Faction Naboo Cultural Exchange

[Pillar of Freedom]

War leaves ripples, through families, worlds, and the strange mysteries left in its wake.

This year, Naboo's annual Cultural Exchange is held in the city of Velisia at the historic Evenfall Estate, now a public park dedicated to those lost in the Cataclysm and the wars that followed.

For refugees, travellers, and all who have come to call Naboo home, it is a night to share in Naboo's culture through food, music, dance, and tradition.

A night to rest. To hold close those you love. And to remember what, beneath all the loss, is still worth fighting for.

Spoiler: Map

1. Secret Entrance to Underground Atrium (Midnight Rendezvous)	7. Vineyard
2. Ruins of Ee'Everwest Mansion, destroyed in the Netherworld Cataclysm	8. Public ferry and dock
3. Temple to the Goddess Shiraya	9. Lakeside Bonfire (Dance of Set and Veré)
4. Guarded Entrance to Underground Atrium (Midnight Rendezvous)	10. Monument to the Fallen
5. The Market (Night Market)	11. Orchad
6. VIP Dock

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The Dance of Set and Veré is an ancient festival where a fire is lit at midnight, inviting the warmth of Set's radiance in the cool of Veré's domain. The dance is an ancient and sacred time when nobles and peasants alike mingle and celebrate the ancient of love between Naboo's sun and moon gods.

Vibe: Folk dancing, fancy outfits, and bonfires.

Spoiler: Objective Div, Should You Wish

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The once-pristine grounds of the E'Eeverwest Estate have found new life as a sprawling public park, its manicured gardens mingling with the picturesque remains of the old estate. Tonight, those ruins glow beneath strings of paper lanterns as the Night Market takes over. Makeshift stalls crowd the paths and lawns, offering handmade wares, clothing, food, curiosities, and local crafts. Music, conversation, and the scents of a dozen kitchens drift through the warm evening air. Come to browse, eat, barter, linger, or simply disappear into the crowd.

Vibe: Wandering, chilling, shopping.

Spoiler: Objective Div, Should You Wish

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Beneath the E'Eeverwest Estate is a vast, unused atrium. Once the secret storage facility for Sith and Jedi relics collected by the late terrorist Baros Sal-Soren, it is now a silent retreat of shadowed alcoves and forgotten corners. Those who find their way here will likely find privacy for a personal interlude.

Vibe: Secretive, exploration, discovery, spice.

Spoiler: Objective Div, Should You Wish

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Explore the rest of the Evenfall Estate Park and tell you tale of the night.


Vibe: Bring your own vibe.

Spoiler: Objective Div, Should You Wish

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| THR affiliated Characters Only |
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[Cerys Dyn]

The dress felt wrong.

Not because Sophelia had chosen poorly — quite the opposite, in fact. The midnight-blue fabric fell beautifully around Cerys, patterned with silver-threaded flowers so subtle they seemed to bloom only when the light caught them just right. It was elegant, tasteful, and entirely proper for an evening of this scale.

And Cerys desperately wanted her rough, familiar Jedi robes back.

She stood frozen atop the grand forum steps, her hands folded neatly before her as she looked down upon the gathering below. There were far too many people. Her montrals twitched, sensitive to the overwhelming swell of overlapping conversations, the sharp bursts of laughter, the bright, lilting music, and the constant chime of crystal glasses. Worst of all were the greetings — people embracing friends with a warmth and longevity that made her skin prickle.

Attachments, she thought, a knot tightening in her chest. Attachments everywhere.

Cerys swallowed hard against the rising anxiety. She knew why she was here. Sophelia had bought her the dress for a reason, and the Grandmaster had been equally insistent that she wear it. Apparently, advancing from a Padawan to a true Jedi Knight required more than just discipline, lightsaber skill, and an unwavering devotion to the Code. Apparently, it also required learning how to navigate a gala and speak to...shudder...people.

It was utterly ridiculous.

Below, the crowd grew denser and more vibrant as the midnight hour approached. With the striking of twelve would come the Dance of Set and Veré, the pinnacle of the evening's festivities. Cerys stared down at the swirling sea of silk and jewels, trying to summon the courage that had carried her through a dozen battlefields.

She could fight Sith. She could leap from damaged speeders. She could face death itself without a single tremor in her hands.

Yet, as she told herself to take the first step down into the crowd, her fingers merely tightened around one another. She remained exactly where she was, rooted to the stone, silently bargaining with the Force that perhaps she would begin socializing in another five minutes.

| Outfit: xxx | Tag: Rix Braji fyi, Sophelia Ardemark @Open |​

 

[Verity Stuyveris]

It was an important cultural event, one held annually. Such events couldn't simply be discarded because a war interceded. Well, perhaps if the war was on Naboo, but it was -- so far -- a border war. So that made this little soiree halfway defendable. Still, Verity thought it bordered on courting disaster. There she was, in a piece of Druckenwell couture that could probably have financed the purchase of, at the very least, a scout speeder for the Army, wearing enough gold and sapphires to pay the annual salary of its crew, just waiting for some reporter to pop out of the bushes and demand to know whether it wasn't all just too much?

Then again, if she stayed home, there was every chance she would be confronted with her absence, and why hadn't she felt it important to boost the national morale during these Difficult Times™?

To hell with it. She was doing her bit for the war effort. She'd launched a probable suicide attack on a Sith Lord on the bridge of the Grace of Theed and that was after putting her life at risk to try to help that demented little cretin, the King of Naboo. Verity had earned the champagne multiple times over. She wondered, as she took a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter, if he was going to make an appearance there that night. She supposed he must; Naboo was his world -- in every sense of the word his, at least if you asked him.

She lifted her glass in a sardonic toast. The King of Naboo. "May Shiraya bless and keep him -- far, far away from me," she mumbled into the champagne glass before taking a sip.

| Outfit: xxx | Tag: Helios Ardemark | CC: Aurelian Veruna​

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

PRIOR TO EVENT

​

"Father and Mother say you should take it easy, Brother." Elian voiced with concern as he leaned on the counter, only half ready for the occasion. "I know, it seems wrong to go, especially since I wasn't there on Thyferra...."

"You were told to stay put, to rest. You can't fault yourself for that. Besides, there isn't anything you could've done. You would've gotten yourself hurt, or worse." Elian buttoned up his shirt and reached for his tie, looping it around his neck, measuring it at half, and began the process. After a few moments, he was messing something up. "This is insufferable. I can build a ship, but can't work this tie."

Cassian smirked, nodding his head. He moved over, in front of Elian. "Here, let me see." Cassian reached forward and carefully undid the disaster Elian had created, pulling the tie loose before straightening it beneath the collar of his shirt. His movements were practiced and well, they came easy. He adjusted one end, brought the other across, and began working the fabric into a proper knot. He raised the knot until it rested comfortably against the front of his shirt and his neck. Cassian glanced at Elian's arm....

He placed his hands on his shoulders. "Hey, I'm sorry I wasn't there for...you know."

Elian looked at his arm and shrugged his shoulders. "It's okay, it's not like you had a choice. Besides, I think this makes me look more dashing." Elian raised his eyebrows a bit, which caused Cassian to smile and chuckle.

"Shiraya! Did you just smile?! And you just laughed?!" Elian raised his arm up triumphantly. "I did it!"

Cassian shook his head, giving his face a small, small pat. "Nicely done, brother." Cassian nodded his head. "Try to stay out of trouble this evening."

"Always!" Elian said with the world's biggest smile.

Destination: Bonfire
Location: Docks
Tags: Open
​

Cassian stood near the edge of the docks, his hands resting loosely against the railing as he stared across the water. The evening light stretched along the surface, broken only by the gentle waves rolling beneath the supports. Somewhere farther out, vessels moved across the horizon. More ships were making their way to the docks, shuttling more attendees to the event taking place. Cassian's hands tapped on the railing slightly as he took in the scent of the water.

He felt like he shouldn't be here. That guilt had been gnawing at him for the better part of the day. Perhaps a drink or two, and maybe even a dance, would provide the perfect distraction from his thoughts.

 

[Ra'a'mah]

Objective: Night Market

Ra'a'mah had wandered Naboo enough times over the years that being on the world was hardly a novelty anymore. Even so, there was something different about seeing it like this. Tonight wasn't about negotiations, supply lines, refugees, wars, or whatever crisis had most recently demanded the Protectorate's attention. The Cultural Exchange had filled the old Evenfall Estate with music, food, lantern light, and enough people wandering between the ruins and gardens to make the place feel considerably more alive than its history suggested.

She walked beside Vulpesen as they entered the Night Market, her attention moving from one stall to another while the crowd flowed around them. "You know," Ra observed, glancing toward him, "when we agreed to come here together, I was expecting considerably more ceremony." A faint smile touched her lips. "I'm beginning to think we chose wisely."

The market certainly suited her better. Handmade jewelry shared space with clothing and local crafts, while food stalls competed for attention with scents drifting along the lit paths. Ra slowed beside one display long enough to examine a collection of small mechanical curiosities before reluctantly continuing onward. She had accumulated more than enough unusual objects over the course of her life, but that had never been particularly effective at preventing her from acquiring another.

"I should probably warn you," she said as they continued deeper into the market, amusement creeping into her voice. "Leaving me unsupervised around merchants is generally a poor financial decision." Considering her profession, the statement was perhaps more ironic than she intended. Her gaze caught upon another stall, this one crowded with an assortment of locally made goods, and she changed direction almost immediately to investigate. "Though I suppose you're here, so technically I'm supervised."

Ra glanced over her shoulder at Vulpesen, the smile now unmistakable.

"Whether you're responsible enough to stop me is another question entirely."

Vulpesen

 

[Vulpesen]

Vulpesen's tail flicked behind him as his own eyes went from beautiful craft to exquisite bobble. Naboo's artisans lacked the lethal elegance that he'd grown enamored with on his own home world, but there was till something to be said about the sleek profile of their jewelry and art. Of course, to his own appraising eyes, even the most diamond studded bauble paled in comparison to the woman who challenged him with her avaricious vices. "Stopping your from spending your credits will be as easy as running through the woods. Responsibility has nothing to do with it," he replied with a quiet laugh. If Ra'a'mah's impulses were as severe as she suggested, then perhaps he would have to have a few words with his treasurer in the morning. But that was a discussion for some time away from the present.

He stopped at one stand, his eyes moving between the necklaces and earrings which sparkled in the moonlight. "The pomp and ceremony is... tiresome. Veradune has sent more of its children to fight the sith than perhaps any other system can claim in its decades since its come onto the world state. Yet, few take notice of us, and fewer take us seriously. My reputation is built on my personal merits. Rather than face the losing battle of vying for favor from lords, senators, and chancellors who will hardly spare me a hello, I'd rather be here. In a place where my exploits have earned me the coin that will make me the center of these merchants' worlds."

Ra'a'mah

 

[Rhea Taal]

The glow of the bonfire was already visible before Rhea reached the lakeside, its light rising above the gathered celebrants and competing with the softer illumination scattered throughout Evenfall Estate. Music carried farther still. It threaded through conversation and laughter, accompanied by the rhythm of feet against the ground as strangers and companions alike joined the old Naboo dance. Rhea had attended enough cultural celebrations across enough worlds to know that invitations to understand another people were often offered more honestly through their music than through anything said across a diplomatic table.

Tonight, fortunately, she had no intention of sitting behind one.

At six feet and an inch, Rhea Taal possessed the sort of height that made disappearing into a gathering difficult even before taking her other features into account. She was slender and long-limbed, carrying herself with an effortless straightness that came less from courtly instruction than two centuries of knowing precisely where her body was in relation to everything around it. Warm, lightly sun-touched skin contrasted with the dark brown of her hair, which had been gathered away from her face and arranged into an elegant series of smooth twists at the back of her head. The rest descended in a controlled fall nearly to her waist, dark chestnut appearing among the brown whenever firelight caught it. Long pointed ears remained deliberately uncovered rather than hidden beneath her hair, and luminous golden-amber eyes regarded the celebration with quiet interest.

Her clothing belonged far more readily in a palace ballroom than on one of the roads her younger sister favored.

Rhea wore an ankle-length gown of deep midnight blue, tailored closely through the bodice and waist before opening into a fuller skirt designed specifically to move. The fabric possessed a subtle sheen rather than any elaborate pattern, changing from near-black to rich blue as she passed beneath lanterns and firelight. A squared neckline framed her collarbones without plunging excessively low, while fitted sleeves of the same material ended just below her elbows. Fine silver embroidery traced the neckline, cuffs, and narrow structured belt at her waist, geometric and precise rather than floral. Nothing about the gown evoked vines, leaves, feathers, or the wilderness. Its elegance came from cut, fabric, and craftsmanship rather than ornamentation.

A pair of small silver earrings and a slender bracelet provided the extent of her jewelry. Her shoes had been chosen with the dance in mind, formal enough for court but with heels low enough that she could actually move comfortably in them. Even her thick, fox-like tail had been accounted for by the gown's tailoring rather than awkwardly concealed, falling freely behind her and nearly reaching her lower calves.

There was something almost amusing about how much preparation could go into appearing as though one had made none.

Rhea slowed as she reached the edge of the gathering. For once there was no delegation waiting for her, no stack of proposals tucked beneath one arm, and no disagreement she had been asked to untangle before it became something worse. She was still here in part because Veradune did not send representatives to another world's cultural exchange merely to remain aboard their ships, but representation did not always require speeches.

Sometimes accepting what another culture offered was enough.

Her gaze settled upon the dancers around the fire, following them for a time as a small smile touched her lips. Two hundred and twelve years had given Rhea ample opportunity to learn dances from worlds other than her own, though this particular tradition was unfamiliar. There was pleasure in watching it unfold before trying to understand its steps, especially when those performing it had known the rhythm long enough that thought no longer seemed necessary.

Rhea made no immediate attempt to join them.

Instead, she found herself a comfortable place near the edge of the gathering where she could watch without withdrawing from the celebration altogether. She accepted a drink when the opportunity presented itself and held the glass loosely between her fingers, her attention moving between the dancers, the fire, and the many faces gathered beneath the evening lights. Her tail rested behind her with only the occasional measured movement betraying an interest her composed expression kept subtler.

She had spent much of her life entering rooms because someone expected something from her. An agreement. An answer. A concession. A solution to a problem that had already survived several other people attempting to solve it.

Tonight, no one had asked anything of her yet.

Rhea discovered she rather liked that.

So she remained beside the celebration instead of rushing into its center, content for the moment to listen to the music, learn the unfamiliar rhythm, and see what the evening chose to bring to her.

Derek Dib

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

The diamond caught the light first.

Sibylla watched its reflection glitter beneath the pale moonstone at her ear as she fastened the earring into place. Deep violet silk hugged close along her figure, patterned subtly enough that its detailing only emerged when the light found it. Short sleeves rested over her shoulders before giving way to matching opera gloves, while the gown itself swept downward into a long train behind her.

The back was another matter entirely. It was cut almost scandalously low by Nabooian standards, as it left nearly the whole of her smooth back bare before the violet fabric met again at the base of her spine.

Under other circumstances, Sibylla might have spent considerably longer questioning that particular decision, but tonight, she barely noticed. Instead, her fingers lingered, grazing the moonstone as she studied herself in the mirror.

And while she looked ready for a festival, Sibylla certainly didn't feel ready for one. Not after Thyferra.

There were still moments when Sibylla could smell it. Burning alazhi, the smoke, and the charred scent of blood. Could remember the dead rising again and Quinn standing amidst it all. The reports afterward had somehow been worse. Quarantines. Blight. Entire facilities lost. Casualty figures that seemed to climb every time another datapad found its way into her hand... then the bacta. That loss would travel far beyond Thyferra.

Part of her desperately wanted to believe they could still push the Sith back. That the Republic could recover, regroup, endure. But Thyferra had stripped something painfully abstract away from the word Sith.

Sibylla understood their brutality now. She had seen it herself, face to face, and through it all, Aurelian and Ace's words only made that sting all that much harder.

[ Five minutes until we arrive. ]

The shuttle announcement broke softly through the suite overhead, drawing Sibylla from her reverie and she drew in a slow breath. It was done with the mind that she knew very well her responsibilities not just for her people, but for the REpublic. Every bit of her actions and words would be scrutinized beyond measure by kin, House, and politicals across Naboo in more ways than one.

Part of her wondered if an entire evening dedicated to remembering that there remained beautiful things in the galaxy was in good taste. Another knew that this was what Naboo culture was -- the desire to think and look at pretty things, to believe in the sweet innocence of hope and love and what they are fought for.

Sibylla knew that was needed for morale, especially now.

She just wished she could feel it beyond the anger, confusion, and numbness Thyferra had left her with.

Hazel eyes drifted toward the door. Aurelian would be nearly finished. They had separate suites, naturally. Appearances demanded as much, even if those closest to the King and his Voice had long since learned that either could rather easily disappear into the other's chambers when privacy permitted.

After one last lingering look at the mirror, Sibylla smoothed her gloved hands over the violet gown and squared her shoulders.

Hope felt considerably more fragile after Thyferra... which meant that perhaps that meant that willingly choosing it was all the more important.

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

 

[Katarine Ryiah]

"Never Hide Your Heart"

​

Katarine Ryiah had faced Sith, smugglers, murderers, and more than one criminal syndicate that would have happily put a price on her head.

Somehow, the dress was worse.

She resisted the urge to tug at the fabric again as she moved through the gathering, a glass of blossom wine held delicately between her fingers. There was nothing particularly wrong with the gown. In fact, she suspected it was probably quite lovely. Elegant enough for the occasion without attracting too much attention.

That was precisely the problem.

Katarine was accustomed to boots, jackets, hidden weapons, and clothing selected because it allowed her to disappear into whatever miserable corner of the galaxy an investigation required. Formal gatherings demanded an entirely different sort of disguise, and she had never been especially good at pretending she belonged among polished floors, soft music, and carefully exchanged pleasantries.

Around her, the cultural exchange carried on beneath the warm Naboo evening. Conversations drifted between diplomats, dignitaries, artists, and Jedi. Laughter rose here and there, mingling with the music.

Katarine recognized almost no one.

That realization bothered her more than she wanted to admit.

She had been gone for months.

Missing.

Captured, imprisoned, cut off from everything she had known, and apparently the galaxy had continued spinning without so much as a stumble.

Nobody had come looking.

Perhaps nobody had even noticed.

Her fingers tightened briefly around the stem of her glass.

It was an unfair thought, she knew. Her work had always required distance. An undercover investigator did not build much of a reputation by announcing where she was going or when she expected to return. She spent more time beside criminals than Jedi, more evenings in cantinas and back rooms than temples or council chambers. Somewhere along the way, the Order had changed around her while she had remained buried in the underworld.

These were the Jedi of this era.

And Katarine barely knew them.

She slipped quietly from the gathering before she could feel bad that nobody extended an invitation to make conversation.

The balcony beyond was blessedly empty.

Katarine stepped into the evening air and released a breath she had not realized she was holding. Velisia stretched beneath her, beautiful in that effortless way Naboo seemed determined to be. Lights shimmered against elegant architecture while the fading colors of sunset melted across the horizon. Somewhere below, water caught the last traces of light and scattered them like glass.

For a moment, she simply stared.

The blossom wine remained untouched in her hand.

She had spent so much of her life learning how to walk unnoticed through places she did not belong that perhaps she had accidentally made herself disappear entirely.

Katarine rested one hand against the balcony railing, her deep green eyes fixed upon the Naboo evening.

Maybe that was the trouble.

She wasn't certain where she belonged anymore.

Outfit: x | Tags: Rik Perris​

 

[Rathir]

THE HIGH REPUBLIC

RATHIR
JEDI INITIATE • LIVING FORCE

LOCATION EVENFALL ESTATE, NABOO ◆ OBJECTIVE THE NIGHT MARKET

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Rathir had discovered three things about Naboo cultural events.

The first was that there were considerably more rules involved in formal dancing than anybody had warned him about. The second was that musicians apparently noticed when somebody stood close enough to watch their hands. The third, and presently most important, was that somebody had been roasting meat for most of the afternoon.

He had been working his way toward it for the better part of twenty minutes, though not deliberately enough that he would have admitted to following the smell.

Rathir moved through the food stalls scattered across Evenfall Estate with the same loose curiosity he brought to most things involving other people. There was plenty to occupy him. Music carried across the grounds in overlapping layers, though his hearing picked individual instruments and conversations from the noise easily enough, along with the occasional hiss of cooking oil or crackle from a grill somewhere further ahead.

He found the source quickly.

Rathir's eyebrows rose as he noted all the stalls offering food. He watched preparations with perhaps more intensity than anyone preparing the food expected and accepted several samples along the way before continuing to the next. One stall had given him something sweet enough that he needed water afterward. Another had produced a little fried parcel whose contents remained a mystery despite Rathir eating two of them. He had considered asking what was inside when somebody passed carrying a plate of roasted meat.

Rathir's attention followed it through the crowd, and he followed right behind.

The evening had filled the old estate with more people than he was accustomed to seeing there. Visitors, families, travellers and Jedi moved constantly between displays, conversations starting and disappearing beneath the music as he passed. Rathir liked it. There was always something happening, somebody doing something he had not seen before, another voice or sound catching his attention from somewhere nearby.

More importantly, nobody seemed particularly concerned when he took time to watch or get involved.

Rathir slipped around a slower group and finally found where the roasted meat was being prepared, though by then he could hear it too: the quiet spit of fat against the roasting unit beneath several cuts of meat turning slowly above the heat. He stopped directly in front of the stall and studied the selection long enough that the vendor eventually looked back at him; his blue eyes shifted from the meat to her.

"What's that?"

The woman glanced over her shoulder. "Which one?"

There were, Rathir realised, several.

He stepped closer and pointed. "That one."

"The shaak?"

Rathir nodded. He supposed that was the name.

"It's roasted with blossom honey, herbs, and a little fruit wine."

His expression tightened slightly at the final ingredient.

"Oh," he said, making a face. "Does it taste like wine?"

The vendor laughed. "Not particularly."

"Okay," Rathir said with a nod as he reached for the credits in his belt pouch. "I want some."

The vendor smiled. "Good choice."

Rathir answered with a broad grin, pronounced canines briefly visible as the credits changed hands. He had been told cultural exchange was supposed to involve experiencing the traditions of other people; he was beginning to think he understood the concept perfectly well.

A plate was passed across the counter. Rathir grabbed the meat and took a big bite before moving away. His eyes closed for a moment as he savoured it. He blinked them open and turned when the vendor called after him:

"Let me know if you still have room. I've got plenty."

Rathir smirked around another mouthful of meat. He turned back toward the stall and tried speaking, mumbling through the mouthful, but was cut off:

"Have a look around first, then come back."

He considered the instruction, glanced around at the crowd moving through the estate, then shrugged. Rathir was fine with seeing and tasting more, so he continued on with another bite of the delicious meat.

Rathir eventually found an open place near the edge of the food area and settled there with his plate, attention already shifting between the people nearby and whatever they happened to be eating.

Someone, he decided, was bound to have found something else worth trying.

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TAGS
Open​

FIRRERREO • FORM V • JEDI INITIATE​

 

[Lily Decoria]

Outfit: Silver shimmering dress
Tag: OPEN

It had been some time since Lily had been on Naboo but hearing the news of Thyferra and having been unable to help, she wished to attend the cultural exchange being held on Naboo. A style of event that Lily hadn't really been to in a while, galas and elegant dresses. That was something she focused less on the more responsibilities she undertook as a Jedi Knight. Fortune favoured her though since she knew the perfect dress to adorn herself with, something shimmered and pooled like liquid silk and desired the capture of the light to sparkle and shine in a silvery fashion. It was a dress that felt perfect for the gala, though very impractical.

She breathed in deeply as she stepped into the dancehall, her hands placed behind her as she walked gracefully. Carrying herself with the nobility and grace that she had held for many years and been trained to hold back on Eshan. Seeing familiar faces once more around, Lily couldn't help but smile, it was nice to be around friends once again. Lily knew it had been a while since she had been in High Republic space and it was something she missed dearly. Her mind wondered if she would see any other Jedi, Briana Sal-Soren , Colette , Connel Vanagor or maybe Ala Quin . See how they were all faring and let them know that she had missed them.

For now, Lily focused on shifting through the crowd, not aiming to draw too much attention to herself and perhaps find a glass or two of wine to drink. A dry white seemed appetising to her in the moment. Her ears listened to the music, music that was softer, slower for dancing than a rave that she had been at. Finding a server with a plate of glasses, Lily delicately plucked one with white wine, taking a refreshing sip as she paused for a moment in the spot. It was nice to be here once more.

 

[Persephone Dashiell]

​

Dressed in a pink-peach one shoulder, Persephone idly wondered if the dress was a little too light in color given the setting and time of year. Although she doubted anyone would say anything about her fashion choices. The fashion world was in a bit of flux given the state of the Core but Naboo wasn't still quite the epicenter of couture, despite how hard they tried.

Persephone was at the event alone, representing the Dashiell family. It was only logical. She was at Kalinda University and was the closest in proximity. Except for maybe her cousin, but she really had zero idea what he did. Or where he traveled to. Balun tried to keep himself mysterious, for who she had no idea.

Speaking of Balun, she spotted his student frozen in place. Odd. Oceanic gaze swept the sea of bodies, looking for her cousin. She didn't see any blue burlap in the crowd and assumed he was either in the little Jedi's room or was horribly late, leaving the woman to stand like a robot. How brainwashed was she? Poor girl couldn't move without Balun saying the word?

Persephone found the pair odd. Met them at dinner. In her eyes the roles should be reversed.

Not having anything else to do - she had no escort, Persephone suspected Tavian was AWOL from his naval training - the night was free to drift around in. The first place she was going to drift was Cerys. The young woman made quick work of making her way to the front of the ballroom.

"Don't tell me my idiotic cousin left you on the steps." She drew closer, offering her hand in greeting. "I can kick his ass for you, if you like."

TAGS : Cerys Dyn | OPEN​

 

[Connel Vanagor]

This coat itches. Connel and Lira Vanagor stepped out of the speeder along with a VERY happy “Buster”. They were dressed to the nines as they walked the red carpet and only the Gallinorese Mountain Aak Dog seemed happy to be there. Of course Buster is just happy to be anywhere and everywhere.

”It’s fine.”

I’m not comfortable.

“Neither am I… I hate heels.”

So, why are we here?

“We’re here because you are Midvinter Nobility now. You are a Jedi Master, you, your mom and I are majority shareholders in a company that operates here… and most of all… we haven’t been on a proper date in 2 months.”

You had me annoyed until the end, you should have just led with that.

Lira just grinned. “It’s called ‘dramatic buildup’.”

Slowly walking into the area and looking around, Lira waved, saw one or two she had met, Connel looked like he was looking for a bar and he didn’t drink. Of course, if she and Buster were going to enjoy themselves, he could as well.

Don’t act so surprised. He knows how!

| Outfit: is here | Tag: OPEN |​

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Water dripped from Aurelian's jaw into the porcelain basin. He cupped his hands under the tap, splashing his face once more to wash away the phantom of Thyferra. The planet had nearly claimed everything: his life, his composure, and Sibylla.

Gripping the edges of the sink, he looked up into the mirror. The glass offered no sanctuary. Shadows of the ancient artifact lingered behind his reflection, replaying the images that now haunted his dreams. He saw her pale skin, heard her screams, and felt the cruel torment the darkness had forced him to witness. His own arrogance had led them into that trap. Knowing he had been wrong was a heavy burden, but living with the reality of how deeply the ordeal had altered him was far worse.

A forced breath expanded his chest as he straightened up. He adjusted the collar of his formal jacket, smoothing the fine fabric over his shoulders. Public duty demanded perfection, regardless of the rot underneath.

The door to the adjoining suite clicked open.

Aurelian stopped dead in his tracks. The deep violet silk of Sibylla's gown swept the floor in a breath-taking silhouette, but the bare expanse of her back drew his immediate focus. By Shiraya's name, the structural integrity of that dress defied every law of Nabooian tailoring.

A genuine smile finally broke through his weary facade. The sheer sight of her washed away the lingering coldness in his veins.

Checking the empty corridor behind him, Aurelian crossed the room with quiet, confident strides. He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head, carefully avoiding her styled hair.

"Shall we go for a dance or two? Make the people feel comfortable," he suggested, offering her his arm.

| Tag: Sibylla Abrantes |
​

 

[Sophelia Ardemark]

So much had happened since she'd last got dresses with Cerys. And chatted building plans with Elian with that towel run-in. Swoop-racing. All things Nar Shadda. Thyferra. The prison-break. That court day disaster with Lysander. It felt nice to just have a night off. Even if she wished someone else was here. Glancing down, she checked her comm one more time before sliding it into the pocket of her dress.

Because yes, her long navy blue dress with gold accents had pockets.

Of course.

At the last minute,she'd decided to go with a different color than red. Perhaps in solidarity with her bestie. Who looked absolutely stunning. A warm smile to her friend, even as she caught the other girl's hesitation. "Cerys, you'll be fine. The beginning is always the hardest. Do you see Elian anywhere? He-," she paused as another girl joined them.

Who was also a stunner.

"Hi, I'm Sophelia," the blonde noble offered to Persephone Dashiell in greeting. "One of Cerys' friends. I'm going to get something to drink. Do you all want anything?"

Looking at Cerys, she might need some liquid courage. Soph wondered if her fellow padawan drank. Blues looked around at the other people. Dancing. Chatting. Smiling. She hoped her brother was here, too. Even if he was at a different part of the city.

| Outfit: xxx | Tag: Cerys Dyn Elian Abrantes Isar du Vain Persephone Dashiell |​

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Sophelia Ardemark Cerys Dyn Persephone Dashiell
​

Elian had been at the event a few hours before, exploring the market about an hour earlier. Trinkets, odds and ends, and every sort of thing you could think of. It was nice to be out. Perhaps it was just the feeling of normalcy after everything that had happened in the past few weeks. It was a continuation of events that led to catastrophe. Elian held up a jewel, taking a look at its integrity and the way it glimmered in the fading sun. Once he heard the price, though, it was a steal. But there was really no need for him to get it.

"Maybe next time!" Elian said with a smile as he laid the jewel back down, looking up to the sky as a firework was fired into the air, signifying things to come.

"Little early if you ask me." he whispered, looking back toward the sun.

Elian made his way toward the fire in the distance. He had told Soph that he would meet her and her friend. It wasn't long before he found them, maneuvering through the crowd. He gave a small wave to Soph as he closed the distance. There were two others there. One of them must've been Cerys.

Elian smiled, giving the smallest bow. "Ladies, you all look lovely. Elian Abrantes, pleased to meet you." The young Abrantes looked toward the bar as Sophelia mentioned getting a drink.

"A drink would be good." Elian whispered. A whiskey sounded good. "Either of you care for anything?"

More so reinforcing Sophelia's question in regard to a drink.

​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

The moment Aurelian stepped into her suite, something in Sibylla simply gave. There was no rush into his arms nor a desperate display that either of them would have permitted themselves even here. No it was instinctive the way she leaned her back into him when he crossed toward her and pressed that kiss against the crown of her head.

For those few seconds, as if needing to refuel herself for what was to come, Sibylla let her shoulder rest against his chest for those precious few seconds, hazel eyes closing as she breathed him in, the scent of lavender, citrus, and sandlewood amidst all that was uniquely him.

Alive.

Sibylla had not known he had been on Thyferra until afterward. That revelation had unleashed a thousand terrible possibilities through her mind. Everything she had witnessed. Everything that had gone wrong. Every report that continued arriving afterward. They had prepared for war. They had strengthened their borders, raised armies, commissioned ships, secured resources.

And still Thyferra had burned, pouring into concrete truth that the Sith war machine had not been exaggerated into some convenient monster lurking beyond the Blackwall.

It as very real, and now they were at war.

Swallowing hard, Sibylla opened her eyes to look up at him. A small smile answered his invitation, but it never quite reached them. The exhaustion remained there, tucked beneath carefully applied cosmetics that lined her eyes with kohl and darkened her lips to a darker rosy hue, all the accessories a noblewoman utilized with the practiced composure expected of the Voice of Naboo.

Instead of immediately taking his arm, she turned toward him, her gloved hand rising up to cup the side of Aurelian's face, thumb settling beneath his cheek while the satin covered fingers traced the clean-shaven edge of that sharply chiseled jaw. For a moment she said nothing. She simply looked at him, drinking the warmth of his bronze skin, the familiar amber of his eyes, and that look of utter devoted affection he solely reserved for her. That same quiet reassurance that told her he was here.

"Hmm... yes, we should." Only then did Sibylla let her hand fall. She rocked her neck gently from one side to the other, trying to work loose the tension knotted there. Violet silk shifted with the movement, the scandalously daring cut along her back remaining precisely where its maker intended through some miracle of couture engineering as her arm slipped through his.

"So what shall be our united front for Naboo should we be asked what comes next?" she asked, because apparently even their most intimate moments could only keep politics politely waiting outside the door for so long.

"Because they will ask."

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

 

[Aiden Porte]

Objective: The Night Market
Tags: Open
​

It was the laughter, hope, family, and the smiles of everyone that washed away the filth left from Thyferra. Kattada came to his mind, and a smile lingered there. He had his usual groupings, meetings in one of the many Naboo conference rooms, though they hadn't taken place in a while. It was good to get back to what he was doing, to help those get through it. It wasn't just him, it was everyone. They were all feeling the effects. Hope had to endure, no matter how reckless and stupid it seemed at times. No matter how irrelevant it seemed at the time.

"Daddy!" Aiden looked up with a small smile, seeing Lira make haste through the market, holding up a small trinket that she seemed to think was the most precious thing in the world. She set it down, giggling and laughing with her friends. A light chuckle escaped him. He held his hands behind his back, moving through the market, giving her space, of course. He wasn't trying to be an overbearing parent, but he couldn't help but be a bit cautious. While he had been doing this for a while, he just hoped he was doing a decent job.

That look on her face said it all, though. She didn't ever need to say it, it was his purpose.

"Ah..." Aiden said as he looked to a stall that was selling ale. Various vendors had been invited, which meant that other than Naboo vendors, this would be, in a way, unique.

Aiden handed the credits to the vendor while he received the small mug, raising it to his lips. "That's good." Aiden said, his eyebrows raising slightly in surprise.

 

[Guinevere Cavello]

Velisia glittered beneath the Naboo evening sky.

Light spilled from the grand windows of the gala hall and washed across the marble steps in warm gold, catching against polished speeders, jeweled gowns, and the carefully arranged smiles of Naboo's upper society. Music drifted out each time the doors opened, mingling with conversation and laughter beneath the soft hum of arriving guests.

Guinevere Cavello barely noticed any of it.

She stepped from the speeder with the practiced grace expected of a woman born into her position, one hand gathering the fabric of her gown as she climbed the steps. To anyone watching, she probably looked composed enough. Perhaps even pleased to be there.

Inside her head, however, she was somewhere between Camelot and Thyferra.

Lancel Atria had stopped answering.

That was the simplest way of putting it, though somehow the words felt more ominous every time she allowed herself to think them.

The last time Gwen had actually seen her fiancé had been during the bundling at her family's villa in Camelot. Since then, he had kept in touch regularly enough that she had almost grown accustomed to seeing his name appear among her messages.

Almost.

Which was irritating in its own right.

Their engagement was arranged. Everyone knew it. More importantly, they knew it. There had never been some sweeping romance between Guinevere and Lancel wo justify intertwining their lives forever. Quite the opposite. From the beginning, the two of them had shared a remarkably practical understanding that the preferable outcome would be finding some respectable way to escape the arrangement entirely.

At least, that had been the plan.

Then he had visited Camelot, and apparently Lancel had decided that if he was going to be an unwanted fiancé, he intended to be an unbearably charming one. Her parents adored him now. Adored might not even be a strong enough word. Her mother had taken to mentioning him with embarrassing fondness, while her father seemed convinced that Lancel represented everything a respectable future son-in-law ought to be. By the time he had left for Thyferra, Gwen suspected they might have happily exchanged her for him if anyone had offered.

Naturally, his silence had not gone unnoticed. Her parents were worried, and, much more inconveniently, so was she.

Gwen hated admitting that part.

She didn't want the engagement. She hadn't suddenly developed dreams of marriage or decided that perhaps everything would work itself out if she simply surrendered to everyone else's expectations.

But she didn't want Lancel hurt either. That wasn't how she wanted out. There were plenty of perfectly civilized ways to end an engagement without one of the participants disappearing somewhere on Thyferra.

The fact that his absence had begun settling like a stone somewhere beneath her ribs was profoundly confusing. She didn't know what it meant. She wasn't entirely certain she wanted to know.

Fortunately, Guinevere Cavello had never been allowed the luxury of abandoning her responsibilities simply because her thoughts were inconvenient. There were duties. There were appearances. There was a gala.

So she had dressed for one. She had allowed her hair to be arranged, selected jewelry appropriate for the evening, endured the inevitable commentary regarding precisely which gown would make the appropriate impression, despite her feeling it showed too much skin considering Lancel wasn't around to look at any of it and he was the only man allowed to. She arrived in Velisia determined to behave like a woman whose life was entirely under control. Now she only had to convince herself.

Gwen paused near the entrance as another collection of guests swept past her, laughter following in their wake. She drew in a slow breath. Tonight was not about Thyferra. It was not about unanswered messages. It was certainly not about whatever ridiculous emotion had compelled her to check her communicator more times than she cared to admit before leaving Camelot.

Tonight she would be present. She would speak to people. She would smile. She would dance if someone sufficiently tolerable asked. She would enjoy herself. Perhaps she would even see a few familiar faces. That thought finally managed to coax something more genuine from her expression.

There was, after all, one familiar face she was particularly hoping to find among the crowd. One she had absolutely no business being quite so eager to see. The beginnings of a smile touched Gwen's lips as she stepped properly into the gala. That was a much nicer thing to worry about.

She lifted her chin, smoothed the last trace of concern from her expression, and disappeared into the glittering crowd. For tonight, at least, Guinevere Cavello intended to try very hard to remain in Velisia.

Even if part of her was still waiting for a message from Thyferra.



Wearing: X | Tags: Open

 

[Kitt Solo]

Tags: Open. Nothing to see here.

Brakka turned his head, giving her a silent, wooden stare. "It'll be fine," Kitt quipped. "Go to the market. Have fun. Rendevous back at my ship. No going past curfew, though."

A few reedy-wooden sounds from her Neti companion. The teenager rolled his eyes. Hard.

"I've always been in charge."

Bark on bark.

"Don't make me take away your allowance, bub."

Branches against a window.

"No, I swear. I'll do it this time."

A low chuckle like mulchchips. The teenage Neti turned and meandered away. Kitt sighed, hip cocked to one side. She wore a long black-leather skirt. Crop top. Leather bands up and down her cinnamon skin. Wild chestnut hair back in a loose frenchbraid. Still had those boots, though. Myrtle ellipses watched until Brakka disappeared around the corner. Looking down at her wrist, she brought up the map to the old archives and began making her way deeper into the catacombs. Looking for something specific.

​