The ocean world of Ahch-To looks to be nothing but blue seas from the distance of space. Dotting the oceans, however, are chains of rocky island that jut upwards to form shallow, sloping mountain ranges with small, flattened plateaus. Rich green trees and other small flora grow along the sedimentary stone, untouched by anything more than small avian creatures looking for a place to nest. Carved into the stones of the various islands are sets of winding, ascending and man-made pathways.

The crisp, clean air that wisps off the ocean helps maintain a fairly mild temperature during the day, with a healthy chill at sunset. Storms have been reported to flare up from time to time, leaving only the highest points of the islands safe from a rising tide. Porgs litter the islands, the oceans teem with a wide variety of fish, and large, docile Thala-sirens loiter on the rocky shores.

Although better known as the legendary home of the Jedi Order, a species of small-statured amphibious natives live simple lives as caretakers of the Jedi ruins. The ruins themselves are primarily small collections of stone huts, although numerous hidden caves dot the islands. Some contain evidence of previous habitation; many more house strong Force auras with mysterious effects on sentient beings, particularly Force-sensitives.

It was meant to be a rendezvous between their master’s, a quiet meeting where the two of them could work out some of the troubles without an audience. Instead, both parties had found themselves stuck with last-minute emergencies and sent their companions in their stead. Of course, neither of them had managed to send off a comm about the change in schedule on time, which is why the towering Chiss found himself walking through stone ruins. He was enjoying the breeze off the ocean, the sunshine and the odd bird-like creatures that infested the place.

Where is miss Zujenia? wondered Stres’trong’armis, bodyguard to the Shadow Lord. A sound from his left, one of the nearby stone huts he believed, caused him to turn and lift his arms to guard. Which was just as well, as it let him catch the green-haired, golden-skinned woman who had launched herself from the hut’s roof at him. Her ocean like eyes were alight with mischief and she ruined any effort at hiding her assault with the accompanying laughter. It was only his physical strength that kept the two from toppling over when he caught her, holding her to his chest.

“Diyrian! I did not exp—” Strong’s exclamation was cut off as his friend and sometimes lover planted a kiss on his lips.

“Heya, big guy,” she spoke with a grin when she pulled back. “Zuji couldn’t make it, sorry. Guess her throw rug of a boyfriend couldn’t either?”

The Chiss’s back stiffened at the insult to his master, but if anyone had a right to make such comments, it was Zujenia and by extension her friend.

”He was unavoidably detained due to the riots on Selen, he sent me to ensure that she was safe if his message got to her too late.”

A green eyebrow was cocked at the big man as she shifted in his grip, one arm wrapping around his neck, her legs around his midsection. Again, she grinned at him with mischief.

“What, your boss didn’t think I could protect my girl?”

As well cultured and educated as the son of Garmis was, he still was prone to miss the subtle social clues that his master would have been shaking his head at right now. Perhaps it was because of how she was shifting her weight or her breath against his neck that was distracting him.

”Oh, no, it was my suggestion that I come in his stead. Communications are unreliable these days.”

He felt her body against his go taut for a brief moment before she seemed to relax again. Her eyes met his again, and those lips that he had such fond memories of curled into a fresh smirk. He didn’t see her pull the chromium plated pistol from her gunbelt, not until the muzzle was pushed into his cheek. Diy leaned in and gave him another kiss, this one harder and more passionate than the greeting she’d given him earlier. His hands moved to better hold her; if not for the blaster the entire scene would by idyllic, but without the gun it wouldn’t have been Diy.

She broke off the kiss, giving him a peck on his large nose, and then walloped him across the side of the head with the grip of her gun.

Strong reeled, shaking his ringing head even as the Kiffar wriggled out of his grip. A hand went to the side of his scalp, probing tenderly to see if he was bleeding. His red eyes blinked several times, and he saw her unholstering her other pistol, an almost serious look to her face.

”Diyrian?”

“So, you thought I couldn’t protect my girl? Guess we need to have a little throw down, big guy, so I can prove I’m still on top.” She flourished her pistols and raised her eyebrows at him in a manner that caused the Chiss to swallow awkwardly.

”You generally did stay on top, due to size diff—”

“Not what I meant!” she shouted, firing a pair of blaster bolts near his feet. She pouted when this didn’t cause him to dive out of the way. “Are you not taking me seriously, Strong?”

He swallowed again; her tone had changed, no longer playful.

”Very well! If you wish to spar, it would be ungentlemanly of me to deny you!” he stated, reaching to pull his riot shield from his back. The former merc had just enough time to put it before him when he saw her eyes light up again, just as her pistols did a moment later. He watched the bolts dissipate against the energy shield, cascading lights that could blind if he allowed himself to stare at them. The ocean breeze faded from his awareness, as did the flying creatures and everything else. Now, it was just him and her. He charged, big feet thumping across the ground as he tried to close the distance.

She laughed and kept firing, throwing shots towards his legs to make him move his shield around, slowing him down. When he got closer she pivoted to his left, staying away from his freehand to avoid being grabbed. Diy ducked when he swung his shield in an effort to strike her, ducking back and laughing. Her laughter was short; she hadn’t sparred with her big Chiss for a time, it never seemed real how quick the man was. He’d followed his missed shield strike up, using the momentum of the swing to twist his body and lunge towards her. He was completely exposed, and for a moment she almost pulled the trigger.

Her hesitation cost her, his big hand closing on her left arm and pulling her along with him as his body hit the ground, dragging her down. She struggled in his grip, her other pistol hand coming up to press the still warm tip against his side. She grinned down at him, blue-green eyes wide with silent laughter.

“See? On top, still.”

“Indeed, you are,” Strong stated after his massive shoulders rose with a brief, deep chuckle. He may act slightly exasperated at times, but Diy knew he welcomed her spirit and persistence — loved it even, as far as she’d noted.

Adjusting her position on top of the Chiss to a more sturdy straddle, she continued to attempt weaseling out of Strong’s hold. Usually the maneuver would free the faux-Zelosian in a mere heartbeat, but the behemoth of a man’s hand was so large that she swore his thumb nearly wrapped completely around her petite left wrist. She bit her lip as other fond notes were recalled about his size, almost laughing lightly. Abandoning the futile escape effort, sure the fella would soon find other purposes for his arm, Diy leaned into him with that grin of hers. He swallowed once more, and she won yet again.

“Are you satisfied in your reaffirmation of position?” Her companion deactivated his riot shield, the brilliant yellow light dimming against his eyes and replaced by the budding sunset washing over the pair. “Your aim and quickness is as honed as ever.”

“I know,” she replied simply, sticking her tongue out, “but glad yer up to date.”

Strong let out a sigh, though the corners of his mouth curled up into his raven mustache, and he released her left arm. His hands moved to rest lightly just on the brim of her shorts and the exposed skin below, warm to the touch and not unwelcome in the ocean’s cool breeze. Diy straightened up and rotated her left hand a few times. She set Wynnetta the pistol aside, returning her attention to her friend and lover. The ex-gangster trailed the other pistol still set against his side up his chest — Whyell, as she were— and deposited it onto the grey-black rock just beside his ear. An involuntary shiver quaked beneath his skin in response, and the coolness wasn't responsible.

“Ya didn't take off yer shirt…” Diy noted. The son of Garmis typically shedded the garment with respectful diligence whenever participating in combat. Then again, a certain green-haired woman didn't provide much chance for such ritual, she mused internally. The golden tattoo of the Grivna clan crinkled with the lines of her face as she narrowed her eyes, her hand spreading through the wrinkles of his shirt. A flash of natural crimson hair and pale fingers zapped through her own, replaying a well and recent scene. “Ya got a bit of red on it.”

Strong readjusted his hands around her hips, lifting her a few inches while sitting up and resettling her upon his lap. His azure head tilted down briefly at the dirt-streaked fabric. “I must have obtained a cut, nothing but a scratch, I assure you...Diyrian, I do not spot the blood you speak of.”

“Ain’t blood.”

He looked at her, confusion temporarily taking hold before melting slowly away as he connected the dots — remembering her birth species’ unique abilities. The Chiss seemed to be debating whether he was expected to be ashamed or proud, though her uncharacteristic frown was hinting the former. Jabbing a finger into his chest, Diy slipped her black vibroblade from her thigh holster beneath her shorts’ right leg.

“Ya came to see me right after bein’ with her—”

“We merely shared the prior night —”

“ — and ya didn't share the details with me?!”

Strong nearly choked on his words, “P-pardon? It is not my place to exchange tell of the activities of Miss Vasano and I.”

“Ha!” Her loud exclamation startled a few of those feathered Limmie balls nearby into the air with an array of squawks. The Kiffar failed to contain her smirk as her own fond, blush-worthy memories were recalled. “A moment with ya, Bluesy, is broadcasted live for a mile away!”

“I am perplexed on whether you disapprove or not. You encouraged the relation before—”

Smack, Diy’s elbow cracked upon the large man’s thick jaw, bruising her own skin more than his. She followed the momentum into a side roll to her right, picking up Wynnetta as she did, a fresh, impish grin on her lips.

“I tell ya what, let’s play for it. If you win,” she gestured the glowing handle of her vibroblade towards him, “we’ll leave Lucie’s adventures be—”

“Miss Vasano prefers that particular moniker to not be used —”

Diy waved off the noble defence to his mistress’ wishes, continuing, “If I win, we make our own meetin,’ eh?”

The other Arconan Fade barely started booming a reply when she fired the knife, not particularly listening. It somersaulted through the air before clattering against the stone behind him, the hefty hunk of man meat managing to dodge the haphazard attack. He shook his head, yet moved his weight deeper into his heels when he turned around to catch her racing toward him, the second gun at his feet.

“As before, as you wish.”

Diy wasn't going to match Strong in strength or, hell, even speed surprisingly, but she was quicker in noting her surroundings. Steeling herself, the faux-Zelosian feinted, not just to the right or left but actually faking a dodge. Two heartbeats later and massive tree trunks of arms wrapped about her, pinning her own at her sides. With his right hand overlapping his left wrist, the Chiss picked her up off her feet as he squeezed.

“Are we finished with this ordeal? As a gentleman, I must remind you again that I will not hold back in my respect for you.” Stres’tron’garmis's voice boomed in her ear. Diy grimaced both at the volume and the constriction. She forced herself to look up at his glowing gaze with one unsquinted eye and a knowing smirk.

“T-timber, Big B-blue.”

And she fired several bolts straight beneath her.

He’d set himself well, heels dug into the soft earth and stone mixture that made up much of the island surface. Diy weighed little to the big man, but her momentum had been enough to put more pressure on his braced footing. And then she’d fired while he tried to explain himself, and the world went sideways. Strong started to realize as the ground deteriorated under them that he’d been played; her feint with the thrown blade, where she’d placed her guns, the fact that she hadn’t even bothered to avoid his grapple. All to get him to end up on the weathered bit of ground that, between their weight and her shots, crumbled beneath him.

The Chiss’s eyes widened in alarm as they fell backward, and instinctively he hunched over and shifted his grip to cover the Kiffar woman when they tumbled. Porgs squawked and took to the air in alarm as the pair fell down the incline, bouncing across stone and earth before Strong landed heavily on one of the stone pathways that wound through the village. He groaned, feeling bruises the bruises rising across his body already, and his shirt and pants already sticking to minor cuts as blood seeped in. The bodyguard counted himself fortunate for not having cracked his skull as he rolled onto his back, loosening his grip and looking down at his ‘passenger’.

”D...Diyrian? Are you—” he barely saw the flash of chromium that heralded the blaster pistol grip smacking into his chin, snapping his head back to rebound off the stone path. He groaned anew and felt her moving in his grasp. The Kiffar wriggled out of his loosened grip, standing over him and stretching much to his dismay — and just possibly, to his delight. He suspected she was teasing him once more, a tactic that worked deplorably well for the smaller woman. Slowly, he began to push off the ground, moving to get his feet under him once more, only to catch another strike from a pistol grip to the side of his head. The world was trying to spin, much to his alarm.

“Come on, big guy,” she said with a grin, leaning forward with her hands on her knees and a smirk on his face. Her dreadlocked hair framed the image nicely, as did the likely strategically popped couple of buttons of her shirt as she tried to provoke her friend. “Pretty sure that’s two to me, wanna make it three outa five?”

”A son of Garmis does not surrender so easily, madame,” he rumbled, rolling onto his stomach and pushing up. He was unable to observe her expression, a bitten lip, when his shoulders pressed against the ragged remains of his shirt, muscles rippling. It never occurred to him that it might be distracting to his lover; he simply assumed she was playing ‘fair’ between their sparring rounds and allowing him to stand. He regained his feet and rolled a shoulder, feeling the tightness across his back and grimacing, before looking down at his shirt and sighing. ”Of course.”

With one hand he grasped the front of his button-down and pulled, what was left of the fabric tearing easily and being tossed to the ocean winds.

“Better,” murmured Diy, stepping up and trailing a barrel of one of her pistols across his chest and abdomen, stopping only when it clinked against his belt buckle. She grinned up at him with those eyes like the sea and glanced around them. They’d landed in a lower part of the village from where they’d started, and the sun was sinking quicker. Stars were filling the sky, providing some light. “Getting dark.”

”Indeed, did we wish to— Diy, where are you going!?” he shouted as she let out a sudden laugh and darted away into the shadows. He looked down to see her sandals left before him. Barefoot, to make less noise, he mused.

“Round three, big guy, come on! This is your chance to get ahead!” came her voice from the darkness.

”Let it not be said that I do not rise to a challenge when issued!”

He set off in the direction she’d gone, not hearing the choked laughter from nearby, and quickly found himself without a trail to follow. The sound of something scraping across stone, or small rocks falling, lead him on a chase through the dark, weaving between ancient huts and dashing across the path in a laughable effort of stealth on his part. The loss of the sun, and his shirt was causing a chill to set in for the Chiss, and the thought of shelter was beginning to enter his mind. Still, he had a mission to fulfill, of sorts. A flicker of light caught his eye, through the window of a hut. With as much stealth as he could muster, rocks crunching under his boots, he crept to the entrance and dove in, rolling to his feet and lifting his arms to defend his head.

He blinked, red, glowing eyes showing confusion at the scene before him. A pallet-like bed with ancient blankets lay in one corner, not a surprise with the caretakers that populated the island. What was odd was the pile of tan and light blue clothing that lay next to it, which he swiftly recognized as Diy’s garments. Had she been absconded with by some threat he’d missed?

His worries were resolved when he felt the cold muzzles of twin pistols against his sides, and a familiar warmth pressed against his back.

“Round three, mine, big guy,” came the mischievous woman’s voice. The man hung his head for a moment, ashamed of himself, before recalling the terms of their contest. His shoulders shook, quaking in laughter as he turned and gathered the green-haired woman in his arms.

”Indeed! I am bested! Woe be it, the son of Garmis finds himself at the mercy of his foe!”

“Oh shut up and get over there,” she sighed, though not without a smile.

Plasma scorched into into the weather eroded stone, rock chips cutting into her bare legs. Backpedalling, Strong stumbled past their earlier tumble spot, trying to blindly avoid a bolt to the foot. Diy hoped her reckless shots missed too, preferring him intact in one piece. Soon the big guy lurched backward, tripping over the slight lip in the ground she spotted earlier.

They fell together, his breath escaping in a mighty hurumph that mixed with the crunch of spine against boulder. Being such an exceptionally large man, one would think he would’ve provided some cushion — he was nothing but hard. The Kiffar repressed a moan, sucking air in over a slit, bitten lip. Gripping onto his muscles for traction, she squeezed out of his loosened hold, shield scraping her lower back. Diy scrambled across his legs and belined for her precious Whyell.

“Guess...they’re right ‘bout the bigger they are...the harder they fall,” she panted. Diyrian latched onto the weapon, securing it for the inevitable win — Playtime’s over. The pistol twins reunited, she pivoted around in a crouch, the hefty weapons raised. Her green-blue gaze locked upon the Chiss immediately, golden tattoo sparking with the sunset as she grinned with renewed interest.

“Oh, yer back up already?” Diy purred.

Strong had hoisted himself into a sitting position, working his back muscles. His crimson eyes returned her gaze, regarding her with some hearty respect. While a questionable move honor wise, it became clear that the lady had strategically gambled. But this combative display was yet settled. The former mercenary stood, not even a wince on his face.

“A son of Garmis does not remain prone when downed, with discipline we rise to continue on.” His voice reverberated in the wind. She nearly added her own affirmation on the matter with a smirk.

Barrels still warm to the touch, Diyrian fired off one, two, then three bolts — aiming for his shield and his feet as he reapproached. Strong blocked them with his uncanny grace, the energy field warping with every strike. As his massive blue mitt reached for her, Diy swiftly dodged to the right, nearly wiping out on loose gravel. She discharged a couple more bolts in Strong’s vicinity, causing him to break momentarily from his grapple attempt — raven curl floating perfectly along with each movement. Now wasn't the time to be mesmerized by it, her back brushing against the cobble hut wall.

Kark, trapped like a purrgil in a space port! Diy cursed.

Her green-blue eyes trying to judge the limited pace between the Chiss and the structure. She wasn't quite ready to give up being selfish and taking the big guy to church. With darkness falling hard, the faux-Zelosian had difficulty distinguishing between the blue skin of her good friend and the deepening sky. She aimed quickly when he pivoted to tackle her, sending a silent call to whatever spirits, and squeezed out two crimson shots towards him near simultaneously.

The first gave him pause, dipping his shoulder to avoid being struck. The second bolt, however, grazed his bicep, burning through sleeve and scorching skin. Strong grunted and swung out his left arm reflexively at the source of the hit.

The riot shield connected squarely across her blocking left arm, sending electricity jolting through the Kiffar’s nerves. The sheer brute force of the blow sent Diy careening into the rock wall, cobble spraying through the hut’s interior as the weak spot gave way. She hit the ground with a hard thud, scattering chunks of rock. Her body was stunned, barely responsive and shaking while her heart skipped and screamed at the rumbling of the dome structure above giving way.

As the large slab delaying the collapse slipped from its place, a dark shadow wrapped around her, bright yellow shield raised above while muscles rippled and steeled themselves. Slates of stone bored down upon them, the roar deafening to their ears. Sparks of energy crackled and burst as the riot shield failed. She squeezed her eyes shut, pressed tight under Strong’s torso, her breath trapped in her lungs until silence settled in the darkness.

“Diyrian…” his voice was strained, echoing remorse and worry. “Are you injured?”

Finally glancing up into Strong’s crimson eyes, Diy examined her self-sacrificing barrier of a man in the torchlight upon them. His shield was tattered and nearly stripped from his left forearm that was now planted firmly on one side of her, his other arm on the other side. The shirt clung to his back in tatters, visible just slightly under the small pile of stones that slipped slowly off — the riot shield thankfully blocking the majority. The Chiss’s face bore a seriousness that masked any pain. While her own body ached with new abrasions and a renewed bout of arousal flaring in her chest.

“I think I need yer examination to be sure,” she replied back coyly, yelping quietly in surprise as he hoisted her up as he stood with another grunt of exertion.

“Then I shall treat to you as such,” Strong nodded to his protective equipment, “you won our challenge after all.”

Satisfied, yet sore, Diy grinned at him and his neatly groomed face now flecked with rock dust. They turned away from the rumble and into the torchlight...and into two amphibian looking aliens who’s wild gestures at the house created a sense of impending dread in the Kiffar...

...Stone clattered into a neat pile as Strong’s boisterous voice rang out, “Do not worry, Diyrian! The hut will be rebuilt in no time. I am as capable of three men on the task.”

“I knooow.” Diyrian gave a pouting sigh filled with quiet frustration, and rubbed at her purpling skin. At least she could comfort herself with the torchlight highlighting his glistening, shirtless muscles as he worked through the night to the sounds of the natives partying in the clearing below.