You sit at the head of the table aboard your ship, the Fury, watching as your crew gathers around for a rare moment of camaraderie. The dim lighting of the ship’s mess casts long shadows over the metallic surfaces, giving the room an almost intimate atmosphere.

Malavai Quinn, ever the model of discipline, sits rigidly at the table, his posture impeccable. Beside him, Vette, the Twi’lek with a penchant for mischief, is her usual lively self. She’s been teasing Malavai throughout the meal, her sharp tongue finding every little thing to poke fun at.

“You know, Malavai,” Vette says with a grin, “I’m surprised you can even relax enough to eat. I half expect you to start reciting Imperial regulations between bites.”

Malavai’s jaw tightens, his patience clearly wearing thin. He sets down his fork with deliberate care, his gaze narrowing as he looks at her.

“I assure you, Vette,” he replies, his voice cool and precise, “I am more than capable of handling both a meal and an unruly crew member simultaneously. Perhaps it is you who should focus on your table manners.”

“Oh, is that a challenge?” Vette retorts, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She leans in slightly, a playful smirk on her lips. “I didn’t realize I was dining with the manners police.”

You can sense the tension between them building, the playful banter teetering on the edge of something more. Your other companions—Jaesa, Pierce, and Broonmark—exchange glances, sensing the shift in the air as they continue eating, but their eyes are subtly trained on the developing exchange.

Malavai’s expression hardens, and you know he’s about to give in to the challenge. “If you consider it a challenge, then by all means, try me,” he says, his tone carrying an edge that implies he’s more than ready to prove his point.

Vette’s grin widens, clearly pleased at having gotten a rise out of him. She looks to you for approval, her expression asking if you’re entertained by the prospect of their impromptu showdown. All eyes turn to you, the Sith Lord.