Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos
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Faction Naboo Cultural Exchange
- Thread starter Pillar of Freedom
- Start date
This is my resting destruction face.
Vibe Terrorist
“Oh exceptionally well,” he said putting on airs as he took another sip of the whiskey and then lowered the mask, immediately regretting not wearing a half mask. Of course, then the whole ball would see Idris Tel Idros’ stupendous mustache and that might give the game away.
“But yes, this is my first time, Ms. Sophelia Ardemark.”
The Viscount’s head tilted to the side, “Is that what I should call you, or do you have another title, love?”
She seemed excited and nervous to see him, the emotions bleeding through. Interesting. Usually she started off with a punch.
His gaze panned the room in an exaggerated movement, “speaking of titles… Where are all the Naboo nobles flocking to win your hand? Wait. Don’t tell me. They can’t keep up. Left in your stardust, eh?”
Sophelia Ardemark
Persephone Dashiell
It's Called Fashion Sweetie
Waving off the teenaged Jedi, a nice gesture but she wasn't in the mood, Persephone made a right and entered the formal gardens. Instantly it was quieter, more peaceful. Distantly a fountain trickled, somewhere in the maze of well maintained shrubbery.
Heels clicking against the stone pathway, Persephone moved with a purpose. Searching. After several moments on the pathway she had found the perfect spot ; a bench secluded off to the side, arched by beautiful white roses growing up either side and overhead. They almost glimmered in the moonlight.
Taking a seat and smoothing her dress, the Socialite took a moment to enjoy the view, taking a deep breath. Pleased no one had followed her, Persephone fished her comm out of a hidden side pocket in the dress.
What was she doing to take advantage of such beautiful scenery? Order Yum Bunnies To Go! , the only natural course of action in a situation like this.
Head lowered,focused on the comm, talking to herself.
"New Bunny Hutch sampler...meant to be shared my ass..let me add that..what else.."
Senator of Vaklin, 1st Siskeeni Advisor
TAGS:
Rhea Taal
, Open
The ability to exist outside of something while possessing the ability to look in was a skill he had honed for many, many years. While his clear decision afforded him the courtesy of remaining unaccosted by the party revelers, it in no way insulated him from the occasional glance. Not that he was overly concerned with curiosity. His crimson eyes were an oddity in High Republic space and drew more than a wondering gaze. Usually, fear was mixed in with the stares. It was to be expected. He was an anomaly.
While he considered himself a civilized and refined man, it didn't deny what else he was, no matter how well he dressed himself up. He was a Master in the Baron Do Sages and a member of the Hidden Ones. Beyond that, he was a skilled warrior and commander of men. If the suave politician and businessman would have missed the returning glance from the elegantly dressed woman, the other side of him did not. However, the cursory look did not require him to return a peek in her direction. Especially when her attention returned to the fire dancers, so he tilted the flute back and drained the wine before placing it on the tray of a passing server. His hand captured one of the untouched glasses and brought it to his nose. Some form of cherry-infused champagne.
His attention drifted away from the fire dancers. Their choreography was artistic. And the dancers held no fear of the flame's bite. More than likely, their skin was rubbed with an agent that prevented burns from accidental embers falling or the flame's hard-to-predict path. It was almost cheating. But he acknowledged he was somewhat biased in the accounting of their abilities. His natural affinity with fire was not a common quantity. At least not here, in respectably benign circles. He returned to people-watching, observing the carefree laughter as others mingled together. Most of them held no true accounting of the atrocities of the all-too-recent invasion of Thyferra. Soon enough, their only acknowledgment of the loss of the planet would be reflected in higher premiums paid for medical treatment. The embargo on bacta shipments until tests were run, and the loss of the free supply of the healing medicine, would soon hit many of their pocketbooks, while the less fortunate would lose access altogether. It was deplorable how the affluent never felt the sting except in their accounts, while the less financially fortunate would lose access to the life-saving bacta.
He felt her gaze return, and this time he would not let it continue without a quid pro quo. With a slight turn of his head, he met her eyes without trepidation or hesitation. The slight curve of her lips accented the boldness of her eyes before she returned to the performance. This time, he was the one intrigued. The woman had a refined carriage, airs learned from either lifelong formal training or years that did not match her visage. Both could easily be true, or an amalgamation of them. With his curiosity piqued, he continued his study of the elegant woman.
Her gown was intricately designed, with space for her tail built in from the start. The bodice was elaborate and yet not revealing. The fabric hugged her curves, accenting the feminine figure beneath without cheapening her appearance to someone who wanted or craved attention. The artfully crafted hairstyle seemed designed to appear insubstantial, despite the work it took to achieve its form. The complexion of her face matched the gentle curve of her neck and her bare arms, suggesting very little artificial coloring was applied. Her eyes, glowing amber in the semi-darkness, were especially striking. An appreciative flicker of a smile creased his lips momentarily while he enjoyed the view.
While his original purpose for attending the evening's festivities had dwindled, he found himself unwilling to leave just yet. Perhaps the night had more in store than a fact-finding mission about his brother and his paramour. He wouldn't mind some innocent conversation with the woman who had caught his eye.
Rhea Taal
, OpenThe ability to exist outside of something while possessing the ability to look in was a skill he had honed for many, many years. While his clear decision afforded him the courtesy of remaining unaccosted by the party revelers, it in no way insulated him from the occasional glance. Not that he was overly concerned with curiosity. His crimson eyes were an oddity in High Republic space and drew more than a wondering gaze. Usually, fear was mixed in with the stares. It was to be expected. He was an anomaly.
While he considered himself a civilized and refined man, it didn't deny what else he was, no matter how well he dressed himself up. He was a Master in the Baron Do Sages and a member of the Hidden Ones. Beyond that, he was a skilled warrior and commander of men. If the suave politician and businessman would have missed the returning glance from the elegantly dressed woman, the other side of him did not. However, the cursory look did not require him to return a peek in her direction. Especially when her attention returned to the fire dancers, so he tilted the flute back and drained the wine before placing it on the tray of a passing server. His hand captured one of the untouched glasses and brought it to his nose. Some form of cherry-infused champagne.
His attention drifted away from the fire dancers. Their choreography was artistic. And the dancers held no fear of the flame's bite. More than likely, their skin was rubbed with an agent that prevented burns from accidental embers falling or the flame's hard-to-predict path. It was almost cheating. But he acknowledged he was somewhat biased in the accounting of their abilities. His natural affinity with fire was not a common quantity. At least not here, in respectably benign circles. He returned to people-watching, observing the carefree laughter as others mingled together. Most of them held no true accounting of the atrocities of the all-too-recent invasion of Thyferra. Soon enough, their only acknowledgment of the loss of the planet would be reflected in higher premiums paid for medical treatment. The embargo on bacta shipments until tests were run, and the loss of the free supply of the healing medicine, would soon hit many of their pocketbooks, while the less fortunate would lose access altogether. It was deplorable how the affluent never felt the sting except in their accounts, while the less financially fortunate would lose access to the life-saving bacta.
He felt her gaze return, and this time he would not let it continue without a quid pro quo. With a slight turn of his head, he met her eyes without trepidation or hesitation. The slight curve of her lips accented the boldness of her eyes before she returned to the performance. This time, he was the one intrigued. The woman had a refined carriage, airs learned from either lifelong formal training or years that did not match her visage. Both could easily be true, or an amalgamation of them. With his curiosity piqued, he continued his study of the elegant woman.
Her gown was intricately designed, with space for her tail built in from the start. The bodice was elaborate and yet not revealing. The fabric hugged her curves, accenting the feminine figure beneath without cheapening her appearance to someone who wanted or craved attention. The artfully crafted hairstyle seemed designed to appear insubstantial, despite the work it took to achieve its form. The complexion of her face matched the gentle curve of her neck and her bare arms, suggesting very little artificial coloring was applied. Her eyes, glowing amber in the semi-darkness, were especially striking. An appreciative flicker of a smile creased his lips momentarily while he enjoyed the view.
While his original purpose for attending the evening's festivities had dwindled, he found himself unwilling to leave just yet. Perhaps the night had more in store than a fact-finding mission about his brother and his paramour. He wouldn't mind some innocent conversation with the woman who had caught his eye.
Rhea Taal
Character
Objective: 1
Derek Dib
@open
The second time Rhea felt his attention settle upon her, there was considerably less uncertainty involved. She had offered the glance deliberately enough, after all, and there would have been little point in pretending otherwise now that the stranger had finally answered it. Their eyes met amid the shifting light of the celebration, amber finding crimson, and this time he did not turn away. Neither did she, at least not immediately. The moment lasted only a few heartbeats before Rhea returned her attention to the dancers, but the faint smile already touching her lips deepened by the smallest degree. Whatever had surprised him when he first noticed her had apparently not discouraged a second look, and that answered at least one of the questions his earlier attention had raised.
Rhea found the realization more amusing than flattering, although she would have been lying to herself if she claimed the latter played no part at all. Two centuries had not rendered her immune to being appreciated, nor had diplomacy trained every trace of vanity out of her. It had merely taught her the difference between attention worth indulging and attention best ignored. So far, the stranger had done nothing more offensive than look at her, realize she had noticed, and eventually decide that being caught was not sufficient reason to stop. There were considerably worse ways for a man to express an interest, particularly one who otherwise seemed content to keep himself removed from much of the revelry.
She continued watching the fire dancers, though their performance now competed with the awareness of crimson eyes somewhere among the gathering. Rhea resisted the temptation to check whether he was still watching. There were limits to how much encouragement she intended to provide entirely through glances, and she suspected they were rapidly approaching them. More importantly, she had spent enough of the evening standing at the edges and studying a celebration she had supposedly come to experience. Observing unfamiliar customs came naturally to her, perhaps too naturally after so many years of diplomatic functions where watching before participating was often the wiser choice. Tonight required none of that caution. There were no negotiations waiting upon her attention and no competing interests she had been asked to reconcile. Immersing herself a little more fully in the evening might actually be good for her.
Her empty glass provided a convenient place to begin. Rhea raised it automatically and discovered nothing waiting for her, prompting a faint crease between her brows as she regarded the vessel as though it had somehow failed in its responsibilities while she was distracted. Apparently she had finished considerably more of the drink than she remembered. A passing server could have remedied the situation with little more than a gesture, but her attention instead settled upon one of the refreshment tables positioned along the edge of the festivities. It also happened to be nearer to where the stranger had chosen to stand, and the realization brought the slightest twitch to one pointed ear.
Rhea was not above appreciating useful circumstances when they presented themselves. She stepped away from her place near the dancers and made her way toward the table, her pace unhurried and the midnight blue of her gown moving fluidly around her legs. Her tail followed in a measured sweep behind her, although its tip gave one small movement that would have betrayed her amusement to anyone who knew her well enough to recognize it. She was not walking over to introduce herself, nor was she manufacturing an excuse to do so. She wanted another drink, and she had already decided to stop behaving quite so much like an observer. If doing both made conversation with an intriguing stranger considerably easier, she saw little reason to object.
The selection at the table was broader than what the servers had been carrying, and Rhea took her time considering it before a pale drink tinged faintly with red caught her attention. Tiny bubbles climbed steadily through the liquid, and when she lifted the glass, she caught the unmistakable scent of cherry. The first sip earned the smallest wrinkle of her nose. Sweet, certainly, but the flavor settled into something considerably more agreeable than she had expected. She took another, smaller sip to make certain, because two centuries of experience had taught her that important conclusions deserved verification.
"Dangerously easy to underestimate," she murmured, regarding the champagne with a little more respect than she had afforded it a moment earlier.
When Rhea glanced aside again, the stranger was near enough that details previously softened by distance were easier to distinguish. He had the appearance of a man who had dressed formally because he understood the occasion rather than because he particularly enjoyed it. The black suit was immaculate, the crimson tie almost severe against it, and his glowing eyes were every bit as striking at this distance as she had thought they would be. Rhea wondered briefly whether strangers stared at them as frequently as they stared at her own luminous eyes, pointed ears, and tail. There was a certain irony in two people who seemed inclined to observe the gathering from its edges while possessing appearances that made disappearing into it rather difficult.
Her gaze dropped briefly to the glass in his hand and discovered the same cherry champagne she had just selected. That small coincidence earned him a more genuine smile as Rhea lifted her own glass a fraction in acknowledgment. Her golden-amber eyes returned to his without any pretense that she had merely happened to look in his direction, one brow rising slightly as though the matching drinks had somehow placed them on the same side of a private joke neither had yet spoken aloud.
Rhea did not close the remaining distance. She turned slightly toward the lake instead, though not enough to present him with her back, and took another sip while the music and conversation flowed around them. Immersing herself in the evening did not require throwing herself headlong into every opportunity it presented. Sometimes it was enough to stop standing quite so firmly outside of them.
She had done that much. If the stranger wanted to make use of the opening she had provided, he would not have to wonder whether his company was welcome. If he chose not to, Rhea had at least discovered a surprisingly agreeable champagne and finally moved beyond simply watching the evening happen around her. For the moment, either possibility suited her.
Derek Dib
@openThe second time Rhea felt his attention settle upon her, there was considerably less uncertainty involved. She had offered the glance deliberately enough, after all, and there would have been little point in pretending otherwise now that the stranger had finally answered it. Their eyes met amid the shifting light of the celebration, amber finding crimson, and this time he did not turn away. Neither did she, at least not immediately. The moment lasted only a few heartbeats before Rhea returned her attention to the dancers, but the faint smile already touching her lips deepened by the smallest degree. Whatever had surprised him when he first noticed her had apparently not discouraged a second look, and that answered at least one of the questions his earlier attention had raised.
Rhea found the realization more amusing than flattering, although she would have been lying to herself if she claimed the latter played no part at all. Two centuries had not rendered her immune to being appreciated, nor had diplomacy trained every trace of vanity out of her. It had merely taught her the difference between attention worth indulging and attention best ignored. So far, the stranger had done nothing more offensive than look at her, realize she had noticed, and eventually decide that being caught was not sufficient reason to stop. There were considerably worse ways for a man to express an interest, particularly one who otherwise seemed content to keep himself removed from much of the revelry.
She continued watching the fire dancers, though their performance now competed with the awareness of crimson eyes somewhere among the gathering. Rhea resisted the temptation to check whether he was still watching. There were limits to how much encouragement she intended to provide entirely through glances, and she suspected they were rapidly approaching them. More importantly, she had spent enough of the evening standing at the edges and studying a celebration she had supposedly come to experience. Observing unfamiliar customs came naturally to her, perhaps too naturally after so many years of diplomatic functions where watching before participating was often the wiser choice. Tonight required none of that caution. There were no negotiations waiting upon her attention and no competing interests she had been asked to reconcile. Immersing herself a little more fully in the evening might actually be good for her.
Her empty glass provided a convenient place to begin. Rhea raised it automatically and discovered nothing waiting for her, prompting a faint crease between her brows as she regarded the vessel as though it had somehow failed in its responsibilities while she was distracted. Apparently she had finished considerably more of the drink than she remembered. A passing server could have remedied the situation with little more than a gesture, but her attention instead settled upon one of the refreshment tables positioned along the edge of the festivities. It also happened to be nearer to where the stranger had chosen to stand, and the realization brought the slightest twitch to one pointed ear.
Rhea was not above appreciating useful circumstances when they presented themselves. She stepped away from her place near the dancers and made her way toward the table, her pace unhurried and the midnight blue of her gown moving fluidly around her legs. Her tail followed in a measured sweep behind her, although its tip gave one small movement that would have betrayed her amusement to anyone who knew her well enough to recognize it. She was not walking over to introduce herself, nor was she manufacturing an excuse to do so. She wanted another drink, and she had already decided to stop behaving quite so much like an observer. If doing both made conversation with an intriguing stranger considerably easier, she saw little reason to object.
The selection at the table was broader than what the servers had been carrying, and Rhea took her time considering it before a pale drink tinged faintly with red caught her attention. Tiny bubbles climbed steadily through the liquid, and when she lifted the glass, she caught the unmistakable scent of cherry. The first sip earned the smallest wrinkle of her nose. Sweet, certainly, but the flavor settled into something considerably more agreeable than she had expected. She took another, smaller sip to make certain, because two centuries of experience had taught her that important conclusions deserved verification.
"Dangerously easy to underestimate," she murmured, regarding the champagne with a little more respect than she had afforded it a moment earlier.
When Rhea glanced aside again, the stranger was near enough that details previously softened by distance were easier to distinguish. He had the appearance of a man who had dressed formally because he understood the occasion rather than because he particularly enjoyed it. The black suit was immaculate, the crimson tie almost severe against it, and his glowing eyes were every bit as striking at this distance as she had thought they would be. Rhea wondered briefly whether strangers stared at them as frequently as they stared at her own luminous eyes, pointed ears, and tail. There was a certain irony in two people who seemed inclined to observe the gathering from its edges while possessing appearances that made disappearing into it rather difficult.
Her gaze dropped briefly to the glass in his hand and discovered the same cherry champagne she had just selected. That small coincidence earned him a more genuine smile as Rhea lifted her own glass a fraction in acknowledgment. Her golden-amber eyes returned to his without any pretense that she had merely happened to look in his direction, one brow rising slightly as though the matching drinks had somehow placed them on the same side of a private joke neither had yet spoken aloud.
Rhea did not close the remaining distance. She turned slightly toward the lake instead, though not enough to present him with her back, and took another sip while the music and conversation flowed around them. Immersing herself in the evening did not require throwing herself headlong into every opportunity it presented. Sometimes it was enough to stop standing quite so firmly outside of them.
She had done that much. If the stranger wanted to make use of the opening she had provided, he would not have to wonder whether his company was welcome. If he chose not to, Rhea had at least discovered a surprisingly agreeable champagne and finally moved beyond simply watching the evening happen around her. For the moment, either possibility suited her.
Immaculate
At least her brother
Helios Ardemark
wasn't here. Because that might become awkward very quickly. She took another nervous sip of that bubbly wine. Already feeling it hit her system. Make her skin feel a littler warmer. A little tingly. Feel like a part of her wanted to float away into the night sky that was lit by that bonfire. Music for those dancing by the fire met her ears. It tugged at her senses. Wanting her to get lost to it.
Blues rolled as she leveled the 'Vicount' with a stare. "Lady Ardemark is popular." One she wasn't seeking after. She was not going to tell him about 'padawan.' She imagined he already knew that.
She swallowed. A worried glance around. Eyes darted at those who would be nosy enough to listen in. There were always a few. Those who knew her name and knew who she was. A bunch of gossips.
"Quiet," she leaned closer. An indignant huff rising at the base of her throat. Finger raised and pointed accusatory. So very near that mask that covered his lips. Almost poking it. "Shh." She tipped back that glass with one final swallow and discarded the empty vessel on the bar behind her.
"Why are you here?"
Isar du Vain
Helios Ardemark
wasn't here. Because that might become awkward very quickly. She took another nervous sip of that bubbly wine. Already feeling it hit her system. Make her skin feel a littler warmer. A little tingly. Feel like a part of her wanted to float away into the night sky that was lit by that bonfire. Music for those dancing by the fire met her ears. It tugged at her senses. Wanting her to get lost to it.Blues rolled as she leveled the 'Vicount' with a stare. "Lady Ardemark is popular." One she wasn't seeking after. She was not going to tell him about 'padawan.' She imagined he already knew that.
She swallowed. A worried glance around. Eyes darted at those who would be nosy enough to listen in. There were always a few. Those who knew her name and knew who she was. A bunch of gossips.
"Quiet," she leaned closer. An indignant huff rising at the base of her throat. Finger raised and pointed accusatory. So very near that mask that covered his lips. Almost poking it. "Shh." She tipped back that glass with one final swallow and discarded the empty vessel on the bar behind her.
"Why are you here?"
Isar du VainNever Hide Your Heart
"Never Hide Your Heart"
Katarine wove her way through the dancing couples toward the outdoor bar tucked beneath the glow of hanging lanterns. It was cooler here, farther from the warmth of the fires, and a trail of goosebumps prickled across her exposed skin.
She lifted the glass of blossom wine to her lips and drained what remained in a single swallow, setting the empty glass on the bar just as the bartender approached.
"Perhaps something stronger for the lady?"
"Much."
Katarine had never been much of a drinker. Then again, there were a great many things she had never been until recently.
Her life seemed to have become a steadily expanding collection of questionable decisions, dangerous appetites, and increasingly creative methods of escaping whatever happened to be going on inside her head.
Considering some of the things she had turned to lately to quench her thirst, heavy liquor was probably the least concerning option on the menu.
Vibe Terrorist
Violet eyes nearly went cross-eyed following the finger that almost brushed the ivory lips of the mask, which stood frozen in a neutral expression. Whether the face behind the mask was smirking, well, who could say?
"Careful. I might scream."
He held up a hand defensively, the other offering her his whiskey. Well. Her whiskey. She was on a roll and Isar - er - Idris Tel Idros was never one to cut up a buzz.
"I'm here for the same reason you are here, Lady."
Mischief flickered in the depths of that pale lilac stare, pupils blown. He sniffed reflexively, nose numb where he'd inhaled a line of the powder earlier.
"Feasting... frolicking..." he leaned in, too close, masked face looming just above her, "a little light espionage."
He shrugged.
"Your secret's safe with me, for one teeny, tiny price," he held up his gloved thumb and forefinger right in front of her nose. "A dance with the viscount. To help with his cover story, obviously."
And no other reason.
Sophelia Ardemark
"Careful. I might scream."
He held up a hand defensively, the other offering her his whiskey. Well. Her whiskey. She was on a roll and Isar - er - Idris Tel Idros was never one to cut up a buzz.
"I'm here for the same reason you are here, Lady."
Mischief flickered in the depths of that pale lilac stare, pupils blown. He sniffed reflexively, nose numb where he'd inhaled a line of the powder earlier.
"Feasting... frolicking..." he leaned in, too close, masked face looming just above her, "a little light espionage."
He shrugged.
"Your secret's safe with me, for one teeny, tiny price," he held up his gloved thumb and forefinger right in front of her nose. "A dance with the viscount. To help with his cover story, obviously."
And no other reason.
Sophelia Ardemark
Sleepwalker
"Yum bunnies? Never thought I would see the day," said a voice nearby.
Tavian Djo strode into view, looking very serious in his Hapan military uniform and wearing a stern expression that quickly evaporated the closer he got to Persephone. It had been almost three months, if not a bit more, since he had seen her. The conditioning of military training had stripped him of any lingering fat in his cheeks and left him looking hard enough to take a punch without snapping in half.
However, his hair was still perfectly coiffed in the just-right amount of dishevelment that all Hapans seemed innately capable of affecting. He still wore his glasses, which helped him see in the darkness without which he would be as good as blind. He flashed a smile full of very white, very perfect teeth.
"Ms. Dashiell, you look lovely this evening."
He stood there because he was not quite certain how she would react to seeing him. Persephone had always been standoffish, almost to the point of hostility to strangers. But he had written her every chance he got while in training. There were times when training had been especially hard that he'd wished they could just be at the beach again together, or exploring some ruins. Seeing her here and now after everything he'd just pushed himself through seemed surreal.
Persephone DashiellElian Abrantes
Character
It took everything in him, not to laugh, while it would have been at her expense, so that wasn't kind at all. But it was just...cute. The cracking of the world 'Alright' promply followed by the clearing of her throat, he just smiled through it.
"Not to worry, we are going as slow as we can possibly go." Elian said with a reassuring nod and smile. He felt her hand tighten on his, but didn't say much. It didn't bother him. He was more concerned with her and how this was affecting her.
"Is the music still structurally sound and keeping a consistent rhythm?"
Persephone Dashiell
It's Called Fashion Sweetie
Persephone was debating between a Naboo Hot Nuna sandwich and a Felucian flatbread when the voice hit her. She hadn't heard any footsteps, far too lost in the Yum Bunnies menu, yet her head snapped immediately up from being buried in her comm. Standing before her was one
Tavian Djo
,dressed in his Hapan Naval uniform. They hadn't seen one another in some months, right before agreeing to have an exclusive courtship. Communication since had been the written word due to his military training. Seeing him graduate had been deemed too dangerous, the Hapan Cluster under contention.It struck her that she had actually missed Tavian. The only other person was her long passed biological mother. Was she falling for him? Or just relieved he had finished training in one piece?
"Tav!"
Task abandoned, Persephone leapt up to greet him. Immediately her hand gripped his starched uniform tunic and pulled the blonde in for a kiss. Lips broke from his after a short moment but her hand didn't release its grip from his uniform. As if letting the fabric go meant he would disappear into the night.
"Looking pretty handsome yourself."
ᴡᴀɴᴅᴇʀɪɴɢ ꜰɪʀʀᴇʀʀᴇᴏɴ
Immaculate
Isar du Vain
Sophelia Ardemark did not give up one inch as he leaned over her. Fingers idly swirling the glass of confiscated whiskey in one hand. She brought it up to her nose and took a light sniff. Just before his fingers came before her. She left that glass on the bar.
She was a whiskey snob.
The stuff her brother had at home was much nicer. “Seriously Is-Viscount?” A small frown along her mouth. Spying!?
To what end?
Blues nearly crossed following his offered fingers. She didn’t hesitate. Fingers fell into the soft leather of those gloves. Even as a look of warning shimmered in her gaze. Her skin warm and tingling. They made their way toward that roaring fire. Where the music was louder and couples dressed finely swirled and danced about. A few gave them curious glances. Eyes resting upon Sophelia longer than she liked. She caught the movements on Cerys and Elian in the crowd. It was hard for Soph to tell how much fun her friend was having. But Soph was proud of her. For jumping into the social pool even if she went straight for the deep end.
Blue fabric swished against her legs. One hand remained in his as the other lifted and went to rest on the back of his shoulder. Close and facing him. She couldn’t help it as her blues locked into pools of lilac. But then she noticed something she hadn’t before. Nose scrunched.
“Are you high?”
Was that why she couldn’t sense him in the force?
fit check for my napalm era
Sᴇɴᴀᴛᴏʀ ᴏꜰ Cᴀᴛᴏ Nᴇɪᴍᴏɪᴅɪᴀ
Ilsoon watched as the noble brushed aside his points with a dismissive wave, reducing Cato Neimoidia's involvement in the Republic to a simple matter of profit. It was a shallow assumption, but Ilsoon wasn't surprised. Those who inherited their status rarely understood the work required to keep trade moving or an entire population supplied, making it easy for them to dismiss problems they had never experienced themselves.
Kameron Angellus
shifted his weight and glanced toward the crowd, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from politics. Ilsoon could see that he had little interest in the bacta crisis or the struggles facing the Outer Rim, preferring to keep the conversation comfortable and superficial."If the realities of trade make you uncomfortable, you're welcome to say so," Ilsoon said, his voice cutting through the nearby music. "Shifting your feet won't solve a shortage, and looking away won't make it disappear." He held Kameron's gaze, unfazed by the tension between them. He had no interest in lecturing someone who had never worked for his position, but neither would he let the noble dismiss a serious issue.
I'm better than you, and you know it. ;-)
D E S T I N E D
Bastila remained quiet as Brandyn said his denials an his dismissal, she also remained quiet as he turned and she watched him go. Her eyes falling onto his feet as he took one step and then two.
The breath she gave passed through the air like a wall to intercept him and with no hesitation she looked back up to her retreating brother.
“Good that you have taken up such relaxing enterprises in your spare time brother.” She called out to him and began to follow. She made sure not to hurry, as such not to suggest concern.
Instead, Bastila gathered enough of her skirts to keep them clear of the ground and drifted after him at an almost leisurely pace, catching up just as he reached the deeper shadows beyond the lanternlight.
"It is truly a lovely evening for it." She fell into step beside him.
Admittedly even with this reunion her attention remained pointedly elsewhere, wandering across the ruins as though she had simply happened upon her brother during an innocent evening stroll and decided that his company might be pleasant.
"You know me though Brandyn. I’ve never been one for parties.” The corner of her mouth threatened upwards as she glanced towards him. “So instead why don’t I just join you and make sure that you don’t get into trouble.”
She continued another few paces before looking back towards the guarded entrance with an unspoken caution.
"So…" She let a little silence break across the path they were taking, whether he wanted to or not. “Shall we discuss the elephant in the room?”
He eyes slide sideways and gave a knowing look, making sure that Brandyn realised Bastila knew where and what he was heading towards.
"Why are you trying to get through that door?"
An answer for this she realised was going to have to wait as a familiar presence made itself known and this one, unlike Bastila was one Brandyn was sure to want around.
Ambassador
Sᴇɴᴀᴛᴏʀ ᴏꜰ Cᴀᴛᴏ Nᴇɪᴍᴏɪᴅɪᴀ
At the mention of his aunt, Ilsoon's eyes narrowed slightly. Unlike her nephew,
Kameron Angellus
who seemed content to swirl his drink and serve as little more than a conversational barrier, the aunt clearly understood production and resource mobilization. If she had the means to help with the supply shortage, it was a lead worth reporting to his colleagues.Ilsoon had no intention of pushing his luck. "Please thank your aunt for me," he said politely. "If she can help the Republic restore its lost bacta supplies, the Senate will appreciate the effort." With that, his mission was complete.
He had come seeking political connections but was leaving with a solid lead on private supply lines, which was far more valuable. Without waiting for a response, Ilsoon turned toward the archway, gesturing for his guards to follow as he left the event.
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