Masquerade at Grand Theatre

[Marzena Vaas]

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Masquerade!
Paper faces on parade . . .
Masquerade!
Hide your face,
so the world will
never find you!

Gather for a night of mystery and intrigue at the Grand Theatre, Cloud City!
Come dressed in your best finery, masks are optional, but highly encouraged.

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cTfQG8-Yc6w

-----------------------------
Marzena Choi stood at the podium in front of the large staircase, tonight she was dressed to the nines in a black evening gown and elbow length gloves. She was the image of elegance; jewelry shining brightly, makeup precisely applied, and a mask held delicately in her hand. Tonight she would be playing hostess on behalf of the First Artists Guild, and it would be her pleasure to introduce an up and coming opera singer. Miss Christie Daae was a relatively new name to the opera scene, but she was quickly gaining notoriety due to her skill. While Marzena was a singer herself, she couldn't claim to be so classically trained as Miss Daae, something that easily could have made her feel a bit envious. She watched as the crowd filtered in through the double doors, the night time air breezing inside as well.

When the doors finally closed, Marzena turned on her microphone to address the guests.

"Thank you for coming to our first masquerade here at Grand Theatre, we are so very pleased that all of you could be present for such a tremendous event. We are honored to announce that Miss [member="Christie Daae"] is set to perform tomorrow evening. It will be a night to remember, I can assure you. And now, please enjoy some drink and of course, some dancing!"

She clapped her hands and watched as the masked adorned guests did the same. Marzena turned to left, where Miss Daae had been standing just a moment ago, but frowned upon seeing that the space was now empty. Her dark eyes scanned the area around her, there was simply no sign of the young woman. Marzena placed a hand on her hip, and called over to the opera company's director.

"Dimitri!"

"Yes, Miss Choi?" He made his way to her side.

"Have you seen Miss Daae? I could have sworn that she was right here."

"I'm sorry, Miss Choi, I haven't. But don't worry, she's probably out in the crowd enjoying a dance. Or perhaps she is even getting to know the stage."

[member="Arkaitz Zambrano"]

 

[Christie Daae]

[member="Marzena Choi"] [member="Arkaitz Zambrano"]

Twin pools of rich brown flitted nervously beneath the black and gold embroidered mask that cupped the gentle features of her face. There it was. The announcement from Marzena. Madame Marzena. Christie was supposed to be the understudy. Even a back-up dancer.

But rumor had it the lead was throwing a snit about contract rates. So they turned to Christie. Sudden lead.

Delicate-digits felt along the fabric of the curtain. She was tucked just within the shadows of the side-stage. Toes wavered on the edge of light from the bustling party just a few feet away. One hand dropped to a pendant around her neck. The one from her father. Her dear Papa.

Long since dead.

"I'm not ready for this," Crimson-painted lips whispered in the shadows, praying to his ghost. His memory. She would have to step out eventually and join the party. She needed to mingle with the guests. She just needed a smidge more time.

Just a heartbeat more.

 

[Mammut]

[member="Christie Daae"]

He strode into the theatre, heedless of drawn gazes.

Crimson on crimson over black, the colors of death and decay: Arkaitz Zambrano’s chosen scheme, today and everyday. The gold filigree on the red jacket lent the outfit a more garish aspect, befitting of a bastard prince of Panatha, while the mask he wore recalled the memories of those who might have forgotten his father: a skullish visage, with an off-white pallor the color of bone. It covered his face, leaving only a portion of forehead, lower lip and jaw exposed.

I have worn a mask every day for the past ten years, to the confusion and ridicule of others. Yet here I stand amidst the masquerade, somehow normal once again.

The experience was… cathartic.

Few would expect a Zambrano to be a patron of the arts, yet Arkaitz found it a solace. Lost in “The Agony of Tarkin,” or a poem by the Bard of the Hyperlanes, he could forget what had been done to him, as if the pain of having his face melted into a ruined mess by his own father had occurred to someone else. He could forget the back brace holding his crooked spine straight, could pretend he was born into a noble life, could even forget that his siblings were whole and hale - enjoying pleasures denied to him. The pleasure was fleeting, but it was undeniably unique to him among Zambranos. So he cultivated the image, carefully, as an artisan.

The donations made up for the surname he bore and provided him entry to this little event. An event where, for once, he was normal.

Arkaitz sipped from a glass of Tionese red wine, gaze roaming over the festivities

 

[Dunames Lopez]

As talented a singer [member="Marzena Choi"] is, she isn't an opera singer by any stretch. But also Anastasia Volzhin was new to First Order space, and she counted on Star Tours for their knowledge of the First Order as it related to fashion. But she still had a bit of her Dulvoyinn style, wearing her own creation alongside jackboots. The summit has not yet begun but she decided to stay on Bespin for an extra day or two. She had a first-row, orchestra-level ticket but Dunames also had one such ticket. And she knew it wasn't her first time at the Grand Theatre on Bespin. Her very first trip on Bespin involved exposing the master plan, which would prioritize Lipsec and Lanteeb, and then Skye; she also secured the contract for advertising in terminals 1 and 3 on Eriadu, as well as on JanFathal's Spaceport THX1138. And to get the First Order one full-page advertisement in Taking Off on a Star Tour.

"I'm happy to see someone from the First Order appreciating what my company makes"

"I will wear it during the Summit. I would never have recognized you underneath that mask: Sgt. Mallidan said that you would be moving to Lanteeb?"

"I am in advance here for the Summit. For now we have leased temporary space to resume production, and later we will move into a more permanent location on the planet, to then sell the stuff on Lipsec, and from there Hosnian Prime and Coruscant again"

"Anastasian Creations, formerly based on Dulvoyinn"

"Since you mentioned Sergeant Mallidan, what connection does he have to Lanteeb?"

"He fought on Lanteeb for the First Order, he was promised the management of a beach resort on Lanteeb, and he is currently studying hospitality management by day, patrolling Bespin by night"

"I would like to visit Hoth instead at some point. You see, I lived almost my whole life on hot planets: cold planets would be a welcome change for me"

And then the paths of the two ladies, now with their masks back on, cross that of [member="Arkaitz Zambrano"], after Anastasia got a Nar Shaddaa-standard bottle of scotch, even though such a bottle of scotch is way too much for both ladies to drink, even together. Perhaps Anastasia would drink the remainder of the scotch on Lipsec or on Lanteeb.

[member="Arkaitz Zambrano"] [member="Christie Daae"] [member="Marzena Choi"]

 

[Marzena Vaas]

While the other party guests seemed to be delighted in the newfound anonymity of their masks, Marzena kept hers firmly in her hand, and would not adorn her face with it tonight. She was well known here on Bespin, part of her fun was to be recognized, and how could that happen if she hid behind a mask? If prompted, she would respond that her duties as hostess for the evening required that she be accessible. For a moment she stood on the balcony overlooking the foyer, the lavish skirts swirling, ringing laughter, and clinking of glass seemed to confirm that the masquerade was off to a good start. It was nice to see everyone having a good time, and she hadn’t even realized that Ms. Lopez had arrived; tonight their commissioner was just another mask in the crowd.

Marzena jumped slightly as a large hand grasped her shoulder. She turned sharply to see that Dimitri was back, and he was wearing a look of concern.

“Miss Choi, I’m afraid we have an issue.” He took her by the arm and led her out of sight. “It’s the Diva Antonia, she has locked herself in her dressing room... crying.”

The newest Diva of the First Artists Guild was living up to her title. She was a very talented leading lady, but her attitude was a problem. Though the opera company had provided her with a lavish sum of credits, she let her greed get the best of her. The Diva had assumed that the Guild would not call her bluff, she would walk way even wealthier than before, and with a new leading act... but how she was wrong.

“Let her cry,” Marzena said, rubbing her temples lightly. “She brought this on her own head.”

Dimitri sighed and flashed Marzena a look that seemed to say ‘please?’ With a flash of black satin, she swept her train behind her and sped down towards the dressing rooms. She had only just opened the door to speak with the Diva, and had to immediately duck out of the way of a flying shoe. Marzena did not have the patience to deal with Antonia at the moment, she would return...

She took a detour on the way back, and stopped by the auditorium. And there on the stage was a lone figure, the petite frame of Ms. Daae. There was a look of sadness on the young woman’s face, not at all the expression she would hope to find on their new star. Perhaps she was merely nervous for her debut.

“You should come join us at the party,” She called softly, not wanting to frighten Ms. Daae. “I’m sure you will be fine tomorrow. But I know it must seem a bit daunting.” Words could help ease the anxiety... sometimes.

[member="Dunames Lopez"], [member="Arkaitz Zambrano"], [member="Christie Daae"]

 

[Garza]

[member="Marzena Choi"], [member="Dunames Lopez"], [member="Arkaitz Zambrano"], [member="Christie Daae"], ​

There were many places for one to exit in a place such as this. Namely, the staff entrance. In a place that would never have been thought of infiltrating, A Grand Theater of Cloud City. A very iconic place where travelers by the name of Skywalker used to be. However, that now has changed. Owned by The First Order. Recreated from the shambles of what was once an Empire that took over after the death, and disappearance of Vader and his Master Sidious. Once again in the clutches of this First Order, a lone figure dressed in a rather "edgy" attire had made his way inside, and backstage.

Waiting for the moment that would prove vital for his cause. As silent as a whisper, and leith like the shadows, the figure hid himself from everyone. Force Users would not be able to sense him through the force. A Mask covered his signature completely. Nor would soldiers, or guards be able to find him. His skills with the force concealment kept him from sight.

Moving on past guards, actresses that would have easily claimed one of the many seats of "Galaxy's Sexiest Women," He made my way into a room as the door was left open. Hearing barely the door over, a woman, a hostess, or the lead overseer of this play trying to coax an actress to come out of the room. Mentioning of crying, and how the job may have been hard. Oh the fears of the simple life. Fear of the stage. Fear of laughter directed towards yourself. The fear. Oh the fear would become more than that tonight.

A hidden smile would creep onto the figures face, and a chuckle that could send chills down a Jedi's spine.

T̯̜̘͕̀oni̥͇̣͇̳͚̰g̯̼͠ht̴͈̺̘͕ ̥̹̹̻̼̫̤t̗̼̱͍̯̗h̴̳͖̳̖e͟ ͙̠͝sk͓͜i̺͇̬e̺̙̬͓͎̦s͔̗̠͔̳ ̷̩̖̱͚̯̹s͙̦̜͖̪̝h̵͓͚̱͎̟a̠͔̜̗̮̖̭l̜̝͍͖̻͎͡ͅḻ̠̪̰͍͈ ̠̫̣̠̞̝̺f̖͚̬a̯̯͈̦l͏̼̪̩̺l​

̮̣̫͈T̮̙̘̖͉͖́ͅo̲̤̜n̛͓͚͙̺̘̲i̼̯̗̩̬̞͞g͘h̵͇̪̤t̲͕̭̼̣ ̸͙t̞̭͝h̜e̵͕̖̼ ͔b͏̲̻͓͚͚̭̻l̝o̩͓̱̳̟̮͡o͔̪̭͎͈̬͜ͅd̢ ̤̝̺sh̥̠all ̲̤̺͓͕r̸͉̬u͙̣n̹̙̦​

​

̗̝͝Ţo͉̫͎n̗͈i̡͇͈̬͇ͅͅgh̰̭t ͝ţh̴̙̫̥̟͙̦e̟̩͈̼͇ͅ ̯̗͔͘f̨̥e͉͚͔̗͖̰̭͘a̲̦̦̱r͙̟̫͍̞̺ͅ ̱̬s̛͙͔̣͖h҉͇̦̰̙̫̯ͅa̵̟͔͍͓l͍͎̻͖͚l̨͍̥ ͍̫͇͈͙sh̶͈̳͎̭̻̟į̪̮͕͇̬̦͕v̴͔̝v̶̭̭̥e̙r̼̦̪̕​

̟̞̻̲̩T̼̳̖̤̙̞̣͞o͕͖̤̼̼̕n̛̦͈̖͍̬͎̻i̴̟͍g̟̪̪̰͙͟ͅh̫͖̪͈͚͘ͅt s͎̝͕̳͉ͅh͉̹̮̬͓á̱̖͖l͎l͇̭̞ ̭͈͍ḇ̣̜͖̪e̻͖̜̻͚̳̪ ̶̗͓̼̫̼̺t̸͕̩h҉̰̥͓̤̻̟͍e̛̮̭̪̖̳̪̤ ̸͈̫͎̣̰̼ḇ̰͓̣e̢g̵̭̲̰i̛͇̻̘̯̭̻n̥͕̫͕̱͈n̹͔̞i̛̪̞̭̹̪ṋ͙͙͇g̨̣​

 

[Mercy]

[member="Marzena Choi"], [member="Dunames Lopez"], [member="Arkaitz Zambrano"], [member="Christie Daae"],​

She was restless, and if she was restless she knew that the people lingering around them would be as welll. For here she was...here 'they' were, among the privileged...the vulnerable and yet thrust into a false sense of peace. There was no more waiting for what would never come. No more idle thought of false-kings and would-be management. Yet the tension remained, heavy and distracting over what should have been a much stronger collective. They needed to move, to be utilized, to feel purpose and Mercy had promised to deliver such. She wasn’t a beast known for breaking her oaths—though she rarely gave them—and it would do her little good to lay back and grow fat on the authority she held. It was best to get moving and in turn to move them. She wasn’t sure if they believed in her delusional ideals of superiority and xenophobia but she was sure that any creature, human or not, desired a better galaxy.

Even if they did not know the cost.

She could at least show them that before she offered her war.

So she’d come to the Theatre, surrounded by lambs, and quietly inspected the space around them. Vast collection of seats and a stage...[member="Despair"] seemed to be getting rather excited as he moved ahead...always a worry. And for a moment she merely stood there, awash in memories and the discomforting emotions they brought. They had planned their domination together, hadn’t they? Two agents of different ideals brought together under one absolute goal.

She shook her head, unwilling to allow the wicked grip of melancholy to tug her further down a path of regrets. She was to deep into her cycle of self destruction. She had to finish what she started.

The Game was afoot. Those hynotic blue optics gazed from behind a mask...a face that seemed more real than her own. A hood over her head as a dark purple cloak covered her head...gold lining over the garbs she wore as she remained close to Despair...her signiture masked and her body unseen by the masses. A wolf among the sheep...

'You remember...yes?' she would whisper into the Torturer of The Nines mind, closing the distance between them as she touched his shoulder, feeling him chuckle as she took position next to him.

He was excited...always a worry. For what did fire do when it grew to excited?

It burned...brightly...viciously...relentlessly.

And everything around them seemed rather easy to burn.

 

[Christie Daae]

The young girl jerked her hand away from the curtain, hearing Madame [member="Marzena Choi"]. She nodded meekly. "Thank you, Madame Choi. I'm sure I'll be fine tomorrow. As you say."

Hand fingered the pendent from her father a moment longer before dropping at her side. She offered a polite curtsy to her employer. Turning away, she finally stepped into the light of the party, down the stage side-steps and into the crowd of those mingling. A slight chill went up her spine as a whisper of something malicious @Despair wove between the cacophony of cheer in the room. A tap on the curve of her bare-shoulder broke her attention.

Perhaps it was nothing.

"Miss Daae. Miss! Would you please sing for us? Give us a preview of what's to come tomorrow night? I saw you and your father once. A long time ago. You had the most charming voice then." The young man, certainly a dandy, grinned widely, his hazel eyes beaming beneath a red and black mask.

Curls bounced along her skin as she looked around the immediate space, clearly hesitant.

"I'm not sure if this is the best place."

"Pish-posh. This is perfect. Please. You must. You simply must." Others began gathering around her in a growing circle, voicing their encouragement. Twin pools of deep-brown passed across [member="Arkaitz Zambrano"], without actually seeing him.

Crimson-lips pulled into a forced smile. She didn't exactly have a choice. But she was a performer and she could do this.

"If I must..."

Please give me courage, Papa.

Lithe-fingers crossed in front of her and she began to sing. Voice quiet at first, uncertain, steadily growing in volume. Hopefully she wouldn't get fired for this.

"Think of me...."

https://youtu.be/pXDonUxBxig

[member="Dunames Lopez"][member="Mercy"]

 

[Dunames Lopez]

Of course, with their masks being on, Arkaitz didn't recognize any of these ladies, and probably had no reason to; they never met either of them before, unless Arkaitz has had some dealings on Dulvoyinn lately. Because Dunames never had any dealings with him or, for that matter, any of the Zambranos. But a stormtrooper with a red pauldron approached the ladies, and Anastasia was holding the big unopened bottle of scotch as the performance was about to begin and herded the pair to the first row of orchestra-level seats. Dunames now had the impression that Anastasia bought the bottle in an attempt to out-drink everyone in the audience. To out-drink Marzena, perhaps even Marzena and Dunames put together.

"Weren't you supposed to be on Lanteeb?" Frank told Anastasia.

"Frank must be assigned to this district, containing the Whitetower Arms hotel and the Grand Theatre, on a long-term basis, by now..."

"How do you know who I am... Frank?"

"It is an honor to meet you in person. Now, you have an idea of how I felt when I was on the battlefield: we wouldn't recognize each other with these helmets on"

"Please forgive Frank, he often gets obsessive over all things related to Lanteeb"

[member="Christie Daae"] [member="Mercy"] [member="Marzena Choi"] [member="Arkaitz Zambrano"] [member="Despair"]

 

[Mammut]

Notes of enrapturing beauty rose in the theatre, silencing conversations and drawing a crowd. Arkaitz cocked his head to one side, listening. A woman's voice, gentle and light, but strong. He closed his eyes and let the notes cascade through his mind, a shifting tonality that sent him to the darkest depths and vaulted him to highest heavens.

They said the Grand Admiral Thrawn once drew inspiration for his stratagems from the art of the cultures he faced in battle. If Arkaitz could claim any sort of inspiration from the arts, then this voice surely would be the first.

Eyes the pallor of molten gold flared open, irises ringed by crimson. Spellbound, the Zambrano prince strode forward, ignoring the nearby ladies seeking his attention, until he too stood among the encircling crowd, seeking the source of the voice.

She stood just there, ringlets of umber hair falling to wisp across bare ivory shoulders. From those lips red as a rose poured forth the song that stirred Arkaitz's soul, if a son of Kaine could have a soul.

"Bravo," he whispered as her song drew to a close. "Brava."

The word drifted through the Force to brush across her mind, light as a feather touch.

[member="Christie Daae"] | [member="Dunames Lopez"] | [member="Despair"] | [member="Mercy"] | [member="Marzena Choi"]

 

[Marzena Vaas]

Marzena offered the young opera starlet a reassuring smile, though she was growing slightly worried that Ms. Daae was too timid for such a career. She noticed the way Christie’s slim fingers touched the pendant that hung gently around her neck; perhaps it was just a nervous habit. Marzena had never been a shrinking violet, and had an effervescent personality that was well suited to the stage. However, her own music was so very different from classical opera, and she hoped that Ms. Daae’s quiet grace would serve her just as well.

She nodded politely as Christie curtsied, and then went on her way into the crowd. Marzena drew in a deep breath, and held it for a moment or two before pushing it out into a sigh. For the briefest of moments she felt strange, as though someone or something was watching in the darkness. Her eyelashes fluttered, her brown eyes beneath shifted from one side of the stage to the other. And they found nothing of concern. Gloved hands smoothed down the front of her satin gown, a charming smile found her lips, and she set off to the sea of masks once more.

Her gaze was met with a clash of color, fabric swirling, and feathers breezing by. Though, her eyes stopped when they found Ms. Daae being accosted by a young man. Well, that was certainly bound to happen... it was just a part of living life in the spotlight. She decided that she would watch to see how Ms. Daae handled herself. Marzena’s index finger came up and tapped lightly against her chin, it looked as though they were going to be treated with a small performance. This could work splendidly.

As Christie’s voice went up into the air of the foyer, the orchestra grew quiet. The chatter died away, and the dancing couples stopped to stare. It was as though the whole of Grand Theatre held its breath.

When the song had concluded, Marzena went to find Dimitri in the crowd. Perhaps they would need to book Ms. Daae for some additional performances... the crowd seemed very pleased.

[member="Christie Daae"], [member="Arkaitz Zambrano"], [member="Dunames Lopez"], [member="Mercy"], [member="Despair"]

 

[Garza]

[member="Marzena Choi"], [member="Arkaitz Zambrano"], [member="Dunames Lopez"], [member="Christie Daae"], [member="Mercy"],​

I smiled lightly as my mind wondered. I enjoyed pain. Pain caused by others, and the pain that I could inflict. Making people feel pain by my bare hands, tools, weapons, or even the force felt amazing to me. I reveled in the idea of causing pain and fear. I held my gloved hand to up imagine the fires born from the force be used as a tool, and a weapon or not just pain, but fear.

Fear was a motivator. In nature, it made creatures, animals, and even humans to fight, or run. Fighting was an act of fear. Fighting was an act of false bravery against that which you cannot defeat. Fear forced the emotions out of people. It showed me who people really were. Fighting meant you were strong. Running meant you were smart. Laying there and not doing anything, meant you were weak. And here is where my job came in.

I was going to create this fear. Forcing people to choose to lay down and die, fight, or run. It was the people's choices. So many people fighting against one another for stupid reasons such as galactic ownership, dominance over people. Who said they had the right to force people to live in third world planets. To live in slums. To force others to feel pain with no consequences. I knew these said consequences, and was willing to deal with them when the time came.

A shoulder came to clutch my shoulder. A soft voice in my head asked if I remembered the plan. Of course I did. I was Mercy's partner. We both knew what would be happening. Soon the show would be starting. I smiled lightly

"Of course."

I removed myself from the room. Looking to find a way onto the main stage. I smiled brightly as I found what I wanted. While still cloaked with the force, I inserted my will into the mind of an extra on the show. A young man who was just one of the many voices in the background. Forcing him to enter the room closest to us, I walked in myself, and closed the door.

Smiling, I influenced him with the force. Speaking words into his mind.

"Your life, is not worth living. You are going to choke yourself."

To which the young man responded,

"My life is not worth living. I am going to choke myself."

He grabbed the nearest tie from inside the closet, and began to strangle himself without a word. I smiled as I revealed myself. Uncloaking myself physically. After a moment in time, I used the hologram belt that I wore to scan the passed man. It took only a moment, and with the activation of the belt, my form changed to be that of the young man. Twisting my neck, I popped it.

"Time to practice my singing skills."

 

[Dunames Lopez]

"Bravo"

With the first song now over, Dunames asked Frank for a bucket of icy water large enough to encase a 1.75-liter bottle of scotch, alongside a champagne flute. Even though he was on patrol as a police officer that night, he still had to help the patrons of the theater in any way possible. But Anastasia, however, wanted a different type of glass altogether, one that would be more suited to drinking beer or mead than scotch or other fine drinks. But they do not imagine that two shadows lurk somewhere backstage, waiting the right moment to prey on the audience or the performers. She is about to open the bottle of drink, despite the forthcoming warning Dunames is about to issue her, when the glass arrives to her, alongside the champagne flute and bucket of icy water.

"Anastasia, you shouldn't drink now! Drink after the show ends!"

"I have gotten a large bottle of the best scotch they have. Now it needs to be properly chilled before I can start drinking it"

Even though Anastasia was satisfied with the scotch's flavor, she decided to soak both the bottle and the glass in the bucket of icy water because she feels the temperature is inadequate for drinking the scotch. While the interlude was about to end, Anastasia checks the scotch for temperature again and, while she poured Dunames' champagne flute to capacity, knowing by now that Dunames would drink she would pour a small dose of scotch for the purpose of testing for temperature. Then Anastasia, now sure she had the scotch chilled where it is, begins uncontrollably drinking the entire contents of the Nar Shaddaa-standard scotch bottle.

"Help! We have an intoxicated patron! Orchestra, first row" Dunames shouted, upon seeing Anastasia fall to the ground after her latest alcohol antic.

"I don't understand" Anastasia said, with hiccups in her raspy voice. "I should normally be able to drink this much scotch before problems occur"

"Nar Shaddaa. You should also open a location on Nar Shaddaa: they respect big drinkers much better there than here on Bespin"

[member="Marzena Choi"] [member="Despair"] [member="Mercy"] [member="Christie Daae"] [member="Arkaitz Zambrano"]

 

[Christie Daae]

White-teeth flashed in a smile as she nodded her thanks, trying to maneuver out of the crowd. Head ducked down. Perhaps she was still shy. Not used to so much attention directly on herself, as a lone performer. Moving through the throng of bodies, she stumbled into a hard chest, just one moment from looking down at her feet.

And one moment after she heard the voice in her head and felt its velvet touch on her mind.

'Brava.'

Doe-eyes turned up, slender neck extending as she made eye contact with the man her body and rustle of skirts had just run into. He had pools like fire rimmed in the circles of a bleeding sun. And for a moment, she felt a strange connection with him. [member="Arkaitz Zambrano"]

The voice in her head? That voice that left a thrumming in its wake.

"I'm so sorry Monsieur." Her hand, what was it doing? It rested lightly on his chest. She must've placed it there to steady herself. And she was instantly mortified, going to withdraw it. "I didn't see you there."

It looked like someone was getting ready to sing onstage.

[member="Despair"] [member="Marzena Choi"]

 

[Mammut]

She stumbled into him and paused, aghast. He expected a spark of recognition to light within those rich, brown eyes, followed by a flare of recognition to set them aflame with hate. Instead, she seemed to draw a bit closer. He felt a foreign warmth resting on his chest. Her hand?

Arkaitz could not remember the last time another being had laid hands on him in anything but wroth. The Zambrano flinched away reflexively, lips curling beneath his tortured stare.

Had she just apologized? A tic ran up the prince's jaw, gaze shifting from expectant to curious. He should have known that caught up in the throng of the masquerade none would recognize him as the bastard son of Kaine. The girl's song had had a strange effect on him. Thoughts came sluggishly at first, then all too quickly.

"The fault is mine, mademoiselle." An oily baritone. "Where did you learn to sing?"

[member="Christie Daae"]

 

[Christie Daae]

[member="Arkaitz Zambrano"]

Crimson-lips puffed out into a slight frown. She had offended him. The way he reacted and pulled away. Delicate-hands came to smooth down the bodice of her long dress. But she couldn't stop looking at his eyes. They reminded her of the Angel in her father's stories. Eyes of gold. His gaze lured her in and threatened to drown her.

A very small voice chided her own childish feelings.

"My father taught me everything. He is...was a talented musician." Hand strayed to the pendant around her neck. "But he died when I was very young. More of my formal education was spent at the Conservatory of Arts on Tion. Are you an admirer of the arts, Monsieur? And please, call me Christie."

The young girl offered a short curtsy.

 

[Dunames Lopez]

With Anastasia clearly having drunk too much scotch at once, Dunames takes Anastasia in her arms until she could find the closest first aid station inside the Grand Theatre, with patrons seeing how clearly sick she is. And, because Anastasia wasn't one of those anorexic fashion models that worked in that industry in an attempt to pay for drug rehab, Dunames couldn't carry her for that long: she barely reached the area underneath the booth that she could carry Anastasia no longer and, at that point, Dunames left her on the floor. Certainly she realized that the First Order's newest supermodel was delirious after drinking thirty-seven servings of scotch by her lonesome. After all, a Nar Shaddaa-standard (1.75 L) bottle of spirits contains about forty servings of said spirit, as per the "nutritional facts" label mandated for distribution of liquors within First Order space (even though most other governments only mandated alcoholic content to be labeled).

"Frank, get us an ambulance at the Grand Theatre: it's a medical emergency. We have a severely intoxicated patient here, stat!"

"Right away, Commissioner!"

"Can you hear me, Anastasia? You drank thirty-seven servings of scotch too fast to be true; my glass could only contain three"

"Yes, why? What happened?"

"You fainted while you were watching [member="Christie Daae"] sing. An ambulance is en route now"

"Is that mask making me drunk faster? As I said earlier, I can drink a whole bottle of fine scotch like that one without fainting" Anastasia said, with exhaustion signs in her voice. "She does have a lot of talent to sing. She should sing in some of the big-ticket venues on Coruscant at some point of her career"

"Provided of course that she doesn't care about the Force; you arrived here in the wake of Dulvoyinn and the dark side means a lot to you. Perhaps the dark side fo the Force doesn't mean as much to Christie... and all shows that were scheduled during Operation Blackout were postponed indefinitely; I believe the shows may be re-scheduled once the fighting subsides and venues can be repaired"

"The ambulance has arrived, ma'am"

Two paramedics, with a grav stretcher, arrive on location, carrying Anastasia away and Dunames, out of guilt, decides to follow her away from the Grand Theater and stay at her bedside, knowing that she became one of the symbols of the First Order's newfound place in dark-sided fashion circles. And also another person she could use as part of the advertising agreement with the First Order in later issues of the recruitment advertisements being run.

Note: This is my exit from the thread. Please stop tagging me in that thread from now on.

 

[Mammut]

Behind the mask, the bastard son could not hide his stare; eyes fixed to the motions of her fingers as they touched the pendant round her neck.

Her father.

Cold spears pricked Arkaitz, opening old, festering wounds that had never fully healed and likely never would. How fortunate for her, to have had a father who cared enough to teach her. And to teach her well.

She curtsied. He bowed.

"I am Arkaitz," no need to divulge his surname, nor the subsequent revulsion and hatred it would invoke. "And I am an admirer of many things," his gaze flickered across the ivory curvature of her face, "Chief among them the arts. Have you just started a professional career?"

He had never heard of a Daae before today.

[member="Christie Daae"]

 

[Christie Daae]

[member="Arkaitz Zambrano"]

Rich pools of brown followed his gaze. There was a deep intensity there, beneath his fiery orbs. But on the surface there was a skittishness about him. Fear? Hate? Longing?

Maybe a combination.

Fingers came to adjust the black-edged mask along her porcelain skin before dropping to her side. "I have." She glanced around nervously, feeling very much like a fraud. She could feel some heat rise to her cheeks. "I've been so used to doing duets. Or singing in the background. Was it that obvious?" She leaned in a bit closer, conspiratorially. Doe-like eyes flitted from side to side before settling back into his orbs of fire.

"Please, I value your honest opinion Monsieur Arkaitz. And you must tell me, how did you come to appreciate the arts?"

 

[Mammut]

He watched her touch her own mask and wondered what lay beneath; a ghastly visage such as his, or more flawless beauty. Did it matter?

Miss Daae moved nearer to him and he caught just a whiff of perfume. Chest expanding, Arkaitz drew in a slow breath. He could hear the thud of his own heartbeat.

Had he noticed she was unused to a solo piece? How could he have?

"Look around you. Your father did not teach you to sing. He taught you to move their very souls."

There was something primal in music that conveyed and tugged upon emotions in a way that words and pictures never could. Music could draw tears, incite rebellion, and set weary feet to dancing. This young woman had the enviable talent to pluck upon heartstrings with song. Arkaitz wondered what he might trade for such a gift.

"Such a quality is what drew me to the arts in the first place. You might say my father led me to it."

By denying me all else.

[member="Christie Daae"]