Faction Naboo Cultural Exchange

[Michael Angellus]

HELLOOOOOOO Single ladies! I am single and ready to mingle!

Wooo-beep

Stepping off of the speeder and walking in, Michael was all about the fun tonight, but BRED was wondering what the point of all of this was. Michael was here to have fun, but the droid was here to keep him on task. His mother was the CEO of Guardian Authority Ltd. not the LARGEST corporation in the galaxy, but they are supplying ships and gear as well as have a vacation destination in the middle of Naboo space. What are you gonna do? Tell my mom?

Wooo-boop

So far no women have approached a kid arguing with an astromech… weird…You wouldn’t!

Wooo-beep

CUTTO SCENE - Michael and BRED are back in his quarters, his tie is off and he’s just sitting on his bed as if about to cry. I can’t believe you told my mom.

Wooo-beep

| Outfit: Stylin and Profilin! | Tag: HELLO LADIES! |​

 

[Atham Harek]

He was... slinking about. He always did. He was one of the best, and by far, one of the sneakiest. So, it was only natural that he so happened to be standing near the ever-so-tall, and ever-so-lovely and ever-so-elegantly dressed Verity Stuyveris. He had been watching her political career with great interest.. mostly on her, naturally.

Atham was still Atham, Commando or not.

So, when she murmured into her class, she was passed by the Commando, who was holding his own glass of... well he had no rightful idea. It was his third. It was brown, it was strong, and it tasted good. And, it was free.

"Careful now, all that hairspray hasn't dulled his hearing."

He said, passing her with just a single, small turn of his head. Icy-blue eyes lingered at her eyes and then up and down her frame. Sizing her up was a better term for how he looked at her, and frankly everyone. He held his left arm behind his back after quietly fixing his beret, flashed a handsome, wolfish grin at the beautiful Senator before eyeing around the party. He wanted a smoke. He needed one. Thyferra tested his nerves, and tested his resolve.

He spared a moment to think of Corazona von Ascania , and his hand shook just ever so slightly that held the glass.

The cigarette, the cigar, the pipe. He wondered if he needed a smoke more than he wanted one. He took a swig of his drink before planning to mingle, speak and make merry despite the gloom. He was a Commando of the Republic, a son of Naboo, and had to keep up appearances.

| Outfit: By Jove!| Tag: Verity Stuyveris (sort of). |​

 

[Ra'a'mah]

Ra gave Vulpesen a skeptical look at his claim that stopping her would be easy, though she allowed him his confidence for the moment. He had, after all, chosen to compare the task to running through the woods, which seemed suspiciously weighted in his favor. "We'll see how confident you are after the third stall," she replied, turning her attention toward the jewelry displayed before them. "Besides, you seem to be assuming I'll be the only one spending credits tonight."

Her amusement faded somewhat as she listened to the rest. Ra understood his frustration. She had watched governments celebrate themselves with ceremonies and speeches while the people who actually carried the burden were forgotten almost as soon as the crisis passed. Still, her gaze shifted from the jewelry toward him when he spoke of Veradune. "Being noticed and being important aren't always the same thing, Vulps. The people who came home because Veradune answered when others didn't aren't likely to care whether a Chancellor remembered to thank you afterward." She paused, considering him for a moment. "Though I won't pretend recognition doesn't matter. Especially when you've spent decades watching others receive it for considerably less."

Her eyes returned to the necklaces, and a small smile gradually returned as she reached toward one without quite picking it up. "But if you've decided tonight is about making yourself the center of every merchant's world, I'm certainly not going to interfere." Ra glanced sideways at him. "In fact, I think I should encourage it. It'll make my spending look positively restrained by comparison."

Vulpesen

 

[Briana Sal-Soren]

She stood alone near the edge of the lake, where the early notes of the Dance of Set and Veré were beginning to draw the crowd toward the center where the great, smoking bonfire would soon be lit.

It'd always been a light and joyous event, and one of the celebrations of her childhood she'd loved above all the others. Briana could remember the first time she'd been allowed to attend, burning with an almost unbearable impatience to reach the music and whatever company awaited near the water, to show off all the dance lessons she'd taken just for that very night. She'd been young enough then that it'd seemed like the most grand event, full of magic and wonder. A moment to believe in the stories she'd been told about Set and Veré, and their undying love. Evenfall always came alive in those days, the whole of the estate humming with the easy permanence of a place she never imagined could become anything other than home.

Now, the ruins stood ahead of her, and for several long moments, Briana stood with her heavy skirts gathered in one hand, staring toward the lit up silhouette of the house where she'd grown up, before turning her face back toward the open water. On the journey back to Naboo, she'd imagined coming back here more times than she cared to admit. Would she feel angry? Would grief rear its ugly head? Would some forgotten fragment of the girl she used to be claw her way to the surface the instant she crossed the old threshold?

Yet she felt none of it. There was only a hollow, flat recognition of what used to be set against the stark reality of what now was. Children were laughing beneath the gnarled boughs of trees that somehow survived the Cataclysm. Naboo musicians played their folk strings within sight of broken stone. Refugees, nobles, Jedi, and soldiers wandered freely through gardens that once belonged exclusively to her family. Life trespassed upon grief, and she found she didn't entirely hate it. Her mother, she suspected, would have approved. Her father, on the other hand...

With a sharp exhale out her nose, Briana cut that thought off. She only had room for one ghost at a time, tonight.

Her gaze settled on the dark water, the gentle lap of the water smacking against the shoreline pulling her thoughts into the undercurrent of everything that'd happened since she last walked these grounds. They drifted with a relentless, heavy gravity between the most recent of events. The Vanguard and the revelations that'd been uncovered within their camp; Thyferra and the guilt of their failure to hold the line against the Sith's advance; Lorn and all that he'd endured that day. And beneath it all, her brother’s spiral, the devastating loss of his daughter, pieces of a puzzle that weren't coming together. Lossa's own fall, and consequent disappearance... this tenuous moment of amnesty, and what decisions needed to be made next for everyone's survival.

The sound of laughter from farther down the path caused Briana to turn toward the sound before she could help herself, only to spy a woman she didn't recognize leaning against her companion’s shoulder as they drifted together toward the center of the grounds. With a slow breath, Briana lowered her eyes and loosened her grip on the skirt, the sapphire fabric slipping through her fingers as its intricate gold embroidery and beadwork caught the cold flicker of the lanternlight.

Slowly, almost unconsciously, she twisted the engagement ring around and around on her finger as her thoughts raced in yet another direction.

When is Vizion going to get here?

The waiting, Briana decided, was every bit as anxiety-inducing as his last cryptic message to her had been; if not more so.

I don't want to do this over messages. Come home.

There was nothing inherently ominous about the words, yet it could mean everything at the same time, and every passing minute gave her more time to imagine what, exactly, he'd decided couldn't be said from a distance — and whether she'd still be wearing the ring she nervously twisted by the time he was finished saying it.

| Outfit: XoXo | Tag: Vizion Trozky |​

 

[Isar du Vain]

Spoiler

Amidst the mingling plebeians and nobles stood a figure swathed in black and gold finery, with a high, stiff collar that covered up his throat. Holding a glass of muja fruit wine in one gloved hand, the other came up and adjusted his gold and ivory 'sun and moon' mask, the features of it frozen in a neutral expression.

Isar du Vain might be a wanted man in Republic space, a criminal of ill-repute. So it was good that Isar du Vain was not present, only an associate of the less wanted but no less notorious Mauve du Vain. Viscount Idris Tel Idros was not wanted in Republic space. In fact, most people appeared to have never met him before, or know of his existence, or his home planet.

"Really? Where was it you say? Odd... I've never heard of that sector."

A line repeated so often tonight, Isar - er - Viscount Idris was getting quite bored of it.

Just stick to the plan. Weasel in. Get information. Get out.

Behind the mask, violet eyes narrowed on a woman with long golden hair who wore a dress of a deep blue, with gold accents. His teeth ground together and the muscles in his jaw tightened. His pulse beat faster.

A good thing he had suppressed his presence in the Force, both with copious amounts of death sticks as well as the brooch fastened at his neck.

Here?

A stalker after all.

"Excuse me," Viscount Idris accosted a nearby Naboo dignitary, "that woman in the blue dress. No the other blue dress. Yes, with the gold hair. Who is she?"

"Oh, that's that Tapani woman, my good sir. Ardemark, I believe. Have you met her brother? Helios. Wonderful fellow. A shame about their sector. Terrible, news. Just terrible."

"Uh huh... Ardemark. Thanks."

Sophelia Ardemark

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

Bastila had expected coming home to hurt more than it did.

She stood some distance behind Briana, close enough that they were unmistakably together, far enough that neither sister was obliged to acknowledge the other’s silence. They had arrived that way and, somewhere between the lantern-lit path and the edge of the lake, they had both simply stopped and for all it cared the world could have as well.

Stretched around them in fragments lay what remained of their families historical legacy, where it had all fallen apart, where they had accepted their fates and paths shattered into a million pieces. Yet amongst the memory Bastila remembered the estate larger than what she was being presented with here.

She remembered racing through gardens that had seemed endless, hiding beneath tables when she was supposed to be upstairs getting dressed, stealing things from kitchens and blaming Blaire with the absolute conviction that nobody could possibly see through the lie.

She remembered Brandyn being insufferable and Briana being worse. The voice of their mother carrying through open doors, beckoning them in for the afternoon meal, to get ready for bed or to just see them closer than shadows upon the estate fields. The memory was shared by that feeling of her father occupying every room he entered simply by being Baros Sal-Soren. The Noble, the designer, the Terrorist.

She remembered home and this place before her bore its shape. Yet resemblance of shape was all that it was.

One of the old walls had survived almost intact, stubbornly standing where everything around it had collapsed. Lanterns had been strung from its broken edge, their warm light spilling across stone blackened by the Cataclysm. Flowers grew between fractured paving slabs. Someone had erected tables where part of the western gardens had once been, and beyond them the first guests were beginning to gather around the great bonfire.

Bastila stared at it all and waited for something.

She expected grief, maybe even anger. But for nothing to come, even when she invited anything…Her hand tightened briefly around the fabric at her side.

For years, Evenfall had existed in her mind as something preserved. Not untouched, exactly. Bastila knew what had happened here, it played an important part of her life in the fading of that destruction. Yet memory was strange. Somewhere inside her, the estate had remained exactly as it had been when she was a young girl. She took in the lake glittering beneath summer light and upon the faint evening air swore she could hear music spilling from open windows. Inside her mother would be tending to lively matters, very much alive. Her father was also alive, papers and datasheets across his desk abandoned for the attention of his youngest. All four Sal-Soren children scattered somewhere across the grounds, convinced in the arrogant way of children that tomorrow would resemble today.

Perhaps she had expected that version of home to reach for her. Instead, there were strangers walking through its bones, blissfully ignorant to what had come before.

Bastila watched a pair of children dart between the trees, pursued by another carrying some brightly coloured festival ribbon above his head. Their laughter carried across the lawn like the sound of memory made reality. It made her smile slightly and she found she didn't mind that either. Sometimes the past had to be buried for the new to rise.

Her gaze moved toward Briana and for a moment, Bastila considered crossing the distance between them. Yet within that moment she noticed that there was something about the stillness of her sister and it made the instinct almost immediately fade away. She knew enough of Briana's burdens to recognise when they were gathering around her, even when she didn't know their exact shape. Briana wasn’t just her big sister anymore. She was the matriarch of the family, the shoulders upon which all was being held.

So Bastila stayed where she was and allowed Briana her ghosts. Bastila had enough of her own.

She turned away from the lake and instead focused in on where the gala was coming alive behind them. That, at least, was something she understood.

Lanterns climbed the trees in long golden chains. Musicians were beginning to find the rhythm of the old songs, tentative notes becoming something fuller as more instruments joined them. Dresses swept across ruined stone and military uniforms mingled with Naboo finery. Jedi who had spent too many months dressed for battle had apparently remembered that colours other than brown and black existed.

Bastila's mouth twitched at the thought of it all. The absurdity of it.

For once there were no alarms sounding. No evacuation orders. No Sith fleet hanging over the horizon. No one was asking her to crawl through a ventilation shaft or rescue someone from captivity. The expectation was no longer on her to stand in front of something considerably larger than herself with nothing but a lightsaber and an increasingly questionable faith that everything would work itself out.

Instead tonight there was music and tonight there would also be wine. Tonight was all about people pretending, perhaps desperately, that the galaxy had not become entirely consumed by war.

Bastila could manage that too, she could pretend. At least she thought she could as her attention drifted across the gathering crowd, lingering here and there as familiar faces emerged among the unfamiliar. Nobles. Soldiers. Jedi. Politicians. Survivors. Every one of them carrying something beneath whatever they had chosen to wear tonight.

The pressures of formal life once more upon her she for the first time since arriving, actually looked down at herself.

The gown had been an ordeal, but anything that had been pulled from the Sal-Soren collection always was. It was beautiful, certainly in the eyes of those around her. Yet also entirely impractical. It was the sort of thing that required assistance to put on and strategic planning to take off. She had endured opinions and at least one conversation about embroidery that had lasted long enough for Bastila to briefly reconsider whether fighting Sith was really so terrible.

She brushed one hand across the fabric, smoothing a crease that wasn't there and with a sigh realised that it felt strange being dressed like a Sal-Soren again.

She had gotten some scars since the last time she had worn a dress like this. Both inside and out, yet right here, right now she could be Bastila. Just Bastila. Not that she was entirely sure who that was anymore. The very thought threatened to pull her backwards and Bastila refused it the opportunity.

Her chin lifted as another swell of music rolled through the grounds, louder now, joined by the growing murmur of conversation and laughter. Somewhere nearer the centre of the gathering, someone called for more wood to be brought to the bonfire. Servants moved between the guests carrying trays of drinks. The Dance of Set and Veré was beginning.

Life, apparently, had grown impatient with mourning. Which was good, they had no time to mourn. She took one final look toward the broken silhouette of Evenfall. No time to mourn she thought as the emptiness remained, threatening her that it always would. Yet she knew she could live with that.

Perhaps.

Now, moving her eyes to the Gala once more.

Who had been foolish enough to come?

OUTFIT: XoXo | TAG: EQUIPMENT:

​

 

[Cerys Dyn]

Cerys stared at Persephone's offered hand a fraction too long before remembering the custom. She took it with an over-formal, stiff firmness.

"Master Dashiell did not leave me here," she said quickly, her montrals twitching. "And I do not require his permission to descend stairs." The words bit harder than intended, forcing a grimace. "I mean...thank you for the offer." It was polite, barely.

Sophelia's arrival offered a brief reprieve, but the man following her — someone called Elian — immediately ruined it. His compliment made Cerys stiffen. Lovely. Now people were commenting on her appearance.

Her eyes flicked down to the midnight-blue dress, then back to him. "Thank you. Sophelia chose it." She swallowed hard, realizing she had just admitted Sophelia knew her well enough to dress her. Wanting to reciprocate the social grace, she searched for an acceptable phrase. "And you look...appropriately dressed." Flawless.

When drinks were mentioned, Cerys seized the escape route. "Yes." But she said it too fast. She cleared her throat and looked to Sophelia. "Something mild. Very mild."

Steeling herself with the solemnity only a Jedi could muster, Cerys finally claimed the next step, then another.

"I was going down anyway," she informed Persephone. Obviously.

| Outfit: xxx | Tag: Rix Braji Sophelia Ardemark Persephone Dashiell Elian Abrantes |​

 

[Ilsoon Jul]

Ilsoon stepped off the ramp of his executive shuttle, a short distance from the event, opting to walk the rest of the way with his two Neimoidian guards closely behind him. He didn't expect any major issues but thought it was wise to be ready rather than leave his fate to chance.

As he reached the festival entrance, he was relieved not to smell the strong fragrance of Naboo's native flowers. Ilsoon paused at a small pedestal to grab a printed agenda for the evening, his thumb gliding over the schedule for the Dance of Set and Veré. He took a glass of dark wine from a server carrying a tray before finding a quiet marble bench along the main path.

Sitting down, he rested the glass in his hand while examining the paper in his lap. Upon closer inspection of the fine print, he noticed a word he didn't recognize. "What is this thing called dancing?" he wondered, taking a small sip of wine and shifting his orange eyes back to the crowd.

News of the Sith seizing a major bacta-producing world had already spread to the Mid-Rim, and he could see the worry etched on the faces of the wealthy delegates nearby. Prices were set to soar, and the Neimoidians back home were already in a state of panic. Setting his glass down on the edge of the bench, Ilsoon leaned back, waiting to see who would come up from the crowd.
​

 

[Phoebe Winsloe]

Tags: OPEN

Phoebe had been far from home for a long time, especially after the High Republic had taken control of her home world of Corellia, she had no reason to think the government would be any worse than any of the others that had controlled her planet in her lifetime. But the loss of Thyferra to the Sith, it had Phoebe thinking about her home, and more specifically about how she'd feel if another invasion came for it and she wasn't there to defend it. She'd made herself known to the Jedi Order here. Phoebe wasn't exactly sure who everyone was, but there were some names from the old days she knew at least, so there were some good people she recognized mixed in.

For the moment though, Phoebe was just glad she could walk the streets openly as a Jedi instead of having to hide it like when she was hiding in the Outer Rim, worried about a Sith assassin's saber being plunged into her back.

Phoebe wasn't too interested in the jewelry and other handcrafted goods that seemed to be common amongst the stalls, well, other than as something to browse and admire the craftsmanship. The street food and cultural dishes on offer, on the other hand, Phoebe could not pass a single stall without buying at least something, and even though she didn't want to get drunk, a lot of the stalls that were selling alcoholic beverages foresaw that she wouldn't be the only one with that problem and sold small sample cups that were just a small fraction of a serving to entice patrons to buy a larger bottle to take home or a full size drink. The tactic had worked on Phoebe, and she had a couple of bottles to keep in her fighter's small cargo compartment for when she was on planets where she was still under the legal age to buy alcohol.

 

[Persephone Dashiell]

​

"Oh, nothing to drink, thank you. A pleasure to meet all of you though."

Persephone knew the blonde girl. Ardemark. She had been stuck in that force forsaken peanut gallery with purple drama queen. When Persie had gone to enjoy a drink at the bar, chaos broke out and Lysander escaped. She had thought of donating half a million credits for a bounty. Or perhaps the suggestion the Ukatis Royal Family should be sued for damages due to sparing the rod on the eldest son.

Yet she doubted the Ardemark woman wanted to hear her thoughts on the matter. No doubt she was tired of hearing hollow condolences.

Now with Cerys...

Just the mere mention of Balun seemed to cause a interesting reaction from the Tortuga. To be fair, a reaction many had when the name of her cousin was brought up in conversation.

"Right,well...have a good evening." Persie watched her try to make her way down the steps. Not used to the heels probably.

"Enjoy the dancing." She said to the others with a small nod of the head before disappearing back outside.

---

Drifting outside, Persephone navigated to the market. She looked out of place in her stunning dress but she felt equally out of place inside. At least outside she could enjoy the night air and some stalls.

This was her favorite thing to do anyway. Try the different street foods. First stop? The mini powdered donuts.

Cerys Dyn | Sophelia Ardemark | Elian Abrantes​

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

One never knows when a final moment is truly the last. Brandyn had no idea this would be his last time setting foot on Naboo, or his final glimpse of the ruins of his family home.

He had just left the temple of the goddess, where he had spent an hour staring at the exact spot his parents had died. Their presence lingered like ghosts...his mother's soothing voice, his father's condemning glare. For a fleeting second, it felt as though they might step around the corner and back into his life, dragging him back to a childhood that had once seemed complicated, but paled in comparison to the present.

Walking through the market, Brandyn was struck by how everything was simultaneously alien and deeply familiar. The bustling stalls looked entirely out of place in the courtyard where he and his sisters used to play Jedi — a game they had always complained about playing again. Memories haunted every corner. More than once, he swore he saw the spectres of his younger self and his siblings chasing each other into the shadows.

Finally, he approached the guarded entrance of the underground facility. He hadn't loved his father since he was a small child, yet now was he beginning to understand the man. Terrorist or not, it was becoming clear that Baros Sal-Soren had genuinely loved his family, even as he drove a stake through its heart. Recognizing that same dangerous intensity within himself, Brandyn felt a sudden, uncomfortable kinship with the dead man.

"Permission to enter is denied to all revellers," a tinny voice droned. The security droid was unnecessarily verbose.

"This is my family's home," Brandyn muttered, not slowing his pace.

"This is property of the Kingdom of Naboo." The droid snapped a stun pike across the threshold. Brandyn flinched, but stopped.

"Quite," he said. Refusing to give the machine the satisfaction of a glance, he turned on his heel.

He wasn't defeated. He knew one thing for certain: the front door was never the only way into Baros Sal-Soren's bunker.

| Outfit: xxx | Tag: Cybelle Sal-Soren |
​

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic Praxon had recovered enough that people had stopped looking at him as though a strong breeze might finish the job. Mostly. There was more weight to him now, enough that the formal, dark layers of Naboo tailoring no longer hung quite so mercilessly from his frame. Strength had returned to his shoulders and his hands, but his face still betrayed what the rest of him attempted to conceal. His cheeks remained hollow, and the skin around his eyes was drawn tight with the lingering exhaustion of a man whose body had spent too long fighting merely to remain his own.

The hover chair carried him smoothly through the grounds of Evenfall Estate, guided by Dominic himself, while Skilch Marve walked beside him. The Rodian aide had offered precisely three suggestions that they take the quieter route. Dominic had ignored precisely three suggestions.

Music drifted between the stone ruins as they approached the gathering for The Dance of Set and Veré, a warm melody floating against the midnight air.

Firelight danced across the faces of those already congregating there — couples and strangers alike drawn toward the ancient tradition.

Dominic slowed. His eyes passed over the crowd once, then again. Skilch said nothing. That somehow made it worse.

Dominic adjusted one cuff, pretending the gesture required rather more attention than it did, before continuing toward the edge of the gathering. His gaze wandered briefly toward the dancers. One hand settled against the arm of his chair, fingers tightening almost imperceptibly before relaxing again. Then he looked beyond them. Searching.

He had told himself there were dozens of perfectly respectable reasons Tatiana Sah might attend the Cultural Exchange. And he hoped that at least one of them would coincide with why he had come looking for her.

| Outfit: xxx | Tag: Tatiana Sah fyi, Bastila Sal-Soren |​

 

[Tatiana Sah]

A Cultural Exchange? Tatiana was glad to attend such an event. It was quite literally what she was there to do. Admittedly, the exchange was more of a one-way trade, but every so often someone got hear plenty about her own people in return. Not everyone was interested, however, and merely answered her questions in an effort to be rid of her -- that usually backfired until they made their true disinterest known.

Information aside, it was an opportunity for Tatiana to indulge in something she didn't often have an opportunity to do: Fashion. Specifically, Formal Wear. The event was being held at the Evenfall Estate. An ancient festival at midnight. Cultural, religious, and traditional expectations. Just any outfit wouldn't do. Not her usual short jacket then. From her research this meant a dress. And as this was celebrating love, Tatiana felt red would be a perfect choice.

The blond haired woman stood amidst the sea of people wearing a long, flowing red dress that left her shoulders and arms bare. It was fitting enough to not hide her 'natural' curves, but it had no cutout for anyone to ogle the skin of her mammary glands. True, many dresses did often draw just short or show the tops, but a neck-supported dress had felt like it would stand out among all the other backless outfits on display.

Tatiana supposed she should try to find a dance partner considering that was why so many people were there. Though, she had hesitated. It wasn't efficient to do so, but somehow it seemed appropriate to imagine if Dominic were there with her. To reflect on his absence. That seemed a very Human-like thing to do. For an extended duration, in fact; after all, her natural reflection could pass faster than most species could blink.

Blue eyes scanned those in attendance as she slowly turned in place.

Dominic Praxon​

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Aurelian leaned into the warmth of her hand, closing his eyes for a quiet second. The storm inside his mind lulled as her thumb brushed his cheek. Exhaustion pulled at his limbs, tempting him to pull her back into the suite, lock the door, and ignore the galaxy beyond these walls. Yet her touch anchored him. Without a word exchanged, the phantom horrors of Thyferra receded just enough for him to breathe.

"Hmm," he murmured softly, opening his eyes as her hand slipped down to rest on his arm.

Guiding her toward the exit, Aurelian weighed the political landmines awaiting them down below. "Stuyveris will be gunning for me after Thyferra," he admitted. His reckless choices aboard the Grace of Theed had backed him into a corner. "I need to lay low for a while. Our answer is unified. We support the Republic and its efforts to manage this crisis, and we throw our full weight behind the Chancellor."

Shame burned deep in his chest for what his actions might cost Naboo and the Republic, but he wore a mask of steady composure. He would swallow the bitter guilt in silence.

Reaching the double doors, his hand rested on the polished brass handle. He paused, turning to sweep his gaze over the scandalously low cut of her violet gown once more. A wicked spark glinted in his amber eyes.

"Is this some sort of magic you are using?" he teased, a lazy grin breaking through the lingering darkness. "I quite like this dress, my lady."

A subtle sigh escaped him as he looked back toward the heavy doors, preparing to step into the Nexu den. "I will need a drink, first thing."

Despite the vultures waiting in the ballroom, the prospect of taking her hand for the Dance of Set and Veré made the upcoming ordeal almost worthwhile.

| Tag: Sibylla Abrantes |
​

 

[Keppler Danvier]

// Monument of the Fallen (See Map in Opening Post)
// Evenfall Estate

There was strength in Naboo. A strength born of suffering. A strength that undergirded the upper-class provincialism for which it was known.
There was a lot to admire in the resolve of the people. Monstrous hordes erupting from portals that seemed like they may never close, terrorist strikes, Sith on their doorstep and still they played. Even though Kepp couldn't be frivolous himself, he did not dismiss the strength that it took to laugh and play. It was certainly not born of ignorance.

There was much to admire in his new home. It was not a lack of respect for Naboo that saw him leaving it only weeks after arriving.

The choice to accept the position on the Outbound Flight was driven more by a desire for a fresh start than it was a need to remove himself from Naboo. The apartment that his now ex-wife and he had shared was not really their home. They had only lived in it for a few days when she got the call to go home and care for her uncle. She had never returned, so the place didn't really remind Keppler of her. No, Naboo did not hold memories of his former life. But the stars...that was where a new was a daily adventure.

So. For now, Kepp would simply observe the strength of his temporary home, through the monument erected to its fallen.

| Outfit: xxx | Tag: @Open |​

 

[Addison Porte]

Aiden Porte

YOUR_STORY​

Addison Porte had taken her time getting ready for Naboo's cultural event and told her brother and his little girl go ahead. Lira made her aunt pinky swear that she'd come so of course she would keep the promise and turn up fashionable late. Anyways, father and daughter needed quality time especially after Aiden's return from Thyferra so Addy felt justified in letting that happen. They were so sweet together. It was good to see hope rekindled in something so simple and precious.

Grief though was a fickle thing and today well, had been a hard one for the young Taanabian. The Porte twins' mother had passed on a few months ago, but there were moments that it seemed as if just yesterday.

Going through an interior cargo hold on Alexandra's ship that now was hers cut like a double edge sword. There were such good memories and family trinkets stored there, but also the pain they brought nonetheless. The thing that had gotten Addy so emotional was finding Alleycat's flight jacket that she wore as Rogue Leader. And it still smelled like her.

Seeing the old Rogue Squadron patch on the shoulder also made Addy worry about the current Rogue Leader. Kelly T. Perris and the squadron hadn't returned yet from their mission or at least he hadn't. And of course no one in the brass would tell her what his status was...

It wasn't like she was next of kin or something. She couldn't even really say they were lovers as that little detail still needed to be ferried out. Addison had only returned to reconnect with the Corellian when Indy got deployed with the fleet to defend Thyferra. She definitely wasn't the type of woman to just sit at home and keep the fires burning... No, Tinks was a doer and thrived in the middle of the fight. This downtime was killing her.

The brunette blew out a breath, then looked into the land speeder's rearview mirror to moisten her lips with some cherry-flavored lip balm. A quick check of her bob-styled wavy hair, then the speeder door opened and off she went.

Addison had decided to switch out her standard jumpsuit look for something a little more befitting for the festivities. Her attire chosen was a simple sleeveless wrap-around skort romper with a pair of black knee high leather boots and a crossbody bag to house her lightsaber, comlink, a few creds, and of course that lip balm. Nothing too fancy as practical was her middle name.

Brandy colored eyes soon spotted Aiden and Lira after making her way into the Night Market. Their pure joy together was infectious and radiated through the Force. Addison gave a wave, then joined them.

"Hey you two... So what goodies have you found I must try or not?"

​

 

[Vornak]

.

The lanterns were too pretty for a war.

Vornak walked slowly along the market path and let the crowd go around him. People still looked twice at the colourful jedi master. A young noble loudly asked a parent if he was a clown. A parent pulled the hand down and smiled an apology.

He could hear the music filtering up to the market as he approached the dance.

He understood why they did it. Soldiers fought better if they remembered what the fighting was for. That was the theory. In practice, to Vornak, it looked like a lot of credits spent on paper lights while the fleet was still counting holes.

With two hands neatly clasped behind his back, he approached the bonfire. Twirls of colour surrounded the fire. A glass of bumbling amber was offered to him from a tray.

He saw the woman from the bridge of the Grace. He was glad at least, that the sith trickery had not forced a longer hospital stay.

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[Rathir]

THE HIGH REPUBLIC

RATHIR
JEDI INITIATE • LIVING FORCE

LOCATION EVENFALL ESTATE, NABOO ◆ OBJECTIVE THE NIGHT MARKET

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Rathir had made reasonable progress on the roasted shaak when he noticed another stall further along serving small pastries beneath a generous coating of powdered sugar.

He slowed mid-bite.

The woman heading in the same direction was difficult to miss. Her dress stood out among the market stalls, far more formal and impressive than anything Rathir had thought necessary for investigating food, and he looked for a few seconds longer than he probably should have before returning his attention to the pastries.

He still had shaak left.

That didn't seem like a particularly convincing reason not to try something else.

Rathir changed course and made his way toward the stall, finishing another mouthful along the way. He came to a stop beside the unfamiliar woman, somewhat closer than most people might have chosen, and studied the selection.

"Do you know what those are?" He looked across at her. "I've never seen them before."

Rathir lifted his own plate slightly, as though the half-eaten roasted shaak provided sufficient evidence that he had been taking the cultural exchange seriously.

"This one's good." He indicated the meat with a small movement of the plate. "The vendor told me to look around before I went back for more. This counts, right?"

Rathir looked at the donuts again for a moment, then glanced to the young woman.

"These look nice, too." The Firrerreo smiled. "I'm Rathir."

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TAGS
Persephone Dashiell ​

FIRRERREO • FORM V • JEDI INITIATE​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Addison Porte
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Aiden smiled continued as he noted the sight of his sister, as he watched her come over towards him. During the Thyferra escapades she had watched over Lira while he was gone, so that made him feel better. She was in goods hands while he was gone, if it wasn't Alina, then he had Addison if the latter wasn't available.

"Hey you two... So what goodies have you found I must try or not?"

"Hey you, I'm glad you came." Aiden said with a small smile, giving his twin a small hug. "Lira, she's running around here somewhere with her friends...." Aiden glanced across the market and caught sight of his daughter once more. Laughter, smile was such a sight and joy to see. "There...." Aiden said with a chuckle, giving a slight nod of his head in her direction.

"You look nice, it wasn't just the festivites that brought you here was it? There a certain individual your hoping shows up?" The Jedi Knight inquired with a small smirk, looking back across the market.

"Oh, and thank you for looking after Lira while I was gone. She says you guys had a good time."

 

[Sophelia Ardemark]

Soph offered a polite nod as the other girl left. Sophelia hadn’t gotten a name. She’d have to ask Cerys more about her later. A warm smile as Elian joined them. She wrapped him up in a quick, tight hug. Before releasing him and stepping back.

“How’ve you been? It’s been a little while. The memorial is coming along nicely.”

His work had been pivotal.

Plum-painted fingernails that had a sparkly overlay tucked golden locks behind the shell of one ear. Blues flickered back to Cerys. Unsure if she should offer her friend help down those stairs. Knowing Cerys, probably not. “I’ll get the drinks. You two…chat.” Soph didn’t mean it to sound like she was trying to set them up. She just figured both good friends of hers could be friends with each other. Something like that.

A note of melancholy lingered upon her like a layer of silk. As she excused herself and headed toward the bar, she couldn’t help but feel that shell of sadness. Most of the people here were like her. Refugees from a war they’d never asked or planned for. Homes gone. Worlds gone. And after Thyferra. She’d been away. Wasn’t there. Could she have done something? Made a difference?

Such weight upon a night meant for celebration. Eyes snagged upon a man in a mask. For just a moment. Before her attention shifted to the bar. Heels carrying her forward. Drinks. All she had to do was get drinks. She could do that. Weaving between elegantly dressed patrons, she made it to the bar.

“I’ll have a whiskey and a glass of the golden-bubbled wine.” A guess at drinks for her friends.


Cerys Dyn Elian Abrantes Isar du Vain cc: Persephone Dashiell

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