Rhystati Ynr

Mirax Terrik, smuggler and art dealer 

       “Everything better be good                                               or there will be                                                                       t r o u b l e.”

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Mara felt a little bit silly. She had actually forgotten about the whole… in-laws thing. She was never going to have any and neither was Luke, so the whole concept had slipped her mind entirely. 

Luke had family, yes, but Han and Leia hardly felt like in-laws at this point. 

“Oh, geez. I’m sure that was lovely,” Mara winced, “I’ve only been on Ryloth on a handful of occasions, but I can imagine that would have gone badly for anyone who isn’t a fan of small, underground places.”

She nodded sympathetically. She’d heard that this sort of problem was often prevalent in families with mixed-species couples. Aesthetic for one wasn’t always aesthetic for all. And, Twi’leks were fiercely protective of their culture on a good day. 

“So they aren’t any better now? His family, I mean?” Mara asked, resting her chin on her hand. “That’s a shame. I mean, even if you were ugly, which you are obviously not, Nawara is obviously completely insane about you. One would hope they could rise above that a little bit…”

Rhys laughed at the thought of some of the people she knew cringing their way through Ryloth’s serpentine underground warrens. “Well, Bespin was a lot brighter than Ryloth, that’s for sure, but a lot of the city was even more cramped than those caverns so we did all right.” She wrinkled her nose and added, “Better views on Bespin, though. You can’t beat a sunset on a gas giant.”

She shrugged off Mara’s sympathy about the Vens -- not because she didn’t appreciate it, but because it wasn’t necessary. “Nawara’s clan wasn’t too impressed with his choosing a career in Imperial Law to begin with,” she explained lightly. “They liked when he got a slot in Rogue Squadron of course, because they saw that as being something that brought honor to the whole gang, but by then he’d already gotten out of the habit of caring about their opinions. I don’t think they ever had a big falling-out -- if they did, he’s never mentioned it anyway -- but if they were ever close, that ended years before I came along.”

Rhysati had been sad about that initially, but it hadn’t taken her long to realize that both she and Nawara were better off without those hide-bound snooty old traditionalists poking their lekku in their life. Her family had never been able to wrap their heads around her choices, either -- although in their case, at least they’d always remained fond if exasperated -- and her marrying Nawara had caused them to shake their heads no harder than had her flitting off across the galaxy or joining the New Republic military...although she could have done without the unsurprised sympathy during their brief falling-out.

Etain blinked, partially raising an eyebrow at Lieutenant Ynr before remembering that might be considered rude. She couldn’t help it though- her bafflement was genuine.

Fun had never been the hallmark of the Jedi lifestyle, and she had less time to worry about it these days than she had even as a Padawan. Nevertheless, she found herself genuinely at a loss for what one would do surrounded by fancy civvies and Republic upper brass that would even qualify.

The party was aesthetically pleasing enough; she had been genuine in her compliments of the dishes. The food was good and had provided distraction of a sort until Etain had eaten enough that little finger-sized bites of pulled roba and blue cheese had started to lose their appeal. 

But fun? Around people who she didn’t know and who knew, in a round about sort of way, who she was and thus couldn’t be lied to? None of them looked likely to spontaneously break out into an impromptu limmie game or its attendant wild betting, the way she might have spent off hours at Arca. And she’d tried to listen in to their gossip, the way she and Rhedian always had as younglings spying on older, more serious Knights- only to find she understood very little of it.

“Is there a sabaac game going on?” she asked, an attempt at a joke that came out almost seriously as she scanned the crowd around them… still deliberately avoiding looking in the direction of the famous athlete, “Or Pazaak?”

She sipped at her mystery glass, pressing her fingers a little harder into the smooth surface than necessary just for the sensory feedback. “I apologize, Lieutenant Ynr, but I’m afraid I must be coming off a little… graceless here. Only, I did most of my training on the Republic border with Hutt Space. My master was very charming, but I’m afraid he never taught me the proper procedures for… this.”

She gestured with one small, bruised hand at the opulence surrounding her. As beautiful as a holofilm, certainly… but somehow it felt more dangerous than an infantry campaign.

Rhy had to fight the urge to sling an arm around the skinny little Jedi’s shoulders like she would have a rookie pilot freshly assigned to her squadron and showing nerves -- not that they got rookie pilots anymore, not with the clones filling-up most of the roles in the suddenly-expanded Republic navy...but the urge was still there regardless, and still had to be stifled. Etain might look like a kid but she was still a Jedi, and one did not go about manhandling nervous Jedi into casual embraces of reassurance...Rhys didn’t think.

“Don’t worry so much about grace or charm or proper manners,” she suggested. “That sort of refined nonsense is fine for senators and celebrities and other glad-handers like that, but you’re a sold-- a Jedi,” Rhys corrected herself. “You have more important things going on than remembering which fork is appropriate to use when stabbing a handsy Bothan, or what color wine pairs best with an admiral’s mustache when you toss it in his face.” She winked, showing she was joking -- mostly. When Rhysati felt the urge to throw a drink in the face of a superior officer, she didn’t stop to worry about the color.

(Not that she’d done that more than once...and he had been practically begging for it.)

Rhys leaned in close and bumped the young Jedi gently with a companionable elbow. “Don’t apologize, is what I’m saying. I grew up on a tiny mining colony where the idea of 'good manners' meant latching a door before you opened the next one to keep the fumes out and talking quietly enough that you didn’t annoy people three compartments over, not learning twelve variations of ‘thanks’ and thirteen different styles of bowing. Which is part of the reason I’m only a lieutenant -- I don’t play the silly social games that Coruscanti elites love so much -- but who cares? I get to fly, and I get to protect people, and until ‘not being fancy enough’ is a court-martialable offense, I don’t have to worry about what these stuffed-shirts think about me.”

She hooked a thumb at Etain. “You’re a Jedi. You’ve got even less to worry about than I do. Nobody here can get you fired, and I doubt Master Windu’s the sort to send you to some dirtball world on the opposite side of the galaxy to the war just to smooth some ruffled feathers no matter how loudly these twerps squawk at him, so so what? Relax. Remember you don’t care what these nincompoops think about you. They aren’t your Jedi Masters or your troopers.” Rhys grinned crookedly and added, “They aren’t even the egotistical gas-bag pilots you have to put up with flying air support for you.”

A pointless little study, because I needed it. This little three-second scene made me happier than the other 142 minutes of Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker did. <3 <3 BECAUSE WEDGE ANTILLES IS WHY

“I can’t say that I ever really expected to have a husband at all, really. But, now that I will, I am ever so glad he is useful.” She returned the toast. After all, the description was certainly accurate in her fiance’s case.

“And, no. Please don’t call Mirax over here. I already know too much consodering how often I have to see Corran these days. And, honestly, I don’t know if I believe half of it, which is more awkward still,” she snickered.

“You’d pay, would you? Don’t start naming prices or you will tempt me. Planning a wedding isn’t cheap, you know,” she teased. “And I have certainly flirted with worse for less benefit.”

"I hear that,” Rhysati agreed vehemently. “I was never going to be one of those boring women who just married one person and settled down with them for the rest of forever.” She wrinkled her nose and sighed. “Then Nawara had to come along being all dashing and sincere and delicious, and ruin all my childhood dreams. The cad.” She smirked.

There was a special smirk for Corran, though. Rhys had had years to perfect it, and it came out with a snicker as Mara pleaded for mercy. “You’re going to take a Corellian’s word?” she teased. “About another Corellian? Mara, I thought you were supposed to be clever.” Not that Rhys, too, didn’t know far more about Corran than she’d ever wanted to -- but a lot of that came from Ooryl, too. Which was somehow worse than Mirax, in a way...

It was Mara’s comment about naming prices that had her positively cackling, though, the sound drawing a few curious glances their way. "Now who's tempting whom?" she chortled. “Anyway, I don’t see what you’re complaining about. You only have to have one ceremony. I’d barely finished enjoying our nice, simple, straightforward little kiss-and-promise scene on the bridge of Wedge’s new flagship before I had to fly-off to Ryloth for a proper wedding with the families.” She mock-shuddered. “Both of them.”

“Luke.” He insisted again with a mild smile after following her down the corridors.  They were familiar enough – he probably could have found his way around– as the layouts of these ships hadn’t changed much over the years; but better to have an escort than to wander around by himself and stumbling into anything he wasn’t supposed to stumble into (like, other people for instance).

“Maybe– actually, my first order of business was just to catch up.  Commander Antilles and I are old friends.  I came into some interesting information recently that I thought he might appreciate.  I was actually in the area, for once, and thought I may as well deliver it in person and see if he had time to catch up.”  

Though, the fact that Wedge was last seen in the ready room didn’t speak towards having much leisure time on his hands. 

“Luke,” Rhysati repeated, and winced. That was something else, all right. It didn’t bother her, didn’t intimidate her, when she rubbed shoulders with heroes like Wedge Antilles and Han Solo and Chewbacca and even Princess Leia Organa -- no, that last one was a lie, she had found the diminutive princess extremely intimidating the one time their respective duties had actually brought them briefly into close proximity.

Still, Luke Skywalker was different. He was something...more. A Jedi, a real Jedi, not just a fumbling amateur like Corran who was, frankly, lucky he had yet to cut his own arms off with that lightsaber he’d found just before the Thyerra mission, and which he at least now knew well enough to know how well he didn’t know it yet, and thus no longer tried charging down enemy stormtroopers like he was...well, like he was Luke Skywalker.

Skywalker was shorter than she’d expected, though; Rhys couldn’t help but notice that.

And he was acting like an ordinary person -- like he was just another old friend of Wedge’s, like Mirax or Booster or Nrin... Rhys made a conscience effort to shift Jedi Master Luke Skywalker into the mental category of former Rogue Squadron pilot and away from mystical legend of unfathomable powers. She failed, but she decided to pretend she hadn’t.

@rogueintheclouds

Wes was in trouble. This much he knew. He had been in this position before, and it always ended poorly for him. 

Shalla’s birthday was coming up. And, while they weren’t officially an exclusive item, they were still at the point where Wes felt that he needed to come up with something to get for her and that it had better be something somewhat good. 

The problem was that he just wasn’t good at the whole gift-giving thing. However, he had spoken with a few people and they had pointed him in Rhysati’s general direction. In fact, Hobbie had even said that Rhys was so good at it that she might be some sort of gift-shopping specific Jedi. 

She raised her eyebrows and felt her lips twitch, torn between smirking and grimacing with anticipatory horror. “That depends,” Rhys said drily. “Will I need industrial strength mental cleaning solvents to purge my poor brain of whatever idea you’re about to pitch at it?” The smirk won as she continued, “Should I comm my boyfriend to start polishing-up his best batch of lawyer-talk to get us out of whatever shenanigans you’re about to start?”

                              S O M E B O D Y  has to save our SKINS!                                                              -into the  G A R B A G E CHUTE,  flyboy!

“Oh, if anyone can sort anything out personally, you and I both know that it’s Leia,” Mara said with a wide conspiratorial wink. “That woman can handle whatever she wants personally, and I’m not even sure how someone like me would come out against the likes of her.”

That wasn’t entirely true. Mara was fairly sure that she could take Leia. Mara was pretty sure that she could take anyone that she knew in a fight, but Jedi were always tricky and she was never entirely sure how much Jedi ability Leia had. She knew how much Leia claimed to have, but reality was often a different story. 

“I can’t attest to the other Jedi,” Mara said, with a casual shrug, “but I can agree that we should probably be toasting each other!” 

The offer of the comm frequency brought an appreciative laugh from Mara. "I don’t know,” she said with a smirk, “are you sure you want me to have it after all of that bragging you’re doing?”

She was kidding, of course. Mara was no more interested in Nawara than Rhysati probably was in Luke. 

“Precisely. I am the very nature of docile and calm. Ask Skywalker. I am never impulsive and have absolutely no reason to have a very good lawyer a comm call away.”

Rhysati supposed that she ought to say something flattering about Mara’s skills and how she could certainly hold her own blah blah blah...but she honestly wasn’t sure that she could. Oh, she’d heard enough stories about Mara Jade to know that -- even if half of them were completely inflated, like they probably were -- she was not just competent but downright dangerous, but Rhys was a loyal member of Starfighter Command, for all that she had recently switched from active duty to training missions, and Leia Organa-Solo was a New Republic icon. It would have felt disloyal to downplay her skills against a former Imperial assassin’s, even a good former Imperial assassin who was about to marry Organa-Solo’s brother. Besides, would it be flattering to compliment Mara’s ex-assassin skills or just make her feel more like an outsider?

She settled for smirking, nodding, and sipping her drink before raising the glass and saying, “Well then, here’s to us for being clever enough to choose such useful husbands.” Rhys clinked the rim of her drink against Mara’s with a hearty chuckle before taking a deep swallow beneath a wink of her own. “I’d say we should get Mirax over here to corroborate but, frankly, there are some things I’d rather not know about some people!”

As Mara teased her about the dangers of bragging so much about her husband, Rhysati raised an eyebrow. “Are you kidding?” she asked drily. “I would pay to watch that flirtation.” Her smile was crooked, half amused and half rueful. “Nawara likes a woman who can keep up with him; even likes one who can outdo him a bit. But he’s got way too much ‘traditional twi’lek male’ buried down in there to fancy a woman who could mop the floor with him with her pinkie.” Rhys snorted. Her husband’s traditional values had surprised them both when they’d flared-up following his extra-vehicular injuries and reassignment to Executive Officer, had even put a killshot on their relationship for a short time -- but they’d worked through it. Had come out stronger on the other side, even...but that didn’t mean that Rhysati couldn’t be a little peeved about it still, from time to time.