A Young Eccentric Man (Cyrena, Imperials, other Serenno Nobles)

[Darth Immortus]

The outer walls of Aretine Palace were decorated to provide a visual reminder of the House's ascent. Years of conspiring undercover seemed to have finally payed off for House Aretine, whose banner was now flying proudly on a backdrop of the golden sun-lit stone of the Palace, the sunset on the horizon illuminating the family colors of red and yellow. There could only be one victor in a cutthroat War of Assassins, and this time that victor was House Aretine - in this case, the only house left standing in the wake of the resulting power vacuum between bitter rivals.

It felt no different to Vanco Aretine, knowing that the blood that flowed within his veins was suddenly Great House pedigree. It was if it was something that had been apparent to him all along and didn't require outside affirmation. He fixed his well-coiffed black hair in the mirror in his private quarters, while a footman prepared his trim leather evening wear. There should be no shortage of pomp and circumstance for House Aretine's finest event to date, Vanco decided.

"Your Grace, the footmen are wondering where to sit the remnants of House Comprassi," Another servant, who appeared in the center of the doorway, said. Vanco turned to meet his stare.

"Close to me, of course. We must show them honorable grace in our victory," He nodded. "We mustn't have them harbor any resentment, after all. Comprassi knows its place now. Their only option is not to work against me, but to try and cultivate my favor."

"Very well then, my Lord."

"One more thing," Vanco held up a finger at the footman as he was about to leave, "Have the Imperial Standard flying visibly next to our House colors. All of Serenno will be here tonight, as well as half the Empire. Presentation is everything. They must know where our planet stands."

Vanco returned to gazing into the mirror, straightening himself out. As he met his fellow noblemen and women tonight for the first time as Great House Aretine, he would make sure they all knew where he stood. And he would make sure that they would not soon forget why he was the new overseer of Sector 11.

 

[Myra Arceneau Dashiell]

"Lady Cyrena, Countess of Bathory."

The introduction followed the light rap of the staff by the appointed usher. Cyrena emerged slowly from the shadows of the great hall to descend upon the polished stone stairway that led to the grand ballroom of Aretine Palace. Two escorts clad in her House's dull crimson robes fell silently in line behind her, just a couple of feet shy of the flowing dark train that was only a little blacker than the hair that swept back from her pale face.

Her personal female attendants had pulled the hair atop her head until it seemed to form a black crown, with the exception of three long curls trailing down the smoothness of her bare back. The bodice of the dress looked like a black vinyl merry widow, lifting the gentle swell of her bosom up enough for it to appear as if she was about to spill over. It had two thin lines of sheer black cloth that graced her white shoulders more than covered them. The skirt was full and thick, spilling behind her in a short train. Both of her arms were encased in leather gloves that went the entire length of her slender alabaster arm. Her lips were stained a vibrant vermilion hue, her eye makeup dark and perfectly applied, framing the twin obsidian spheres of her eyes that glittered with a coldness reminiscent of Hoth’s landscape.

Cyrena scanned the entire scene with those cool eyes. The black skirt swirled around her as she walked down the steps with dignified grace, giving a glimpse of layers of black petticoats, and a pair of black leather sandals that left most of her foot bare. Her skirt slithered across the steps, heels making sharp sounds as they passed the final step to stone floor of the ballroom, the first strings of a melodic waltz filling the air.

"Return to the shuttle," the order came with a sultry accented note from the Countess's lips to the two escorts behind her. They left without a word, bowing once as Cyrena let her feline eyes narrow towards the patrons of the gala.

Now... where was the host?

 

[Darth Immortus]

Evening settled on Aretine Palace and the sun of Serenno tucked itself easily behind the horizon of hills, illuminating the sky in waves of red-orange as it gradually disappeared. Those rays spilled through the great circular window atop the central staircase of the palace's main mezzanine, where Vanco Aretine was now making his presence known. Draped in a high-collared black cloak that extended below his feet and dragged regally behind him, the Count was a tall, graceful and spindly silhouette beneath the window that illuminated the mezzanine in rich symmetrical patterns.

Vanco smiled at his guests as he descended the stairway with his advisors at both shoulders. Not everyone had arrived yet, but it was enough to begin the festivities. The orchestral quartet in the corner of the room played lively music to accompany the Count's descent into the foray of nobles and who's-who of Imperial space. Many things were often said about the Count of Aretine, but not much could truly be confirmed, aside from the fact that he was a Sith Master skilled in the arcane secrets of the Dark Side. It was peculiar that the Count had not yet married, a fact often discussed at great length by the other noble houses of Serenno. This would surely have to change if Aretine wanted an heir to his newfound position, but the Count had seemed far more interested in pursuing knowledge of the Dark Side thus far in his life. Enigmatic, reclusive and hermetic, Vanco Aretine's only company in the great palace were his siblings. This, coupled with the tales of denizens, typically female, who had sometimes gone missing within Aretine Palace made for entertaining tales to be told by the other nobles and commoners alike at his expense.

As to whether any of it was true, none could truly say.

Vanco recognized many of the faces he saw in the sea of guests here tonight. Most were fellow nobles of Serenno. But even, or perhaps especially Count Aretine, reclusive as he was, did not personally know every aristocrat on this planet. Some of these faces were completely alien to him, he realized as he caught a glimpse of Cyrena when his foot stepped off the last stair. In polite society, that would of course need to change. Diverting his gaze away from Cyrena, he preoccupied himself with the attention of another nobleman who came to greet him and smiled cordially. Meanwhile, he made a mental note to be sure his advisor was present by his side before he addressed this unknown woman, to avoid any embarrassing name mistakes that might occur.

 

[Myra Arceneau Dashiell]

@[member="Vanco Aretine"]

Amusement fell from the onyx orbs that were Cyrena's eyes at the gala before her. A snap of her wrist and the flick of her hand drew a wide black lace fan for her use. Lightly airing her face, as well as using it to observe unhindered and retain a measure of subtly, she let her sight follow a figure of a man she'd not yet held an introduction.

Her lips pursed a bit as she mulled over the first impression. So this was the Count Aretine? Gossip dubbed him a hermit. A recluse. Some said he had a terrible deformity, thus the reason why he'd kept to himself all these years. Others figured he'd merely died long ago, and another had taken his place.

However, as Cyrena's nose gave a subtle twitch, he was undoubtedly alive.

"Countess Bathory!" came a rather booming voice of a stoutly man in full regalia. Instantly, Cyrena's lips curved into an upward cordial smile, her hand extended outward, palm down, for the man to grasp.

"Lord Olan," coo'd Cyrena, feeling the man's thick lips press a soft kiss over the fabric of her gloved hand. "It is always a pleasure..." she said in a honeyed voice, gazing down her long, patrician nose at him.

"The pleasure, is undoubtedly, always mine, Lady Cyrena." he replied with a ripe ripple of amusement. Straightening, he let go of her hand. "Such a curious curio to see you attend such a gala," his attempt at subtly lacked the refined edge most nobles learned at birth. Thankfully his treasure trove of credits made of up it.

"It is our duty to make the necessary social rounds," there was a hint of an undistinguishable accent in her throaty voice, her gaze wandering back towards Count Aretine, allowing Olan to admire the stunning elegance of her profile. "And pay our respects..." Her full red lips curved in a smile.

'Ah, quite so. Quite so." he did not miss the direction of her gaze. "Come now, " he offered her his arm, "You've only just arrived... let me introduce you to our humble host."

Cyrena turned that dazzling smile on Olan. "Why Lord Olan, you certainly know how to make a lady's night." she said as she hooked her arm through the offered arm.

"One can only wish, my dear," he gave a small pat of her hand, guiding them through the room towards the Count. "One can only wish."