Faction Naboo Cultural Exchange

[Cerys Dyn]

Elian's sudden agreement left Cerys entirely adrift, her mind scrambling to rewrite a conversation she had expected to go quite differently. For a long, silent moment, she just looked at him. Her eyes automatically flicked toward the drinks, scanning for Sophelia in the desperate hope that her friend would spot the emergency and stage a rescue, but no help was coming.

Releasing a slow breath through her nose, Cerys forced herself to salvage the moment. "I suppose..." She caught herself. It sounded like a chore, and Elian had been far too kind for her to treat his company like a burden. Softening, she tried again, her voice much gentler. "I would like that."

A prickle of warmth rose to her cheeks at the admission. Looking out toward the bonfire and the swirling shapes of the dancers, she turned back to him with a tiny, self-concious smile. "I should warn you, however, that I haven't done this very often. And by very often, I mean never."

"One dance," she said, her smile turning genuine as she found her footing. "On the strict condition that if I crush your toes, we take the secret to our graves."

A moment passed. Cerys awkwardly standing there, looking about like she was missing something. "So. What do I exactly do now?"

CERYS SOCIAL ESCAPE VELOCITY: 8.5/10
Subject has voluntarily offered physical contact. Threat levels remain elevated; emergency exits are under active surveillance.

| Outfit: xxx | Tag: Rix Braji Sophelia Ardemark |​

 

[Kameron Angellus]

He thinks that I’m stupid. He’s Neimodian… (he isn’t) he is thinking that I am stupid. Dance puppet dance.

“So, you’re just in it for the money, that makes sense.” He was blathering on about other policy issues and something about Bacta. Bacta? Who cares about Bacta? I mean, I laughed, but the lie hung in the air. I kept my expression calm, weighing every word as he zigzagged through topics. Somewhere between the bravado and the evasions, I found the thread I needed to pull, and quietly steered the conversation toward what mattered.

| Outfit: xxx | Tag: @Ilsoon Jul |​

 

[Guinevere Cavello]

​

Guinevere was wholly unaccustomed to such brazen disregard for propriety.

She knew, of course, that men made advances in holofilms. She had seen the lingering looks, the carefully placed hands, the dramatic closeness that always seemed to precede some grand declaration of passion. But knowing such things happened and actually finding herself on the receiving end of them were two very different experiences.

Even now, she wasn't entirely certain that was what Lancel was doing.

Perhaps he was merely selling their lie to the room.

After all, they were supposed to be hopelessly in love, eagerly awaiting their wedding night and all the blissful marital nonsense that came with it. At least, that was certainly the impression he had given her parents during his visit to her family's estate on Naboo.

When he gently but firmly closed the distance between them, Gwen swallowed hard.

He was so close now that she could feel the warmth of his breath whenever he spoke. The sensation made her want to squirm, and she silently thanked whatever celebratory gods might be listening that dancing required both of her hands. Otherwise, she would undoubtedly have been fidgeting with them.

Then his hands found bare skin again.

Goosebumps immediately raced across her back and down her arms.

It was the strangest sensation, pleasant and alarming in equal measure. His nearness made every instinct inside her pull in opposite directions. Part of her wanted to retreat several respectful paces. Another part wanted to remain exactly where she was.

Lancel seemed determined to capture her gaze, which only made holding it more difficult.

Gwen looked at his shoulder. The crowd. The chandeliers. His boots. Somewhere over his left ear.

Anywhere but directly into his eyes for more than a few seconds at a time.

What in the stars had gotten into him today? Had he returned from war desperate for some form of physical release, only to be immediately shoved into formal clothes and deposited at a gala? Or was this simply another performance? Was he exaggerating their supposed affection because half the room was undoubtedly watching them?

For one terrifying moment, she considered simply asking him. 'What has gotten into you?' The question rose all the way to the tip of her tongue before cowardice promptly shoved it back down again.

The Princess was completely out of her depth. No one had ever behaved this boldly with her before. Her sea-glass eyes drifted across the ballroom almost desperately, searching for Taza and the salvation of an impeccably timed interruption. Her handmaiden, however, was nowhere to be found.

Gwen felt a flash of irritation.

Of course.

Taza could materialize from thin air whenever Elion was within twenty meters of her, ready to defend Guinevere's virtue like a military installation. Yet apparently being left in the clutches of Lancel warranted no concern whatsoever.


With a small jolt, Gwen realized she had not actually said anything for several moments. That was rude. Possibly catastrophically rude, depending upon which etiquette instructor one asked.

She finally looked back at Lancel and immediately froze beneath the intensity of his gaze, like a nexu caught in the beams of an approaching speeder. Fortunately, he continued leading the dance, gently coaxing her feet back into rhythm before she could embarrass herself further.

"Umm…"

Thinking of conversation topics became considerably more difficult when his thumb was tracing idle patterns against her skin. "Have you…" She cleared her throat softly. "Have you made any progress on the ceremony?"


The ceremony had become something of a code between them. How is the ceremony coming along? Usually meant: Have you discovered any way to get us out of this?

Perhaps that was why her mind had leapt to it now. Faced with a predicament she had absolutely no idea how to navigate, Guinevere had apparently gone straight to discussing escape.

Wearing: X | Tags: Lancel Atria

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

Bastila's attention which while looking for familiar faces had wandered somewhere beyond the dancers and the chatting delegates had caught sight of her brother Brandyn. For someone known as shadow he was difficult to miss once she'd actually noticed him, moving through the market with a purpose entirely at odds with everyone around him. Bastila was convinced that while the evening seemed determined to pull everyone towards the site of the bonfire to come, her brother was making steady work of heading in the opposite direction.

Her eyes narrowed.

For several seconds, Bastila watched him disappear between the stalls and considered following. Instead, her gaze returned to the gala and immediately fell upon the one person she hadn’t expected them to; Dominic.

She found him easily enough amongst the lanternlight and gathering dancers. Her eyes rested there for a moment longer than they should have, some quiet part of her evidently still waiting to see whether he might look her way. He didn't and why would he.

Dominic was speaking to someone else, someone else that Bastila knew he would be talking to. Dominic had grown stronger in her time sitting with him, they’d laughed, they’d cried and they had confided in each other with more then just words of companionship. She watched as he offered her his hand.

Her lips pressed together, almost becoming a smile. Was this progress? She thought as her eyes dropped briefly to the floor before returning with purpose to where Brandyn had disappeared.

Perhaps she had somewhere else to be after all.

Brandyn would have been twelve maybe thirteen steps away from the security droid when Bastila appeared, sitting on a low wall in front of him. She offered no greeting to her brother, no question about how he'd been since Thyferra. She simply looked at him.

"What are you doing?"

OUTFIT: XoXo | TAG: Brandyn Sal-Soren (fyi: Dominic Praxon ) EQUIPMENT:

​

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

Brandyn froze, not instantly, but two heavy paces later, his shoulders locking at the sound of her voice. Of course it was Bastila.

In a flash, Thyferra rushed back. The blinding rage. The shouting. The way he had weaponised his own agony, slashing out at Velda...at his sister.

He couldn't face her. "Nothing," he said, the lie falling flat.

When he finally looked back, the lantern light caught the cold sheen of his artificial eye. His gaze lingered on her for a fraction of a second. "Just walking." Another pathetic lie.

His jaw ached as he averted his eyes. It would be so much easier if she hated him. Easier if Thyferra had finally taught her to stay away. But she was still here.

"You don't need to worry about me," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets and veering away from her path. "Go enjoy the festival, Bastila." He stepped towards the shadows, his voice dropping into a rough whisper. "Leave me alone."

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

 

[Taera 'Calypso']

The glitz and glamor reminded her of when she’d married Faustus. Cal had suffered whiplash in the weeks leading up to the wedding day, planned events with the few friends and peers in the Aurodium Guard paling to the grandeur of the events the Atria’s and their people hosted. It had been drinks in a bar and questionable decisions one night, an evening gown and seven course meal the next. And she’d had to fight to even have the privilege of whiplash: Faustus wanted all her festivities to be what his family decided to host for her.

Cal slipped the mask back on as she approached the forum: the widowed noblewoman from Epica, present to represent House Atria’s interests in the wider galaxy. She had elected to arrive later and separate from Lancel, who, no doubt, would be seeking to distract himself with whatever—or whoever—was convenient. Cal couldn’t blame him. Thyferra still burned in her memory.

Something clipped her shoulder and started spinning her. Cal craned her neck towards Lancel, straining as she reached for his hand. Her fingers grazed his and slipped off like ice. … Cal swallowed hard, focusing on the alerts on her HUD as fire bloomed across a Republic ship in front of her.

Lady Seraphine had hardly given her and Lancel a moment’s rest after Thyferra. Just long enough that any physical injuries sustained were healed. Cal’s physiology had seen to the bolts she’d taken but the prescribed days of rest had been needed.

She slipped into the crowd gathered around the bonfire, the amber light catching brilliant red highlights from the crimson fabric of her gown. The cut hugged her form a little more and the slit up to her thigh was a bit more daring than she’d allowed herself to wear previously. But she’d done her time as the mourning, grieving widow in black. Other wives on Epica had mourned better men for less time.

A small bar had been set up inconspicuously off to the side, allowing for the attendees to imbibe whatever poison they fancied. Cal made her way towards it, knowing that if she stood alone on the sidelines waiting for a dance, she would try to spy Lancel.

Lancel’s arms secured her, stopping her drift into the void. For once, someone had saved her.

The silence on the way back to Epica had been no less oppressive than the silence of space and the loss of the Force.

Cal ordered a whiskey on the rocks and absentmindedly watched the bartender pour. Eventually, she needed to talk to Lancel. Before he started using her secret against her.

| Tag: Open || Indirect: Lancel Atria |​

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Role reversals came suddenly in the wake of Thyferra. There had been no time to sit and dissect the horrors of that world, nor any quiet moments reserved strictly for themselves. Yet just as he had anchored her after Corellia, Sibylla was tending to him now, offering her own steady strength to pull him back from the edge.

Leaning down, Aurelian captured her lips in a deep, lingering kiss that melted the lingering anxieties from his chest. The frantic pulse in his throat slowed, replaced by a rare wave of complete calm. When she pulled back, leaving them simply breathing in the quiet space together, a genuine smile broke across his face, the first real one since they had returned to Naboo.

Her cheeky comment about the violet dress and him playing his cards right had caught him off guard. She was adopting his own wicked banter, wielding it back at him with practiced ease.

Pressing his thumb against the brass handle, Aurelian clicked the door firmly shut instead of opening it. The vultures in the grand ballroom could wait.

"Feth the appearances," he muttered, catching her hand and pulling her back into the center of the adjoining room.

"Aurelian!" Sibylla gasped in a sharp whisper, her heels skittering across the floor as he led her away from the exit.

Ignoring her mild protest, he released her hand and surveyed the layout of the room. Moving with energetic purpose, he leaned down and shoved the heavy couch several feet back. Turning on his heel, he pushed the opposing armchair out of the way, then dragged the low glass table toward the wall. Sibylla's soft giggles echoed through the suite as she watched his frantic redecorating.

Crossing to the control panel, Aurelian tapped the surface to flood the private chamber with a soft, sweeping Naboo waltz. He glided back to the newly cleared center of the room, extending a hand to her with that familiar, dangerous grin playing on his lips.

"Just one dance before we face the Rancors?" he asked softly, amber eyes gleam with mischief.

| Tag: Sibylla Abrantes |​

 

[Katarine Ryiah]

"Never Hide Your Heart"​

Predictably, Connel displayed all the social grace of a doorknob. Under different circumstances, Katarine might have found it funny. Tonight, however, she wasn't in much of a mood to laugh. Her head was beginning to swim, and her emotions seemed determined to pull her in half a dozen directions at once.

Connel and Lira slipped easily into a conversation of their own, and for a few awkward seconds Katarine wasn't entirely convinced either of them remembered she was standing there. They were wrapped up in their own little world, perfectly content in one another's company.

Something in her twisted unpleasantly.

She wasn't sure whether she was cringing at their complete lack of social awareness, the easy happiness between them, or the crimson poison currently winding its way through her veins and turning every passing emotion into something sharper and less predictable. Probably some miserable combination of all three.

"Well, it was nice seeing you all." She managed a polite enough smile. "I really hope you enjoy the party."

Katarine gave Buster one final affectionate pat on the head before quietly extracting herself from the conversation and drifting toward the bar.

She hadn't even touched the wine already in her hand.

Suddenly, she was absolutely certain it wasn't going to be enough.

Outfit: x | Tags: Connel Vanagor + Open​

 

[Cybelle Sal-Soren]

CYBELLE SAL-SOREN

LOCATION: E'Eeverwest Estate • TAGS: Brandyn Sal-Soren • STATUS: Waiting

Cybelle the Wicked:

She'd never expected anyone in their right mind to open the old E'Eeverwest Estate for anything other than a silent memorial, let alone, a public park. The area nearest to where Baros Sal-Soren had kept all his dirty little secrets was saturated with the Dark Side, no matter how many Jedi came through trying to cleanse it. That was why it was still locked off and guarded.

The deeper one went in the sub-levels…It was basically radioactive.

Cybelle had discovered several ways in and out of the "sealed" bunker during her investigation of the New Way. There was one near an old, gnarled tree where the roots had grown over the entrance. There was a password to enter, but nanites made short work of electronic locks. There had been traps aplenty…But even her better half had figured them out. The area above had been cataloged, claimed by the government, but this passage had entirely escaped notice.

It was likely because it was so far from the main one.

Baros Sal-Soren was a self-centered ass; rest in peace, but he had designed his dungeon so well that the Order would probably be chasing their tails for years trying to find every hidden nook and cranny. Every dreadful, dangerous artifact.

Finding the space that she had secured for herself took a lot more than simple cleverness or stumbling around drunk after a party. It wouldn't have been found by accident. The corridors doubled back on themselves, passages narrowed into apparent dead ends, and several perfectly ordinary walls concealed mechanisms that no stranger would think to look for.

One almost needed to know Baros to understand how he thought.

Or hate the hell out of him.

Cybelle found the latter easy enough, really, and it opened…So many doors. It was with that in mind that she mingled with those who had come for the Gala, all smiles, secretly watching the hidden entrance. No one seemed to notice that she was wearing something entirely different than her counterpart. They were all just grasping for…Something. Trying to find the Light.

Trying to feel without the old ways snapping down like a noose.

When it seemed that most had very little interest in that part of the old underground complex, Cybelle eventually returned…Home. Not to the hovel she shared with her wayward husband, but to the haven she had crafted for her child. Hiding her aura among all those artifacts that couldn't be moved—Beneath shielding.

She slipped past the final threshold and secured it behind her before making her way to the innermost chamber. It wasn't the sterile lab that it had once been, but transformed into a monochromatic living space. There was a bed with blankets piled comfortably on it, with a small kitchen stocked with anything she might require. Glow lamps burned quietly to avoid using too much power, but there were hanging clothes, bottles, and other items. Toys.

For an infant.

The space looked clean but lived in. Near the bed sat a cradle…And a robotic helper tending to the tiny creature that it held. The nanny-bot moved out of the way, and her expression softened at the sight of the sleeping babe. Warm, safe, and tucked away. Safe from the Jedi turning her into a sacrificial little lamb. Safe from a mother who was too weak, too soft, to protect her.

Safe from a father who was fated to kill her.

"There you are…My baby. My love."

Cybelle the Good:

Her hands were wringing just a little bit while she swayed just slightly to the tune of the music. It was a nervous twitch, in a way, hands behind her back. Her expression was innocent of all things but touched with a bead of valid concern.

Wasn't Brandyn Sal-Soren supposed to meet her?

She checked the timepiece on her comm again, wondering where he'd gone off to. Things had been a little strained since he'd come home this time, but they were finally moving in a better direction. The couple didn't have all the answers, but spending some time, just the two of them, seemed to help. A lot of solutions had come up…

Even going off-world, away from memories, if that might right the ship. Give him room to breathe away from duty and stress.

Away from Sith Witches and bloody, bleeding wars…Away from politics. Away from…

Everything.

Cybelle had been spending her daytime hours paying attention to her husband until he fell asleep, while her evenings were consumed with…Something she could not talk about. He could not hear about their missing child. Not at all.

Not anymore.

Topaz orbs surveyed the crowd, expecting to find Brandyn somewhere among the festivities, but there was still no sign of him. She was slowly starting to worry that something had happened. They were, bit by bit, unraveling all the secrets that he had kept from her. Doing it slowly so that it didn't put him back in a state…But—What if one of those secrets came back to hurt him?

Her heart tightened in her chest.

Cybelle frowned and gathered her skirts to move a little faster, following the faint sense of him that told her he was near. Just not where he was supposed to be.

"Where did you go…?"

— There are pieces of me that know things I do not. —​

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

The HoloNet reports about Thyferra had been bleak. Rumors of Sithspawn and plagues running rampant, refineries exploding, and acres of fields necessary for the production of life-saving bacta dominated every news source worth its salt.

Adelle approached the forum that had been repurposed for this evening, holding Aselia’s hand. She stole a quick glance at her girlfriend’s attire and both immediately regretted it and enjoyed it thoroughly. The dress had a daring cut to it that flattered Aselia’s athletic figure. The only reason she regretted it is that they were now in public and she had to behave.

“I’m sorry the only parties I keep taking you to are work-related,” she said as they walked. They followed other guests making their way down to the dance floor. Adelle scanned the crowd: no sign of Aurelian Veruna or Sibylla Abrantes among them. She wanted to see how they were doing. As the Interim Chancellor and Queen, they had seemed very hands-on with their roles. She worried one or both had been on Thyferra.

“But,” Adelle said as they reached the bottom of the stairs, an impish smirk playing at the corner of her mouth, “I’m more than happy to make it up to you.”

| Outfit: xxx | Tag: Aselia Verd |​

 

[Lancel Atria]

The dance carried them through alternating currents of warmth and chill. Now near enough to the bonfire for its golden light to flush Guinevere's skin, then drawing them toward the lakeshore where the evening breeze stole through the ruins.

Lancel perceived her sudden tremor immediately. Naturally, he possessed too little charity to overlook it. His fingers wandered with deliberate lightness over the exposed curve of her waist, tracing those small betrayals of the cold with an idle fascination. As the dance brought them once more toward the fire, he drew her nearer under the guise of offering warmth, though the dark shimmer of his gaze suggested a far less innocent purpose.

"The ceremony," he murmured, weighing his words with exquisite slowness. "I fear I have been unpardonably negligent." His eyes locked upon hers. "It was my full intention to make progress. Lately, however, I find myself questioning whether progress in that direction would constitute any true progress at all."

He left the declaration unexplained, a provocative riddle for her to unravel. His hand rose from her waist, a single finger tracing the delicate line of her jaw. Lancel inclined toward her, his gaze falling quite openly to her lips...an unspoken invitation that bordered on scandalous.

His eyes caught a figure beyond her shoulder. Calypso.

The finger beneath Guinevere's chin grew rigid. In an instant, the horrors of Thyferra rushed back to claim him. The pitiless glare of cold stars, the terror of spinning helplessly through the void, and the agony of Calypso's hand slipping irrevocably from his grasp.

Before reason could dictate his actions, Lancel's arm tightened around Guinevere, pulling her fiercely against his breast. She was warm. She was alive. She was entirely safe. For the first time in his life, his embrace owed nothing to the art of seduction, and everything to a desperate need for security.

| Outfit: xxx | Tag: Guinevere Cavello Taera 'Calypso' |​

 

[Aselia Verd]

Aselia caught the apology with a slight lift of her brow, but before she answered, her attention drifted over Adelle properly. Her eyes traced the lines of the dress with quiet appreciation, lingering just long enough to make it obvious she liked what she saw before returning to Adelle's face. The corner of her mouth curved.

"I think I can forgive you."

Her fingers tightened lightly around Adelle's as they continued down the steps, the polished stone beneath them reflecting warm light from the forum around them.

"Honestly, I'm starting to think these work functions aren't so bad." Aselia glanced down at her own dress, smoothing one hand briefly along the fabric at her hip before looking back toward Adelle. "I get to dress like this, you dress like that, there's usually decent food, expensive alcohol…" Her smile deepened slightly. "There are worse ways to spend an evening."

Then Adelle's impish smirk appeared.

Aselia noticed immediately.

"Oh?"

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Aselia turned just enough toward her to face her more directly, still holding her hand. "More than happy to make it up to me?" Her blue eyes held Adelle's for a moment, amusement softening her expression.

"In that case, I accept your apology." The grin that followed was no less impish than that of her girlfriend.

TAG: Adelle Bastiel
Outfit: [X]
​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

The laugh escaped Sibylla before she could stop it. And it wasn't one of those carefully restrained chuckles either. It was a truly helpless laugh as Aurelian waged a one-man campaign against the furniture.

"Aurelian!" She stared in bemused alarm as the couch scraped backward, then the armchair, before finally the poor table was unceremoniously banished toward the wall.

"Just what are you doing?!" She followed with a half laugh and a giggle, because seeing Aurelian throw himself into actual manual labor was quite hilarious enough. But when the soft strains of the waltz began to float over them, her brows lifted lightly as understanding finally dawned.

And just like that, Aurelian once again made Siyblla temporarily forget the sins of the galaxy and focus on the present. On him. On that ridiculous, maddening man with his crooked grin and amber eyes bright with a playfulness she had not seen since Thyferra.

It made a knot of emotion tighten unexpectedly in her throat, a half wobbly smile curving over her lips even as Sibylla found herself shaking her head, smiling despite herself. And without a moment's hesitation, she placed her gloved hand into his.

"You are utterly ridiculous, you know." Sibylla breathed out to him even as Aurelian drew her close, the heat of his palm settling against the bare curve of her back as Sibylla's other hand found his shoulder. Then without further ado and with that rakish glint in his eyes, Aurelian led her into the dance, the deep violet skirts whispering around their feet as he led her about the makeshift suite dance floor.

No scandalized aristocrats were counting precisely how many centimeters separated the King from his Voice. No murmurs of aghast and gossip regarding the way they looked at each other. It was just them, enjoying the dance they couldn't take out there in public.

And while the thought was bittersweet, it reminded her of the masquerade over a year ago. How they had leaned into the anonymity of the masks, enjoying their endless quipping, before months of carefully ignored tension had finally snapped and Aurelian had kissed her.

Had it truly been that long ago?

Now his mother's pendant rested securely around her wrist, while hers lay hidden beneath his shirt over his heart.

In any lifetime.

Sibylla's expression softened before that familiar spark returned to her eyes.

"Part of me wonders whether you are using this as your charming way of stating, challenge accepted." Her brow arched as he guided her through another turn. "...or merely taking advantage of the fact that no one is here to notice how thoroughly you are violating professional standards."

| Outfit: x x | Tag: Aurelian Veruna |​

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Aurelian pulled her close, eliminating every breath of space between them as the waltz swept them across the cleared floor. "I know," he murmured, his voice thick with a sudden, unbidden warmth. For a brief second his composure cracked, his eyes softening into absolute devotion. "Witchcraft," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head before locking his gaze back onto hers.

"Can't a King just enjoy one private dance with his Voice?" he quipped, catching the brilliant smile that lit up her face. The heavy weight of the Senate, the Sith, and the looming political vultures evaporated into the quiet room. "I would hardly call this violating professional standards."

A dangerous smirk spread across his lips. His hand slipped from the middle of her back, resting a fraction below her waist on the smooth violet silk. "Now this could be considered unprofessional."

The sharp gasp that escaped her lips was worth every bit of the risk. Laughter bubbled between them, restoring the effortless banter they had shared long before Thyferra had tried to tear them apart. A sudden memory surfaced through the haze of his mind, taking him back to a night masked in velvet and gold, long before a war had torn at them.

Leaning down, Aurelian pressed a tender kiss against her forehead, letting the rhythm of the music carry them effortless through the turn. "Do you remember your ridiculous song and dance at the masquerade ball?" he asked softly, amber eyes glowing with genuine warmth. "Something about a pocket of sunshine and taking you away, hmm?"

Recalling that night comforted him against the dark memories of the artifact. Here in the quiet safety of her arms, remembering the woman who held his heart was the only sanctuary he needed.

| Tag: Sibylla Abrantes |​

 

[Guinevere Cavello]

​

He drew her nearer, and Guinevere shivered despite the warmth of his body against hers.

He was looking at her again, but something had changed in his eyes. The intensity was still there, perhaps even more so, but now there was something else beneath it. Something she could not name.

She felt confused, frightened, and, to her embarrassment, a little awestruck.

Her parents had undoubtedly believed they were protecting her by preserving her innocence, but Gwen was beginning to wonder if perhaps they had done her a disservice instead. They had prepared her for court, for diplomacy, for propriety and obligation. They had never prepared her for moments like this.

"It was my full intention to make progress. Lately, however, I find myself questioning whether progress in that direction would constitute any true progress at all."

She blinked at him. Then blinked again. Lancel had a gift for pompous, grandiose declarations, but Guinevere was not so sheltered that she could not understand the words themselves. It was the meaning behind them that completely escaped her.

Before she could untangle it, his finger traced gently along her cheek. The touch stilled her far too easily. Her lips trembled as he leaned closer, and for one dizzying moment she was certain she might actually faint. Her heart was beating so violently that she wondered whether he could feel it between them.

Then, without warning, he went rigid.

A soft gasp escaped her.

She was still unfamiliar with the startling strength a man could possess even when he was attempting to be gentle. One moment he had been tender beneath her hands, and the next his entire body seemed drawn tight as a bowstring, and for the first time she truly appreciated how strong Lancel was.

His attention was no longer on her. Something beyond her shoulder had caught his gaze. Before Gwen could turn to see what it was, Lancel pulled her firmly against him, almost desperately.

"Lancel?" she whispered.

The embarrassment and confusion vanished beneath a sudden bloom of concern. Was this what war did to a person? Was he remembering something? Was he hurting?

Her delicate hands moved instinctively across his back, rubbing small, soothing circles as she held him. Gwen glanced around them, checking to see whether anyone was staring, though only because some deeply ingrained part of her knew she ought to care.

In truth, she did not.

Not now.

There was something wrong with him, and that mattered far more than propriety.

"It's all right," she murmured softly. She tightened her arms around him as best she could, still uncertain what had frightened him or what comfort she could possibly offer.

"You're safe here."

Wearing: X | Tags: Lancel Atria @@Taera 'Calypso'

 

[Persephone Dashiell]

Now here she was, snapping on some sheltered Jedi kid. Poor thing didn't have any real social skills beyond hanging out with his fellow burlap cult members and here she was, letting her frustrations get the better of her. All she had wanted to do was people watch in the ballroom, that had been nixed. Then she had gone outdoors to stuff her face full of sugar laden treats, now that was taken away from her. Despite wanting the treats, she wasn't even in the mood to enjoy them now.

Instead she placed a credchip on Naboo Nik's Donut stand and nodded over towards the burlaped wonder. A silent indication she was paying for him and not herself.

"Hey, donuts are paid for if you still want them." She called out to the teenager. As for herself? She kept moving between the stalls. Maybe something else would catch her eye.

That something else ended up being an iced caf stand. Persephone lived partially on iced caf and should have been suspicious when the line was short. Yet she had chalked it up to being later in the evening and possibly it being a cultural thing. Difficult to tell. The color of the product had been right. Ice seemed appropriate.

Yet that first sip from the straw had her frowning. Some more walking and stirring and shaking. All the tricks to make it taste better. Yet it did not taste better. Almost if someone had burnt the caf itself then tried to salvage it. Tossing the cup in the trash as she passed by a receptacle, Persephone reflected on the night. A complete disaster.

"Guess I'm not enjoying caf today either. Great."

Debate raged in her head as she started to leave the vendor stalls. She settled on walking through the expansive gardens on her way to exit the estate and go back home to Kalinda. What was the purpose of staying and encountering disaster after disaster?

Rathir | Tavian Djo​

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Cerys Dyn
​

The thought drifted to his brain, as she accepted, and the moved towards the dance floor. That this could end in disaster....Truthfully, he wasn't expect her to say yes, and now they were here. The only thing he had to worry about was a runnaway dance partner. Althought considering everything that he had been through in the past year. This was by far the least worst thing that could happen to him. Good thing he noted Cassian nearby, so he could retreat if things turned out embarassing for him.

"One dance," she said, her smile turning genuine as she found her footing. "On the strict condition that if I crush your toes, we take the secret to our graves."

A moment passed. Cerys awkwardly standing there, looking about like she was missing something. "So. What do I exactly do now?"

If anything, her uncertainty was rather endearing, and the last thing he wanted was to make this more complicated than it needed to be.

"Nothing difficult." he assured her with a smile. Elian offered his hand, keeping the gesture simple. "Your hand goes here, in mine." Once she offered it, he would take hers in his gently, keeping his grip loose enough that she could move comfortably, and also so she didn't feel trapped. "Your other hand goes on my shoulder." Elian smiled moving to the next step. "My other hand will go here." He motioned to just above her waist at a respectable position.

"And honeslty from here, just listen to the music and move with it." He would lead, slowly, and see how he could orchestrate this well enough so it didn't end in disaster. Yet at the back of his mind, all best were off at this point.

​

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

​

Cassian breathed in deeply, exhaling before raising the next shot to his lips and downing it. He gave the slightest shake of his head. He noted the nod from Elian and simply smirked. He glanced away for a moment, raising his hand toward the server and requesting another.

A smug smile followed as the server poured Cassian another. "Are you sure that's wise?"

The eldest Abrantes shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps not, but I've been without a glass of whiskey for almost a year. It's a good time to catch back up. Don't worry, no foolish antics from me this evening. I can't say the same about my brother over there." He jerked his head toward where Elian was.

"I've met your brother once and seen him a few times around Theed. He looks to be doing well. Despite the terribleness of it, that arm does seem to suit him well."

Cassian nodded grimly. "Yeah, I wish it hadn't happened." He downed the next shot before sliding the glass back over for another.

"So, Cassian, what's next for you now that you are back?" he inquired, pouring him another shot of whiskey.

Cassian raised the glass, very lightly swirling the liquid around inside the shot glass. "Well, I have to retake my aptitude tests. Marksman, fitness, psychological, and all that in two days' time."

"Don't you think that's a little bit early? I mean, you've only been back a week..."

"The faster, the better." Cassian voiced. He had not intended to interrupt him, but it was simply his way of showing that he couldn't let this halt things. No matter how badly it had affected him, he would have to push through and come out better for it all.

"So, are you going to be alright?"

"I'll be fine, It was hell, though. I won't lie about that." That was an understatement. It had truly been hell, magnified tenfold. He let out a small sigh before taking another shot. Then he started to feel it, that buzz he had been waiting for. He took another deep breath, that feeling of ease, calm. A few more and he would forget for the rest of the evening.

 

[Cerys Dyn]

Cerys stared at Elian's offered hand. Her heart gave one violent thump, then another, before apparently deciding that maintaining a reasonable rhythm was no longer amongst its responsibilities. She swallowed hard, once, twice, and then a third time, thinking to herself, This is ridiculous.

Slowly, Cerys placed her hand into his. The contact sent another flutter through her chest. Her palm was already beginning to feel embarrassingly warm, and she became acutely aware of the faint sheen of perspiration forming along her brow.

Next came the shoulder. Cerys lifted her free hand and rested it there with extraordinary care, as though Elian might explode if improperly handled. When he indicated where his own hand would go...just above her waist...her late Master's voice came flooding back.

Attachment begins innocently, Cerys. Comfort becomes desire. Desire becomes fear of loss. And fear... She swallowed again. ...opens doors that should remain closed.

Every instinct screamed for her to leave, and yet, somehow, she stayed. Lekku trembling almost imperceptibly, she gave Elian a tiny nod.

"Alright." Her voice cracked, prompting her to quickly clear her throat.

"Alright," she repeated, managing something approaching a nervous smile. "You lead. And perhaps...slowly."

Her fingers tightened slightly around his hand. "I thought I was feeling unconfident before...but I was wrong...that was apparently just the entrée."

CERYS SOCIAL ESCAPE VELOCITY: 9.5/10
Social integration critical. Subject remains inexplicably committed to the dance.

| Outfit: xxx | Tag: Rix Braji Sophelia Ardemark |​

 

[Rathir]

THE HIGH REPUBLIC

RATHIR
JEDI INITIATE • LIVING FORCE

LOCATION E'Eeverwest Estate ◆ OBJECTIVE The Night Market

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Rathir looked from the credchip to the young woman already moving away.

That was unexpected.

"Thanks," he said quietly after her, but stayed where he was. She didn't want to talk to him.

Rathir turned back to the stall instead, shifting what remained of the shaak into one hand while he reached for the bag of donuts with the other. For a moment there was more food than convenient places to put it, but Rathir managed well enough and peered into the bag before taking one.

As he bit into the sweet, his vivid blue eyes widened.

"Oh. Wow."

Whatever else had happened, he supposed she had been right about one thing: they were worth trying. It was a shame the girl in the dress had walked away. Rathir wanted to share, just so she could enjoy them, too. Especially because he couldn't shake the thought that talking to him had been why she'd left without anything.

That didn't sit well with Rathir.

Still, the Firrerreo would respect her wish not to speak with him, and he decided to continue through the rows of stalls. He saw several interesting items, some odd-looking clothing, another treat he was tempted to try, and was about to enter the next row when he heard a familiar voice--

"Guess I'm not enjoying caf today either. Great."

--Rathir looked back.

The same young woman was further away and had just dropped a cup into one of the nearby receptacles. He hesitated, remembering their earlier exchange, then glanced down at the bag in his hand.

She had paid for them.

After a moment, Rathir circled back. He approached more slowly this time and stopped well short of the distance he had chosen before. Rathir cleared his throat, and without saying anything, held the open bag of powdered donuts out toward her.

He offered a small, tight-lipped smile.

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TAGS
Persephone Dashiell ​

FIRRERREO • FORM V • JEDI INITIATE​