Faction Naboo Cultural Exchange

[Cybelle Sal-Soren]

CYBELLE SAL-SOREN

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

Cybelle the Wicked:

Her little one stirred.

Cybelle looked down immediately, and one hand slipped into the cradle to rest protectively against the infant's stomach. It wasn’t enough to wake her, thankfully. Just a tiny squirm, a wrinkle of her nose, before she settled again beneath the familiar touch of her mother. The darkness that lingered in this place didn’t seem to bother her. “Shh…I’m here.”

She adjusted the soft blanket and, without thinking, started to hum. It was all of these stomping boots and fancy high heels all over the E'Eeverwest Estate that was making her little one cranky. The thought had crossed her mind just to kill them so that her baby could sleep uninterrupted, but a bloodbath would draw too much attention. And of course, none of them would just politely keel over and die themselves. Rude.

The melody that left her was an old habit that she had picked up while pregnant. It was the same lullaby that her adoptive mother had sung, much more on key, when she was small and frightened of her own shadow. How very, pathetic. But she supposed that younglings had earned the right to be terrified. They started life surrounded by their mother, safe and warm, without a care…Only to be ejected into this hellish existence?

No wonder babies cried.

The Cybelle that lived on the surface hadn’t sung this song since waking up in the maternal intensive care ward. It was easier for her. The first few notes came out uncertain, but practice and memory filled in the rest. The song came out surprisingly sweet as it filled the air and rolled through the vents, echoing in hallways, giving life to a place that most assumed was dead.

Cybelle heard something and paused, topaz eyes lifting, and for a moment…There was nothing.

No sound. Not even the echo of her own voice.

“Mommy thinks that a mouse has come to play with us…Don’t you think?”

The faint whisper was coupled with a red-lipped smirk before she went right back to singing the same haunting, melancholy tune. It was hard to feel through the Force in this dungeon. It shielded her from outside discovery, but it also blunted her senses. Who would be brave or stupid enough to venture into Baros Sal-Soren’s house of horrors? Who would think to creep into her home when there was a gala, a party, calling to them on the heels of a war zone?

Did they really want to forget failure that badly?

Part of her hoped that it was Brandyn. Part of her longed for him, his face, his touch…More than air. The rest of her knew that her child was not safe with him. He was angry and lashed out without thinking. It pleased her when he lashed out at her other half, if only because it meant she could claim his rage when he least expected. Anger…Could be so much sweeter than dopey, starry-eyed love. She would not forgive him. But…

Brandyn Sal-Soren belonged to her.​

If it was him…He would find her or he wouldn’t. There was no point in running from him, now. Not when he was so close to being even more perfect. Her shoulders moved up and down while she breathed, her dark hair shifting with a certain amount of enjoyment. Her lilting voice kept going…Keeping their sweet, precious angel asleep.

But also—Luring in the uninvited guest. She rather hoped, it was the father of her child.

If it wasn’t?

Blood on her hands, pain in the eyes of an intruder, was an acceptable door prize.

Cybelle the Good:

Something was…Just not right. Cybelle had been following the ghostly traces that her husband left behind, weaving through guests, offering apologies whenever she came too close to someone. It wasn’t until the music started to fade that she realized exactly where her feet were taking her. Toward…The place his father had hidden things? The repository beneath the estate?

Her expression worked itself into an expression of confusion.

Not for the first time, she tried to reach Bran over comms, but the signal was terrible. Probably from so many people crammed into one place.

The auburn-haired Hapani hesitated.

Why would he go there?

Cybelle had tried to respect his need for distance in the last few days, weeks, but it wasn’t like him not to keep in touch when they were meant to see each other. If he wanted to be alone, there were easier places to brood, safer places, for some peace and quiet. She glanced toward the guarded positions and momentarily relaxed.

They wouldn’t let anyone in, right?

But…That wasn’t the only way. She bit her lip sweetly, still worrying, wishing that she could reach him either with telepathy or her comm to find some sort of reassurance that he was all right. This area was just wreaking havoc on the Force… On everything.

Cybelle waited beneath a large decorative light, hoping it might make her easier to find. He was definitely in the area. Somewhere.

Maybe he hadn’t gone inside… Maybe he’d lost track of time…

Maybe… She hadn’t annoyed her husband so much that he didn’t want to be around her.

Maybe…The man she loved hadn’t forgotten about her.

Maybe.

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

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Cerys Dyn


​

"I don't think you're doing anything wrong," she said quickly, though her voice came out thinner than she intended. She swallowed again, forcing the next words past her lips. "I think I am."

Elian looked at her for a moment before he said anything. "I don't think you are doing anything wrong. This is a dance between friends." Granted, Elian hadn't exactly met her prior to this, but still. He'd say after everything they've been through in the span of a few minutes. Or even more so, everything she was putting herself through in the span of a few minutes. It would be wrong to not call her his friend.

"Could we just..." She exhaled shakily, her mouth twitching into a small, embarrassed smile. "...stand here for a moment? I appear to have underestimated how difficult being normal is."

The young Abrantes nodded his head, showing a smile. "Of course, you just let me know when you are ready."

Considering majority of his life had been on the move, one thing to another, after almost losing his life, losing his hand, losing his friends. He knew better than most, that the best you could do was to just...stand still for a moment. It had a deeper meaning, at least to Elian anyway.

​

 

[Kitt Solo]

Adon Sol

Myrtle ellipses squinted at the sudden light that wasn’t her own. She certainly did not stop. She could take him. It was only a single mook. Even in her state. Even as she felt one of her feet begin to go numb.

Then that voice locked smoothly in place. As did his face and her own name upon his tongue.

“Eh-on,” his name on numb tongue. “Wha de ark r ewe oin ere?” (What the kark are you doing here). He might never know what she was saying.

“Oison,” poison she tried to say. She staggered. Swallowed down the pride of hers and took that offered arm of support.

So embarrassing.

Hand fumbled in her purse and took out that dart to show him. Now she was limping. Dragging that foot as the numbness began creeping up her leg. The rogue master had to focus on the steps. Turning that corner then the next.

“Uhder arker.”

Mother marker.

Poison dart level: 7/10 current symptoms: numb tongue. Numb foot/leg. Spreading.

 

[Sophelia Ardemark]

Isar du Vain

Miss him.

“What if I did?”

It took her a moment too long to recognize what she felt. She hadn’t felt it so profoundly for awhile. As she danced and enjoyed the closeness of Isar. Even those blown out pupils suspended within pools of mischievous lilac. Even his quips and jabs that made him so distinctly him.

She was happy.

She wasn’t fighting a war. Wasn’t hosting political meetings. Wasn’t on some mission. She could just be. Swept up in the arms of someone who was beginning to see all her parts. Including the cracks and ugly things. Though, he didn’t know everything yet.

That bubbling wine in her system kept her present instead of letting her mind wander down the harder things that would need to be considered when it came to Isar. Easy to blame the wine for not thinking straight.

Eyes rolled at his comment.

The music stopped and she found herself lingering in his arms. The closeness of him. “I want to show you something.” She stepped back, but kept her fingers entwined with the one she’d been holding for dancing. She’d lead him out. Ignoring the glances and whispers of others.

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Taera 'Calypso' ​

“Well, I’m sure you heard the reports from Thyferra,”

"Oh yes, I heard." He voiced. He wasn't sure if it was regret, spite, or something else in regard to that. He had been ordered to stay home by his superior, Damos Rennar, and of course, that was followed by whatever power Sibylla and their family held over him. He understood, but it still tasted bitter, and he hated it. As stubborn as he was, his moments on the range at their home had proven he needed to stay away more than anything. You couldn't help someone who was drowning if you were drowning yourself. He could've gotten someone hurt, or worse, killed.

"That's very brave of you, Calypso. I sure hope that brother-in-law of yours appreciates what you did to ensure a safe return."

If he remembered, though it seemed like a lifetime ago, when he had offered to assist in training this group of hers. The soldier inside him wanted to offer once more, but he knew that it wasn't the right time. Right now, he had to take care of himself, and truthfully, he wasn't even doing that well.

"I'd like to come see this Aurodium Guard." Cassian spoke, waving off the offer for another shot. "If you would be okay with that? There's not much I can do anymore to help train them, just to see something else would be nice"

 

[Persephone Dashiell]

"Yeah, guess I missed seeing your brooding presence around."

Leaning against his side as his arm wrapped around her, Persephone shrugged. Naboo society was not quite her scene. Too many force users. Too many old monied noble families relying on family name and nothing else. Those type that were only popular on Naboo and practically unknown elsewhere. Overall she found the planet a little odd, always had. Now that the Core was under Sith rule, she felt it was trying too hard to be the cosmopolitan center of the High Republic.

"No, I haven't been having a good time. " If she was being honest, it felt as if she had gotten ready and dressed up for absolutely no reason. Carefully she started to steer Tavian Djo through the gardens. "Which does not matter since I was leaving anyway. Ordering Yum Bunnies, kicking my feet up. I'm not too far from here actually."

She had planned on just heading straight back to Kalinda but now that Tavian was here, her plans only slightly deviated.

"Come on, we can catch up. It would be impossible to talk here, someone would find out you're the Prince Djo and my patience for droll conversation is at it's limit."

THREAD EXIT

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

"Yes. Of course, of course."

A subtle wave of relief washed over him as she revealed the postponement of her resignation. He kept his expression carefully neutral, avoiding any outward display of victory. A triumph it certainly was not, considering his own failures had driven them to this precipice. All he could hope was that the time she granted him professionally would be enough to prove how vital her counsel remained, and that they could still forge a meaningful path forward.

Nodding along as she insisted he meet with the Chancellor, Aurelian conceded the point. A face-to-face was unavoidable, though letting tempers cool across the board seemed wiser first. Word of an upcoming major address on the Senate docket had already spread across the galaxy, with political factions clamoring to secure their place on Naboo for the event. Waiting until after the speech offered a strategic buffer. Insubordination might pale in comparison to whatever sweeping declarations Dominique had prepared. Then again, he might easily find himself publicly condemned from her speech as a rogue agent undermining Republic unity. Waiting to see how the cards fell was the only sensible play.

Her insistent questions regarding further medical scans snapped him out of his tactical reverie. "No," he replied softly, shaking his head. "No need to worry them. They have enough on their plates without my issues cluttering their schedules."

The truth was far darker. Adelle was buried under her usual duties, and Cora had suffered injuries on Thyferra severe enough to require an emergency evacuation. He had not yet summoned the courage to visit Cora. Guilt gnawed at his conscience; stripping the Force away during an active battle might have been the direct cause of her near-fatal plight. Leaving Lucy motherless because of his own reckless hubris was a thought he could barely stomach. He felt like a coward, hiding behind the soft light of this suite and using this stolen time with Sibylla as a shield against the public judgment waiting outside.

"They will come for the Mid Rim," he murmured, straightening his spine on the sofa as a cold focus replaced his shame. "I've seen it."

Glancing at her, he laid out his immediate vision. "We must bolster our planetary defense forces, accelerate combat training, and expand our own domestic fleet production. We need absolute self-reliance should the Republic prove incapable of shielding us forever."

Though his faith in the Republic endured, Naboo was no longer the sole priority of a galactic government now forced to defend vast territories. Turning his amber eyes to hers, a quiet question surfaced. "Did Quinn give any indication toward their future plans?"

| Tag: Sibylla Abrantes |​

 

[Cerys Dyn]

He said it. And it clung to her mind like a mynock on a ship's hull. Friends.

Cerys's heart slammed against her ribs. Her palms grew slick, her fingers flexing nervously as though she could somehow shake the weight of the word from her skin. Swallowing hard, she cast a frantic glance through the shifting crowd. Sophelia. Where was Sophelia? She needed Sophelia.

Her eyes swept the sea of faces, desperately searching for a flash of blonde hair, a familiar dress, or anyone sign of her friend.

Cerys froze as the realization struck her. Oh.

Slowly, her gaze drifted back to Elian. He had not corrupted her. He hadn't demanded anything from her at all. He had simply danced with her, offering patience whenever she faltered, and just now, he had called her his friend. And somehow, despite everything she had been taught to fear, the galaxy remained entirely intact.

"Thank you, Elian," she managed to say. Her voice trembled, but a genuine smile was finally beginning to form. "I...I had a lovely evening."

She meant it, and that truth frightened her almost as much as everything else. Yet, Cerys did not run. She wished him a quiet goodnight, turned, and walked away at a perfectly ordinary pace.

It was only when the festival music finally faded into the distance behind her that she allowed herself to buckle. Slipping into a quiet, shadowed corner, Cerys wrapped both arms tightly around herself and wept. Great, shuddering tears spilled over first, born of sheer release. But then, inexplicably, a breathless laugh slipped out between her sobs.

She quickly covered her mouth, but another laugh followed, bubbling up past her defenses.

She had actually done it. She had gone to the festival, spoken to total strangers, held someone's hand, and danced. She had made a friend. More than that, she had enjoyed it, and absolutely nothing terrible had happened.

Cerys laughed again, softer this time, wiping uselessly at her wet cheeks as a sudden surge of pride swelled beneath the lingering fear. Perhaps her Master had been wrong about some things. And perhaps, Cerys admitted to herself, she had been wrong too.

Steeling her spine, she finally straightened and continued down the lantern-lit path. Her cheeks were still damp, but the smile on her face stubbornly refused to disappear. As she walked, a final, lighter thought occurred to her, cutting through the gravity of the night.

Elian really did have nice hair.

| Outfit: xxx | Tag: EXIT Elian Abrantes Sophelia Ardemark |​

 

[Keppler Danvier]

// Temple of Shiraya
// Evenfall Estate

The Estate seemed to whisper about him. Such a place was a monument to the indomitable will of the people of this planet. A home. A symbol of opulence. Destroyed from within by a man with a heart of poison, and from without by literal portals that opened up to hell. And they made it into...a park.

For all its provincial grandeur, Naboo did back it all up with some true fighting spirit. It made a military man proud to defend such a place, such a people.

His path had wandered towards the Temple of Shiraya. He stood, now, within the open space beyond the pillars, and before the crescent adorned statue of the goddess herself. Kepp had only been there for a matter of moments, when a voice broke through the moment of reflection.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't realize anyone would be here. I'll leave you to your prayers."

His head turned first, eyebrows raised upon seeing the woman standing there in the shadows. The voice, the silhouette, and then as his eyes adjusted to the back lighting, her face all confirmed his immediate suspicions. It was the former grandmaster. Child of this estate. And he was standing in her family temple.

It was he who was the intruder on a moment.

"Please don't leave on my account. I am not a particularly religious man," he commented, "though I suspect this place holds far more significance to you than it could ever to someone such as myself."

He turned to yield the space, but his stride faltered. Glancing back at the woman standing in the dim light, his instincts shifted to empathy. It wasn't hard to tell she was carrying a heavy burden. Part of him thought it unwise to leave her, but he also knew her reputation, she was a woman of immense power. There was likely no need for a sailor's concern, yet the instinct refused to quiet down.

"Thank you. For what you did on Thyferra. My ship only survived as long as it did because of the...battle meditation, is it?" He offered a bow of thanks, "I was able to save my crew because we were able to hold our own just a little longer. Your presence was sorely missed when...well...when the lights went out."

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

 

[Ephram Pryce]

Ephram looked at the sculptures. Nothing offensive, the same leaders and great legends that were seen on statues throughout the world of Naboo.

All of them were even fully clothed.

"I am shopping for something for my office, yes. Have I decided on these sculptures? No."

Ephram paused, regarding the statues once more.

"Are they associated with dark magic? Voodoo of sorts? Even if that was the case my colleagues may find such a thing amusing."

Elias Merrow​

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Cerys Dyn

​

Elian did his best not to stare and just give her the space that was allowed. Concern, crossed over him once more, that was until she spoke. And with that a slow smile crept on his face.

​

"Thank you, Elian," she managed to say. Her voice trembled, but a genuine smile was finally beginning to form. "I...I had a lovely evening."

"Of course, so did I." Elian voiced in a sweet and goot tone, he watched her walk away, leaving him behind. He chuckled lightly, That went better than he could have imagined. And he was thinking the worst at some moments. He glanced around before moving towards the bar, catching a small look from Cassian, which bordered on concern, but a smile on his face. Elian shrugged his shoulders, giving him a thumbs up that he was good. He took a seat at the bar, requesting glass of whatever whiskey was popular tonight.

His night wasn't over yet.

​

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

Moments passed as Brandyn sought some tether to the small hope that remained. Outside this Estate, offworld, hidden away by some Sith lady, there was another child. His other child.

The quest to find Gianna had consumed him. It had changed him to his core. A fire burned within him now. He had seen what it could mean to leverage all the pain and grief. He had seen it turned towards power, towards amplifying himself. It was more than the power that enticed him, though there was certain pleasure to be found there. No, it was something simpler.
There was finally some purpose to all the suffering. Some utility.

He would leave Naboo for good, dedicate his life to seeking out his other child, and securing her future, if it were not for the love that tethered him to the very spot where he knelt.

Despite the shadow that was now cast upon his soul, a singular bright spot still remained — his Cybelle.

Their love was something not easily discarded. No trifling matter that should be set aside to pursue other goals. He wanted, craved, that connection again. The feeling of that moment of pure release and joy when he finally allowed himself to find his happiness with her.

He had loved the Shore, their home on Naboo. He had loved the year there. He had laid aside his responsibilities, his dreams of being the heroic Jedi, and simply chosen to be her Brandyn. And life had been beautiful.

The third Death Star changed everything. Gianna's birth and sudden disappearance tore happiness from their grasp, sending Brandyn on his pointless quest.

A tune played in his mind. Something he had fallen asleep to so many times. He remembered the late nights, holding Cybelle and feeling Gianna kick, as Cybelle sung her soft tune to the child that grew within her.

An unexplainable intent pulled him to his feet, eyes searching the expanse of the atrium. He was not remembering this. He could hear it.

Slowly, Brandyn traced the path of the music towards its source. Finally, coming to stand before a nondescript wall, save for one small blemish. Eyes narrowing, he examined the imperfection. It was not really visible except at certain angles, with light shining upon it just right.

Brandyn ran his hand over it. Nothing happened.

He ran his fingers over it again, noting a small depression. His finger circled it, before pushing. His eyes darted to the right, following the ominous click that echoed through the hallway. And then the door slid open.

When he looked back, into the room that opened up, Brandyn could not make sense of what he saw. His mind did not race. It stalled entirely.

"Cybelle...?" His voice tripped over the inability to process the scene before him. "...Cybelle...what...what is this?"

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

 

[Adon Sol]

The dart answered the important question before Kitt managed to. Adon took it from her long enough to inspect the tip, his expression tightening as her weight shifted onto him. Whatever pride had kept her upright this far was rapidly losing its argument with the poison.

"No. We are not doing this."

Before she could object, he slipped one arm behind her back and the other beneath her knees, lifting her cleanly from the floor. The lantern remained clenched in his left hand, its light swinging across the old stone as he adjusted her weight against his chest and started back through the tunnels.

For once, there was no hesitation in him. No calculation over whether intervention was appropriate. She needed help, and he was there. Apparently that was enough.

His mouth twitched when he looked down at her. "I wish I had a recorder."

The faintest hint of satisfaction crept into his voice. "Kitt Solo, rendered completely unintelligible and forced to let me carry her to safety. I could have lived off that recording for years."

He ducked beneath a low section of masonry without breaking stride. "You can explain why you are wandering around Baros Sal-Soren's tunnels after I get you somewhere that can stop your legs from becoming useless."

His gaze flicked toward the darkness behind them. "And then I suppose I owe you the same explanation."

Kitt Solo

​

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Tatiana bore most of his weight on the way back to the hover chair, a clumsy journey stripped of any possible grace. Dominic's strides had deteriorated into narrow, uneven twitches, his legs seemingly forgetting their purpose while the rest of his posture tried desperately to preserve some remaining dignity. His shoulder collided with hers more than once, followed soon after by the hard bump of his hip.

He muttered an apology under his breath, the words muffled and strained. Softening his voice until it was barely audible over the hum of the environment, he added, "I will point this out…"

He took another awkward, dragging step before continuing. "You don't have to dance in order to kiss."

That crooked smile reappeared on his face. It was visibly exhausted now, but no less dangerous. "Though I do intend to finish that dance one day...and the kiss."

By the time they finally reached the chair, Dominic had stopped pretending he could manage his own weight. He slumped down into the seat with considerably less ceremony than he had shown when standing up, exhaling sharply as the mechanical support took his burden. For a moment, he merely leaned his head back and looked up at her. Then, tilting forward, he pressed his lips to hers again, a shorter kiss this time, but entirely deliberate. "That one doesn't count..."

When he sank back into the upholstery, breathless and faintly pleased with himself, his gaze flicked toward the surrounding crowd.

"And if there is a holo of any of that," he said, pausing just long enough to let the humour hang in the air, "please delete it."

| Outfit: xxx | Tag: Tatiana Sah |​

 

[Briana Sal-Soren]

Briana was accustomed to being recognized, to the point that she rarely thought about it anymore. But, there were still moments when the unevenness of it struck her as strange. Here was this man who knew enough of her history to understand that she had a claim to this place, while she was only now taking in the insignia that identified him as someone who appeared to be a captain of the Republic military.

She wondered briefly how much he knew? Enough, certainly, to recognize her face and her history without needing any sort of introduction. The realization only strengthened her desire to leave.

Already, she could feel a familiar tension gathering in her spine, drawing her shoulders back and lifting her chin as she slipped into the practiced composure of the heir of House Ee'everwest, the curated image of the Jedi Knight Sal-Soren. She began considering the appropriate responses, of saying something courteous about the temple being open to everyone, followed by a brief explanation of her presence, that would allow her to excuse herself to the privacy of her wallowings, without potentially offending him in the process.

Yet his easy admission about religion and overall disposition managed to draw the first smile she'd had all night, faint as it was. Her fingers loosened from the fabric around her skirts. She was still standing half-turned toward the entrance, but slowly shifted back towards what used to be the inner sanctum.

"I'm not much given to prayer myself," she admitted with a shrug. She'd been raised to believe in Shiraya, blessed in her name like many royal Nabooian children, though she'd never shared her mother's devotion. "My mother was, though." She said, her expression softening as she looked back at him, unsure why she was sharing that particular information with a complete stranger whose name she didn't even know, but finding the words leaving her before she could stop them. Her gaze drifted over his shoulder, lingering on the pale petals of the moon flowers arranged at Shiraya's feet, the same customary offering Teyla always brought. Her brows pressed together. "Usually, I came to find her here."

She was still looking at the flowers when he mentioned Thyferra.

Her eyes shifted back to him and she gave a simple nod of confirmation. "Yes, battle meditation," though it was what he said about his crew that kept her attention. She'd spent so much time since leaving Thyferra remembering where everything had begun to unravel, that she'd begun the endless, circling cycle of 'what ifs' and all that she might have done differently. Wonderings if it'd been pointless. But his crew had survived, which meant that somewhere, there were loved ones whose own prayers had perhaps been answered. Maybe some were already home, holding their children, or falling asleep beside the person they'd been afraid would never return. There was a modicum of comfort in hearing that, that she didn't know she needed.

"I wish I could have stayed with you longer." She told him, there was little use pretending otherwise. "But thank you for telling me about your crew. It helps to hear that there was something good that came out of that."

Another faint smile surfaced despite herself. Though worry over Vizion's whereabouts still tugged at the back of her mind, perhaps a small distraction from her own thoughts wouldn't be so horrible.

"You know, if you want to stay, I wouldn't mind some company. But," She reached out a hand to him, "You have me at a disadvantage, because you seem to know me, but I don't believe we've been introduced. Captain?"

| Outfit: XoXo | Tag: Keppler Danvier | BTW: Vizion Trozky |​

 

[Elias Merrow]

ELIAS MERROW
SENATOR · AT ATTIN​

---

OBJECTIVE: The night market
LOCATION: Evenfall Estate, Velisia
OUTFIT: Black ankle boots, grey loose-fit jean and white Oxford shirt

At the mention of historical association, Elias lost any awkwardness he may have had, preparing to talk with a more intense expression.

"Mhm.. Well, from what I understand, not really voodoo or magicks."

Elias said, pensive and very thoughtful.

"I suppose they're more fetishes for agricultural fertilty or whatnot..." Elias pointed at one of the scripture, a simple wooden one bearing a ridiculously sized leave proportionally to it's body and a staff.

"... I think they represented agricultural gods and fetishes in ancient Nabooian society, there were similar folkore in At Attin.. My guess is it's just mostly made for catching the tourist's eye." He fidgeted with his hands, snapping his fingers softly.

"Well, this kind of History isn't really my specialty, so I'm not quite sure you see.."

---

Tags: Ephram Pryce

 

[Guinevere Cavello]

​

Guinevere felt the change in him before she understood it.

The arm around her waist had tightened, drawing her nearer until there was scarcely any space left between them, and for one startled moment she simply followed the motion of the dance without protest. Her hand remained against his back, though the soothing pass of her fingers slowed uncertainly.

Lancel was close often enough. Teasingly. Deliberately. Usually with some insufferable remark waiting upon his tongue.

This was different.

The kiss against her temple stole whatever reply she might have formed. Gwen went still against him, her lashes lowering for a moment as a small, hesitant warmth fluttered somewhere beneath her ribs despite herself. There was something almost achingly gentle in the gesture, and that frightened her far more than his command did.

Her gaze lifted toward him.

"Depart?"

The word came softly, touched with confusion rather than argument. She did not immediately obey.

Instead, Gwen's fingers curled faintly into the fabric at his back as though instinct had decided that, whatever had unsettled him, putting distance between them was precisely the wrong thing to do.

Her voice dropped beneath the music. She tried to follow his gaze, though the position he'd drawn her into made it difficult without making the attempt obvious. Her brow knitted when she caught the direction of his attention, then returned cautiously to his face.

He was frightened.

Perhaps not for himself. Somehow that realization was worse.

Gwen shifted closer rather than away, the movement small enough to belong naturally to the dance, though her hand slid from his back toward his shoulder as if quietly anchoring herself there.

Her eyes searched his. Whatever she found there softened her further.

"I said you were safe," she whispered. "So tell me what has changed."

Her thumb moved once against his shoulder.

"Whatever it is…" Gwen hesitated, then steadied. "I can help."

She knew all he needed to do was ask Taza to take her away and the maid would obey, but the thought of leaving him like this frightened her more than the chastising she would receive for disobedience to her betrothed.

Wearing: X | Tags: Lancel Atria @

 

[Lancel Atria]

Despite her defiance, Lancel seemed undettered. The fierce tightening of her fingers against his shoulder struck through his well-cultivated armour but he did not relent. For a man who had long made a comedy of courtship, treating his many past conquests as mere trophies of the season, the amusement vanished entirely from his gaze. He reeled her in closer, his eyes locking onto hers with an absolute, unyielding certainty.

"You may consider me a scoundrel of a man, Guinevere," Lancel murmured, his voice stripped of the grandiose vanity that usually guarded his speech. "A man of transient charms, questionable dignity, and a past far too seasoned for your immaculate innocence. I shall not dispute the character you assign me. I have lived a life entirely unworthy of your innocence."

"But understand this one thing to be true — I have never wished any harm upon you. When I tell you that you must depart this estate, I do not say it lightly, nor do I say it because my own hand is too weak to defend itself.

"Believe me when I say this, dear Gwen. I do not command your retreat to save my own skin. I do it only to protect yours."

And with that, and a gentle stroke of her cheek with his thumb. He guided her towards an exit from the festivities, and towards the private yacht that had brought her on shore. Should the Sith wish to meet him on this estate, she would have to seek him out. He would not stay in such a crowded place, not with her being so potentially dangerous.

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

 

[Keppler Danvier]

// Temple of Shiraya
// Evenfall Estate

"Usually, I came to find her here."

Keppler winced at the unpleasant thought. From what he could recall, this was also the place that the Jedi's mother, Teyla Sal-Soren had been found...murdered. Perhaps, the ghost of Jedi truly did live on as rumours said, and this was the strongest place of connection to her mother's persisting soul. If she was indeed coming here to meet her mother's spirit, he most certainly did not wish to intrude. Irreligious of not.

"I wish I could have stayed with you longer. But thank you for telling me about your crew. It helps to hear that there was something good that came out of that."

Pursed lips and a courteous bow was all he offered, for nothing more was required. Sal-Soren seemed, already, the type to be far too hard on herself, and remember failures as well as moments where success could only be maintained for a small window. She had not turned on the artifact. She was not to blame.

It was only when she offered an invitation to linger that Kepp understood this was not her place of meeting matronly poltergeist. Instead, she was just finding solace in the location. Something he still struggled to feel worthy of invading.

"Danvier. Captain Keppler Danvier of the Republic Cruiser Reliant..." He paused, a corrective frown washing over his face. "...formerly of the Republic Cruiser Reliant."

He tapped his collar, the insignia there likely spoke for itself.

"Now captain of the Outbound Flight. When I make it on board."

He had not moved far, but his posture spoke now of a man who was not planning to move.

"And if I may say so, Lady Sal-Soren...you seem dressed far too well to have been spending this evening...alone."

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