Faction Pas de Deux

[Agent Damocles]

Dray’s eyes softened just enough to give the impression of understanding—her smile holding a touch of warmth, though it never quite reached the edges of her sharpness. The way Blaire spoke, the honesty laced with wistfulness, piqued Dray’s curiosity further. She could see the weight of what once was, and it was as if the very air around Blaire vibrated with the lost potential of it.

“The stage is always a hard thing to leave behind,” Dray said, her voice warm and light, but with an edge that suggested she understood that much. “But the ability to control the narrative? That’s a skill that doesn’t fade. It only grows, doesn’t it?” She let the question sit between them, allowing it to resonate, before offering her name. “Dray Therin, though, I suspect the name might not be unfamiliar.”

She allowed herself a brief, knowing glance. “I’ve seen your work before. Your ability to captivate an audience—it’s more than talent. You have a way of drawing eyes to where you want them. That’s something very few can master.” Her gaze shifted, as if she were considering something beyond the conversation, the undercurrent of something deeper moving just beneath her words. “It’s a rare gift. One that’s valuable when you know how to apply it.”

Dray paused, her smile turning more enigmatic. “I suspect you’re far more than just a dancer, Miss Sal-Soren. With a background like yours, and a mind as sharp as your presence—there are far more ways for someone like you to shape the world, wouldn't you agree?"

She waited, her posture calm and inviting, but her golden eyes never left Blaire's, subtly beckoning her to engage deeper.

Blaire Sal-Soren​

 

[Annis Riyaré]

Annis Riyaré, Countess of Lopenthé, Senator of Naboo

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

She let out a little polished giggle at his comments about the performance within a performance, it was true, but also not true, she was being who she was after all, and not performing in any way.

Enarc, she flipped through her memories. "I wouldn't knock that posting, as mundane as things might seem, you have three major trade routes running through there in memory serves. I suspect a lot of beurocrats would kill to add that feather to their cap.

But.

I do understand, I have taken political assignments away from home, nowhere is like Naboo is it." She tapped her glass against his in a polite toast to their shared homeworld and the jewel of the Republic.

Was he propositioning her professionally or romantically by his unwillingness to orbit alone? The words he used were intriguing, drawing the woman in but vague enough to be taken in multiple ways. She was impressed, it was useful. Annis would have to explore more.

"Well, this isn't really an inner circle sort of venue." She gave a coquettish wink, everyone was too guarded for things like that here, preferring to be the open and easily approachable public face. "But I would happily introduce you to the Nabooian senatorial team if you are in the market for a transfer."

Another movement finished and Annis clapped with everyone else before turning closer as if she wanted to pay a little more attention. She spoke as she kept her eyes on the dancers. "This next dance tells the story of tragedy, but it is also a very, intimate, dance." She smirked and the male and female protagonists, played the parts of hundreds of years dead two teen lovers of warring houses from the court of Veruna. She subconsciously placed her finger onto her clavical and gently ran it back and forth as she watched the sensual dance building up. "Tell me, do you dance?"

​

 

[Blaire Sal-Soren]

Oh, It is a game! But what are the rules?

No, not a game.

An audition.

For which side? That was the true question. There was a familiarity to this Dray Therin. Would The New Way…The Unblessed…be so bold to cost her here, now. It was unlikely but not impossible she supposed, but to what end? They were finished and she was finished with them. She had no more for them, they had taken her son, nearly killed her, tried to kill her and in their effort to save what they truly wanted from her, her children, they poisoned her with The Force.

"Oh, yes, I would agree," her voice remained wistful, as though she hardly heard the woman. Her face unchanged though on the inside Blaire's heart fluttered with anticipation. It was not Dray that struck her as familiar, only the feeling the woman had instilled in Blaire.

She was being seen. All the way. Seen the same way Jaa Ardan had seen her. Seen in ways Blaire herself had not known to see until she was shown what she could be.


"I could shape the galaxy if given the chance."

| Outfit: xxx | Tag: Agent Damocles | Equipment: xxx |​

 

[Agent Damocles]

Dray's smile shifted—still warm, but now with a glint of something keener beneath. Blaire’s declaration had landed, and not just as bravado. There was hunger in it, edged with pain and purpose. Dray recognized the shape of it; she'd worn something similar once herself.

"I'm glad you said that," she replied, voice low and smooth as silk, yet carrying clearly over the murmur of the nearby crowd. "Because you’re right. And not everyone who could shape the galaxy has the clarity to admit they want to."

She let her gaze linger, just long enough to suggest appreciation rather than scrutiny. Then she shifted, almost imperceptibly—closer, more conspiratorial.

"The people I work with... well, let’s just say we keep a list. Of names. People with potential, presence. People who’ve lived through fire and come out refined, not ruined."

A pause. Not too long. Just long enough.

"We believe the Republic is stronger when it's shaped by those who’ve seen its cracks firsthand. And perhaps more importantly—by those who know how to fill them without waiting to be asked."

Her fingers brushed the edge of her glass, golden eyes flicking back to Blaire’s face.

"That sort of voice... your voice... could do a lot of good. When you're ready, of course."

It wasn’t an offer. Not yet. But it was an opening.

Blaire Sal-Soren​

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic’s glass touched hers with a soft clink, the movement practiced, almost reflexive. He held her gaze over the rim of crystal as he drank, amused by the ambiguity she left hanging in the air.

If the Countess intended to draw him in with subtle heat, he made no effort to cool it—but neither did he let it run away with him.

“Naboo has a way of spoiling its children,” he murmured, eyes glinting as the next act began. “You leave for a time, see how the rest of the galaxy turns, and suddenly nothing else feels quite as... precise.”

He glanced at her sidelong, catching the motion of her fingers tracing skin as the dancers onstage moved in sensual tandem. She was warmer now—no less poised, but less guarded. It didn’t go unnoticed.

At her suggestion of a transfer, he gave a soft chuckle, deep and velvet-edged. “That’s a generous offer, Countess. But my father always said that loyalty is the only coin that earns interest in politics. I’ve no intention of abandoning my current ledger.”

He paused, then tilted his head just slightly toward her, voice quieter now. “But there’s room in any book for new accounts. Especially those drawn in ink as compelling as yours.”

The music swelled. He watched her watching the stage, content for a moment to share in the stillness—letting the charged quiet speak for him.

“And yes,” he added finally, just above a whisper, “I do dance. When it’s worth the steps.”

Annis Riyaré​

 

[Ferren Vaal]

Ferren recognized the name the moment she offered it—Dominique Vexx.
It hovered in his memory like a shadow caught in a searchlight: intelligence briefs, financial dossiers, Senate minutes scrubbed but never quite clean. Former senator of Denon. Current CEO of Rachne Industries. Suspected ties to illicit syndicates during her time in office—none ever substantiated. Now a power broker on her own terms. Dangerous, but with a veneer so polished it gleamed.

He couldn't afford to let that recognition show.

"A pleasure, Madame Vexx," he said, accepting her hand with a practiced grace. His smile was easy, but measured—warm enough to pass, cool enough to protect. "Your reputation precedes you—though I admit I hadn't expected such eloquence from someone with a background in planetary politics. You put most diplomats to shame."

His grip was firm but fleeting, timed to suggest both courtesy and detachment. Eyes meeting hers just long enough to register interest, then shifting away to acknowledge the flow of guests continuing past their little pocket of exchange.

A small chuckle followed—warm, self-deprecating. "And I confess, I'd be honored to be part of a cultural bridge between Naboo and your world. Traveling exhibitions, rare performances, the possibility of co-sponsorships…" He gestured lightly with one hand, as if to wave off his own pretense. "Of course, I've spent too much time on Republic warships for it to be anything more than a hobby. Still—I like to think I know beauty and talent when I see it."

A deliberate pause. He knew in those tones that he had to find a way to break being caught in a conversation where Kriff's interests could potentially cause him to have to reveal that unlike the Admiral character not everyone could name the delicates of every stage performance shown on Naboo.

"Which is why I find this evening so compelling. People forget how much a society reveals through celebration. Fashion, posture, the unguarded moments between glasses of wine." He let his tone drift lower again, conspiratorial. "I imagine you know a thing or two about reading people as well."

The murmur of the crowd around them surged, a momentary distraction—useful. His eyes flicked toward a reflection in the polished glass of a serving cart nearby. The man from earlier was gone. Hand-off complete, package secure. Now it was time to pivot.

Subtly, Ferren shifted his stance. A quarter turn, no more—just enough to reposition his back toward the nearest corridor, where his team would be waiting behind carefully chosen masks and credentials. The move was casual, dressed in the elegance of the ongoing conversation, but purposeful beneath the surface.

"But we shouldn't monopolize each other's time," Ferren said smoothly. "This gala is far too rich with conversation to linger in just one. Though I'd welcome a second meeting—perhaps somewhere a little less curated?"

His voice dipped with practiced elegance, suggestive but not forward, leaving her the option to bite, or let him drift.

"I'll be in orbit for another few days before duty calls me back to the Mid Rim. Perhaps a tour of the Senate archives? Or something more entertaining, if you're free." He inclined his head once, a gesture of respect wrapped in the softness of charm. "After all, what better way to serve the arts than with good company?"

Dominique Vexx

 

[Joa Sodi]

PAS DE DEUX
… a Royal Naboo Story

"I think the only mistake would've been going to the trade gala," she said lightly, but the warmth in her tone was genuine. "Besides, disarming you wasn't my intention. If anything, I'd hoped to find someone else willing to look beyond the surface of things." Her gaze flicked toward the stage for just a second, where a dancer hovered mid-pirouette. "Turns out, you do."

She lifted her own glass, though she didn't drink just yet. "I'm not naming anything," Joa continued, her voice softer now, introspective.

"But I know when the air shifts. And it has. That doesn't have to mean grand designs or whispered conspiracies—just the possibility that something thoughtful might come of two people seeing the moment for what it is." Her smile was quiet and genuine, not worn for charm but for clarity. "That kind of beginning doesn't happen often."

Her smile came then, soft but sincere, and touched with something lighter — hope, maybe, or at least a willingness to believe in possibility.

"If this is the start of something, then let it be truly thoughtful. Let it be useful. I don't need some grand display, mind you. I only need people who can see the ground shifting and still find the courage to build on it." She wasn't trying to provoke; she was offering something steadier: alignment, not manipulation.

"The important things always start quietly, anyway. If we're lucky, maybe this is one of them." Her eyes met his again, calm and open.

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

 

[Dominique Vexx]

"And you, sir, are a gentleman among gentlemen." The man was suave to be sure. Well-practiced at it too. Vexx hadn't seen through his guise per se, merely noted someone with an equal temper in understanding how to engage other sapient lifeforms. The just-right amount of flattery. Just-warm enough smile. Just-long enough embrace. Nothing to suggest a desire to be elsewhere, nor one to instill a fear of never letting go. Some might think a Patron of the Arts would learn such skills, being such an avid connoisseur, but that would be selling him short. That level of skill wasn't merely attending a few theater classes. Vexx had to tolerate the presence of many business moguls and crime lords, so she'd seen the gamut. Quite the curiosity.

After their hands parted, Vexx listened attentively to the man as he seemed partial to her invitation. Good. Dominique never made an invitation she wasn't prepared to entertain in its entirety -- spared quite the ordeal when a laughable ideal actually was accepted. In this case, her interest was entirely genuine. There was the desire for engaging the wealth and influential that came with high-society gatherings, naturally, but Denon needed a thriving art community as well. As much focus as the Board put on squeezing every credit out of Denon, Dominique wanted her world to thrive and that required a certain amount of culture.

"It plays to everyone's benefit to understand where my partners come from, and where they wish to go," Vexx replied casually after Ferren's comment about shared observational skills. "Nothing is worse than a negotiation that breaks down because neither side understands one another." In layman's terms that was known as a waste of time -- and opportunity. Unless the point was to scuttle the entire thing in the first place, and then it was a purposeful waste of time.

Dominique's smile remain just as buoyant as the moment they'd met, and her eyes had certainly not dimmed one lux throughout the encounter. Yes, Ferren was a practice man of his art. Strange considering... well, such grace and tact weren't terribly effective on a battlefield. She would need to uncover more of the man, and having met him Vexx had something to do just that.

"I could not agree more." Which was all he needed to subtly change his tack. The offers left much open for interpretation, and invitation for Vexx to propose something of personal interest rather than be led along by the 'Admiral.' "I would love the opportunity to see the local scene, Admiral Olyander." Whether he'd play to a more personal interaction by insisting on a different moniker or not, Dominique was interested in seeing the world. It certainly would be better in the company of someone like himself. Attaches and guards weren't always the best conversationalists. They tried so hard to be respectful and demure in their own ways.

"Should we exchange contacts? I could pick you up when you're free." If it was initiative he wanted in order to learn something about Dominique, then she was happy to oblige.

Ferren Vaal​

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Aurelian didn't answer right away.

He watched her in the way one watches a storm gather on the horizon - not with fear, but with anticipation. Not a spectacle to be admired from a distance, but a force that might change the shape of the land if you stood in the right place when it hit. Joa Sodi wasn't performing, and that in itself was more compelling than any overture or orchestration drifting from the stage below.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate, not quite a sigh but something close. Then he leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on his knees, glass dangling from his fingers like an afterthought.

"I have to admit," he said, voice quieter now, "I didn't come here expecting to find someone who speaks like a revolution dressed in diplomacy."

His smile, when it came, was different. Smaller. Real. The kind of smile you keep hidden in rooms with no windows.

"Thoughtful," he echoed, nodding once, as if trying the word on for size. "Useful. Courageous. That's a rare trinity in this business, Joa. Rarer still when it's sincere."

He tilted his head slightly, regarding her like a strategist marking a turning point on a campaign map. "If this is something, whatever we choose to call it, then let's agree not to insult it with convenience. I have enough alliances built on handshakes and shared agendas. What I don't have… is something that matters when the lights are off and the gallery's empty."

His grin returned, but this one was different too - more human than usual, worn like a borrowed coat that fit unexpectedly well. "If we're lucky, as you say, maybe this quiet thing grows teeth. And if we're not…" he shrugged, "at least we'll have shared the silence."

He clinked his glass gently against hers again - no flourish, no toast - just contact. Deliberate. Unmistakable. Then he leaned back in his seat and looked once more toward the stage, the curve of his smile still faintly lingering.

Quiet, but no less dangerous.

Joa Sodi​

 

[Joa Sodi]

PAS DE DEUX
… a Royal Naboo Story

Joa didn't answer right away either. There was something in Aurelian's shift that felt measured, unraveled, and sincere. Even without him declaring it, she understood his sentiment. Not as a strategy (though it may have began that way), but as the flicker of something rarer: acknowledgment. She watched him with steady eyes, not chasing that acknowledgment, just letting it rest where it landed between them.

They were no longer speaking in theory or postulates, but in the space that existed after those things fell away.

"I don't think quiet has to mean soft," she said finally, her voice a murmur shaped more by thought than tone.

"Sometimes, quiet is where the real work lives… where words don't need to be forced to carry more weight than they can. I've had to learn how to move carefully in rooms built for louder people. But I've also learned that when you say something true, even softly, it echoes."

She thought of her people, the Kage. After the fall of the Belugan dictatorship, they hadn't reclaimed their world with spectacle or bluster, but with patient, deliberate steps. They focused on restoring what had been stolen, finding dignity where it had been denied. Joa had watched them move through silence with purpose, guiding Quarzite not with fanfare but with conviction. It taught her something she carried still: that change didn't have to roar to leave its mark. Sometimes, it arrived like a breath in a sealed room, subtle, essential, and impossible to ignore once it was felt.

Her gaze drifted briefly to the stage, as if watching the dancers illustrate the same balance they now shared. Precision, restraint, intent.

Joa felt a quiet pride in having glimpsed the man beneath the Assembly's polish, even if only for a moment. But she was too seasoned to mistake vulnerability for transparency. Whatever Aurelian chose to show her tonight, she knew better than to conflate with trustworthiness. Only time would tell if the pair of senators shared the same intent, or if they’d be performing two different ballets on the same stage.

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

 

[Annis Riyaré]

Annis Riyaré, Countess of Lopenthé, Senator of Naboo

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

She nodded with a smile on her face. "I can respect that, loyalty is a valuable commodity which is very easy cast aside in our world." she gave a dismissive shrug, it wasnt even thar sad a fact, she considered herself a loyal person but if she was still climbing the ladder as he was, she would absolutely take whatever opportunities were presented, provided they were upwards of course and if she was honest his current role probably had more prestige than joinging the scrum of junior politicos at the capital.

After he responded that he did dance she half turned her head towards her. "I suppose that your declaration that you have no interest of working for my department does have its upsides. I shall not have to politely decline an offer to dance when the ballet ends and the room clears for us amateurs. Should one arrive of course." She was having fun with her words but was hardly playing games any more, she wanted to dance with the handsome gentleman and as they had no official connections there would be no difficult rumours. But she had to make sure he was the one to ask, in her professional life she owned every room that didn't have the queen in it, in her personal life there was nothing more sexy than a proper and chivalrous gentleman.

The ballet ended and other guests began to slowly fill the floor as what looked worryingly like an assassin droid floated in and began to play ballroom music.

​

 

[Dominic Praxon]

The final notes of the ballet still lingered in the air, soft and trembling, like the last breath of something sacred. Then—without fanfare—the assassin droid struck the first, haunting chord of a ballroom waltz. Smooth. Seductive. Measured, like velvet pulled taut.

Dominic turned to her—not hurried, not hesitant. The music unfurled between them like a promise, low and slow and filled with weight. He offered his arm with quiet certainty, the gesture not demanding but inevitable, as if the moment had always been leading here.

When she took it, he led them from the shadows of the balcony to the edge of the polished floor, where light shimmered like liquid gold beneath their steps. Around them, others gathered, but Dominic saw only her in that moment—her in black, sharp and soft at once, like the edge of something sacred dressed in sin.

His hand found its place at her waist, the other guiding hers with reverent precision. Their bodies met at that delicate space just before closeness, just before claim—enough to feel, never enough to own.

He spoke low, his voice threading through the music like smoke.

"They say the dance itself is just formality," he murmured, his gaze steady. "It's the pauses that reveal the truth."

Dominic moved with her, not leading so much as listening through his fingertips, matching breath to breath, heartbeat to heartbeat. He was a study in control—but not cold. The warmth beneath was unmistakable now, restrained only by intent. This was a man with fire in his chest, and patience enough to let it simmer.

A turn. A draw closer. The scent of her perfume whispering past. He said no more—for what could words add to rhythm, to heat, to the unspoken question that now lingered between their every step?

He would let her answer. However she chose.

Annis Riyaré​

 

[Annis Riyaré]

Annis Riyaré, Countess of Lopenthé, Senator of Naboo

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

As they danced, and Dominic made a comment about the importance of the pauses between, she wondered if he was talking about the dance or about politics in general, with so much being made happen in these personal moments squeezed in between slinging enquiry across a crowded Senate floor. But she said nothing, her heartnwas beating quickly in time with the man and she looked like a woman who had changed her eyes. The stoicism of the senator had been changed with a softness of a person who was just a woman being treated the way she desired.

They came close and she could smell his perfume and she let herself breath close to his face. As their eyes locked her tongue ever so briefly left her mouth to wet her lips. She wanted to make sure that he knew that kissing him was crossing her mind, but that no, it would not happen tonight. He could smell her, he could feel her body beneath her dress and he could guess at whatever desire she felt and perhaps wonder about her as he drifted off to sleep tonight. But he could not kiss her, not yet, not tonight.

She kept up this temptation, allowing his hand onto her hip as they danced for just two movements before spinning to depart. "It is time for me to retire Mr Praxon, thank you for the dance, and I wish you all the best of luck on Enarc and I chance that we might meet again."

Annis would let herself be kissed on the top of the hand before turning and walking away, letting her watch her depart but not letting him see the girly grin that threatened to spill off of her face.

​

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic lifted her hand with care, not reverence—but something close. He pressed a kiss just above the knuckles, soft and deliberate. Not possession. Not promise. A parting mark—a moment of acknowledgment, and perhaps, mild defiance of the distance she’d just created.

“Until then,” he said simply.

He didn’t watch her go. Not at first. Instead, he turned to retrieve his glass, giving her the illusion of escape—before finally letting his gaze drift after her, catching just the edge of movement, the turn of fabric, the flash of a grin she didn’t intend him to see.

It made him smile.

The music played on around him, couples swirling like petals in soft wind, but Dominic stood still at the edge of the floor, breathing her absence like a lingering note.

He could still feel the shape of her hand in his. Still smell the faint perfume that clung to the space between them. Still feel the unanswered question behind her eyes.

It would have been easy—too easy—to chase that moment further. But easy was rarely interesting, and this… this had been interesting.

Dominic exhaled slowly, collecting the calm that had been so carefully unraveled, piece by piece. Then, with the same practiced grace he had worn all evening, he stepped away from the ballroom floor and vanished into the crowd.

Tomorrow, the work would resume.

Tonight, he would carry the heat in silence.

Annis Riyaré​

 

[Blaire Sal-Soren]

"Did I admit to that?" Blaire asked, as though she were unaware of doing any such thing, affecting bored detachment as only the truly wealthy could.

Their conversation shifted further into conspiracy with every word. Blaire, for her part, played the half interested former starlet. She hardly spared a glance for Dray as she spoke, choosing instead to look around the gathered party, sharing a small smile with half forgotten faces belonging to acquaintances she had no shot at naming, he hand flitted about waving graciously to those who stood at the edge of her periphery, too polite to interrupt the conversation she was only partly listening too.

Her body language gave her away however. The way she angled her body, the small nearly unnoticeable nod of her head as she took in the words being offered to her.

When I'm ready or when you declare me so?

She thought but did not say.

"Of course," Blaire said as if it really went without saying at all.

Blaire snagged a flute of sparkling wine as a waiter passed by with a tray. She sipped, wondering what sort of trap she may be allowing to be set around her.

"You mention having a desire for my voice," she said with a soft smile, guarded but not exactly unfriendly. Blaire was not unaware of what she was capable of. She'd said so herself, she could shape the galaxy, she'd worked to do that in the past, to provide the Galaxy with a New Way forward, to give hope to all The Unblessed. In the end she had been betrayed in more ways than she thought possible, yet she had done much in her time of intelligence work, if that's what it could be called.

The Unblessed as they were saw and used her and her as a tool.

The New Way, when they were still something to be celebrated, had convinced her that she was a weapon, something of value against their foes.

She knew the truth now because it was a truth she discovered and embraced for herself. Her name wasn't a weapon, not truly, at least not when wielded by her, for Daddy yes, not her.

She was not a tool either. She would not be used, not again.

Her name, her past, her looks, her wealth, all of it made her something more valuable. She was a key. She opened doors others could not and once inside she could do anything, including leaving the door open behind her.

A question remained however,

"I wonder though, who's vision would my voice be furthering?"

| Outfit: xxx | Tag: Agent Damocles | Equipment: xxx |​