Private Engines, Etiquette, and Elections

[Emberlyn Kislo]

Time: Evening
Location: Nubia StarDrives Exhibition Hall
City: Theed, Naboo

The exhibition hall had been transformed into a display of polished Naboo elegance.

Soft light shimmered across the vaulted chamber, reflecting from curved chrome surfaces and polished marble inlays that seemed designed as much for aesthetic beauty as structural grace. Nubia StarDrives had spared little expense in presenting their vision of refinement. Suspended holographic displays hovered throughout the hall, each projecting rotating models of their most celebrated propulsion systems—sleek hyperdrive assemblies, stabilizer rings, and precision-engineered components rendered in luminous detail. Faint blue light from the projections washed across nearby guests as the displays turned slowly in the air, their quiet hum barely audible beneath the room's conversation.

Servers moved quietly among the gathered guests carrying trays of wine and crystal flutes, the delicate glass chiming softly when lifted from silver platters. The scent of Naboo citrus wine and warm spiced hors d'oeuvres drifted through the hall, mingling with the faint metallic tang of polished starship components on display. The low murmur of conversation carried across the chamber in overlapping currents of quiet diplomacy while subdued orchestral music drifted from somewhere deeper within the hall, the gentle strings rising and falling like distant tidewater.

Tonight's gathering served two purposes.

Officially, it was a fundraiser for the reelection campaign of Naboo's sitting senator, Dominic Praxon —an evening of polite speeches, quiet endorsements, and generous donations from those who understood the value of political goodwill. Nubia StarDrives had graciously opened its halls for the occasion, lending both its prestige and its engineering marvels to the evening's display.

Unofficially, it had become what such gatherings always did: a convergence of influence.

Corporate representatives, wealthy patrons, starship captains, diplomats, and a handful of carefully invited outsiders moved through the room in slow conversational currents, the soft brush of fabric and the muted clink of jewelry occasionally punctuating the steady flow of voices. Some paused beneath the hovering engine displays, their reflections gliding across polished floors while others spoke in quieter clusters near the hall's curved balconies. Somewhere deeper in the chamber, a small gathering had formed near the senator himself, though the room's shifting conversations made it difficult to discern whether politics or industry had captured the greater share of attention.

Each guest seemed to evaluate the others with the subtle attentiveness common to rooms where power and opportunity shared the same air.

Emberlyn Kislo entered with the quiet composure expected of someone accustomed to such gatherings.

Her posture was effortless, her movements measured and confident as she allowed herself a brief moment to take in the room. The smooth marble beneath her steps reflected the glow of the suspended displays above, and the faint warmth of the hall's lighting brushed across her shoulders as she moved forward.

She had chosen her attire with deliberate restraint.

A gown of deep midnight blue flowed in clean Naboo lines, the fabric catching the light in soft shifting highlights as she moved. The cut was elegant but practical—fitted through the waist before falling freely enough to allow easy movement. It was the sort of design that favored quiet confidence over spectacle.

Her dark hair had been drawn up into a refined arrangement at the back of her head, secured neatly while a few softened strands framed her face. The style was understated, polished without appearing overly elaborate.

Her makeup followed the same philosophy.

A light touch across her features allowed the natural warmth of her complexion to remain visible, the faint constellation of soft freckles across the bridge of her nose left unhidden. Only her eyes carried deliberate emphasis—subtle shading and liner drawing attention to their unusual violet-gold color beneath the ambient light.

The result was neither ostentatious nor austere.

Simply composed.

Years spent among Naboo's aristocratic circles had taught her the language of events like this—how to move through them without appearing hurried, how to acknowledge a host with a glance, how to observe without being observed too closely in return.

But while many guests admired the décor, Emberlyn's attention drifted elsewhere.

Her gaze lingered on the propulsion displays.

One holographic assembly rotated slowly nearby, revealing the intricate geometry of a Nubia hyperdrive stabilizer housing. The projection shifted to expose the internal alignment lattice, its delicate engineering suspended in glowing cross-section while soft streams of data scrolled quietly along the edges of the display. The light from the projection shimmered faintly across the polished floor as the assembly turned in steady silence.

She tilted her head slightly.

Interesting.

Nubia engineers had altered the stabilizer geometry—subtle, but deliberate. The change would distribute hyperspace stress more evenly along the mount points. Elegant design… though she wondered how the system behaved when a pilot demanded something less elegant from it.

Her eyes traced the alignment points automatically, the same way a pilot studies a cockpit panel before takeoff, following the structural pathways as if she could feel the vibration of a hyperdrive spinning to life beneath them.

If the tolerances were as precise as they appeared, the drive would hold beautifully during a standard jump.

But how would it respond to a hard correction?

Emberlyn allowed herself a small, thoughtful smile.

Now that was a question worth asking.

And somewhere in this room, she suspected, stood the engineers who might have the answer.

She stepped closer to the display, the projection's cool blue light reflecting faintly in her eyes as the stabilizer assembly rotated once more above its pedestal. A small cluster of guests lingered nearby—some admiring the craftsmanship, others discussing performance specifications in the careful tones of people who understood at least a little of what they were looking at.

She studied the alignment ring again, her attention narrowing slightly as another set of data points flickered across the edge of the hologram.

"Interesting choice," she murmured quietly, more to the display than anyone in particular.

Her gaze drifted toward the gathered guests beside the pedestal, curious now whether any of them were responsible for the elegant piece of engineering turning slowly in the air before her.

 

[Dominic Praxon]

The gentleman speaking had reached that particular stage of polite enthusiasm in which words continued long after conviction had quietly excused itself from the conversation.

Dominic Praxon listened with the composed patience expected of a senator attending his own fundraiser. His expression remained attentive, even agreeable, though the faint stillness of his posture betrayed the quiet arithmetic unfolding behind his eyes. The man opposite him, an investor of respectable reputation and conspicuously careful phrasing, had now described, at some length, the admirable importance of civic responsibility, the stability of Naboo’s institutions, and the general desirability of continued prosperity.

Not once, Dominic noted, had the word donation entered the discussion.

“Of course,” the man continued, gesturing lightly with his glass, “one must always consider the broader economic climate before committing one’s resources to any particular initiative.”

“Of course,” Dominic echoed pleasantly.

Beside him, another member of the small cluster nodded with sympathetic gravity, as though the galaxy itself had recently conspired to inconvenience their generosity. Dominic inclined his head with the patient courtesy of someone who had heard variations of this performance many times before. One learned, in politics, that refusal seldom arrived bluntly. It preferred instead the elaborate costume of subtext.

“Well,” he said at last with gentle diplomacy, “prudence has preserved many fortunes that enthusiasm might otherwise have endangered.”

The remark was received with approving murmurs, the sort that allowed all present to feel sensible and responsible without committing themselves to anything remotely measurable. It was a pleasant conclusion.

Dominic lifted his untouched flute slightly in parting. “I shall leave you to enjoy the evening,” he added, the words delivered with easy warmth that carried no trace of dismissal. “Nubia has been most generous with their hospitality.”

The group responded with cordial thanks, and within moments the small conversational orbit dissolved into the wider currents of the hall. Dominic stepped away without haste.

Political gatherings possessed a rhythm not unlike orbital docking. Influence drifted through the room in slow gravitational tides. The trick was simply to move with them.

He passed beneath one of the rotating propulsion displays, the cool blue light from its holographic projection sliding briefly across his shoulder as the stabilizer assembly turned in the air above its pedestal. Nearby, a woman stood studying the schematics with an attentiveness rarely found at fundraising events. Most guests glanced at such displays as one might admire sculpture. She was examining it.

Dominic slowed half a step as he passed, his eyes following the line of the rotating alignment lattice before flicking briefly toward her. “A wise conversational partner,” he remarked lightly in passing. “Hyperdrives have the admirable virtue of rarely pretending interest when it has none.”

The comment was delivered with quiet amusement, little more than a passing observation offered to the air between them. He continued on without breaking stride, his attention already shifting toward a figure near the far side of the chamber — Ambassador Rhyllan of Chandrila.

An evening conversation with the ambassador would have been considerably more productive than the last. Dominic approached with measured confidence, offering the small diplomatic bow that etiquette demanded. “Ambassador. I was hoping...”

“My deepest apologies, Senator,” the man interrupted immediately, genuine regret lining his voice. He gestured faintly toward the hall’s exit where a pair of attendants already waited nearby. “A personal matter has arisen rather suddenly. I’m afraid I must depart at once.”

Dominic’s disappointment did not reach his smile. “Of course,” he replied smoothly, “I hope everything resolves itself favorably.”

“Thank you, Senator. Another evening, perhaps.”

“Another evening.”

The ambassador offered one last apologetic inclination of his head before disappearing into the slow movement of departing guests. And just like that, Dominic Praxon found himself standing alone beside a field of softly rotating hyperdrive schematics, the low murmur of the hall continuing all around him.

He glanced once at his wine glass. Still untouched. A faint breath of quiet amusement escaped him. It appeared the evening had momentarily run out of productive conversations.

Emberlyn Kislo​

 

[Emberlyn Kislo]

Emberlyn met his passing gaze, violet-gold eyes holding his brown ones for a brief moment before drifting back to the schematic before her. For the briefest instant something in the room seemed to settle around him—an unusual stillness beneath the layered currents of conversation that brushed faintly against her awareness before fading as quickly as it came. Her lips curled into a small smile.

"Machines have a way of talking," she chuckled softly, gesturing lightly toward the projection as he passed.

The holographic light shifted around them, the schematic rotating effortlessly in the air.

She watched his figure continue through the chamber, studying him through the faint blue haze of the display as the stabilizer assembly turned between them.

'Definitely a noble…' she mused quietly.

Her head tilted with mild curiosity. A few loose strands of brown hair slipped across her eyes, prompting her hand to rise and brush them aside before tucking them neatly behind her ear. The movement revealed more of her attention drifting toward the nearby conversation.

Something about an ambassador… and Mr. Observant who had noticed her quietly nerding out over a hyperdrive.

A senator.

Her brows lifted slightly.

'Ah… so this evening revolves around him.'

The realization sparked a flicker of quiet amusement. Her posture shifted almost instinctively as she stepped forward through the holographic projection, the rotating schematic briefly distorting around her silhouette as she passed.

Her eyes settled on the senator again, curiosity sharpening her focus as the ambassador excused himself and departed. With the conversation dissolved and the space beside him briefly unoccupied, Emberlyn allowed herself to close the distance.

Not hurried.

Simply timely.

Up close, the quiet composure she had sensed earlier remained—steady and controlled, like a calm center within the shifting energy of the room. Her expression softened as she approached, the polite composure of Naboo etiquette settling naturally across her features.

"You don't appreciate people gathering for you…?" she asked gently, a hint of playful curiosity in her voice. "Raising money so you may continue your good work?"

A subtle conversational feint. In truth, she knew very little about the senator beyond a few fragments from the holo-net and passing mention of his involvement with the Outbound Flight project.

But he had connections with Nubia StarDrives.

And if the engineers responsible for the elegant stabilizer turning behind her were anywhere in the galaxy tonight, logic suggested they would not be far from the evening's host.

That alone made the conversation worth pursuing.

Dominic Praxon

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic had been studying the untouched wine in his glass with mild philosophical interest when the woman’s voice reached him.

He turned slightly, regarding her with quiet curiosity. For a brief moment his eyes searched her expression, as though weighing whether her question had been asked in earnest or merely offered as conversational sport.

A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth. “On the contrary,” he replied easily, “it would be rather alarming if no one gathered at all. A fundraiser at which the host stood alone would send the most unfortunate message to the electorate.”

The humour was light, the tone measured. His gaze drifted briefly toward the thinning knot of guests he had just left behind before returning to her. “But one learns,” he continued, “that gatherings have their own natural eddies.”

His hand lifted slightly, gesturing with the glass in a small arc that encompassed the surrounding hall. “Some conversations prove energetic, others…less so. The art lies in recognizing when an opportunity has already carried you as far as it intends.”

His expression remained pleasant, though the faint glimmer of amusement suggested he was well aware of how the observation might apply to the ambassador’s abrupt departure. “And in fairness,” Dominic added, glancing briefly toward the stabilizer projection rotating behind her, “one must occasionally concede defeat to superior company.”

For a moment he studied her again. Dominic inclined his head politely. “Dominic Praxon,” he said, as though the name were a practical detail rather than an introduction requiring ceremony.

His gaze drifted briefly toward the rotating stabilizer once more before returning to her. “And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

Emberlyn Kislo​

 

[Emberlyn Kislo]

Emberlyn pursed her lips thoughtfully, violet-gold eyes flicking briefly toward the untouched wine glass in his hand. A faint smile tugged at the corner of her expression at the mention of currents in gatherings.

'Like the Force…' she mused quietly to herself.

Her gaze followed his as it drifted toward the stabilizer projection. She glanced over her shoulder at the rotating schematic for a moment before turning back to him, the smile growing a little warmer.

“We can agree that political gatherings have their own strange currents…” she said lightly, clearly amused by the shared observation. Her hand lifted in a small, casual gesture toward the holographic stabilizer rotating behind her.

“Machines are much simpler company,” she added with quiet amusement. “They rarely pretend to be interested in things they are not.”

She gave a small nod, half to him and half to the thought itself.

“At least when they disagree with you…” she continued, her eyes briefly drifting back toward the projection, “they do so honestly.”

'Dominic.'

The name settled into place in her thoughts with a quiet sort of recognition.

She inclined her head politely and stepped a little closer, extending her hand with easy grace.

“A pleasure, Senator Praxon.” Her smile brightened slightly. “My name is Emberlyn.”

A brief pause followed, just long enough to allow the introduction its proper courtesy. “Emberlyn Kislo.”

As their hands parted, her attention drifted once more toward the rotating stabilizer projection beside them. The hologram cast faint blue light across her features as the alignment lattice turned slowly in the air.

“Though I must admit,” she said thoughtfully, tilting her head toward the display, “that particular piece of engineering may still win the evening for most honest company.” Her eyes traced the geometry of the stabilizer housing again.

“Nubia engineers altered the alignment ring,” she observed, more to the schematic than the room itself. “Subtle, but clever. It would distribute hyperspace stress more evenly across the mount points.”

Her gaze shifted back to Praxon with quiet curiosity.

“I imagine the minds responsible for it are somewhere in the room tonight.”

A faint, playful note returned to her voice.

“And if they are, I suspect they would make far more interesting conversation than most campaign donors.”

Dominic Praxon

 

[Dominic Praxon]

"It is my pleasure. Emberlyn."

Dominic's shoulders relaxed slightly as she spoke. He listened with the attentive patience of someone accustomed to hearing enthusiasm applied liberally to many things throughout the course of an evening. With each additional observation she offered about the stabilizer's design, one of his brows rose a fraction higher.

At last he lifted the glass in his hand and took a measured sip. "Interesting conversations," he said mildly, "are not always the ones that accomplish the most." There was the faintest trace of amusement in his voice, though whether it was directed toward the evening's donors or toward the broader rituals of politics was difficult to say.

His gaze drifted briefly across the hall, taking in the clusters of guests still circulating beneath the soft glow of Nubia's projections. When he shifted his stance again it was with quiet intention, stepping easily beside her rather than opposite her. "Though I confess," he continued, "that fascination and generosity rarely occupy the same individual for very long."

The remark was delivered lightly, as though it were merely a passing observation rather than the professional conclusion of a man who had spent years navigating such rooms.

His attention returned to her then, the corner of his mouth lifting just enough to acknowledge the shared understanding between them. He offered his arm with quiet ease. "Still," Dominic added, "one should make use of the more interesting company when the opportunity presents itself."

His eyes flicked briefly toward the rotating stabilizer before returning to her. "Unless, of course," he said, gesturing lightly toward the holographic display, "you feel a professional obligation to remain with the evening's most honest conversationalist."

Emberlyn Kislo​

 

[Emberlyn Kislo]

Emberlyn smiled with quiet amusement as she regarded the extended arm. When he gestured toward the stabilizer, her gaze followed briefly before she turned back and shook her head softly.

“No, I don’t hold any professional obligations with it—though I do have a personal interest,” she mused.

She knew it would be rude not to take his offered arm, just as it had technically been a breach of etiquette not to introduce himself immediately. But no matter. Politics had a way of bending etiquette into more… flexible shapes. And who was she to correct a sitting senator? No one in particular—just someone who happened to know how the game was played among nobility. At least for the first eighteen years of her life.

“I agree,” she continued as she stepped closer, her arm sliding comfortably into his. “Those who hide behind currency to fulfill their political ambitions…”

She gestured lightly toward the gathering around them.

“…don’t always have the capacity to comprehend the intricacies that allow them safe passage through time and space.”

The warmth of his arm beneath the fabric didn’t escape her notice. Her smile widened slightly, a faint tint of red brushing across her cheeks. She was well-versed in sociability—but not often in such direct proximity to the opposite sex.

A soft chuckle escaped her.

As her arm settled more comfortably within his, she brought her second hand gently over his wrist, securing the gesture with casual grace as they began to walk. Her blue dress flowed behind her with effortless elegance, like a wave folding quietly against a calm sea.

“Pilots…” she said suddenly.

“They tend to have a greater appreciation for the finer elements of engineering—and what happens when engineering is flawed.”

She nodded lightly as they continued their stroll.

“Machines, at least, have the courtesy of being honest about their displeasure.”

A brief glance returned to the stabilizer.

“And they don’t require campaign funding,” she added lightly. “Though I imagine if hyperdrives could vote, they would be very particular about their candidates.”

Her attention shifted toward the surrounding Nubian displays.

“Nubian design reflects the finer aspects of starship engineering in every way,” she said thoughtfully. “Elegant… smooth… yet capable of becoming quite fierce when provoked.”

Her smile returned.

“Rather like a falumpaset that’s decided it’s had enough of being admired.”

Finally, she glanced back toward him.

“Now, I know your background isn’t engineering… or is it, Senator?”

Dominic Praxon

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic’s lips curved into a small, amused smile at her question, the trace of laughter dancing in his eyes. “No, but it would certainly help,” he admitted lightly, shaking his head with a playful exhalation, as though the notion of engineering expertise gracing his own accomplishments were a curious thought best left unpursued.

He allowed the silence to stretch just long enough to ensure she understood the humor before stepping closer, their arms still linked in a comfortable, unspoken rhythm. His gaze swept over the shifting holographic projection once more, though his attention never lingered long - there were other engagements to be had, other corners of the room where matters unfurled.

“And you?” he asked, letting the question hover with gentle insistence. “Are you an engineer by training, or merely one who appreciates the honesty of machines? Or does your curiosity wander in other directions as well?” His tone suggested no urgency, only genuine interest, a practiced ease that allowed for inquiry without pressure.

He tilted his head slightly, the lighting catching the edge of his features in soft relief, a faint smirk lingering at the corner of his mouth. “It is rare, in gatherings such as this, to find someone whose attention is drawn to precision rather than prestige, substance rather than spectacle. One wonders whether that is a quality honed by profession, or temperament.”

Their steps carried them along the marble floor, quiet and deliberate, the distant murmur of conversation fading into a gentle hum behind them. Dominic’s glance flicked back toward her, his brown eyes meeting her violet-gold with an expression both bemused and attentive. “If your interests are as discerning as your observation, I dare say the company of engineers may not suffice. There are always…other matters worth exploring.”

He allowed the suggestion to hang lightly in the air, a casual invitation rather than expectation, before his attention shifted toward the gentle currents of conversation flowing elsewhere in the hall. Yet still, his gaze lingered a moment longer, teasing the possibility that her insight might be an amuse-bouche to a more intriguing engagement to come.

Emberlyn Kislo​

 

[Emberlyn Kislo]

Emberlyn's gaze drifted briefly back toward the stabilizer as they walked, the rotating lattice casting soft blue light across her features. For a moment, her attention lingered there—not out of distraction, but habit—before it returned to him, the faintest trace of amusement still present in her expression.

His question settled easily, though not simply.

Her hand shifted slightly where it rested along his arm, not tightening, but adjusting with a quiet, natural ease as though anchoring herself in the rhythm of the conversation rather than the movement of the room. Around them, voices rose and fell in layered currents—laughter, negotiation, polite interest—but none of it held her attention in the same way.

"Curiosity rarely confines itself to one discipline," she said at last, her tone thoughtful rather than evasive. "Though I suppose that makes for a rather unsatisfying answer."

Her gaze flicked once more toward the stabilizer, following the geometry as it turned.

"I've never been formally trained," she continued, "but I've spent enough time in a cockpit to understand how a system behaves when it's pushed beyond what it was designed to endure."

A small smile returned, quieter now.

"Machines are honest in that way. They don't disguise their limits."

There was a pause—not empty, but deliberate—before her attention returned fully to him. Up close, there was a steadiness to his presence she hadn't quite registered at a distance. The surrounding noise of the hall seemed to blur at the edges, not fading entirely, but softening just enough to make the space between them feel more defined.

Interesting.

"And temperament plays its part," she added, her voice lighter again, though the thought behind it remained intact. "Some people are drawn to spectacle. Others…" Her eyes shifted briefly toward the stabilizer once more. "…prefer to understand what holds it together."

His earlier remark lingered, and she allowed it to surface again, turning it slightly rather than answering it outright.

"Other matters," she repeated softly, the words carrying a hint of curiosity rather than challenge.

Her gaze lifted to meet his fully now, the faint amusement returning.

"I imagine those are the conversations that accomplish something, Senator."

She let the thought settle for a beat before continuing, her tone easing just enough to invite rather than press.

"Though I suspect," she added, "that depends entirely on who's asking the question."

Dominic Praxon

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic listened without interruption, though the quiet amusement never quite left his expression. There was something measured in the way she spoke, as though every thought passed through a careful instrument before being allowed into the air. He found that…refreshing.

When she finished, his gaze lingered on her a moment longer than polite society strictly required.

“Cockpit experience,” he repeated softly, as if weighing the phrase. “That explains the perspective.”

His thumb shifted lightly against the fabric at her sleeve where her hand rested on his arm, a small adjustment rather than a deliberate gesture. The crowd around them had thickened near the demonstration floor, voices rising with the enthusiasm of donors and engineers alike. Dominic glanced once toward the noise, then back to her.

“Machines reveal their limits,” he said thoughtfully. “People rarely do. Not until much later.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“But pilots…” His eyes returned fully to hers now. “Pilots develop a particular relationship with uncertainty. They have to. You don’t guide a vessel through vacuum without learning how to trust your instincts.”

His gaze held hers with a quiet steadiness that seemed far more interested in the violet hue than the spectacle behind them.

“They’re striking, you know.” The remark arrived calmly, without flourish, as though it had occurred to him only then. “Your eyes.”

For a moment he said nothing more, the distant light from the rotating stabilizer reflecting faintly across the unusual color. Then he exhaled a quiet laugh, the mood shifting just enough to break the stillness.

“This hall is becoming rather crowded,” he added lightly, glancing toward the clusters of guests beginning to gather more tightly around the displays.

His free hand lifted slightly, gesturing toward the tall glass doors along the far wall where the night beyond waited cool and quiet. “There’s a balcony just outside,” he said. “A far better place for conversation.”

The offer was delivered with effortless ease, though his gaze returned to her with unmistakable intention.

“I find the night air improves the quality of certain discussions.” His voice lowered just slightly, amusement threading through it. “Particularly the ones that aren’t meant for an audience.”

His arm remained offered to her, unchanged, though the pause that followed suggested the decision was entirely hers.

“And if the company proves agreeable,” Dominic added after a moment, tone warm with quiet implication, “the evening has a way of becoming…unexpectedly memorable.”

Emberlyn Kislo​

 

[Emberlyn Kislo]

Emberlyn's gaze lingered on him a moment longer than before, the weight of his words settling with a quiet deliberation that stilled her where she stood. The compliment, offered without flourish, slipped past the practiced layers of her composure and found its mark. A faint warmth rose beneath her skin, softening the line of her expression as a subtle flush touched her cheeks—barely there, but undeniable beneath the ambient glow of the hall.

For a fraction of a second, her eyes dipped—lashes lowering as though to collect the moment—before lifting again to meet his with renewed steadiness. A soft breath escaped her, almost a quiet laugh, more felt than heard.

"You're very observant, Senator," she replied lightly, her voice smooth, touched with restrained amusement. The curve of her smile lingered—not dismissive, not indulgent—something balanced carefully between acknowledgment and quiet deflection.

Around them, the gala pressed in closer. Voices overlapped in polished cadences, punctuated by the delicate chime of glassware and the low hum of hovering projections. Light shifted constantly—cool blues and soft silvers sliding across polished marble floors and catching in the edges of fabric and skin. The air carried a blend of citrus wine, warm spices, and the faint metallic tang of exposed engineering beneath decorative refinement.

And yet, something in the space between them had changed.

Not abruptly—nothing so obvious—but enough that she felt it, a subtle shift in current beneath the surface of the room.

Her gaze followed the line of his gesture toward the tall glass doors. Beyond them, the night waited—still, open, unburdened by the layered performance behind her. The thought of it settled easily.

Easier, perhaps, than it should have.

Her hand adjusted lightly along his arm, fingers settling with quiet certainty as she moved with him. No hesitation showed in the motion—only a smooth alignment of intent, as though the decision had been made the moment the invitation was offered.

Effortless.

Deliberate.

As they began to cross the hall, the fabric of her midnight-blue gown moved with her in quiet harmony, catching the shifting light in soft, liquid highlights. The material flowed behind her with each step, brushing lightly against polished marble, its movement controlled yet unrestrained—practical in its design, but no less elegant for it.

The overlapping conversations dulled at the edges of her awareness, blurring into a distant wash of sound, while something quieter—more focused—rose in its place. The cadence of his movement beside her, the steady warmth beneath her fingertips, the subtle control in the way he navigated the crowd without appearing to do so at all—

It set him apart.

Not loudly.

But distinctly.

Interesting.

"The night air does have its advantages," she said after a moment, her voice carrying easily beneath the thinning noise. "Rooms like this tend to blur intention with performance."

Her eyes drifted briefly across the remaining clusters of guests—faces animated, gestures measured, laughter just a shade too deliberate—before returning to him.

"And I imagine," she added, her tone thoughtful, "that distinction becomes… increasingly valuable the further one moves from the audience."

The glass doors parted with a soft, seamless motion as they approached, and the transition was immediate.

Cool air brushed across her skin, crisp and clean, carrying the faint scent of night-blooming flora and distant water. The shift in temperature sent a subtle awareness through her, grounding her in the present in a way the crowded hall had not. Behind them, the gala softened into a muted glow, its sounds reduced to a distant murmur—contained, controlled, no longer pressing.

The balcony opened outward beneath the vast expanse of Naboo's night sky. Lights from the city below shimmered in gentle constellations, reflecting off waterways and polished structures in soft, luminous patterns. The air felt wider here, less burdened, each breath easier than the last.

A faint breeze stirred as they stepped fully into the open, catching the hem of her gown and drawing it outward in a soft arc before letting it fall again against her legs, the fabric settling with a quiet grace that mirrored her own composure.

Her posture eased—only slightly—but enough to be felt.

Her hand remained where it rested along his arm, though the contact now felt less like navigation and more like quiet choice.

His words lingered.

Unexpectedly memorable.

A faint smile returned, softer now, touched with something more contemplative than before.

"I suppose," she said at last, her voice low and unhurried in the open air, "that depends entirely on what one considers worth remembering."

She turned to him fully then, the violet-gold of her eyes catching the ambient glow of the city beyond, reflecting it in shifting hues.

"And whether the conversation lives up to the setting."

Dominic Praxon

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic regarded her quietly as she spoke, the city’s scattered lights reflecting faintly in the deep violet of her eyes. For a moment he said nothing at all. The breeze shifted gently across the balcony, stirring the edges of her gown and carrying with it the cool scent of water and distant gardens. Somewhere below, Naboo moved through its evening rhythms, unaware of the smaller, quieter moment forming here beneath the open sky.

Her question lingered between them. Whether the conversation lived up to the setting. The corner of his mouth curved slightly, something warmer than the polite smiles worn inside the hall. “I can make it worth remembering,” he repeated, almost thoughtfully.

His gaze held hers without wavering.

“I’ve found,” he continued after a bated breath, his voice low and unhurried in the night air, “that the most memorable moments demand our attention. They must be sought out. And even then one usually only recognises their significance only after the fact.”

As he spoke, his free hand rose with deliberate calm, gently taking hers from where it rested along his arm. The movement was neither abrupt nor presumptuous, but carried with the same quiet confidence that had guided them through the crowded hall. His fingers turned her hand lightly, her skin cool beneath his touch.

For a brief moment, he studied her hand as though the gesture itself deserved a measure of attention. Then his eyes lifted to hers again. The contact never broke.

Slowly, Dominic inclined his head and brought the back of her hand toward his lips. The kiss itself was unhurried, the brush of warmth against her skin brief but unmistakably intentional. It carried none of the theatrical flourish one might perform inside the gala. Here, beneath the open sky, it felt…personal.

When he straightened again, her hand remained lightly within his grasp.

“I am sure you agree,” he said softly, his gaze still resting in the violet-gold depths of hers, “some things cannot be said with words alone.”

Emberlyn Kislo​

 

[Kalja Tal'Vera]

IGNORE.

 

[Emberlyn Kislo]

Emberlyn inhaled softly, her breath catching just enough to betray the shift before she could fully contain it, a faint warmth rising along her cheeks and deepening into a subtle flush beneath the cool night air as stillness settled through her frame—not rigid, not startled, but momentarily held as the moment clarified around her. She felt it before she named it, a subtle shift through the Force like a current tightening and drawing inward, the layered noise of the gala softening into a distant hum as the world beyond the balcony blurred at the edges, leaving only the space between them sharpened with quiet intensity.

Intent—deliberate, unmistakable.

Her fingers responded before her thoughts fully aligned, tightening slightly against his hand without retreating or yielding entirely, the warmth of his lips lingering faintly against her skin in contrast to the cool breeze brushing along her wrist. It was new—not unfamiliar in theory, not something she hadn't observed from a distance—but here, present and immediate, it carried a weight she had never needed to navigate before.

A slower breath followed, and with it, control returned—not all at once, but in quiet, practiced layers as her shoulders eased and her posture aligned once more with effortless precision. When her gaze lifted to meet his again, the violet-gold of her eyes caught the scattered glow of the city below, light shifting across them in faint, liquid tones, no retreat or uncertainty left within them now—only awareness, and something newly sharpened beneath it. A few strands of brown hair slipped free in the breeze, brushing lightly across her cheek before settling back, softening the composed silhouette she held without diminishing it.

"Some things…" she began softly, her voice smooth and edged with restrained amusement, "are often said far more clearly without words," the words carrying easily between them on the night air as a measured pause followed, not hesitation but choice. "But that does leave a great deal open to interpretation."

Her thumb shifted lightly against his hand, deliberate in its subtlety, maintaining the balance she had chosen—neither withdrawing nor leaning further into the contact. Around them, the balcony breathed in quiet contrast to the hall behind, cool air brushing against her skin and carrying the faint scent of water and distant gardens while the gala softened into a muted glow at her back. The edge of her midnight-blue gown stirred with the breeze, the fabric catching light in soft, liquid highlights as it moved, fitted through the waist before falling in a smooth, uninterrupted line that remained elegant without effort, controlled without rigidity.

There was something in him—beneath the ease, beneath the quiet confidence—that the Force echoed back to her with subtle clarity, a steadiness not easily read, not accidental, but measured in a way she recognized even if she did not yet fully understand it. Her head tilted slightly as she studied him now with intent rather than passing curiosity, her voice lowering just enough to draw the moment inward as she continued, "And I imagine that depends entirely on what you intended it to say… Senator."

Her gaze held his fully, unflinching, the faintest softness touching her expression as she added, "But intention is not always the same as outcome," the words settling between them not as challenge or agreement, but as something balanced and considered. Her hand remained within his, though her posture carried its own quiet independence, unclaimed by the gesture despite it, and when she spoke again, her tone eased just slightly, the faintest controlled smile returning.

"And I find that the more memorable moments are rarely the ones decided in advance."

For a moment longer she held his gaze—steady, aware—before allowing the world to reenter in quiet degrees, the distant lights of the city, the softened murmur behind them, the broader shape of the evening returning to her awareness along with the purpose that had brought her here in the first place.

"And yet," she added lightly, the shift in tone subtle but deliberate, "some conversations begin long before they are ever formally had."

Her eyes returned to him with quiet intent, something more grounded beneath the surface now.

"As I understand it, Senator… you are not always easy to secure an audience with."

The line settled between them with gentle precision—an opening, not a reveal.

"Perhaps I should consider myself fortunate that the evening arranged one for me regardless."

Dominic Praxon

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic listened without interruption, the quiet confidence that so often carried him through crowded chambers and formal assemblies settling now into something more measured beneath the open night. Her words were carefully chosen, but not defensive.

He appreciated that.

A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth when she spoke of securing an audience with him. The remark lingered between them for a moment as he considered it, his gaze resting easily in the violet depth of her eyes. “I suspect,” he replied at last, his voice calm and unhurried, “that most audiences are less difficult to obtain than people imagine.”

The warmth of her hand still rested lightly in his, but after a moment his fingers loosened, easing their hold rather than tightening it. The motion was gentle, unforced, allowing her hand to remain if she wished…or drift free if she preferred. The distinction was subtle, but unmistakable.

“I do not force a meeting on those that do not wish one.”

The breeze shifted again across the balcony, carrying the cool breath of the lake below. Dominic’s attention lifted briefly toward the city lights scattered across the water before returning to her once more. The faint amusement in his expression remained, though something quieter now accompanied it.

His posture relaxed slightly against the railing beside them, leaving the space between them open rather than closed. Nothing in his stance suggested retreat, yet neither did it claim anything further from her. Instead, he simply regarded her.

The silence that followed was not awkward, but patient.

“If this conversation proves worth remembering,” Dominic added after a moment, his tone thoughtful, “I suspect it will be because two people decided it should be.” His gaze held hers steadily, warm but unpressing. “And not because one of them insisted.”

Emberlyn Kislo​

 

[Emberlyn Kislo]

Emberlyn felt the shift as his grip loosened, the subtle easing of his fingers not going unnoticed. The space between them changed—not widened, not closed—but offered. Given.

For a brief moment, she allowed her hand to remain where it was, neither reclaiming it nor tightening her hold, simply existing within that choice. The faint warmth of his touch lingered against her skin, softened now by the cool night air that drifted in from the water below. It brushed along her exposed wrist and stirred lightly against her shoulders, carrying with it the scent of distant gardens and the quiet hush of Naboo settling into evening.

She felt it again through the Force.

Not the earlier pressure, not the sharpened edge of intent—but something steadier now. Measured. Open.

A choice.

Her fingers shifted slightly—not withdrawing, but adjusting—settling more comfortably rather than slipping free. The decision was quiet, but deliberate.

'So this is how he plays it…'

A faint breath left her, softer now, her composure long since returned, though not untouched by what had passed between them. The flush at her cheeks had faded to something subtler, a quiet echo rather than a disruption, and when her gaze lifted to meet his again, it held steady—clear, aware, and no longer caught off guard.

The breeze caught a few loose strands of her brown hair, lifting them briefly before letting them fall again against her cheek, while the edge of her midnight-blue gown stirred in a slow, fluid motion around her legs. The fabric caught the faint glow of the city below in soft, shifting highlights, its clean Naboo lines maintaining their elegance without effort.

"I imagine," she said at last, her voice calm, touched with the faintest trace of amusement, "that most things are less difficult to obtain than people convince themselves they are."

Her head tilted slightly, studying him now with a more deliberate focus—not as one might observe a passing moment, but as one choosing to remain within it.

"But willingness," she continued, her tone thoughtful, "is a far more interesting variable than access."

Her thumb brushed lightly against his hand as she spoke, the movement subtle, almost absent-minded in appearance, though no less intentional for it. She did not reclaim the distance he had offered, nor did she close it further. The balance remained, held with quiet precision.

Behind them, the gala lingered as a distant glow through the open doors, its layered voices softened into something indistinct, while the balcony held its own quieter rhythm. Below, the city lights shimmered across the water in scattered reflections, the surface shifting gently with the movement of the night.

Her gaze did not waver from his.

"And I would agree," she added, a faint softness touching her expression, "that the more memorable conversations are rarely the result of insistence."

A brief pause followed—not empty, but measured.

"They tend to occur when both parties decide they are worth having."

The words settled between them with quiet clarity, not challenging his sentiment, but refining it—meeting it on equal ground.

Her posture remained relaxed against the open space of the balcony, composed without rigidity, present without yielding. Whatever curiosity had drawn her here had not diminished—it had simply changed shape.

"And I find," she continued after a moment, her tone easing just slightly, "that it's usually in those moments—when nothing is being forced—that people are most inclined to reveal what actually matters to them."

Her head tilted just enough to suggest something more than casual interest now.

Not pressing.

Not demanding.

But intentional.

"So tell me, Senator…" she added softly, the faintest trace of that earlier amusement returning, though steadier now, more controlled, "what is it you find worth remembering… when no one is insisting?"

Dominic Praxon

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Her question lingered between them. The sort of question that stripped away the comfort of clever answers.

His fingers shifted slightly where they rested beneath hers, the movement subtle but intentional, thumb brushing once against the side of her hand before settling again.

For a moment he watched the city instead of her. Lights stretching endlessly across the skyline like scattered constellations caught beneath glass and durasteel. "Most things people insist are worth remembering," he said quietly, "usually are not."

His gaze returned to her then. "What stays with me tends to be more personal."

His thumb moved again, absentminded or perhaps not. "A conversation that refuses to end when it should." His eyes flicked briefly toward the hall behind them where music and voices still hummed beneath the gala's polished surface. "A night that grows…unexpectedly interesting."

His shoulders eased back against the balcony rail as if the evening itself had slowed. "And occasionally," he continued, voice lower now, "the decision of a fascinating woman to remain exactly where she is…instead of returning to the far more sensible company waiting inside."

His gaze drifted across her features, appreciating each contour. Then he exhaled softly through his nose, amusement threading through the breath. "As for tonight," Dominic added, almost casually, "I am staying at the Meridian Crown. Corner suite. Top floor."

It was presented purely as information, placed gently on the table between them. "The view is extraordinary," he said.

"If this conversation insists on evolving, as you suggest…it would be a shame to hoard such a view."

"Should you wish," Dominic finished, the hint of that earlier wryness returning to his voice, "we can watch the sun rise."

Emberlyn Kislo​

 

[Emberlyn Kislo]

Emberlyn stilled—not at the words themselves, but at the ease with which he offered them, as though the suggestion of distance, of privacy, of something beyond the moment, were as natural to him as breath. The faint flush at her cheeks deepened, warmed now by the quiet clarity of what he had placed between them, and for a fraction of a second her gaze drifted—not away, but aside—toward the horizon where the city's lights stretched across the water in soft, shimmering constellations, their reflections trembling faintly along the dark surface below.

She felt it before she named it.

The surface of the moment shifted—smoothed, then drawn inward—as though the air between them had settled into still water. No sharp disturbance, no erratic pull, only a quiet current beneath it, steady and contained, moving with purpose rather than impulse. The distant hum of the gala receded further, voices and music dissolving into something indistinct, leaving the space between them sharpened in contrast.

Intent—held beneath the surface.

Her fingers adjusted lightly where they rested against his, the smallest of movements—acknowledgment without surrender, contact without concession. The warmth of his lips lingered faintly against her skin, softened now by the cool breeze brushing along her wrist and threading beneath the edge of her sleeve.

‘So this is where you take it.’

A slow breath followed, controlled and even, as composure aligned once more in practiced layers. It did not return all at once—it settled, like ripples easing back into stillness. Her shoulders remained relaxed, posture poised without rigidity, the moment contained rather than resisted. When her gaze lifted fully to his again, it was steady—violet-gold catching the ambient glow of the city below, light shifting across them in faint, liquid tones, no retreat left within them now.

Only awareness.

A few strands of brown hair slipped free in the breeze, brushing lightly across her cheek before settling back again, softening the composed line she held without diminishing it. The night air moved gently around them, cool and clean, carrying the faint scent of water and distant gardens, grounding the moment in something real beyond the quiet tension between them.

The edge of her midnight-blue gown stirred with the movement, the fabric catching light in soft, fluid highlights as it fell back into place along her legs—fitted through the waist, precise in its structure, the rest falling in a smooth, uninterrupted line that spoke of elegance shaped by intention rather than excess.

"You make it sound very easy," she said at last, her voice smooth, touched with the faintest trace of amusement—not dismissive, but not yielding either.

Her head tilted slightly as she regarded him now, studying rather than reacting, the line of her expression softening just enough to suggest curiosity beneath the control. Her eyes did not waver from his.

"As though the night simply rearranges itself when you decide it should."

The words lingered between them, light in tone, though not without weight.

Her thumb brushed once against his hand, subtle and purposeful, before stilling again, the gesture neither invitation nor refusal—only recognition of the moment as it existed between them.

"And yet," she continued, her voice lowering just slightly, drawing the space inward rather than allowing it to drift into implication, "I find that the more interesting moments tend to resist that kind of certainty."

A pause followed—not long, but held just enough to let the thought settle.

"Particularly the ones that are worth remembering."

Her gaze held his, steady and unflinching, the faintest hint of a smile returning—not coy, not indulgent, but composed, controlled, and quietly assured.

There was no rejection in it.

But no acceptance either.

Instead, she shifted—subtly, with care—allowing just enough space to exist between them without withdrawing from his presence entirely. Her hand remained within his, though no longer anchored by it, the contact now something chosen rather than given.

"And I suspect," she added lightly, the thread of quiet amusement returning, "that a view—no matter how extraordinary—rarely improves for being anticipated too quickly."

The words settled with gentle precision, reframing rather than denying, acknowledging the offer without stepping into it.

Her attention did not waver from him, though something in her posture had changed—not retreat, but independence, a quiet reminder that she had not been carried into this moment.

She had stepped into it.

"Besides," she continued after a beat, her tone easing just enough to soften the edge without dulling it, "I tend to prefer understanding the conversation… before deciding how far it should go."

The faintest lift of her brow followed—not challenging, but curious, measured in its intent.

"And I find," she added, quieter now, more grounded in the moment than the performance around it, "that it's usually when nothing is being pushed… that people reveal what actually matters to them."

The air between them remained still—surface calm, something deeper beneath it moving in quiet alignment.

Her gaze held his.

"So tell me, Senator," she finished softly, the balance of the moment resting easily in her control now, "is this where you decide what's worth remembering…"

A slight pause, measured, allowing the weight of the question to settle between them like a stone dropped into still water.

"…or where you discover it?"

Tag: Dominic Praxon