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

[Persephone Dashiell]

Why people had to drop Jedi Knight as if it was some amazing accomplishment was beyond her. If it was supposed to impress it certainly did not. In fact, Persephone felt pity for the small unborn girl. Poor thing was probably going to be wrapped in unfashionable burlap due to her father's Jedi status. Doomed fashion sense from the start.

Additionally, it seemed all von Ascania's had a bit of an attitude problem. First the brother, now the sister. Bullet dodged there Persephone, perhaps it had been beneficial to be abandoned on that Life Day sleigh ride years ago. Instead of replying - Corazona von Ascania was trying to goad her with the boyfriend comment - Persephone just offered a sad smile. One of those ones a person did trying to take pity on others. After all, she did have a burlap husband of an entire year. Apparently one of those couples that celebrated the small milestones.

Odd thing to imply she didn't get pregnant out of wedlock. Persephone could really care less. She had been drawn over by curiosity and now that curiosity was satisfied.

"Best of luck then Miss Cora." Genuine that time. Persephone wasn't a total b!tch. Gaze drifted to Burlap Husband Makko Vyres "Don't put the baby in burlap. She's innocent."

A nod to the pair and she left the receiving line, off to mingle back in the crowd to wait on Kiran Arlos .Much like an overeager Tooka cat, Kiran was all too cheery and chirpy in his greeting. An amusing contrast.

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Objective I - Lights of the Ovli Market​

Interacting with: Dominique Vexx
Mood: I am very grateful for you, Dominique

"Kind?" Sibylla echoed, the word warming into a faint rueful smile.

"Perhaps. But you give me far too much credit. I have my flaws, and I am still learning how to temper them," she admitted, the knowing curve of her lips softening the confession.

"In any case, it is wise to make sure no one is truly hurt." Her steps fell easily beside Dominique's now, the earlier commotion fading into something lighter. A soft laugh escaped her full lips with an edge of genuine fondness. It had been too long since she shared an evening like this with the Denonite. Too long since the weight on her shoulders eased enough to let her simply enjoy another woman's company.

Honestly, with how her friendships seemed to turn and shift, it worried Sibylla that the common denominator that added all the friction to the table was her. That Dominique was here with her gave Sibylla some hope that she wasn't completely cursed in building friendships. That she could truly make those close connections grow and stay.

"Besides, if we are to measure kindness, you are the one who exceeds me," Sibylla said gently. "I am very grateful for your friendship, Dominique. More than I often say aloud."

And she meant it. Dominique had looked after and mentored her in ways few others ever could, or would. She accepted Sibylla and didn't judge her by her position or House, but seemed to truly care for her.

That meant everything for Sibylla.

As they drew closer to Liana Organa and Roman Vossari ahead, the name Dominique had mentioned flickered through Sibylla's thoughts. The man's features became clearer through the snowfall. Soon enough the red hair, the easy posture, the almost cheeky tone of his voice built a better picture...

Ah. That Roman. Roman Vossari .

This was going to be interesting.

 

[Naniti]

Naniti looked over and up at Lysander. She totally understood how he felt. The theory behind throwing an axe made perfect sense. An uneven distribution of weight coupled with a spilling object's desire not to alter course... the physics made sense. Problem was, how you threw it in such a way that the physics worked. Not that it would stop in midair and drop like a rock, but the axe head had to hit the wall and nothing else. Probably the top point of the blade too so it stuck. Or would the flat be better because it'd have more bite? But the spinning motion might cause it to slip... This would actually be easier on paper.

Lysander, of course, took it to the next level. The Togruta, in response, lifted a hand to her forehead with the softest of sighs.

"Okay, Master of Destiny, show us how to tame a wall." Not like she expected to do better!

When his throw failed, Naniti nodded to herself. That's what she expected even for herself. "But that is the point. Finally, a sport I can be sure you won't be the obvious winner." The smile dropped and she leaned over in Lysander's direction. "Or won't fall all over me." Not that she expected him to have forgotten what happened on Ilum.

One at a time. Nice and easy. The axe haft felt plain weird in her hands. The weight distribution really was off compared to a sword -- not to mention a lightsaber. After drawing in and releasing a breath, Naniti made a bold attempt of her own. Three in good time, but there was no rush.

Lysander von Ascania | Acier Moonbound | Varin Mortifer
Aurelian Veruna for The Axe Event Rolls

 

[Shade]

Shade did not allow her heartbeat to shift, not in the wake of Cassian's warm praise, not after Elian's exuberance, and certainly not when the faint disturbance in the crowd alerted her to the presence of someone she knew all too well. Lysander stood somewhere behind the gathered onlookers; she could sense the measured weight of his attention, the way one sensed a pressure change before a storm. She didn't look toward him, didn't acknowledge him, didn't even let her posture betray recognition. His presence was a variable, nothing more, and she filed it away with the detached efficiency of someone who had learned long ago never to give an observer the satisfaction of reaction.

Her focus remained exactly where it needed to be: on the next axe resting on the rack and the final throw she had to make.

Cassian's nearness brushed her awareness in a very different way, grounding rather than distracting. The quiet pride in his voice a moment earlier still lingered in her mind, warm and steady, a kind of reassurance she did not seek but found herself appreciating regardless. She lifted the last axe from its slot with deliberate care, testing the weight as she adjusted her grip. This one was slightly rougher along the handle, colder against her skin, but the balance remained precise enough for her purposes.

A breath left her, slow and measured, and she rolled her shoulders back to align her body with an almost effortless economy of motion. Snow continued to drift around them in soft white spirals, muffling the ambient sounds of the festival until the world seemed to narrow into a single point of clarity—the lane before her, the wood target glowing under the lantern light, and the rhythm of her own muscles falling into perfect sequence.

When she drew her arm back for the last time, the chatter of the crowd faded into a distant hum. She released the axe in a single fluid motion, the rotation clean and exact as it sliced through the cold air.

A resounding, resonant thunk echoed across the throwing lanes as the blade buried itself solidly into the wood. Splinters trembled around the impact point, and a few nearby spectators jerked slightly in surprise, clearly unused to someone throwing with such unerring force and control. Shade, however, did not wait for reactions or glance toward her mark; she already knew the result from the sensation in her arm, the alignment of the release, the sound of steel meeting wood.

She moved back to Cassian's side with the same composed ease she had shown all evening, her breath even, her expression as calm as ever. Yet to him—only to him—the subtle signs were there: the faint relaxation of her shoulders, the quiet glow behind her eyes, the sense that she allowed herself to take a small measure of satisfaction in his presence.

When she spoke, her voice was low, even, and threaded with that subtle warmth she rarely let anyone hear.
"Your brother has spirit," she observed, the softened tone betraying a flicker of amused approval. "And you were right—he is good."

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment before returning to the targets, the lanternlight reflecting gently across her features.

"That was my final throw," she added, not with pride or indifference, but with the simple certainty of someone who understood her own precision without needing an audience to confirm it.

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Liana Organa]

Roman Vossari - Sibylla Abrantes - Dominique Vexx​

Liana wasn't particularly thirsty anymore, but she accepted the fresh cup of hot chocolate as a token of goodwill. And though it was probably a bit tyrannical of her, she couldn't help but take some enjoyment in seeing his reaction to her status.

"The von Ascanias and the Organas don't exactly mingle, do they? What brings the royalty of Alderaan to a winter market in the middle of nowhere?"

"Well— Kind of," Liana thought back to her younger years on Coruscant, "My mother and Princess Cora were both members of the Jedi High Council years ago, back in the Alliance's heyday."

She waved the memory away, placing a hand on her chest as if to return the attention to Liana herself, "But that's not why I'm here. I'm here because I'm serving as Alderaan's junior ambassador to the High Republic. And Ukatis seems to be the hot new haunt for notable faces in the High Republic."

Liana took a precognitive notice of two figures watching them from afar. Her senses persuaded her to look into the distance, where she saw Sibylla Abrantes and another woman sure enough looking their way. She offered them a wave, before turning back to Roman, "So, are you from here? I assume you're not some Republic bigwig, given your previous comments."

 

[Arhiia Voronwe]

Tags: Aiden Porte
​

Arhiia crouched behind a drift, cloak flaring, braid bouncing with each movement. She glanced at the younglings, wide-eyed and laughing.

"All right, troops!" she called, voice bright and commanding. "Follow me — we take the snow square!"

The kids squealed, brandishing snowballs, rallying around her like a tiny, frosty army. Arhiia raised her free hand, eyes glinting with mischief.

"Reloading!" she shouted, and the snow around them lifted, twisting into dozens of tiny snowballs midair. In her mind, she heard the plink-plink-plink of her mental gatling gun engaging.

"Cover me!" she barked, flicking her wrist, sending the first volley streaking across the square. Snowballs ricocheted off drifts and stalls, bouncing unpredictably, and she laughed, high and wild, braid flying forward.

"Nice shot, General Arhiia!" one of the Togruta younglings shouted, ducking behind a mound with a giddy scream.

"Keep up, soldiers! Don't let anyone get away!" she called back, voice carrying over the shrieks and laughter. Her hand flicked again, arcs of snowballs forming and shooting with rapid precision, weaving through the chaos like tiny guided missiles.

She spun behind her cane for cover, ducking low, then peeked out, grinning fiercely. "Incoming!" Another volley zipped across the square, perfectly timed, and the younglings shrieked in delight, rushing to dodge and retaliate.

Snow flew everywhere. Arhiia twisted and ducked, braid whipping, pink cheeks glowing with laughter. "Form up, troops!" she called again, stamping a boot in the snow for effect. "We strike together!"

The winter battlefield erupted around her — chaos, laughter, snowballs midair — and Arhiia reveled in every second, fully alive in the snowstorm she commanded, general of her tiny army.

 

[Colette]

Corazona von Ascania Makko Vyres Reina Daival

The warmth of the embrace felt like old times. Colette let herself linger in the moment for a while longer before she parted with a surprisingly shaky exhale. The one that followed from Makko caused just the slightest of cracks to form in her otherwise forcibly stoic facade.

A single tear rolled down her cheek which she subtly swept away with a scratch at the side of her temples.

"I'll let the two of you suffer through this in peace, I've…" She couldn't deny herself the chance to pause for a moment. "I have a few things to take care of."

A smirk tugged at her lips but gave way for the misery inside. A seed of regret was shaping. There was more than just the one thing she had to do.

"I'll be back tomorrow instead. When we can talk alone. So, you know, be prepared."

One step back, a quick spin, and she was off. There was something Colette had to do, and fast.

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Shade
​

Elian returned from the glowing bustle of the market, balancing three steaming mugs of spiced hot chocolate with careful, if slightly theatrical, precision. The scent of cinnamon and roasted cocoa trailed behind him like a banner, drawing a few approving glances as he wove through the small crowd gathered near the throwing lanes.

He arrived just as the sharp, resonant thunk of metal meeting wood cut through the night air. The sound carried, a clean, perfect hit. Shade's stance remained composed, the faint curl of satisfaction in her shoulders visible even from a distance.

Elian slowed, a grin tugging at his lips as he watched her step back beside Cassian, all poise and quiet fire. He couldn't help the smirk that followed, equal parts admiration and playful charm.

"Well done, Shade," he called as he approached, voice warm with genuine respect. "Truly elegant in your skill."

He handed her one of the mugs, the fragrant steam rising between them, before offering the others to Cassian and himself. "I thought champions deserved proper refreshments," he added lightly, eyes bright with mischief. "And besides, it's far too cold to be dignified without hot chocolate."

Then, with an exaggerated bow and a sip of his own drink, he added with a grin, "Remind me never to challenge you at axe-throwing, I prefer keeping all my limbs intact."

 

[Kiran Arlos]

Persephone Dashiell Corazona von Ascania Makko Vyres
​

Kiran felt the weight of the comment land the moment Cora's smile shifted toward him, polite, gracious, and aimed with far more precision than her earlier barbs at Persephone. He straightened slightly, offering a respectful incline of his head.

"Thank you, Miss Cora," he replied, keeping his tone warm but steady. "I'm glad to offer well-wishes. It's a beautiful evening for a celebration."

The word boyfriend caught him off guard for only half a heartbeat. He managed to keep his expression composed, no startled blink, no awkward fluster, but there was a faint tightening around his jaw before he smoothed it away. He glanced briefly toward Persephone's retreating form before returning his attention to Cora with a gentle shake of his head.

"Persephone and I are just friends," he clarified calmly, not defensive, simply factual. "But she's… kinder than she lets on. Blunt, yes. Honest always. And a good person to have in your corner."

He offered Cora a final courteous smile, one sincere enough to soften the edges of the moment without inviting further misunderstanding.

"Enjoy the rest of your Name Day festivities. And congratulations again, to you both."

Kiran rejoined her as she slipped back into the flow of the crowd, hot chocolate still in hand, a faint huff of white breath rising each time he exhaled. He fell into step beside her without comment at first, giving her space while still anchoring himself close enough to be a quiet presence. The market lights glinted off the falling snow, catching in her hair as she walked.

"Hey," he said finally, tone gentler than his earlier cheer. "You handled that better than most people would've."

He took a small sip of his drink, then added with a crooked smile, "And, uh… for what it's worth? I agree. Nobody deserves burlap."

His eyes softened as he watched her expression, the edge of his grin warming. "We can go somewhere warmer, if you want. Just say the word."

 

[Nir Si]

​

Tag: Varin Mortifer​

Nir took a moment to pick himself up, before dusting himself off. He half expected the man before him to call him out, but it never came. It was something Nir had to brace for every time he went out nowadays.

"Yeah, sorry..."

He paused as he sensed the man in front of him, reeking of the Dark Side. Huh. They let sith in here?

Not his place to raise concern, but he still judged the man in front of him. Still, it kicked up his competetive spirit. He couldn't help it.

"You got an opponent in the challenges? I've yet to see someone who measures up yet."

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Ukatis

Equipment:
Winter Outfit| Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

Ace watched Lysander's axe take a heroic detour into the wall, bounce, and face-plant into the snow. He didn't laugh, though the muscle at the corner of his mouth twitched like it wanted to. Instead he gave a small, noncommittal exhale through his nose.

"Strong opening." He murmured, deadpan, hands buried in his pockets as if that would hide how entertained he actually was.

Naniti stepped up next, focused and precise, and the axe left her hand in a clean, efficient rotation before biting into the target with a satisfying thunk. She repeated it two more times. Both throws were good. Really good. Ace's posture shifted just a fraction, chin lifting.

"Damn..." He muttered. But for someone as guarded as Ace, that was basically a round of applause.

Then he stepped forward, rolling the weight of the axe in his palm. It felt wrong immediately, too top-heavy, nothing like a lightsaber's clean balance. Still, he adjusted his stance, boots planting in packed snow as he exhaled through his nose.

Lysander's chaos throw. Naniti's clean precision. Two wildly different data points. Ace let them settle in his mind, then drew his arm back. No flourish. No bravado. Just quiet focus.

The axe left his hand in a tight spin and Ace didn't react, didn't chase its trajectory with his eyes. He just stood there, shoulders loose, expression unreadable, waiting to see whether he truly was a jack-of-all trades talent - or if he'd finally met his match.

Lysander von Ascania | Naniti | Varin Mortifer​

 

[Abishai Jade]

The moment Isla’s voice split the crowd with a furious, “THIEF!” Abishai’s soul left his body. And when she actually started running toward him, coat flying, murder in her eyes...with Phillip charging along behind her like some noble blond bantha...Abishai knew he was carked in every possible way the universe could invent.

He whipped around, scanning for escape routes. Nothing. People. Lanterns. Snow. MORE PEOPLE. “Sithspit.”

Ila's presence slammed into his senses. She was sharp, bright, and bloody pointed straight at him. She wasn’t guessing. She wasn’t confused. She somehow knew.

Panic snapped through his chest.

Without thinking, he seized the nearest opportunity, a passerby...a young woman admiring a stall...who barely had time to register him before he slapped the bag straight into her arms. She gasped, clutching it instinctively.

“That girl....right there....she’ll give you a reward for that!” He blurted, already pivoting away.

He sprinted into the crowd, or tried to. Hard to truly “disappear” when everyone else wore festive nonsense and he looked like a runaway mechanic who’d lost a fight with a dryer.

Behind him, the young woman, utterly baffled, tried to follow, failed instantly, and did the next sensible thing...she turned toward the fast-approaching Jedi pair. “Excuse me! Is this what you’re looking for?” She called out, lifting Isla’s bag above her head.

Abishai didn’t look back. He couldn’t. Not when she’d chased him like that.

Isla Reingard Phillip Slate
​

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic absorbed Solaina’s words in measured silence, not because he doubted her assessment, but because every sentence she offered carved a clearer picture of how precarious this entire undertaking truly was. Her explanation of Isotope-5’s properties and its capacity to distort gravity, its brittle margin for error, and its catastrophic consequences if mishandled, landed with considerably more gravity than any briefing he had glanced at during the previous weeks. It was the kind of clarity that he appreciated her for, a precision that cut neatly through layers of political fog. She had every right to her earlier sharpness, and though he felt the sting of it, he allowed the moment to settle rather than bristle back. Outbound Flight needed her. More pressingly, he needed her to believe he wasn’t leading them into reckless folly.

“We will incorporate whatever containment and control systems you deem necessary, Miss Embarri,” he said at last, tone decidedly formal. It was not an apology, and yet it was a deliberate acknowledgment...of her authority and expertise. He kept his gaze forward as they walked, careful not to let anything more personal slip through the gaps.

Princess Varanin's approach was a jarring contrast to the steady rhythm he was trying to maintain. The Princess's scrutiny lingered with a sharpness that would have unnerved a less practiced politician. She brought up possible arrest attempts. She mocked noble education, and she quickly pivoted to measuring Solaina’s competence. All very calculated moves, but he had little interest in being baited. “If the Republic intended to apprehend you, Princess,” Dominic replied with a calm steadiness, “I assure you it would not begin with a Life Day festival, nor would it involve only two members of my staff. This meeting remains exactly what we agreed upon...nothing more, nothing less.”

He did not slow his pace when her doubts persisted, nor did he allow her humor to find purchase. Quinn was dangerous, unpredictable, and far too observant for comfort. He needed her cooperative, not antagonised, and he needed the conversation kept firmly within the boundaries of what could be rationally defended if questioned later. Every gesture, every inflection of voice was chosen with the clear awareness that a misplaced word could unravel more than just a negotiation. The Sith Empire was fractured enough to make dealing with any of its affiliates a political liability, but the Outbound Flight project required resources that could not be attained through cleaner channels. It was an ugly necessity...one more risk he would bear alone if it came to it.

Still, he could feel Solaina’s eyes on him from time to time, not accusing him, but wary of or for him. She was clearly assessing him and his intentions. Perhaps wondering whether ambition had finally driven him past the point of reason. He pushed back against the impulse to explain himself. Doing so would only deepen the vulnerability already tugging at the edges of his composure. Instead, he allowed his professionalism to guide him.

Their footsteps grew quieter as the festival noise dimmed behind them, replaced by the muted hush of a side corridor lined with canvas structures and temporary chambers erected for private functions. Lanterns cast long, slanting lines of blue-white light across the snow-dusted ground, and for a moment the world narrowed to the three of them and the cold air drawn between each measured breath.

“This should suffice,” Dominic murmured, stopping before one of the heavier canvas pavilions set aside for dignitaries. The guards had been dismissed earlier. Only the low hum of a heater and the faint glow from within signalled the room’s readiness. He reached for the thick tent door, fingers steady despite the knot forming beneath his ribs, and pulled the canvas back to allow both women to enter ahead of him.

Solaina Embarri Quinn Varanin​

 

[Shade]

Shade accepted the offered mug with a quiet, measured grace, her fingers curling around the warm ceramic as though taking inventory of the heat it offered. The steam rose in soft tendrils between them, carrying the scent of spiced chocolate and sweetened cream, blurring the harsh bite of winter air for a moment. She inclined her head to Elian, the gesture small yet unmistakably deliberate, a sign of respect given rarely and only when earned.

"Thank you," she said, her voice low and evenly pitched, each word shaped with her usual precision. "Your timing is excellent."

The corner of Cassian's mouth lifted in that quiet, unmistakable way of his—pride, amusement, and something warmer all layered beneath the look he gave her. Shade did not outwardly react, but she shifted just a fraction closer to him, an almost imperceptible adjustment that did not go unnoticed by either brother.

Elian's grin only brightened, the mischief in his expression softened by genuine admiration for her calm skill. Shade regarded him steadily, taking a slow sip from the mug as she allowed him that moment of unguarded delight.

"And you may rest assured," she added, her tone as even as the falling snow around them, "I have no intention of throwing an axe at you. I do not aim at allies."

Her delivery was so smooth, so matter-of-fact, that several bystanders blinked before realizing she wasn't threatening him—she was comforting him. Cassian's quiet exhale sounded suspiciously like a suppressed laugh, and Elian stood a bit straighter, grinning as though she'd bestowed him with a medal.

Shade let her gaze sweep toward the archery lanes, where the last of the arrows still trembled faintly in their targets. The warm lantern light shimmered over the polished bows, casting soft reflections across the snow. She watched the distant motion for a breath before returning her attention to Elian.

"As for an archery challenge…" she continued, her tone shifting into something cool and contemplative, "that will require a later opportunity. You have completed your turn, and the field belongs to the next group."

There was no disappointment in her voice—only an assurance that the offer was not withdrawn, merely postponed.

"When conditions allow," she finished, inclining her head ever so slightly toward him, "we may test our accuracy."

Elian's answering grin was immediate and incandescent, the kind of expression that could power half the festival lights on its own. Cassian shot him a look halfway between affectionate warning and resigned amusement, a silent exchange only brothers could have.

Shade took another small sip of her drink, the faintest hint of warmth—emotional, not physical—touching the line of her eyes as she added, almost as an afterthought but with unmistakable meaning:

"I trust you will be ready for it."

The challenge was gentle, polite, and delivered with such calm confidence that Elian straightened again as if preparing for battle.

Elian Abrantes Cassian Abrantes

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

The wine stall occupied a quieter corner of the celebration, half-sheltered beneath a canopy where strings of amber lights glowed like suspended embers. Bottles lined the counter in orderly rows, catching the reflections of the crowd in deep garnet pools.
Bastila hadn’t intended to stop there.

She’d meant to keep moving and slip between conversations, disappear into observation, do what she always did. Yet the mix of Sibylla telling her she was free of duty and the scent of mulled spice drifting through the air, it was too warm and tempting, and beside the stall stood someone who looked far too amused for their own good.

A tall figure, wrapped in a wool-lined Ukatan cloak, holding a glass of ruby wine like they’d been waiting for exactly this moment to occur.

They noticed her hesitation before she could hide it.

"You look like someone deciding whether this is a terrible idea," the stranger said, lifting their glass slightly.

Bastila’s brow arched. A small thing. But enough to signal she had decided to indulge the moment.

"I decide that about most things," she replied, stepping closer."Terrible ideas simply happen to be persistent."

The stranger laughed softly; not the loud, clumsy laughter of those near the hearth, but something quieter, appreciative. They slid a second glass toward her across the polished wood.

"Then allow me to tempt your judgment. House Yvress vintage. Allegedly rare."

"Allegedly?"

"I’m told the trader exaggerated."

She took the glass. Their fingers didn’t touch, but the moment felt close enough to count.

Bastila brought the wine to her lips, letting the aroma curl upward, she could smell dark berries, a hint of warm spice with something floral beneath it. It wasn’t the worst she’d smelled, in fact it actually wasn’t bad. She made a thoughtful sound.

The stranger watched her with open admiration.

"So?" He enquired with a smirk.

"It’s drinkable," she said, with the faintest smile. "Better than most conversations I’ve overheard tonight."

"High praise coming from you?"

"You don’t know me." She put the glass down and turned more towards him.

"I don’t have to. I saw you avoiding at least three people on your way here."

Her eyes narrowed; not in displeasure, but in a way that suggested he’d just earned her attention properly.

"Observant," she said. "That’s rare at these events."

"Then perhaps we’re both making exceptions tonight."

She took another sip. She made a show of it enough that his gaze dipped to her mouth before he could hide it.

"Careful," she murmured, tone brushing dangerously close to playful, "I’m told I leave lasting impressions."

"I’m willing to risk it."

Bastila set her glass on the counter, leaning one elbow lightly against the wood. Her posture relaxed, but her eyes remained sharp with the kind of look that suggested she could dismantle him with a sentence.

"All right," she said softly,"since you’re so eager to impress… tell me something worth hearing."

The stranger inhaled, caught between surprise and delight.

"Worth hearing?"

"Yes." She tilted her head, lips curving into a smile."A rare wine should be paired with equally rare conversation."

He laughed again, this time quietly, almost breathless and stepped just a touch closer.

And Bastila, let the moment stay.

OUTFIT: XoXo | TAG: A Rare Open EQUIPMENT:

​

 

[Elian Abrantes]

OBJ:2

Shade
​

Elian's grin spread into something positively roguish, the kind of smile that belonged to someone who had never once doubted the world would bend a little for his charm. He tilted his head, a faint glimmer of snowlight catching in his eyes as he regarded Shade with open admiration and a dash of theatrical bravado.

"Well, I can rest easier knowing my limbs are safe," he said, voice warm with playful exaggeration.

He took a leisurely sip of his hot chocolate, savoring it like fine wine before continuing, tone dropping to something conspiratorial. "You know, I think I like the sound of that. You, me, the targets… perhaps a small crowd cheering when I inevitably land the better shot."

Elian leaned in slightly, the grin returning full force. "Why not right now?" He giggled as he glanced down the lane and noticed there were a few areas still open. "No one keeping score but us? what do you say?" Elian said with a small smirk. "But then again, if you'd rather postpone, I suppose I can give you a few weeks to practive. Just say when you are ready, Shade" The young Abrantes shrugged his shoulders and laughed again. "Just don't be too surprised when I leave you speechless."

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Tags: Adelle Bastiel

Aurelian listened intently as they walked. The murmuring crowd thinned out, allowing her story to unfold between the drifting snowflakes. When she revealed she'd been a Jedi Master, his brows rose in surprise, impressed by the quiet weight behind her words.

As she shared her story, his jaw tightened slightly when she spoke of her enclave's failure. He didn't interrupt, letting her words sink in. When she finished, he spoke in a low, certain tone, "I'd believe it. I'd believe every word." He glanced at her sideways, a hint of heat beneath his teasing exterior. "You're better off without a cloister of mystic monks deciding how you're allowed to exist." He took a sip from his mug, exhaling steam as he added, "The Jedi pretend they don't wield power, but Mandalorians admit it and use it to get things done. I trust that approach more."

Adelle continued, sharing stories of Dantooine, lost friends, and Skirata. Aurelian slowed his pace, giving her words space to breathe. He didn't offer pity, just understanding. He knew what it was like to wander without a center, to build a place where none existed. When she finished, he let the quiet stretch for a moment before breaking it with a soft laugh. "You didn't just join them," he said, tilting his mug toward her. "You found people who recognized your value. That's important."

Adelle's final jab sparked a playful glint in Aurelian's eye. "Thinking of joining up?" he repeated, snorting in amusement. "Me? Shiraya, no." His grin returned as he gestured to his tailored coat. "I prefer linen over beskar. It breathes better, moves better, looks better." He flicked her a sidelong look, warm and dangerous. "I understand the appeal of following someone who inspires loyalty, but I tend to inspire my own." He lifted his mug in a small toast.

"So go on, ask your next question. I know you've got one."

​

 

[Isla Reingard]

Isla didn't even slow when a woman held her bag aloft. She barely registered the shout, just a flash of familiar fabric in the corner of her eye. It didn't matter. The bag was replaceable. This was personal. "Phillip, grab that!" she barked over her shoulder without breaking stride. "Don't lose it!"

The Force tugged at her ribs like a hooked line, pulling her straight through the congested market. Lanternlight flickered off snow-packed stalls as she wove between vendors, her boots skidding over slick patches. She pumped clouds of breath into the cold air, letting the sharp, urgent sensation guide her. It was the feel of him, his panic and guilt, his idiotic belief that he could actually outrun her.

People yelped as she barreled past, shoving through clusters of festival-goers. Children dove aside, and a vendor cursed as Isla vaulted a low crate. Her braid snapped behind her like a banner of war. She was a blur of motion, a raw force of nature cutting a path through the winter celebration.

Then she saw him. Just ahead, Abishai's hunched, unmistakable silhouette pushed through the crowd. His patched jacket, that stupid gait. He couldn't blend in if he tried. Isla's voice cracked through the winter air, raw with fury. "ABISHAI!" He flinched. Good. "Give. It. Back!" she shouted, every syllable fueled by the righteous fire of someone who'd finally found an outlet for a week's worth of stress and emotional restraint.

He wasn't getting away. Not today.

Phillip Slate | Abishai Jade​

 

[Lorn Reingard]

Tags: Ala Quin​

Lorn felt the shift in her immediately. The mischief vanished from Ala's expression, replaced by a softness that might have warmed him if half the market wasn't staring. The Grandmaster of the Jedi Order was gently cupping his abdomen, discussing bedroom nicknames as if it were a perfectly normal part of a public holiday demonstration. A muscle in his jaw jumped. He was going to die here, in the snow, from sheer mortification.

His eyes darted to the crowd. A vendor had stopped stirring his soup to watch. One woman covered her heart, mouthing a name with wide, scandalized eyes. Lorn closed his own eyes for a long, suffering moment. "Ala…" he breathed, his voice tight enough to cut through stone. "We are very much… in public."

Her fingers softened against him, warm despite the cold. He could feel her unspoken question, sincere and earnest, and that was somehow worse. He couldn't deflect something so genuine, not from her. He opened his eyes again. She was so close, too close, close enough that his breath fogged against her cheek. He could see the worry pinching between her brows.

"It's not the name itself," he murmured, low and rough. "It's… the implication. 'Mr. Quin' makes it sound like we're…" He hesitated, searching for the right word. "…married." There. It slipped out before he could stop it. He swallowed hard as embarrassment climbed up his throat like a living thing. His ears burned, his chest tightening. "And I…" His voice dipped even lower. "…took your name."

He didn't elaborate. Instead, he gently closed his hand over hers where it rested on his abdomen, a steady anchor in the public spectacle. "We should… maybe end the duel. Get cleaned up," he said, though the words came out strangled.

 

[Roman Vossari]

​

TAGS: Liana Organa | Sibylla Abrantes | Dominique Vexx

​

Roman let out a low whistle. "Junior ambassador," he echoed, half impressed, half trying not to sound impressed. "That's… pretty important. Way more important than anything I've ever been called. Except maybe 'Get down from there, Roman,' which is its own kind of distinction."

He sipped the air dramatically, shrugging. "As for Ukatis being the center of everything? No clue. Maybe it's all the refugees. Maybe it's the royal baby. Maybe the galaxy just collectively decided this was the year to crowd Cora until she snaps."

His gaze drifted past Liana as two figures approached through the snowfall. One he vaguely recognized; dark hair, composed posture, that noble sort of elegance that made him stand up straighter without meaning to. The other… he squinted, trying to place her.

But Liana had given him an opening to talk about himself, and Roman never wasted those.

"Me? Nah, I'm not from here," he said with a dismissive wave. "But I call Ukatis home now. Cora mentored me, still does, now and then. I help out with her enclave when I can. And the locals…" He shrugged, as if it embarrassed him, though he clearly enjoyed it. "They've sort of adopted me. New son of Ukatis. Honorary idiot, probably."

The two figures came closer, and the picture finally snapped into clarity. Roman's eyes widened.

"Wait... Inez?" he blurted, pointing at Sibylla as if he'd spotted a rancor in the crowd. He spun to Liana, delighted and horrified at once. "You see her? That one? She punched a Gen'dai on Kenari." He lowered his voice, reverent. "Full swing. Right in the face. She's a reckless one. Might be legally unstoppable."