Junction Exodus Crash || ME/SO Junction of Eshan & Tyra'Weilen

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren listened without interrupting as the conversation wound its way through mercy, spectacle, and holodrama tropes, her attention more often on the arena than on the speakers themselves. The rhythm of the place mattered to her more than the words did. The way the crowd leaned. The way fighters paced. The moments where noise fell away, and instinct took over.

When Varin offered to get seats and the crowd began to shift, she moved with them easily, unhurried, letting the others take the tighter spaces while she chose a position that allowed for a clear line of sight rather than proximity.

Only then did she speak.

"Footwork tells you intent long before a strike does," Seren said calmly, eyes tracking the fighters below rather than the group. "Distance shows confidence. Hesitation shows fear pretending to be strategy."

She glanced briefly toward Naniti, not judgmental, simply acknowledging a difference in instinct.

"There's value in the fight itself," she continued. "But there's also value in knowing when you're learning more by watching than by bleeding."

Her gaze shifted back to the arena as the crowd roared at a near miss.

"This place isn't about honor or fairness," Seren added quietly. "It's about performance under pressure. Who remembers themselves when everything else is noise."

She settled, posture relaxed, observant rather than detached.

"If they're worth watching," she finished, "we'll know in the first exchange."

And with that, Seren fell silent again, content to let the fight speak for itself.

Naniti Lysander von Ascania Varin Mortifer

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

Adelle Bastiel | Sibylla Abrantes | Merryn Sellek​

"Well met, Miss Bastiel."

Ivalyn inclined her head first toward the Mandalorian, the gesture respectful without familiarity, then allowed her attention to return to the conversation at large.

"Indeed, about as smoothly as one could reasonably hope for," she continued, her tone thoughtful rather than celebratory. A peaceful coronation was no small thing, not in this era. "Transitions of power are rarely so… merciful."

Her gaze shifted as Lady Abrantes stepped forward, Ambassador to the Mandalorian Empire, and Interim Queen of Naboo. The practiced ease with which the Nabooian extended her hand did not go unnoticed. There was a rhythm to it, a cultivated composure Ivalyn recognized at once. It reminded her, faintly, of the High Basileus. Perhaps all monarchs learned the same language of grace, regardless of world.

"The pleasure is mine," Ivalyn replied, meeting the gesture with equal poise, her handshake brief and assured. This was the register she reserved for heads of state, measured, attentive, unhurried. "Coronations have a way of drawing together more than just dignitaries. They invite observation… and reflection."

When Lady Abrantes remarked that Dosuun was not a name often heard beyond its borders, Ivalyn did not bristle. If anything, she seemed to consider the observation carefully.

"Then allow me," she said at last, her voice calm but deliberate, "to extend an open invitation, to you, Lady Abrantes, and to you as well, Miss Bastiel. Dosuun, and the Commonwealth more broadly, would welcome you."

She allowed a pause to settle between her words, intentional and unforced.

"It has been some time since Dosuun has taken part in broader galactic discourse. The last many recall of us was during the era of my kin, when Dosuun was known chiefly as a world of the First Order."

Her expression remained composed, but there was no evasion in her gaze.

"That chapter, however, has been closed for decades now."

 

[Varin Mortifer]

The spaces between the crowd only tightened as he made his way through. Walking past anyone and occasionally bumping them out of the way. Some would turn to say something to him before they would silence themselves and continue on, others would say something but Varin was on a mission. He promised good seats and Bogan's will, he will get them good seats.

He also had to remember to play nicely here. That was the hardest part. Normally he would grab the people sitting in their seats and toss them aside, he couldn't do that here. Though he was sure it would be entertaining.

“Hmm. Too close, too far…waaaay off center.”

He mumbled to himself as he gauged the different seats. His eye fell onto what seemed to be a well off richer fellow and his friends. They had The Perfect Seats. Varin's eyes narrowed as he walked closer. The four individuals were laughing and sloshing drinks as they watched the spectacle of near misses and hard impacts. Varin was missing the fight, unacceptable. He stood in front of them, his bulk covering most of the view.

“Where's your tickets?”

He asked quietly in a neutral tone. The four looked at each other confused. Varin eyed them all as an influence of rage washed over them. Their faces grew pale.

“No tickets? Then I will need to throw you out. If I'm nice you can keep your limbs.”

They all looked at him, the main individual wide eyed.

“Of course. We didn't mean any trouble.”

The man smirked.

“But you don't look like the normal security detail. Surely you're not here to interrupt a good show. Theres plenty of other seats you can choose. I suggest-”

He gagged as his throat slightly constricted. Varin’s glare digging into him as he looked him in the eye.

“Follow your suggestion. Move it.”

His eyes then found the group as they drew nearer.

“I'm the nice one here. The violet one, she is very passionate of her sports.”

The four men slowly stood up.

“What would she do?”

Varin smirked.

“I've seen what she can do with a spoon. It's painful, and not pretty.”

The four of them quickly shifted away as Varin turned to wave down the group.

Seren Gwyn | Lysander von Ascania | Naniti​

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Tags: Sibylla Abrantes | Ivalyn Yvarro | Merryn Sellek

Her greeting was acknowledged and her attempt at small talk seemed to pass muster. Good enough. The attention turned to Sibylla, who readily stepped into the conversation like it was part of a dance she knew by heart. Adelle allowed herself to relax ever so slightly. At her feet, Phantom adjusted her tiny curled up body to press against a foot. She'd find a moment to unobtrusively give her goodbyes to Sibylla, find out if the Mand'alor needed anything more from her, and head back to her ship.

"Then allow me," she said at last, her voice calm but deliberate, "to extend an open invitation, to you, Lady Abrantes, and to you as well, Miss Bastiel. Dosuun, and the Commonwealth more broadly, would welcome you."

She allowed a pause to settle between her words, intentional and unforced.

"It has been some time since Dosuun has taken part in broader galactic discourse. The last many recall of us was during the era of my kin, when Dosuun was known chiefly as a world of the First Order."

Her expression remained composed, but there was no evasion in her gaze.

"That chapter, however, has been closed for decades now."

The sound of her name snapped her back into the present. Dosuun was not a planet she knew existed within the Mandalorian Empire and if the Grand Vizier and her fiancée were here . . .

Behind the Blackwall.

"I would be honored," Adelle said evenly. Travelling to any planet in Sith space required certain clearances and authorizations, so a number of planets Adelle had been curious to see had been cut off from the galaxy by the Blackwall. More than that, refusing that kind of invitation from the Grand Vizier of the planet seemed rude.

And Whills knew Adelle wanted to avoid being the Mando that started an intergalactic diplomatic incident.

"What is Dosuun like?" she asked. As much as she'd have liked to ask how the Commonwealth government interacted with the Sith Imperial government, now hardly seemed the best time for that kind of discussion. "Truth be told, in spite of being well-traveled, I've never heard of it before."

Phantom uncurled from her feet, arched her back in a big stretch, then took a large, calculated leap onto Adelle's shoulder and chest. She settled down on her shoulders, eyes and ears alert. The orange high-vis service animal vest was nearly blinding next to Phantom's black fur and Adelle's black and blue accented armor. <<Want up high.>>

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naniti Varin Mortifer Seren Gwyn
​

One brow lifted and settled like it was stuck in hyperspace, a silent go on, between the crowd's cheers and the offhand offer of shoulders. If his co-apprentice considered looking his way for confirmation or any other form of encouragement, he’d find none. They were cool, sure. About as cool as two Sith could be without trying to kill one another over principles or pride. Just not like that.

Lysander didn’t even mind him taking the lead after. Far from Desevro, there wasn’t any sense of hierarchy to parse over. Varin clearly had his sights set and he was content to let things be. He stayed back too; they were a group in theory, but some part of him still wanted to keep pace with Naniti. There may have been some opinions on foods recently, but the Togruta’s gesture quickly made those fade away. Mirth resided at the edge of his expression as he bounced back and forth between her eyes and the bounty she carried.

And at the next lull, he reached out and plucked one of the bags. “This is awfully suspicious.” The suspicion itself made very little sense. “I doubt we’ll have to wait an entire season for the first clean hit.”

He counted himself a carnivore too; but he knew when something wasn't meant for him. A kernel popped up in an arc as he tilted his head back, set to catch it, but it bounced off his upper lip instead and hit the ground.

“The feet tell the truth before the hands learn how to lie,” the thought surfaced in regard to Seren without looking at her.

Performance under pressure tracked. It helped to fix on something you believed mattered, physical or verbal alike. At least.. that was what he told himself often.

Then, one heel eased back; the free hand was clearly uninterested in the curved lightsaber hilt. As Varin addressed the group, he slipped a glance back to Naniti for a second, another kernel lifted and placed where it actually belonged. Success.

An idea drifted back to where he had already been circling.

“I should probably warm up for my own bout before too long,” the sentence arrived as a conclusion. Sooner than later, but there was no harm in letting the pit show its hand first.

A grin threatened to break through, especially when the spoon entered the conversation. There was also a gagging sound that nearly earned a comment about the food quality here, until the blonde declined to voice it.

Not long after they moved off, he stepped past the space they’d vacated to claim a chair; but not before giving his brother a pat on the shoulder. “You handled that well,” came dryly. “And you really sold the spoon part. You should consider marketing, Varin.”

 

[Naniti]

The Togruta gave a small shrug as she carried a bundle. "I still prefer doing to watching, if I want to learn something." There wasn't really any disagreement, but having spent far too much time being trained the hard way anything else just didn't feel right. Not that Naniti couldn't learn by watching -- she wasn't a barbarian -- but it wasn't as much fun.

Speaking of doing, Lysander got to taking a bag of kernels from her clutches. Blue eyes regarded the man of unassailable confidence. So confident he tried his hand at an air-catch, and came up slightly short. "Well, right now, the eyes need to learn how to tell the truth before the hands lie again." No doubt he'd make some remark about compensating with footwork. Someday she'd have to make a crown so everyone knew how good his footwork was.

Narrowed eyes directed themselves over at Lysander as he stole a peek. He popped the next one in without issue.

Which had her attention snap back to the people Varin was threatening as if on cue. She channeled the mood into a glare for effect. Varin wasn't only big, he had a big mouth. See what she could do with a spoon! Man was going to find out what she could do with a spoon he kept bringing it up. Not that she'd attack him -- that'd just teardown an entire Hall on Desevro or something.

"On second thought," as if everyone had been in on her internal dialogue, "maybe I should have Varin help me demonstrate the effectiveness of using a spoon." The violet woman stepped forward to drop into a seat beside Lysander. A soft oath followed as she had to juggle the items in her arms from the jostling effect. Not her smoothest move, but it was fine.

"Now that's a fight I'd like to participate in," Naniti crowed as she elbowed Lysander. "Maybe later. It'll give me time to observe you to figure out how to break your guard."

Lysander von Ascania | Seren Gwyn | Varin Mortifer

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Adelle Bastiel Ivalyn Yvarro Merryn Sellek

Sibylla listened carefully, keeping her expression warm and cordial, all the while noting the measured honesty in Ivalyn's words. When the invitation was offered to come to Dosunn and the Commonwealth, she did not answer at once, allowing the moment its proper weight.

Afterall, that offer itself was a way to cross the Blackwall and see some of Sith space under a diplomatic invitation.

It was an offer she could not afford to ignore. One she would discuss with Aurelian after.

"That is a gracious offer," Sibylla said at last, her tone warm and composed. "And one I would be pleased to accept, for myself and for Naboo." Her hazel eyes softened slightly as she inclined her head.

"Worlds are often remembered only by their most difficult chapters. It is good to hear when one has chosen to write a new page."

She glanced briefly toward Adelle, acknowledging her acceptance with a small, encouraging nod, before returning her attention to the Grand Vizier.

"Perhaps this evening will allow us a beginning," Sibylla continued lightly, agreeing with Adelle's question, "if only in conversation. I am also curious as well to hear how Dosuun sees itself now -- not as it once was, but as it hopes to be."

All the while, Sibylla did her best to pay attention to her surroundings as the coronation moved from the crowning to the celebration.

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren did not comment immediately when Varin waved them down. She simply stepped into the space he had cleared, her posture composed, eyes flicking once over the vacated seats before settling on the pit again. The noise of the crowd pressed in from all sides, but she stood as though it bent around her rather than through her.

When Naniti made her remark about spoons, and Lysander smirked, Seren's mouth curved faintly, not quite a smile, but close enough to acknowledge the absurdity of it all.

"You didn't lie," she said at last, quietly, to Varin as she took her seat. "These are good seats."

Her gaze tracked the fighters below, not just their strikes, but the way weight shifted, the hesitation before commitment, the micro-adjustments that betrayed intent.

"And you didn't escalate unnecessarily," she added, tone even. "Which, given your instincts, is worth noting."

She leaned back slightly, the crowd's energy washing over her without dislodging her focus.

"Besides," Seren continued, a quiet thread of dry humor slipping in, "fear works best when it thinks it escaped intact."

Her eyes flicked briefly toward Naniti and Lysander as they bantered, then returned to the pit.

"Watch the left fighter's feet," she murmured, more to the group than anyone in particular. "He overcommits when the crowd reacts. The hands will follow the lie."

Only then did she settle fully, present in the moment, content to observe, to learn, and to let the spectacle unfold from exactly where they were.

Naniti Lysander von Ascania Varin Mortifer

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: OPEN //:
Posting to just move things along and allow Quinn to interact <3

The crown was placed on her head, the vows were spoken, and the power was finally in her hands. Yet, it didn't feel complete. Her eyes roamed the crowd, she saw faces she knew, faces that cared about her — but certain ones were missing. Her mother was too busy to come to see her ascend to the throne, becoming Eshan's new Queen. Maybe it was the process of how it occurred — it wasn't right.

But it was what had to be done.

Noelle wouldn't have allowed the Mandalorians to put their boots into the snow of Eshan. They had already burned the world; they had lost their right to even be respected on it. But here they were, placing her as their warden… their Queen.

Her eyes narrowed as she looked away from the crowd. They would not control her; they would not control Eshan. While they were the governing sphere of influence… under a Varanin, they were free.

Quinn exhaled, raised her hand, and made the vows. She was their Queen, and like her mother's children, hers would also sit upon this throne.

But that was another issue to handle.

---

//: Mercy //: Srina Talon //: CT-312 //: Reina Daival //:
​

The crowds had dispersed, and Quinn had found herself finally free of the necessary people. She had distanced herself a bit from Srina; she would circle back and talk with her mother later. A part of her felt guilty — she searched for Spencer and Ashin, but Srina was there. Srina had always been there.

Sighing softly, Quinn wondered if she took the woman for granted. Without Srina, she wouldn't be where she was, or who she is. Everything that Quinn had always come back to Srina. Pausing, she knew she needed to give the woman more credit — maybe Mercy was right. She needed to stop looking for their approval, because it would never come.

Srina's approval and her blessings were what should matter.

Perhaps this was a conversation they needed to have… later, of course.

Quinn interacted with those who wanted to say hello and offer their support. Her eyes lingered on CT-312, then on Mercy, and lastly on Reina. Three she had expected, but in the same breath didn't. Mercy and Reina were the two who surprised her the most. They didn't seem like the types that wandered into coronation ceremonies.

She laughed lightly; of the three, she expected the one to burst into flame the moment the crown appeared. The woman hated responsibility, especially the one that came with their birthright.

Quinn smiled softly in Mercy's direction. The woman would have made a great sovereign if she had decided to want it.

She was a free spirit, and Quinn found herself jealous.

 

[Reina Daival]

Tag: Aselia Verd Quinn Varanin
Location: Eshan
Outfit


Security wasn't overtly hard work. She was making sure no-one was drinking themselves stupid. There weren't any fights going on. Yet every so often, her gaze always flickered off in the direction of Quinn, a slight smile playing on the Ersansyr's lips as she watched what parts of the ceremony she could. It did make her realise that the one upside of Reina's security job was that she didn't have to walk around in a dress. She could keep her gear on her person at the same time.

Yet the groups were finally starting to disperse. Some of the spectators finally leaving, as Reina's eyes darted around the hall, biting her lip in thought as she debated to herself. Her hand reaching down amidst her robes to pull out the hilt of her original lightsaber. It hadn't been ignited in a long time, for Reina had saw no reason to. It had been the weapon of a Jedi. Of a Knight. Something that Reina hadn't been for a long time. Her gaze then flickered over towards Aselia, as the Ersansyr took in a deep breath.

"I'll...be back in a moment."

With that, she headed off into the crowd, carefully making her way through. Being amongst a group was still something she didn't quite cope well with. Paranoia was something that was strong within the redhead, as she felt the constant sensation of being watched. A feeling that only ever happened when she was on the move, when she couldn't take a look at her surroundings, but her gaze was firmly focused ahead of herself, on Quinn Varanin . The Queen of Eshan. Her laughter reaching Reina's ears, as the Ersansyr's face broke out into a wide grin. Whilst she might be the one who was meant to be a siren, that laugh was one of the most beautiful sounds in the Galaxy.

"Quinn. It's nice to see you again. Real nice. Though would you prefer me to call you Your Majesty now?"

Eyes. It felt like there were so many eyes staring at her as she stood near Quinn, still debating over things in her head. In a way, it was strange. Quinn had just been coronated, was the Queen of Eshan, and Reina still just saw her as...Quinn. Not as a Sith, not as a Queen. Which in fact made what she wanted to say even harder.

"I...have something...I want to say. But...I..."

Words had never been a strong suit for Reina. She had always been a woman of action. And so she decided to do so. The redhead dropped down to her knee, her hand gripped around the hilt of her lightsaber so tightly that her knuckles were turning white, before she offered the lightsaber up towards Quinn.

"...I've been lost, wandering through the Galaxy, since the Alliance fell. Taking jobs where I could. Looking for a place to belong. Not anymore..."
​

"Dreams that we have as children are sometimes the most honest we'll ever be."​

"...I told you that it was a dream of mine to serve a Princess. And you said I shouldn't give up on that dream...So...well, you might not be a Princess anymore but..."

A slight smile made its way on the Ersansyr's face as she glanced up towards Quinn, holding her lightsaber out still.

"I pledge my blade to you, Quinn Varanin. Queen of Eshan. My Queen."

And with that, she lowered her head ever so slightly, focusing on her breathing. The racing of her own heart as she couldn't quite believe what she had said...before she quickly whispered out.

"That...That wasn't too much...right?"​

 

[Mercy]

Tag: Quinn Varanin | Reina Daival | Srina Talon | CT-312

The ceremony had been solemn, but not too long either, which wasn't a surprise to Mercy.

The Echani were always an efficient bunch. Just do what you needed to do, get on with it. Instead of doing a lot of pomp and splendor that just wasted everyone's time. In Tionese society something as simple as a coronation could stretch out for days. The pre-coronation, the coronation, the post-coronation, a dozen other rituals in between... it would have been maddening.

So why was Mercy feeling so nostalgic after watching the crown be put on her head?

She would have congratulated Quinn, but a young girl got there first with a pep in her step. Nervous energy or excitement... perhaps both. And the way she rattled off that entire dialogue, it seemed to Mercy Reina had been practicing it.

No, Mercy didn't have the heart to interrupt that cute little moment.

Instead the large Sith woman pulled her pipe out of her inner-pocket. It was a reasonable assessment you weren't allowed to smoke in the throne room of Eshan, but this hadn't been her first time here. The first time in this context, yes, but she had been Quinn's guest many times before. So few of the attendants could truly be surprised when they saw her starting to stuff her pipe with tobacco.

One already promptly rushed forward with a little platter offered.

"Oh, you are sweet." Patting the head of the young woman before holding the pipe over the platter to continue to stuff it full. At least this way she wouldn't mar the floor.

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

"Dosuun is a beautiful world, our greatest city was founded by a kinsmen of mine." Ivalyn began with a smile, "it is a light in the darkness. Our gracious river Fortuna runs through it, although perhaps you can see it in person."

Ivalyn gave an inclination of her head as Sibylla's tone was warm and composed, the Grand Vizier was pleased as Lady Abrantes spoke of how worlds were remembered. "Indeed, it is well for a nation to continue on, to learn and grow." The blonde looked down to her better half and then back at Miss Bastiel and Lady Abrantes. "As it so happens, myself and Miss Sellek are to wed in the old capital of Avalonia on Dosuun."

"I shall have a formal invitation sent to you both, and you can see and hear how Dosuun now sees itself, along with our hopes and admiration." Ivalyn remarked, "I shall leave you two, to your previous conversation and perchance that we should all meet again."

Adelle Bastiel | Sibylla Abrantes ​

 

[Aselia Verd]

She watched Reina step away, felt the weight of the moment pass from her like a tide pulling back from shore, and let it go. The crowd was loosening, ceremony giving way to motion. Voices rose, chairs shifted, the careful stillness of the coronation dissolving into something more fluid and unpredictable. That was when problems tended to surface not in the vows, but in the aftermath.

Aselia exhaled slowly and moved.

She did not linger in one place. She drifted through the edges of the gathering with practiced ease, boots quiet against stone, presence unassuming despite the armor. Her helmet remained sealed, HUD alive with feeds from perimeter drones, ship patrols, internal sensors layered over her natural awareness. Names didn't matter. Faces did.

She catalogued posture. Tension. The way certain guests leaned too close, or laughed too loudly. A clenched jaw here. A hand that hovered too near a concealed weapon there. Nothing overt. Nothing actionable.

Aselia paused briefly near one of the outer arches, letting the light catch the edge of her beskar as she turned her head, scanning the gardens beyond. Clear skies. Clean signals. No sudden gaps in coverage. No ships deviating from assigned vectors.

Her attention flicked back toward the heart of the gathering not to Reina specifically, but to the whole of it. The Queen. The alliances implied simply by who stood where. Who chose to be seen, and who chose the shadows.

Aselia continued on, unhurried, alert, content to let the celebration breathe while she made sure nothing tried to choke it.

TAG: Reina Daival + Open
​

 

[Warpriest Prime]

​

O B J E C T I V E | Coranation
L O C A T I O N | Eshan
G E A R | Gjallerhorn

Quinn Varanin | Aether Verd | Gerwald Lechner | Korda Veydran

O P E N​

Snow drifted through the open arches of the Palace of the Matron like a held breath finally released, catching in the torchlight and turning the air itself ceremonial. By the time Domina Prime arrived, Estin was already deep in its quiet calculations. Alliances murmured beneath silk and steel. Futures weighed in glances rather than vows.

She came not with thunder, but with intent.

The great doors parted to admit her, and for a moment the hum of the hall shifted, subtle but undeniable. Purple cloth flowed over black armor worked to a mirror sheen, sigils etched fine enough to reward a second look. Her helm remained sealed, yet her presence carried the familiar pressure of something ancient and coiled, deliberately leashed. Mandalorian escorts halted at the threshold, formation pristine, leaving Prime to advance alone. A courtesy. A statement.

Late, yes. But unmistakably worth the wait.

She moved through the courts with measured steps, tail swaying in a slow, pleased arc behind her, five eyes taking in everything at once. Sith dignitaries clustered like embers around fresh tinder. Echani matrons watched with stillness sharpened by generations of discipline. Where recognition sparked, Domina offered it back. A nod to Lysander von Ascania , respectful and edged with the memory of crossed blades. A curl of her fingers toward Korda Veydran , flame acknowledging flame. A brief incline of her head to Adelle Bastiel . To Gerwald Lechner , hand of Srina Talon , she gave a glance that carried shared understanding and an unspoken tally of debts and favors yet to come.

At the heart of it all stood Quinn Varanin

The future queen had not yet taken her crown in it's full weight, but already the mountain was forming beneath her feet. One by one, warriors knelt. Blades lowered. Oaths whispered with the intimacy of prayer. Domina slowed and stopped just behind the gathered line, arms coiling neatly behind her back as she allowed the moment its due. This was not hers to claim. Not today.

Her gaze lifted briefly to the galleries where Aether Verd stood, imperial and composed. One of her hands unfolded in a small, almost playful wave, dainty in a way that felt earned rather than ironic. Emperor acknowledged.

Only then did she reach for her Gjallerhorn.

The motion was casual, practiced, as natural as breath. She tipped it back, drank deep, and lowered it again with a soft, satisfied exhale that fogged the air inside her helm.

"Sorry I'm late," she chimed, voice warm and bright despite the steel beneath it. "Had to finish the Queen's coronation gift."

There was genuine delight there. Pride, even. The kind reserved for work done by one's own hands, engraved and blessed with care that bordered on reverence. Her tail swished once more, betraying her excitement as her attention returned fully to Quinn, five eyes settling with intent focus.

She tilted her head slightly, posture relaxed but attentive, every inch the Warpriest choosing restraint over spectacle.

"So," Dima added lightly, curiosity threading through her tone as she glanced at the kneeling figures and the banners above them. "What'd I miss? Aside from the trading of crowns and the ceremonial blade-baring."

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Tags: Sibylla Abrantes | Ivalyn Yvarro | Open

It seemed Adelle hadn’t done irreparable damage by opening her mouth and speaking. She did find it strange to receive and feel encouraged from someone so much younger when Sibylla gave her a nod of encouragement. Her old Order had stressed that age was not necessarily an indicator of wisdom and even elders could learn from children, but her experience had usually reinforced the typical: experience led to wisdom and the young lacked as much experience as those older than them.

"Indeed, it is well for a nation to continue on, to learn and grow." The blonde looked down to her better half and then back at Miss Bastiel and Lady Abrantes. "As it so happens, myself and Miss Sellek are to wed in the old capital of Avalonia on Dosuun."

"I shall have a formal invitation sent to you both, and you can see and hear how Dosuun now sees itself, along with our hopes and admiration." Ivalyn remarked, "I shall leave you two, to your previous conversation and perchance that we should all meet again."

Adelle kept the shock off her face. A formal invitation to the wedding of a Grand Vizier. This would make the fifth person of great importance that Adelle had a personal interaction with, beyond a mere acknowledgement. She inclined her head towards Grand Vizier Yvarro.

“You have my heartfelt thanks and congratulations on your upcoming marriage,” Adelle said. Internally, she comforted herself with the idea that the invitation might include a request for security services. A flat out invitation as a guest made her feel all kinds of awkward. “I look forward to seeing Dosuun in person.”

Yvarro’s exit was all but overshadowed by a late entry. The towering form of Warpriest Prime entered the throne room in Palace of the Matron with all the subtlety of a Star Destroyer coming out of hyperspace. Adelle nodded towards the warpriest when she caught her gaze, remembering the forge lessons the intimidating alien had given freely.

Adelle returned her attention to Sibylla. “I understand if your official duties must call you away, but thank you. For saying hi.”

“Although,” she said dryly, smirking, “perhaps we should have conversations not during coronations.”

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Sibylla watched the Grand Vizier depart, the promise of future correspondence already settling into place like another marker on an ever-lengthening map. A formal invitation to a wedding on Dosuun was no small thing, and Sibylla made a mental note to ensure Naboo responded with the care such an offer deserved.

The late arrival of the Warpriest Prime drew her attention enough to tip her head back at the sheer height of the woman. Certainly, she'd been introduced to many different races across the Republic's domain, but Warpriest Prime would be a first.

Nonetheless, Sibylla did her best to acknowledge with the same calm courtesy she afforded any power that announced itself loudly, then let her focus return to Adelle Bastiel , her expression softening at the Mandalorian's words with genuine warmth.

"I always welcome your presence and conversation," Sibylla replied lightly, as if it were the simplest truth in the galaxy. "Even during coronations."

At Adelle's dry addendum, Sibylla's lips curved with quiet amusement.

"A sensible preference," she agreed. "Though the galaxy does seem determined to make its introductions at the most dramatic moments..."

She glanced once toward the hall and then back to Adelle, lowering her voice conspiratorially.

"Come -- before another dignitary arrives with a proposal, a treaty, or a wedding invitation," she added with a gentle quip, "I believe we going to get drinks.....and after this evening, I find myself very much in favor of keeping that promise."

 

[Aston Hawk]

Tags: Quinn Varanin Mercy Srina Talon CT-312 Reina Daival
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Quite late to the proceedings, Aston Jacobs arrived at the edge of the hall just as the final echoes of ceremony faded into applause and murmurs. He did not announce himself. He never had a talent for that. Instead, he stood still for a moment, taking in the sight before him, eyes settling on the figure at the center of it all.

His niece.

The crown sat on Quinn's head with a naturalness that unsettled him. Not because she did not deserve it, but because it made painfully clear how much of her life he had missed. He had been a shadow at best, a name spoken in passing, if it was. An absence justified by duty, life, distance, and a hundred reasons that felt thin now. There was no excuse for it and he wasn't going to try to make one.

Aston exhaled slowly, steadying himself, then made his way forward once the crowd thinned enough to allow it. His steps were measured, respectful, as if approaching something sacred. He stopped a few paces away and inclined his head, a gesture carrying more humility than formality.

"You wear it well," he said quietly, voice roughened by time and regret rather than age. He bowed his head again. "Your majesty, congratulations."

"It's good to see you. I know, words cannot excuse my absence from your life for so long. I would like to make amends at your convenience. If you ever need support, or simply someone to speak freely to, do not hesitate to reach out. I mean that."

He did not reach for her, did not assume closeness he had not earned. Instead, he offered a small, sincere smile, one built on pride and the quiet resolve to be present at last, should she choose to let him. Aston then took a few steps back as he stood off to the side, to not get in the way of others, wishing to congratulate.

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

When Sibylla mentioned leaving before someone else important approached, Adelle shared a wry smile.

“Please,” she said, self-deprecating humor in her tone. “Important people aren’t my thing. I don’t know why you and Aurelian even remember me.”

Phantom’s tail flicked as Adelle shifted, the tip brushing her cheek. She reached a hand up to run gloved fingers through black fur.

“Well, I guess almost choking to death over a joke would be pretty memorable.”

She looked around the crowded hall, noting that the mercenary that had been posted near Aselia Verd had disappeared. But she didn’t see anyone that looked like Sibylla’s security.

“I know you didn’t travel here without at least one bodyguard,” Adelle said, lowering her voice. “Do you need to go collect him before we explore Eshan?”

She looked down at her armor. “And do you mind if I run back to my ship to change first? There’s . . . history, here, that I don’t feel like getting into the middle of.”

 

[CT-312]

//: Quinn Varanin | OPEN //:
//: Outfit //:
//: OBJECTIVE 1: THE CORONATION//:​

CT-312 was aware of the invisible and immense pressure in the air. It gathered thickly as it came in opposing tides. Cold gravity pulled in around the Sith, dense and absolute. While the Light currents threaded through the hall in a subtler fashion, moving brighter and quieter. Where the dark pressed and consumed, the light endured. CT-312 stood emotionless between both currents, body registering the difference even if her mind could not fully explain it. She’d refused to let it dictate her.

Her attention remained anchored to her duty as the ceremony reached its conclusion. When the Empress spoke, the phrase resonated through the chamber. It settled into the silence left behind by the ritual and ascension. CT-312 heard it clearly, yet the impact reached deeper than it sounded. It settled somewhere beneath conscious thought, stirring something she had not expected. She found herself repeating the words before she could stop herself.

“Long live the Queen.”

The response was immediate and automatic. CT-312’s arm rose in a clean motion, snapping into a formal salute. Her posture locked into perfect alignment as the dark military dress uniform settled softly. Gloved fingers reached the edge of her brow with exactness, the gesture held firm and unwavering. There CT-312 remained for a moment before settling back into a parade rest.

Her eyes moved across the crowd, observing. Studying the subtle reactions that rippled outward from the throne. Some expressions betrayed how they truly felt, with the weight of Eshan’s history continuing forward though Quinn. CT-312’s attention returned to the Queen. Seeing her look at the Scouts direction briefly before redirecting elsewhere. Instinctively, CT-312 trailed the direction to two figures she recognized. Mercy and Reina Daival .

CT-312 stepped forward. Prepared to resume her position behind the Queen, but paused mid-step. A subtle shift in awareness drew her attention sideways to the Empress, Srina Talon , who stood within proximity. Pivoting towards, CT-312’s posture remained respectful but unyielding. She inclined her head in acknowledgement. “Empress.” Her tone came out calm and steady. Professional. “Is there something to your dissatisfaction?” The question carried no presumption, just observation.

The Scout’s focus settled once more on the Queen. Watching as Reina approached and lowered herself to one knee, extending her lightsaber forward in offering. The gesture unmistakable in its meaning. A pledge. Loyalty. The word surfaced in CT-312’s mind with an unexpected weight and an unpleasant memory. It did not sit easily. A faint distant hollowness followed in its wake. Without realizing it, her gloved hand tightened behind her back.

Fingers curled inward, leather stretching across her knuckles as the fist formed. The motion was subtle, concealed by posture and discipline. Her expression and composure did not change nor faltered. Mercy approached next, then another unfamiliar individual moved nearby, Aston Hawk . CT-312 silently remained. Realizing, exactly where she was meant to be.