Broken Codes

Colorful Feelings

Coruscant: 18 BBY
Feton Ralius' Stronghold
Nakoa Sen

Darkness had fallen across the city before Feton's party started. Coruscant's many lights gleamed through a few windows, lining the upper portion of a few walls. Nakoa sat in a chair, utterly bored.

Music filled the entire building. Droids and a few human servants carried around drinks and snacks. A few had tried to offer him some, but he'd turned them down. Nakoa scanned the room again. He spotted Oni in another corner, locked in conversation with one of Feton's men. There was still no sign of Feton himself or Lesia.

Where are they? Nakoa wondered again. He laced his fingers together, trying not to show his anxiety. Maybe it's better that I don't know? A door hissed open nearby. He perked up as the two stragglers finally arrived. Feton pushed Les towards the other dancers. She shot him a glare but joined them.

Nakoa's gaze flickered to Les and his mouth nearly dropped open in surprise. He managed to keep himself in check, even as she turned and met his gaze from across the room. He couldn't stop his heart from skipping a beat. She was beautiful. Despite the slight tint from his helmet, he could tell that her outfit was red.

Nakoa knit his brow, noting that. He glanced at the other dancers. They were all wearing blue. He almost groaned, realizing what Feton had done. Now I know why he asked about my favorite color, Nakoa thought.

"Enjoying the show?" Feton asked, appearing beside him. He sat down and kicked his feet up on the table.

"I'm not here for a show," Nakoa replied.

"Suit yourself." Feton shrugged and crossed his arms behind his head. "I'll just have to admire Les myself then."

"What are you getting at?"

"Nothing."

"Sure." Nakoa clenched his jaw. A droid rolled past and Feton swiped two drinks. He offered one to Nakoa. He shook his head.

"Come on." Feton rolled his eyes. "You're one of them?"

"Children of the Watch?" Feton nodded. "Not exactly," Nakoa replied. "I follow the ways of Old Mandalore, but my Clan was formed before Children of the Watch were even heard of."

"So you don't take your helmet off?" Nakoa shook his head. Feton gave him an incredulous stare, then downed both glasses. "She doesn't even know what you look like?"

"No. Neither does Oni. There's only two people alive who know what I look like, besides myself."

"Stars." Feton rubbed the back of his neck. "I'd die if I had to wear my helmet all day."

"After so many years, I'm used to it."

"Can you ever take your helmet off?"

"Yes, the rule isn't that we can't take it off. We just can't show our faces. I take it off whenever I'm by myself."

Feton appeared genuinely curious. "Under what circumstances can you show your face?"

"From what I've learned, none. If we do, we forsake the Creed and have to give up our armor. We can't even call ourselves true Mandalorians anymore."

"I don't believe that."

Nakoa glanced at him. "What do you believe?"

"I think the only time a Mandalorian is no longer a Mandalorian is when they turn their backs on their family and home." Feton pursed his lips, thinking. "In some ways, I no longer consider myself a true Mandalorian. I wear the armor. I speak the language. I contribute to this Clan's welfare. I don't serve the Mand'alor. I have no family to defend. I have no children to raise as Mandalorians."