. . . domina relicta . . .
THE GREAT NABOO PUB CRAWL
LOCATION — Theed, Naboo
TAGS —
Varin Mortifer
The mockery of her constitution, as if she were truly some fragile flower to be drowned at the touch of a single rain droplet. The gall of him still burned furiously within her mind as she gazed into the transparisteel viewport of the limospeeder, studying her own reflection. Hand moved upward to her tightly braided curls to slide one lost strand back behind her ear, this was a formal occasion and as a Lady of House Serraris, Isobel would need to present the strength of her kin.
"To go over the details again, you are an associate of mine--a businessman from the Outer Rim interested in the wine from Naboo." Her hand slipped into her bag to grasp her floral lipgloss, before applying it to the dry pads of her lips. "Do not draw any," A sigh slipped from her lips as her gaze rolled over his appearance: "Any more attention to yourself than you usually do."
The die would be cast with each of their deeds, the odds were. . . in their favour for now, but it was a constant risk to remain here. A lethal pursuit into the heart of the High Republic. Should they risk discovery it would be shadowed by the looming diplomatic crisis for her house, and the reprecussions that the Covenant may bring upon them. Sigh, why had fireboy accused her of being a lightweight. . . It was a dare begging to be answered.
The soft stirring within the speeder announced the arrival at the exclusive lounge; the sandstone stairs outside were lit up by a number of silvery lights against the nighttime, and the buzz of nobles and corporates hummed within their vehicle. A busy night meant plenty of eyes would be drawn upon all of the tables, analysing them as allies or foes or blatantly exposing them to gossip.
"And do not lose your temper," followed as the limousine came to a halt before the carpeted walkway. "You are not among beasts now."
Her door slid open, and the Pantoran chauffeur offered a hand, which Isobel gladly accepted as she slipped from the seat. Straightening up as though the act of this 'noble's pretend' had already begun before they had entered the building; the formality may be viewed as an anomaly within her being, a behaviour that did not belong, but the Nabooan knew this game--as much as she feigned not to.
"One last thing," she mused, sliding her hand along the folds of her formal burgundy gown. A brief glare was cast Varin's way, sparkling with hidden stars of amusement and a future challenge.
"I am not a lightweight, mister."