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

[Alina Grayson]

Alina entered like moonlight after a storm quiet, composed, and undeniable. She stood at the threshold of the ballroom for only a moment, just long enough to let her presence settle. The evening's opulence caught her in full: a tailored gown of deep silver and white with subtle threading that shimmered like starlight, elegant yet severe. Her hair was woven into a crown braid, adorned with fine Naboo filigree, understated but precise. Every detail was chosen with intention.

Her mask a delicate lattice of mirrored silver and midnight blue obscured most of her face, but not the sharp clarity of her eyes as they swept across the crowd.

She moved with grace, though she didn't rush to join the dance or make her presence known. This was a night of veils and meanings beneath meanings. She would listen first.

That was when she saw him.

Even behind his mask, there was no mistaking the posture, the gait, the way he tilted his head when speaking to his partner. Aiden. Padawan. Jedi. The young man she had trained by a river not long ago and watched grow through flame and shadow.

She caught the last of the exchange as he bowed and offered a parting smile to the masked woman on his arm. The courtly gesture, the practiced charm it wasn't false, but it wasn't whole either. Alina knew what it looked like when someone's thoughts were elsewhere. She had spent enough of her life with half her mind somewhere she wasn't.

Her expression didn't shift, but something behind her eyes cooled just slightly as he turned and moved after Lorn, already reaching for his datapad. Always moving forward. Always with purpose.

And always a little too quick to leave something good behind.

She didn't call after him. Didn't interrupt. That wasn't her place.

But as she stepped fully into the ballroom and the light caught her profile just so, the faintest shadow of disappointment passed across her features so brief it might have been imagined.

She turned her attention to the dance floor, the flicker of music and mirrored motion ahead. The mask hid her face, but not her thoughts.

Perhaps another time, she thought, letting the music swallow the moment as she vanished into the crowd.

TAG: Aiden Porte + OPEN

 

[Lorn Reingard]

The Final Light​

Lorn felt it like a breath held too long finally exhaling through the Force, just a tremor, like starting to glass cracking. Not a scream, not a wound. A hollowing. For just a moment, a pulse of flickering impressions bled through her, into him.

A medic turning away. Eyes that were his but not. A Sith, stricken not with rage, but recognition. Ala.

The Force recoiled, confused. No clarity. No certainty. Just absence, the shape of trauma formed not from damage but design.

And then she kissed him.

His body stilled. He didn't pull away, not instantly, because instinct said protect, and because some part of him still hoped, maybe.

But the kiss was wrong.

Not bad. Not false. Just…empty. Like trying to light a fire when everything is damp. The heat he'd imagined for months, the warmth he had ached to feel if he ever kissed Ala, wasn't there. There was no current through the spine, no gravity shift. No stars behind his eyelids.

When she stepped back, the lack of it rang louder than any spark ever could. He opened his eyes slowly. And finally, it clicked, at least certainty in his mind.

This wasn't Ala. Not a version of her. Not a game. Not a moment of emotional confusion or masks at a masquerade.

This was someone else… wearing a face she didn't understand. Trying, and failing, to reach for something that wasn't hers to hold.

And if it was Ala, if by some cursed, twisted miracle, this was Ala-

Then something had been taken from her so violently, so thoroughly, that it had scraped the soul off the inside of her skin.

His voice, when it came, was gentle, but weighed down by something ancient. "…No," he said. "It's not bad. Wanting something real."

He looked at her. Not cruel, not angry, just heartbroken. "But that kiss… wasn't." He let the silence sit there. Honest and unbearable.

"I imagined, if I ever kissed her, I'd feel the whole galaxy tilt. Like someone finally flipped the switch on a part of me I forgot was waiting."

He exhaled, long and steady. "I didn't feel that."

And even now, it wasn't rejection in his tone. Just sorrow. Sorrow, and a slowly settling understanding.

"You're not her. And maybe you never were. But what you are… Indra... whoever. That's still something worth saving."

He stepped forward again, not to embrace, but to reach. Gently, firmly, he took her wrist, just like before. A steady, grounding touch. This time not to stop her, but to invite.

"Come with me," he said. "Let's figure this out. Together. I can't promise you answers. But I can promise you won't have to carry this alone."

He looked past her for just a beat, eyes meeting Aiden Porte across the room. Just enough for the young man to catch the unspoken signal: Stay close.

Then back to her. "Trust me, if you can. Just that much."

And he waited. Not pushing. Not demanding. Just offering. Like a lifeline in the dark.

Indra Quin​

 

[Aiden Porte]

The Final Light
Tags: Alina Grayson Lorn Reingard Indra Quin

The way things were looking now this was going to be a repeat of Life Day on the Peak. Aiden took a few easy and nice breaths, as he watched in exchange between the two. Aiden's gaze met with Lorn and he understood the message.

There would no doubt be much to discuss after this was all over. And he glanced down to his datapad and he hadn't gotten a response back from Isla, and he wasn't going to lie. He was getting a bit worried. But as he closed his eyes for a few moments, allowed himself to reach out with the force. Trying to see if he could feel Isla's presence, whether she was in trouble or not. And he was getting nothing, perhaps she was okay.

And then a very familiar presence came across his mind, as he glanced to the side. He could see Alina several feet from him. "Alina!" Aiden called out, not too loud, however there was a few people close to him that look his way. "Sorry.." He spoke sheepishly before glancing back towards Alina.

"Hey, I didn't know you were gonna be here. You look amazing." The Jedi spoke with a sweet and light tone. Glancing back to his friend Lorn and Ala not so Ala.

Aiden adjusted his hat just a bit before looking back to Alina. "Would you like to uh....." His fingers pointed towards the floor set for dancing. Several hand signals came up in just a few moments as he completely forgot what to say. He would blame it on the events that were transpiring right now. He felt like he was in a gundarks nest, more than he did now.

"Would you care to dance?"

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

"Enjoying yourself, man?"

The Noble cleared his throat a bit more, just enjoying the time out. It didn't necessarily have to be one filled with dancing and that sort of thing. Him just being out was the first step in actually having a social life outside of the Royal Defense Force. He was sure Sibylla Abrantes would be pretty happy if she saw him here.

For once, out and about.

A voice caught his attention as he looked over to see Balun Dashiell and his greeting to which Cassian responded promptly.

"Not too bad, my first night out in quite some time." Cassian said with a smirk as he took a drink from the glass, and raised it in response to his. Cassian then moved to stand up. If he made one new friend tonight, that would be good enough for him. "Cassian Abrantes, its good to meet you. Next round on me?" He spoke as he sat next to Balun.

"What brings you out today?" The Colonel asked, just to make simple conversation.

 

[Alina Grayson]

She hadn't expected to hear her name.

Alina turned at the sound, catching the way a few heads turned as Aiden sheepishly apologized. She blinked once, surprised by the sudden shift in tone from the tension that had been hanging over the floor like a blade moments before.

But as her gaze settled on him his expression familiar despite the mask, the slightly disheveled posture, the subtle awkwardness behind his gesture something in her eased. She hadn't been sure what she would find tonight. She stepped forward, the soft shimmer of her gown catching in the low golden light, and for a moment, the weight of uncertainty that had been hanging in the air dulled just a bit.

"Aiden," she said, her voice quiet but warm, the first smile of the evening finally reaching her eyes. "I didn't expect you to notice anyone in the room with that much going on." she teased lightly, her eyes following to the direction he had been headed toward Lorn.

Then she looked back at him, voice softening. "You look sharp," she added, teasing just faintly. She held his gaze for a moment longer, then extended her gloved hand toward his.

"I'd be honored."

The music played on elegant, intricate, just restrained enough to suit the masks and mirrors all around them. But in this sliver of space between heartbeats and chaos, between flickering chandeliers and the quiet tension building at the edge of the hall, Alina didn't move toward the conflict.

She stepped toward him.

Whatever storm still simmered behind the curtains could wait. Whoever she might need to be when the mask came off advisor, soldier, teacher none of that mattered right now.

Right now, Aiden had offered her a moment.

And she took it.

"Lead the way," Alina said softly, her fingers finding his with practiced grace, her expression calm but unmistakably warm.

TAG: Aiden Porte Lorn Reingard Indra Quin + OPEN

 

[Balun Dashiell]

DANCE OF VEILS
WEARING: Evening Suit
TAGS: Cassian Abrantes

"Not too bad, my first night out in quite some time." Cassian said with a smirk as he took a drink from the glass, and raised it in response to his. Cassian then moved to stand up. If he made one new friend tonight, that would be good enough for him. "Cassian Abrantes, its good to meet you. Next round on me?" He spoke as he sat next to Balun.

"What brings you out today?"

Cassian Abrantes seemed more than willing to engage, his easygoing demeanour matched by a quick decision to join Balun at the bar. He slid onto the stool beside him, the kind of casual gesture that in some corners of the galaxy might have sparked a fight—but not here. Naboo was different. Conversations flowed more easily in places like this, where elegance softened edges and people weren't looking for trouble in every passing glance. Balun had spent time in seedier systems—Nar Shaddaa came to mind immediately, a city-world teeming with crime and suspicion—but this was far from that. Here, people actually wanted to meet one another.

"Balun Dashiell," he offered with a nod, lifting his glass in greeting and flashing a welcoming smile. "How about you take this one, and I'll get the next?" he added, a courteous offer made out of habit more than necessity. He wasn't lacking for credits, not with his name attached to Dashiell Retrofit™, but if someone extended generosity, he believed in returning the gesture.

He took a sip, the whiskey still warm in his throat, before chuckling softly at his own expense. "Honestly, I figured this would be a good place to network a bit—meet a few potential business contacts," he admitted, then shook his head lightly. "But then I remembered I'm not much of a people person." The grin he wore made it clear he was being self-deprecating, even if there was a kernel of truth to the statement. Being in a room full of strangers wasn't difficult, but starting the conversation? That still took effort.

Fortunately, there had been a bar.

"You a local here, Cassian, or just passing through?"

"Speech".
'Thought'.

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic had always admired elegance when paired with intent — and Countess Annis Riyaré was, without doubt, a creature of both. He watched her speak, each word wrapped in silken provocation and barbed intelligence. A beautiful woman could stop a conversation. A powerful one could redirect its course entirely. Annis was the latter, and she knew it.

“How fortunate,” he said with a quiet smile, “that the only thing you could possibly wear also happens to be the one that unmakes the room the moment you enter it.”

He said it lightly, with that hint of indulgence always tucked behind his words, but the glance that accompanied it was deliberate — tracing the silhouette of her gown, and the weaponized confidence it was stitched from.

His thoughts flickered — unbidden — to a presence elsewhere on the floor. A dress that shimmered like galaxies, a gaze that had once held him still. Bastila. He trusted her to understand. Their arrangement was built on mutual clarity. They had promised as much. But what was the measure of clarity, truly, when weighed against the heat of perception? Against the cut of jealousy?

He turned back fully to Annis, grounding himself in the game at hand — because that was what this was. A game. And he meant to win.

“You speak of adaptation,” he continued, offering his arm with a gallant tilt of the head, “and yet, you navigate this room like someone born to rule it. Allow me, if only for a moment, to match your pace.”

His eyes gleamed, the flirtation unhidden now — not clumsy, but practiced. Polished. The kind that could pass for diplomacy in the right light, and something else entirely in the shadows between chandeliers.

“May I have this dance, Senator?”

The music swelled, perfectly timed — but of course it was. Nights like this didn’t happen by accident.

As he waited for her answer, he spared one last glance across the ballroom. Not to the mirrors. Not to the mural. But to the overlook beneath the Twelve Moons.

She was there.

And though Bastila Sal-Soren wore her mask with flawless grace, he could not help but wonder — just briefly — how far her understanding would stretch. And what might snap if pulled too tight.

Annis Riyaré Bastila Sal-Soren​

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

Brandyn said nothing as Vexx proposed rerouting the Five Veils northward to Denon. On the surface, it made logistical sense — the kind of clean, bureaucratic logic that often disguised deeper rot.

Denon was a city-world in name, but Brandyn had lived there long enough to know the truth: it was a hive of grey markets, shell companies, bribery chains — a place where illegal activity wasn’t the exception, but the economy. Anchoring a trade artery there would enrich plenty... but it would empower all the wrong hands.

He glanced toward Dominique — statuesque, unreadable — and found himself wondering: Was she in bed with the Skynara Trade League, or merely accustomed to cutting deals in the dark? Either answer chilled him.

A voice cut through the air — the Moderator, neutral and practiced.

“A most ambitious suggestion, Senator Vexx,” the Moderator intoned with a neutral smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “If you believe Denon’s inclusion would benefit the broader initiative, I encourage you to submit a formal proposal to the Route Committee for evaluation. As you know, all prospective alterations must be reviewed under the oversight of the Royal Assembly and passed through economic and security feasibility assessments.”

“Of course,” he added, with just the faintest hint of condescension, “we welcome all constructive input — regardless of the source.”

“Regarding security along the Five Veils route, that contract has already been awarded to the Tarsai Vigil. They will be tasked with escort patrols, anti-piracy sweeps, and local enforcement in accordance with sector law. Any questions or grievances regarding that selection may be addressed to the Royal Assembly Oversight Committee, as protocol dictates.”

Brandyn’s gaze slid toward Myr, who stood just beyond the ring of power like a polite ghost, velvet-voiced and predator-eyed. The question had been clever — veiled just enough to pass, sharp enough to cut. Brandyn gave the man a single small nod in acknowledgment.

“A fair question,” he murmured, just loud enough for Myr to hear. “Even if the answer raises more concerns than it calms.”

He folded his arms, the diplomat’s posture giving way to the Jedi’s restraint. He had spoken enough. Said too much already, perhaps. The Assembly could press further. He would watch.

And remember.

| TAG: Dominique Vexx Myr Dhurri fyi, Her |

​

 

[Aiden Porte]

The Final Light
Tags: Alina Grayson Lorn Reingard Ala Quin

"I didn't expect you to notice anyone in the room with that much going on."

Aiden chuckled lightly as he shrugged his shoulders lightly. "Yea well, someone's got to do the looking out around here." A small nervous look came over him as he glanced in between Alina and the situation he was currently dealing with. Aiden knew Lorn was more than capable of handling himself, however even with Alina's arrival, he wasn't going to leave him like this. Perhaps a dance somewhat close by would be in the cards.

"You look sharp,"

"I'd be honored."

"Thank you." Aiden said with a smile, as his hand gently enclosed around her own gloved hand. Leading them onto the dance floor. Hand moved to her waist, and the other held her hand still. "Thanks for accepting. It was getting pretty awkward for me just standing here by myself." The Padawan had to admit to himself, so him running into her how he did was indeed a sign. His body moved in an incredibly poised manner, and along with hers.

"How um, how are you finding things here. It's not so bad right?" Aiden said with a small smile, not entirely meaning here at the very moment. But more so in general. Every since she told him she would stick around Naboo, the Shiraya Order and such.

 

[Indra Quin]

She didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there. His rejection wasn't cruel — that made it worse. It was gentle. True. Forgiving in the way someone might forgive a shadow for not being the sun.

Her arms slowly unwound from him. Her face didn’t crumple. She didn’t scream or collapse. She simply stepped back with too much grace for someone breaking inside.

Her voice came soft. Stripped of seduction, stripped of the mask, stripped of whatever illusion she thought she could hold. “You think you know her.” The smallest flicker of something behind her eyes. “But she doesn’t know herself. Not yet. But she will.”

No venom. No malice. Just quiet conviction — and something deeper behind it. Something fractured. Something watching itself fall apart. She turned then, without flourish. Without drama. Just turned. And stepped through the shuttle bay doors.

The door hissed closed behind her — a soft sound, but it felt final. A wall. A veil.

Through the thick pane of reinforced glass, her features darkened. The flicker in her eyes dimmed to that now-familiar molten red. Her expression flattened. Hardened.

And in the Force, for just a moment, the quiet thrum of sorrow was drowned in a flare of darkness — coiled, restrained, but real. She didn’t look back. She walked to the shuttle.

Alone.

| TAG: Lorn Reingard |​

 

[Ala Quin]

The lift doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing Ala Quin—no longer in starlight, but in what appeared to be a borrowed catering uniform five sizes too big. Sleeves rolled, pant legs cuffed, curls frizzed from her sprint. She looked like someone who had fought the night itself... and lost.

In her hands: two nearly-warm milkshakes. Still intact. Miraculously.

She scanned the room in a minor panic, her heart skipping when her eyes finally landed on him.

Lorn.

A breath escaped her lips. She brightened instantly—shoulders lifting, eyes alight. All of her nervous energy folded into that radiant Ala-energy as she approached, holding one milkshake aloft like a peace offering.

“You didn’t stay put.” Her tone was playfully accusatory, softened by the sheepish smile tugging at her lips.

She thrust the milkshake into his hand with mild ceremony. “Here. I swear it was ice cold...half an hour ago.”

Then she noticed his expression. The way he looked at her. Her smile faltered for just a second.

“…Is it the outfit? Because I can explain.” She glanced down at herself and gave a breathy, embarrassed laugh. “I promise I didn’t give up on fashion entirely between then and now.”

But even as she said it, some small part of her hoped that wasn’t what he was seeing.

| Tag: Lorn Reingard |​

 

[Myr Dhurri]

「 Tag: Brandyn Sal-Soren | Dominique Vexx 」​

Expansions, reroutings, proposals. It was all just beyond his ken and Myr found that to be rather annoying. He did his best to not show this, of course, but he had to remind himself that he was not the one who processed data, he was the one who acquired it. Denon, though. That seemed an interesting choice, he knew little of the world but knew it to be similar to famed Coruscant — a world that is a city, an ecumenopolis. Worth a visit, he had never seen such a thing.

The Moderator brought him back. Formalities and paperwork, stuffy committees and countless tax dollars being spent on dinners and bottles of wine. He conjured up enough of a mask to politely bow his head into a nod.

"Thank you, I am sure that the Vigil will be of great comfort to myself and all other Spacers." Myr said, intoning softly-casual as he already began his withdraw.

He circled the outer perimeter of the nearby crowd and then moved slightly so till he was near Dominique and Brandyn. He would produce two flimsiplast identicards from within the mass of fabric that was his pants. Offering them over to the duo, he would swipe the surface with either thumb from left to right. Initially, they displayed a circular pattern in an alien language — recognizable as Umbarese for Shadowdancer Staryard to the knowledgeable observer — but after swiping on the surface and revealing them to be change flimsiplast, they had a small picture of Myr, his name, his hyperwave comm frequency and a list of services; information gathering, cargo hauling, transportation, and underlined was starship technical services. The Umbaran was a spacer with business cards.

"Myr Dhurri," he would affirm. "Independent contractor. If you ever have need of a skilled set of fingers, drop me a comm and I'll be there! No job is too small, no job is too weird." Myr spoke softly so as to not speak over the important proceedings but beamed them both a bright smile.

 

[Alina Grayson]

Alina moved with the poise of someone who had studied nobility from the outside in not born to it, but shaped by years of quiet observation. On her homeworld, she'd been a commoner, overlooked in corridors where titles carried more weight than truth. But from the shadows, she had watched her sister, Lunara Azure , walk those gilded halls with grace and certainty. Alina had learned not through mimicry, but through precision. Every step now, every line of her posture, was deliberate. Refined without ostentation. Measured.

As Aiden guided her onto the floor, she followed, letting herself be led. A dance was a trivial thing in the greater calculus of what they'd endured. She didn't need to lead unless he faltered. And if he did, she would.

"We definitely can't have you standing around idly. It would be a waste…"

"A waste of the effort you clearly put into the evening," she added, her voice warm enough to soften the edge. Her posture remained graceful and composed, but a subtle curve at the corner of her mouth betrayed a quiet amusement.

Her white and silver mask framed her face in soft contrast to the sharp clarity of her eyes cool, clear blue, unclouded by the glittering façade. The mask caught the light beneath the chandeliers, but it was her gaze that carried weight. Even as they moved, she was studying the room, absorbing more than she let on.

Her eyes drifted toward the edge of the ballroom, where Lorn Reingard stood near the other woman. The tension there was subtle, hidden under civility, but she saw it. She watched just long enough to read the set of his shoulders readiness, not alarm. When her attention returned to Aiden, it was with a quiet tilt of her head.

"Lorn's fine. For now." Her voice was low, meant only for him. "Focused. Controlled. Whatever this is, he hasn't lost his grip." She let the reassurance settle before adding, almost idly, "I think you can spare a few minutes for a dance." A knowing smile brushed her lips.

Still, her hand remained in his, and her body moved fluidly with his steps. Then, beneath her mask, she looked at him once more eyes steady, voice touched with something rare and teasing.

"I'm curious to see if you dance as well as you fight."

TAG: Aiden Porte Lorn Reingard Ala Quin

 

[Dominique Vexx]

Dominique lifted a hand and dismissively waved her fingers off to the side. "Why, I should hope so. It should be considered a crime if the initiative made a gross miscalculation as to how goods and materials shipped along this outstanding trade route got to the Core. Or how such things made their way from the Core to the edge of the galaxy. Why, tourism alone could be built, or crushed, by how easy it is for hungry souls to access such bountiful worlds." The lilac-haired Director smiled after she'd given her ever so polite reminder. "I will take this urgent matter to the Committee at the earliest opportunity."

No, certainly, Denon could not be that end of the trade route. Why surely the starport of... and the planetary transit hub of... And one should not forget the hyperlane convergence in... Did these people honestly believe Denon had grown to be an ecumenopolis by sheer luck? Or that two major hyperlanes crossed in its sector by chance? They were always welcome to try and go around the Authorities of Denon, of course. Of course. They would find that far more difficult than they no doubt consoled themselves with as they fell into slumber. If they wanted to play hard ball with a world that might bend over backwards for their image they should have plied this hyperlane in the Core where Courscant would wring their hands; Denon didn't wring their hands, they wrung their opponents' necks. Financially speaking.

They'd had a private warning shot after that station exploded. Now they'd had their public one.

As for the Myr Dhurri 's query, Tarsai Vigil was just the sort of name Dominique had come to expect.

Speaking of whom, the man made a bold decision to offer her and Brandyn Sal-Soren his business card. Dominique regarded it for a moment before she reached out to accept the contact information. His slogan was as equally unexpected as his advance as well. "You'd be surprised just how useful a skilled set of hands can be," she replied warmly after a moment. "I shall keep you in mind." Unlike the Umbaran, she hadn't tried to be quiet; nor had she raised her voice in the slightest. It was a bustling place where people spoke and deals were made.

Open​

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

The overlook was carved from marble and moonlight, sat high enough to see the whole of the ballroom yet far enough to be forgotten by it. Bastila stood there, still as the statues flanking her, the shifting galaxies of her dress catching every crystal-lit movement below like constellations drawn into orbit.

She saw him.

Not just the posture, the smile or the effortless charm he wore like a tailored suit but the intent beneath it. Dominic moved with precision, offering Countess Annis Riyaré his arm with just the right tilt of his head, just enough gleam in his eyes to make it feel earned. Polished. Golden.

But it was the timing of his glance that unraveled her.

Not the one he gave Annis. The one he gave her.

He looked to the overlook. To this overlook.

And she did not move. Did not blink. The mask she wore, the one of sculpted elegance, its metallic filigree laced with a nebula’s glow that shielded much. But not everything. Never everything.

Dominic knew that. He was good at the game. So was she. But there was a difference between strategy and surrender. And Bastila Sal-Soren had never surrendered in her life.

The jealousy, when it came, was quiet. Not the firestorm others might expect from a Sal-Soren, but something colder — sharper. It did not burn. It cut. And not because he danced with another, but because he meant for her to see it.

That, more than anything, was what churned the storm inside.

The flicker of betrayal in her chest wasn’t personal. Not yet. But it was promised.

She turned from the balcony, the hem of her dress whispering across the stone, flaring into colours of red and deep orange. Bastila gave one last glance, not at him, but at her; Annis. Draped in power like a second skin.

And then Bastila stepped forward, not into shadow, but toward the light.

Toward them.

She descended the marble staircase with measured grace, each step deliberate, each movement a quiet warning. The crowd parted instinctively, drawn by the impossible now practically furious shimmer of her dress and the gravity of her presence, she was like stars bending around a singularity.

She didn’t hurry. She didn’t need to.

He would feel her before he saw her.

And when he did, she intended to be close enough that even charm couldn’t save him.

“Master Trozky.” Bastila said with greeting. “Senator Riyaré.” She also offered, her tone failing to be hidden beneath the act. She was aware she had stopped their dance, aware that eyes were on her always. “Dominic. May I steal a word?” He would feel no request in her voice.

Dominic Praxon Annis Riyaré

​

 

[Aiden Porte]

The Final Light
Tags: Lorn Reingard Alina Grayson Ala Quin

"Lorn's fine. For now."

"Focused. Controlled. Whatever this is, he hasn't lost his grip."

The Jedi Padawan relaxed a bit, as he was getting into a small rhythm with the dance, finally relaxing full enough to give Alina a small twirl. He trust her, he trusted her words. Yet he wanted to see for himself, and then that's when he saw a very undressed Ala not Ala who was pretending to not be the other girl. Ala, could be seen carrying two drinks and had approached Lorn.

"I think you can spare a few minutes for a dance." A knowing smile brushed her lips.

"Well, I sure hope so...." Aiden smirked lightly as he looked to Alina with a small smile. A big change compared to their last few meetings, one being in a den of evil you could call it. And the other wasn't bad at all, just a day out by the river.

"I'm curious to see if you dance as well as you fight."

"You would be surprised." Aiden spoke with a small smirk and he winked at her. Being a bit more bold than normal, despite the ongoing chaos that was around them. "If something doesn't pull me away, I'm sure we can pick up the pace of this dance a bit more."


What do you want to do, Lorn... A subtle message sent through the force, as he glanced towards his friend.

He didn't like it, but this was a pressing matter in his mind at the moment.

 

[Lorn Reingard]

The Final Light​

Lorn didn't move right away. He stood there, watching through the shuttle bay glass as Indra's figure receded, her back straight, her steps calm. But something in that walk was too familiar. That was his walk. The one you use when you've got no one waiting. When you've buried the hope and stitched the soil down yourself. It wasn't just lonely. It was practiced. Worn like a uniform.

The darkness that flared from her, it didn't lash out. It didn't burn. It just was. Dense. Quiet. A gravity she was trying to live with.

And for all that she wasn't Ala, for all the pain and confusion she'd left behind… he still felt something twist in his chest as she disappeared into that shuttle.

He knew that kind of sorrow. It had lived in his bones too long not to recognize its kin.

The doors closed. And then, ding. The lift chimed behind him like the universe had decided it was done playing its games. Or maybe, that it was just starting a new one.

He turned. And there she was. Ala. The real one. In stolen clothes and radiant chaos. Holding milkshakes like it was a lightsaber she'd won in combat. It hit him like air after drowning.

She was flushed, frizzy, rumpled, awkward, and more real than anything had felt in an hour.

Ala Quin, imperfect and unapologetic. Full of life and light and far too much heart. The room shifted again, but this time it tilted back into place.

He couldn't speak at first. Just took her in. All of her. She tried to play it off with a smile, with humor that danced on nerves. But he wasn't smiling yet. Not quite. He took the milkshake from her hand, but not before their fingers brushed, just long enough to make her look at him again. Really look.

"Ala," he said softly.

His voice was different now. Less measured. A little cracked around the edges.

"…We have a lot to talk about."

He didn't mean it heavy. Just true.

Then, in the quiet of his mind, he reached for Aiden Porte through the Force. The boy had been hovering like a blaster at half-draw all night. Lorn didn't need to look to know it.

It's okay. She's here now. Focus on your date, kid. You're not the only one who gets to be nervous tonight.

A soft pulse of reassurance followed. Calm. Tethering.

Then he looked back at Ala, eyes a little shinier than he'd like to admit, milkshake still gripped in one hand like a lifeline.

Ala Quin​

 

[Alina Grayson]

Alina caught the shift in his focus not toward the woman, but beyond her. Toward Lorn. Even without reaching through the Force, she could feel the tension ripple through Aiden's frame. Subtle, but there. His thoughts were drifting, pulled by concern, not the rhythm of the music.

She leaned in just slightly as they turned through the next step, her voice quiet and edged with dry amusement.

"You know," she said, "for someone who asked me to dance, you're spending an awful lot of time looking at a man."

The words weren't harsh just gently pointed, delivered with the faintest curve of a smile. She didn't break step, didn't falter. She moved with him as though born to it, poised and elegant, every motion controlled.

"A woman might take offense," she added lightly, tone still teasing but deliberate enough to bring his attention back to her. "Though I suppose I can forgive it, just this once."

Her hand stayed steady in his, offering that same quiet assurance she had before. But her gaze, sharp beneath the shimmer of her mask, searched his face.

"I know you're worried. But Lorn's not made of glass. If he needed you, he'd say so." A slight pause. "Or shout. He strikes me as the shouting type, when cornered."

Then softer, almost conspiratorial now she let her smirk return, just barely.

"And I would hate to think I put this much effort into looking the part only for my partner to drift through the entire performance."

TAG: Aiden Porte Lorn Reingard Ala Quin

 

[Aiden Porte]

"You know,"

"for someone who asked me to dance, you're spending an awful lot of time looking at a man."

That was the difficult thing for him, more concerned with his friends well being than what was in front of him. He would go to great lengths to help them, even at the cost of his own personal happiness and peace. Some would call it a burden, while he called it


The comment made the Padawan chuckle, and then laugh. It was a good one, she had the talent to tease. He shook his head, before looking back at her. "Yea, your right. My apologies." His hand raised up as he lifted his hat just slightly, so he could lean in and give her a small kiss on the cheek. "Let's start over...."

It's okay. She's here now. Focus on your date, kid. You're not the only one who gets to be nervous tonight.

But its not one.... Aiden thought as he got a nervous knot in his stomach. We are just friends, its nothing like that.

"Or shout. He strikes me as the shouting type, when cornered."

"And I would hate to think I put this much effort into looking the part only for my partner to drift through the entire performance."

Her words brought another smile to his face followed by a laugh. "Stop, you didn't dress up for me." Aiden smirked as he broke their closeness with a series of gentle and easy twirls around the dance floor before he pulled her back in close for a pretty impressive dip, if he had to say so himself.

"You do look amazing, just once again for the record." He chuckled as they moved back into a slower rhythm that went with the music again.

Alina Grayson

 

[Alina Grayson]

Alina's breath caught just briefly when his lips touched her cheek. A gesture so simple, yet unexpected. Her steps paused for a heartbeat, not in protest but in surprise, a subtle widening of her eyes behind the silver and white mask. She hadn't anticipated that. And yet, in the quiet that followed, she didn't pull away. Her hand remained in his, her posture composed, eyes steady on his.

Then, with practiced elegance, she moved back into the rhythm of the music. If she stumbled emotionally, it was buried deep beneath layers of grace and refinement.

"You're lucky I've learned to handle surprises," she said, voice soft with amusement. "Another woman might've mistaken that for a very bold move."

But there was no edge to her words only the gentle tease of someone used to navigating expectations, not offended, but aware. Her head tilted slightly, giving him that sharp-eyed look from beneath her mask. It glittered in the light, but her gaze cool, clear, knowing, held weight.

Her fingers adjusted lightly on his shoulder as he drew her into a twirl, and then into that confident dip. She moved with the poise of someone who had studied nobility not as duty, but as skill grace learned through watching, refining. Her braid swung with the motion, before settling back into its place.

When he pulled her upright again, she leaned in slightly, just enough for her voice to carry between them.

A faint curve at the corner of her mouth softened the words.

"Thank you," she said, more sincere now. "For the compliment."

"You're not wrong," she added, her tone lowering with something more private. "I didn't dress for you."

A breath passed between them, her eyes still on his.

"You are the one who noticed though."

TAG: Aiden Porte