Har Binande is a realm of passion and wanderlust.
Beauty can be found in every stretch of the planet’s surface whether it be in the lush depths of nature or the striking detail of its architecture, it came as no surprise that it had become such a popular destination for those in search of prettier sights and a change of pace. Tourists would flock to its colorful shores, bringing a whole new flavor to the delightful adventures the planet had to offer.
For a long time, Har Binande had known a rare peace – and an affluence of visitors and therefore, investments, coming from the inhabitants of their great neighbor: the Confederacy of Independent Systems. The planet had never known such prosperity, and so it was only a matter of a few negotiations and political summits until the agreements were sealed and Har Binande decided to join the embrace of the Confederacy, right in time for the ultimate commemoration of Union known to the galaxy.
An alliance had been formed, and the natives of Har Binande would celebrate it in the only way they knew how – by gifting their new Confederate friends with a celebration they would never forget.
On the closing night of the Festival, the Confederacy, and all who call it home, were extended a special invitation. One last night of partying, merrymaking and heartwarming interactions to be shared with all in no other place but Har Binande’s own Temple of Love. Originally built by the Lahag Erli, the Temple had been turned into a prestigious resort by Har Binande’s most famous immigrants, the Zeltron.
Charged with giving closure to a week-long of non-stop amazement, the pink-hued hosts of this massive event would stop at nothing to ensure that this night became the best night of their guests’ lives. But excitement can be intoxicating, and some can do stupid things in the name of Love…
A modified version of what is known as the Elixir of Infatuation has been slipped into the drinks being served at the event. The potion which causes a similar reaction to the intoxication of Zeltron pheromones make those under its influence infatuated with the first person they see. Others under its influence have been seen busting out into song, while some have exhibited both symptoms. Perhaps it was slipped into your drink… will you experience “Tainted Love?”
Feeling lonely? Like meeting new people? What better way to remedy both by taking part in a round of speed dating. It would not be a party hosted by Zeltrons if there wasn’t love in the air or ways to mingle. Beware, the drinks have been laced, you never know when you might find yourself across the table from a crazed partner, or the victim of a jilted lover. Don’t worry it will only last for five to ten minutes, then you do it all over again and again and again, “Time after Time.”
Clearly someone decided to have a little fun at the expense of the festival’s guests. Still, for those that are still in their right mind, an antidote must be found. The sooner the better. There must be someone who knows something, or perhaps there just happens to be a different elixir laying around somewhere that will counteract the one which was used to spike the drinks. Either way do you have what it takes to look at those in need of help and ensure them you’re, “Never Gonna Give You Up?”
If love is not your thing, there is always plenty to explore on Har Bidnande. Will you look at what the temple has to offer? Stretched across the planets are cities which were built by those who had settled the world from Lahag Erli. There is rich history to discover, or other kinds of trouble to get into. Maybe you’ll find yourself asking, “What’s Love Got to do With It?”
The atmosphere of the Har Binanden bar was like the pulse of a heartbeat. Loud music, tightly packed, dark lights. The so-called Festival of Love had drawn people from all over the Confederacy, seeking a night of sultry lovemaking and lusty gatherings. Kiff? He wasn't some inhuman droid without emotions, or drive. But he also wasn't some hormone-driven animal. Had he come to Har Binande to find love?
Not at all. But there was a hefty mark down in alcohol prices planet-wide for the Festival. And on top of that, the more people drank, the more likely they'd be willing to part with their money via the galaxy's, and Kiff's, favorite pastime: Sabacc.
"A Port-in-the-Storm, extra Storm," Kiff partially quipped as he rapped his knuckles on the metal bar. The pink and violet lights of the club reflected brightly on the chromatic plating of the serving droid, who processed Kiff's order with a series of binary clips, whistles and beeps, turing on a monotread to fill a glass with the cloudy, grey liquid. What Kiff didn't notice was that there was an extra ingredient that the droid added to the drink, colorless and tasteless. And maybe if Kiff had noticed, he wouldn't have taken such a deep draft of the drink.
Well who wouldn't expect the Most Famous and Cutest Zeltron Ever to show up to a Zeltron-hosted Party? The Pink One might be spending a whole Xobos-worth of time on Illyria with the Miralukan cutey, but that didn't mean Cali had gone recluse! Party Favors LLC was a source of interstellar, galaxy-wide extravaganza goods and services! So, of course she heard about this and was going to drop on in.
Course, being that Cali was involved, the situation wasn't going to be normal. She had this seventh sense of locating trouble in the galaxy. Like, even her vacations were full of intrigue and danger! Actually, it was pretty fun. Like today. Oh, except for how upset people might be afterward. Like, Cali was totally in favor of people making love not war, but it kind of had to be their choice, you know? People got all loopy when they drank during this party and it wasn't booze-related kind of loopy. A Zeltron can tell these things.
So, naturally, being the Galaxy's Cutey and a Renown Engineer Cali Ziiva was on the job!
Uh, she wasn't sure what the job was other than maybe find out what was going on. But she was totally on it.
Cali lifted a glass and sampled the drink herself. Just a nip after touching the contents to her lip. "Mm.. Ooh.. Mmhm..." The Zeltron stood there for a moment with her bright eyes peering into the distance. A moment later she smiled and nodded. "Not bad. Not as good as the real thing," she puffed out her chest a bit, "but a nice try. Wait, no, not nice. Very naughty. But a nice concoctions. Could probably sell this, but I think it'll be better if this secret doesn't get out there in the 'verse."
Now, could she find someone else to help her figure out what had happened, and how to undo it was the question.
Why was he here? Why did he still fly the flag? Why was he still breathing?
Rann Thress, Darth Qanah, didn’t have the answers to any of these questions.
Well, he knew the answer to one.
A CIS outreach event, a new planet being welcomed into the fold. A giant party.
And free booze.
That’s why he was here. He had wounds to lick, pride to restore, and training to endure.
But right now, he’d settle for getting drunk. Drowning his sorrows in the most expensive drink he can on his Father’s Dime.
As he approached the Bar, he flagged down a bartender, a Zabrak girl, and ordered quickly.
“Breath of Heaven. Make it two. Make it three.” He said, turning away, leaning on the bar after his order was taken. He observed the scene. A nice merrymaking...quite passionate event.
Whats this event again? he thought to himself. He just knew it was a party and drinks were free for some reason, he didn’t know why. He didn’t care.
“Here you go sir, three Breaths of Heaven.” The bartender smiled at him and set the three drinks down in front of him.
“Do enjoy.” She said with a wink before hurrying down the bar to probably tend to some other patron, if Rann had to guess.
He shrugged as she left and looked down at his drinks. “Thanks dad.” He said as he lifted one after another to his lips and drank them down fast, exhaling loudly afterwards and letting out a quiet ‘woo’. He didn’t give himself time to really....taste the first two. But after the third one he blinked and smacked his lips, looking down at the bar.
“That...that tasted... different.”
He said to himself. It tasted...sweet. Sickly sweet like...candy. Breath of Heaven didn’t taste like Candy.
As he turned around and looked into the party, never having looked at anyone, he wondered.... “What the hell did I just drink?”
Dreidi was wearing her oversized plaid shirt with the sleeves tugged up and open to show the band shirt underneath with ripped black jeans and a studded belt. She felt underdressed but the angst teen inside her also didn't care and felt she was dressed smartly even though her clothes were creased and well worn. She entered the room, she hadn't been to the planet before but she was curious to see what this festival was going to be about, festival of love sounded dumb but she figured it was a chance to meet other CIS members and perhaps she could find an opportunity to sing in public. She was terrified, Dreidi had sung with a couple of people around when attempting to find other people to form a band with, she needed to sing to show her talents and ensure that the others could keep up with the style of music that she wanted to try out.
Wandering around the festival, there were people drinking and talking, they seemed to be a little off but Dreidi wasn't sure why. Some of the people were drinking and there was what Dreidi could only think of a fever since they were red and talking about how hot they felt while talking to the other people. Shaking her head, Dreidi decided to stir clear of the feverish people as a precaution to avoid getting this freak virus. Walking over to the drinks, Dreidi contemplated sneaking herself some booze but then shook her head. No, she was going to be responsible, also she was super confident that she wouldn't get away with it.
Pouring herself a glass of a decent fizzy pop, she looked around and had a sip. The drink tasted odd, sweeter and not as pleasant as she had from the brand before. It was odd, but she drank it more but frowned at the taste. What was wrong with the drink?!
Vaux slowly walked in, somewhat surprised this would be her evening. She thought for sure she’d be watching two babies and a troublemaker while Mig and Tamar enjoyed their time together, but instead he tells her to take a break. The nerve of him! She would’ve liked watching the rug rats tonight, but now she had to make some fun for the night.
So now, she was here Har Binanden just looking for a drink. As she walked in, she noticed the familiar sight of Kiff, and smirked as she walked up and called to the bar tender.
“Oy! I’ll take a Corellian with some Melurun.” She’d then smile and look at Kiff. “Fancy seeing you here boss. Mind if I sit with you?” Her Concord Dawn draw was distinct as she walked up, sliding into the seat before chuckling a little. She would soon take her drink and swirl it in her hand before taking a quick drink, gulping down a lot more than she usually would. She of course didn’t realize what was going on there, or that her drink had been spiked. It wouldn’t matter now though.
The idea of love was one that for years had alluded Darro.
Since the death of his wife, the Thyrisian had remain secluded from the romantic world for decades, brushing aside the idea of finding love and excusing his disinterest by hiding behind his rising career within the Confederacy.
So it wasn't much of a surprise when he choose to drink away his feelings.
"Surprise me" The droid attending the bar was off quickly to fix what appeared to be a a Breath of Heaven, obviously the last of the bottle which the being down the bar from him hadn't drunken.
Quickly, the Fleet Marshal gulped down the glass, far faster than he normally drunk his liquor. "Well that's different" He chuckled to himself, unknowing that his drink had been spiked. With a steady hand, the Thyrisian drunk more of the sweetened liquor, allowing it's effects to take ahold of his body, smiling and laughing uncontrollably.
While not one to walk away from a work-in-progress, the Heart Line Project was presently in a good place. The Pathfinders were working on plotting the next sector of route and the clearing of the space debris field was underway. After receiving an invite to a local celebration, Magda didn't need too much encouragement to make the trip.
This will be a great way to make more contacts and get to know your peers in the Confederacy. What is it they say about familiarity?
It breeds, well, contempt, Atheema. But I get what you're saying.
So here she was, making friends - her second favorite pastime next to making connections. There was a difference, for certain, but it wasn't really the ideal time to talk about that. It was a better time to talk about whatever her new friends wanted to talk about because you had to be interested to be interesting. Needless to say, she was doing a lot of talking and her throat was getting scratchy.
Time for a drink.
"Hi. Hi? Yes, uhm-"
"What can I get you hun?" that zabrak bartender gave her an odd eyeballing.
"Water, please. Just water? You have that, right?"
That didn't seem to improve the bartender's impression of her, but she nodded, "Yeah, of course. Har Binande has some of the best spring water this side of the Mara."
"Then I want a bottle of that," Magda nodded, the bright lights of the bar reflecting off the glasteel visor, "please."
"Sure thing," and the zabrak left to, supposedly, get her a bottle of water.
Magda idly tapped her hands on the bar, taking a moment to look about before finding a familiar face nigh directly to her right, "Rann?" she called. Oh, yes, she knew him!"Rann!" She waved and bobbed on her heels, "I didn't think I'd see anyone I knew here. Hi!"
Another outreach event, one which the Lord Commander could not avoid. The lupine had desperately wished Voph would have informed him the job came with certain duties that the wolf had always been loath to participate in. He was not one for parties such as the one he was being asked to attend. It was a good representation for the Confederacy, the Lord Commander being visible, seen as someone that is relatable to the people, and whatever other bantha poodoo the publicist had rattled off. If there was any consolation to the evening, it was the fact that his squire, Palm-Imer
would be attending with him, and if he had to attend then the Deputy Commander would be in attendance also. Gerwald did not give Vytal Noctura
the option to say no.
They would enter the party with Gerwald the same way he had many times before, tense and wishing he could be anywhere else. At least he did not have to wear a tie. The festival itself was not entirely formal, but he could not be seen wearing a simple t-shirt either. Casual white, and a black blazer would be just fine. Gerwald was certain the others would not care, nor would the guest he was with be dressed any more formal than him. The lupine was not sure Vytal knew the meaning of the word formal, and Palm, Gerwald had always seen her as the ambassador or the warrior.
The last time Gerwald had attended an event like this, it did not end well. He kept a keen eye on the drinks which were being served, though his nose did not pick up anything wrong with them at all. People were already at the bar drinking. Rann Thress and Magdalena Lathe were two that Gerwald recognized. Rann, because the man had tried to kill him. It would be best for “publicity’ if Gerwald avoided that section of the bar.
Eyes turned to another part of the party site. There were tables set up, rounds of speed dating underway, or would be. The wolf was ashamed to say that he had tried it. He met all kinds of interesting people that way, but all of them seemed to be desperate in their own right. Gerwald had experienced enough desperation, or the results of what that could bring. He was rather undecided on where he wanted to end up, or be seen, so for now, he walked over to the bar.
“Whiskey… and one of your fruity cocktails…”
The order would have thrown anyone off, except for Lunara Azure, and now Palm-Imer. His first party with Naedira, she had offered him a fruity cocktail. Naturally Gerwald had hated it, and stole her whiskey in turn. The order had become a tradition ever since. It would sit at the bar, untouched, but it had always been for her.
“...and whatever these ladies would like. They’re on my tab tonight.”
Of course the drinks were free, but it seemed a good thing to say. His eyes turned to the ladies once they all had their drinks. A fun smile on his face.
Magda felt a broad smile grow across her face and she almost asked him if he was mocking her, because three-to-four-hi's was her M.O. But then the line "Nice to see you, I missed you a lot," left his mouth and hit her ears and her brain stopped.
Hold up. Did he really just say what she though- oh wait, now they were hugging. Magda found herself ensnared, gently, with her arms at her sides and she wasn't quite sure what was happening or what to do. Normally she was happy for a hug ... from someone she knew well enough to hug. This was odd, but maybe he was just a hugger? Third meeting's the hug?
"Ohh, okay, well, we're hugging now. This is nice. You're nice. It's nice to see you, too."
Magda awkwardly lifted her arms and patted him somewhere on the back (not the butt) that she could reach, given their restricted hug status.
"Here I thought I would be talking business all night with drunk people. It'll be good to have a normal conversation. How are you handling the pheromones? Stim?"
Zeltron everywhere. Luckily her suit could be calibrated to filter those out, but not everyone was as lucky as she. And her suit.
This was the third party she attended since joining the Confederacy. The first had been the inauguration of a casino in Bovo Yagen, the second one the celebration of her own Master's ascension to Lord Commander. Now, for the third one, she accompanied Gerwald to the celebration held in Har Binande to honor the planet joining the Confederacy. The geminaie had been glad to hear the affair would not be one as heavily wrought in formalities and extravagance, for while the Ambassador was very used to meeting those standards like the very best of them - she preferred this by far.
Alongside them was the Nightmother herself, whom Palm had not had the chance to meet personally before today. The mystics of the Force where something the geminaie had learned and heard of in theory, and many of her caste had taken to learning studying such arts during their journeys although they scarcely put them into practice given the restrained nature of her original order. Saying she was curious was an understatement. Upon her arrival, Palm introduced herself before the trio made their way into the so called Temple of Love.
All around them people were sliding around to this place or the other, filling their eyes with amazement at the wonderful place, holding drinks in their hands and enjoying themselves. A warm smile stretched her lips, content at seeing happiness reflected in most of the people that were around them. "Well, this place sure does look lively already." It was just the beginning of the evening, and it raised her expectations of what was to come. After all, there was nothing to alert them of the effects such harmless fun would soon bring upon most of them.
They made their way to the bar, Palm said nothing as she offered a knowing look and a small smile at the lupine before turning her attention to the bartender. As an Ambassador she was more than used to being handed flutes filled with fine and expensive beverages, wine particularly being a favorite of those who flaunted a high status, and while she had learned to enjoy the fancier drinks, if left to her own devices Palm would opt for something much more simple. Ale. Its strong, bitter taste was something she did not enjoy often and had sorely missed.
Her gaze then met the eyes of the Lord Commander and the Nightmother as she slightly tilted her glass and gave a small nod to both of them, "Ferh." One momentary switch into her mother tongue, Nexilis, in cheering, and then the glass was promptly brought to her lips to meet Gerwald's playful challenge.
It was a rare thing for Oleander to be seen outside of the battlefield. The solitary entity seemed to exist for the hunt and seldom more, showing up for official purposes and when called but otherwise disappearing into the ether of whatever he currently called home. It was a simple existence, it did well to keep those in the know about his various dietary habits and idiosyncrasies to a minimum. Made things less complicated. Yet there were moments when even the most reclusive found themselves craving a moment to let loose. And this 'festival of love', no matter how silly a title it might be, happened to come about at a time where Oleander found himself craving maybe even just a couple of moments of social activity.
And so the waking nightmare, death given life, whatever other titles he'd found assigned to him over the years, found himself trading armor for everyday wear and venturing out into society. He didn't have his sights on finding a meal, not yet anyway. No, this was at least currently a pure social excursion. Fairly unknown territory for the knight.
A drink in his hand, he meandered throughout the festival, half looking for a familiar face, half looking for just an interesting one. Bringing the drink to his lips, his nose scrunched in momentary disgust. It wasn't soup, something he had to remind himself. Nothing inherently wrong with that, just something to get used to. Ignoring that momentary confusion, he took a sip of the drink, feeling the odd taste on his tongue. What was that?
When it came to welcoming a new world into the Confederate fold, there was always a wealth of paperwork. Whilst the Galaxy looked upon lofty positions with awe in their eyes, the average soul did not consider just how much pen-stroking came with the job. In the case of the Vicelord, the better part of three days were spent ironing out what Har Binande's membership would look like. Everything from taxes, to commercial contributions, to transit, to garrisons, and anything else the local leadership could think of. When it was all said and done, thankfully, Darth Metus did not have to look far to find a stiff drink.
The so-called Festival of Love was in full swing this evening. Which meant that the Vicelord ditched the suit and tie. He put on a severely mundane attire, streetwear to be precise, and took to the festivities with only a single soul as company. He did, for the sanity of his Ministers, inform their local personnel of where he'd be for the evening. So that, if ish hit the fan, they'd know where to start shooting first. However, the man was not in the slightest bit worried. Partially due to confidence in his own abilities. Yet, the majority of his comfort was due to the exceedingly patient woman on his arm.
She had, with relative silence, stood by whilst the deals were made with the local leadership. (Relative meaning that, while her lips were not physically moving, she had quite a bit to say telepathically.) And, now that the work was done, doing anything other than stand among politicians was welcome. Darth Elyria
, in terms of might alone, was more than enough to rip apart anything that the Galaxy could throw at the Sith. But, beyond this, she was the recipient to a deal - Metus had vowed to be her tour guide in the world of man. And so, she would be exposed to the Festival.
In short order did they arrive at one of the many watering holes for the evening. The Sith felt a number of familiar souls nearby. Namely his son Rann Thress
and the Lord Commander Gerwald Lechner
. However, he did not make any motion to interrupt their fun this evening. Rather, he procured a pair of champagne flutes and offered one to his companion. "Here's to you." he said, flashing a toothy grin before taking a few swigs of the beverage. The champagne itself was nothing to write home about - but it did have a rather immediate affect. Darth Metus blinked a few times, sulfuric gaze settled upon the woman's pale features.
Every fiber of his being was telling him to keep hugging Magdalena but he knew he should probably let her free. With a contented sigh he released her.
“Pheromones? What pheromones? I uh...” he smiled and looked down at his feet before looking back at Magda.
“I’m just. Really. Really happy to see you. I was just thinking. ‘Man. I’ve only had Good times with Magda.’ Even that one time with the things! You know? You know. It was...man. How are you? What are you up to? What uh... hi!” He shifted back and forth on his feet.
“Want a drink? Pretty good. I had a couple but I don’t feel drunk. Isn’t that weird?”
It was hard not to feel at least some modicum of amusement. Were circumstances normal, Abel would have at least been smiling. The lights. The music. It was almost as though they had taken a page out of his personal history and made an evening of it. The Festival of Love was damn near a perfect snapshot of growing up on Nar Shaddaa. Every street corner had a club that was bumping with bass. Moreover, there was never a shortage of liquor - or scantily clad ladies serving it. For one who was born in a world as wild as this, Har Binande was certainly the place to be. Yet. There was a void in the pit of his stomach.
Abel couldn't help but feel how light his left hand felt.
For months now, he had become accustomed to the weight of a band upon his second finger. A symbol that he had agreed to put his family and lineage first. A physical representation of the covenant once held. It was a sacrifice, to say the very least. Yet, it was one that he and Serana were willing to take together. For some time, things had been perfect. Despite being totally arranged, the pair got on well enough. Abel would be lying if he said there was not some degree of genuine affection. But. As these things often went, the heart desired what it desired. And Serana, despite the needs of her own family, wanted freedom.
It wasn't that Abel was a bad individual. It wasn't that he was a terrible husband or a terrible suitor. It was simply that marriage was a cage and Serana needed to fly. Her wings were far too vast for the confines of the agreement. And so, he broke the cage and let her free. In the wake of her flight, there was a void. A void upon his finger where the ring once sat. A void in his life where the doctor once resided. She who, even on the clock, made his days just a little bit brighter was no more.
Ah well...it was high time he tried to live a little. Tried to move on and move forward. Thus, he put himself out there. Decided to follow the advice of co-workers and his apprentice to live. Wallowing would get him nowhere. For now, Abel occupied a booth inside one of the clubs. He was waiting the arrival of his student, whom he had not seen in quite some time. The ebb and flow of politics had seen her attentions return homeward - and thus, Abel's communications with Fauvel had been restricted to electronic alone. They were in constant contact - yet nothing could replace seeing someone treasured.
For the moment, the Jedi nursed a single beverage - a shot glass filled with some Corellian whiskey. Nothing fancy. It just hit the spot.
One did not force The Nightmother to attend. If she had cause not to do so then she would not whether it was acceptable or otherwise. Despite the close affiliation of Witch and Knight, the Witch of Dathomir still held strongly to her independence. That said, she was also mindful of the equivalent exchange needed to ensure her Sisters and Brothers could easily acquire objects of interest found by the Confederacy. It was therefore prudence that suggested she play along and attend gatherings she was not well suited for. Such had been proven time and again by the crowds not flocking to the pale woman among them. That and Gerwald being the Lord Commander it would not do to ignore his... request without cause. They'd had a discussion about the give and take of their working relationship after all.
Still, to think he would drag her along to a Love Festival of all things just so he wasn't miserable alone. Was he perhaps pushing the boundaries this early in their partnership?
Palm-Imer introduced herself as they drew near their destination. Vytal graciously returned the favor. Despite the sharpness to her genetic heritage, the Nightsister enjoyed meeting people. Especially those that seemed capable and intelligent.
Much as she rather not, Vytal arrived wearing a red robe that hugged her body with the various broad bands of material woven along the length of her body except for the arms. Seemed unnecessary to remain dressed for combat at a Love Festival. She'd forced herself into swim wear for a beach so this state of attire was surprisingly better received. Not that Vytal cared for the prudish ways of the galaxy -- she just found the lecherous ways of the galaxy all the more repulsive. Best no one tempt a Nightmother into turning them into a porg.
A soft sigh parted black lips. "Zeltrons," the Witch breathed or perhaps cursed. "Why did it have to be Zeltrons?" Could you find a creature any more diametrically opposed to a Nightsister? Vytal didn't mind talking to Jedi or other groups that 'basked in the Light,' but Zeltron were altogether different. They weren't adherents to a philosophy. They were the Light given form, much as a Nightsister was birthed from Darkness.
Gerwald's order drew Vytal's attention in the hope of pretending the pink and purple creatures would stay away. That was the worst thing about them. They either gathered about a woman of darkness as moths to a flame, or fled from her wishing to pretend the galaxy was nothing but rainbows and Ewoks. It was the former the Witch loathed. Best not to dwell, she reminded herself.
"Fun?" Vytal gestured for a whiskey. "Is that why we're here? I didn't know you had it in you, Gerwald." One corner of her lips turned upward as she retrieved the drink upon the countertop. With that she joined them in the drink. It wasn't often she indulged in alcohol. Spells were magick, but spells did not operate magickally -- that is, being drunk did not make you stronger when calling up the spirits to help you. Even so, there was no need to remain too guarded at such a gathering was there?
Freedom. From arms. It was good to have full mobility again.
"The, ahm, zeltrons? They're sort of everywhere..." she'd had previous exposure to zeltrons on their home planet for a brief interlude between GUIDE missions. Lost track of Isaiah mighty quick that weekend. Magda was pretty sure she hadn't seen him at all after he slipped out of her sight upon landing. She didn't want or like to think about the shenanigans had.
Instead her attention turned to Rann, who was presently enthralled with his feet while also verbally stumbling over thoughts and words. Was he ... blushing? Maybe it was a trick of the light. Red ambiance tends to throw everyone into a visual state of naked embarrassment. It looked rather dashing on Rann. Magda allowed herself a doleful smile.
And a chuckle.
"Well I am glad you can look at your rendez-vous with the Starweirds as a positive experience. I really can't thank you enough for coming to our aid, the project is finally back on track. I've mostly been coordinating the debris field clean up and moving the construction flotilla in. CETO is going to use the materials to build a-"
“Want a drink? Pretty good. I had a couple but I don’t feel drunk. Isn’t that weird?”
"Oh, ah," Magda looked around at the bar, "I asked for a bottle of spring water a moment ago...I think the bartender got tied up. That's okay, I can wait. Let's talk about this ensemble of yours," and she gestured to the general whole of Rann Thress standing before her, "this is fabulous. The colors really suit your eyes."
He could have gone on forever, completely enamored with Magda and just continued to ramble on and on. But once he realized he interrupted her, Rann threw his eyebrows up and frowned slightly.
“Oh I’m sorry for interrupting” He reached out slightly and squeezed his hands shut, crossing them over eachother in front of him.
“I’m...I’m just really happy you let me help. Thanks again. It was. Well, it wasn’t the funnest but I had a good time. Thanks again. Hahaha...”
He twiddled his thumbs and looked at her faceplate.
“Oh uh. Yeah thanks. Most of the time I try to look very uh...pretty.” He paused and stared at her eyes... they were the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. “Your eyes are very very pretty. I uh....” he stammered and looked around, “you sure you can wait? I can get you drink it’s not a problem!
"It's really fine. I'm fine. I'm used to waiting to eat or drink -" Magda gestured at herself this time, "because this whole situation. I'm sure the Bartender is just really busy. And don't worry about interrupting, I forget not everyone wants to talk work or business on their free time. My work is my life so I don't have a whole lot else to talk about..."
She gave a faint shrug, letting the compliment of her eyes sink in with a silent blush of her own. Gosh. Nevermind the fact that he couldn't really see her eyes through the tinted faceplate and the internal atmospheric fog of her helmet. He said her eyes were pretty, dag-nabbit, and she wasn't going to question it!
"But tell me more about yourself," she decided to take up residence at the bar on a nearby stool. Magda hopped up, crossed one leg over the other, and assumed the position of an engaged conversationalist, "What does an Obsidian Knight do other than run around vanquishing Starweirds?"