Populate A Winter's Blessing | THR Life and Name Day Thread [Resource Hex]

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Objective I - Lights of the Ovli Market​

Interacting with: Dominique Vexx
Mood: I'd make the best ice sculpture!

"Oh, now that is fascinating. I did not even consider that there would be different ways it would be celebrated on the surface and on the lower levels," Sibylla admitted. And truly, when she thought about it, it made sense. Much like Coruscant, Denon was a city world with massive city blocks spanning multiple tiers.

And while she had never visited Coruscant -- especially now that it was under Empire rule -- ecumenopolises were always a curious curio to a native of Naboo who was used to meadows, fields, mountains, and lakes instead of an endless industrial skyline.

"Are there any green areas on Denon?" she asked in passing, the idle thought slipping out before she could rein it in. It was quickly swallowed up by a light, joyful laugh.

"Well, I would desire you to seek no less than first place. If needed, I am prepared to offer myself as tribute to ensure your win." Sibylla teased, a wry smile flashing pearly white teeth at the Denonite as she continued to chuckle.

I certainly can't imagine walking with anyone else, Dominique realayed, and Sibylla's eyes shone with mischievous mirth.

"Ah, now you are feeding my ego... somewhere Chancellor Aurelian Veruna 's ears are prickling at an opportunity lost to make some outrageously brazen quip." She flashed Dominique a quick, conspiratorial wink.

Her laughter shifted into incredulity as she realized there was an actual crowd forming to present gifts and offer well wishes to Lady von Ascania.

"Well... remind me next time to ask if there is a quick pass option for such events," she joked, amused even as she let her gaze wander across the gathered guests. Her attention, however, snapped sharply at the sudden whinnying of hoofbeats and... was that a horse?

There was no time to think. Sibylla darted back, instinctively pulling Dominique with her, just as a white horse barreled past them in a flurry of snow and startled shouts.

"What in blessed Shiraya..." Sibylla exclaimed, eyes wide as the horse and its poorly balanced rider vanished into the crowd. The distinct whinny that followed -- and the sudden distant thud -- made it quite clear that the rider was no longer riding anything at all.

Not that he had been doing a particularly good job of it in the first place.

"That was one thing I did not expect," she laughed, shaking her head. "Goodness, are you alright?"

 

[Ala Quin]

His staff swept toward her midline, and Ala darted aside...or rather, she attempted to dart aside.

Her boot slid in the snow, her heavy coat tugged stubbornly in the opposite direction, and she made a tiny, scandalised sound that absolutely did not belong to the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order. “Lorn!” she huffed, batting his strike away with her overly padded arm and an indignantly muffled grunt. “I can’t move in this...but I refuse to dress like you!”

She corrected her footing with an awkward hop that sent a puff of snow flying. Somehow, impossibly, her staff still found his with clean precision, the impact sharp despite the chaos of fabric and fur.

Her hood slid halfway over her eyes. She pushed it back with the heel of her mitten.

“Not the best time to be an ataru specialist...huh?!” she added, breathless, bright, and very much not giving him the satisfaction of seeing her flustered.

Except she was. In the most Ala way possible.

She tried, clumsily, to spin the bow staff over her head, and then step forward into a long distance strike...holding just the end of the staff. It was slow...painfully so...and she missed him completely.

"BAH! FINE!" She said, tugging off her scarf and throwing it to the side. "At least let me move my head."

| Tag: Lorn Reingard |
​

 

[Lorn Reingard]

Objective III
Tags: Ala Quin​

Lorn watched her boot slide on the ice. Her whole bundled-up form wobbled like an affronted snow owl, and a sound he couldn't control escaped him. It wasn't exactly dignified.

A laugh, almost boyish, broke free before he could stop it. "I warned you," he said, easily blocking her flailing attempt. His staff met hers with a firm, practiced snap, and his smile remained impossibly soft. "You're absolutely overdressed for sparring. But did you listen? Of course not."

She lunged again, or at least made a valiant effort. Lorn eased back, letting her miss him by a heroic margin. The swing passed through empty air, slow enough that he could have sidestepped twice and still had time to ponder his life choices.

Then came a tiny, furious "BAH!" The scarf was ripped off and tossed aside like a dramatic declaration of war.

That did it. He laughed outright, the sound warm and unguarded. He watched her huff and adjust herself. Force help him, she was too adorable for him to even pretend to take advantage of her frustration.

He lifted his staff but didn't advance. Instead, he tilted his head, his expression alight with mischief. "Ah," he said solemnly, "yes. The scarf. Clearly the true opponent in this fight." He gestured lightly with the staff, inviting her in. "Now that it's gone, Miss Grandmaster, I'm in real danger. Please, do your worst."

 

[Roman Vossari]

​

Objective I
TAGS: Liana Organa

​

Roman puffed himself up, what little of him wasn't already bruised. "Yeah, it's a fact," he said, dusting snow off his jacket. "Though being a big deal around here is, y'know, like being a big deal around a bakery."

A tiny smirk tugged at his mouth. Aiden Porte would've had a field day with that comparison; the guy collected pastries and reputation in equal measure. Roman blinked the thought away before it could soften him too much.

He turned back to the mare, fumbling. "She's a present. For me." After a beat, he grimaced. "No. No, not for me. But the actual recipient isn't gonna appreciate her nearly as much as I will, so... borrowing? I definitely didn't steal her..."

The mare leaned into Liana's hand again, ditching Roman without hesitation. He pointed at her, defeated. "See? She's made her choice. Here, take the reins before she throws both of us."

As he handed them over, Roman noticed the drink staining the snow. He crouched, scooping a bit up with two fingers like he was gathering forensic evidence, and sniffed it thoughtfully.

"Hot chocolate. Tragedy." He stood, already turning toward the nearest booth. "I'm getting you another one. I caused it, so it's a moral obligation. Like... Life Day karma."

He stepped up to the stall and glanced back at her, eyebrow raised. "So, whats your name? Where're you from that you're a big deal? And how big of a deal are we talkin'? Bakery level? Or like..." He gestured vaguely toward the palace in the distance. "...full royal-tier big deal?"

 

[Isla Reingard]

Objective II

Isla was ready, primed to throw a devastatingly superior shot purely out of spite. And then Phillip started counting lanterns. Out loud.

"One… two…"

Her focus shattered like cheap glass. The axe left her hand half a second too early, spinning wide until it buried itself in a wooden support beam a solid distance from the target.

"Oh, for kriff's sake," she hissed, cheeks flushing hot under the winter chill.

Phillip's bright grin did not help. His gentle, maddeningly earnest encouragement didn't ease her irritation either. The fact that he didn't even laugh was somehow worse.

"Stop, stop being nice," she snapped, fighting a smile as she stalked back. "I cannot throw axes while you're being wholesome. It's distracting. Weaponized sincerity."

He stepped up for his turn, talking big about how pettiness doesn't get you anywhere, and Isla crossed her arms, fully prepared to watch him get smug. Except he missed. It wasn't even a respectable miss, it was spectacular. The axe hit the snow with a sad little thwump, bouncing like it was embarrassed for him.

Isla blinked once. Then twice. "Wow. Incredible form. Truly inspiring. You've reinvented gravity." She clapped slowly, the picture of deadpan admiration.

"Hey, you said it," she said brightly, poking his shoulder. "Pettiness doesn't get you anywhere. But apparently whatever that was doesn't either."

Her competitiveness flared, warm and sharp in her chest. She wasn't about to let either of them be the joke of Ukatis tonight.

"Alright. My turn. No distractions. No counting. No being earnest."

She tugged her gloves tighter. She bent to set her bag on the packed snow beside them, putting it far enough away not to smack with an axe by accident, before stepping up to the throwing line again. She rolled her shoulders and centered her breath.

"This one," she said, shooting him a quick smirk, "is going dead center. Watch and learn."

Phillip Slate | Abishai Jade​

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Objective II
Tags: Adelle Bastiel

Aurelian's second axe was already in his hand when the sting of the first throw caught up with him. It had veered embarrassingly wide, more flourish than precision. It was a classic case of his confidence tripping over itself, and he winced, subtle but undeniable.

"Clearly," he muttered under his breath, "I'm warming up."

Adelle's next throw landed close to her first, steady and irritatingly competent. He stepped sideways as Phantom drifted toward his boots, her expression one of regal entitlement. He pivoted around her like she had diplomatic immunity. Apparently, she did.

"Careful," he told the spukami, flicking the axe in his hand. "I'm fairly certain you outrank half the Senate at this point."

Phantom chirped something that sounded distinctly self-satisfied.

He shot Adelle a look. "You know, it's occurred to me, the only two times I've seen you were at my parties. On two different worlds." His grin sharpened. "I should start charging you an appearance fee."

He rolled the axe along his fingers, controlling the weapon with more seriousness now. He let the easy bravado simmer into focus. Her "slumming it" quip echoed back, and he clicked his tongue.

"Slumming it?" he repeated, stepping into place. "These are my people. Surely I have to make an appearance everywhere, even the slums."

He drew a breath, shoulders settling. "But yes," he added, voice dropping to something quieter, more honest, "it's nice to walk through my own celebration instead of standing on that stuffy dais with people who only want things from me."

He didn't linger on the admission. He never lingered on anything that even hinted at sincerity. Instead, he snapped back into motion: weight forward, arm loose, aim tightening with real intent this time.

He threw.

​

 

[Phillip Slate]

Tags: Isla Reingard Abishai Jade

"But being nice is my entire thing. We both know that if I stopped, you'd think something was wrong with me. And I'm completely a-okay. Out here, hanging out with my best friend."

Phillip kept the wide grin on his face, as he continued to tease Isla away. Slowly but surely, the nerves and awkwardness was melting away like snow under a warm breeze...Before it all came crumbling down around him. Isla had wanted him to stop being wholesome. To stop being distracting. And...she would get her request, as Phillip missed. Terribly. He had thought he done the technique perfectly. Reduce the amount of power he was adding, so that it wouldn't spin as much...but instead it had landed pathetically in the snow. It didn't even land head first, it bounced. And with that...Phillip just crawled into himself.

He didn't even react as Isla had poked him in the shoulder. Maybe it would have been better if he had. Even if it was to just push her away. Instead Phillip felt his cheeks burning a bright red. Not from the cold, no. But from embarrassment. He didn't want to screw up in Isla. There was a part of him that didn't understand why. They were friends. It was normal to mess up in front of your friends. But there was a part of him that had wanted to show off. But he was making himself more and more of a joke.

"Kriffing kark."

Cursing had never suited Phillip. But he didn't deal with embarrassment well. He already thought he was a joke to most people. To his family. To the masters. But he couldn't let himself focus on that. Today was meant to be a good day. It was just a competition? Did it really matter?...He did his best to ignore the voice in the back of his mind saying it was important,

"...Better luck next throw."

Phillip muttered quietly to himself, as Isla's next throw went wide. It was his turn to go up after her. That little nudging from the Force that insisted something was watching him pushed to the back of his mind as Phillip took the axe in his hand, trying to figure out how he wanted to throw it. Power was wrong. Technique was wrong. He just took in a deep breath, deciding to just...go with the Flow. Go with the Force.

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Axilla, Ukatis
Tags: Aurelian Veruna

Adelle waited until after he had thrown before saying anything--she didn't want him to be able to accuse her of cheating or distracting him, although he might try that anyway. The second throw was an improvement on the first but both she and Aurelian weren't near enough to the center of the target. Ah well, this was for fun anyway and the banter was far more entertaining. A wry smile twisted her mouth momentarily--how many of those he'd just complained about would have envied her position? She tucked his moment of honesty away, getting the feeling that those moments weren't simply handed out often.

"I'm pleased to know you think Phantom is far better company," Adelle said, acknowledging the moment while trying not to draw too much attention to it. "Celebrations are always better with people that you like. Or at least can tolerate. Better still when there's alcohol involved and that will broaden the definition of tolerable considerably."

She leaned down to coax Phantom over to her and out of being underfoot with Aurelian, rubbing the feline's chin and face. "As far as parties go, you saw me on Nessantico as well if you were watching the jousts. But start charging and you'll no doubt deprive Sibylla of the opportunities to reconnect with Phantom, which I'm sure she would absolutely forgive you for."

The last axe and throw waited for her. Come what may, she was glad she showed up. Granted, she ought to at least congratulate the expecting couple if not give a small gift to the baby to be. Adelle had the credits: she hadn't been on Thyferra for charity.

She picked up the axe and flung it at the target. As soon as she had, Phantom jumped and climbed up the back of her coat, very nearly curling into a ball on one shoulder. <<Ground cold.>>

"Well that's all three for me," she said. "I didn't realize the Republic was so hard up for credits, but if you insist on a cover charge for your parties, perhaps a drink will cover my fee?"

 

[Ala Quin]

Something pinched in her expressio, a spark of actual irritation beneath the layers of pink-nosed cheer. Just for a heartbeat, Ala Quin, bundle of winter fluff and mischief, narrowed her eyes.

And she jabbed.

A sharp, precise snap of the staff’s butt end forward—instinctive, lightning-quick, and aimed directly at the center of him. The impact landed with a solid thunk against bare muscle.

Right in the fifth ab. The one she…may or may not have named.

Her breath caught. Her eyes went huge. “Oh...oh no...Lorn!”

Her staff clattered into the snow as she rushed forward, mittened hands hovering uselessly over his torso. “Are you okay? Did I hurt...oh stars...did I hurt Harry?!”

The moment the name left her mouth, her entire soul seemed to leave her body.

Her face went scarlet. “I mean...not Harry...well, yes, Harry, but...not...LOOK, IT JUST—IT LOOKED LIKE A HARRY AND I PANICKED!”

She gently pressed a mitten to the spot she hit, which accomplished absolutely nothing except making the situation infinitely worse.

Her voice pitched up, flustered and frantic:
“Don’t tense! Let me...let me check! Oh Force, I can’t even feel anything through these stupid mittens...why am I like this...”

She fussed over him in a whirlwind of wool, worry, and mortification, completely forgetting that they were in the middle of a duel and that half the settlement was watching the Grandmaster cradle a Jedi Knight’s abdomen like she’d injured a sacred relic.

| Tag: Lorn Reingard |
​

 

[Abishai Jade]

Ukatis crowds flowed like sluggish river water. They were too slow, too loud, and always in the karking way. But for once, they proved useful.

Isla stepped forward, boots carving a confident line into the snow. Phillip hovered beside her, shoulders hunched with the desperate optimism of someone trying to recover from social disaster. Both of them were staring straight ahead at the target board. No one was looking behind them.

Perfect.

Abishai slipped out from between two bundled festival-goers, hood low, stolen drink steaming in his hand. He walked with purpose but not speed. He fut un with the flow. A casual pivot, a feigned glance at the ground, and then he crouched as though picking up something he’d dropped.

His fingers closed around the strap of Isla’s bag.

No notice from the crowd.

Just the crackle of nearby lanterns and Phillip’s voice drifting, unbearably cheerful. "Out here, hanging out with my best friend."

The words hit Abishai like a stun bolt behind the ribs. His hand froze for a split second. Best friend. Kriffing best friend. He didn’t know why that bothered him so much. He didn’t want it too, but it scraped at something raw and unguarded inside him.

Too late to stop now.

He rose smoothly, the bag tucked under his arm, vanishing back into the slow-moving crowd as if he’d always been part of it. A few weaving steps later, he ducked behind a vendor stall overflowing with cheap cider.

Only then did he open the bag.

There. A flicker of warmth pulsed against his palm the moment he touched it, the kyber. His kyber. The one he’d bled for, nearly broken his ankle over, nearly crashed a karking Quadjumper retrieving.

He exhaled, tension spilling out in a single sharp breath.

Without hesitation, he pocketed the crystal, the familiar thrum settling against his thigh like a heartbeat finally returned.

But the bag remained in his hands.

He stared at it, jaw tight. Isla would lose her mind if she realized it was gone. Phillip would probably cry, or apologize to the snow, or both. And as much as he hated to admit it, Abishai wasn’t trying to ruin her night.

Just…reclaim what was his.

He tugged the hood lower, scowl carving deep across his face.

Fine.

He’d slip the bag back. Quietly. Before they even noticed. No harm, no foul, no reason for her to go shrieking across Ukatis about thieves.

And no reason for him to care this much.

Kriffing Ukatis. Kriffing crowds. Kriffing...

Time to move.

Phillip Slate Isla Reingard
​