vagabonds, and now, warring against the Confederation at the Mand’alor’s call.”

She shifted in the seat, uncrossing and crossing her legs again, chest heaving in a deep sigh. The woman’s eyes were back on Zeke’s face, trying to gauge his reaction to the news– Well, she was certain that he’d pulled the clues together. The confirmation of this news, then. The woman let the silence string out for several moments. looking on his face again, on someone from her past, Chaya was beginning to feel the first twinges of guilt. She was not ashamed for her choices... But she was now all too conscious of what the effects they might’ve had on the people in her old life.

A frown appeared on the woman’s lips and she sighed, “Zeke, my name isn’t Lilly anymore. It’s Chayaikir.”

[Ezekiel Valtieri]

“You? You left the ZAP to become... a bounty hunter.”

Head tilting in a sort of crooked nod, Zeke lifted one shoulder to casually shrug while also wavering the accompanying hand in the air. Essentially that was true, but it wasn't nearly that simple. Technically he had not left Zeltros to become a bounty hunter, but had left and also happened to become a bounty hunter afterward because he found he couldn't abandon his passion for justice. There was also the small matter of all the connotations that went along with the title that he fought hard to keep from becoming accurate about himself. None of this warranted immediate attention, however, the man much more interested in having his own questions answered.

“Oh stars, you jump right to the difficult questions.”

Slight grin curling one side of his mouth, he quietly responded, “Not sure there are any other kind, Lil. I'll ask what your favorite drink is next, if it'll help.”

“I was adopted by the Mando'ade. […] and now, warring against the Confederation at the Mand'alor's call.”

So there it was. She had been adopted. That wasn't... ideal. No, but the Mandalorians had saved her from what she knew. Probably the truth. And they did espouse honor, even if it was a somewhat twisted form revolving around bloodshed. There were numerous Mandalorians that he liked quite a bit, others that he appreciated considerably less, and a few that he'd turned in for grievous crimes. Like everyone else, it seemed, the culture alone wasn't enough to judge any one individual on, but he still didn't like it. Lilly Martine had been a gentle girl, and the idea of her traipsing about in full armor, blowing people up, did not sit well with him.

Though he tried to keep from being overly expressive about it, knowing that she would feel his distaste finally let him give up the battle against the frown that took his features. “Right,” he murmured with a nod, “the war.” He didn't like that either. The Confederation was... problematic, yes, but war, particularly on the scale things in the galactic community were escalating toward, rarely saw any true victors. In the end all it would come down to was who had lost the least, which side's home had been the least badly burned down. Still, at least the Mandalorians were another legitimate entity that had, he believed, a legitimate grievance with Dolomar. It could have been worse; she could have ended up with those so-called Alliance of Free Planets vagrants. Well, more so than she already was, given whatever agreement had been reached between the warriors and warmongers.

All these things running through his head, he struggled nonetheless to remind himself that the alternative was still worse. Lilly was alive, and this remained cause for celebration, whatever path circumstances had forced her down.

“Zeke, my name isn't Lilly anymore. It's Chayaikir.”

This temporarily alleviated the cloud that had begun to form over his head, replacing it instead with confusion. Was it standard practice to rename someone when they were adopted? He had to admit a rather large bit of ignorance when it came to such customs. Whether the Mandalorians he'd known were born or adopted, he'd never asked, and he'd certainly never known someone both prior to and after adoption. Still, the significance of this was lost on him, and shaking his head, he merely chuckled. “Yeah... Yeah, I'm not calling you that, Lil.”

[Chaya Ha'rangir]

The so-so gesture following her query about bounty hunting caused the woman to log the topic away for later discussion. Bounty hunting was a common profession for many Mandalorians, but one which Chaya didn’t approve of. It was mindless, following the whims of mortal destruction rather than Kad Ha’rangir’s. However, he obviously wasn’t interested in expanding, moving on to his own questions, which she answered readily.

Ezekiel’s slow disapproval, like a dark rising tide, was unmistakable as she went on. Her pride in what she was saying kept the gloom at bay for a little while, but then when she told him her adoptive name, it was just replaced by a rolling fog of doubt. Chaya tried to keep her own emotions neutral, away from her face, but the tension was clear in her aura. She too had been away from Zeltros for long enough that she was unused to her conversational partners being able to sense her emotions without need for projection. Blocking out what she was sensing from him was likewise a problem.

“Yeah... Yeah, I'm not calling you that, Lil.”

Resistance. Chaya could feel it when Zeke’s opposition rose up like a duracrete wall to protect him from the news. The woman tilted her head, lips pressing together, scooting forward to lean her elbows on the desk. Her fingers idly swiped up a pen she’d left on the desk top, flipping and twirling it between her fingers with minute clicks and taps. They filled the silence of the room after his declaration while she scrutinized his face.

She was honestly unsure of what to say. The woman was surprised. Perhaps, she felt, she ought to have expected this, knowing what she remembered of her first lover. The word obstinate came to mind. There was a time, long ago, when she might’ve capitulated, but her name was more a part of her than ‘Lilly’ had been more than half a lifetime before.

“I haven’t heard ‘Lilly’ in more than twenty years, Ezekiel.” Her voice was measured, calm, but firm.

[Ezekiel Valtieri]

That she didn't enjoy having her lifestyle choices disapproved of was not the sort of thing he needed empathy or an expression to tell him. Disapproval wasn't often taken well, particularly not when it so brazenly interrupted a reunion twenty years and a reported death in the making. Her silence following his half-joking refusal to use her Mandalorian name was somewhat unexpected; he hadn't expected this to be a major point of contention, hadn't thought it to be all that important. He knew her as Lilly, so that's what he'd call her. Why was that a problem? Offering a helpless little shrug as she performed her deft little pen tricks, he made no move to retract the statement, his surprise mirroring hers.

“I haven't heard 'Lilly' in more than twenty years, Ezekiel.""

She was resolute, unflinching. It was amazing how much this didn't grant him any encouragement to relent. Exhaling in a quietly audible, “Heh,” he followed it closely with a murmured, “Neither have I,” providing a less than subtle reminder that the reason he'd thought she was dead all this time—over half his life—was that she'd never bothered to correct him. Quickly shaking his head and swallowing the bitterness that had begun to swell at that realization, he moved on, putting on a crooked, irreverent grin. “Then I'd say you're about due, Lilly,” he replied more clearly, leaving little doubt that he remained as obstinate as she remembered.

[Chaya Ha'rangir]

“Then I'd say you're about due, Lilly,”

His impudent smile was not met by irritation, but a mask of contemplative neutrality. She didn’t become Gaanla’vod by snapping at every annoyance that presented itself. “That’s not my name, Ezekiel.” Her voice retained the same cool, mild tone, but her eyes were fixed on his face. She sensed that Ezekiel was no more open to the change than she was, but dearly hoped it wouldn’t escalate past this disagreement.

Sighing, the woman tilted her head, pressing the fingertips of her free hand against her cheek. She felt she could understand Ezekiel’s perspective; in his memories, she was ‘Lilly’. The change of address meant nothing to him, as if she’d just asked him to call her a ridiculous nickname. Understandable, but by no interpretation a reason for her to allow it. The old name was as alien to her as her new one was to him.

Stilling the hand that twirled the pen, Chaya reached out to place the utensil in the metal pen cup between where he perched and her console screen and then rested both elbows on the table. Entwining her fingers, she rested her chin on the bridge, lips now pursed as she considered where to venture from there. “You might not like it, but things are different, Zeke.” The woman’s voice was insistent, “I’m different, as is my name.”

An understatement, and Chaya breathed out a chuckle, though there was very little amusement there. Finally, her eyes left his face to wander about the room again. Gazing at him was summoning memories from the depths, things she thought she’d erased. That, with the guilt, finally brought out a surge of emotion, even as her face was obstinately blank. No regret, just heavy sadness. She wished she’d kept the pen to keep her fingers busy. Dropping her hands so that they touched on the desk, still clasped, she sighed, “They were going to bring me back to Zeltros, but a lot changes in two months.”

It sounded a paltry excuse, especially when spoken to the face of one of those she’d left behind, but Chaya didn’t flinch. “It was hell after my parents died. I had to start over.”

[Ezekiel Valtieri]

“That's not my name, Ezekiel.”

His smile dimmed at her continued insistence, the way she refused to share his mirth. Apparently this wasn't something she was going to let go. Why did it matter so much whether he used her old name or whatever this new, slightly harder to pronounce moniker she'd apparently selected? His next words were quietly murmured, the way a child might reply under their breath, knowing that if they said it aloud they'd get in trouble. “Says you.” Granted, her own desire was more relevant than most as far as her name went, but he'd yet to see any evidence that she wasn't the girl he'd known. Sure, she'd evidently become a warrior and joined a different culture, but he'd left the Zeltros planetary police force and become a bounty hunter. It didn't mean he demanded everyone call him the Crimson Cavalier.

“You might not like it, but things are different, Zeke. I'm different, as is my name.”

Lips parting the barest crack, a sharp puff of air was blown through, clearly stating how little regard he had for her last statements before he even said anything. “Yeah, I've changed too, Lil. It's called growing up. People change. You don't see me running around yelling about how everyone has to call me Apollo now, or some ridiculous name like that.” A smile remained on his lips, but it was somewhat feeble, kept there more to try and keep his words from sounding too insulting or to alow his side of the conversation to devolve fully into aggravation. The wave of sorrow that swept ovr him as she looked away, however, distracted him from his annoyance, if only temporarily.

“They were going to bring me back to Zeltros, but a lot changes in two months. It was hell after my parents died. I had to start over.”

The empathy had him sharing in her sorrow, and his own grew easily out of that. Sorrow for her loss, for the hell she must have gone through. But also sorrow for his own pain, pain that needn't have been so severe if she'd just come home, as she apparently almost had. What had stopped her? What had changed? The sorrow gave way to pain and the pain—as could happen all too easily—gave way to anger. Pushing himself off the desk to pace about the front of it once or twice, the heated emotion could be felt long before he actually spoke. “So you weren't even captured. They offered to take you home and you, what? Said 'No thanks, I'd rather stay with you and learn to kill people?' 'Sgreat, Lil. I should be proud though, right? I mean, two months and you're ready to leave everyone who cared about you without so much as a 'Hi, I'm still breathing.' Emotional detachment like that's a real frellin' achievement for one of us.” Eyes narrowed, he folded his arms over his chest, staring with obvious incredulity that she could ever have thought this was the best for anyone.

[Chaya Ha'rangir]

It was the quiet exhale that told Chaya that this discussion was not going somewhere favorable. However, this was the turning point when it stopped being something she wanted to avoid and started being what she knew had to happen. The woman would not be simply disregarded like that. Not on her ship, in her own office.

“Yeah, I've changed too, Lil. It's called growing up. People change. You don't see me running around yelling about how everyone has to call me Apollo now, or some ridiculous name like that.”

Amusing as the made-up word was, Chaya was no longer in any mood to be entertained; the tight press of her lips said as much, though her aura, tinged with swirls irritation, portrayed it much more clearly. Somehow, the man put her in such a childish light with his descriptions, followed by the padding of a weak smile. As if she couldn’t handle it... That left a smoldering sensation in her throat. For a moment, that feeling was doused by his sorrow mirroring hers, but it was the barest distraction.

The woman felt the change as it occurred within the other Zeltron, the evolution of his aura from sorrow, to a heart-clenching pain... She gulped. Was that the consequence of her decision? It was a horrible, powerful sensation, even twenty years later. Stars... Her contemplation was cut short by the fires of anger, blazing brighter as he threw himself to his feet and began to pace her office. There were times when she could revel in that heat, just soak it up, but this was not one of those times. Instead, her body tensed against the onslaught of words she knew were coming.

“So you weren't even captured. [...] Emotional detachment like that's a real frellin' achievement for one of us.”

The woman straightened in her chair and then stilled, as if she’d been physically slapped. Lips parting, Chaya could only stare at Zeke, brows high, blue eyes wide. Her breath stuttered in and out of her nose and then she came back to herself, shoving away the sharp pain bristling in her chest. Fingers moving nimbly over the flimsi on the desk in front of her, she gathered them up and tapped the edges against the top of the table to straighten them.

It was all a diversion to let her gather her wits. It had been a while since she felt something so... potent within herself, and she bit back several dozen responses. Standing, she moved away from her desk to the archaic filing cabinet and pulled one of the many drawers out to put the files away. It snapped back shut with finality, as if she’d just put away her own feelings, long enough for her to utter, “That’s not fair and you know it.” Her jaw clenched, the muscles straining. “I’d just lost my family. My entire family, Zeke. Don’t tell me you could deal with that without going a little insane.”

Huffing out a breath, she half-turned to face him and brought a hand to her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to compartmentalize the emotions swirling around the office. Which were hers and which were Ezekiel’s? One of her failings; if she had gone back to Zeltros, she might’ve gained better controls over her natural abilities, but...

Face angled away, she found herself trailing on the edge of her frustration again, and she bared her teeth at the near wall. Finally, she continued, “Of all the people in the galaxy, I thought you’d be the least judgmental, Ezekiel.” Turning to lean her elbow on top of the cabinet, one hand went to her mouth, chewing on her thumbnail. It kept her from saying the things she really wanted to spit at him. And to avoid resorting to the ‘Mando’ way of solving things.

“I regretted never sending a message, but think.” That same hand sliced through the air, and her eyes were back on his face. She was on to something now. “If I told you ‘Hi, I'm alive out here, but I'm not coming home.’ How would that make you feel? How would that have made anyone I knew felt? Circumstances changed, I had to make a decision, and I decided it was better if you all thought I was dead.”

[Ezekiel Valtieri]

Perhaps he'd had more experience with separating out the emotions of various beings and holding some more or less at bay, but Zeke put no effort into any such thing just then. The anger and indignation he felt from her was recognized as his doing, but not his emotion, yet still he only let it fuel the coinciding feelings in his own chest. It was immediately apparent that his words had hurt, but he stubbornly smothered the ensuing pang of regret. They were supposed to hurt. These were the consequences of her decision.

“That's not fair […] deal with that without going a little insane.”

Though he initially scoffed, hardly feeling this justified two decades of silence, her words sank in and had him considering. He had gone a little insane in the events leading up to his own departure several years after her 'death.' He hadn't even lost his sister then; she'd merely been hurt, but it still led him to leave, first seeking vengeance and then again seeking redemption. Maybe that wasn't so different from... But no, he'd gone back between the two departures and again after the second. He'd taken his time to figure out what he needed, to find his way, and then he'd returned to let everyone know he was alright, to keep them as a treasured part of his life. She was still running, still hiding.

“Of all the people […] it was better if you all thought I was dead.”

In the wake of his analysis of their disparate stories, very little understanding or sympathy made it into Ezekiel's hardening eyes. “Maybe I would've been,” he began icily, responding to her hope that he'd not be judgmental of her decisions, “if this conversation had happened twenty years ago. Or hells, if you'd ever been the one to come find me to have it.”

Arms unfolding, he marched closer, encroaching unapologetically on her personal space as he'd done when first entering, but with a far less pleasant implication. “You wanna be the big, bad girl with a gun? Fine, you could've done that on Zeltros. You could've joined the ZAP just like your dad. You could've started over without dicking over everyone you hadn't lost.” It was a little hypocritical, given that he hadn't remained there himself, but he couldn't see that in the moment. His circumstances were extenuating in a way he didn't believe hers to be, and he hadn't flatly abandoned everyone. Not forever.

“Don't stand here and tell me it was all for my own good, that you had my best interest at heart. Everyone would've been so much better off having you back, even if you'd kept the fool notion that you needed to run off and join the frakking Mandalorians.” His tirade continued, building upon itself until he was just about poking her in the chest with an accusatory finger, eyes narrowed and teeth bared as his anger flowed. “What could possibly have been worse than thinking you'd been murdered? No, it was easier for you to just run away and pretend you were doing anybody a favor. Don't you say one void-damned word to the contrary. Don't you frakking dare.”

The last words, riding high on his waves of pent up emotion that had finally torn free, were practically spit in her face. “You coward.”

[Chaya Ha'rangir]

“Maybe I would've been if this conversation had happened twenty years ago. Or hells, if you'd ever been the one to come find me to have it.”

Chaya matched the mounting emotion blow for blow, swimming– no, drowning in the tumultuous sea of anger, confusion, and sadness. This retort did nothing for her control, and all she could do was blow out a frustrated sigh and roll her eyes to the ceiling, breaking her facade of detachment. Well, obviously, it didn’t happen, so then, it became a moot point, didn’t it? Before she could say so, however, he was pacing towards her, his words borne on a storm of fury.

“... You could've started over without dicking over everyone you hadn't lost.”

The invasion of space put them mere centimeters apart, but the woman thought very little of the intrusion. Proximity made a difference in how much she could feel; when she focused on him, just on him, she felt every single smoldering mote of anger, every moment of heartache her supposed death caused, and it nearly overwhelmed her.

Not enough for her to miss the hypocrisy, though. The pleasant and far too brief talk preceding the current engagement allowed for that, but Chaya could say nothing, and didn’t trust herself to. How could she ever explain her experiences, how she fell in love with war, and blood, and Kad Ha’rangir? Ezekiel would never understand, not when he didn’t want to.

Besides, the man was on a roll, the words bubbling forth as though they’d been festering inside him for years. The emotion, at least, very well might’ve been, even if he’d thought her dead. The woman sensed it was something more, as well. It wasn’t just her, but in that precise moment, it was difficult to see the subtleties.

“.... Don't you say one void-damned word to the contrary. Don't you frakking dare.”

The man loomed over her, and she gazed up into his icy blue eyes, and for a split second, she was just Lilly again. She was the small, awkward girl of her youth, in an impossible argument where every single mistake, no matter how ancient, was brought to bear against her. Lilly wanted to shrink away, she wanted to apologize and beg his forgiveness. Lilly wanted him to hold her, so she could indulge the tears stinging at the back of her eyes.

But with a blink, the moment was gone. Lilly was gone. Chayaikir stood in her place, her one blue eye equally glacial, refusing to sink into that well of weakness. She would stand by what she’d done. She’d allowed him too much liberty, the gaanla’vod realized. Aruetii or not, her station still accorded respect. And so did her decision. The loyalty she felt for her people brought to bear, the woman locked herself down as well, now utterly refusing to sympathize. Just as well. They’d left that behind ages ago.

Jaw muscles tight, she endured the verbal and emotional barrage, barely holding it together herself, but daring him to say more. The gaan’dala saw what this was now. They were caught on the Red Handed god’s anvil, white hot with anger, and the hammer was descending, meaning to strike them into something new. Ezekiel wanted to hurt her. She embraced it.

“You coward.”

Chayaikir punched him. No anger drove her fist as it swung towards his jaw. It was just cold calculation now, for the right amount of force to lay him flat. It was what the gaanla’vod would do to put a handmaiden back in her place. It was what a Mando’ad would do. That was what she was now, and she would not allow a ghost from her past to diminish that glory.

[Ezekiel Valtieri]

He wanted that. It hadn't been his goal exactly—he wasn't really sure he had one of those with all his swearing and accusing, more letting his mouth and emotions go than executing any sort of plan—but if his words drew Lilly out, let her see what she'd done and deal with it, then he'd feel... Well, he'd feel like shit, actually. He'd apologize for how harsh he'd been, how out of control. He'd hold her, kiss her, tell her again, and again and again and again how much he'd missed her, how miraculous it was to find her alive.

But it was not to be. Whatever sparks of recognition he'd seen and felt for that brief moment, they was quickly extinguished. All that stood before him was that other, that Mandalorian, and Zeke knew well enough what to expect from a Mandalorian he'd just called a coward. The speed and strength of the fist, however, was wildly incongruous with his knowledge and expectation of the woman throwing it. He managed to catch hold of her bare forearm, but knuckles still collided with his jaw and for just a moment his vision blurred. A veteran of countless brawls, that had little effect upon his grip as he pulled her forward and to the side, twisting to try and get her arm locked behind her back.

Enhanced strength was not the only thing about her he let supposed familiarity lead him to underestimate, and though his maneuver seemed at first to be successful, she quickly reversed, slipping deftly under one of his arms to get behind him and wrenching his wrist a little in the process. Not hardly done with him, one firm leg slinked about his and just behind the knee, applying just enough pressure to buckle the support as she pulled and released his wrist, sending him tumbling sidelong into the heavy chair she'd so recently vacated.

The solid throne of course did not budge and showed no damage. Rising quickly and rotating his wrist with a grimace, Zeke couldn't say the same. A welt was already growing on his lower cheek, showing as a spot of slight purple on his crimson skin. Muttering darkly, he continued his verbal assault on her chosen culture. “Only language you people underst-” Evidently through listening to him, though, Chaya launched a short kick into the plateless mesh of his abdomen.

This too connected to a degree, but he'd seen her speed and was better prepared. Catching her ankle and taking a short step back—all he could manage in the confining space—he meant to pull her off balance and in closer. It was a predictable tactic, perhaps, but it remained his best bet; between his armor and superior bulk, the closer he could keep her, the better his chances of being able to lock her down and end this stupidity.