Public Partying at Rodia - (Open to All)

[Jacen Breska]

Rodia Nights​

WEARING:: This
EQUIPMENT: Nothing
LOCATION: :: Rodia Nightclub ::
TAG: Kaila Irons | Approaching: Quinn Varanin and CT-312

"It's hard to imagine you gardening," Jacen said with a laugh. How very human a hobby. So it wasn't all lightning fingers and lightsabers after all. There was a person underneath the Sith Lords and Ladies he'd come to serve. At least some of the time, at least. It caused him to 'hmm' to himself, re-evaluating what he knew of the Sith, what he felt of them. He wondered what all being a Sith did entail. Perhaps there was more to them then all that.

"Gardening," he repeated with a smile. "I like it."

She's full of surprises, he thought to himself.

He followed her gaze across the building and spied the woman she was looking at...who came off as eerily familiar. He looked back at Kaila and raised an eyebrow, "If I said no, would that deter you at all?" Jacen smiled and then looked back to the bar. The thought of a guy and a girl walking up to a girl at the bar made him feel a bit strange, in a 'hey we like your vibe' kinda way, but he'd keep his distance to not give off that air. Jacen half shrugged with a hand, "I'll follow your lead, boss. You want to talk to the pretty lady? We go talk to the pretty lady. You'd rather hit the bar and drink competitively?" he gave her a knowing nod, as if dispensing life-altering wisdom, "Then we drink competitively."
"It's only kinda work. Might as well try to have fun. You go do your thing, I'll be politely where I'm needed, maybe getting a drink. Not causing a ruckus or being untoward towards anyone in this fine..." he paused, eyeing the surroundings again, "...establishment. Just let me know if we're partying partying I can let my hair down and really cut loose." He flicked a hand through his short hair as if it were longer.

​

 

[Lily Decoria]

​

Location: Rodia - Nightclub
Outfit: Party Dress
Tag: Colette | Quinn Varanin

She was grateful that Kaelon Virex had been considerate of her attention needing to be elsewhere. It was understandable if he was disappointed that Lily had left him just as the conversation had been started, especially since Lily would usually have been a little more present and perhaps even lower her guard a little more around him as they talked more. It was a positive tick in her mind about him though that he didn't force himself into her situation or that he didn't lay it on thick the disappointment.

It made Lily keep note of his name and appearance in case there was time later on.

Sitting next to Colette, Lily leaned back and watched as her friend drank her beverage. Something that Lily did not expect to see, Colette never seemed to be someone who would find an alcoholic drink relaxing or comforting. So it was curious to see her drinking now. "Both?" Lily answered honestly, she wasn't going to beat around the bush or lie to Colette about the reasoning for coming over. "Last we hung out, things didn't go as well as I would have liked so I would like to see how you have been doing since then and hear all that is new with you."

Then nodding over to Quinn, "but having the princess show up unexpectedly, randomly here out of nowhere... I was concerned that you might just stubbornly ignore the rules and jump into action." It wasn't Lily insulting Colette but stating her honest concerns. "But I am glad to see you and I do want to catch up so if you can ignore the one person here you hate out of the many in this club, then I would really love to chat, maybe even dance?"

 

[Mauve]

vibe​

Do not grasp at a rose and ask why you bleed.

Do not goad a lion and ask why it bites.

The pressure she spoke of loomed between them, an oppressive presence so palpable Mauve could imagine its physicality. The weight of armor on a body. The pressure of those needling claws on skin.

The many-eyed helmet and armor just intimidation. Just barriers. A tease.

Mauve's eyelids fluttered. The mild hallucinogenics of the deathstick? Or something else...

Something, darker.

A soft laugh left her lips, a delicate silvery thing utterly lost in the brutal bass of the club.

"Stars, you're hungry for something to fill that void."

Mauve would not deny what the warrior said. How could she?

"You know you're supposed to ask permission before prowling around someone's mind like that."

As if she herself did not watch the emotions seeping from the warrior in so many varied hues. Curiosity and desire and the thrill of the hunt. And Mauve? Well, she enjoyed the chase too, but only from those who played it well.

"But you aren't from my world are you, you're used to taking what you want," a lie, the Underworld was full of such denizens, "so if I know what I want, then I guess the only question is what you want."

She lifted her feet from her shoes, left them laying on the ground, and brought her feet up to the couch, sprawling out, dress shifting around her legs.

"Don't pretend I have to earn it. You're a woman of action. You decided what you wanted the moment you came over here."

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Party time."

Tag - Mauve


The helmet didn't flinch.
Didn't twitch.
Didn't laugh.
But something behind it smiled.

Serina Calis let Mauve's words linger in the air like incense—sweet, curling, and utterly transparent. That lounging sprawl, that silvery laugh tucked between blades of barbed insight—it was artful. Practiced. The seduction of a creature who had learned to disarm with grace, to strike without ever lifting her voice.

But Serina didn't disarm. She conquered.

And now?

Now, she had decided.

The motion was slow. Not theatrical—ritualistic. Like the striking of a match or the lifting of a veil before a sacrifice. Serina rose from her seat, letting the armor shift and flex around her like a living thing, the segmented plating of Tyrant's Embrace whispering promises of both agony and allure. Her movements were pure domination in motion—poised, inescapable, and without a shred of doubt.

"Permission," she said at last, the word rolling out from her vox-modulated voice with a kind of luxuriant disdain. "A charming little fiction used by those afraid to admit they wanted to be touched."

She didn't wait for a reply.

One clawed hand moved—not roughly, but with the cool arrogance of someone who had never once needed to ask. She reached out and let the tips of her talons trail along the edge of Mauve's calf, just barely brushing skin. No pressure. No rush. Just that first electric taste of claiming, made worse by the restraint. She didn't even stroke—just hovered, each slow inch a reminder that this touch was not invitation.

It was inevitability.

"You want to know what I want?" she purred. "You, sprawled across that velvet like a spoiled courtesan, trying to look unimpressed while I strip your self-control one sin at a time? That's easy."

She stepped in closer. The soft ambient light of the lounge glinted off her blackened armor, casting violet reflections against Mauve's bare skin. From this close, Serina loomed—not in brute force, but in total authority. Every movement she made was a calculation. Every tilt of her head was designed to control the atmosphere between them like a composer sculpting silence.

Her voice softened, dropping half a register lower.

"But what I really want is to see what's left of you once I take your armor off." A pause. "No, not the dress. That isn't armor." A claw curled, lifting just slightly to tap against the side of Mauve's temple. "This is. The poise. The cleverness. The tired seductress routine." Another tap. "I want to pry it back, inch by inch, until the only thing left staring up at me is the part of you no one else gets to keep."

Her other hand moved—this one toward Mauve's foot, where the shoe lay discarded. She ran a single claw along the top of the arch, from heel to toe, barely making contact. Not enough to hurt. Not enough to soothe.

Just enough to own the space.

"But let's make one thing clear, darling..." Her voice turned indulgent, filthy with confidence.

She leaned in closer now, just slightly, enough for the vox in her helm to drop into something more intimate—less broadcast, more whispered. "You couldn't fail if you tried. You've already bled just right. Laughed just right. Dared just right."

A beat.

Then, low and venomously playful:
"And I love a mouth that bites back. Especially when I have to correct it later."

Her hand—still slow, still cruelly light—trailed up Mauve's shin now, ghosting over the knee. Not grabbing. Not forcing. Just claiming contact. A line drawn in the flesh like a signature in ash.

She didn't sit. She didn't need to. Her presence weighed on the lounge like a tombstone with heat behind it.

"I'm not from your world, you're right," Serina said, voice sliding into a darker register now—one of past sins and fond recollections. "I'm from somewhere worse. Somewhere colder. Where permission's a weakness and desire's a currency. I've commanded armies, rewritten minds, cracked open men and women and machines alike to find the soft core inside and crush it into something new. Better. Obedient."

Another step.

Now, she was beside the couch.

Close enough to blot out everything else. Close enough that even the strobing lights couldn't find their way between them.

She looked down at Mauve—the poised, feline, knowing creature sprawled in studied indifference—and saw the truth twitching underneath.

"So don't ask me to pretend," Serina whispered. "I don't play pretend. I unmake illusions. I drag them from your mouth with a kiss or a scream, and I make you grateful for the ruin."

The hand at Mauve's leg paused. Shifted. Rested lightly just above the knee. Dominant. Territorial.

Not asking.

"You can lie to the others here. You can let them believe you're just another pretty ghost in a haze of smoke and vice." Her voice dropped to a husk now. "But I know. You're not here to escape. You're here hoping someone vicious enough might finally see you—and not look away."

Then she leaned down.

Only slightly.

Her mask a breath from Mauve's lips, the many-eyed visor glowing, alive with intent.

"And I never look away."

The silence that followed was not absence—it was pressure. The kind of pressure that comes before a storm, or before the strike. The tension that says: this isn't over.

It hasn't even begun.

 

[Mauve]

Goose bumps rose where the tip of a claw skated across bare skin. The weight of those claws around her thigh. A soft gasp left her lips.

Mauve did not recoil.

She looked up at the armored figure looming over her, at the many-eyes of the helmet glowing, staring down at her.

Another throaty chuckle from lips stained the color of plum, again almost utterly lost beneath the thrum of the music. She tossed back her head, sinking deeper into the couch, wine-dark hair spilling out around her like a halo of blood. Lavender eyes stared up at the warrior.

"You don't? Prove it." she hissed as those talons tightened around her leg, "You still haven't shown me your face."

A taunting tone, as if Mauve were the one with the claws and the armor and the helmet.

"Show me," she sat up now, moved her face closer to that mask, "Show me," she said again.

The scent of jasmine hung thick in the air.

Darth Virelia

 

[Colette]

Lily Decoria

Both, of course. Colette nodded at the honesty, appreciative if anything that her friend wouldn't try to tell an obvious lie. Last time they had seen each other she had been so afraid for her family that she had outright refused to help Colette, falling short of kneeling at her case board on Quinn Varanin just in case the would-be Queen could somehow see her.

It irked Colette immensely, yes, but she was also wise enough to figure that holding on to such strife wouldn't really serve her well. She let in a deep breath and sigh, shook her head and turned to face Lily.

"I don't hate her, and I don't have any right to arrest her here, or well, anywhere, and she isn't doing anything illegal." She said rather matter of factly. Her attitude dropped just a little. "Not sure that I'll ever really be able to do anything with it, but at least I have plans if I can."

Colette's eye darted over to Quinn and Reina again before going back to Lily.

"Fine," She said and took one more sip of her bottle and put it down. "We can dance if you want to."

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Party time."

Tag - Mauve


The sound Serina made was soft.

Not a laugh—too intimate for that. Not a sigh—too deliberate. It was a sound like someone savoring a rare vintage or slipping into scalding bathwater: indulgent, knowing, and dangerous.

Her claws didn't tighten—they curved, possessive now, coiled higher along Mauve's thigh, the armored digits resting like a loaded sentence. Her hand wasn't rough. Serina didn't grip—she placed. She claimed. The way one lays a hand on a prize before lifting it from the pedestal, the way a queen might touch a kneeling supplicant just before delivering salvation… or sentence.

The many-eyed helm tilted, slow and deliberate, those six violet lenses reflecting the deep sheen of Mauve's skin, the shimmer of her blood-dark hair, the lavender dare behind her eyes.

"You want my face?" Serina murmured, vox-modulated voice curling through the space between them like silk pulled tight across a blade. "You poor, stupid little luxury. You think that's what I'm hiding?"

She leaned in.

Not because she had to.

But because Mauve needed it. Craved it. That closeness. That threat. That pull. The void pulling at her ribs from the inside. Serina didn't expose herself to satisfy hunger—she summoned it in others, then shaped it into chains.

Her mask came close enough to brush against Mauve's cheek—barely. Just the thinnest drag of cool alloy along soft skin. The scent of ozone and shadow and something older than both—burnt incense and lightning waiting to strike.

"You already have the face," Serina said, low and slow, "The one you saw the moment I walked across the floor. The one you begged for with every lash of your stare. You don't want what's underneath, little siren…"

A claw traced up—up past the thigh, toward the hip, gliding along fabric with surgical precision, never tearing, just testing how much could be undone before it was offered.

"…you want what's behind it."

She pulled back just enough to let the words breathe. Her hand stayed—firm, still, possessive—but her posture eased, just enough to reignite the hunger of absence. To make Mauve lean toward her again.

Serina's voice dropped now, almost conspiratorial.

"But I don't show myself. I don't take off masks for curiosity. I don't reveal to please. I unveil when I am worshipped."

And there it was—the truth, not hidden but demanded.

"If you want me to bare anything, Mauve, then you will offer something first. Not skin. Not moans. Not another clever, weary sigh into a velvet cushion. Everything."

The claws pressed gently, just enough to remind Mauve of their potential. They didn't hurt. They promised hurt. And pleasure. The two were never distinct with Serina.

"I want your truth." Her voice sharpened, coiling like the lash of a dominion. "I want the part of you you lock behind eyeshadow and smoke. The ache that keeps you moving when you have nothing left to seduce, nothing left to drink, nothing left to bury. The real offering. The one you hide from lovers, from friends, from mirrors."

She moved then—slowly, with the inevitability of gravity—and sat beside Mauve, thigh to thigh. Her armor hissed softly as it folded with her, every angle molded into something sinuous and overwhelming. She didn't face Mauve anymore.

She enveloped her.

"Don't mistake proximity for victory, darling," she whispered into Mauve's ear, the voice no longer broadcast—just breathed, laced with heat and predation. "I'm not here to be unwrapped like a present. I'm the altar you throw yourself onto."

A gloved hand lifted—this time not the clawed one on Mauve's leg. This one reached up, turned Mauve's chin just slightly with the back of her fingers. Firm. Controlling. Instructive.

"So here is your lesson, my darling mirage," she hissed, voice gone low and dangerous and sacred. "You don't get to demand anything from a goddess. You offer. You beg. You surrender."

And then—

Just the lightest brush of her mask against Mauve's lips.

Not a kiss.

A claim.

"What will you surrender?"

 

[Mauve]

"Everything," she whispered.

A soft breath into the closeness of that mask, fogging up the alloy. The warrior's claws on her thigh, under her chin. Mauve shivered. Mauve seemed to melt in surrender at the warrior's touch as they sat beside each other.

Fingers reached up, and wrapped around the back of the woman's neck, nails dragging along the unfeeling alloy, reaching for the helmet's catch.

Her emptiness poured out, a wasteland of love scorched to ash. The warrior could drink in the pyroclastic flow of nothingness beneath the veneer amid a swirl of jasmine so strong it cloyed at the nostrils and made the head spin.

"Now let me worship the face behind the mask."

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Party time."

Tag - Mauve


The moment Mauve's fingers brushed along the back of her helm—those soft, mortal fingers skating along the engineered spine of Tyrant's Embrace—Serina froze.

Not in hesitation. In precision.

Like a wire drawn taut. Like a blade moments before it fell.

Her claws didn't retract. They pressed, lightly, dangerously. The hand on Mauve's thigh slid fractionally higher, testing. The one under her chin tilted it upward by a single degree. And in that instant—between Mauve's breath fogging her helm and the sweet rot of jasmine drowning the air—the whole room disappeared.

There was only the couch.
The heat between bodies.
And the void made visible in Mauve's eyes.

Serina didn't need to see her soul. She felt it.

The silence inside her.

The ruin.

The cathedral of dead feelings, long since looted for warmth.

And it made her ravenous.

She pulled Mauve closer—not urgently, but inevitably, the way tide claims shoreline. Their bodies pressed now, the cold ridges of her armor conforming to soft curves, unrelenting yet maddeningly perfect. Mauve's fingers still toyed with the catch of the helmet.

Serina didn't stop her.

But she didn't let her go further either.

Instead, she lifted her clawed hand, still slick with authority and promise, and extended it forward between them—palm up.

And the air changed.

Not with sound. Not with motion. But with pressure. Something wrong with the air. Something ancient. The lights above flickered, once. The music distorted for a single beat, as if reality had bent around the gesture.

A contract. Not spoken. Offered.

In her palm, black smoke began to bleed from the seams of her armor, coalescing into a soft glow. A sigil formed in the center of her palm—spiraling Sith glyphs, alive and writhing, a bloom of hunger and binding in dark flame. It pulsed in rhythm with her voice as she spoke.

"You want everything, Mauve?"

Her voice, at once mocking and reverent. Tender and obscene.

"Then give me your loneliness. Your ache. The part you never let touch daylight. I don't want your sighs—I want your anchor. The chain around your heart you polish like jewelry. Give me the part of you no one's managed to ruin because they were never cruel enough to try."

She leaned in, again. Her mask beside Mauve's cheek. Her lips barely restrained behind alloy.

"Offer that, and I'll show you the face."
A pause.
"I'll show you everything."

Her hand remained open. Waiting. Not pleading—commanding.

The contract wasn't physical. It didn't need to be. The sigil writhed with her power, craving acceptance. Craving surrender. The air around it was thick with temptation and unmaking, as if to place a hand in hers was to place a hand in fire—and thank it for the burn.

And then—

She touched Mauve's lips with the edge of one claw. Barely.

A reminder.

A warning.

A promise.

"Take my hand, and you don't get to run. You don't get to pretend."

Her voice dipped to a whisper, more intimate than sin, more seductive than salvation.

"You'll belong to me."

A slow inhale followed, as though she were tasting the moment.

"And I take very good care of what's mine."

 

[Mauve]

Record scratch.

Freeze frame.

"What."

Mauve's fingers slid down from the back of the warrior's helmet and she pushed on the woman's armored shoulders, scooting away on the couch. A clipped guffaw cut through the air between them.

Eyes going from that claw so near her face to the six-eyed visor.

Aghast would be an understatement.

"You can't be serious."

The woman shook her head, strands of hair tumbling loose and whisping across her face. She tucked one back behind an ear, a little frown crinkling her brow.

"A little steep for the glimpse of a face. Maybe I won't even like what I see. And I'm not one for mystery boxes, Six."

Those red eyes gleamed down at her. Mauve's lips softened as she felt the woman's emotions behind that mask.

"Try again."

A hint of mirth twinkled in those violet eyes, smoothing away the awkwardness of the soul bargain. If only just.

"Maybe you'll get lucky," she whispered.

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Party time."

Tag - Mauve



The contract did not vanish.

It dissolved, folding in on itself like ink dragged back into the quill. The glyphs curled into silence. The power recoiled. But not in defeat.

In judgment.

Serina remained still for a heartbeat longer—hand still extended, palm open, the space where the pact had hovered now empty, cold. The flicker of power was gone, but the absence it left behind was worse. A vacuum where expectation had become insult. A stillness that didn't belong to mortal conversation, but to the moments before ritual desecration.

Then she lowered the hand.

Gracefully. Slowly.

And when she moved next, it was not in retreat.

It was retraction.

The figure that had towered over Mauve just moments ago—radiating heat, violence, promise—now drew back like a blade returned to its scabbard. Her claws left Mauve's skin. Her presence, once coiled around the lounge like smoke, uncoiled. Not with anger. Not with wounded pride.

With disgusted disappointment.

The six violet eyes in her helm stared down at Mauve—longer now. Without hunger. Without amusement. Just a slow, clinical stripping of every illusion the woman had worn like lace. Her scent, her silk, her clever little chuckle. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear as if vulnerability were a shield. Serina saw it all.

And found it wanting.

Her voice, when it came, was soft.

So soft it was almost kind.

"What a waste."

The words cracked through the air like a slow-breaking bone.

The helm tilted to the side—just a little, like a teacher puzzled at a failed pupil. Her armored body remained seated, but her spine was straight again. Perfect. Unyielding. As if Mauve's retreat had turned Serina from seductress to sculpture—no longer molten, but obsidian.

"You think this was about a face?" she said, each word now sharpened with venomous polish. "You were offered transcendence. I gave you the first drop of something ancient. Something that would've changed you."

Her claw came up again—not to touch. To illustrate. One long talon hovered in front of Mauve's cheek without making contact, like it could carve the truth from her skin with proximity alone.

The talon dropped.

And this time, when she leaned in, it wasn't to draw closer.

It was to loom.

Serina didn't invade Mauve's space now. She reclaimed it. The distance between them suddenly felt wrong—not for being close, but for daring to pretend that closeness could exist between creatures no longer equal.

Her voice dropped to a hushed chill, a black satin whisper dragged across a grave.

"You asked for the predator. And when it opened its mouth, you giggled at the teeth."

Silence.

Even the club felt quieter. The music, still pounding, seemed too far away. The lights too dim. The room too wide. Mauve had pushed herself into a sudden loneliness—a palpable exile from Serina's presence.

That, more than any touch, burned.

"You think you were choosing?" Serina went on, and now her tone held something darker. Not mockery—certainty. "How foolish, how naive."

The helm turned slightly.

The eyes glowed now—deeper, richer violet. Like something awakening.

"You were summoned."

The air between them seemed to flex again.

But this time, Serina didn't reach for the Force. She didn't need to. To touch Mauve now would be too generous. She had already made her offer. And Mauve, in her frightened, frilled little retreat, had spat on it.

Serina folded her arms, slowly, the armor folding back into a pose of judgment. Disinterested. Supreme.

"If you'd begged, I might've cracked your mind open like a temple door. If you'd wept, I might've silenced you with my hand wrapped around your throat and taught you how to pray again. But this?"

She gestured once—dismissively. Elegantly. Like brushing dust from a tapestry.

"You're not worthy of madness. Not yet."

There it was.

The condemnation.

Not of Mauve's rejection.

But of her mediocrity.

"Try again?" Serina repeated, but this time, her voice dripped acid. "You don't try again, girl. You crawl back for the offer. And maybe—if you bring something worthy of my notice, if you suffer enough to remember the moment you disappointed me—maybe I'll give you the privilege of an offer again."

She leaned in now—not for intimacy, but to make Mauve flinch.

The helm loomed inches from her face. The six glowing eyes were cold. Still. Silent.

And then Serina spoke one last time, voice soft as a razor drawn across bare skin.

"But you don't ask to see the goddess. You become the altar."

With that, she stood. Not hurried. Not dramatic.

Just final.

Her cape dragged behind her like a shadow torn in half. The armor gleamed. The music resumed its stranglehold on the air, but now it felt irrelevant—like a joke overheard after a funeral.

Serina didn't look back.

 

[Kaila Irons]

Location: Club, Rodia
Wearing: Dress + Gloves
Tag: Jacen Breska

Kaila turned slowly towards him.

And for the first time in awhile, she grinned.

"Competitively?"

It was the kind half embarrassed, half delighted grin of someone with a secret that could barely be contained, but revealed at the end of a bottle.

But she held her tongue a moment longer, listening to what he had to say. It was true that she was still in command tonight, but she appreciated his phrasing nonetheless. He neither dismissed her authority nor allowed it to stop him inputting his own idea of how they could spend the evening.

"Hmh." she stifled a chuckle, watching him flick his military length hair.

Another glance was thrown the princess' way. Her smile thinned in thought, eyes a little distant until she had come to the optimal decision.

"Well, we've a cover to maintain, perhaps not just our own." she mused, then turned with a renewed smile.

Kaila gently pat his jacketed shoulder as she passed by, signaling to follow her towards the other end of the bar where the two parties were less likely to be associated if anything happened. And so she took a seat, waving the bartender over.

"There is one variable you have not accounted for." she teased.

"You weren't there when Lord Lechner hosted our deployment party."

The grin had come back in full force.

"That man knows how to brew a good mead,"

"And your fellow legionnaires learned the hard way I can do more than sip fancy wine."

​

 

[Mauve]

"Bye now," she said to the retreating figure.

The woman had come to her, after all, not the other way around. Even if Mauve had had ulterior motives.

As the armored demon walked away, Mauve took a full breath for the first time in... what... minutes? She did not realize how shallowly her breaths had come. Carefully, she smoothed over her thoughts.

Oh, she might have pretended to nonchalance, to apathy, but beneath it all lurked the fear. She had had a few cards up her sleeve, maybe. But if the warrior had become violent, there was no guarantee Mauve could have used any of them in time.

She let out a short chuckle.

Of relief? Of disgust?

Even she did not truly know.

She was used to occupying the same space as murders and psychopaths, but throwing in this Dark Side cult... It was unsettling. And her, what her soul? It was not worth the price of admission. Not even for a mark like that.

Mauve took another drag on her deathstick, then set it on the table and drained the rest of her glass. She took another deep breath, reassuring herself that yes, she had just managed to navigate a dance with a literal devil. One with claws.

Her eyes panned across the club, inevitably finding their way back to the figure she tried so hard to ignore earlier. One with an infuriating smile and that blonde bob cut and that upsettingly deep - ...

Mauve sighed.

Quinn Varanin

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Reina Daival //:
//: Dress //:

The adorable little redhead wandered over to her. It elicited an almost dangerous smile curl along the painted lips of the Princess. She was friendly and pleasant, but Quinn could see the light clinging to her. A shame, but at least here she didn't have to be the Sith Princess - she was just Quinn.

Her smile widened into a flirtatious chuckle as she brushed back the stray hair strands from her face. Lucky for Reina, Quinn was perceptive and understood the girl's attempt.

"Thank you," her voice soft but loud enough for her companion to hear.

The compliments were nice. Quinn always enjoyed them, especially when they came from the heart. They were a rarity, but they held more meaning than a compliment that came with a price tag. So hearing Reina's compliment was enough for the Princess to give the light sider an audience.

Quinn brought her drink to her lips, carefully sipping it, trying to ignore the crowd around them. She could feel the others lingering; a few felt familiar, but she didn't want to be rude. It seemed like Reina had worked up enough courage or liquid courage to approach her.

"Not many like to come up to me; I was fully expecting to spend the evening alone." Quinn smiled, the bartender returning to work once he saw that Reina wouldn't be an issue.

"Are you here alone?" She asked, her attention momentarily wandering towards another Echani ( Lily Decoria ) in the vicinity. She had seen the woman before, mostly in passing on times she had gone home to Eshan. Beside her fellow, Echani was a familiar brunette ( Colette ) who made a pit form in the depth of her chest. She couldn't place the face, but maybe she would get a better look later. Lucky for the Princess, most Echani acknowledged her station.

There could be questions later.

Her eyes were perceptive, catching the glance from the blonde ( Kaila Irons ) who was near. She understood, and she looked away, not wanting to linger too long. The pit in her stomach grew, but Quinn kept her composure. This was a public place, and letting the feelings that ate away at her show—it was almost suicide.

She took another sip as she listened to Reina. The girl was precious—someone she could see spending time with if it wasn't for the Blackwall or the petty war between the Jedi and Sith.

She could feel eyes on her again, an almost instinctive awareness prickling at the back of her neck. It wasn't difficult to guess the source. Quinn Varanin didn't need the Force to know it was CT-312 .

The ever-watchful trooper had become a quiet constant on her travels across the galaxy. Despite all the sighs and muttered complaints, Quinn suspected the scout didn't mind tagging along. If anything, 312 was enjoying the journey in her own silent, stubborn way.

And Quinn? She found it amusing. There was something undeniably fun about the slow, deliberate work of prying a little more personality out of the stoic trooper. It was a challenge, one that Quinn met with no shortage of charm and curiosity.

Still, that feeling of being watched hung heavy on her mind. At that moment, Quinn glanced, and her eyes met with the Zeltron. Just near here was Darth Virelia , and she raised an eyebrow, wondering what devious plans the two were plotting. As much as it interested her, she felt a small tightness in her chest.

Quinn chose to ignore it, and before breaking her gaze from Mauve , she gave the woman the most disabling smile she could muster. Quinn had enjoyed their interactions before, and a part of her hoped Mauve would be brave and join her at the bar with Reina. Almost in a sense to tempt her Black Sun companion, Quinn stepped closer to Reina, feigning like she needed to so she could hear the girl better.

The Princess' unwavering smile lingered.

The music and atmosphere allowed Quinn to be drawn into the Padawan's orbit, eyes shining with interest and perhaps just a hint of mischief.

 

[CT-312]

//: Quinn Varanin | OPEN //:
//: Nightclub, Rodia //:
//: Attire //::
​

It seemed the Princess was quite popular tonight. Especially at the bar.

That made CT-312’s job harder. The proximity of so many strangers crowding in. Leaning in too close. Laughing loudly. She kept observing the ones that interacted with the Princess. Eye flicked towards the Princess’s face, reading her expressions. ‘Positive.’ No signs of discomfort. ‘Good.’

Out of the corner of her eye, she noted Darth Anathemous and TK-710 moving toward the far end of the bar. CT-312 exhaled slow and deep. The sound of her breath lost beneath the pounding bass of the club’s music. The noise. The press of bodies. She could feel the edge of her patience fray as the night dragged on. ‘I need a drink.’ Her hand came up, loosening the tie more.

Her gaze swept the club again. Spotting a smaller drinking station off to the side. It was less crowded. A glance back toward the Princess. ‘No immediate threat.’ She’s fine. It would be quick. "Hmm..." A few seconds. A minute at most.

Pushing off the column, CT-312 weaved fluidly through the crowd with efficiency. The smaller station didn’t offer the fancy drinks everyone seemed to clamor for. Basic. Basic is all CT-312 needed. It had beer and straight liquor. Simple and clean.

CT-312 ordered a beer. A tall can.

Movement flickered in her peripheral. Towards the lounges. An armored figure, six-eyed mask catching the dim light, moving out of the area. Behind them, left at the lounge— a Zeltron. Familiar. Mauve . The Princess’s… acquaintance? CT-312 didn’t miss the tension in the woman’s face. She, too, looked like she needed a drink from whatever happened.

Without thinking too hard about it, the Scout tossed down a handful of credits. Grabbed the beer and ordered a shot. Beer in one hand and shot in the other, CT-312 crossed over towards Mauve’s booth. The Zeltron most likely wouldn’t recognize her. Not without the camo, not without the helmet and gear. That suited CT-312 just fine. At the edge of the booth, she sat the shot down on the table. Sliding it across to Mauve. Silent and efficient. Turning away without a word, CT-312 made her way back to her post.

Leaning back against the column, beer still in hand. Eyes looked back on the Princess. Nothing had changed. CT-312 tilted the sealed can sideways. Her other hand reached to the back of her belt, drawing her vibroblade. She made a small quick and clean incision at the bottom of the can. Sheathing the knife with practiced ease.

CT-312’s finger pulled the scarf down just enough to fit the can’s base to her mouth. Lips sealing around the small incision. Her other hand cracked the tab. Head tilted back. Shotgunning the beer in a few quick seconds. Can empty. CT-312 pulled the mask back up into place. 'Better.' Spotting a trash bin off to the side, she tossed it. Can clattering into the bin.

The noise. The crowd. The press of the bodies. All still there. But at least CT-312 felt slightly better. Letting out another deep sigh. Her patience no longer teetering so close to the edge. Her eyes stayed sharp. Scanning the surroundings before settling back on the Princess. Maintaining her duty. Steady as ever.

 

[Lily Decoria]

​

Location: Rodia - Nightclub
Outfit: Party Dress
Tag: Colette

Nodding her head, Lily had time to stew over the issue and she had understood that she had been a frustrating element in the investigation to Colette. Lily sighed, "well... I, I know that I wasn't help in dealing with Quinn before. I panicked over the idea of things escalating and the danger that would pose to my family but also to you. I was worried that you might end up getting hurt or worse." Lily knew that Colette could handle herself against most threats that they would face but Quinn was not most people.

Even without the Force, Lily figured Quinn would be a tough opponent for anyone to fight.

"I do want to help as much as I can. As long as it isn't something reckless or going to get you killed." With things smoothed out in her life, with her faith in the Force restored, Lily was growing her confidence back and she knew that just letting someone run around with the dark powers that Quinn had unchecked was not the way a Jedi should be. "I think we should try to see if she can't be redeemed, if we can't pull her away from the influences of the Sith and show her a better way. Also, a good way to understand an enemy is to study them so we should try finding more information out about them." Lily stated, the more information they could gather, the more they could move Quinn into position for them to win.

When Colette agreed to dance with Lily, a glee slipped from Lily's lips. "Yay!" Lily took a sip from Colette's bottle as well and then grabbed her friend's hand and pulled her towards the dancefloor. Excited to finally relax and get some dancing going. Lily grinned to Colette the whole time, pleased to spend the time dancing with her friend.

 

[Reina Daival]

Location: Rodia
Tags: Directly interacting with Quinn Varanin - Mentioned Lily Decoria Colette and Darth Virelia
Clubbing outfit

"Is there a reason I should be leaving you alone? You seem...fine to me?"

Reina wasn't exactly aware of anything that should have been a red flag. Quinn seemed nice enough to her. Then again, Reina wasn't exactly the best judge of character. She had considered Serina one of her best friends for long enough. Of course that thought never came to Reina's mind right now. She was too focused on the stranger as Reina leaned against the counter, preparing to answer Quinn's question before she stopped. Reina could feel the familiar presence of Colette after all. Huh. Why was her master here? If Reina thought hard about it, there was the off chance that Colette was here to see Lily...

"...I thought I was here alone, but I have a feeling that someone is watching me now. I'm...sorry if you catch someone staring at you. My master might be a bit protective of me."

She gave a small dismissive wave of her hand at that. Reina trusted Colette of course, but Reina could handle herself if there was some kind of fight, not that there would be. Though Reina could feel plenty of eyes being pointed in her direction. Maybe to be more accurate they were pointed in Quinn's direction and Reina just so happened to be in the way. Should she be paranoid over it? In the past she might have been, but Reina was content to ignore the eyes of strangers. After all, they wouldn't matter to Reina at the end of the day.

"I'm Rei-...Wait. I've already said that."

What else was Reina meant to say? Small-talk wasn't exactly a forte of her's as she sipped away at her drink. She could talk about being a Jedi, but part of her felt like that would be bragging. Could she ask more about Quinn? That felt like it might be too invasive to ask stuff like that. Of course, Quinn hadn't introduced herself yet, but that didn't matter really.

Yet Reina found herself tensing up when Quinn took a step closer. It wasn't necessarily tensing up out of the nerves of having someone good looking step closer, or out of shyness. It was more out of...fear. Fear that only grew when Reina spotted the somewhat familiar silhouette of a certain Sith Manipulator, as the redhead almost immediately turned her back to the crowd to stare at the bar. She didn't want to be seen anymore.​

 

[Mauve]

Eyes followed the stranger, narrowing as she set a shot down in front of Mauve before retreating back to her post.

Her post.

Hmm.

Mauve looked the stranger up and down, taking in what she could see beyond that mask. Perhaps not such a stranger after all

What is it with these people and masks.

Maybe Mauve should get one.

Normally she did not accept drinks from strangers women, but considering who this one was…

Well what the hell.

Mauve took the shot and drained it. Fire burned down her throat and immediately surged through her. She stood, looking between the “stranger” and Quinn.

Hm.

The princess had been taunting her with that look earlier. That… smile.

Fine.

Maybe the six-eyed demon was right. Maybe you needed to take want you wanted sometimes. Words Mauve’s associates certainly lived by.

The Zeltron made her way through the mass of beings in the club to come alongside the princess and her redheaded friend, who radiated nervousness.

“Quinn, what a surprise,” soft, delicate fingers reached out to rest gently on the princess’ upper arm. “But I should have known to find you here. You do have the best taste.”

The hand stayed. Feather-light.

“Introduce me to your charming friend here.”

Reina Daival | Quinn Varanin | CT-312

 

[Jacen Breska]

Rodia Nights​

WEARING:: This
EQUIPMENT: Nothing
LOCATION: :: Rodia Nightclub ::
TAG: Kaila Irons

"You're the boss, boss," Jacen responded with a light shrug of his shoulder and a nod. If she didn't want to disturb the pretty lady at the bar, that was her decision. That just meant Jacen didn't have to worry about getting in the way, cramping her style. He followed dutifully, unable to fully shake that militarily inspired loyalty he had to her. It was hard to simply turn off the military. He wondered what she meant by cover. Who else was here? Was that lady not just a random lady at a bar? That'd explain this sense of familiarity he got, but he didn't dare to push the issue. She gave him an order, he'd obey.

They both walked over to the far end of the bar and sat down on a couple of stools, and once again Jacen took a quick glance around the bar. He hoped or, rather, didn't hope to find someone sneaking up on them with murderous intent. No such soul was to be found, however. Most everyone here was here for the same reason: To have a fun time and unwind. Forget for a moment the trials of their work week or the state of the galaxy. For a moment, Jacen envied them.

As he looked back and met his gaze with Kaila's, he decided to try to emulate them. Just for the night. Just be here with a friend, enjoy a few drinks, and have a nice time.

"What's this variable then, huh?" He asked, an eyebrow raised and a smirk creeping on his face.

"There is one variable you have not accounted for." she teased.

"You weren't there when Lord Lechner hosted our deployment party."

The grin had come back in full force.

"That man knows how to brew a good mead,"

"And your fellow legionnaires learned the hard way I can do more than sip fancy wine."

"Oh ho ho," he chuckled, his smirk growing into a smile that matched hers, "I don't doubt his mead is good," he said, acquiescing, "I just know I hate to lose. And I'm not going to sit here and simply wonder..." he paused, looking up at the rack behind the bar for something to drink, "...if you're simply talkin' real big."
Jacen returned his eyes to hers and kept that smile on his face, "Like you said, I wasn't here. Maybe you can do more than sip fancy wine. But'cha willin' to prove it?"

​

 

[Colette]

Lily Decoria

THAT WAS. ENTIRELY. WHAT COLETTE HAD BEEN SAYING. Her entire body stiffened for a moment as the thought raced across her mind like a petrifying wind. But, okay, fine, Colette could accept that Lily had been taken by surprise. Colette's message asking her to come over hadn't exactly been the most clear cut and had somebody asked Colette to help bring someone down that could hurt her friends then maybe she would have reacted the same.

"Right?" Colette smiled. "I just—"

Wait, did Lily just drink from Colette's bottle? She blinked for a moment. Okay, but like, what if Colette had some disease or something? It wasn't the first time Colette had seen someone share a drink out of someone else's container, but still…

She laughed it off and let herself get dragged off to the floor. Much like with most other things she wasn't exactly a subtle dancer. She liked to think she flowed like the wind, carried herself like a river, but much like all of those things they demanded space. She swayed like a wave with her eyes closed.

"So," She said and kept dancing with Lily with a content smile. "That redhead with Quinn?"

"That's my apprentice."