Faction Future Regents Dinner [THR]

[Vemric Keldra]

KELDRA
KADAARA | NABOO
TAG: Aurelian Veruna guess what bish | Open

CONCERTO​

The invitation.

It sparked a raised eyebrow from Vemric when Bella sent it through to him. The transition to Christophsis may have been natural, but it wasn't the easiest for the Sephi. He had his personal reservations about the economic benefits of subjecting the Confederacy to the Republic. The only thing that gave him some modicum of peace was the fact that the full Confederate Armed Forces remained at his disposal.

And he might bring it all down on this would-be sovereign's head.

Vemric had to hand it to the boy, however. He wasn't one to sit on his hands like Kalantha had. The Sephi might not like the young man's attitude, but as a military veteran, he couldn't deny results and that gave the old-Nabooian some hope for the planet yet.

"Sir, what am I RSVPing?" Bella asked shyly, clutching her datapad to her chest as she watched the marbled face growing dark.
Sky-coloured eyes lifted to look at his aide as if waking from a dream.
"Well, I figure I should be there, don't you?"

Now, the Confederate Head of State swept into the hall in a flurry of starlight material. As usual, he wasn't late - everyone else was simply early and clambering to socialise. The time has long since passed for the Sephi to be one of those plebians wishing to cement alliances or corporate interest. There was only one that mattered in this entire room and Vemric saw right through the nursing-whisky facade.

His tall stature moved through the room, elegantly picking up a crystal of red as he went. He'd be remiss if he did not enjoy a Naboo vintage while being on Naboo - after all, he once had a vineyard in the country too in life long past.

Vemric briefly glanced at another child that had dared grab his interest in her silence within the Assembly the couple of times he had been there. The one Sibylla Abrantes had been serving under was, quite frankly, a simpleton. But the Sephi's keen gaze had caught the young woman's facial expressions a couple of times. He was fairly certain he would not support most of what she had to say, but the old veteran's instinct told him, she would at least keep his attention, unlike the blubbering representative of Enarc. Vemric wagered he'd end up enlisting Misha Kaskadov 's economic insights more than ever while being in this neck of the space woods.

Then Vemric finally looked at the thorn in his side, merely lifting an eyebrow in greeting of the would-be monarch. Then, in dismissal, he turned his back on Aurelian to listen to Bella who had finally caught up with her boss. ​

 

[Lossa Aureus]

Outfit |​

The invitation was met with a cold glare.

High society and all the posh berating behind gilded words could stuff it for as much as she was concerned about things. The newsletter or whatever it was called had put her in a properly sour mood about nobility and all that came with it.

A jab at her was something she could easily ignore.

As she had done for so many years now. Family was a different matter but could be managed. But to take a stab at her daughter?

She had wanted to destroy something to get the feeling out. One that burned bright and hot like a sun when those words had come into view.

She was still seething when a thought struck. As much as it was terrible, it was equally enjoyable. Her daughter had done nothing to deserve the attention. But if they wanted to lay their attentions onto the undeserving of such scrutiny, she may as well have taken a jab at them as well.

—————​

The speeder came to an easy halt outside. Mother and daughter dressed in similar enough outfits to be a pair. Enough fabric for Zeriana to hide herself in while still allowing for elegance. While Zeriana was in a much less elegant but tastefully poofy dress.

Making their entrance carefully enough until Zeriana came to a halt and tugged at her mother's dress.

Feelings in the air already getting to her without the comforting efforts of her mother as she spoke a touch louder than she should have.

"These people mean?" Her voice hinted at already knowing fear despite being so young.

Lossa stooped and picked up her daughter with one arm easily as she smiled. "No Starlight. These are nice people. If the mean people are here, they will say they are sorry."

Ruby eyes scanned the room as she spoke. Some familiar faces and most unfamiliar to her as she decided where to move to next.

"If you get sleepy, just let me know, huh?" A smile replaced the chilly frown Lossa had directed at the room.

A playful bounce bringing a slight smile to Zeriana's face as well as the two moved into the gathering without as much care as they had shown entering.

Mobile posting, tag me​

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic matched her smile with one of his own as she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. He allowed their pace to remain unhurried, enough to be seen without appearing to put on a performance. Already he felt the room shifting. Gazes slid toward them with all the hunger of the planet’s rumor mill. He did not need to look to know Veruna had noticed.

“Ah, families,” he said lightly, his voice for her alone. “They always have the sharpest tongues, do they not? Your father and mine could fill the Swan’s next column between them.”

His amusement morphed to something a little more intentionally provocative. “Take heart, Lady Sorelle. We shall give your father far more things for which to rebuke you...should I have my way.”

Her mention of the column’s gossip on Veruna and Sibylla drew the faintest flicker of bemusement across his lips. “I did read it. I suppose the Swan believes no gathering is complete without whispered scandal. It seems none of us are safe from wandering eyes.” He let the thought hang conspiratorially, before adding, “but perhaps it suits us to be seen as the ones worth watching.”

The pair moved with deliberate grace toward Cassian Abrantes. Dominic noted his bearing, holding the posture of a man who measured others carefully. Loria’s presence at his side gave Dominic confidence enough to let the attention rest on them both, rather than on him alone.

“My Lord Abrantes,” Dominic greeted warmly, taking the man’s hand in a firm clasp. “It is long overdue that we meet. Your reputation for steadiness precedes you, and Naboo is well served by sons who carry themselves with such composure.” He inclined his head, a mark of genuine respect rather than hollow flattery.

“And may I say, I am pleased we are able to begin this evening together. Lady Sorelle and I were remarking how quickly words spread across our fair world. It is a comfort, then, to speak plainly face to face rather than through the pen of some faceless columnist.”

His smile broadened, though his eyes held a seriousness behind the courtesy. “I trust, like myself, you see this dinner for what it truly is. It being an opportunity to gauge the measure of those who would shape Naboo’s path. I would value your perspective on it, and I hope we may speak freely before the night is through.”

There was so much movement to distract, but none did until Bastila Sal-Soren’s arrival. Her figure aglow in defiance of the setting sun. Relief struck him, quickly pressed down beneath politics. She was here, luminous even in her fragile state. He instinctively tugged on Loria's arm, as his body made an unintended attempt to go to Bastila. But she simply saw him, and chose not to engage. That, was a message.

His gaze had wandered for barely a heart beat, but he found it reluctant to return to Cassian. Still, it did. Politics first. Always politics. There was no emotion in politics. Besides, he had a Lady to woo.

Direct: Cassian Abrantes Loria Sorelle
Indirect: Bastila Sal-Soren Aurelian Veruna​

 

[Jael Amnen]

Gown​

Mother guide me in the halls of power. Speak through me and grant your will be done in me.

Jael's silent prayer had been her great comfort as she stepped out of a world of ease and calm, serving the attendees of her grove, into a world of subtly and vice. Chommel Minor already felt so very far away. The Priestess clutched her silver, crescent pendant and held it against her chest.

Mother guide me in the halls of power. Speak through me and grant your will be done in me.

The gentle urge of inertia awoke her mind to her arrival. She had missed the scenery, missed the vista, all for her nervousness at stepping out onto the stage of nobility. But the blessed Mother granted her peace, her silver gaze fixing on the moment ahead.

She descended into the gathering like a vision of the Mother's light. Her gown was spun of gossamer silver-white, its fabric shifting as though woven from starlight itself. A wrap of translucent layers crossed her bodice, anchored by slender straps upon her shoulders, before flowing down into a skirt slit high along one thigh. With every step, the garment seemed alive. It glimmered with hidden jewels embroidered into the sheer fabric, faint starbursts winking in and out of sight with her movement.

Her long braids, dusted pale as though kissed by frost, swept over one shoulder, onyx beads threaded among them to catch the lantern-light. At her throat lay a crescent pendant, simple but radiant, resting against skin that shimmered faintly as though touched by some divine blessing. She seemed touched by otherworldly poise and grace, a reminder to the nobles present that faith and religion had their own kind of power in Naboo’s halls.

Aurelian Veruna Vemric Keldra Cassian Abrantes Her Raylin Fall Sibylla Abrantes John Locke Lossa Aureus Kael Varnok Corazona von Ascania Loria Sorelle Bastila Sal-Soren Roman Vossari Decarii Tithe

@OPEN - Please say hello​

 

[Loria Sorelle]

LORIA SORELLE
Kaadara Estate, Naboo

As the two began their venture through the hall, Loria held her polite and charming smile for all to see. She kept her eyes forward as she felt a number of eyes shifting towards the pair- fuel for conversation, no doubt.

The hall still continued to fill with guests, though her attention remained upon Dominic still. 'Indeed you both could,' she mused, her practiced smile turning sincere within seconds. Though her next words rendered her speechless, 'I-'

She nudged him gently, amusedly, coyly. Though it wasn't long until she couldn't help but smile at him, her face flushed at the thought of those around hearing his words. 'Might we share such talk until more private moments, perhaps?' she whispered through her smile.

Her grin slowly dissipated at the mention of the 'Swan' once again. 'While the Swan's views are... questionable, we could at least admit that their perspectives are somewhat interesting,' she spoke with the confidence of a learned scholar this time, her words flowing naturally.

'Scandals, gossip, while we may not agree with the words said, they're still worth considering. The least we can do is hope that this... 'Swan' is unbiased in their views.'

She felt she made her point sufficiently, and that her words would sufficiently throw Dominic off her scent- at least momentarily.

The two continued their journey, now meandering towards Cassian Abrantes at a gentle yet pace. Arms interlocked, she enjoyed his company even though she knew she shouldn't. Her heart felt warmer every second they spent together, and she felt drawn to him at every chance meeting...

'Lord Abrantes,' she offered her hand politely. She listened along to Dominic as he led the conversation, agreeing and nodding with him as he progressed. Though her face may have twitched slightly at the mention of a 'faceless columnist.'

'It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lord Abrantes- the night is young and it is shaping up to be a... riveting evening,' she smirked to herself, her polite words holding more than one meaning.

The air shifted as the hall fell silent. Loria's eyes turned to the reason, and her breath caught at the sight: Bastila, the monarch-elect, alive, upright, and here. Respect stirred in her chest- Bastila's presence alone transformed the Regent's Dinner into something pivotal, perhaps even history-defining.

But her sense of occasion fractured in an instant. Dominic's arm tugged sharply against hers, his attention momentarily focused on Bastila. She felt the change as keenly as a chill. Slowly, carefully, she let her hand slip from his, hovering just short of retreat.

She hesitated. Part of her urged composure, to smile as if nothing shifted as they turned their attention back to Cassian. Yet another part- the quieter, sharper instinct- sensed more. Her heart fluttered uneasily as her thoughts turned over.

And for the first time, Loria began to wonder if Dominic was truly who he claimed to be.

Interacting with Dominic Praxon & Cassian Abrantes .
Referencing the Society Papers of Naboo, Vol. 1 by The Swan of Solleu (x)

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Loria Sorelle Dominic Praxon

"The honor is all mine, and please, Cassian is well enough. And I would be honored to give you my perspective. And gossip can be troublesome at times. Yet, not all gossip is....'" The Eldest Son spoke with a easy smile, yet he listened, weighing each phrase as one might test coin for its true metal. Dominic's greeting bore the polish of courtly manners, but Cassian detected the careful calibration beneath it respect offered without subservience, compliments that sought to affirm without overindulgence.

He knows the form well, he thought, his expression unreadable save for the faint curve of acknowledgment at Dominic's mention of steadiness. But form is not substance. Let us see how deep this river runs.

'It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lord Abrantes- the night is young and it is shaping up to be a... riveting evening,'

"There was gossip about your beauty, and I'm glad they were right. It's truly a pleasure M'lady."

He had seen reputations rise and fall on rumor alone, and while the younger generation bristled under the weight of whispers, he had long since learned their futility. Still, the fact that Dominic raised it so quickly told him much, the young man was acutely aware of how perception shaped power, perhaps more than the realities themselves. But then, a shift. Subtle, yet clear to Cassian's seasoned eye, that all seeing eye he seemingly possessed. As Bastila Sal-Soren entered, Dominic's entire bearing altered, if only for a breath.

The tug upon Lady Sorelle's arm, the unguarded pull of his gaze, the involuntary movement of one whose heart betrayed him before his mind could still it. It was fleeting, buried swiftly beneath practiced composure, yet it revealed more than any polished phrase. And then Loria. Cassian's eyes, sharp as a hawk's, caught the subtle withdrawal of her hand, the hesitation masked beneath polite silence. She had felt it too, that ripple of misalignment, that revelation that Dominic's attentions were not wholly her own.

Cassian took a subtle deep breath at the moment of quiet consideration as Dominic returned his focus. Ah, he mused, there lies the fissure. Charm and calculation make fine armor, but they cannot conceal where a man's heart is set. Politics may be without emotion, but men never are.

His features betrayed nothing as he inclined his head lightly, granting Dominic the courtesy of resuming his case. Yet inwardly, Cassian marked the moment with precision. One day, he suspected, it would matter. So the mask slips, and the lady notices. Fascinating. He might think politics demanded the burying of emotions, but Cassian knew better: emotions were politics. They guided loyalties, cracked alliances, and unraveled the best of schemes.

Ah, at long last, there he was... Aurelian Veruna in all his glory...

Cassian happened upon a small glance but then paid him no more mind as he looked back to his present company, and then another showed up.

Jael Amnen

Cassian's attention, ever practiced in parsing the movements of others, shifted as a new presence entered the hall. At first, it was simply movement against the lantern-lit backdrop, a flicker of silver-white amid the warmer tones of silk and gilt. And then he truly saw her. She descended into the gathering as if the room itself bent around her. Every detail, spoke of deliberation, intention, of power far beyond the casual manners of most nobles. She carried herself with a poise that demanded attention, yet it was not the arrogance of privilege as it was the quiet certainty of faith, a steady radiance that reminded all who watched that influence came in many forms.

He gave faintest hint of approval in the measured tilt of his head. Faith is a power all its own, he thought. And she wields it with intent. Cassian did not move to interfere, did not speak; he merely observed, cataloging the interplay, aware that this night had just gained an entirely new axis.

Cassian took in another deep breath, as he reached for a glass from a passing server. He raised the glass to his lips for a small taste.

The battlefield was so much easier than this.

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic's grip on Cassian's hand was firm and respectful. Held just long enough for decorum's sake. Dominic's smile held steady, but his eyes carried a measure of intent. He knew he was being studied by Abrantes.

"That is kind of you, Cassian," Dominic replied with a gracious dip of the head, "and I would dare not delay substantive conversation with mere pleasantries. Naboo has little patience left for performances. The people have suffered greatly. The measure of us must be in what we preserve, and what we build. Wouldn't you agree?" Politics. Always politics.

As he spoke, he turned his gaze to Loria, his voice carrying just enough for Cassian to hear. "For instance, Lady Sorelle and I are preparing a public reading of The Lake Accords at the Praxon Estate. A first edition, vellum and ink intact. The words that bound Theed and Otoh Gunga a thousand years ago deserve to be heard again in this season of change."

His hand brushed lightly against hers, pressing it back into place upon his arm, as though restoring something almost lost. The gesture was gentle, yet deliberate. There was apology in gesture. His eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than courtesy demanded, carrying with them both presence and a fleeting concern. She had seen through his lapse. He saw it in her eyes. For the briefest heartbeat, he wondered if her absence would leave the room colder...even unbearably so.

His smile returned, sharpening as he looked back to Cassian. "The gossip columns aside," he continued smoothly, "I find the truth more compelling when it is read aloud in the open, before all who would listen. If we cannot honor our history, how can we expect to guide Naboo's future?"

He noted Abrantes' distraction when a rather stunning woman entered the room. It was as if the room gasped, but Cassian's gaze lingered. "Cassian. You are invited to attend the reading, should you wish. I have matters of great weight to discuss about the future of our beloved Naboo. Should I win this election," he glanced apologetically at Loria, "I should hope to have your aide in bettering the lot of our people. House Abrantes and House Praxon...need not be strangers."

He glanced back toward the woman that had caught Cassian's eye. She was already being orbited as noblemen sought an approach. "Should you not go now...I fear you shall not speak with her. Off with you, now."

Cassian Abrantes Loria Sorelle​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

"That is what makes you different from most in this hall."

"Different?"

Cora frowned. Not in displeasure, but in consideration. Darkness peppered itself into the Force for a moment, stirring the smoke demon's essence that had buried itself into her heart. Her next breath rattled, and she coughed lightly into her palm of her hand.

Then, it receded as quickly as it had come. One finely manicured brow arched as Cora drew in a slower, clearer breath.

"Everyone carries their own burdens. Some are more visible than others, both to the eye," her free hand gestured along the hoverchair, "and within the Force."

The hushing crowd drew her attention to the entrance of Bastila Sal-Soren . A woman once thought to have bowed out of Naboo's stage, returned like a steady, unyielding wind despite her injuries.

Cora’s gaze flicked to the congregation of partygoers. Nearly each aristocrat was polished to perfection - perhaps hiding the cracks beneath the surface, cracks that had formed from the inescapable pressures brought about by their station in life.

They were good at hiding it.

"You see?" She tilted her gaze back toward Kael, lifting her glass. "What I carry is frightfully common."

Cora did not see Aurelian Veruna when he first took note of her crippled visage. She only caught sight of their host, who'd undone the buttons of his shirt just enough to bear a scoundrel's worth of chest, at the exact moment where his mask slipped for a microsecond.

His line of sight was followed to a pretty young woman wearing a dark, elegant dress.

Cora recognized that stare. How could she not? She'd written it dozens of times. That moment when you catch sight of them, where the world took a moment to narrow onto the turn of their jaw, the shape of their lips, the depth of their eyes…

No mask, however iron wrought, could conceal it entirely.

The corners of her lips lifted into the faint line of a knowing smile, and she turned back to the Jedi.

"I do apologize, I haven't yet introduced myself - Corazona von Ascania, advisor to King Albinac of Ukatis."

Another sip of wine, and she extended her free hand to him.

"What brought you to this celebration?" She asked by way of conversation.

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

KADAARA, THE VERUNA ESTATE​

It was like swimming through sand. Every step Bastila took toward the long table seemed to thicken the air with obstacles. Her pace was steady, just slow enough not to draw attention to the limp in her left leg; yet it was still obvious no matter how she tried to hide it. A senator’s daughter slid into her path, words about recovery and condolences spilling out, as false as the diamonds at her throat. Bastila pressed her lips into the faintest line of a smile and offered a slight nod, but her gaze passed through the woman as though she were glass. The girl faltered, left clutching her goblet like a shield.

Next came a merchant patriarch, eager to brush her sleeve with some pretence of shared memory, his words tripping over themselves about House Sal-Soren’s legacy. She inclined her head, but her eyes did not linger; her feet carried her forward. He found himself speaking to the back of her gown, his importance dissolved into the salt wind.

Even one of Naboo’s lesser electors, normally the sort her family would be obliged to humour, was met with a single, quiet: “Forgive me, another time.” She walked on, the gathered crowd beginning to part around her as if sensing she was not theirs to claim.

Bastila’s eyes, however, never strayed from her quarry.

Aurelian sat at his chosen position at the table, that careless drape of silk and silver chain deliberately artless. Bastila recognized the performance instantly: a predator dressed as a poet. She knew the type, or at least the class he was trying to emulate. His smile to her was an irritant, it was small and infuriating, a suggestion of possession already assumed. It sharpened something in her chest.

The pain of her ribs flared as she reached the space before him. The mask of serenity held until the very last step, when instinct forced her to stop.

“Master Veruna,” she said, with as much open grace as she could summon. To others it would sound like the polite civility of any noble introduction; but to Aurelian, the veiled push of importance was impossible to miss. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered herself. Her knee nearly buckled, but she pressed it down, folding into a curtsey. It was not graceful, not effortless. That was the point. The defiance was in the act itself: mockery in motion, meant for his eyes alone. She gave him the theatre of loyalty while her gaze, dark, steady and unblinking, spoke rebellion directly into his.

When she rose, it was with ragged breath and clenched will, her back straightened like tempered steel.

“It truly is an honour to see you,” she said, the words tasting like ash. “I feared the worst when news of what happened on Weilu reached me. Your proposal of open war soon after, even more so.”

The hush around them deepened, the sea winds hissing as though carrying her words to every corner of the gathering. Bastila allowed the corners of her lips to turn, the ghost of a smile; a promise and a challenge.

“I wish you well on the evening’s proceedings.” Her chin lifted slightly. “I will be around, if you wish to…discuss any future relations between our families; no matter which way the vote actually goes.”

Aurelian Veruna​

 

[Kael Varnok]

Kael inclined his head as she offered her name, his hand meeting hers with a steady clasp — firm, but not overbearing.

"Kael Varnok," he returned. "And as for why I'm here…" his gaze drifted across the golden light and polished faces of the aristocrats, before settling back on her with a dry edge to his tone. "An invitation found its way to me. I had… nothing better to do."

For the briefest moment, his eyes darkened, a shadow passing through them as another voice — his own, but not — edged into his words.
"Or perhaps I came to see which of them would choke first on their own pretenses."

The weight of the words hung sharp between them, not loud enough to draw the attention of others, but enough to make the lanternlight around them feel just a touch colder.

Kael's jaw tightened. He exhaled slowly, forcing his expression to smooth as though pushing something unseen back beneath the surface. His hand withdrew from hers with deliberate calm.

"…Forgive me," he said at last, tone measured again. "Sometimes my thoughts… stray further than they should. It is a failing I'm learning to manage."


The admission was quiet, almost reluctant, but it carried the weight of sincerity. His eyes, when they returned to hers, held no pity, only a faint, grim recognition.
Corazona von Ascania

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Kaadara Estate, Naboo
Directly Interacting with: Decarii Tithe
Nearby: Bastila Sal-Soren Loria Sorelle Dominic Praxon John Locke Aurelian Veruna Corazona von Ascania Cassian Abrantes Her Bastila Sal-Soren
Wearing: Dress | x x

​

Sibylla's hazel eyes scanned the gathering as she stepped inside, catching familiar faces and their alliances. She saw Cassian Abrantes with Dominic Praxon and Lady Loria Sorelle , curious by itself indeed, along with foreign dignitaries that were not familiar ( Corazona von Ascania , Roman Vossari and Kael Varnok ), and those that were -- was that... Vemric Keldra , Confederate Head of State? Sibylla's eyes went wide, well aware of what the Sephi's presence meant here. That he would even deam to make a public appearance himself was noteworthy indeed.

She made a note to approach the Head of State at the earliest opportunity. Honestly, she wasn't sure Aurelian would be tactful enough to ensure it didn't end in dramatic fanfare. It all depended on what he had planned tonight. Speaking of... where was he?

“Lady Abrantes,”

It was then that Sibylla turned at the sound of her name, that faint smile still lingering as hazel eyes met those of Decarii Tithe , Legal Advisor to the High Assembly's Judicial Committee. Recognition came instantly, for how could it not? She remembered that same face, bloodless and staggering from a conference room on Weilu after the assassination attempt on Senator Annasari, just before chaos swallowed the day.

Her jaw tightened at the flash of memory, but Sibylla smoothed it away with grace, dipping her head in greeting.

"Advisor Tithe," she greeted, inclining her head with warmth, letting her admiring gaze drift over the beautiful embroidered pink fabric that the blonde wore.

"That is a lovely dress. " The compliment was genuine, as was when she leaned in to whisper conspiratorially in a hopeful query, "Pray tell me... does it have pockets?"

Her own dress did, as all dresses should, and if Sibylla could find more seamstresses or brands that shared the same values, she was more than willing to learn the name of the couture Decarii used.

"Yes, well… while the setting is certainly more pleasing to the eye and the faces far more familiar... though I'd argue there are sharper daggers here found in wit and tongue than with Syndicate assassins." Her jest slipped easily into Decarii's question at the mention of Senator Sarn, and Sibylla's smile widened.

"Senator Sarn is well. My correspondence with him continues despite my posting as Ambassador to the Mandalorian Empire." A replied, thinking fondly of the Ithorian, but also adding, "At present, he's immersed in the Corporate bloc. I suspect his eyes are on the Financial Committee, poised to oversee the Republic's defensive bids along the border."

The slight drops of information were intentional, to see what Decarii would do with them. For now, though, conversation and drink were in order.

"Would you care to walk with me?" she asked lightly, a smile tugging at her lips. "I suspect we'll both need a full glass before the true theater begins."

As she began to lead them towards the beverage bar, Sibylla shone Decarii an expression of polite curiosity, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips, "And you, Advisor Tithe? I hear your counsel has found its way to Senator Veruna of late."

Yet before they could continue, the swell of conversation dipped suddenly, the soft hush of the crowd pulling her attention to the doors. Sibylla's breath caught, though not in shock. Bastila Sal-Soren had arrived. Rumor had it she had sustained injuries on Sepan 8. Yet here she was, walking on her own strength, every movement carrying the deliberate edge of statement. Sibylla could not help the dip of her head, an unspoken salute of respect.

Defiance. Confidence. Foolishness. Whatever it was, Sibylla would have raised a glass to it.

Until, that is, she saw the goal of Bastila's course, to the man of the hour -- Aurelian Veruna .

And when her eyes traced that the path led to the head of the table, Sibylla had to bite back a laugh and school her expression before her eyes betrayed her.

There Aurelian sat, dressed in deliberate disregard for the evening's formality. While the nobility around them glittered in silks and finery, he wore ease and arrogance as his uniform, shirt undone just enough to make the entire room second guess the invitation. It was audacious. Amusing. Perfectly him.

Sibylla watched in that practiced, idle attentive composure as Bastila came to a halt before Aurelian, offering a curtsey and settling into conversation. She wasn't the only one who observed, oh no, not when it was the only two remaining candidates for the Sovereign of Naboo who were trading words. The murmurs abounded, subtle gestures behind glasses of wine, whiskey, and gloved hands.

So, Sibylla took the opportunity to observe as others did. But not on Bastila. No, not yet. On Aurelian. By far, it was the most casual she'd ever seen him, and she had to pause to linger to truly take him in.

It was annoying, really. How Aurelian effortlessly bled magnetism. It was as if the very sea breeze itself was conspiring in his favor, tossing his dark hair just so, the faint glimmer of a chain at his throat catching the last of the sun against the black silk that highlighted his skin. Even his stillness felt deliberate, a calculated languor meant to unsettle, as though the night itself conspired to draw every eye toward him.

It was all a performance. She knew it. And yet her pulse skipped all the same.

No. Absolutely not.

Sibylla immediately quashed those wandering thoughts and the quickening of her heartbeat by forcing a smile and turning her attention back to Decarii, exhaling:

"Well, this does have all the makings of an evening worth remembering," Sibylla remarked, a seemingly playful glint in her hazel eyes as she tipped her chin toward the room. "Though I wager half the guests are already rehearsing the version they'll swear was true...and for certain, the Swan of Solleu will have her own words to say about it."

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X​

Aurelian's gaze swept over the sea of faces, discreetly cataloging the night's arrivals as a collector might appraise his acquisitions. Dominic Praxon and Loria Sorelle , predictably, performed their usual dance of scandal, with Cassian Abrantes acting as the silent, gravitational pull beside them.

But then, Vemric Keldra arrived. The entire room seemed to shift with the Sephi's entrance. He was tall and deliberate, carrying the unshakable air of a man who had seen too many battles to be impressed by velvet drapes or Republic pleasantries. Aurelian watched as Vemric cut through the gathering, his glass of Naboo vintage held with an almost inherited authority. The old soldier met Aurelian's gaze with a single lifted brow, a greeting too spare for warmth, too sharp for dismissal. Then, just as quickly, Vemric turned away. A faint grin touched Aurelian's lips. Vemric was here. That was the crucial detail.

Next, an unexpected presence: a newcomer. She entered the gathering like a figure from legend, her silver-white gown seeming to shimmer with starlight, her hair adorned with beads that caught the lantern glow. She didn't so much walk as glide, every movement infused with serene grace. Aurelian studied her with open curiosity. So clearly out of place in his game of power, still wielded her own unique authority.

Even as these key figures took their positions, Aurelian's attention began to drift. His eyes swept past the milling crowd, past the power plays, the flickering candles, and the glinting wineglasses, settling instead on the horizon. The sea rolled, a silver expanse under the setting sun, endless and indifferent. For a moment, he seemed to be somewhere else entirely: far beyond Kadaara, Naboo, or even the Republic.

---

Hours prior

The dungeon air hung thick with the smell of damp stone and rusted iron. He sat in the lone chair opposite his father's cell, a lantern's flicker casting long shadows across the cracked floor. He didn't know why he kept returning, day after day. A dark pull drew him, perhaps a grim compulsion, or maybe he was simply addicted to the sting of his father's contempt. This ritual had become as much a part of him as the chains around Remus Veruna's wrists.

Remus was thinner now, his once-commanding figure shrunken, but his voice held every ounce of its old venom. "Pathetic," he spat, pacing like a starved wolf behind the bars. His eyes burned with a madness that sharpened his cruelty. "You sit there like some smug little lord, pretending you're more than the whimpering boy I raised. A pretender draped in silk."

Aurelian leaned back, outwardly calm, though his fingers drummed a restless rhythm against his thigh. His jaw was tight, teeth clenched hard enough to ache. He told himself not to react, not to give his father the satisfaction. Still, his chest rose faster with each insult, his breath sharp and shallow.

"You think this cell holds me forever?" Remus hissed, stepping closer, hands tightening on the bars. "When I get out... and I will get out... I'll tear down every false empire you think you've built. I'll start with those pathetic Abrantes. The father, the mother, their spawn." He grinned, teeth bared in a predator's smile. "Cassian first. I'll spill his blood where the whole city can see. And then Sibylla…"

Aurelian's fingers froze against his leg. His heartbeat spiked, a sharp thrumming in his ears. His face betrayed nothing, but beneath the mask, a coil of panic and fury twisted tighter.

"I'll save her for last," Remus whispered, madness gleaming in his eyes. "I'll drag her here, to this cell. I'll kill her slowly in front of you, so her screams will be the music of your downfall. And then, my son, you'll live the rest of your pitiful life behind these bars, the world outside forgetting you ever existed."

The words cut deep, too deep. Inside, something small and boyish cowered at the gruesome picture, while another part, colder and sharper, burned with rage. Yet his face remained perfectly still, not a single twitch or crack.

Finally, Aurelian stood. His movements were smooth and deliberate. He brushed dust from his trousers, straightening his shirt as if the dungeon's filth had tried to cling to him. His father laughed, a bitter, triumphant sound, mistaking the silence for weakness.

"Coward," Remus sneered as Aurelian turned for the stairs.

Aurelian stopped. His shoulders tensed, his head lowering just slightly, the lantern's glow catching the shadow of his face. For a heartbeat, nothing. Then his voice, low and heavy, each word sharpened with steel.

"You've been tried," he said without looking back, "and sentenced to death."

Remus barked a laugh. "By whose authority? You're still just a boy, playing at power."

And then Aurelian snapped. His voice thundered against the stone, echoing through the dungeon like the strike of a gavel:

"By the authority of the King of Naboo!"

The words shook the air, stripped of all pretense, a dam of composure breaking into something fierce and undeniable. He did not look back at the man who had raised him. Instead, he started up the stairs. At the door, he paused, eyes catching Seldan Rourke .

"Make it quick," Aurelian ordered, his voice once more cool and detached, as though the outburst had never happened. "Dispose of him. Make it look like an escape."

Then he left, the door groaning shut behind him, sealing Remus Veruna's madness in darkness until silence claimed him forever.

---

Aurelian's name, spoken with that particular weight, "Master Veruna," pulled him back from the distant horizon he'd been staring into. His head turned lazily, in indifference, to find Bastila Sal-Soren .

He noticed her limp, no matter how she tried to mask it, and felt a flicker of amusement. But the title itself stuck with him: "Master." How curious. He was no Jedi, and certainly not hers, yet she had cloaked him in their robes with a single word. Was it a slip of habit? Or a deliberate elevation, meant to twist the knife before this audience?

He let her speak, each barb wrapped in civility, every word carefully honed for the ears straining around them. He did not interrupt, silence was its own form of power here. Instead, he studied her as one might a painting.

Her mock curtsey had been... delicious. Pain etched her movements, but she offered it like theater, defiance bent into a bow. Aurelian's lips curved into that dangerous smile, his teeth catching faintly in the lantern light. He let the smile sit there, deliberately coy, a predator amused by the audacity of prey that thought itself brave.

Yet his attention was never wholly hers. His gaze slipped sideways, finding Dominic across the room. The man's reaction mattered. Had he expected Bastila to make such a statement, to parade her resilience in the teeth of every whisper? And what of Loria, Dominic's ever-present shadow now, wielded like a weapon? Aurelian could almost taste the tension, the threads of rumor twisting into ropes.

Then, Sibylla Abrantes . She was watching, of course, as were they all. She had urged... tact with him. Fine.

Aurelian turned back and raised his glass slightly to Bastila, a quiet salute, a silent thank you. She had given him exactly what he wanted without realizing it: spectacle, attention, the gathering of every whisper and glance around him. To spar with her now, to snap back with teeth and fire, would be to give her what she sought: the stage. No, it was better to deny her. To rise above.

With a languid wave of his hand, he signaled the stewards. Plates began to emerge, the first course arriving seamlessly, silver lids gleaming in the candlelight. Aurelian reclined slightly in his chair, glass balanced between his fingers, as though the entire evening had unfolded exactly as he willed it.

Let them sit, let them whisper, let them wonder. He was ready to eat.

​

 

[Seldan Rourke]

​

Hours prior

Seldan waited for Aurelian's footsteps to fade into the winding stone of the stairwell. Torches guttered in their sconces, casting long shadows like fingers across the damp walls. He rolled his shoulders once, a soldier's habit, settling himself before he moved.

Inside, Remus Veruna rose from the bench, propelled by pure spite. His eyes burned with a feverish light, cracked lips twisting into a sneer at the sight of his visitor.

"Well," Remus croaked, venom lacing every syllable. "The mutt comes to heel." His laugh was dry as gravel. "Don't forget who plucked you from Denon's gutters," Remus continued. "Who gave you boots, a name, a reason to lift your head. Without me, you'd still be choking on sewage, scrambling for scraps. You live because I made you."

Seldan said nothing. He stepped inside, deliberate, blaster held steady in his hand. The door clanged shut behind him, sealing the chamber in suffocating silence.

Remus leaned closer, snarling. "And this is how you repay me? Pointing that toy at your king? You think the boy upstairs will save you? He'll bleed you dry, just like me. At least I gave you purpose. He'll only give you chains."

The words found their mark. Seldan's jaw flexed, a tendon ticking. His storm-grey eyes remained unflinching, though a shadow of memory, and perhaps doubt, flickered behind them. The blaster hovered inches from Remus's temple. The old man's breath stank of rot and madness, his grin a grotesque challenge. "Go on then," he spat. "Prove you're just a dog. Kill the only man who ever truly lifted you out of that gutter."
Remus's voice dropped to a taunt. "Let the boy use you. That's all you'll ever be, a weapon for someone else."

The chamber was still, save for the low hum of the charged weapon and the dripping of water from some unseen leak. Seldan's finger curled against the trigger, slow and deliberate, as if time itself bent around the choice.

For a moment, the dungeon seemed to hold its breath.

And then.

CRACK

​

 

[Aiden Porte]

John Locke Roman Vossari

The assignment was not the most dangerous he'd undertaken, but it was one of the most delicate. Protecting royalty in the midst of a crowd was one thing. Protecting a gathering of ambitious nobles on the open coast, far from palace walls, was another.

The Jedi Knight stood at the crest of the residence's terrace, his eyes scanning the blue waters of Kadaara as the sun melted into the horizon. Shiraya's Hope moved with practiced subtlety: one weaving through the arriving guests, another watching from the perimeter gardens where the shadows thickened, and a third stationed near the residence itself, quiet but alert. To most eyes, they looked like attendants or ceremonial escorts, but their awareness was sharp, stretched outward through the area like a net cast across the shoreline.

The sea breeze carried laughter, the faint clink of crystal, the rustle of silks and fine coats. Yet beneath the elegance, he felt currents of unease. Nobility always brought with it rivalries, unspoken but keenly felt. Every handshake carried calculation, every toast a measure of loyalty. It was not blades or blasters that worried him most, but words, promises, and silent agreements that could destabilize Naboo's balance in the years to come.

Still, his duty was clear. Tonight, his team's vigilance was not only for Aurelian, but for all that his his potential reign represented. War was coming, Aiden had fought in that war already. He'd seen the soldiers die, and his fellow Jedi, and children fall before him. The shadows lengthened across the silvered shore, and the Jedi Knight centered himself, the hum of the sea merging with the steady rhythm of the Force.


"Keep your focus," he reminded his companions softly through their comms. "The winds are calm, but tides can change without warning. If a ripple in the water seems off, or even a shift in the trees. I want it investigated."

And so, as the Future Regents' Dinner began beneath the fading light, the Jedi Knight stood watch along with those in his retinue, the silent guardians ensuring that destiny could be shaped without fear of disruption.

 

[Kael Varnok]

Kael let Cora's words hang between them a moment longer, the faintest trace of a smile ghosting at the corner of his mouth before it faded.

"I should not linger," he said quietly, inclining his head in acknowledgment. "The Force stirs uneasily tonight, and I would rather not tempt fate by overstaying your patience."

He gave her hand one last, respectful squeeze before releasing it and stepping back. For just an instant, the shadows at his heels seemed to stretch with him, restless — but then the lantern light caught his face again, and the moment was gone.

As Cora's attention returned to the swirl of aristocrats, Kael threaded his way out of the crowd. He moved with purpose but without haste, letting silks and jewels flow around him like water until the noise dulled and the terrace breeze touched his face once more.

There, on the outer edge of the gathering, he caught sight of another familiar presence in the Force — steady, centered, watchful. Aiden Port.

"Knight Port," Kael greeted, his voice low but even, falling in step beside him as his eyes swept the horizon. "I trust you've seen it too. A calm surface… but the tide feels ready to turn."

He folded his hands behind his back, posture soldier-straight, though his gaze flicked once toward the gathered nobles. The muscles in his jaw shifted, a faint tension betraying the part of him that longed to be anywhere but amid their politics.


"Best I remain out here," he added after a pause, quieter still. "For everyone's sake."

Aiden Porte

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

He took the very subtle hint from Dominic Praxon with a small smirk as he glanced back over to Jael Amnen

Cassian did not move at once. He watched the subtle ripple of Jael's presence through the hall, the slight pause in conversation, the shifting of glances, the faint current of awe that even the most practiced nobles could not wholly disguise. It confirmed his first impression: she carried with her not only the weight of faith, but the disarming power of conviction.

When he moved it was without haste. His movements were measured, the kind of unhurried composure that commanded attention not through spectacle, but through certainty. He crossed the room with his glass in hand, his silver-trimmed attire catching the lantern-light, the bearing of House Abrantes unmistakable.

House Amnen was known for the faith and belief, something he would figure out and study as he spoke with the Priestess.

"M'lady" Cassian said, inclining his head with dignified respect as he came before her. His voice was calm, resonant, free of the theatricality so common among the younger nobles. "Your arrival graces this hall more than most gathered here would dare admit aloud."

He paused, regarding her not as one might a curiosity, but as an equal. "I am Cassian Abrantes, of House Abrantes. I have long admired the devotion of those who keep faith alive among our people. Tonight, it seems, Naboo is fortunate to have faith and power share the same table."

There was no flourish to the words, no artifice. Only the sincerity of a man who understood both the value and the danger of conviction in halls such as these. He inclined his head again, offering his hand in greeting.

"I would be honored to have your company for the evening?"

 

[Loria Sorelle]

LORIA SORELLE
Kaadara Estate, Naboo

With her hand hovering over Dominic's arm, her heart fluttered- little else could distract her in that moment. Her pale blue eyes stayed fixed on him as confusion, or perhaps concern, stirred quietly within her. She hardly noticed the arrival of several key figures: Prince Aurelian Veruna , Vemric Keldra , and Jael Amnen until it was too late. Damn.

A light touch startled her. Dominic's hand. Her gaze locked on his, as though urging a silent exchange. With gentle insistence, he guided her hand back to his arm. She yielded without protest.

It felt like an apology of sorts, and she accepted it, her eyes softening in reassurance. Yet the warmth of that gesture carried a whisper of warning from memory- her father's heated words from earlier that week: 'You do not linger in gardens with men who would see this family diminished'.

She recalled the sting of his voice, the weight of expectation pressing on her even now. Dominic & Loria's wordless exchange lingered longer than it should, and both seemed to realize it at once.

Her attention snapped back to Cassian. Dominic carried the weight of conversation, his apology for inviting her to the public reading barely registering with her thoughts still adrift. She managed only a polite reply.

'That's kind of you to say, Cassian. I hope our paths cross again soon,' she smiled, warm and sincere despite her distraction. Whether born of youthful optimism or instinct, she believed the Abrantes' were good people to know- perhaps even an ally worth fostering in the years ahead.

Once Cassian departed and she and Dominic were left alone, her focus returned to him. This time her voice wavered, touched with unease. 'Perhaps we should sit,' she said quietly, nodding toward the stewards preparing the table.

Her tone had grown cooler, measured and restrained. She ought not to be at his side, yet something about him drew her in, tugging gently against her better judgment. Her father's reprimands hovered at the edges of her thoughts, clashing with the subtle comfort of Dominic's presence.

Her eyes fixated upon Bastila Sal-Soren , who had been making her own introduction with style. Even weakened from her recent injuries, she carried herself with striking composure, the kind that drew the attention of the entire hall.

Loria found herself watching more closely than she intended, not so much at Bastila but at the shift that seemed to pass through the air beside her. It left a faint unease in her chest, as though some thread had been tugged loose. Her hand lingered lightly on Dominic's arm, though in that moment she wasn't certain if it belonged there.

Her smile remained practiced, unbroken for the eyes upon them, but beneath it a ripple of doubt stirred quietly.

'Do you know Lady Sal-Soren well, Lord Praxon?'

---

Days Prior at the Sorelle Estate...

The study smelled faintly of high-grade flimsiplast and ink, sunlight cut through the tall windows in narrow beams. Marcellan Sorelle stood behind his desk, the folded copy of the Society Paper in his hand. The headline- Whispers Among the Hydrangeas- lay bold across the page. His voice, low and clipped, carried more weight than if he'd shouted.

'Polite, practiced, yet somehow charged…' he read aloud, his tone dripping with disdain. 'Glances that lingered, smiles that weighed more than words.' The paper snapped shut between his fingers. His eyes, pale and sharp as glass, fixed on Loria where she lingered by the doorway.

'Tell me, Loria,' he said at last, each word deliberate, 'why my daughter's name finds itself inked beside Dominic Praxon's in a column meant for scandal-hungry courtiers?'

Loria shifted under his gaze, smoothing the folds of her gown though they needed no smoothing. 'It was only a chance meeting,' she murmured. 'The writer exaggerates-'

'The writer understands exactly what they imply,' Marcellan cut in, his voice tightening. 'And the implication is all that matters. Dominic is my rival, and rivals will seize on every whisper. You cannot afford to hand them the thread by which they might unravel us.'

His hand pressed flat against the paper on his desk, as though he might crush the words into silence. 'You are Sorelle, first and foremost. You do not linger in gardens with men who would see this family diminished. Do you understand?'

For a moment, Loria's throat tightened. She wanted to tell him the truth- that the 'Swan of Solleu' sat across from him, that the words he read were hers. But the thought of his disappointment struck harder than his anger ever could. So instead she lowered her gaze, nodding softly, her voice no more than a whisper.

'Yes, Father.'

Interacting with Dominic Praxon & Cassian Abrantes .
* Referencing the Society Papers of Naboo, Vol. 1 by The Swan of Solleu (x)
* Referencing the Holonews Senate Race of Naboo Update No. 1 (x)

 

[Roman Vossari]

​

LOCATION: Kadaara, Naboo
TAGS: Corazona von Ascania

​

Roman finally saw the crowd around Cora thin. Her polite smile wasn't needed anymore, the Jedi had moved on. The salt air, now carrying the scent of roasted meats from the dining tent, brushed him again. Dinner would start soon. He took a slow breath, letting his shoulders relax, then crossed the terrace.

He moved as if he wanted to disappear, yet his height always drew attention. His steps were steady, deliberate, his boot heels soft against the stone. When he reached Cora, he leaned close, speaking low so only she could hear him.

"They're calling everyone in," he murmured.

For a moment, his gaze lingered on her shawl, heavy across her chest, hiding what the silk couldn't fix. He pressed his lips into a thin line before speaking again, his voice now lower, meant only for her.

"Why are we here, Cora?" His jaw shifted, his eyes narrowing at the glittering procession of guests. "These people don't care about Ukatis. They barely care about their own. Your King can manage himself here. You…" He stopped, rethinking, the words too sharp in his throat. "You should be back home, resting. Not wasting the strength you have left on Naboo's dinner theater."

He straightened but didn't step away, his hand brushing the back of her chair, a solid anchor. His eyes searched hers, steady and unflinching, though a heavier, quiet ache of protectiveness lay beneath, unspoken.

 

[Jael Amnen]

Jael’s smile bloomed, soft and immediate, suffusing the air around her with warmth. She inclined her head in answer to Cassian’s bow, her silver-dusted gaze lingering a fraction longer than politeness required, as though she wished to see the shape of the soul behind the gaze.

When she set her hand upon his arm, it was with the effortless grace of one accustomed to guiding others rather than being guided. Yet she allowed the gesture with a deft ease.

“You speak generously, my lord,” she said, her voice carrying the low, wistful intonations, “faith belongs to the Moon-goddess, and power belongs to the people of Naboo. We are bound by the same chord. A love for our people.”

Her gown shimmered faintly as she moved, catching lantern-light in fleeting starry moments, each step a lesson in poise.

“I have heard much of House Abrantes,” she continued, turning her profile toward him as if offering the ear of a confidante, “your family’s value to Naboo grows each day..."

Her eyes, dusted with silver shadow, turned to him again, "...I am sure in no small part to your efforts. Such constancy honors Naboo as surely as any priestess’ prayer.”

Her smile deepened, as she inclined her head once more. “If you would claim my company this evening, it shall be yours, Lord Cassian. It is the providence of our goddess that sees us lock arms this even...shall we take our seats?”

Cassian Abrantes​

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic let her question linger a moment too long, long enough to scold himself inwardly. He should not have given her reason to doubt. When his reply came, it was even and composed, though his mind still turned on the fact that she had noticed. Of course she had noticed.

"The Sal-Sorens and my family go back a long way," he began, his tone even, "I grew up spending my youth alongside Briana, now Grandmaster of the Jedi Order, her brother Brandyn, and their sister Blaire. Bastila was the youngest of the four. We had not seen each other in years, not until recently."

He glanced briefly across the hall, where Bastila's presence had drawn the eyes of the entire company, before returning his gaze to Loria. "I endorsed her candidacy as a courtesy to the family. And when she was injured, I paid a visit to the hospital. That pretty much covers it."

Politics, always politics.

The words were true enough to be convincing, though not the whole truth. He let them settle, then softened, lowering his voice for her alone. "But my place tonight is here, Lady Sorelle. With you."

He let his hand press lightly against hers again. They moved toward the table. He guided her with care through the wave of glances that followed them. The stewards had finished their work, the long table gleaming under lantern-light. Dominic drew out a chair for her, as though to show that whatever else lingered in the air, he knew where his intentions lay.

He straightened, his expression poised as his eyes fell upon the head of the table. Aurelian Veruna had already taken his seat, lounging with that infuriating air of possession that implied the crown was already his. Bastila, luminous even in fragility, was near to him. Dominic inclined his head politely to both.

"Lord Aurelian," he greeted Veruna with civility, his words polite but cautious, "I am pleased to see the credits I spent at the auction are being put to good use. The evening already shows promise."

His smile held, sharpened just enough to leave the implication hanging. Veruna's grand performance tonight had, in no small part, been underwritten by the very man now taking his seat beside Lady Sorelle.

Loria Sorelle Aurelian Veruna Bastila Sal-Soren​