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

[Annis Riyaré]

Annis Riyaré, Countess of Lopenthé, Senator of Naboo

Location:
Gear: Voidstone bracelet
Tag: Bastila Sal-Soren Dominic Praxon

Spoiler: wearing

She let Dominic dance with her, leading her into the dance floor and enjoying the feel of his arm around her waist. He was a good dancers, which went very well with his handsome good looks and his pleasant aroma.

Annis saw the Sal-Soren woman approaching, moving with grace, elegance and a mission. She smiled happily to see the other noble woman "Lady Sal-Soren" she said with a polite nod of her head as she greeted them and then none to subtely interjected herself into their dance. Dominic is it? Interesting. The back and forth glances had given her suspiscion but the first name and the immediacy of its use clarified it more for her. Annis knew that woman, she had been that woman and seeing this stirred up the witch inside her. But she wouldn't allow her emotions to rise out and let Bastilla have that power when she was so clumsily playing her hand.

"Oh, of course Mr Praxon, dont let me stop you. It must be terribly urgent for the lady to interrupt our dance like this." she smirked and gently bowed as she took a step back from Dominic. As Bastilla took his attention she found herself swirling her finger round in circles in the top of her glass like a witch mixing so much ichor.

 

[Ala Quin]

For a moment, Ala was all bounce and brightness. She grinned up at him, cheeks flushed and curls frizzed with the stubbornness of someone who refused to be defeated by time, weather, or dairy-based disasters. “Okay... but you’re still drinking that. Because I fought the galaxy for that shake.”

She gestured vaguely at herself with the hand still holding her own cup. “And if you hate the outfit, please know I had a whole... plan. With a dress. And a dramatic return. There was even a joke about milkshakes bringing Jedi to the ballroom but I spared us both.”

She gave a small, breathless laugh, but her eyes flicked over his face again. He wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t even smiling.

And slowly, something changed in her expression. Just a flicker. Barely visible. But real. The light dimmed behind her eyes as the possibilities caught up. What if this wasn’t funny to him? What if she’d ruined everything by being herself?

She stepped back half a pace. Just enough to give space. Just enough to brace for it.

Her fingers tightened around her milkshake. She took a long sip, partly to give herself something to do—partly to keep from saying the wrong thing too fast. Then, she spoke softly. “…You’re about to end this, aren’t you?”

Another sip. Her throat moved once. “Not that it’s a thing to end. But if you are… just—just get it over with. Say it. I can take it.”

Her voice didn't break. But it swayed—like it wanted to. She looked down. Then up. She was still smiling. A little. Because Ala Quin always smiled. Even when it hurt.

| Lorn Reingard |​

 

[Lorn Reingard]

​

Lorn didn't answer her right away.

He just stood there, milkshake in hand, watching the way her smile fractured at the corners like glass trying not to break. The way she pulled back, half a step, half a world away. The way her voice held steady when everything else inside her clearly wasn't.

His throat tightened.

Not because she said something wrong. But because she thought she had to.

Because Ala Quin, the brightest damn thing to stumble into his life when he wasn't even looking, was standing there preparing to be left. Preparing for disappointment. Preparing for him.

That was what cracked it.

Lorn took a sip of the milkshake. It was warm, hopelessly melted, more milk than shake. He tasted half-hearted chocolate and some faintly sour hope. It made his lips twitch.

"Oh..." he murmured, tone deadpan.

Then he looked at her again. Really looked.

She was bracing for it, the way she always did, with her shoulders squared like she was facing a firing squad of expectations and trying to beat them with charm. That stubborn curl on her lip. That desperate little joke hiding in her throat. Her fingers white-knuckling a sad, sweating cup like it could keep her from unraveling.

She didn't know it, but she was trembling.

Lorn's hand moved before his mind did. One step. Then two.

"Ala," he said, softly, sharply. Just enough weight to stop her next breath.

She blinked. Looked up.

And he kissed her.

No warning. No preamble. No battle plan.

Just warmth.

His hand found her jaw, thumb brushing just under her ear, steadying her as his lips met hers with the kind of gravity that had nothing to do with force or fate. It was firm, grounding, and desperately real. It didn't ask. It didn't explain. It anchored.

And stars, there it was.

The tilt. The rush. That fire behind his ribs that lit like a thousand stars going nova in perfect silence. The thing he had waited for. Imagined. Doubted. Hoped. It hit like home.

He pulled back just barely, his forehead resting lightly against hers, his voice low, shaken, but certain.

"You are not the thing I'd ever want to let go of."

A breath or two more.

"There was someone here. With your face. Same everything. But it wasn't you." His brow furrowed. "I don't know who she is, but I think she's in trouble. Or maybe… she is trouble. I don't know."

His hand was still on her cheek, his thumb moving in a slow circle. "But I thought I'd lost you. And for a second, I believed it."

He stepped back just enough to see her eyes again, searching them. Needing this to be real. This light. This wild, perfectly imperfect force of nature in a catering uniform and two tragic milkshakes.

He exhaled. Then smiled, finally.

"You are exactly the storm I want."

And this time, he held on.

Ala Quin​