Chapter Text
Before the rescue of Jekiah Ordo
Location: SoV2, after Jekiah's rescue
Rass Ordo stormed into the primary crew quarters on the Spirit of Vengeance II and promptly threw all the force he could muster in his exhaustion after the “massive ship jump from hell” into slamming his boot into the bulkhead. “Haar’chak!” As the resounding clang reverberated, he threw himself into his bunk and slumped against the wall, brooding.
“Jek is safe,” he muttered over and over until the words lost meaning. It’s a mechanism that he’d used frequently when he felt overwhelmed… and, he had never felt as overwhelmed as he did right now. Action, danger, life-threatening odds... all part of being Mandoa’d(8). Being paired with a Jetii, who didn’t so much as engage in combat as make dancing lethal, certainly was not.
He’d seen Jetii move, but never from so close. Nor had he ever found himself describing anyone else’s combat style as “elegant” and “graceful” while amassing a pile of beskar-clad dar’manda in her wake… but there she was, a blur of crimson hair, gray and navy durasteel kit, and a medium gray shimmersilk robe that couldn’t help but cling to her curves, yet enhance her musculature. And her eyes… It was hard for him to enumerate the shades and hues the way he wanted to. The depth of their mixture of deep sapphires and iridescent opals and the way they seemed to pierce his armor more effectively than a bes’kad...
He wondered idly if his datapad had enough space to download some of the helmet camera vids of her. He knew plenty of his clan that were on Darvannis and Voss for those battles. He could easily slice their personal networks. Now that he knew how her body arched as she leapt at her next prey, he had to see more.
Rass’ thoughts were interrupted by bootsteps heading his way, “Didn’t exaggerate, did I?” Torian Cadera stepped into view, red and gray beskar’gam showing the wear of the last battle.
Making a show of his chronological age, Rass’ response was to harumph, punch his pillow, and roll over… not even considering the effect that beskar would have on linen. Torian scowled, “Panties twisted much?”
Rass decided to not dignify the question with an answer; And, well after most people’s patience would have shriveled up, Torian was rewarded with a moment of seeing sickly green armor wriggling to the edge of the bunk and Rass’ face smirking up at him.
“There’s a lot to talk about and I need to vent. Talk and train?”
With a sharp nod from the blonde aliit and a moment to stand, the warriors exited the barracks.
And, as Rass began, “How the hell does she move like that?” their voices trailed off into the bulkheads.