Populate Just a Turn Around The Garden [High Republic Populate of Parcellus Minor]

[Ravion Corvalis]

​

Ravion had not needed to consult the program to know when the statues of Set and Vere would be unveiled. He had after all ensured they would occupy precisely this place in the auction order and this exact location for viewing. By the crowd’s tonal shift when the wooden figures were revealed he knew that the effect was exactly as intended. Polite chatter had fallen into a reverent hush. Even among Naboo’s gilded aristocracy, where symbolism was currency and history a weapon, the story of Set and Vere resonated in ways too deeply etched to be dismissed as legend.

Ravion, standing at the edge of the crowd, observed the bidders with the detached precision of a surgeon. Veruna’s name inked in bold strokes across the names of the would be bidders, Praxon’s etched just beneath; as an art dealer he knew what it was, a duel of prestige disguised as patronage. He could feel the tension coiling already, each bid a carefully aimed thrust. This was why he’d chosen the piece: because the statues spoke not only of love and loss, but of legacy and power, a mirror of the very game unfolding around them.

His gaze slid over the gathering until it found the young Abrantes girl. The quiet way she lingered before the statues, the soft crease of her mouth at the bidding ledger; there was far more in her attention than the casual admiration of art. He saw it in the way her eyes traced the bound hands, in the pause that held her longer than the music or the duel on the south lawn could.

Ravion allowed himself the faintest of smiles, unseen beneath the polite stillness he wore. Every guest brought their own reflection to Set and Vere, and it was in those reflections that alliances could be glimpsed, vulnerabilities noted. Whether Sibylla bid or not, she had already revealed something.

As the auctioneer’s voice rose, calling for the next advance. The wood seemed almost to glow beneath the sunlight, its figures locked in eternal yearning, and Ravion marked the moment; not the price, but the faces, the silences, the things unsaid. Those were the cues he took to make his move. Timing was as much a matter of politics as it was of music, and here the strings still hummed low, the attention of the crowd bent toward the statues. It allowed him to cross the flagstones without drawing more notice than he desired.

“Miss Abrantes? Sibylla isn’t it?” His voice was soft enough to avoid cutting through the auctioneer’s cadence, but weighted with familiarity, a tone meant to suggest he belonged here beside her. After all it was Ravion’s business to know all the Royal Families of Naboo, he had after all fitted most of the villas and manor houses on the planet with pieces of art and hard to find curiosity.

He stopped just short of her shoulder, hands clasped neatly behind his back as his eyes settled on the statues. “Set and Vere. An inspired choice for the program. Tragic, yes, but tragedy has its place. Few things grip an audience more tightly.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying the way the sunlight limned the bound hands of the figures. Then, after a measured pause, his gaze flicked toward her, not prying, but probing with quiet interest.

“You linger on them as though they mean more to you than most. Tell me, do you admire the artistry, or the story they preserve?”

The faintest smile touched his mouth, careful, breaking the professional face with a warming invitation, “Or perhaps both? In my experience, it is never only one.”

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Arcann Pehnataur]

Arcann had half-listened through the early lots, smiling politely at the delicate bids, the hushed whispers, the gentle “battles” of prestige waged in increments of a thousand credits here, two thousand there. Ravion’s eyes moved with predator’s precision through the crowd, cataloguing every flex of envy, every furtive glance at rivals, and Arcann let him do it. His own part came later.

It came with the statues of Set and Vere.

The moment they were revealed, the gardens seemed to inhale as one. The petrified wood caught the sun, the embrace eternal and impossible, and the crowd leaned forward, already hungry for the symbolism. Veruna’s voice cut across the murmurs, decisive, sharp: “Five thousand.” Praxon followed. Dominic added his own stake, calm but firm. Aiden’s voice rose next, tentative yet sincere.

The dance began. Numbers climbing, postures stiffening, faces bright with the thrill of polite combat. Arcann let it build, sipping once from a flute of wine he had no intention of finishing. He waited until the murmurs reached a fever pitch, until the statues had become the axis upon which all eyes turned.

Then he stepped forward.

Fifty thousand Universal Credits.

The words landed like a stone in the reflecting pool. The ripples were instant and violent — gasps, the shuffle of heels, the stuttering of the auctioneer as if he’d misheard. Ravion’s smile was hidden, but Arcann saw it in the twitch of his sleeve.

The announcer’s voice cracked, then steadied. “F-Fifty thousand, bid from Senator Arcann. Do I—”

No, Arcann said smoothly, his voice carrying over the marble and blossoms, silken but firm. You won’t.

A hush rolled over the garden like fog, thicker and heavier than the perfume of lilies. Arcann’s smile was practiced, generous, almost self-effacing. He let the pause linger long enough for discomfort to take root.

And then, with a showman’s ease, he turned slightly, addressing not the auctioneer but the crowd.

These statues, everything I bid on… he said, gesturing lightly toward Set and Vere, will not be going to my estate. They will not gather dust in some hall as another noble’s conversation piece. They will go to the people of Atzerri. I will hold a raffle, open to every household, and the winners will receive them — free of strings, free of charge.

The silence fractured — startled laughter here, a hissed whisper there, incredulous murmurs swelling like a rising tide. A senator from Chandrila muttered something about spectacle; a Naboo dowager clutched her pearls as if the statues were already lost to scandal.

Arcann basked in it.

“A man unashamed of playing to win…” someone muttered too loudly. He caught the phrase and let it hang in the air, repeating it with a smile that made it his own.

Yes. Exactly. And if winning means lifting others with us, then perhaps more of us should try it.

He raised his glass as if in toast, the sun catching its rim like a blade. To the High Republic, he finished, his tone warm enough to make it sound like a compliment, sharp enough to make it sound like a challenge.

The applause that followed was uneven — some genuine, some forced, some withheld entirely. But no one could deny the room was his. There was plenty more "auction" to go, the bidding war would continue (hopefully), but if he wanted it to become more interesting... he probably succeeded.

Arcann returned to the crowd with ease, clasping hands, smiling, acting as though he’d done nothing more remarkable than donate to a children’s choir. Ravion slid back to his side, his voice low and pleased. He knew he did not win anything yet, but he was here to make a point, and it was made.

“You’ve just rewritten the game, Senator.”

Arcann’s smile did not falter. Then perhaps it was time the rules were changed.

Smiling and nodding to someone else who wished him well, he thought to himself. That should annoy these brats.

Spoiler

Pillar of Reflection

Lot A
Bid: 50,000 UC

Lot C
Bid: 45,000 UC

exit thread
TAG - OPEN

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Honor Dueling



It was in this moment that all of seemed to fade, as if all those that were watching held their breaths for what was about to unfold.

The Eldest son's opponent was broad shouldered, a few inches taller than he. He too tossed away his shield, matching Cassian's declaration.

Cass's stance was steady, feet planted like roots in the earth, a man carved by discipline and sheer will.

The former general eyes bore into that of his opponent, looking and searching for any sign ill intention. His opponents eyes burned with a smoldering heat, every move that was made, his muscles twitched betraying speed over brute strength. They circled, each testing the other, blades flashing in sudden feints that never met. Then the first true strike came, a downward sweep of the sword. The other blade caught it at an angle, the sound of steel shrieking through the stillness.

There was movements from the crowd, as allies on either side for either opponent took shape. As if ready to dive in to separate the two if things got more hostile. For while he was in mock disgrace, Cassian still had support.

They clashed again and again, movements becoming faster, more desperate.

His stout opponent pressed forward, driving Cassian back, forcing him to rely on his quickness to evade the moves against him. Strike after strike was desperate, yet Cassian used every slip of terrain, every breath of space, rolling away, darting in, striking quick and moving again before the next attack. It was a side that Cassian hoped he would never have to reveal, the seemingly effortlessness of his presence in the middle of a war.


At last, they locked blades, his opponent moving his head forward to make contact with Cassian. He expected this, as he disengaged, backing away and a quick sidestep and the slight error on his opponents parts was his undoing as he tripped over himself.

Sword was still in his hand as he moved to get back up but Cassian was already there upon him.

Over and over again in an almost wild fury of overhead strikes that Cassian launched. It was enough until the blade was knocked from his opponents hand, and he finally pointed the blade at his target. The Eldest son's chest rose and fell heavily until he back away slightly. Not even daring to take a look around at anyone. He drove the blade into the dirt in front of his opponent as a sign of not good will, but warning. A cold, and dark look from Cassian to the Noble on the ground as he moved passed him. The area around them thus lightly began applause of sorts, scattered almost. As if unsure of what just happened.

He could feel not only the sweat roll down his face, but the blood that seeped from the cut on his cheek. He would have to go get cleaned up and refreshed. He would hope to make it in time for some biddings at the least. If he stayed in these pits any longer his next fight would be his opponents last.

 

[Ravion Corvalis]

​

Yes there was a murmur among the crowd at the declaration, however not for the reasons some would have hoped. Ravion frowned towards the statues that he and Sibylla had been looking at.

“To think that some would remove such works of art from their planet of origin, from their own mythology and people. It does sadden me.”

He gave the auctioneer a quick look, eyes briefly meeting before the man reverted to his job. There was a risk here, not all was a quick grab with credits. It’s what happens when you bring the rich men into the well crafted world of nobles and tradition. They stick out like a sore thumb and usually try to over compensate their way through the overbearing feeling of not belonging. Some succeeded but most…did not.
He returned his attention to Sibylla, eagerly awaiting his conversation with the young Abrantes.

Naboo Charity Auction Listing​

There are rumoured to be more items to come later, all bids should be placed in character follow the rules below:

Rules have been put in place. The auctioneer apologises for any inconvenience caused but reserves the right to dictate terms.
All bids must be accompanied by a tag for Pillar of Reflection

Bids must increase by reasonable increments and a ‘buy out bid’ will be denied by the auctioneer.
Minimum bid accepted for items up to starting listing of 1,000 UC is 100 UC.
Minimum bid accepted for items up to starting listing of 10,000 UC is 1,000 UC.

Lot A
Set and Vere embracing statues.
Two intricately carved statues made from the petrified branches of the Naboo Perlote Tree. While both are individual pieces it is when together that the craftsmanship truly shines, both of the ancient Naboo deities embrace each other in a way that seems impossible to have carved.
Estimated appraisal of the wood age and carving technique pre-dates many of Naboo’s current written records.

Starting Bid: 1,000 UC

Current Highest Bid: 50,000 UC / Arcann Pehnataur


Lot B
Globe of Peace.
This iridescent glowing sphere is rumoured to be the very same Globe of Peace given to the Gungans centuries ago. Appraisal sings highly of it not being a fake, however with the years being like they have, you can never truly tell. It is however, an item of vast beauty.

Starting Bid: 1,000 UC

Current Highest Bid: 10,000 UC / Nathan Bloodscrawl


Lot C
Future Regents Dinner
An exclusive invitation to the forthcoming Regent’s dinner hosted at the Palace of Naboo sponsored by ______. The event of the year for the Noble Households of the Naboo and beyond. Considered by many as the start of the event season, the dinner sees the connections it can offer worth the price or admission for those who are not selected on title alone.

Starting Bid: 5,000 UC

Current Highest Bid: 45,000 UC / Arcann Pehnataur


Lot D
Royal Sovereign of Naboo Medallion
This golden crescent medallion is likely a replica of the queen’s medallion, yet with age estimates at around four thousand years old it has become a treasure within itself.

Starting Bid: 2,000 UC

Current Highest Bid: No Bids.


Lot E
Ancient Chalice Collection
A series of ornamental chalices donated by the Naboo Fund Society. Once part of the Sal-Soren estate, they are purely ornamental and hold no power like the family’s reputation would have one believe.

Starting Bid: 3,000 UC

Current Highest Bid: 5,000 UC / Blaire Sal-Soren

A NEW ITEM HAS MADE ITSELF KNOWN
Lot F
The Lake Accords: Of Theed & Otoh Gunga, 1st Ed.
A millennia-old account chronicling the peace accords between Theed and Otoh Gunga. Written in the early days of Nabooian diplomacy, this work preserves the wording of treaties, ceremonial records, and commentaries on inter-species collaboration. Originals are crafted with delicate vellum pages and hand-inked illustrations, while reproductions are printed on cheaper flimsiplast and sometimes omit marginalia or illustrations.

Starting Bid: 1,000 UC

Current Highest Bid: No Bids

 

[Loria Sorelle]

​

LORIA SORELLE
Calarian Estate, Naboo

A sense of warmth filled the garden, it left Loria wondering whether it was the weather or the joy she found in finding him once again. Surrounding patrons nattered and mumbled to themselves, some discussing Loria & Dominic, and some returning to their previous conversations.

After a few moments of embarrassment over the attention, she soon settled with contentment over being talked about.

'Ria's sheepish grin turned into a nice smile as she conversed with him. "See you again? Oh, the horror!" she mused with him, enjoying the moment together; Though perhaps a little disappointed that their stroll would once again have to wait.

Her eyes flickered over his assistant as she manifested in the corner of her eye, politely keeping quiet as the two conversed. Eventually, she gave Dominic a response: "Of course..." she paused for a moment in contemplation, lingering on to his every word, agreeing to 'bear witness' to his generosity.

As she watched his assistant depart, her eyes flickered back to Dominic. "A stroll amongst the people instead! Much better than no stroll at all," she poked jokingly. "But of course," she linked her arm to his as the two made their way inside.

...

A flush crept across her cheeks as the truth hit her, Loria's hand hovered near on his arm, unsure whether to pull away or stay linked. "Praxon… as in running-for-Senator Praxon?" her voice trembled slightly, barely audible over the murmur of the crowd.

A growing sense of panic formed within Loria. Should she be seen with him? What would her father say? The two were competitors for the position of Senator, after all.

"And you… you know who I am?" she whispered, a tremor betraying both her excitement and panic.

The auction continued around them, the rhythmic calls of the auctioneer punctuating the air as bids continued. Yet, despite the spectacle, Loria felt removed from it all- her attention fixed entirely on Dominic, her mind spinning at the weight of his name and the revelation it carried.

The clatter of bids and polite applause blurred into a soft hum, fading behind the sudden, intense reality of what she had just realized.

Dominic Praxon

​

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X​

Aurelian leaned an elbow against the polished railing, his gaze sharp, sweeping across the auction floor like a duelist studying opponents. The statues, still sat bathed in perfect Naboo sunlight. From a distance, he followed Sibylla's posture, noting how her eyes clung to the pieces as though the wood itself whispered secrets only she could hear. Just as he'd predicted. He almost smirked, almost raised his glass in a mocking toast, but decided to keep his amusement private for now.

His own five-thousand credit opening had been eclipsed within minutes. Dominic Praxon had slipped his name onto the ledger in his usual heavy-handed fashion, as if mere ink and posture could buy him prestige. Then, not long after, some overeager senator eclipsed the bid entirely, tossing in a sum so obnoxious it practically screamed desperation: fifty-thousand credits. Aurelian's eyes narrowed. That wasn't bidding. It was a tantrum wrapped in gold. Let them have their toys. The statues' true worth lay in their leverage, not their artistic merit, and Aurelian had other levers to pull tonight.

He turned smoothly from the statues to the rest of the lots. Nathan's bids had been hard to miss: ten thousand on the Globe of Peace, seven thousand on the Regent's Dinner. Aurelian's brow arched at the ledger, his dangerous smile curling wider.

"Bloodscrawl," he murmured, deliberately letting the syllables curl on his tongue like smoke before turning his head toward the warrior beside him. "I've heard a great deal about Sarko IV. They say you carved your way through that warehouse like a blade through silk. A warrior of the highest caliber." His eyes gleamed with a hungry appraisal, valuing the utility behind the act above the kill itself. "The sort of man who could be… useful."

He let his gaze drift back to the page, tapping lightly against the figures. "Seven thousand credits for a dinner? You flatter me. Though you don't have to spend a single coin for an audience with me. You need only ask."

His smile sharpened as he lowered his voice so the nearest patrons strained to overhear. "In fact, I'd wager those credits could buy us a better night than any Regent's dinner could promise. Unless, of course, you enjoy being cornered by obnoxious nobles who think themselves clever after their third glass of wine."

The crowd shifted, their ears pricked, their eyes flicking between the two men. Exactly the effect he wanted.

Movement across the floor snagged his attention: Oraura. Interesting. He remembered her meeting with Joran not so long ago, and what had been whispered after.

But here she was now, smiling arm-in-arm with a Sal-Soren: Blaire Sal-Soren , if his memory served. He had not seen this particular Sal-Soren at many events as of late. He inclined his head in their direction, a subtle nod that balanced acknowledgment with a hint of calculated invitation.

Then Blaire called out her bid. Lot E. The chalices. Sal-Soren chalices, no less, part of their estate once upon a time. Aurelian's teeth flashed in a private grin. Nostalgia had made her sentimental.

"Five thousand, is it?" he murmured under his breath, fingers already flicking his own chip across the attendant's ledger. "Five thousand, one hundred."

That done, he turned back to Nathan, eyes narrowing, voice softening with sudden weight. "Tell me, then, after Sarko IV, who would you say is the Republic's greatest threat? The Black Sun, still gnawing in the dark corners of our world? The Empire itself, heavy and relentless? Or the Sith rot?"

He swirled the wine in his glass, the deep crimson catching the light as he studied Nathan's face. "I'm curious which enemy you consider worth bleeding for first."

Spoiler

5,100 UCs Lot E Pillar of Reflection

Nathan Bloodscrawl​

 

[Aiden Porte]

“Aiden!”

“Shiraya’s heart, it's so good to see you. Are you going to bid?”

“It’s been ages and this is no place to catch up, you should come by soon, okay? Brunch?”

Aiden turned to see Blaire Sal-Soren and showed her a big smile. The Jedi Knight gave her a big hug. It was truly too long since they had last seen each other and from the looks of things she seemed to be doing well. He gave a small and respectful nod and handshake to the friend at her side.

"Yes, we really should soon. It's good to see you. Give the little ones a hug from me." Aiden said sweetly as he looked back to the auction for a moment, considering the orb of peace once more.

He finally made the decision that he was going to make a bid for it, perhaps the Set and Vere statues as a secondary.

"10,100 for Lot B."

"50,100 for Lot A"

****************************

Pillar of Reflection

Lot A-50,100
Lot B-10,100

 

[Nathan Bloodscrawl]

Nathan heard Arcann Pehnataur bid on the statues, and while it was an impressive bid, he also wasn't interested in the set of statues. Let him have them.

The statues of two lovers evoked mixed feelings in him. It reminded him of the love he had lost...and gained.

Aurelian Veruna spoke to him, complimenting him for his actions at the warehouse.

"Thank you for the assessment of my capability, Prince Veruna, but The Warehouse Incident was only a small example of the sort of unpleasantries I and many others among the Jedi face every day. It's a team effort, in the end." he replied quietly, taking Veruna 's cue on a verbal tone.

"That said, I found it most vexing to have been one of the few prepared for an ambush. I know I shouldn't hold it against my peers--but you honestly think they would learn by now to put nothing past a terrorist organization like Black Sun." Nathan added, letting slip his actual feelings on what had gone down there for Veruna on purpose.

Veruna remarked on his usefulness.

"I've always sought to make a difference...if that makes me useful...well...comes with the territory...I came from a family that stressed serving the good of the public. That stressed the protection of the innocent..."

Nathan glowered very, very slightly.

"A cause I have found difficult to fulfill as of late."

Aurelian stressed that he need not spend a single coin for his company.

Nathan turned to the Prince.

"You might have a point about the nobles...and the credits. Still the fundraiser is welcome to them. I would be delighted, in fact, if you would join me for dinner aboard my private vessel with the rest of my family...I suspect there is much to speak of between us. Much to speak of indeed."

Then after Veruna made his bid, Nathan increased his bid for Lot B by 200, and Lot C by 300 because why not. Might as well dump money into the Republic coffers. He was planning to donate whatever he bid regardless if he won or not.

Veruna then asked the most interesting thing he had heard all day.

"The Sith Order and the Galactic Empire are one in the same in terms of threat. At least, that's what I'm tempted to say. Both equally dangerous and aggressive. Black Sun is a distant second place but they should never have been allowed to become so powerful to begin with. Treating them as common criminals instead of Terrorists is all that has caused them to get this far...But Black Sun, I think, is in the weaker position. We're fighting a three front conflict, however. Something must be done to buy us time against the largest opponent, however..."

Just then, Sera Mina entered the auction in a rather fancy Gown made of expensive fabrics sourced from Naboo.

Sera Mina. As in, the CEO of Bacta-Works, one of the absolute richest medical corporations in Alliance Space, recently making headway into High Republic Space. She was famed for her humanitarian relief efforts across the Galaxy, and famed for her construction of the SSD-Sized Lysandra-Class Greenhouses the company had constructed in pursuit of those efforts.

Nathan's next words were so low only Veruna could hope to hear them. As a precaution, he used the Force to prevent the sound of his voice from leaving past two inches from him and the Prince's immediate proximity.

"Sera and I are well acquainted." he mentioned in almost a whisper to the Prince. "She and I share similar goals... considering she's my daughter..."

(Cutaway to Max from Mission Impossible 1 sitting in an elegant chair by a fireplace)

(Max: Annnnd the penny drops)

Nathan was no brute. He only played at being one, The Prince would no doubt realize.




Pillar of Reflection


Lot B: 10,300

Lot C: 7,300



Aiden Porte

Loria Sorelle

Blaire Sal-Soren

Cassian Abrantes

Enshid Veruna

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic caught the tremor in her voice, the sudden tremble of her hand hovering on his arm. The revelation had struck her harder than he expected, and for a heartbeat he considered the cruelty of it. His name carried weight enough to unsettle her.

He dipped his head slightly, lowering his voice so that it cut beneath the din of the auction, warm and disarming. "Guilty," he admitted with a small, self-effacing smile. "Though I promise I am far less frightening in person than on a ballot."

His gaze softened, a touch of genuine concern threading through the charm. "I mean you no harm, Miss Sorelle. Nor to your reputation. If it troubles you to be seen with me, you need only say, and I shall disappear again like that ‘wisp in the wind.’"

Even as he spoke, his fingers brushed lightly against the back of her hand where it rested on his arm, a gesture of reassurance. With his other hand, Dominic made the smallest of signals toward Lysa. His aide, perceptive as always, inclined her head and moved gracefully through the crowd to place the opening bid on Lot F. The minimum, nothing more. Enough to mark the moment, not to make a spectacle.

Dominic allowed the smirk to return, easing the tension with practiced levity. "There, you see? No grandstanding. Just a man who appreciates a piece of Naboo’s soul."

The rhythmic cadence of the auctioneer carried on around them, but Dominic’s eyes stayed on her, attentive and steady. "Now, what do you say? A stroll amongst the people… much better than no stroll at all."

He straightened, offering her his arm anew, though his voice remained soft enough to be meant for her alone. "Let us walk inside together, Miss Sorelle. And perhaps, in time, you’ll find I’m not so terrible a rival to know."

Loria Sorelle
Pillar of Reflection Lot F - 1,000UC​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Ravion Corvalis​

It was the sound of her name that drew Sibylla from her admiration of the statues.

Hazel eyes drew up to land upon the slender figure of Mr. Ravion Corvalis. Familiarity shone in her expression, having heard and seen him in passing mention by her mother, Lada Callista Abrantes, who was still very much involved in the cultural preservation of Naboo's artwork and traditions.

"Mr. Corvalis," she greeted smoothly, dipping her chin in the kind of graceful acknowledgment. "It is a pleasure."

And while the tone was perfectly light and diplomatic, inwardly Sibylla wondered if her attention to the statues had revealed more than it ought. One lingers too long, one betrays a tell. And here, a tell was not innocence; it was currency that was ripe to be traded.

Internally, the teenager chided herself for the slip. It wasn't the first time recently, and it seemed as if it was only getting worse. This wasn't like her. It was starting to get more than a little frustrating. Just what is wrong with me?

"Both, I think," she admitted at last, her words carefully measured, as though she were offering nothing more than a passing observation. "The artistry is undeniable, but it is the story that roots them here to Naboo. Our people, our tragedies, our lessons."

But the tell was in her eyes, in how they seemed to soften upon observation of the statues. It was more than mere appreciation of the work or reverence in the story.

No, this was something more personal there for the young Lady Abrantes.

"To remove them would be to strip that story away, to leave it hollow. They deserve more than to become a token of someone else's collection."

Or to be held in limbo in prison, separated from one another. When all they wanted to do was be together.

The crowd stirred, a ripple of murmurs breaking through the auctioneer's rhythm. His voice lifted to confirm the most recent bid, and Sibylla's heart skipped.

"Fifty thousand, one hundred," the call rang out.

For all the world, Sibylla managed to keep her shoulders square, her smile in place, but behind her eyes there was the slightest flicker of alarm. She had expected a high amount of interest, yes, but the sudden leap in numbers left her heart hammering against her composure.

Her attention drew towards the new highest bidder Aiden Porte , and Sibylla's gaze narrowed slightly, as if discerning who the bidder might be.

 

[Raylin Fall]

Money.

Politics.

Politicians.
​

They clamored.

They debated. They talked. They mingled.

And they did all that to the disgust, delight, and perhaps amusement of Sergeant Fall. He was out of place here. That much was obvious. He was gruff, he was a military man. Alliance, and now part of the Republic. A medic, by the insignia on his uniform. Special Forces, and Recon to boot.

Overall, not the kind of man to be enjoying these kinds of parties. But someone asked him to be here, or at least make an attempt to show up here. He didn't know why. Perhaps it was to raise money for wounded soldiers. There were a litany of reasons for the man to be here. But not a lot of reasons for him to enjoy himself. He couldn't bid on much- he was a working man and had a salary that was so-so. So, places like Naboo were foreign in their ideas, their pleasantries, the visages and the views.

And the politics and nobility.

The people he served under, right before him. And Raylin-

Well, Sergeant Raylin Fall wasn't exactly drunk- but the free wines were starting to catch up with him. So he stared, watching the would-be Senators, the Nobility, and the who's-who of the Republic's friends mingle. He stared, not with hate, not with contempt but perhaps just loneliness. There weren't many like him here. The honor duel was something to watch- and he enjoyed the brutality of it, the shortness of it. It was over quickly, and the rest of the ho-hum resumed.

No more fights here, seemingly.

How disappointing.

But at least the drinks were free.

 

[Blaire Sal-Soren]

"Yes, we really should. Give the little ones hugs from me."

Aiden was always so sweet. The way he cared for her and always thought of her children. It filled Blaire's heart. In truth no one, not even her siblings, made the effort that Aiden did.

The path can be traveled both directions

She reminded herself.

"Goodness, forgive my horrid manners." Blaire placed an embarrassed hand first to her chest and then on Oraura's wrist lightly. "Oraura, this is Jedi Knight Aiden Porte. Aiden, this is Oraura…" Blaire trailed off, realizing she didn't know Oraura's surname.

The devaronian woman didn't miss a beat.

"Oraura is fine," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Congratulations, Jedi Porte on your recent knighting, and my deepest condolences on the loss of your father. I never had the pleasure of knowing him but every word I've heard spoken of him leads me to believe he was an exceptional man and Jedi."

Blaire placed a comforting hand on Aiden's wrist. Oblivious to the way Oraura clocked the gesture.

"It was a long time coming for Aiden. The Republic is lucky to have someone of his caliber protecting her." Blaire said. Oraura nodded her head in agreement. Blaire, had never had the interest in The Jedi that the rest of her family had and for the life of her she never understood why an infinitesimal percentage of the galaxy's population should dominate so much the course of its history.

Arrogant. Preachy. Hypocrites. Nearly the lot of them. She made no habit of making herself present at their ceremonies if she could help it but now she's been onto knight ceremonies. For her siblings Brandyn and Briana and just recently for Aiden.

All Jedi should be like Aiden.

Oraura made a noise somewhere between amusement and disbelief. Blaire turned to see what had caught her attention and the red woman insisted the bids that had just come in.

"Senator Pehnataur seems in a generous mood today." She mused, "that's good, perhaps he will be more receptive to Captain Del-Finn." She trailed off almost as though the last few words were just for her and she hadn't meant to speak them aloud at all.

"What's Joran want with Arcann Pehnataur ?" Blaire asked.

"Hm?" Oraura responded distractedly "I am quite sure I don't know. Some scheme or another, you know how he is."

Blaire let the topic go. She had questions of course but really the going's on of a former senator now living out of a bar in Keren City were no concern of hers. She did wonder why Oraura was bothering to involve herself, the devaronian wasn't Joran's assistant anymore, she told Blaire so herself.

Oh well. not my business.

Blaire was about to turn back to Aiden after he'd made his own bids to ask him what he was planning to do with his items if he won, when Oraura broke in again, her words swimming in amusement and intrigue. "Someone's noticed you."

Blaire immediately began scanning the crowd to find who she meant. Groups of silk laden nobles stood together, many spoke in low tones and many more didn't bother, but none seemed concerned with her any more than the usual amount, and then she noticed what Oraura meant.

Someone had out bid her for her the chalices. They'd made no show of. Never even turned their head to see her.

A game then. She thought, the corners of her mouth curling just slightly with amusement.

She made a new bid, silent as he was this time. Credits talk after all.

So did the nobles, she knew. For so long Blaire felt herself as a lone buoy in the storm of gossip. She went about her life recklessly and hated the way she was judged for it. Her answer had always been to act more recklessly in response, let's really give them something to talk about, she acted above it all as she stood battered and beaten by their judgment.

No longer.

"Now, you are ready."

The words, simple as they were, they were a mantra to her now.

She was ready. She knew it now. She believed it now. No more surviving the storm. No more living her life to spite the talk.

She would be the storm. If they would speak of her in the future it was because she chose it to be so. They would talk of Blaire Sal-Soren again. No longer would her name be spoken with derision, it was time her name was whispered in awe.

Spoiler

5,500 lot E

| Outfit: xxx | Tag: Pillar of Reflection Aiden Porte Aurelian Veruna | Equipment: xxx |​

 

[Aiden Porte]

"Goodness, forgive my horrid manners."

"Oraura, this is Jedi Knight Aiden Porte. Aiden, this is Oraura…"

Aiden smiled and dismissed her apology and she didn't need to. He took no offense at all to it. "You are perfectly fine, Blaire." He gave her a small wink as a formal introduction between the two occurred.

"Congratulations, Jedi Porte on your recent knighting, and my deepest condolences on the loss of your father. I never had the pleasure of knowing him but every word I've heard spoken of him leads me to believe he was an exceptional man and Jedi."

Aiden bowed his head lightly and showed a smile. "Thank you so much, and I really appreciate your respect and support. He was a very good man, he is missed dearly." He looked over to Blaire as she reached for his wrist and he noted the care at which she did. He was happy to see her in such good spirits and the like. He couldn't help but turn the smallest shade of red at her words about being the Republic being lucky to have him.

He was more than sure it was the other way around. It would all come full circle though, As it should do...

"Lot B 10,400" Aiden spoke up again, outbidding the last bidder once more.

Blaire Sal-Soren


*********************
Pillar of Reflection

Lot A- 50,100

Lot B - 10,400

 

[Loria Sorelle]

LORIA SORELLE
Calarian Estate, Naboo

He knew. Ria's face flustered as she turned a light red, her hand still hovering over his arm yet still in position; Causing a scene would've benefited neither of them, and she knew it. As the quiet mumblings of the ongoing auction continued around them, the pair stood still for the moment. Together. Still. Why still?

She felt entirely disarmed by Dominic's reaction, seeing that he recognized how the realization would cause such a reaction from her. His next words were almost... charming, endearing, as was his gentle smile- and she fell for it immediately.

Watching as his face changed, illustrating a story of sincerity, her own features softened. Her pale-blue eyes, previously defensive and worried slowly becoming increasingly calmer and warmer. She sighed politely, "it's not my reputation I'm concerned about..." she gave him a knowing look- hoping that she'd understand she meant her father.

Her words lingered in the air, but when his hand brushed gently against hers, the protest in her chest softened. Her eyes gently lowered briefly, a blush coloring her cheeks as the smallest smile betrayed her anxious composure.

For a heartbeat she allowed the gesture, her fingers resting still beneath his as though bound by some unspoken trust. When her eyes lifted again, they were quieter now, warmer, though shaded with the unvoiced weight of her father's shadow.

"No-" she called out in response to Dominic's offer of departure. "-This... 'wisp in the wind' can stay, at least for now," she smiled warmly, the coyness in her voice slowly returning after her moment of panic.

As Dominic's smirk returned, so did Loria's. Through her unease, she felt a sense of relief over being seen with Dominic. Perhaps it wouldn't be as bad as it seemed- being seen around him. She's not the face of House Sorelle, after all- she's been living quietly in her own social circles, studying, living, existing. Away from the limelight.

Perhaps nobody would notice?

She watched as Dominic's aide filtered back through the crowd. "Oh? What are you bidding on, mister 'appreciates a piece of Naboo's soul?' " she smiled, the warmth of her personality returning as she began to regain her composure.

After a few moments, her gaze lifted to Dominic's once again- and this time, there was something gentler written in his eyes. She watched as his posture straightened, his arm offered once more, and the gesture felt less like rivalry and more like invitation.

With a quiet breath, she accepted, her arm slipping against his in turn, the contact carrying with it an unexpected sense of ease that warmed her more than she cared to admit.

"A stroll is still a stroll," she answered, a playful smirk softening the words, though her voice betrayed a sincerity beneath the jest.

Her smirk lingered as they fell into step together, the quiet rhythm of their pace carrying them through the crowd. Tilting her head toward him, she let her eyes glint with a trace of mischief. "Though I warn you, Mr. Praxon- rivals rarely make for gentle company."

For the first time that evening, the weight on her heart seemed lighter- not vanished, but tempered by the simple act of walking at his side. Against her better judgment, a thought flickered, unbidden but impossible to dismiss: perhaps this rival was not so terrible to know after all...

Dominic Praxon

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