Populate [RNR] Dance of Veils | RNR Populate of Triffis

[Aiden Porte]

The Last Light
Tags: Open

This was turning out better than he thought....

Aiden was on his second drink already, exchanging conversation with those at the bar. Enjoying the nice time that was away from duty and responsibility for the evening. He glanced over to Lorn and noticed that Ala had left his company. "Hmmm." Aiden glanced back and then shrugged his shoulders as he stood to get up, he planned to go say Hi to the commander of the Vanguard.

Until...

"Not so fast, Mr Porte." A voice that was all too familiar had been heard and he was slightly confused at first until he turned around to see the duo walking towards him. "Hey!" Aiden said with a look a surprise, a very welcome surprise at that. Owen and Astraa were moving towards him, with equal smiles on their faces. Aiden stood up and went to meet them with a big hug. "It's good to see you guys here. Come on!" Aiden gestured to a free seat on his left side and he gave up his for either of the couple to take.

Owen smirked lightly as he motioned for a glass for his wife and himself. "Well, now that the baby is almost six months, we figured we needed a little time to ourselves."

"That's great....wait.....noooo" Aiden said with a shake of his head and his hand raised to his face. "You did not leave her with Castor......?" Aiden said with another laugh as he reached for his drink, taking another small sip, which he was close to being done with.

"Stop it!" Astraa hit Aiden playfully in the shoulder. "My brother may be a little irresponsible, but he's grown up quite a bit over the last few months."

"Don't worry either, Gala is there with him." Owen said with a wink at Aiden, just so all hope wasn't completely lost.

Aiden shrugged his shoulders and smile. "I suppose, oh and it's on me tonight." Aiden said with a chuckle as just happened to glance back over to Lorn and Ala had just appeared, although he did a double take. And while he tried not to stare, he was....

"Is everything alright?" Owen asked, as he and Astraa both looked over in the direction Aiden was.

"Man....I hope so..." Aiden looked at his drink for a few moments. "I've only had two....." The Jedi Padawan laughed nervously and he shrugged his shoulders. "I honestly don't know anymore."

"A toast." Aiden said as he motioned for another glass.

 

[Eleonore Zoltán]

|| DANCE OF VEILS ||
Ambition - Chapter 1

OUTFIT: Dress
TAG: Open​

ECLIPTICON SUMMIT SPIRE, ALASSA MAJOR

Everywhere she looks, she sees Jedi. Senate hearings, PR walks, even gala events, there is going to be Jedi, walking around like they run the place. Eleonore knows full well how integral the Jedi has been in the recent prosperity of the Republic. The Republic wouldn’t survive invasions of the Sith and the Mandalorians without them. But where they stopped being tools and started posing threats always kept Eleonore on her toes. Even conversations with her brother got him jittery everytime as she can feel the forced-serenity that clouds her from the bigger picture, and a little knife twisted in her stomach reminding her that it would never be her.

That’s why she always overcompensate. Micromanaging family businesses, running three-men jobs in a system she is not even native to. Because that’s what she does best. And so is her appearance in tonight’s gala. She knows that she can’t compete with the unnatural beauty of the Sal-Sorens, nor that she can ever satisfy the eyes of the gossipers with a new, younger man in the arm of the widow. So it’s the dress that should impress.

Eleonore made her entrance with splendor. Her dress red and black, hugging her figure perfectly, highlighting all the her best features. A Zoltán in red is always a staple of Naboo high-society gatherings, and she reminds everyone that despite of the official status, she is the patriarch of the House.

She quickly scans the room, seeing familiar faces, nobility, senators, Jedi alike, conversing, flirting, dancing. She could easily approach one for conversation, but her ego wouldn’t let her. Tonight, she is the main event, and sipping her wine, she lets the magnitude of her stature does the job.​

 

[Yasima Zyntra]

Location: The Spa
Gear: Age appropriate red outfit with pool skirt
Tag: Isla Reingard

​

Yas bided her time for a little bit in the pool, bobbing up on her tummy and down playfully watching the room between taking pictures of herself. She spotted another of the young padawans walking into the spa wrapped in a towel and willed her to walk her way.

"Hey Isla!" she greeted. Summoning a fish? "Just sending some snaps back to Eshvika. Can you believe this place?" she didn't say it specifically but her body language sitting back and shifting to one side of the the bench would be a more than obvious invitation for the other teen to join her in the pool. She placed down her device and picked up the mocktail to take a sip on it. A little shiver went down her spine when she sampled the icey drink again, forgetting just how cold it was. She wanted another one of these but she wasn't sure if she could afford it with what little credits she had brought along with her towel and sandals.

She hoped Isla would join her, she liked making friends and felt like she liked the other girl. But of course she was way to cool to just ask her to be her friend. What if she said no?
​

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

“The pleasure’s mine, Senator.” Brandyn’s tone was smooth, warm — like sunlight through silk — as he approached with a half-smile that never quite reached his eyes. He stopped beside Dominique, gaze briefly glancing at the nearest star chart before returning to her.

“I figured someone ought to be here to remind the room that not all value comes with a price tag.”

A little charm, a little deflection. Classic Sal-Soren tactic — though this time it wasn’t just to dodge discomfort, but to veil intent. The Order had sent him as a presence, not a power. A reminder that some still cared where the trade lanes ran… and what they might run over.

His thoughts briefly turned to the planet whose name he wouldn’t utter here. Too many ears, not enough truth.

“I don’t carry a vote, but I do carry a voice. And while the Order of Shiraya isn’t in the habit of meddling with economics, we do take a certain interest in the… pathways of influence.” He smiled faintly, tapping his chest just above his heart. “Spiritual infrastructure, if you like.”

He tilted his head, watching Dominique with easy poise.

“But don’t worry — I won’t be pitching temple expansions or pilgrim tax credits. I leave the real power plays to your level of altitude.”

He gave a nod of respectful deference, but there was playfulness in it too. The kind that let someone know you were watching the board — and perhaps a piece or two beyond it.

| TAG: Dominique Vexx |

​

 

[Myr Dhurri]

Outfit | Location: The Celestial Exchange | Tag: Open​

Finery. It had never been his forte. He had a single suit that seemed suitable for such an occasion and he couldn't recall the last time he had worn it. But there he stood — seemingly dapper — in billowing karlini silk palazzo pants and a crosh-hide jacket. He moved about the room quietly and observed the various star maps to commit them to memory — he wondered if he could get copies, free updates to his navicomp? Spectacular.

A woman intercepted him. "Shimmersilk? Golani Appau?" She inquired pressingly, the floral scent of a cocktail apparent on her breath.

"Karlini. Morc Tormo." He responded, feigning the same level of urgency and locking his eyes with hers to push her ever so softly with his Umbaran abilities. He doubted this woman had ever passed by the Ghost Nebula, let alone was intimately aware of Umbaran fashion houses. It was a good thing too, as he had bought this suit from a catalog a decade ago and had given her the name of his former squad leader.

The woman smiled — her grin speaking of victory — and curtly moved off. Myr softly chuckled as he was left alone and thanked whatever Maker there was for the subtle arts that had made Umbarans a people marred by suspicion. It wasn't long before he used this newfound freedom to obtain a cocktail of his own, using it to occupy his hand; he had not been parted from his weaponry this long in ages and did not like the vulnerability that came with it. Could the local guards defend this place, sure, but one could always trust one's self to be one's best protector.

With cocktail in hand, Myr ingratiated himself among various small groups who discussed the most pressing issues of this age; he ensured he was just far enough beyond them to not be in their circles but just close enough to listen in. He tailored his face to tell a different story to placid onlookers — he was simply observing the star charts with invested attention — though he knew his rouse would fall apart under direct scrutiny.

 

[Dominique Vexx]

Dominique's head rolled a bit to the side as she regarded the man of the Order. "The things worth having never do." Perhaps he would have something new to think about in regards to the Corporatist in his presence. Namely, how to reconcile what she'd just said with a history replete in commercialism and power plays. The smile on her lips reflected her hope he wouldn't reach a conclusion any time soon.

Quiet laughter dance between narrowly parted, painted lips. The Order of Shiraya wasn't in the habit of meddling? What a smooth talker he was. Was it an effort to placate Vexx's concern these Jedi might be just as inclined as the last, and just as politically charged to influence socio-political factors important to Denon? Or the mere appearance as much, but with an unspoken threat?

"People are the galaxy's greatest source of power, Mister Sal-Soren. Building solid 'spiritual' infrastructure goes without saying." Though what either of them might consider spiritual or proper needed a great deal of being said. Just not at that very moment. There was cause for him to visit, and she doubted it was to invite her downstairs for a dance. Though, he was charming enough to make such an invitation.

Slowly, Dominique reached out to talk Brandyn Sal-Soren 's hand if he let her. "Why should I worry?" If he'd allowed her to take his hand, she'd place her other one on top of it. "There was a time I once considered offering real estate for the Silver Jedi to build a temple. Sadly, negotiations fell through." Well, rather they'd never truly begun. Their representative had been in her office and the paperwork all drafted, but the opportunity just never presented itself. Well, things worked out in the end. Even if Dominique had to rebuild her power base from the literal ground up and seize back authority greater than she'd had previously.

"I wouldn't mind learning more about the Order. Despite noble intentions, your people need supplies built and logistics to move them like any other. I see no reason we wouldn't reach a mutually beneficial arrangement." Keep the Jedi at arm's length? Whatever for. That only made them suspicious with cries about obfuscation and deliberately hiding evidence.

OPEN​

 

[Indra Quin]

She didn’t need to laugh. Instead, her eyes seemed to hum with intensity. His words fell like petals at her feet, sweet and soft and unguarded — exactly what she needed. Exactly what someone else had never deserved.

She stepped forward, into the reach of his outstretched hand, into the circle of his warmth. The music around them was a distant pulse, something slower and more intimate than what played in the air — it played in him. She could feel it.

She didn’t say yes to the dance. She just began.

Her body found his in a single, seamless glide — not graceful like Ala, but deliberate. Her touch lingered. Her breath brushed his neck. Her fingers trailed up his sleeve as she drew closer, letting crimson silk whisper against his legs.

She tilted her head up, close enough that her breath warmed the hollow of his throat, her voice velvet and low. “Let’s not be ourselves tonight.”

She drew back just enough to look into his eyes — dark lashes, golden mask, the shape of Ala’s face sculpted in smoke. “You can call me Indra.”

A smile, wicked and feather-light. “Who will you be?”

She spun once under his arm, drawing him in tighter on the return. Her hip brushed his thigh. Her hand slid to his lower back. Every movement choreographed not by music — but by control.

Somewhere inside, a clock was ticking. Ala would return. The illusion would collapse. But Indra didn’t care. For now, she danced. Not to be seen. But to take what was not hers.

| OUTFIT: This | TAG: Lorn Reingard |​

 

[Ala Quin]

The concierge tapped through his datapad, brows knitting. Then a small nod. “There’s a vendor—just outside the base of the Spire. Independent, but reputable. They do milkshakes.”

Ala leaned in, hopeful. “Can you go?”

He gave a gentle, almost apologetic shake of his head. “Apologies, ma’am. I’ve several patrons waiting—”

She glanced back. A short line had formed. Oh.

“You haven’t drifted from the tower’s mooring yet. A speeder from the docking garage could have you there and back in five minutes.”

Five minutes. It sounded like an eternity. She’d been gone too long already. Lorn was still waiting. She could feel it—her heart already halfway back in the ballroom, tethered to his quiet grin, his careful voice, the way her name sounded when he didn’t say it aloud.

And suddenly the thought struck her—she just wanted to be with him.

Not near. Not around. With. Her breath caught. Yes. That was what she wanted. She nodded to herself. “I need those milkshakes.”

The words came with a spark of conviction.

She turned on her heel, starlight swirling at her calves, and darted through the corridor toward the docking garage. Moments later, she was in the speeder, its engines humming softly beneath her.

And then she was gone—silver, speed, and a heart full of certainty.

| Lorn Reingard |​

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic had learned early in life that power rarely shouted — it whispered, smiled, and moved as if it owned the floor. The masquerade was no different. Beneath the shimmer of chandeliers and carefully calculated laughter, the true game thrummed quietly, measured in glances and the weight of who looked away first.

He did not look away.

Not when Bastila entered. Not when the stars bloomed across her skin and every head turned as though they'd just remembered how to dream. He allowed himself one glance — a proper one — and then another, stolen and slightly too long. The pull of her presence was undeniable, but he reminded himself, as he always did, that the heart was rarely a reliable advisor in rooms like this.

Politics first. Always.

He turned smoothly, almost lazily, toward the woman now beside him — no less dangerous, and perhaps more practiced in the art of weaponizing charm.

"Countess Riyaré," he greeted with a voice that could have been poured from aged caskwood — smooth, rich, with just a trace of indulgence at the edges. "You wear restraint with such elegance. One might think the rest of us overdressed by comparison."

His eyes flicked briefly, instinctively, back toward the colonnade. Still there. Still radiant. And yet — it was the senator beside him now who demanded attention.

"I'd hoped to catch you this evening. Naboo's voice in the Assembly grows stronger with each passing season — and wiser, if I might be so bold." He lifted a glass of pale golden wine in salute. "There are many who say the Five Veils will be shaped in distant chambers. I say — they are being shaped here, tonight. Word by word, glance by glance."

He leaned in just enough to let his words glide, soft as silk, into the space between them.

"And of all the voices in this room, I confess, yours may be the one I trust to read the stars rather than simply chase them."

He pulled back, not too far, and let the moment breathe.

Politics, he reminded himself again.

But oh, how it thrilled.

Annis Riyaré Bastila Sal-Soren​

 

[Lorn Reingard]

​

Lorn wasn't sure when his hand found the small of her back, only that it belonged there.

The room, with all its grandeur and political plumage, dimmed to a blur. All he saw was her - this version of Ala that moved like moonlight had decided it wanted to be fire instead. Crimson silk pressed against him like a promise. Her fingers trailed up his arm, and he felt it like an echo in his ribs. Her breath against his neck was enough to short-circuit years of discipline.

Let's not be ourselves tonight, she'd said.

And stars help him, he wanted that more than he wanted to keep questioning the way she'd changed.

The words You can call me Indra struck a strange chord, but he mistook it for whimsy, a mask's little joke. The kind of line you tossed out at a gala like this - playful, half-serious, designed to make the moment last longer than it should.

Who would he be?

He didn't answer. Just pulled her closer, their steps so in sync it felt like they'd danced this same rhythm in a dream, long ago.

He let out a breath, low and uneven, and something cracked open in his chest. Not pain. Not fear. Something softer. Something he hadn't dared feel in too long.

"I think…" he said slowly, voice nearly lost to the music. "I think I'm actually happy."

The words hung there, fragile and absurd.

"My daughter's safe. The finally belong somewhere. I've got a roof that doesn't burn, a bed that doesn't smell like carbon scoring, and-"

He looked down at her, the curve of her cheek nestled against his shoulder, and his voice softened to something barely audible.

"And now I have this. You."

He chuckled, shy, almost embarrassed by the weight of his own honesty. "Didn't think I'd ever get all of this at once. I even thought I was cursed not too long ago."

He didn't say Ala. Not out loud. But the feeling was there. It was her. He felt it in the warmth of her skin, the way her body curved toward his like she belonged there, like maybe - finally - he could stop being a soldier and just be. Be happy, for once.

Lorn closed his eyes for a breath. Just one.

He didn't see the cracks forming. Not yet.

All he felt was the illusion of peace.

And he let it hold him.

Indra Quin | Ala Quin | UH OH​

 

[Isla Reingard]

​

Isla blinked, startled by the sound of her own name like it had been broadcast over a loudspeaker, but Yasima had just said it, like it was normal, like she remembered her. Isla's stomach did a weird swoopy thing, the way it sometimes did right before a vision - except this wasn't Force-related. This was just regular awkward human emotion. Way worse.

She stepped forward with the physical grace of someone who had not mastered slippery spa tiles and did a weird little toe-stumble before regaining her balance and pretending it hadn't happened. Her brain offered up six different responses to "Can you believe this place?" but they all crashed into each other and died, so instead she just gave a loud, "Right?!" like she was agreeing to everything and nothing at once.

Then, seeing Yasima shift over like the universe itself had parted a space for her, Isla dropped her towel and slid into the pool with a soft splash and the noise of someone trying very hard not to make a noise. Her hair was immediately plastered to her face. She shoved it back, gave up halfway, and settled into the warm water like a suspicious cat pretending to be chill.

"Eshvika's your friend, right? I think I've seen her around." Pause. Realization. Scramble to clarify. "Not like, stalking seen her. Just like, passing-in-the-hallway kind of seen her. You know. Casual seeing."

Her foot bumped Yasima's by accident under the water and she immediately panicked. "Sorry. That was my foot. Not like… on purpose foot. Just… regular accidental water foot."

There was a silence. Isla nearly screamed at herself internally.

"Anyway, your drink is really cool-looking. I like the umbrella. It makes it look like it's on holiday. Like, it has somewhere to be. Probably on a beach. Or an important meeting in a fruit salad."

She grinned at her own stupid joke, biting her lip like she wasn't sure if she was about to get splashed or judged or both.

Yasima Zyntra​

 

[Joran Del-Finn]

It was a party. Joran loved himself a good party. Come to think of it though his parties usually featured darker liquor, less clothing, and much higher chance for violence, but hey, a party was a party.

He’d come dressed in some of his finest digs. He’d wanted to give off the impression that he was approachable, well-reasoned, and gentle, so it was pastels and glasses for him, not body armor and blaster rifles.

In this room brimming with old money, ageless legacies, and bloodlines forged when the galaxy was little more than stardust, Joran Del-Finn stood apart. An old man with new money, Joran should feel as out of place here as a trandoshian on Kashyyyk, but this was old hat to him by now. His whole life was spent walking into rooms he had no place being and walking out with something of value. The only difference was that he was not here as the down-on-his-luck smuggler looking for the big score, or as the stone-faced mercenary on the hunt for a high-paying target. No, now he was Senator Del-Finn of the Royal Naboo Republic, representing Malastare.

Joran stood alone among the gathered nobles and politicians. Something he would need to remedy soon, he realized when he caught sight of Annis Riyaré making herself seen.

The Countess was at present Joran’s biggest competition in the one area where Malastare had an advantage over other planets in the republic – fuel. It was the single most important asset Joran had at his disposal, and shamed as he might be to admit it, the Mandalorian attacks on Naboo for the world’s plasma increased the value of Malastare’s fuel reserves by a very large number. Still, there were many and more worlds that looked to Naboo for fuel first and Malastare last.

The Five Veils was becoming of great interest to many in the senate, Joran included. Obtaining favorable shipping contracts, and finding a way to ensure it was his fuel being bought and used along the trade route was imperative.

TAGS: OPEN

 

[Lily Decoria]

Location: Final Light Masquerade
Outfit: Starry Dress, Silver Mask
Tag: Open

If there was a ball, gala or masquerade going on, Lily was always going to jump at the opportunity to attend and dance. It was something she had always enjoyed from her days attending high society events on Eshan and the like. It was the best pleasant way to distract from the other problems going on in the galaxy, a way to physically exert some of the stresses away and it was a chance to hear updated gossip on what was going on with people. Mixing nosy people with some drinks was always a chance to learn new things and get updated on the dating dramas that were going on. Lily was never one to really care too much about the drama but hearing it was always fun.

No different to reading a Lady Velvet novel or watching the soap opera dramas on the holonet.

Entering the ball in a dress that shimmer and sparkled like a night sky with her silver and black mask, Lily moved gracefully into the ball. She was a little late in attendance since she had been curious if anyone wanted to attend with her but her friends seemed busy or were attending with others. So, she had wondered about skipping attendance since entering a ball alone always felt a little more intimidating since she was an adult. However, Lily steeled her nerves and remembered that this was after her recovery on Eshan and it was important to jump back into the norm of her life. Attending events and demonstrating how beneficial joining the RNR was for new worlds.

Spying a server with fresh glasses of wine, Lily grabbed one that contained some red wine, curious on how it would taste. Her steel eyes scanned over the other people in attendance for the event and curious if there would be anyone that she would like to dance with here.

 

[Thayze Montserrat]

|| DANCE OF VEILS ||
Head in the Clouds - Chapter 1

OUTFIT: Suit | Mask
TAG: Lily Decoria ​

ALASSA MAJOR

It’s one of the few times Thayze get to participate in a formal event without his parents in his peripheral. Being part of Naboo high society, they naturally attend most of it, nurturing their network of aristocrats, moguls, and everything in between. Today is different however, they had to fly to Kwenn for an urgent business meeting, and such, had to cancel their attendance in the gala.

So Thayze arrived alone, with a more creative and expressive choice of outfit than he usually picked with his parents around. Being a masquerade gala, Thayze found it hard to spot anyone he is familiar with. Juggling appearances between the Temple and numerous high society events means he is less familiar with everyone than if he only focused on one life.

He took a glass of wine from one of the servers, before his attentions went towards a lady with a silver hair, roughly his age. He can’t remember where he had seen her, but he feels like he’s seen her somewhere. The silver mask, that he has to say fit her dress and hair perfectly, doesn’t help.

Thayze decided to approach her regardless, walking across the function to meet her at the dance floor. “Fancy a dance, my lady?” he asked, forward as he always is, offering his hand to the mysterious lady.​

 

[Balun Dashiell]

DANCE OF VEILS
WEARING: Evening Suit
TAGS: Aiden Porte | Lorn Reingard | Cassian Abrantes
Ala Quin | Isla Reingard | Bastila Sal-Soren | Dominique Vexx | Yasima Zyntra

Balun swirled the last of the golden whiskey in his glass, watching the liquid catch the light before he tipped it back and let the burn trace its way down his throat. He exhaled with quiet satisfaction, the warmth spreading through his chest. A follow-up drag from his cigarra steadied his nerves further, and as the smoke drifted from his lips, he turned his head slightly, casting a contemplative gaze toward the room. Music played softly behind the rising chatter and laughter of guests, many of whom had already taken to the dance floor, their movements graceful beneath the flicker of chandeliers.

The night was still young, but already the drink had worked its way into loosening the tension from his shoulders. Still, it wasn't just the masquerade that made this night unfamiliar—it was everything. His recent days had become a slow, uncertain walk through new terrain. The Royal Naboo Republic was a place he had yet to truly call home, despite his growing involvement. And while the Order of Shiraya echoed remnants of the Jedi teachings he once walked away from, it wasn't quite the same. His renewed presence at the Temple was thanks only to his new mentor, yet the cold walls of discipline could never match the comfort of freedom aboard his ship, or the grounded familiarity of Joiol. More and more, the idea of settling in Theed crossed his mind—if only to anchor himself in something resembling stability.

As a bartender passed nearby, Balun raised his empty glass in a silent signal. The man nodded in response, already reaching for the same whiskey as before. When the glass was topped off, Balun offered a half-smile in thanks and slid a credit chip across the polished counter, tip included. "Cheers, man," he said with casual gratitude.

He glanced down the length of the bar and noticed another patron nearby— Cassian Abrantes , a man he didn't recognise. But then, there weren't many in the Republic he did. A moment passed. The warmth of alcohol, the light thrum of music, all of it coaxed him past his usual reserve.

"Enjoying yourself, man?" Balun asked, lifting his freshly poured drink in a quiet toast. He didn't expect much—just a flicker of human connection in a room where everything felt a little too new. Given how few he truly knew here, even a brief conversation seemed worth the attempt.

"Speech".
'Thought'.

 

[Aiden Porte]

The Last Light
Tags: Open

Another drink had entered the hand of the Jedi Padawan as he took a small sip.

"Aiden, stop. Your acting weird!" Astraa said with half laugh and half serious tone.

"I'm sorry but...." Aiden took another sip as he set the glass down. "Something seems..." The Jedi cleared his throat and patted Owen on the shoulder. "You guys enjoy, please. I have to do some....stuff." The Jedi took another sip from his glass as he neared the dance floor. Not to close but not too far either. One could say he was waiting for a dance partner. And as Astraa had said, he wasn't trying not to be so obvious.

Time to go undercover, or try to anyway....

Aiden finished his drink and he tossed it to the passing server in a smooth fashion. "Alright, lets do this...." Aiden whispered as he took a quick glance around and the first woman that passed him, masked beauty he reached for her hand. "Shall we dance?" Aiden inquired, as he didn't wait for her answer and pulled her close to him as they moved upon the dance floor. He sense and felt no objections.

"Oh, of course. This is rather sudden, do we know each other." The woman asked, as she moved in step with Aiden.

"Not entirely no, forgive my discretion." Aiden smiled at her, yet his mind was on the couple known as Best Friend Lorn and Ala not so Ala.

"You dance rather well." She whispered as her hand moved to the small of his back, clearly she was smitten with him.

"Thanks!" Aiden said with a big smile, as he himself was surprised with how well he was doing. Perhaps all those dances with Kalantha had paid off.

And over the course of the next few moments, Aiden had veered closer to the duo that was Best Friend Lorn and Ala not so Ala.

"You seem distracted?" The woman whispered to him, as she leaned in closer to him.

Aiden chuckled nervously as he got chills and took a deep breath. "No, of course not, I'm doing well, good, okay. I think....." His voiced trailed off, while keeping a watchful eye on the duo.

At the Bar

"Do you think he's okay? It looks like he's trying to rescue or intervene with something." Astraa said with a now concerned, yet slightly amused tone, as she looked to her husband. The young woman took a small drink as she reached for the hand of her husband.

"I wouldn't think too much into it. Besides....Aiden's crazy. He can barely take care of himself, much less rescue anyone."

A small giggle escape Astraa's mouth. "Stop it you, besides he save us didn't he? And our first born?" She spoke with a sweet voice and tone as she leaned forward to give her husband a kiss on the cheek.

"You are correct, plus I was only joking. Partially..." Owen laughed heartily as the couple looked on, having conversation with each other and those around them. And also looking at their good friend Aiden, what it was he was doing.

 

[Lily Decoria]

​

Location: Final Light Masquerade
Outfit: Starry Dress, Silver Mask
Tag: Thayze Montserrat

Taking a sip of the wine, it was pleasant, not her preferred style of red wine but Lily had a very particular palate when it came to wine. Something she had developed due to the high nobility of her former life. The masquerade seemed to be successful and there was a pleasant vibe from the people attending. At least from the perspective that Lily had, she hadn't gotten close enough or interacted with people who had shared any fun gossip or relationship drama. It was a little disappointing but she was also glad to not be involved with the crazy drama personally.

A guy approached her, Lily's eyes glinted with some mischief, Lily always enjoyed seeing how much she could get away with teasing those who were daring enough to approach her. It was a way she tested a person on whether or not they could handle being her friend.

"Maybe, depends on who is offering I suppose." Lily smirked with a teasing giggle to her voice, "think you can keep up?" She asked as assessed whether or not he could actually keep up with her dancing style, as well as whether or not he could keep up with her as a warrior as well. That was something she always considered when meeting someone new. Whether or not that they would be able too keep up with her in the ring and out of it.

You could take the woman out of Eshan but that never took the Echani out of her.

 

[Thayze Montserrat]

|| DANCE OF VEILS ||
Head in the Clouds - Chapter 1

OUTFIT: Suit | Mask
TAG: Lily Decoria ​

ALASSA MAJOR

Thayze catches the Echani lady’s glistening eyes and mischievous smile accentuated by her silver mask. A challenge, he thought to himself, as his mouth also formed his own smirk. “I usually love an old-school, proper introduction, but you look so familiar, I want to solve the mystery on my own,” Thayze chuckled. He enjoyed where this is going already.

“Let’s just say I’m a swordsman looking for a sparring partner.” He knows that many Echani are gifted fighters as much as they are beautiful, and he guesses from her toned armed and biceps that she is one.

Thayze stepped in closer so that he is standing right in front of the lady, while his mind is racing, still trying to figure out where he has seen her before. He leaned towards her, his arms grazing hers, to answer her question in a lower voice. “I’m always up for a good challenge.” The Serennian competitiveness in his blood propelled him to.​

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

“The galaxy teaches us balance,” Brandyn said smoothly as he gently shifted Dominique’s handhold into a courteous handshake — firm, warm, and brief. “I find that applies to diplomacy just as well as to the Force.”

He held her gaze as he said it, steady and unflinching. There was no wariness in him, only a quiet awareness — the kind that came from years spent walking Denon’s lower levels in simpler robes and simpler times. He knew what kind of power could be polished to a mirror finish, and Dominique Vexx was nothing if not refined.

A few years ago, he might have taken that smile of hers as an invitation to lean a little closer. Now, it was simply… a study in restraint.

He offered her a last nod before stepping slightly aside to survey the room — his gaze catching first on Myr, the quiet observer with the posture of someone always measuring exits, and then on Senator Del-Finn, whose pastels stood out among the galaxy's usual sea of self-importance. Fuel, charm, and new money — a dangerous mix.

A voice — calm and official — rang out near the central console. The moderator of the Exchange had stepped forward, arms raised in ceremonial welcome.

“The Celestial Exchange recognizes all present. Tonight’s agenda will begin with final deliberation on the Five Veils Trade Route’s dual point of origin. Skynara remains agreed upon by all parties. The debate now centers on the second node: Svivren, whose economy is tied to travel and tradition — versus Elshandruu Pica, whose resort interests have gained support from several major syndicates.”

Brandyn's fingers folded loosely at his front, thoughtful, diplomatic. He gave Dominique a glance.

“Curious,” he said aloud, tone mild but pointed. “Skynara’s certainty must be reassuring to the Skynara Trade League.”

A small smile flickered — not smug, but deliberate.

“Why the certainty?”

No accusation. Not even a tone of warning. Just a Jedi — formerly rogue, now responsible — keeping his voice calm in a room full of storm systems.

| TAG: Dominique Vexx Myr Dhurri Joran Del-Finn |

​

 

[Indra Quin]

Time was running out.

She could feel it in her bones, ticking like a silent countdown just beneath the pulse of the music. Any second now, Ala could reappear — starlight returned to cast her shadow aside. And Lorn… Lorn might finally see what stood in front of him wasn’t the woman he thought.

But Indra wasn’t ready to let go. Not yet.

Her grip on him tightened — hands smoothing along his back, then resting possessively at his hips, guiding him closer until no space remained between their bodies. She danced like a lock curling around a key, like proximity alone might rewrite whatever truth haunted her blood.

Her cheek brushed his chest. Her fingers curled slightly in the fabric of his coat. And then, she looked up. Not with innocence. Not with longing. But with curiosity sharpened by malice.

“Tell me something...” she murmured, voice a sultry hush against the hollow of his throat. “This Ala…”

She paused — just long enough for it to seem like part of the masquerade game. “The one you pine for. The one who makes you ache.”

Her thumb traced a lazy pattern against the edge of his spine. “What do you see in her?”

She didn’t laugh. Didn’t smile. Just watched him, drank in every blink and breath like a hunter reading tracks. And when he answered — when he inevitably bled truth in return — she would take that too. Because she was done watching others be cherished.

Just for tonight, he was hers.

She clung more possessively, hands sliding upward, bold and sure, framing his face with slow reverence — and then lower, over his chest, his waist, claiming every inch with the entitlement of someone who should not exist.

And with her lips at his ear once more, she whispered — not a question. A promise.

"Poor Ala. So many rules. So much restraint. But not me…" She pressed her lips to his jaw, breath warm. "We both want what you've been too loyal to move towards. Why linger here any longer?"

| Wearing: This | TAG: Lorn Reingard |​