Faction Pas de Deux

[Agent Damocles]

They called it a celebration of culture, but that was a flattering lie.

Dray Therin stood like a fracture in the picture-perfect world of Nabooian elegance—unmistakably polished, yet visibly out of sync with the pretenses of her surroundings. Her sharp, Pantoran features were set in a calm but calculating mask, and her short, deliberately unkempt hair—ink-dark and windswept—clashed with the precisely coiffed nobility brushing past her on the lantern-lit terrace.

Strings played. Champagne flowed. And just beyond the colonnades of the Theed Grand Opera, the stars stretched themselves out like a stage curtain over the night.

The ballet had been exquisite—of course it had. The revival of Aurelia Ascending hadn’t just drawn the cultural elite; it had lured out the cautious, the curious, and the cunning. All the better.

Dray wasn’t here to mourn lost art. She was here to watch who watched her. To measure smiles. To listen through the din of well-dressed conversation for names whispered with reverence—or fear.

And one name had already been echoing through the gardens, drawing attention like perfume: Sal-Soren.

Not Brandyn. Not Briana.

Blaire.

The dancer returned.

Dray’s eyes narrowed slightly as she caught the woman’s silhouette through the crowd. That gown, unmistakable. That posture. That history. One half of Naboo still adored her. The other half couldn’t forget her father’s sins.

Perfect.

She sipped her wine, the chill kissing her lips like a promise, and made her way toward the former prima ballerina—silent, steady, a specter cloaked in purpose. After all, to move forward with The Five Veils operation, one needed someone who knew how to navigate a stage. Especially one made of secrets.

And Blaire Sal-Soren? She had once danced on the edge of ruin and glory. Dray needed someone like that.

Blaire Sal-Soren​

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Aurelian lounged in the lush embrace of the Grand Balcony's velvet seats, one arm draped carelessly over the gilded railing like a prince surveying his temporary kingdom. Theed's finest were strewn about him, glittering like spilled treasure: politicians, industrialists, heiresses with the kind of teeth-whitened smiles that could start wars or end them. And Aurelian, with that lazy, predatory grin he wore like a second skin, fit among them as easily as a dagger fits a sheath.

The ballet unfolding below was a fever dream of precision and grace, a symphony of silk and strength. Aurelia Ascending spun her spell over the audience, but Aurelian barely glanced at the stage. His attention was a game of its own, given in slivers and stolen back when the boredom crept in. No, his true performance tonight was among the living: leaning close to murmur a mocking observation into a senator's ear, chuckling low at a duchess's too-eager flirtation, trading glances sharp enough to cut through the haze of champagne and civility.

He smelled of expensive cologne and sharper ambition, and he moved with the restless poise of a young predator held barely in check by protocol. Every toast he raised, every conspiratorial smile he gave, was calculated, a weave in the tapestry he meant to pull down over their eyes.

Legacy, that was the drumbeat under his skin, steady and unrelenting. Not just to inherit history, but to carve his name into it - to ensure he was more than just a bright flame flickering out in some noble house's forgotten ledger. So he laughed, and listened, and let the golden strings of Aurelia Ascending fill the spaces where real feeling might have lived.

Aurelian lifted a crystal flute to his lips, his smile deepening at some private thought. He wasn't here for the art. He was here to be remembered.

@OPEN​

 

[Blaire Sal-Soren]

Her whole life, Blaire wanted to be seen, even when she said she didn't.

She didn't feel real. No one saw her so how could she be real.

Daddy hadn't seen her, He only saw himself, but that's all daddy ever saw. The galaxy was a mirror reflecting back his fears and his doubts but he thought it a window to a future he alone could save through desperate actions by a desperate man.

Bran didn't see her either but he came the closest. He'd left so young to find the Jedi. They were apart for so long that when he saw her he saw her as she was. Some little girl. Her brother loved her and she loved him but they were closer to strangers than either of them would ever admit.

Briana did not see her. Her sister loved her there was no doubt and Blaire loved her too but Briana could not truly see her. She saw an adversary. She saw an attack in any action Blaire took, no matter how well meaning. Blaire was a walking disaster that required Briana to follow after her and clean up.

It was not entirely their fault. How could anyone see her when she always chose to show someone else. She spent so much time trying to be seen while screaming for everyone to look away. One scandal after another. Desperate attempts to get them to see. She grew quite good at it too. She knew how to get eyes on her and yet every time she did, they only looked they did not see.

She fell short.

No, not always. On the stage she made them all see. She lay bare all that she was or could be and they were forced not just to look but to actually see. There was nothing like it in all the galaxy.

Tonight when she watched the company she once starred in put on a performance she once would have nearly literally killed to do, she saw with her father's eyes. She could only see the ghost of what her life had been before The Cataclysm, before The New Way. She saw the spectre of what was hand in hand, cheek to cheek with the spectre of what could've been. The tears at the edge of her eyes were as much for herself as for the beauty of the performance.

Perhaps, I could go back. Perhaps I could dance again.

She was amongst a crowd of people. Among them but not a part of them. Some had approached her though not for very long. Quick greetings from those who remembered their decorum and remembered who she was.

Mostly, it was staring and there were whispers too as they looked but did not see. They whispered about her being Baros Sal-Soren's daughter, or The Jedi's sister, some remembered she was Naboo's youngest prima ballerina in two centuries, others knew her as the tramp who let herself get pregnant by a terrorist .

Let them stare

| Outfit: xxx | Tag: | Equipment: xxx |​

 

[Ferren Vaal]

"Do you know what really gets to me?"
Having to be here because even among friends, you all keep trying to undermine the legitimacy of the throne.


"The color of the Hapes Spritz?"
The small burst of laughter that followed was far more welcome than the blaster fire that might have erupted had he spoken his true mind.


"It is rather blue, isn't it?"
Again, laughter—cackling, he liked to think of it as. Like witches around a fire, boiling lies, deceit, and treachery into a pot forever on the verge of explosion.


"In truth, I'm referring to these refugee cities springing up south of Theed."
The speaker was Senator Rufius Vantra—or at least, he still insisted on the title. Rufius had held a Senate seat long before the formation of the Royal Naboo Republic and was now little more than a party-going, money-hoarding relic as far as most were concerned. It hadn't stopped him from demanding to be addressed as Senator at every opportunity.


Fennec, however, had yet to call him anything but Rufius, subtly needling the man without risking real retaliation.
Gathered around Rufius were his mistress—not his wife, Fennec noted—probably while the latter remained at the lodge caring for their children; a second mistress, posing as a political aide and cozying up to Elagar Vect, a prominent businessman from Chandrila; and finally Admiral Kriff Olyanda, a key figure in forming Naboo's defense fleets, now overseeing Republic space security. On Kriff's arm was yet another beauty—Hapan-born, and, judging by the gossip, Kriff's latest passing fancy.


At Rufius' mention of the refugees, knowing looks were exchanged. It was an increasingly sensitive issue among Naboo's elite, and one that refused to fade away.


"What does the Queen make of it, Kriff?" Vect asked bluntly, sloshing the remnants of his fourth drink as he turned to the Admiral, resplendent in red vestments and medals.


That you should all stop meddling in her affairs.
"I'm unaware at this time," Ferren answered smoothly, matching the voice he had painstakingly assigned to his cover as Kriff Olyanda. "I've been so busy in the outer reaches I haven't had the chance to discuss home security with Her Majesty yet. But I'll be seeing her next week. I'll be sure to raise it."


"Good man. See? Oly knows how to get answers out of them," Rufius said, clapping him on the shoulder and causing Fennec to spill a bit of his drink.
"Oh, sorry, old boy."


Rufius had known Kriff for three years now. They were, in all respects, close friends—vacationing together, attending family gatherings. It had taken an orchestrated effort, multiple agents, and a fair amount of luck to plant "Kriff Olyanda" on Rufius' radar. But it had paid off: Ferren now had access to the highest circles of Naboo society without needing constant fabricated invitations from the Queen herself.
And Rufius—good, foolish Rufius—was their bingo card: an unwitting conduit, linking Naboo's inner sanctums all the way to Coruscant.


"Which brings me to my next point, Oly," Rufius continued, grinning. "Could you raise that reappointment idea with Her Majesty? My pension isn't going to fund all this much longer."


More laughter—genuine this time—even from Ferren.
"In all seriousness though, I know you can do it."
Rufius gave him the look he thought was commanding, a look Ferren indulged.


"Now, now—no business at the event," Ferren said warmly. "You told me this was purely a pleasure trip."
He turned to the Hapan woman at his arm, flashing a smile.
"If I'd known we were playing politics, I wouldn't have brought Eloa. I'd hate to waste her."


More laughter.
Locking eyes with her, Ferren gave a subtle flick of his gaze to the left—a pre-arranged code between agents of the Throne: reassurance and a request to play along.


"I didn't come all this way to not enjoy my Admiral," she said, her accent thick, her voice almost unrecognizable from her usual tone. It nearly threw Ferren off.
"Don't steal him away from me."


The group chuckled again.
Ferren used the moment to scan the room. Time was pressing—he needed an excuse soon.


"I will say, these spritzes are starting to take a toll," he declared, placing his obnoxiously small glass down on the table.
"Rufius, my friend, would you mind entertaining Eloa for me while I go and refresh?"


He guided Eloa's hand toward the "Senator." He felt the faintest resistance before she relented.
"Entertain Rufius, not steal, please. She's mine this weekend."


Rufius grinned in that way that made Fennec's skin crawl.
"Whatever do you mean, Oly? I would never do anything untoward with your company."


"That's what I'm afraid of," Ferren replied with a smile, before slipping away toward the restrooms.


As soon as his back was turned and he had taken a few paces, he allowed his expression to relax. The electromagnetic field shifting his facial structure was becoming irritating, but he had endured worse. A few more hours wouldn't kill him.


A slight vibration buzzed against the side of his neck. The signal. It was nearly time.
All he had to do was get eyes on the handover.


They still didn't know exactly what was being exchanged, only that it was happening—and that it was tied to the damned Sal-Soren family.


Blaire Sal-Soren stood not far from where he now found himself.
In truth, she was the last person he wanted to see.
It wasn't because he was hunting terrorists connected to her father.
It wasn't even because, as an agent of the Throne, he knew enough about the family to cause nightmares.
No, it was because Blaire looked absolutely stunning.


He had worked several cases involving the Sal-Soren children, spoken to Blaire herself on more than one occasion—though never in his current appearance—and had always found her formidable in both intelligence and beauty.


He made a mental note of her position with an empty glance, promising himself he would 'accidentally' bump into her later.
For now, he drifted toward the balcony overlooking the main auditorium. From there, he could observe everything, his vision feeding back to Central Intelligence for real-time analysis.


At least, that was the plan.


He tried to steady himself.
"Calm down. This is nothing," he muttered under his breath.


And yet... he couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that he was the one being watched.

 

[Joa Sodi]

PAS DE DEUX

Joa entered the Theed Grand Opera with the deliberate grace of one trying not to appear hurried, though the late hour gnawed at her nerves. She loathed being anything less than punctual, but as she slipped into the velvety twilight of the balcony level with a flute of Nabooian champagne pressed coolly into her fingers, she allowed herself a rare forgiveness. The crystal glass shimmered, its golden spirits catching the soft hues of the stage far below. The first sip—bright and floral, like spring in Lake Country—washed away her irritation. The Kage woman felt juxtaposed here among nobles and royalty, but her emerald green dress, embroidered subtly with the sigils of Quarzite's mineral guilds, blended seamlessly with the crowd.

Her pinkish-brown eyes scanned the gathered dignitaries, noting the subtle choreography of glances and whispers that rivaled the dancers' own movements. Toward the front, she spotted a familiar figure: Senator Aurelian Veruna of Plooriod III, his posture erect yet relaxed, his gaze less fixed on the performance than on the audience itself. Smiling to herself, Joa approached with light steps, her champagne glass held delicately between two fingers like a diplomatic badge. She slid into the seat beside him, tilting her head with the serene inquisitiveness that had become her signature in the Royal Assembly.

"You seem remarkably attentive tonight, Senator Veruna," she said, her tone a melodious blend of wide-eyed curiosity and something deeper, more knowing. Her voice carried just enough of a tease to soften the weight of her observation. "Tell me, are you enjoying the ballet… or simply making appearances?" The question hung between them like a feather on the air—innocent enough for polite company, but pointed enough that Aurelian would understand: Joa Sodi was not one to be fooled by the easy masks of politics.

Tags: Aurelian Veruna | OPEN
Nearby: @“Damocles” | Blaire Sal-Soren | Ferren Vaal

 

[Agent Damocles]

The terrace shimmered beneath hanging lanterns, a hundred murmured conversations weaving through the warm Naboo night. It was a gathering of elegance and affectation, where reputations were polished as carefully as the silver serving trays.

Dray Therin navigated the gathering like a blade hidden among blossoms.

Her dress tonight was a daring slip of a deep-grey silk, barely clinging to her toned figure, thin straps hanging from otherwise bare shoulders and catching the light with each subtle move. The material clung and flowed in equal measure, daring admiration without ever quite inviting it. Heads turned as she passed, but few dared approach. There was a sharpness to her beauty that warned the unwary away — a deliberate contrast to the courtly softness that surrounded her.

It suited her perfectly.

She caught sight of Blaire Sal-Soren standing apart from the knots of conversation. The woman’s bearing was unmistakable: poised, stunning, but somehow... unclaimed by the party around her. As if she existed half a step out of rhythm with the rest of them.

Perfect.

Dray adjusted the fall of her hair with a casual hand, the movement measured, easy, and crossed the space between them.

She stopped just within respectful distance, allowing Blaire the choice to engage or ignore. Her smile was light, a ripple across still water.

"Forgive me," Dray said, voice pitched to carry without intruding, "but after a performance as breathtaking as tonight’s, one can’t help but wonder..."

Her golden eyes lingered, warm but sharp, a silent acknowledgment of the woman’s past brilliance.

"...will you be gracing the stage again soon, Miss Sal-Soren?"

The question hung there like a delicate invitation — a first step in a dance that might yet become something far more intricate.

Just beyond Blaire’s shoulder, Dray noted a familiar figure slipping through the crowd — Ferren, if she wasn’t mistaken. The intelligence operative played his part well, but even the best masks had seams for those who knew where to look.

Dray’s attention flickered back to Blaire, her smile deepening slightly, inviting, as if there were no one else in the garden but the two of them.

Wearing: xxx | Tags: Blaire Sal-Soren Ferren Vaal​

 

[Dominique Vexx]

"Quite the performance, wasn't it?"

A woman wearing purple glasses commented as her attention remain out over the crowd below. A goblet of wine rested atop the tips of the sharp nails of one hand. The flowing cream of her dress pooled about her obsidian boots. Dominique didn't turn her head even after she'd spoken. She left it to Ferren Vaal to decide whether he'd heard her, and to make of it what he would.

There were a number of dignitaries and wealthy individuals below. The lofty balcony certain afforded her -- them -- a relatively calm perch from which to study them in their natural habitat. Dominique was attempting to decide which of them warranted the most attention. Denon was a planet of wealth and means, but that didn't mean they could rest on their laurels. All that wealth had only come about through hard work.

Yes, despite Darkwire's protests, certain members of the DireX at least did do work. Not the sort they'd acknowledge, of course. Probably sneer that Dominique was trying to pick the best world to strip-mine for her own gain. Well, they wouldn't be wrong from a certain point of view. Anyone that let her rob them blind deserved it, but she didn't go out of her way to destroy the galaxy.

It would do to continue expanding Denon's influence among the Naboo nobility and elite. Their influence had grown precariously near. In fact, it had certain members perturbed just how near they'd come. Having just shed the influence of the Republic and still striving to under the "damage" their regulations had inflicted, they were none too eager for another Republic to start rattling sabers about the treatment of the underclass. So, naturally, it fell to people like Vexx to actually make some effort to show people Denon was a valued partner that could be worked with rather than against. There was nothing that said workers had to be mistreated; Denon responded to market demands like any other, so the only thing people had to ask their selves was how much they were willing to pay.

It would be delightful if Naboo was willing to pay the price for happy workers. It might keep Darkwire from a resurgence that'd begin crippling businesses again. So many people fighting for a seat at the table.

Ferren Vaal | Open​

 

[Annis Riyaré]

Annis Riyaré, Countess of Lopenthé, Senator of Naboo

Location: The Ballet
Gear: Voidstone bracelet
Tag:

The Countess loved the ballet, she enjoyed the elegance of the moves, the fineness of the costumes and the beauty of the overall performance. She watched for a moment through a pair of miniature binoculars on a wand that she held up to her eyes and silently hummed along to the tune. There was people nearby her conversing, as there always was at these things, the movers and shakers jostling for political favour with their peers, it was almost as complex a dance as she was watching on the floor.

When a moment with less intensity came she dropped the glasses down and turned to look at Aurelian Veruna and Joa Sodi trying to hear what their conversation was, to either interrupt or find personal benefit from the matter. She smirked and reach behind effortlessly to pick a glass off of the tray as the server walked past. "Thank you." she said to the man without even turning to see. Her eyes were on both the dancers and the machinations that might unfold within her earshot.

She might walk over, she might not, it depended if either of them had anything interesting enough to say.
​

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic observed the Countess with quiet attentiveness, his hazel eyes scanning the room's intricate web of political interactions. The ballet itself was impressive, but it was the power players that truly captivated his interest.

With effortless charm, he leaned in just enough to make his presence known. "Countess," he greeted, a playful edge to his voice, "It seems you've mastered the art of blending into the background—while the rest of us merely orbit your space." He took a slow sip from his glass, adding, "Not even the dancers can match your ability to command attention without ever trying."

His gaze flickered over the room's dynamics, and a faint chuckle escaped his lips. "The dancers may have grace, but their entrances and exits hardly rival the subtleties of this particular performance, wouldn't you agree?" His tone was light, a quiet recognition of the dance he was truly interested in.

He gave her a moment, then continued, "I've just returned, hoping to find my place among the familiar faces again, and perhaps meet a few new ones along the way. Any chance you could indulge a recent returnee and make an introduction to the inner circle?"

He raised an eyebrow, waiting, his expression casually confident, as if he'd already set the terms of the game.

Annis Riyaré @Open​

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Aurelian turned his head slowly at the sound of Joa's voice, that dangerous smile curling like smoke along the edge of his mouth as if her arrival had been inevitable, and welcome. His gaze, always a shade too direct, too unreadable to be polite, met hers with practiced charm laced with a glint of something more genuine, if only for a moment.

"Senator Sodi," he said smoothly, his voice like poured velvet laced with mischief. "If I seem attentive, it's only because the company tonight has been unusually compelling."

He gestured lightly toward the stage with the stem of his champagne flute, but his eyes remained fixed on her. "Of course I adore the ballet. Aurelia Ascending? I've had it circled on my calendar all week. Tragic beauty, luminous choreography, the quiet tension of bodies doing what words can't. It reminds me of Senate hearings, but with better lighting and fewer procedural delays."

He took a sip, savoring the flavor with exaggerated appreciation before leaning in slightly, lowering his voice to a more conspiratorial register. "Though I'll admit, the pageantry here does pale a little beside the prospect of speaking to stunning senators with reputations for shaking up the status quo. I do so hate an uneventful evening."

He eased back, one leg crossed over the other with indolent ease, radiating the kind of self-assured elegance that came from knowing exactly how much of it to pretend not to care about. "Tell me, how are you finding Naboo, truly? The views are charming, yes, but the politics are often... too smooth for my taste. Like dessert wines. Sweet, but prone to rot."

Then, with a spark of sharper interest, he added, "I read your new proposal. The refugee repatriation bill, ambitious, articulate. Dangerous, if you ask the right people, which of course I always do. I thought it was fascinating. Practical idealism is a rare mineral in the Senate these days. And you, of all people, know the value of rare minerals."

Aurelian's grin deepened, then softened, fractionally, but enough to register. "You've made quite the impression, Senator. And not just on me. There's a quiet panic among the older guard that you might actually accomplish something meaningful. It's delightful to watch."

He raised his glass again, this time in a toast. "To appearances, then, and to the ones who know what they're really for."

Joa Sodi​

 

[Joa Sodi]

PAS DE DEUX
… a Royal Naboo Story

Joa accepted Aurelian’s raised glass with an arched brow and the ghost of a smile, the kind that never quite reached her lips but left a mark all the same.

"To appearances," she echoed, letting the crystal of her glass chime gently against his. Her eyes lingered on him just a moment longer than courtesy demanded, gauging whether the velvety mischief in his tone was merely performance or some kind of social armor.

"Though I suspect yours are sharper than most. I've known mirrors that reflect less clearly than the way you observe a room." She turned back to the stage then, letting the dancers briefly reclaim the silence. "Aurelia Ascending is a masterwork," she agreed softly, "but it's the restraint I admire most. The artistry isn't in the movements themselves, but in all the ones they don't make."

She shifted slightly, one hand resting on the low curve of her seat, the other balancing her champagne with practiced ease. "As for Naboo, it is charming, yes, in the way curated gardens often are. Beautiful, tended, and deeply political in what they choose to let grow," Joa murmured, her words gentle but edged with understanding.

"I've found truth here, and performance. Sometimes, it's hard to say which is more dangerous." Her gaze flicked back to him, reflecting behind them a mind always two moves ahead, cloaked in civility. "You read our bill," she added, almost as if it were an aside, but there was no mistaking the weight she gave the admission. "Good. I was hoping you might. It is dangerous. Necessary things often are."

Her smile returned, faint but genuine, touched with something like amusement. "I've made my peace with panic. The older guard tends to underestimate until they can't afford to. They forget Quarzite isn't just a mining world. We refine things under pressure." She lifted her glass once more, this time less ceremonially.

"And you, Senator Veruna, are far too clever to be only here for the choreography. So I'll ask what I always ask when someone flatters me this artfully." Her eyes locked with his, light and steady. "What is it you're really here for? The art, the company, or the edge you might gain from watching the performances?"

Tags: Aurelian Veruna | OPEN
Nearby: Agent Damocles | Blaire Sal-Soren | Ferren Vaal | Dominique Vexx | Annis Riyaré | Dominic Praxon

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Aurelian's laugh came low, unhurried, genuine enough to be dangerous. He set his glass down with an almost theatrical delicacy, leaning in just enough that the space between them hummed with unspoken mischief.

"Senator Sodi," he said, tilting his head as if weighing her like a rare gem, "if I flatter you, it's only because the truth happens to be flattering tonight."

He paused to study her, but not in the way most men did - not appraisingly, not possessively. His gaze held a tactician's precision, tinged with admiration. "You speak like someone who knows the weight of silence. That's rare here. Most people fill the air because they're afraid of what it might say back to them."

Then he leaned back, folding his hands in his lap with the kind of elegance that never had to be taught, only inherited or stolen. "And no, I'm not just here for the edge. Or the ballet. Or even the delightfully subversive conversation we're now having - though I must admit, that's climbing to the top of the list."

He smiled, not the usual blade-sharp grin, but something softer, layered in truth and calculation both. "I'm here for the echo, Joa. The kind that comes when the right names are whispered at the right time. When bills, alliances, reputations... shift, just slightly. Just enough. Naboo is lovely, but it's a quiet pond. I want to watch the ripples."

He tapped one finger lightly against the rim of his glass. "And I've found that the most interesting ripples come from senators who find themselves in settings like this, avoiding the weight of silence."

Then, as if to shift the weight of his words, he added with a charming shrug, "Also, I had a bet going that you'd reference Quarzite under pressure within the first ten minutes. You didn't disappoint."

Aurelian glanced at the stage briefly, then back to her with a glint in his eye. "So I'll answer your question with one of my own: if we're both watching the same performance, but seeing entirely different things, do we owe it to each other to share what we see?"

He reached for his glass again, but didn't drink. "Or is the real art in keeping certain movements unmade?"

Joa Sodi​

 

[Annis Riyaré]

Annis Riyaré, Countess of Lopenthé, Senator of Naboo

Location: The Ballet
Gear: Voidstone bracelet
Tag: Dominic Praxon

"I like to observe, I find it fascinating." she had had half an ear on the conversation between Aurelian Veruna and Joa Sodi that was all it took for her to now have a heads up that there was now a bill prepared and ready to make the Senate floor. She was aware of the bill's existence and the difficulties it might cause for her constituents, she would now be able to ready herself to understand it and if necessary, fight it.

If she enjoyed his flattery (she did, her heart beat warm blood after all) she gave no indication, maintaining her calm and practiced composure. As she sipped from her glass and turned towards the devilishly handsome man. "The performance is exquisite, I have a cousin who dances, she has been trying to get into this troupe for a little while." She smiled and placed her glass hand over the edge of the balcony, leaning her hip against she edge for support.

"Inner circle is such an unclear term, nobody has only one, might I ask who wishes to be introduced to one of mine?" Annis had many circles that she moved through, it would be unwise to keep them entirely locked. But she looked at the man. A name, a role, that would tell her a lot about the man, she couldn't introduce a pretty face to just anyone.​

 

[Ferren Vaal]

Ferren had indeed heard the question—and though his attention should have remained fixed on the ever-moving sea of bodies below, he knew he couldn't ignore the moment.
Moments needed their excuses, after all.

"Some would say the best in the galaxy," he replied, a note of reverence laced into his voice—into Kriff's voice.
It was well known that Admiral Kriff Olyander was an avid patron of the arts, credited with hundreds of thousands of credits in donations to the Naboo Art Academy over the years. That detail, like many in this constructed identity, had been carefully manufactured: fake dates, falsified transfers, carefully planted records. A flawless façade.

He gestured toward the grand ballroom below. "Although I find the mulling ocean of faces just as compelling."
That line bought him time—time to scan the crowd while maintaining the casual engagement expected of someone in his station.

"You can see through a planet's stereotypes when you watch its people move en masse," he continued, letting his gaze drift across the floor with trained ease. His eyes locked onto a lone human slipping through a cluster of guests, navigating the space with just enough urgency to raise suspicion. A courier? Or the mark himself?

"You see her?" he asked, subtly motioning to a woman standing near the edge of the crowd.

She wore a gown of black velvet, cut just a little lower than nobility's modesty codes allowed.
"A casual observer might assume she was waiting for someone—a friend, perhaps, or a date who had slipped away to the restroom.
But look closer," Ferren said, tone softening into the observational calm of someone used to reading beneath the surface.
"Notice the posture—guarded, yet inviting. Arms not quite folded, not quite open. She mirrors those passing by, adjusting to their direction just enough to remain fluid, forgettable."

The woman was no idle guest. She was circling for a reason.

"Someone might read her as lonely, perhaps anxious, hoping to be rescued from her solitude."
But Ferren's attention had already drifted back to the man. He'd stopped beside a pillar and was raking fingers through his hair in a performative, rhythmic motion. A signal.

Ferren's voice dipped again. "But her face tells the real story."
There was nothing passive in her expression—only calculation.

And then, in a blink: she vanished behind a passing couple and reemerged with a handbag that a heartbeat before had belonged to the woman of the pair.
Gone.
By the time the theft registered with the victim, the velvet phantom had melted into the crowd.

"I do so enjoy watching people... be people," Ferren said, a hint of amusement ghosting across his lips.

His eyes snapped back to the man. Another figure had joined him. They shook hands, briefly—then, the tell: a small cup of the hand, a passing gesture. Something exchanged.

A faint buzz against his neck confirmed it.
Central had what they needed. The handoff had been verified. Stage one was complete.

With a breath, Ferren let the edge of vigilance recede.
There was time now—time to let the mask breathe until the next move was required.

He turned fully toward the woman who had spoken to him earlier, allowing his posture to open, voice sliding into the smooth confidence of an officer off duty.

"My name," he said, offering a practiced smile, "is Kriff Olyander."
He extended his hand. "And it's a pleasure to meet you…?"

Dominique Vexx

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic’s smile curved—polite, measured, but touched with amusement. The Countess played the game well. She neither confirmed nor denied his flattery, instead navigating the moment with precision. He appreciated that.

“Ah,” he said softly, eyes briefly following the line of her hand as she leaned against the railing, “so I’ve wandered into a performance within the performance.”

He turned just slightly to face her more fully, glass cradled loosely in one hand.

“Dominic Trozky of House Praxon,” he offered without ceremony. “Currently attached to Senator Calia Vonn’s staff—Enarc’s representative. Mostly trade advisement, budgetary forecasting, the occasional polite duel over tariffs. Riveting work, if one has the taste for it.”

He let that hang just long enough for the sarcasm to register—just long enough to suggest he did not, in fact, have the taste for it.

“But I’m a Naboo son by birth,” he added, more grounded now. “My family returned to Brentaal when I was young, but lately it seems I’ve found my way home. Or something near enough to it.”

His gaze drifted momentarily to the mingling guests below, then back to her with a flicker of restrained amusement. “As for circles... I make no claims. Only that I’d rather not orbit alone.”

He raised his glass slightly in her direction, the invitation unspoken—but no less clear for it.

Annis Riyaré​

 

[Dominique Vexx]

A flick of her golden eyes accompanied the man's seemingly besotted response. Denon wasn't known for being the Capital of Art, such honor would belong more to a world such as Naboo. Still, making friends with someone in such circles was not to be overlooked. Others in business might. A savvy businesswoman couldn't overlook the obvious partners of wealth and means. But Admiral Kriff's circles had their own, less overt use. Art, after all, was a wonderful way to avoid certain legal entanglements. She expected the man was well aware.

The slender woman made a show of turning her head in the direction Kriff indicated -- toward a woman in black velvet -- at his prompting. Not nearly as much of a show as Kriff, himself, did of his observational skills. Was that the discerning eye of an art connoisseur at work? Quite interesting to see a mastery of the still forms plied to that of the living. Or was it a personal captivation with theater, ballet, and the opera that was more readily applied to the every day?

Kriff's description of the woman and her body language was intriguing. Despite her own forays into the underworld and moves to claim wealth and authority of her own, there was something... unique about the way the man saw people. It wasn't difficult to read some across the negotiating table, but this was different. Worth considering.

The goblet of wine lifted and Vexx took a slow sip as Kriff seemed taken by the moment. He enjoyed watching people be people, did he? That she could believe. What she found telling was the amusement at a thief purloining goods from attendees without complaint.

As Kriff turned, Vexx let the goblet descend perched atop her fingers and mirrored his movement. A smile graced her painted lips as her eyes shone behind the colored lenses. She continued to motion with a hand extended out toward Kriff Olyander to shake, and for him to display his gentlemanly manners in whatever other form he wish. "Dominique Vexx." Former Senator of Denon under the Galactic Alliance, before Denon managed to break free of the Alliance's influence for a time. Now, Chief Executive of Rachne Industries and, if sources were to be believed, someone that had forged a meteoric rise afterward to claim a seat among on the Board -- after the untimely and gruesome ended to the former occupant of her seat.

"As a Patron of the Arts, perhaps we could discuss traveling performances, or special events? There are countless people back on Denon that enjoy great works of art in all their mediums and forms; many of which can't get away to enjoy the rich and deep talent those of Naboo display." As a Waiter drifted by, Vexx calmly deposited her goblet atop their tray. "Of course, that would afford us time to get to know one another better. Discuss some of the finest performers alive today. Great literary works."

Kriff wasn't the only one that knew how to put on a facade. Vexx had, after all, sought to dabble in the underworld along side Darkwire under the DireX's very noses back when she was a Senator. Not that the Board had made use of her talents then, or heeded her warnings. No doubt they'd thought their decisions correct and wise given Denon's eventual escape from the Alliance. The problem was that body of grandstanding moralists hadn't vanished. They'd try again in time. The only question in Vexx's mind was how to curtail their efforts or at least stymie attempts to undermind Denon's ability to self-regulate.

Ferren Vaal​