Faction The Coronation Ball [First Order | Invited Guests]

[Pom Stych Tivé]

OBJECTIVE: Drink
​

The First Order. Now here is a place the Mistress Pomstychtivé never imagined she would return, after the mysterious disappearance of Kyrel Ren. Never had his spirit spoken a single word, he just vanished as completely as he once closed off his mind to this one. She could not shirk the nostalgia, for her son Jin held interest in his father's life.

Pom was led in a different direction than Kyrel determined prosperous, at first to protect the sanctity of the Nightsisters and Dathomir. That spark which initiated, she tended and evolved into a flame. It ravaged, without words ever spoken, without Magickal influence. The inherent flame simply exists. She would be lying if she said she did not contain it, for the more it rages on within, the more she discovers herself changing with the tide.



It had not been since her time among the CIS as the Vicelord's personal security agent, that she had been to any elegant gathering. Her position as eternal wallflower to which she had grown quite accustomed then, suited her equally as well here today. International customs she has long labored over in attempt to learn. She felt as awkward on the inside, as she anticipated she must appear on the outside.

There is one good thing about being in a room where nobody intends to hack off anyone else's limbs for sport, that means there is a b!tchin well stocked bar.

The Dark Lord's Mistress wore her usual style safeguards. She never leaked her secrets regarding how she carried herself without any justifiable fears. She could be frisked on any regular day, and nothing at all conventional would be discovered upon her ivory flesh, along with nothing suspicious; which she figures is quite suspicious in itself. People commit suicide with shoe laces, pencils and shards of glass. It's just the facts. In fact, just to humor the guards, to lead them to assume she is a regular gal, Pom carried conventional weapons and presented them to security upon her entrance, even nearly forgetting a knife tucked into her boot, which they discovered with their metal detectors, becoming satisfied with her undoing before permitting her join the festivities. This intrigued her. Apparently she had figured out something crucial regarding culture afterall! A smirk found her lips when she reminisced about just how she handled the Mandalorian Alor, even with herself succumbing under the spell of the Ysalamiri. But all in all, she would rather play nice tonight anyhow, afterall the more everyone believes they understand about her people, the less any of the off-worlders are going to be found tromping across Dathomir with the intent to her out.



Quiet and alone, she sat. No drink could prepare her to withstand what crept into her line of sight. On one hand there is Darth Metus and other CIS, but more surprising, Loske Treicolt . The Sorceress found herself actually trembling. She set down her glass immediately. The Jedi is in the possession of Pom's amulet of protection. It was given to Loske when Pom's spirit was threatened with redemption, and Spasa was a living breathing lifeform. That amulet is not one Pom would give away to just anyone! It grants Loske a magickal connection to the Nightsisters, Pom could no longer justify sharing such tokens. The Light she knew which threatened her stability back then, had been snuffed out quite some time ago.

The first Force Power she ever learned is Malachia. She gazed over her shoulder, and discovered what she is feeling isn't the result of any chaotic balancing in the Force affecting her tonight. It is just her overworked system, set to the task of sprouting another leaf upon the Zambrano family tree.

Considering how she feels, Loske appears far worse for wear. The Nightsister rose from her place at the bar and stopped before her old sister, the one Jedi she truly never could feel prejudiced against.

Pom sighed before smiling while she took Loske's hands into her own in greeting. When she did so she pricked the other woman's palm with one of the many rings upon her finger. "You should feel better soon," she commented, knowing Loske might remember a little about how Pom operates.
​

_____________

_____________​

 

[Kurayami Bloodborn]

It seemed that Mishel Kryze and Alkor Centaris were taking their time in getting here, though that wasn't overly surprising as the Force was suppressed within the gathering. Certainly a bit of an annoyance even if only a minor one in the grand scheme of things. It did make sense that such measures would be in place given the number and ability of Force users from various backgrounds that were on the guest list. Kurayami shrugged and threw back what was left in the glass as he went to check his datapad once more for any new messages. Nothing that he had missed, alright that certainly made things easier. Sliding the datapad back into his pocket he looked up and scanned the bar for his cousin and Mishel. While he hadn't caught sight of either of them yet, he noticed two figures at the entrance heading towards the counter. He looked away a moment before curiosity made him look back to see if he could determine what drinks they were ordering.

Finding out wouldn't have to wait long as the pair approached his table and took their seats. As soon as they had Kurayami glanced between the two, smirking as he greeted them. "I am quite happy to see that both of my plus ones made it tonight. It was getting rather boring here drinking alone again. Too much politics and other mind-numbing topics being discussed tonight. Sure, there are many powerful players on the galactic stage out there, but why should I care? Hell, I'm basically an officially unofficial member of this whole shebang. I train pilots for them, I help test new starfighters, maybe on occasion design or build one for 'em. That's what I get paid for outside the obvious shtick of helping them out with air support or some other support role in combat. No rank in any branch, honorary or otherwise. Just straight creds basically and it ain't hard work either. "

Pausing a moment He watched Mishel set the drinks down on the table as the smirk widened to a playful grin. "Given the way you set all this up, it looks like you may be inviting my cousin and I to a drinking competition. Can't say it's the smartest thing that you ever done, but it'll be a great story for later that much I can promise you Mishel. So what are we starting with?"

Kurayami then shifted his attention to Alkor for a few moments. "So I take it you got my message? Don't worry too much about flying drunk, I mean it may not be a well known fact, but every time I have helped them out with expanding their cloud of influence, I have been at least right on the edge of completely intoxicated. Whether that was flying alone, providing air support, a bombing run, transporting civvies/troops, or whatever other duty they had me on that day, so just don't make it too obvious and you are good. Granted at least one Moff and the Supreme Leader are probably both aware of such a proclivity, just gotta be careful to not off any friendlies."

He reached out and slid one shot glass of the Prosperian River Beer and the Binary Suntwist to himself, waiting until Alkor and Mishel both had their own glasses of each before picking one up and raising it to them in a salute.

 

[Gunnar Madine]

Such events held limited value to the casual observer, it was fortuitous that Gunnar was anything but. Representatives from nearly all corners of the galaxy had gathered here this eve to wish well the so claimed, resurrected Natasi Fortan - Mother of the Order. The Commander's skepticism had served him well and the circumstances here had been no different so far as he'd seen but he was committed to the First Order just as the rest of them. Order amidst chaos, an Imperial bastion of all that was true and good in the galaxy despite the shadows and malicious actors which populated the greater galaxy. The wide mouthed glass in his hand clinked slightly with the two - exactly two - cubes of ice floating adrift in the whiskey it held. "Well, it's been good to catch up Moff Aximand - I do however have another obligation. Cheers." he raised his glass in the other man's direction with a feigned smile and nod, following with a quick sip of the amber liquid. Prick. On the one hand he couldn't really blame the Moff for his barbed statements about the First Order's military apparatus, they were far from a polished warfighting machine but on the other hand there was little to prevent Commander Madine from taking his statements personally. Of course, the kinds of operations Gunnar and his soldiers carried out weren't often revealed to the general public, such was the nature of FOSOC.

Stepping away and between several groups of officials bearing various adornments and sigils on their uniforms Gunnar meandered his way towards the edge of the room for a moment, eyes sweeping across the faces of those present and picking up snippets of conversation along the way. Nothing terribly interesting, for that was also the nature of such social gatherings - specifically of this magnitude. The people here were well restrained, disciplined - there would be no loose lips at this gathering. At least, not in the conventional sense. The thought sent a smile playing at the edges of his lips. His own black uniform blended in with several others though the devices and cut wore slightly different than that of the security detail such as Bellam Malhan 's. While FOSOC as an organization was considerably more incognito than the Stormtrooper Corps it was far from a state secret. For the moment he was content to observe the goings on however that would change and when it did, he would make his move. These gatherings may have been more docile than most but Gunnar was never one to let a good opportunity slip by.

 

[Xobos Yakieer]

Location: -
Equipment: Illyria Knight Armor, Knight Saberstaff, Miralukan Eye Mask
Mental state: Silent.
Tags: | Alessandra Creed | Adron Malvern | Freyu Molidias |

It only figured that her first time off of Illyria after earning herself the title of a Sith Knight was not on some mission of the more…sith priority, but instead a party bodyguard job. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t grateful, entrusted to come along on such a job, but there was the slight twinge of disappointment that had ran through her body at the idea of such a dull night.

That being said, it was only for a moment that her mind wandered to such places, and only in secret. She was beginning to grow older past her glory hunting, action needing days. Perhaps a night in, working as a bodyguard duty would return her to her roots well enough. It would have been nice to drag a certain pink alien along with her, but for all she knew, Cali would be more of distraction than the actual possible enemies at this thing would be. She was probably having a good night in with the apprentice pair, probably, both of which were more than likely happy to have a night off from training and spending it with the aunt of the manor.

The more she thought about it, the more she definitely knew that Cali would have been a distraction during a night where distractions might abound.

A gentle hum from the engine of their speeder was the only sound to break through the relative silence that had permeated from within it during their journey to the venue. It allowed Xobos the time so sit with one leg up, head bowed slightly as a light mediative haze took over her mind. Meditation was her place to retreat to during any trying time, and while this was no such thing, it was a good place for her mind to wander to at the beginning of the night. Even before coming to place, Adron had provided his apprentice with a light sketch of the building the party would be held in. She rotated the plans over in her mind again and again, consciously allowing the exits, entrances, staff doors to all be highlighted…

It wasn’t until Adron’s voice began to echo within the car’s cabin that she was pulled from the mediative state, though it might not have been obvious to the naked eye, as the only movement that came from the Knight was little more than a slight raising of the head. The instructions were the same as they had been before they had even landed on this planet. Stay near the doors and exits, continue to slowly make her way around the party, report in whenever something deemed worthy of reporting on came up, or just regularly to put his mind at ease.

Overprotective, maybe, to some.

For Xobos, it was just duty.

Again, the only motion that came from the Illyiran knight was a quick nodding of the head, just in time for their ride to come to a halt. As they exited the vehicle, it struck her just how many people would truly be at this gathering. Seeing a number on a page and then actually being able to..visualize it, as much as a Miraluka could see it, was quite a different experience. But between her and Freya, the King and Queen would have the protection they needed this night. Once they entered into the party, she gave her master a single more nod before slipping off into the crowd, silent and smoothly as they come.

 

[Alkor Centaris]

At least they could agree on the matter of crowds. Especially these high maintenance crowds, filled with pomp, ego, and no shortage of people with aspirations toward power. There were people you could trust in the Galaxy, but at this venue there were fewer to him than could be counted on a single hand. He liked that, though- at least he knew where he stood.

Mishel more than likely did not feel the pressure the same way. She was always a kinder, gentler person. The sharks smelled blood, and she didn't reek of it the way he did. When Mishel mentioned Confederates and generosity in the same sentence, Alkor had to politely smile and nod. It was important to know when not to speak one's mind.

What seemed more mature about the woman was her ready admission that she still had growing to do. Precious few in the Galaxy understood the merit in humility, and Alkor placed a great deal of stock in respecting it when he happened upon it. "I don't think a person ever stops growing," he told her reassuringly. "And there's nothing wrong with not knowing everything."

He hand spent his childhood pilfering pocketbooks in the slums, and as he grew older, he'd learned to not cry when he got hit. He had learned how to lie, and how to show nothing to the people around him. When he was still a boy, he had taken his first life. For all of that, he would not wish his experiences on anyone.

And, there were still so many things he didn't know.

Mishel asked how he was, and Alkor lit up a bit. Introspection was a dark place for him still, but kind and thoughtful words brought him out of it well enough. He took a breath and exhaled quietly, letting the thoughts spin before he spoke. "If you ever wake up one day, look in a mirror and hate the person who you are," he said, gathering close to her so that the sentiment wouldn't spread too much further into the room, "remember that you can always change. You can always turn around when you hit a dead end."

There had been such corruption, such turgid and bloated doctrine around him that sang of freedom and justice, but allowed those at the top to sit comfortably at the table and eat their fill of the fruits of the common man's labor. The high class sat upon the backs of working class men and women until bones broke under their weight, and those with power were held indemnified from the same laws that they enforced over others. A day came when Alkor realized, there could be no justice without accountability.

And the galaxy had no accountability to give.

"Uh, I think that's a buzz cut," he called back as she started to go for drinks. Not that it mattered. He turned to face Kurayami, who he had not seen in some ten years time. "Man, you got old," he grinned.

He listened to the man speak for a moment about how well things were going, and his contributions on both the Galactic stage and in the First Order itself. Unlike Alkor, he had never been one to commit, and he was happier for it. Instead, Kurayami floated between places and made his mark, then moved along. There was no pressure to lead, to follow, or to do anything he didn't want to do.

Alkor had finally learned, credits make the galaxy go round: and if you work for money, you can always say no to a job. His cousin just happened to have learned it a whole lot sooner.

When Kurayami started to ramble about drunk flying, Alkor caught on to the single. This was the time to make the exchange.

He reached under the table and discreetly unclipped the plastic and polymer hybrid case, perfect materials for moving through metal detectors unmolested. As his coat baffled sensors, no one ever knew it was on him at all. Alkor slid the box into Kurayami's lap, then reached up and patted the man on the shoulder, as though his intent had always been the friendly gesture.

Anyone who knew Alkor knew he wasn't that big on physical contact.

Conveniently for Alkor, only Kurayami and Mishel knew him quite so well.

"It's good to see you," he told Bloodborn, "and I am glad you've been doing well." He took the drinks as Mishel offered them, taking one between two fingers and letting the other rest on the table between them.

"I've lived off Tihaar, subsisted on that Sullustan swill out beyond Subterrel that they pass as top hooch, but this place-" Alkor gave a delighted laugh. "-ah man! Imps know how to drink, don't they?"

He took the River Beer to the head, slammed the glass on the table, and sighed. "I would have gone for bitter," he said, "sweet drinks can turn your stomach if you have too many. But you've always been adventurous Mishel, and so, I deny any personal responsibility for what may happen."

"Chakta Sai Kae," he said as he reached for the second glass, took it in hand, and raised it up.

Mishel Kryze | Kurayami Bloodborn​

 

[Djorn Bline]

S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
AVALONIA | DOSUUN
THE_BOIS | Irveric Tavlar | Jaeger Harrsk | Tyrell Paxxus | Lucien Dooku | Robogeber
INTERACTING | Ariel Yvarro
B L U E _ W O R L D

​

"Let's walk shall we? I'd like to get a view of who has arrived and who hasn't." ​

“Please, lead the way, ma’am,” the Commissioner replied to his fellow Imperial, wondering if he addressed her correctly. Elegance and regal customs were absolutely foreign to him and to his compatriots of the New Imperial Order. Amongst them, they were all...casual in referring to each other. They were all men of military and service, each one of them still carrying a blaster and fighting for the dreams they’ve inherited from their ancestors. Titles meant little for men like Djorn. A proper “sir” was more than enough for him.

"It is my hope that through the work here in the First Order that the galaxy can see that Imperialism isn't some sort of boogeyman waiting to take you away. Rather, it is a way of life, a stable way of life that ensures peace and prosperity." "Far too often, people like to make us the villains of their stories and it is not something I care to entertain."

He understood that well. No one, save for his comrades and the First Order Imperials, could understand those words more than anyone here present. The Galaxy, as far as his history lectured him, was cruel to the Imperial heart. Republics, Jedi, Sith, and other dissidents were threats to their very way of life. Dissidents he learned that could not simply coexist with the Imperial.

​

“Unfortunately, Moff Yvarro, others will not see that. They never have and they never will,” he remembered when the current Supreme Chancellor of the Alliance made the brash, daring move on warning the Galaxy of Imperialism, labeling it as a threat.

“They see us nothing more than insects under the rug, an expression the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Alliance agrees with,” he turned briefly towards Ariel, awaiting what her reaction would be. With her whiskey and frisky demeanor, she’d probably find disgust and offended by those selection of words.

"Tell me, Commissioner Bline, what have you seen thus far here at the Ball? What personalities have revealed themselves to you, aside from the usual disdain between your nation and the Sith Empire."

“Quite frankly, ma’am, I see wolves amongst us. Don’t be fooled by their outward appearances and their friendly behavior. They’re nothing but hypocrites to my eyes, all of them hiding their true intentions and thoughts about us with a smile. I remember the aggressions the previous Alliance had towards you and yours, and yet some of them walk freely in these halls,” he said in a cold, yet passionate tone of voice. His eyes glanced quickly left and right to see various of guests, all enjoying banter with drinks at their hands.

“Hopefully my words doesn’t kill your mood,” recognizing his words were nothing more than resent meant for many of those attending her today. “Just several things I’ve learned in this life of mine. It helps me to see transparently in what happens outside our homes, although those lessons came with a price.”

Tragedy; and that evolved into a phantom pain which concluded with hatred inside his heart. One that ran wild and grew inside of him.

“And you? What are you thoughts?”

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
C R I M S O N _ K I N G
Darth Carnifex | Natasi Fortan

If Irveric Tavlar had proven to the Galaxy that he was anything at all, it was right in line with Natasi's immediate internal monologue to his approach. With a resurgent Imperialist ideology seeping into the stars, one of the greatest betrayals the Galaxy had ever known committed at his command and a bloody schism sowing division into an unbreakable entity, if he'd earned any one title it was just that. -

Trouble.

Trouble more for the man across from her than anyone else. In all fairness to the Dantooinian Traitor, he embodied his best friendly demeanor toward the Epicanthix Sith. He was in all truth, genuinely curious to how a conversation on these terms might go. Removed of any sort of restraints he could only be satisfied in expecting the ignition of a lightsaber or the willing of the force to his command to strike down the treasonous parasite that was Irveric Tavlar.

Maybe he'd ask why or how any of this was spurned, why so much bitter malign could breed in the mind of an otherwise placid and insignificant component of Sith Imperial High Command...and how he could wage war in return...and string together victories against an Empire deemed indomitable, infallible. Speak as one man to another.

While his response of amicable, is far from that intriguing moment. His focus shifted from his brief encounter with Kaine to the speech given by Ariel Yvarro . Excellent sentiment, perfect placing of words. All due expectations given her presence in the first official diplomatic contact between the Imperials First and New on Dosuun. She was a bright soul, seemingly a chip on her shoulder as well. He utilized this time of gathered focus elsewhere to finish his drink, passing along the empty glass to a servant staff with a nod. As he did in the wake of the first summit between the First and New Imperials he thought of slipping a gift to the servant staff of Rosewood Castle, a simple gesture which he'd demanded no fanfare on behalf of but a no doubt endearing one. One that might earn him

She certainly had potential, whether or not those around her would realize that was to their prerogative.

Just as Carnifex gave him nothing in expression, neither did the Imperator in return but a nod, acknowledging the seemingly shared sentiment between them before soon enough, the Sovereign Imperator was left alone with the woman of the evening herself.

With a degree of tension from his no doubt pointedly provocative approach lifted with Carnifex's exit he could shift his attention back toward Fortan.

"Not as eventful as I could've anticipated but...any forthright man takes an opportunity when it is open to him." Tavlar remarks with a grin toward the Supreme Commander before he offers a hand to her.

"So you shouldn't be all too surprised when I take the opportunity to have the first dance of the newly coronated Supreme Leader...if you'd have me." Irveric offers.

HOUSE TAVLAR
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER​

 

[Ariel Yvarro]

AVALONIA​

​

The First Order differed from their counterparts in the North, one had been molded from aristocracy and nobility. The other had been molded by war, forged in the crucible of death and damnation. All in the name of freedom, and Imperialism that granted such freedoms. The First Order at one point had been no different although their crucible had been at Omega, tempered by the fires of Kaeshana it led to a much more aggressive empire. When Commissioner Bline had replied he expressed the sentiment she knew all too well. "How interesting that the new Chancellor makes such an allegory, is it not? Where Emmen Tagge saw no problem with aiding your cause, suddenly this Chancellor decides no that this shouldn't be so and now your nation and hers are..."​

​

Ariel pondered on the word to iterate here. "At an ends so to speak, of course, that is on the surface."​

​

She had no idea of any plans that may lurk underneath, but what she saw was a Galactic Alliance starting to topple on the old. "They seem to be harkening back to an era where Imperialism is inherently evil." A pause. "So much for learning lessons of the past." It was the fate of the old Galactic Alliance when they decided such a decree and pursued it with such vigor that in the end it cost the Galactic Alliance, everything.​

​

The young woman appreciated Commissioner Bline's candor when he answered her next question. They walked along the ambulatories as the throng of people took to the dance floor. She cast a glance over the railing and took note of who was there and then reverted her attention to the man beside her. "No, on the contrary, Commissioner they are as enlightening as the actions of those on the dance floor."​

​

"I gather you are quite correct, there are certainly wolves here among us. The ones who smile to your face while wielding a dagger behind their back, and they wait for just the right moment." Ariel didn't finish her sentence, the implication was there. "And believe me when I say they are most welcome to walk these halls. For every moment, and every action they conduct here - tells a story, words whispered in the dark will reveal the light of their truths."​

​

Moments of quietness filled the air between them, and then he asked her what her thoughts were. "People are eager to smile and have you believe them, and that is no different here."​

​

"While I should hope to prove that this incarnation of the First Order is different. I fear we shall be pushed into our old habits, those which die hard. Those that we are resisting, and all because someone is eager to make a quick credit." Her voice grew cold as she once more looked over at the dance floor from the second-floor ambulatories. "Fortunately... I've yet to meet a grave that can hold an Imperial down."​

​

"Not so long as the New Imperial Order, and now the First Order are around." There was some manner of warmth to her voice if only because she noticed. "It seems your Sovereign Imperator has been left alone with my Supreme Leader."​

​

Djorn Bline ​

 

[Lark]

Tags: Open to anyone

Lark had to physically restrain himself from jumping up and down like a child playing with a jump rope. So many new people, an endless sea of equally enigmatic nobles, politicians, and rulers to greet and mingle with. And the music! Lark hummed along with the joyous tune, bobbing his head in rhythm with the wondrous crescendo. It was as though a fairy tale had been ripped from its pages and thrust into reality. Like something out of a dream. He had been to balls and parties before, but none like this. Perhaps only the gathering brought together by AMCO rivaled the Coronation Ball, though Adrian's celebration certainly surpassed the Coronation Ball in vulgarity and indecency.

What a wonderful night that had been.

Still, there was no denying the grandiose atmosphere on display. Lark looked at the opulence like a toddler staring at colorful holiday lights for the first time. But no matter how stunning the architecture, no matter how magnificent the chorus was, it was the people that Lark saw as the most beautiful. Their allegiances mattered little tonight, he wanted to speak to them all. Let them trade words, friendly or hostile. Lark wanted to peek into their mind, obtain a glimpse of what made them the way they were. Witness their arrogance and weaknesses, their dreams and nightmares. What did they love and admire, what did they hate and despise? It was like standing in the entrance of a candy store, so many options were available for consumption.

His smile as light as a daffodil, Lark took a sip of his spiced rum. The drinks were perhaps the only thing sweeter than the music. Everything about this bewitching night was absolutely intoxicating. It was a wonderland of intrigue and desire.

Lark continued his lithe steps as Farah handed her glass of scarlet wine to him. Their arrangement was last minute and hastily made, prior to this evening he knew of the brilliant surgeon through reputation alone. Nevertheless, he hoped to provide her with an entertaining evening. Lark looked at her with a smile as comforting as a hearth and as catastrophic as a supernova. "Any place or person pique your interest? Plenty of space at the ballroom if you'd like to dance, or if you'd like for me to hold more of your drinks, Red Rose Bar is just around the corner. There's also the gardens, lounge, or library if you'd prefer a bit of quiet. Or if you're searching for someone in particular, I'd gladly assist you."

His eyes did linger on the library for little more than a moment. The First Order likely had a wealth of knowledge and texts that weren't in Empire archives, but there was only one little storybook that he searched for.

Would the First Order library have it? No, there's no way.

That godforsaken text was now ash. Dead, alongside the rest of Myrkr. Not even the ghosts mourned the loss of that haunted fable.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Tag: Darth Carnifex | Irveric Tavlar

The Supreme Leader watched the verbal sparring between the Sith Lord and the New Imperial leader, her dark eyes attentive. She had to admit to herself that she felt a sense of relief when Carnifex departed to dance with his wife. Well, one of his wives. "My best to Her Majesty," said Natasi by way of goodbye to Darth Carnifex . When they were alone, she turned towards Irveric Tavlar .

"It was quite eventful enough for me," said Natasi with a smirk. "I'm all for a good fisticuffs or an old-fashioned duel, but it would be rather inauspicious during an event like this." She took another sip of her champagne and set it to one side when the Sovereign Imperator offered his hand. "My dance card is entirely blank. One wonders if they are too intimidated to ask. But yes, I'd be delighted." With the care and practiced ease of a Galidraani debutante -- which she had been, nearly thirty years ago now -- she placed her gloved hand in Tavlar's and rested the other on his shoulder.

The waltz was one of her favorites, its sweeping melodies lending itself to romantic notions and dramatic excitements. She supposed that romantic notions were now beyond her, but she still had a capacity for dramatic excitements. Being crowned a sovereign in one of the galaxy's growing powers had a certain cache to it. "I hope you'll take my accepting of you leading as a commitment to tradition and not secret political symbolism," Natasi joked as they moved into the waltz.

It was remarkable how things came flooding back to one, even after one had been dead for several years: the steps, the flourishes, the notes -- it was all like she had been dancing the same waltz yesterday. Natasi was delighted to discover that refresher lessons were not necessary to avoid treading on Tavlar's toes. "Speaking of political symbolism," said the Supreme Leader breezily as they turned around the ballroom floor. "It's not my affair and I'd never dream of interfering, but should you and the Sith Imperials ever wish to bury the hatchet or seek some kind of armistice, I would be pleased to serve as a neutral third party and host."

 

[Orum Berik]

Orum Berik didn't need to be here. Security had been arranged months ago. His people had people to monitor the mix of nobles, politicians, and dignitaries milling about the palace. Hells, he could be sleeping; a significant contingent of OIS personnel had taken a off-the-books jaunt around the galaxy that was as harrowing as it was exhausting for a man his age, to complete Project Harbringer. That could have warranted a rare good night's rest.

Also, there was the issue of him being legally dead-ish.

No, the enigmatic Director of the OIS wanted to be here. Thus, that's how the normally taciturn man found himself in the corner of the ballroom, sipping a cognac, watching the Supreme Leader waltz with the Sovereign Imperator. Against all odds, the First Order that he had given his life to- that had exacted a heavy toll on him, his colleagues, his family- was on the precipice of greatness.

Despite the Fall, despite the disappearance of Sieger and his ilk, despite the death of Natasi Fortan, the First Order endured. A granite face allowed for a small smile as he took in Ariel Yvarro. He had plans, intricate plans, to deftly take down the Dosuun Hegemony- and then this girl, with subtle of a rancor, came out of left field, and dispensed bloody retribution. Making years of planning moot. And also played a key role in rebuilding the First Order. She essentially built a freighter in mid-air. Berik didn't know to applaud or strangle her somedays, frankly.

But today was a day of celebration- the First Order had survived it's crucible, and arisen stronger. So the Director would allow himself a moment of celebration and reflection as he continued to quietly observe the room.

 

[Noelle Varanin]

Tags | Rurik Fel | Open.

Spoiler: The story

Tags | Open.


Noel walked in alone, a silk dress of silver clinging to her like a shift. In her hands was her mother's diadem, an ornament she had nearly not brought with her today. Her mother's death still felt so fresh. The rumors of her sister's affiliations-- Ashin's return and reveal inside their family's kitchen...

The time for mourning had come and gone. She had things she needed to do.

She slipped the crown into her golden locks and stepped out of a shadowed archway. Observing would only get her so far. It was time to fetch a drink.

E X E C U T O R
KNIGHT OF THE EMPIRE
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
B R E A T H E
Noelle Varanin | Quinn Varanin | Vesta

Revelry. An Empire resurgent, wrought to life in this perilous Galaxy of disorder and chaos. Rurik, of course, never one for these events in spite of his origins born in the purple as a noble in-exile on Serenno, blood right to the throne of the Fel Empire, Bastion. A seat which he'd since reclaimed.

In the rightful claim of the joyous tone of the event, Rurik made his best attempt at appearing endearing, in spite of his otherwise gruesome (sparing his 'Iron Skin') or foreboding (donning his 'Iron Skin') appearance. There was no uplifting himself to the aesthetic standards of the rest present here, donning ensembles likely worth more than he'd seen since his exile from home.

There was no aim in his mind of indulging in the chemical pleasures of bitter liquor and sweet herbs as they let unclasp their desires in favor of a supposed night of no judgement. He could only truly be content in idle observation of the Galaxy's most fascinating figures assembled in one venue.

In the silver, gold and purple not too unlike the rainment donned by his ancestor Roan Fel, Rurik entered the venue, his marred and disfigured face concealed by the metallic visage clasped over his face, the usual smooth steel replaced with ornate engravings into the masque. As he entered the Castle proper his gaze fell idly on those around him before a glint piercing his gaze from an ornate crown captured his attention.

He recognized the ornament, belonging to none other than Spencer Varanin , but not the woman donning it tonight. Though the resemblance was clear, uncanny. More resemblance of the late Queen than his primary disciple in Errant. No doubt she was truly born in the purple to the Empress Varanin herself.

He approached, warily that is.

"Your grace." He offered, addressing Noel by her assumed title as Queen of Eshan, offering a nod of his head in acknowledgement to her royalty.

"I am Rurik Fel...of the New Imperial Order, but the politics are irrelevant. How fares Eshan, its people?" Rurik inquires of genuine curiousity, treading lightly as not to mention his Varanin apprentice.

HOUSE FEL
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER

Noelle turned in place, leaving the bar behind her as she addressed the voice with a measured smile. She didn't bother to correct the title. She was wearing the crown for a reason. Her gaze skimmed past him, searching beyond him for something unstated. Her attention returned to him, the measured smile deepening.

"They fair well; it is a harsh winter but they endure on. As always." A drink was placed down for her at the bar. She turned, plucking it up and gingerly sipping to prevent a spill. She studied him as she did so, unphased by his appearance. A spark of amusement crossed her features. She lowered the glass from her lips.

"I take it you don't drink then." She gestured subtly to the mask.

 

[AMCO]

Location: Entrance, en route to Ballroom
Wearing: Ever-shifting Polyweave Suit
Writing With: Ingrid L'lerim | Onrai | Dea | [OPEN]
---

She had kept her anomaly, despite what seemed like a full-body metamorphosis precipitated by the influx of primal power that was to be expected when consuming a truly old being of power? How curious. He was growing increasingly dubious that it was "purely genetic", as she seemed to believe. Mutations were not normally so sticky, so enduring, so relentlessly dominant. It was simply not how selection worked.

Who knew, however - even he could be wrong, rare as it was.

Mouth quirking upwards at the icy back-and-forth between Ingrid and Vantai, Adrian could not help but feel amused. He could be quite obnoxious at times, he knew, but when it came to enforcing formalities his lover took the cake, at least when she didn't like whoever she was engaging.

Bringing someone into contact with an elder spirit of power in hair-brained pursuit of "divinity" certainly qualified as unlikeable, in his book.

Chuckling softly at the herald's comment - though it was just as well the comparison to sentient droids remained unspoken, given the Sith Lord's disregard for the "life" of mechanical beings - Adrian shook his head in a way which could be interpreted as apologetic.

"Quite right - and yet it is difficult to know how self-aware a being is by sight alone." He should know, he'd made more than a few.

At the same time, an unspoken question was projected towards Ingrid. <Created from someone, yes, but who? Do you recognise the presence?>

 

[Cara Dorniarn]

Interacting with: Madelyn Lowe
Wearing: X
Arrived with: Telis Taharin-Zambrano

"Ha! No." Cara pulled the long gray coat over her shoulders as she resettled in the seat of the vehicle, "We're going to a ball, Telis, I'd never bring my own alcohol." She leaned forward to remove the hip flask from her back pocket, slipping the thin durasteel canister into an inside flap of her coat. She had enjoyed an uneventful few hours waiting for her young companion to finish getting ready, patiently spending the time bouncing a well-worn paper notepad on her knee in-between notes. Once he had perfected his appearance enough they set off, with Cara throwing a final glance toward a mirror to adjust the metal pins on the neck of her black vest. With one cast in the symbol of the Sith Empire and the other with her position as engineer she fixed them just so, showing Telis a specific finger when he complained about her causing a delay.

Once the vehicle had come to a stop outside the castle Cara paused before exiting, noting the fact that dampeners had been installed about the area. She gave a wry smirk, stepping out with a renewed air of cold confidence as per her usual public facade. She made note of several figures in the vicinity, from her fellow statesmen of the Empire, figures from the Silver Jedi Concord and the Confederacy, strangers from the Galactic Alliance, faces from the New Imperial Order, and many others. But she hadn't come to throw looks and spit venom--at least not much, that is. She turned slightly to scan the natural beauty around the castle, green eyes searching a landscape which reminded her of home. She breathed a relaxed sigh as she pulled her coat closer and proceeded toward the entry. As expected she had to wait a bit longer than others while searched by security, a fact she was rather used to by now. A few questions, a few explanations, and the usual metallic scrapes as her cybernetics were examined.

"Watch it," she looked at the guard, "please. You've been sent my file. No crushgaunt, no vibroblades, nothing more sinister than a lighter." She had spoken in a humored tone which was quickly lost once she met the guard's face. "Are you seri--" Cara caught herself before saying more, "Very well." From the top of her fist a bronzium inlay of the letter Dorn slid back, a compact rectangle popping out from between metal tendons. She removed the lighter and dropped it into the guard's palm, "I'll be back for that."

Cara breezed past those in the foyer only nodding at a familiar face or two. She had entered just at the beginning of Ariel Yvarro 's speech and slipped into the crowd, listening with great interest as the young woman introduced the First Order back into the galactic scene. Cara lent a muted clap at the speech's end, using the mutual celebration to observe the congregation of important figures around her. She had slowly become acclimated to the ever-shifting climate of politics, the doctor having to adapt to the sudden demand for her presence on several delegations. It had been an unusual change of pace, and to say it was a comfortable one was rather untrue. Yet here and there she was helping weave the cables of treaties and agreements, spinning a galactic web that steadily pulled together the progressive minds of nations in efforts to place the future first. While the applause settled Cara broke away from the group, musing on the subject of alliances and treaties.

But as the music started Cara was struck by a thought. A realization that made her groan. She hadn't danced in over twenty years.

A hobby of those with free time, dancing never made itself an attractive option for Cara. Here she had no excuse to ignore the chance. She stayed close to the walls of the ball room, watching those who were already taking advantage of the music and dance floor. As she watched her eyes fell on a familiar face, that belonging to Madelyn Lowe . Much to Cara's surprise the grand moff was alone, and the engineer's aimless pace changed direction.

Not the sort to crowd Cara kept a polite distance, not standing directly in front of the woman, and allowing plenty of room for her to escape if she wished. The doctor gave a slight bow, "Of all the calculations possible Ms. Lowe, you being without a partner would never have made it into the statistics," she offered a hand, "Care to dance?"

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Lady Ingrid L’lerim-Ragal
Empress Regent of the Eternal Empire, Overlord of the Eternal Empire, the Emperor's hand, Lord Commander
The Red Witch; The Night Queen; Director of Blackwatch; Baroness of Vengard, Head of the House L’lerim, CEO of the HPI Consortium​

Location: Rosewood Castle, South of Avalonia, Dosuun, First Order Space
Attire: Polyweave Elegant dress | Soul
Tag: AMCO | Onrai | Dea | Open

In fact, Ingrid and Adrian were weird about their relationship. The two sides of the coin, in every sense. People saw Adrian as the more direct, passionate, emotional person, while Ingrid was the “ice queen,” the distant, rational and brittle. In fact, for an outside person, they didn’t have much in common and it couldn’t have been surprising if someone had asked why they’re together, what they see in the other, which makes them attractive to each other.

The reality, on the other hand, was that in the relationship Adrian was rational and distant, while Ingrid was emotional and passionate. It was a completely different matter that very few really knew about it. For that reason alone, she found it strange that Vanessa thought they had really kissed each other in front of everyone. She didn’t count the acting here, as an agent and spy, she plays anything, anytime.

The red-haired woman looked out of the corner of her eye at the man when the Sith Lord did not respond to her "words," her thoughts. She knew the barely perceptible look, she saw in her lover that the Sith Lord was thinking very much. Meanwhile, she felt that her fiancé was at least having fun with the situation. At least one of them. She disagreed at all with what Vanessa said, she considered the woman and herself an abomination, not just the person who arrived afterwards.

”As you mentioned, Lady Vantai, you and I are abominations as well, not admirable creatures as you think.”

She said in a completely emotionless voice. Well, yes, she still couldn't come to terms with what had become of her. It will probably take years for this, or decades, maybe centuries. But it wouldn’t have been surprising if she had never accepted this. Ingrid had considered herself a monster before, and especially since Endor. The Overlord then turned to the other woman.

”Well, if we look at it, Miss, it is also very impolite what Lady Vantai did, or you, that you neither introduce yourself nor give respect to those with whom you speak.” she said incredibly coldly.

It would not have been appropriate for the woman's personality to add that she was the regent of the Eternal Empire and the Sith Lord the future prince-consort. She never boasted of ranks, but expected the right behaviour through a soldier. In this, too, she was very different from Adrian, who, on the other hand, was not interested in them. Meanwhile, she still telepathically answered the “unspoken” question. As she was accustomed to speaking telepathically and aloud at the same time, nothing of this was noticeable.

~ Unfortunately, I don't recognize it. I find her familiar, but I don’t know who she is. She tries to hide her presence, but not in the traditional way. She is shrouded herself in Vanessa’s power, gaining her own strength from her and thus disguising her true identity. I’ve seen quite a lot of things since we’ve been together, thanks to you, but it’s the most unnatural thing I’ve experienced in my life. I just resent and disgust her and from what they are doing. If we were in a place where the Force is not blocked; together, I think we could crush this connection and find out who this woman is. But there is nothing more I can do here. I’m sorry, handsome. ~

For a moment she felt the urge to snuggle up to the Sith Lord, but in a split second before anyone could feel it, she suppressed the urge and feeling.

​

 

[Kaalia Pavanos]

Kaalia was not a food enthusiast. She could absolutely enjoy a good meal, and with the family she married into that was a common occurrence, but food eaten by herself was always quickly made and quickly finished. The woman loved baking and had mastered that craft over the years- she always made sure there were home-made cookies on hand- but full course meals were a different story altogether. The fact she was an absolutely horrible cook didn't help matters, either.

Her wife, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. The eyes the Balmorran made at the buffet spoke a thousand words, and it brought a smile to Kaalia's face. To no surprise, Ishana loaded up her plate with a wide variety of food. A great start of her night, for certain. It wasn't everyday that one had this much choice for a meal. Kaalia herself had a much simpler and much less full plate, containing steak, and steamed potatoes with garlic, green onion and parsley.

The couple had free reign to pick whichever table they wanted, by virtue of their timing. The formal dining area would no doubt get much busier later in the night, but for now it was quiet. While Kaalia herself was indifferent to any particular figures being nearby, especially now that she was far removed from any political position, she knew Ishana was much more comfortable this way.

"The twins told me they really want to make the dessert for the Life Day dinner," Kaalia replied as she cut off a small piece from her steak, "so we could bring that this year." It was tradition in the Pavanos family to have a grand Life Day dinner, where each household prepared a part of it.

"As for us two..." Her voice trailed off, a hint of a smile forming on her face. "I wanted to have a night out together somewhere around Life Day. Book a nice hotel, no worries or stress for a little while."

Ishana Pavanos ​

 

[Seraphina Corvinus]

Tag: Daegon Corvinus | Fevris Derzelas | Robogeber
Wearing: XoXoX
Inviter: Daegon Corvinus

Seraphina felt glossy pink lips press into a rather modest frown. Her hand rose and she thwacked him gently in the chest for his teasing, knowing, that he knew what she was talking about. “Yes. I’m sure she would; but tonight?”, the question was touched with a lilting sing-song at the end that would lead toward his next statement. Not everyone dreamed of swimming in pools of credits, though, she was tempted to embroider a few on her husband’s lapels.​

​

He was right. They had met in a sort of similar circumstances that could relate if one squinted. Very, very hard. Sera felt his whispered words against her cheek more than she heard them. Her blush was immediate and intense while she tried not to fall victim to his guiles. She knew her husband. He was trying to soothe her worries by replacing her concerns with sweet things instead. “Daegon—”, she started, insistent, that it wasn’t working.​

​

Only, it was.​

​

“You—You know what I mean.”​

​

The diathim fluttered while her cheeks held a faint rouge at the intimate contact. Most people wouldn’t think anything of it. Seraphina had been raised to be a proper young woman with propriety and manners intact. A decade of marriage had lessened her need to apologize for everything, her fault or not, but she was still extremely easy to unsettle. Daegon, of course, lived to ruffle her feathers and turn her face red as coral.​

​

Sera did calm down as Daegon continued to speak, mercifully, returning to the subject at hand. Her head nodded thoughtfully while he mentioned alternative plans. She did love to visit gardens, especially, from far off places. Her husband allowed her to see momentarily through his eyes. Enough so that she might be able to recall the vibrant splashes of color that she might have viewed in her youth.​

​

She remained silent for a long moment when he reflected on the Malvern plight. It was something that they were uniquely designed to solve. The only differences between their thought processes were a matter of profit and gain. Seraphina would have sought the answers out of the goodness of her heart. Daegon looked for a variety of reasons, but mostly, to gain a political foothold. Unaware that someone ( Loske Treicolt ) was intently listening to their conversation she could only stammer and flounder helplessly when her husband inquired after younglings of their own.​

​

“I—”, she paused, turning, so that more of her cheek was hidden against his vest. Seraphina could not answer that. Not here, goodness, not in public. The diathim listened intently to the explanation as to why she felt strange since they’d arrived at the palace. She mentally latched onto it like a rock in the middle of a raging river. “That makes sense, I think, if we are not all on friendly terms. It ensures that we cannot so easily harm one another. Even by accident.”​

​

Seraphina pressed a brightened smile toward Daegon. While some may have been bothered by a lacking connection to the Force; his wife would be pleased by the extra efforts taken to ensure a peaceful venue. Just as she moved to give the Viceroy of Thyferra a little space to walk another body collided with her own. She was thin, delicate, and while the impact might not have jarred someone a little more substantial—It did push her back into Daegon. Startled, she reached blindly for him, and almost knocked over a tray of champagne that a server deftly kept steady.​

​

An apology immediately began to pour forward.​

​

She did not know the voice. If she listened, hard, she could just barely make out the shape of him against the numerous individuals that were milling out. He was tall. His shoulders were broad, easily, wider than Daegon. That was all she could tell, save, for when he bowed. She could feel the slight disturbance of air. The irritation that emanated from her husband was palpable. She didn’t need the Force or anything else to know that. He was protective and even the smallest infraction toward her general well-being made him react. This poor man didn’t deserve that.​

​

“Please don’t apologize—It’s perfectly all right. No harm done.”​

​

She was speaking, ever so sweetly, to both of them. Daegon had been gracious, verbally at least, but she wanted to ensure that it stayed that way. “I should have been more careful Grand Admiral. I’m still adjusting to…”, she paused, swallowing hard, while she tried to form words. They rarely talked about it. Her ailment. Her failure. Speaking of it now left a lump in her throat. “Not having my sight.”​

​

The etiquette that she had been raised with since birth followed through and she released Daegon to lower her head. A swanlike neck was exposed while she bent forward slightly, as if giving a respectful nod, but the delicate hold she had on the sides of voluminous skirts would signal that it was a curtsey. “As my husband stated; I am Seraphina Corvinus. Please accept my apology for placing you in a potentially awkward situation at such a grand affair.”​

​

Her voice was delicate, musical, and genuine. She was indeed as innocent as she seemed to be—Fully willing to accept any blame to spare the other party any embarrassment. She was blind, not dim, and she wasn’t at all oblivious to any potential stigma about running headlong into someone handicapped. Hopefully, Grand Admiral Carlyle Rausgeber [ Robogeber ] would forgive her.​

​

Immediately, though, she was curious. Like a Loth Cat finding its first a ball of string.​

​

“Tell me—Are you enjoying your night, sir?”​

 

[Gianna Aegis]

Tag: John Locke
________________________________________________________________​

They hadn’t really spoken of it. Nar Kreeta. In the aftermath, Exarch Locke had been immediately called away to some massive summit, where she, had been trapped in Sprite Gate Shore. Both were on Naboo but duty pulled them this way and that. It always had, always would. Gianna considered her work and service to others a never-ending project. It was her mission, her pride, and pleasure to give back to the community that had given her so much. Her father had passed when she was young.

Doing what she did now.

All she could do in order to carry on his legacy was to keep her head held high. To keep looking toward a brighter tomorrow; no matter how dark the night became.

“A garden?”, she perked up, briefly, at the mention of one of her passions. She had quite the green thumb and spent far too much of her free time cultivating the orchards that filled the Shore. There was something incredibly satisfying about helping something grow. She took what she learned and often what she grew back to agriculturists in Theed so they could reproduce the results. As best they could, anyway. There were times when her creations were not altogether man-made.

It was then that she realized she’d been conned.

John Locke was one of the smartest men she’d ever met. He rarely missed a step. There was no way he wouldn’t have noticed that her general demeanor had changed, significantly, since the incursion in the Eastern Reaches of the galaxy. He changed the topic to something she would like. Deliberately. Rather than to call him out on it she merely gave him a faintly knowing smile as they moved through the foyer and into the ballroom. “Don’t you have work to do tonight? Networking? Creating bridges of common interests between the First Order and the Confederacy?”

Gianna nodded her head toward the star of the evening, Natasi Fortan , who was occupied by at least one well-wisher. There had been two. She recognized neither of the gentlemen by the back of their heads. The first one [@Carnifex] split away, to dance it seemed, before the other [@Iveric Tavlar] then took to the floor with the dark-haired leader they had all come to see. Rather, observe. Gianna almost felt a great swell of pity for her. Perhaps she enjoyed the limelight but the Jedi Knight likened such an event to a bird trapped in a gilded cage.

With a thousand eyes watching.

She did not envy, that poor bird.

A slow chill ran down the back of her neck and she turned her gaze back toward a few of the guests. More, than a few. Precautions had been taken to secure the safety of the guests in this venue; but it didn’t stop Gianna from being what she was. She could sense practitioners of the Dark Side. Acutely. It either meant that they were very, very strong, or the warding didn’t work on her as well as their hosts may have hoped. She had to pull her eyes from some of them as they whirled through the room.

It was easier to swallow those that she had come into contact within the Southern Systems. They were a strange breed. Very, very strange. They cared not for the Throne of the Sith and seemed oddly loyal to one another. It was imperfect, left her senses on edge, but she could bear it for the greater good. That was not the case with these individuals. These few where darkness seemed to lie.

They continued through and headed toward the bar, then, finally the garden that John had spoken of.

She didn’t resist. Truthfully, she could use some air. Both to clear her head and simply a moment to let down the shield that she had put forth in order to walk through the doors. Gianna knew that she should have stayed home. If she were her own patient she would have insisted. But, medics made the absolute, worst, of all patients. They were far more stubborn and Gianna was no different.

The soft breeze that stirred her hair and sari caused her to sigh.

“I will make you work at some point—You do know that, right?”

Fingers twined with her own and for a moment she debated on withdrawing. His offer of an adventure had been made with the honest ease of a schoolboy asking her to skip history class in favor of the world outside. Her heart skipped. Panic. Gianna had vowed never to alter his memories again, but, she worried about the oaths she had taken. About fulfilling them and keeping them intact.

It was her duty to carry herself with calm professionalism, to be fair, firm, and to always distinguish reality from illusion. How could she do that when she felt increasingly swayed by the man at her side? How could she remain impartial? How could she choose, correctly, when he had already proven he could not. She had seen the hazy vision of vengeance that had swarmed through him in Tanaab when he imagined her dead. What terror—He thought himself to reap.

He had not. It was to his benefit that he had not. She couldn’t say they would be where they were now if he had let impulse follow through. Clearing her mind of it, finding peace, she looked forward at the sprawling garden ahead and agreed to put it out of her mind for the night. This wasn’t the place or the time to discuss it.

“All right, then.”, Gianna responded, passing a quiet smile, though, it didn’t quite reach her eyes. For a variety of reasons. “Lead the way, Mr. Locke.”

 

[Robogeber]

T H E R A P Y
Victims: Daegon Corvinus | Seraphina Corvinus | Madelyn Lowe
Attire: Uniform | Rank Plaque | Broach | Face​

Carlyle almost smiled at Madelyn Lowe as she made her way past him. "Ah, Governor Lowe," It almost felt like old times. When he'd been warden of her region on the First Imperial maps. When they were at the height of their power. Having vanquished the Galactic Alliance with ferocity and vigour, "I-" And then the bile came. Spat out and lumped all over him. Traitor. Obviously with jocularity, but it nevertheless cut and wounded. Rather than retort with any real bitter or anger himself, Carlyle merely forced out a polite and cordial, "It certainly is. Good to see you in such good health, Governor Lowe." Before turning his attentions to the two guests he had so crudely intruded upon.

"So we have the corporate honcho, and his lovely wife," The Grand Admiral mused with a warm smirk, "And yet, not only a CEO, but a viceroy. A man with his pockets in what I can only assume is the bacta business." Amusing, and yet curious. Daegon certainly did not look the part of an important man. No. He looked like a tramp. A man in need of purpose, perhaps as a soldier. Especially with that damn hair. Carlyle could not smell, but he assumed that Corvinus must have smelt of a gentleman's toilet with how he was attired. Not to matter. His wife, who looked far out of his league seemed lovely enough.

"Please, please ma'am, I wasn't looking where I was going." The Grand Admiral reiterated with a pious tone. She then added that the blindness was a recent issue, and his heart, not that he had one, sank. His expression turned to that of grimace, "Well that certainly reiterates my point, does it not?" He posited before licking his lips, "In any case, I am sort of, out of place here." He mused, looking over the coupling.

"I feel a.... certain... anxiety, if I may." Carlyle answered with a frankness that surprised even him, "About, ten years ago, this planet was a ruin. Ravaged by a species of barbarian, who I ran and hid from." Carlyle looked down at the floor, and shuffled his feet, "The Grand Admiral rank, if I may, is a legacy of this," He looked up, and looked only into Daegon's eyes, given he was the only one present with them, "My time within the First Order, during Supreme Leader Sieger Ren's reign. When our vessels patrolled from Core to Unknown Regions, to the Outer Rim." He mused with swelling pride, "And it just, if I may be frank, fills me with a certain sadness, given, when we were overrun, I was biding my time. Waiting to foster a force to retake Dosuun, to liberate it."

"It just... Ten years." He smiled sadly at the two, "Ten years of sacrifice. Of total war. Of sacrifice of everything. My men. My friends. Family," He gazed into the distance contemplatatively, "And for nothing to show. All it has ended is with me at an outsider on my own homeworld."

"I pray that both of you may never need to swallow such a bitter pill."

 

[Gat Tambor]

X X I I : T H E _ G A L A X Y
DIRECTOR OF THE TRADE FEDERATION
N O _ M O R E _ P A R T I E S _ I N _ F O
OPEN TO INTERACTION | SHOOT A PM
Salvor King | Alban Roble | Maijan Paisea ​

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Salvor King was immediately drawn to the 'conplementary' dishes and treats that the venue offered. One or two at a time was probably acceptable, not necessarily well, the entire tray. No matter, if need be Gat Tambor could foot the bill. Soon the event fell to the wayside to a far more interest- well- to Alban Roble.

To see the Fondorian shipwright approach him, here was an MONSTROUS not-a-surprise-at-all-and-something-corporate-execs-do-all-the-time, regardless, Gat rarely ever expected to speak with someone of a similar mindset to his. Nearly every encounter he had be it brushing shoulders with the elites or fraternizing with the common folk there was a universal 'WOW ITS GAT TAMBOR' quality about it, Alban at least had the illusion of this being a regular interaction. Which was reassuring, granted Gat didn't mind the needless revelry either.

"WEERERRRRRRRREREREREOWOORE- Roble. A pleasure to see you here. Enjoying the sights and sounds or perhaps...here for business. I can say from experience, Imperials are a wonderfully lucrative investment for warfighting materials. Come, come. Let's talk." Gat offered, motioning Alban to follow as he slowly hovered himself away from the gathered guests, hearing the speech from Ariel Yvarro which he had NO DOUBT was lovely and inspiring but if it didn't sound like an endless stream of 'purchase approved' notifications coming his way in the form of rhetoric that invited business or investment, he was less than interested.

"So tell me, because I am a prying eye. How fares business within the Confederacy? I'm afraid its not quite something I've...had my hand in as of late, if you would." To put it politely, Gat read the writing on the wall and took everything even if it was bolted down from Confederate space immediately following CIS first. Being as his main clients at the time were Sith and Imperial 'rogue states', increased border measures were a valid concern.

HOUSE TAMBOR
TRADE FEDERATION​