Junction Sun & Starlight [ME][TSO][THR] | [Empty Hex][TBD][Iphigin]

[Sovereign Echoes]

OOC Thread: Here
Invitation: Here
City Information: Here
Planet Information: Here
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The boats came in one by one in the late morning, the golden reflection along the sea, made it feel as if one had been brought across a sea of gold.

That was the thing about Gilaria at this hour, the way the light didn't so much fall as pour, thick and warm as honey, across the black-sand shallows and the long wooden jetty that reached out from the Vaimana's shoulder into the bright water. The Waihokai sun hung low and unhurried, and everything it touched it gilded: the lacquered hulls of the outriggers ferrying guests in from the orbital shuttles, the brass fittings of the resort rising terraced and pale-gold behind the palms, the foam where the tide turned over itself against the pilings. Somewhere a reef bird called. Closer, the water knocked gently at the dock, patient as a heartbeat.

It had been made easy to come here. That was the Commonwealth's way, and more particularly it was her way the Grand Vizier did not extend an invitation so much as remove every reason to decline one. Passage had been arranged. Codes had been issued, quiet and discreet, so that no guest need trouble themselves with the tedium of how they had come to be standing on a jetty, on a world at the edge of the Unknown Regions with sand already working its way into expensive shoes. They had simply been brought, as if they had been lifted from wherever they'd come from and set down here, in the warm, in the gold, with a cool drink finding its way into their hands before they'd quite found their footing. And for some, the ones who knew who they were, even the drink and the suite and the long bright days to come had been seen to entirely. Their expenses had been covered, and for those select few they'd see no bill for the week. That, too, was the point: hospitality so complete it became a kind of statement, generosity worn as lightly as the linen.

Down the shore, where the jetty gave way to the black-sand beach proper, the music had already started.

It came up under everything else, bright and buoyant, a tropical pulse that seemed to rise off the warm sand itself, bead-strung head-tresses catching the light behind a gold-trimmed booth, a Nautolan grin flashing as he leaned into the mix. DJ Koa Rel, Namadii's own, reading the shore like a tide table and finding it ready. The track he'd opened on was an old Gilari favorite given new shine, all sunlit synth and a chorus that didn't bother with cleverness because it didn't need to, a simple, stubborn, joyful insistence that whatever the galaxy took, this remained: the warm water, the good company, the light. A world that had been broken and rebuilt more times than it cared to count knew the value of a day like this one. So did the woman who'd arranged it.

The beach was filling. Loungers and cabanas in cream and coral stood open along the sand; the Reef Bar's lanterns waited, unlit, for a dusk still hours off. Servers moved through the gathering crowd with trays of something cold and bright and faintly impossible-looking. The day stretched ahead, long and golden and entirely without obligation, and beyond it, when the light finally turned, the terraces above promised lanterns, an orchestra, and an evening of an altogether finer sort.

But that was later. For now there was only the jetty, the gold on the water, the music on the wind, and the warm and open invitation in it:

Come ashore. Stay a while. You're among friends here.

The Grand Vizier would receive her guests presently.

For now, Gilaria simply welcomed them.

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DJ Koa Rel is spinning up some of the Commonwealth's favorite tunes!

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[Ivalyn Yvarro]

Ivalyn had already found her way to the Black Shore.

Her feet dipped into the cool give of the dark sand, the water not yet close enough to reach her but present in the way Gilaria insisted on being present, salt in the air, gold on the water, the particular quality of light that made everything feel slightly more permanent than it was. Merryn was at her side. And today, for the length of this day, neither of them wore their titles. She was not the Grand Vizier. Merryn was not the Chief of Operations for Aurora Industries. They were simply Ivalyn and Merryn, which was, she had decided, more than sufficient.

It had been some time since their honeymoon. Longer than she had intended. The calendar had a way of filling itself, and Ivalyn had a way of letting it. This trip had required a degree of arrangement which was to say, she had applied a certain quiet pressure to Merryn's assistant until the time had materialized on the schedule with the inevitability of a well-drafted treaty. Ivalyn maintained, with complete composure, that she had done no such thing.

Merryn had only rolled her eyes and agreed to come, contingent on one condition: no rescuing wayward creatures.

"I do not know why you would assume," Ivalyn had said, two weeks prior, with great conviction, "that I would rescue any more wayward creatures."

She had been, at that moment, concealing a dog she had acquired on Baralou. The dog had required concealment for approximately four hours before Merryn found it. Ivalyn remained of the view that this was not relevant to the terms of the agreement.

Now Merryn glanced over at her, unhurried, the ease of someone genuinely at rest settling across her features in a way that Ivalyn found, privately, without intending to, rather wonderful to witness.

"Relaxation looks good on you, Ives."

"Mhm." Ivalyn considered this with appropriate gravity. "I would argue many things look good on me, but I will accept the observation." She leaned over and kissed her briefly, light and uncomplicated, the kind of kiss that required nothing of either of them.

The Vaimana had not taken long to arrange the gathering, few establishments did, when the Grand Vizier arrived with sufficient sovereigns and a particular expression. The Black Shore had been prepared with the kind of quiet attentiveness that good hospitality produced without announcing itself. Music carried across the sand, unhurried, catching in the warm coastal air.

Merryn caught her hand and turned her, a neat, playful thing, the beat giving them an excuse.

"Humble and modest as always," she teased.

"A consistent virtue," Ivalyn agreed without missing a beat.

Merryn tilted her head, the smile doing something specific at its edges. "So. Would you care to explain how you've managed to gather members of the High Republic, the Mandalorian Empire, and the Sith Order on a single world?"

Ivalyn affected mild surprise, as though this were an unremarkable logistical observation rather than a reasonable question about something that had required considerable engineering. "A Grand Vizier cannot kiss and tell." She settled her arms around Merryn's shoulders, easy, unguarded in the way she was unguarded here. "Besides, let us not worry about the how. Let us enjoy the beach. The water is close." A pause, weighted with the particular gravity of a confidence about to be entrusted. "And tell no one I said this, but Maravaila's beaches are better than Vizcano Bay."

Merryn drew a finger across her lips. "Your secret is safe with me." She then leaned and whispered into Ivalyn's ear. "For now."

Ivalyn gasped, the performance of it deliberate and fond. "Scandalous. I would never be compelled to make such a comparison. It would be like asking me which child is my favorite."

"Darling." Merryn raised an eyebrow. "You only have your nephew."

"In theory," Ivalyn said, with the patience of someone making a point that did not require defending, "if we had children, and you asked me which was my favorite, I would not tell you. The same principle applies to planets and cities. They are all my favorites. It is merely a matter of when I visit."

"Or how often," Merryn said, perfectly flat.

Ivalyn opened her mouth. Closed it. Elected not to pursue the line of reasoning.

The sea glittered ahead of them, dark sand warm beneath her feet, the gold of Gilaria's morning doing what Gilaria's morning apparently always did making everything feel, just briefly, like it might last.

Merryn Sellek ​

 

[Lucette Raaf]

Viers Connory​

Lucy's hands found Viers', fingers threading through with the easy confidence of someone who had already decided how this day was going to go.

"Viers, I promise it's not hot," she said, soft and a little amused, her bare feet already settled in the black sand. It was cool underfoot, impossibly so for something that had been drinking in that much sun, she'd been surprised by it herself when they first stepped off the jetty, and the memory of her own expression made her want to laugh. "It's actually quite soft. You'll like it."

She tugged her gently closer, turning just enough to look up at her.

"They're making steak. Specifically for you." She said softly just low enough for Viers to hear. "I may have mentioned it once or twice in the planning messages."

The rest of it hung in the warm air between them the wedding that had apparently sent a quiet tremor through every branch of the family tree, the fact that Lucy was young by almost anyone's measure to be making this kind of decision, the planning that had colonized most of their recent mornings and several of their evenings. All of that was real and ongoing and would be waiting for them faithfully when they got home.

But today was Ivalyn's gift. Today had nothing to do with seating charts.

"No plans today," Lucy added, squeezing her hand. "Ivalyn paid for everything. We're just here."

Her gaze drifted down the shore, catching on a familiar silhouette her cousin, standing with her wife in the gold-drenched morning light, easy and unhurried in the way Ivalyn always managed to be when she was somewhere she'd built herself.

"There she is." Lucy nodded toward her with a small smile. "And I think that's Kai and Iskey coming up to the jetty now."

She glanced back at Viers.

"Come along, Viers."

 

[Balun Dashiell]

SUN & STARLIGHT
LOCATION: Gilaria, Maravaila Beachfront
WEARING: Beach Apparel
NPC: Luna (Merqaal)
TAGS: Ivalyn Yvarro , Lucette Raaf , +Others.

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Balun Dashiell was not typically one to attend social gatherings such as this, beach activities that he would typically reserve for only his family, keeping himself from such casual and carefree leisure within the public spotlight; However, the Dashiell's had been cordially invited, and though he had come to Gilaria also as a Jedi Knight, he had been making a greater effort to widen his social circle.

Frankly, it was astonishing to see the High Republic invited so deep into the Sith sphere, access beyond the blackwall typically reserved for those of the Darkside and the fortunate few who had the clearance to travel undisturbed. As a Jedi, Balun had seen this as an opportunity for potential diplomacy and study of the other Galactic Powers that be, particularly those who were often at odds with the High Republic. Taking up the invitation was something of a risk for the Jedi, unlike his father or brother, who were strictly corporate-focused; however, when offered a chance to encourage peace even among the Order's opposition, someone with his ideals could not decline. Too easily were wars started between the governing giants of the Galaxy, and too few were times such as this, where the Jedi ought to see promise in the prospect of peace, temporary as it were.

Throughout the journey to Gilaria, Balun had shared transit with others, using the public fareway for the sake of the affair. When they had neared their destination, the Jedi Knight had moved to his private quarters of the ship and changed out of his formal wear, reserving the white and gold robes of the Order for the Gala to be held later that evening. What he wore now was much better suited to the tropics, light tan shorts and an undershirt of the same tone worn beneath a pale summer tabard-robe, still bearing a fairly close resemblance to his everyday Jedi wear.

And he was not alone, for the small critter that shot up and around his leg, scrambling her way up his torso and onto his left shoulder, was Luna, his Merqaal friend who had come along to experience the new world. It had been quite some time since she had left the residence on Jhaessa Prime, and she was rather agile and resilient when it came to fieldwork; thus, Balun had anticipated her enjoyment of a more peaceful and luxurious time in the sun. The two shared an uncanny bond unlike anything Balun had found in other creatures. She was loyal and able to understand his commands, incredibly intelligent for what some might have considered a house pet, and, truthfully, the Jedi Knight could not have overcome past struggles during his independent years without her.

Their arrival at the Black Shore would see the Jedi Knight step onto the dock, appearing entirely underdressed for his station, and yet, as he glanced skyward beneath the rays of sunshine, he could not help but smile to himself, enjoying the warmth and salt air of the seaside. "This is certainly a change from our norm...", he spoke to his perched friend atop his shoulder, Luna, who turned away from the many people passing them by to regard Balun with a gruff chirp and deep clicks of her throat.

His first stop would be the bar, and from there, Balun would look to see who would join the crowd gathering for the rare and beautiful occasion.

Former Mentor: Ala Quin
Jedi Apprentice: Cerys Dyn
Major Faction: The High Republic
Sub-Faction: Jhaessa Prime
Conglomerate: Dashiell Incorporated™
Subsidiary Company: Dashiell Retrofit™​

"Speech"
'Thought'​

 

[Darth Prazutis]

Outfit

The shore had changed color beneath Him.

From above, Gilaria had been a jewel set in dark water, all turquoise shallows and volcanic black arcs, the resort rising from the coast in terraces of pale gold and sun-warmed stone. From the boat, it became something stranger. The sea itself seemed molten, every slow roll of the tide catching the low Waihokai sun until the world between vessel and shore was not water at all, but hammered gold. The outriggers cut through it in silence, lacquered hulls whispering over the glittering skin of the bay, ferrying guests toward warmth, music, and the polite fiction that power could set its burdens down for an afternoon.

The Dark Lord of the Sith didn't believe in such fictions.

He sat near the rear of the boat, vast and still beneath the shade of a dark canopy, one arm resting along the polished rail as the resort drew closer. The others aboard spoke softly, or not at all. Some because they knew Him. Others because instinct had taken them by the throat before knowledge could. He was dressed for the shore, though even stripped of warplate and court regalia he didn't look diminished. Black swim trunks, cut clean and severe, bore deep crimson panels along the sides and narrow gold edging that caught the light only when He moved. Across His bare torso the sun revealed what armor usually concealed: A body built like a siege engine given flesh, powerfully muscled, scarred across chest, shoulders, arms, ribs, and legs by more years of violence than most dynasties survived. Sith tattoo markings wound over him like old vows burned into skin.

A black towel lay over one shoulder, heavy and fine, its underside a deep shade of crimson. It wasn't casual, despite its purpose. Nothing about Him ever truly was. The boatman kept his eyes forward. Prazutis didn't fault him. On the jetty, the welcome had already begun. Resort attendants waited in linen and gold, bearing cold drinks on polished trays. Music drifted over the sand from farther down the beach, buoyant and bright, some local rhythm turned festive beneath the hands of the Nautolan DJ whose grin seemed designed to disarm an entire coastline. Guests laughed. Sandals struck wood. Somewhere, someone had already decided this would be a story told fondly later, when the galaxy once again remembered how cruel it was.

The Sith Lord stepped from the boat onto the jetty, and for a moment the mood around Him bent.

It wasn't dramatic. No thunder cracked, the gulls didn't scatter and the music didn't stop. Yet the space nearest Him seemed to remember weight. A server approaching with a tray slowed by half a step, then recovered with admirable professionalism. A pair of dignitaries from some distant system paused mid-conversation, their smiles faltering before they learned to wear them again. The sun gilded everyone equally, but on the Shadow Hand it looked less like warmth and more like tribute. He accepted a drink because it was offered well. Dark red, cold, bitter beneath the fruit. Suitable.

The Vaimana rose behind the palms, graceful and immaculate, all terraces, shaded balconies, and polished hospitality. The Grand Vizier's hand was evident in every detail: The smoothness of arrival, the absence of inconvenience, the generosity so complete it became undeniable. No ostentation was wasted. No slight was permitted. Even leisure had been made efficient. Prazutis could respect that. Power didn't always need to announce itself with fleets, armies, or fire. Sometimes it revealed itself in the quiet removal of obstacles. He walked from the jetty down onto the black sand. It gave beneath His bare feet, warm from the morning sun. The sensation was almost absurdly ordinary.

The hiss of foam crawling up the shore and withdrawing again. His shadow stretched long across the beach as He moved past cream cabanas and coral umbrellas, past guests who tried not to stare and failed in various degrees of politeness. He didn't look toward them. Their curiosity was natural. Their caution was wiser.

A place had been prepared, not ostentatious, not private in the manner of a fortress, but appropriate for an honored guest. A luxurious resort lounger of dark polished wood and charcoal cushions stood beneath a black parasol whose crimson underside stained the shade faintly red. Beside it waited a simple side table, tasteful and ordinary, bearing a second glass, a small bowl of cut fruit, and enough empty space for the things He carried with Him even to paradise. From within the fold of the towel He withdrew a compact case and set it down. It was a rectangular case of blackened metal. The surface was marked by faint red lines like cracks through volcanic stone, and at its center rested a subdued Sith sigil, not bright enough to call attention from across the beach, but unmistakable to anyone near enough to matter. He opened it with his thumb. Inside lay the Ashes of Malachor, arranged in two precise rows, each wrapped in charcoal-dark paper with a thin crimson band near the end.

The scent rose dry and mineral. It smelled like ash, bitter spice, and scorched herbs. Prazutis took one of the long cigarillos, then the matte-black plasma igniter beside the case. A red stud clicked beneath His finger. The narrow flame that answered was crimson. The first draw burned dark. For several seconds the smoke coiled almost black from the end, then thinned into gray-red ribbons that drifted low before the ocean wind took them apart. He settled into the lounger beneath the parasol, one arm laid along the cushion, the other holding the smoke between two fingers. The towel was positioned over the back of the chair. The drink rested close at hand. Sunlight burned gold beyond the shade while music moved over the beach in bright, careless waves.

He looked, for all the galaxy, like a man at rest.

Those who knew better understood the difference. A blade in its sheath did not cease being a blade. Prazutis watched the boats continue to arrive one by one across the golden water, watched guests step laughing into the Grand Vizier's invitation, watched the shoreline accept them all with warmth enough to make lesser beings forget themselves. His eyes, faintly red beneath the parasol's shadow, followed the movement of the crowd with calm and ancient patience. For now, the Sith Lord allowed Himself the shore, the smoke, the drink, and the sun, and took a long drag of the cigarillo, blowing rings of smoke into the air.

Lucette Raaf | Ivalyn Yvarro | Balun Dashiell | Open​

 

[Dreidi Xeraic]

Outfit: Beachwear
Tags: OPEN

Dreidi had been recommended taking a few days break. Something that takes her away from Dathomir, where she had been pooling her focus, the attention of her being the rescue of her mother. However, things were taking time. Longer than Dreidi would have liked, but she decided that having time away and relaxing on a planet so very different to the one that she belonged to would do her good. Dreidi breathed in deeply as she inhaled the salty seawater, a beach location had not been where Dreidi intended to find herself during her attempts to relax but it was something that Dreidi realised that she had not found herself enjoying before today. At least not in a relaxing manner, Aileni had always been too eager to play and explore for Dreidi to have a moment rest when he was a young child at the beach.

Humming along to the songs, Dreidi was curious in the type of music that the DJ was playing, she was not looking to dance. Not yet at least, but she did enjoy some of the songs that were being played. Dreidi was in line for a drink and it was amazing that anyone could not lose their mind in queues. They moved far too slow and the boredom was insufferable. The witch was far too adjusted to fast pace life, action around the corners and danger lurking in the shadows. Standing patiently seemed the complete opposite of what a person should do.

The line did move enough eventually that Dreidi could place her order in. "Glass of red wine." Dreidi stated, taking her drink to the lounge chair that Dreidi had secured and settled into her spot. Reclining in the chair, her golden eyes scanned around to see who else was coming to a spot like this. Taking a slow sip of her wine, Dreidi smirked to herself a little.

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Tags: Open
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Extravangant, incredible, phenomenal....Elian couldn't quite figure out which word could be used to explain the place he was in. Elian had been exploring, not for fun, but knowledge. The engineer corps of the Commonwealth on Dosunn had piqued his interest, pretty greatly. He made a stop, not even a week ago before he found himself here on Gilaria.

The Commonwealth had stuck out to him for various reasons, the primary being the Engineering field. He felt if he could get some ground here, he could learn so much more than what he knew already. Yet the learning for now had been put to the side, as he wondered the beach, shorelines, and the ocean. The wind was just right, it was everything one could have wanted for a vacation, or even a place to relax. So he walked, drink in his hand. He managed to persuade the Abrantes Guard to take an evening off, if he got stolen or kidnapped like his brother did. Well, at least they had the good Abrantes left.

Elian raised the glass up and took a small sip, the wind whipping around him. Was there really any place better to be?

 

[Cali Ziiva]

Friends! Open | Kasir Dorran
Objective: Have a Good Time

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First came the fingers. Then the tufts of hair. Lastly, the face-splitting grin. Cali had 'hupped' herself up the front of DJ-man's booth to peek over the edge at the setup. Her eyes darted all around the gear present. And, yes, she could have used the back stairs the Nautolan used, but where was the fun in that? This was a pa~r~ty!

Two fingers popped up a second before the Pink Zeltron dropped out of view.

Neat setup. She'd already scoped out the speakers.

She danced from one foot to the next as Cali made her way back through the crowd. Arms in the air, her pink mane of hair swayed to the beat. There were countless giggles as she bounced and danced up along other guests. Nothing lewd, but there were a few that got down and dirty with their bad selves. Naturally, the Zeltron pointed at them with nodded with laughter at such displays. Why shouldn't people cut loose? This was a party. People were going to get so wasted they might actually let go of their inhibitions.

It wasn't Zeltros, but it was pretty good for not being Zeltros. Always nice to see other people getting the message to not work so much. Entertainment venues were as important as shipyards!

With a twirl, Cali swiped a drink and downed a healthy portion. Bright eyes swept over the area. She was caught between the idea of playing more with those in desperate need for company, and those that totally didn't want any (but that just showed how much they needed it). Just Zeltron things.

 

[Helena Cross]

An incredible feeling of déja vu came over Helena Cross as the boat approached the jetty, sea spray occasionally misting her olive complexion. Her dark hair was tucked up into a neat bun under a wide-brimmed white hat that matched the white linen of her sleeveless day dress. Not that she had been to this resort before -- she had not -- or even to Gilaria before. But she had definitely been to this sort of place before, the kind of resort where the exclusivity was a feature that they couldn't quite come out and state.

It would be bad press to say tired of mingling with the poors? Come here! They're not allowed!

Helena was not troubled by the exclusion. Moralizing was hardly in her job description, and hypocrisy even less.

She spent a frustrating few moments trying to remember what Gilaria reminded her off before the boat arced gracefully toward the jetty's dock, and momentarily Helena was taking the hand of an attendant who helped her off the boat. Not that she required the aid, but she knew better than most how to blend at a place like this. Her hand slipped into the nude leather of her handbag and offered a few crisp bills for the man who greeted her and would arrange for her luggage to be delivered to the appropriate room.

"Thank you," she murmured once the bills changed hands, and then she was turned loose to the black shore.

The first order of business was the bar. She approached, waited her turn, and then slipped off her sunglasses. "May I have a club soda and lime, please?" She glanced at her room key and showed the bartender the number, then stood to one side to wait, absently fingering a dark pendant hanging around her neck as she surveyed the scene: people arriving, settling in, getting drinks, wandering the beach.

It felt like a bit of a motley crew. That suited her purposes just fine.

She slid her sunglasses back on.

Alistair Sterling​

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Cali Ziiva | Open
Objective: Why am I here? I shouldn't be.​

Salty air clung to pale skin as Kasir arrived onto Gilaria's beach, with much regret coiling through every muscle. First mistake? An invitation sent by his own hand. That little impulse should've told him he was already in trouble. Events like this weren't his element. They had never been. A sensory assault to be certain. The crowds, music, all of it a grating cacophony. Fortunately, Sangnir biology could handle sunlight; preference simply lied.. elsewhere. Like Mustafar. Volcanic ash and shadows, with enough Dark to stir ancient veins alive. The fact he actually enjoyed that volcanic hellscape with its rivers of fire should've said plenty about how he felt now.

Black tunic, black shorts, obsidian hair drifting like spilled ink across sharp cheekbones. Most passerby were in vibrant colors; only he appeared draped in midnight. Even so, this was the closest thing he owned to 'beachwear.'

A chill slithered down the spine, heralding a Sith Lord's presence nearby. Something pressed at the scar across his chest, a memoir of the banner on Alvaria of which he'd been impaled upon. No need to look though.

Posture was rigid and he moved.. too quietly. People instinctively shifted out of his path. A pair of dancers swerved close; reflexes of predation coaxed a lithe sidestep. That was when he saw her, the Pink One hauling herself up a booth like some sugar-high loth-cat. The DJ may have not blinked, but Kasir certainly did.

With time dilating, his final stride stopped a few feet short, safely out of hugging range, of course. Words fell from dry lips. ".. Hello, Cali." The assassin's veneer softened in fragments before return to a mask made of marble. Eyebrows flicked toward familiar wild curls. Next, a hesitant murmur. "You're very bright today." Meaning the Zeltron's full and overwhelming spectrum he tried repelling back on New Cov.

Head tilting, courtesy veiled curiosity. "I think you have sand in your hair?"