Private The Great Naboo Pub Crawl

[Isobel Serraris]

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."

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber

Varin tipped his glass back, drinking down the last of the bitter warm liquid. Its warmth spread throughout his chest and for a moment he felt great, until his body decided to burn it out of his system only seconds later.

He only half listened to what she was saying, something about being business associates and to behave himself. That last part made him arch his brow.

“You make it sound like I have never been to anything formal before.”

He set the glass down back into the holder from where it came.

“And I can't help that I draw certain attention to myself, you make that sound as if I do it on purpose.”

Her next phrase about not being among beasts drew a laugh from him.

“Look, I know how I look to people. But the truth of the matter is I know how to behave and control myself, not once have I ever accidentally lost my temper or lashed out. I had every bit of control doing that.”

The door opened and he watched her be assisted in leaving the vehicle before he opened his door and stood up towering over the man who came to assist him. He watched his eyes widen as Varin straightened up.

“You see? They can't even help themselves. Besides this is a night for drinking and doing whatever, quit being so uptight.”

He followed beside her before he mumbled under his breath in a small jest.

“Lightweight.”

His gaze flicked over the area, people dressed in more formal casual wear some dressed more fancy, Varin rather wore his more practical wear. In case things decided to get out of hand.

“I feel like 1313 would have been a better idea.”

Isobel Serraris​

 

[Isobel Serraris]

THE GREAT NABOO PUB CRAWL​

LOCATION — Theed, Naboo
TAGS — Varin Mortifer

A beast shackled then, it would not change the sharpness of its fangs nor the danger he could bring upon diplomatic allies and foes alike. An animal would be blindsighted to the intricacies of politics, of keeping up appearances even on a social outing such as these. It . . . lit a fire within her heart that scorched fragments of composure, threatening to turn all into ash for the simple sake of reprimand.

Breathe.

"Good, then you can control yourself during this." The tension within sparked off her with a snark so oft-unseen. . . It was not as if she frequented these events and mayhap that was what frightened the young noblewoman. A third child of a house known for its flowers as much as its deceit, it demanded a high toll.

Her low heels pressed against the maroon carpet laid out over the flights of stairs, ascending the steps alongside her much (and much) taller companion. To name him a friend would be a lie, to name him an acquaintance would be an injustice, so what would it be at the end of this wine tasting? Hand briefly swatted his arm at the jab: "You are only jinxing it for yourself, Fireboy." Her voice was sweeter now, glimmering with mischief.

Tall sandstone pillars met them at the top of the stairway, carved with numerous depictions of the Moon Goddess Shiraya and the ancient histories of Theed and its people. Not much further, an arched doorway greeted the two Sith, as well as a host clad in the most formal of clothes, eyeing the taller companion with a glance that practically made him out to be a fashion disaster. "Good. . . Evening, do you have an invitation?" The heavy Nabooan accent warmed Isobel's heart, reminding her of those many foolish soirees held at the family estate.

"If all is well, my brother, Florian Serraris, passed the invitation to my name. . ." Her fingers tapped idly on her handbag, as a flicker of worry passed through her expression. She had had to bargain with her older brother to acquire these tickets, and if he hadn't kept true to his word--oh she would ruin him. . . . "Did he not?"

The host's eyes skimmed his digital list, humming thoughtfully before nodding; "Isobel Serraris, , , the owner wishes to speak with you tonight. But I shall lead you and your," His eyes rolled suspiciously over the tall man. "Associate, to your seats. If you would follow me."

Led past the curtained archway, they manoeuvred around various round tables, each occupied by a wild arrangement of nobles. Rich laughs, conspiratorial whispers and looks that alluded to more than mere business--a noble's playground was never a place for boredom. The Lady kept her back up straight, counting steps beneath her breath as if to not trip over skirt nor her heels.

Within moments, they arrived at a table before a grand painting centred around the first Festival of Light. "Mister Serraris' favourite table," the man announced, whilst he pulled out a chair for each guest.

Once seated, they were welcomed by two flutes of a sparkling champagne, accompanied by a brief word of its Nabooan origin, before at last being left to their own devices. "You would prefer the slums of level 1313 over this? I suppose we all long for a place that feels like home." Bel mused sharply as her fingers twirled around the stem of the flute and tilted its glass to clink with his, seeking eye contact to avoid all the seven-year-long curses.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber

The slight smack of the arm and the voice of slight warmth from her drew a small smirk from him as they approached the man at the front. Walking past various pillars adorned with art that represented their Idol worship. Varin paid little attention to it.

His eyes then flicked to the man with the datapad. Noting the sass within his gaze and the silent judgement. Varin eyed him closely.

“Never seen a disabled veteran before?”

He then ignored any response the man would give, his gaze wandering around the area out of habit, always searching for ways an enemy could attack. It came with the lifestyle he was born into.

When he mentioned the owner his gaze flicked to Isobel as they were lead to their table.

“You did not mention we would be meeting another associate. Will they be a problem?”

Varin's ears picked up conversation and jovial laughs, the annoying nasaley laughs that most rich people tended to have when hiding true intentions. No matter what side of the galaxy you were from every rich person was the same.

The driving force behind it was never any different.

When they were seated he looked back at Isobel after her small jab.

“You think I grew up in slums?”

His eyes wandered again.

“1313 just happens to be far more honest than places like these. And if I had not promised to keep my temper down, that bus boy at the front would already be disfigured.”

He picked up his glass looking her intently in the eye, almost sarcastically so before the soft clink of glasses rung out between them.

“So, Mr.Serraris' favorite table?”

He took a small sip.

“No view of the exits, people block most entryways and it resides in the very back. Did he always have poor taste in security?”

He set the glass down a soft clink ringing from the glass from the soft impact.

Isobel Serraris​

 

[Isobel Serraris]

THE GREAT NABOO PUB CRAWL​

LOCATION — Theed, Naboo
TAGS — Varin Mortifer

The notion of the establishment's owner wanting to see her was a surprise to her as well, what business would Lord Tharvecko have with her? Even through the association within her house, she was but a daughter--only third-in-line until her brothers would inevitably produce heirs. Her brown eyes wandered to Varin's and tensed lightly, trying to bring across that she was as lost as he in this game of political Shah-Tezh.

"That was wrong of me," Bel confessed in the wake of her 'slums' remark. Level 1313 was as dishonest and corrupt as one might have it, and the light irritation from her encounter with Arris Windrun had not improved what little good she had to say about that place--or the entire planet at that. "He is merely on guard, the Republic faces a constant threat from the Sith around it, and. . . pardon me," Her hands moved up defensively: "But you do not have the kindest, most trustworthy face. Which- Which. . . a Sith must not have, obvious...ly,"

A crisis averted as their eyes locked for a brief, awkward, second, before she retracted the flute and brought it to her lips.

The taste of champagne upon her tongue was a strange sensation, prickling her senses and forcing her to lightly wince as it went down. Isobel's favourite had always been Blossom wine, a Nabooan recipe consisting primarily of flowers and having a much sweeter and softer taste than this.

Her gaze followed his path, noting how difficult it may be to slip away from this place should matters go south. Oh Florian, you fool, no doubt being more interested in his secretive conversations with Ashla knows who--"My brother's interests were never with security, I suppose it is a flaw many nobility have." That glimmer of bashfulness on her lips, the downcast eyes, she knew she was among that crowd.

The light amount of champagne was gone as soon as it had arrived; fuelled by their earlier challenges, she would not be the first to throw in the towel. "So, Mister Mortifer," A blatantly fake business tone overwhelmed her voice, as she placed the glass on the table. "What has occurred in your life since Korriban, or. . . Humbarine?" The planet's names were soft, as if to not draw attention to their Sith-like nature.

Another interruption followed suit, as a waiter clad in dark blue, white and maroon, practically spawned at their table; a boy no older than either of them, with a quick and easy smile. He set down two wide glasses on the table, before gathering the empty flutes and placing them on a nearby stand. "Good evening, and welcome to the Golden Vine, my name is Malek and I shall be your sommelier on this fine eve," the man then began to uncork a crystalline bottle of white wine, before pouring a small base within the deep bowl.

The two glasses were gently nudged over to the two guests; "To start this of, this is a Crème D'Infame, a light and fruity wine that should be sweet upon the tongue. The specific blend of grapes gives it its glow, as though it were 'blessed by the sun'." the stranger was trying its hardest to sell the wine to them. He skimmed over how it would taste best when compared with cheeses or salads, Isobel was moreover amused by Varin's expressions to it all.

Once he had finally left them, she gestured toward him; "You heard him, now. . . tell me if any of it is true," The girl chuckled behind her other hand.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber

His brow arched at her defensive movement and her comment about his face before he finished his glass and set it aside. Varin was not an expert on wines or champagnes. Simply to him if it just tasted good then he liked it, he cared not where it came from or how it was made.

Taste was all that mattered.

“I suppose you are right. But I have seen far more questionable people on republic alignment.”

A slight shrug before their eyes locked for that awkward moment before Varin cleared his throat.

He took a deep breath remembering where he was before he simply picked up another glass with his pinky out.

“Nobles still do the pinky thing right?”

He casually looked around before answering her question in a fake serious tone.

“Well Miss Serraris, if you must know, I have not really been up to much. I went to a gala, did some more training, tended to some plants and well…that’s practically it.”

When their server came by and began to speak Varin's gaze flicked over to him, keeping a more neutral expression. He could tell the boy was likely new as he talked about the history of the wine and a soft chuckle left him.

“Blessed by the Sun, you say?”

He picked up his glass and eyed the glowing liquid, his hand moving his glass in small circles.

“If I remember correctly, this is quite a long lasting brand. Surely a wine such as this is likely to taste like an experience.”

He took a small sip and dwelled on its taste. Giving it a moment to build and then dissolve over his senses.

“Hm.”

A small hum escaped him.

“I do not know wines very well.”

A soft huff left him as he processed her request.

“Now is it all true? My bet is if it sells the product then it has to be, speaking from a corporate view I guess.”

He caught the boy before he fully left.

“I will take two bottles.”

He gave him a soft smile and a quick nod.

Isobel Serraris​

 

[Isobel Serraris]

THE GREAT NABOO PUB CRAWL​

LOCATION — Theed, Naboo
TAGS — Varin Mortifer

His verdict was as useless as she had anticipated it to be, though her own take may not have shed more light on the liquid's properties. The artistry of knowing and moreover controlling one's liquor was a craft far beyond the young noblewoman. In her youth (though she was still only nineteen), she was only permitted teas at public gatherings. Wine would scramble the senses, as her father had always 'lovingly' insisted. . . how wrong and how right they were.

The move of his pinky did force a stifled laugh to once more land against the palm of her hand, as Varin busied himself with this horrid façade. Though the waiter may not seem to buy it, he was overjoyed to hear the plea for two bottles of the expensive wine. Those words fell upon her with the force of a tsunami, forcing an immediate shake of the head.

"No--just the one is sufficient. . ." Her jaw shifted back and forth as teeth grit against one another, eyes drew toward her companion, who seemed far too eager to enjoy and test the limits of their 'lightweightedness'. Eh. . . why not? "Alongside one bottle of Blossom wine," A faint, uncertain simper formed itself onto her soft lips.

Silence lingered between them as the sommelier swiftly ensured the table received everything they required; one bottle of Blossom wine for her, and the Crème D'Infame for her fiery associate. Isobel slid her glass of the white toward his side, having left it untouched, but preferring to stick to her rigid drinking habits.

The floral taste upon her tongue of her own wine delighted her, a warm embrace by a familiar figure--one oft-sought for in recent moons. His words still echoed within her mind, left unanswered, even if they dared not impress: "It is not often that I hear someone say they--too--tend to plants. Most find them outrageously dull," All her life had consisted of botany, of the art of cultivation and preservation of these intricate pieces of flora throughout the galaxy. "Is the Blood-flower still in bloom?" A softer query, accompanied by a genuine smile, echoing of their introduction on Korriban.

The more alcohol was poured into her system, the more the nerves began to fade, making the Nabooan seem almost at ease amid their formal and tense environment. Her posture relaxed nigh on imperceptibly, her shoulders loosened and her hands were no longer gripping her handbag as though she wandered some crime-filled planet.

"They just do not get it, the beauty! The art! The value tied to each coloured petal. . . Even syndicates understand their worth," Thoughts ran over the usage of millaflowers for sedative drugs in illegal spheres~ A snort left her at that. "Not advocating for crime, never."

The woman poured another dash of wine into her glass--this was destined to be one long and tumultuous evening. . .