Public The Moonlight Masquerade [OPEN TO ALL]

[Srina Talon]

Tag: Quinn Varanin | Darth Carnifex
Location: Jutrand [Empress Quarters]
Wearing: XxXxX

____________________________________________________

Lanterns burned like captive stars across the grounds, understated and soft, twinkling between leaves and decorations in a way that Srina didn't really have an eye for. It was a place that should have felt soothing, but there was something about the gentleness that felt unusually harsh to her. The air smelled of fruit, flowers, candle wax, and damp earth—Which for Naboo was quite common. Beneath it all lingered another scent that was far more subtle. Jasmine, rain, and ozone, the quiet breath before a storm. It followed her wherever she went.

The pale woman never intended for it to do so, but it was a consequence of pressing all that she was down until it was something small and unrecognizable. She had taken the time to weave her presence carefully, folding every sharp edge of herself beneath a force-clouding barrier so fine, so perfected, it could have fooled a god. Her aura was wrapped, disguised, and smoothed—With eyes of yellow-gold now showing as a plain gun-metal blue through her mask.

Silver—As they had once been, many moons ago.

Sometimes the unoriginality of her genetics worked out to her benefit.

Echani typically held features that lent some level of anonymity among the other guests. Pale, symmetrical, eerily still, with perfect posture? She could have been anyone from Eshan…Any noble's daughter, any diplomat's wife, any warrior, any servant, or handmaiden of the Six Sisters. It was the perfect camouflage, especially with an alchemized mask…But the moment she entered the ballroom with her daughter?

Conversation of those nearest halted for half of a heartbeat, a hush rippled, before fading away. The orchestra played on as she walked fluidly beside the Princess of Eshan, existing as a phantom, amid the bloom of color and laughter. Quinn was wearing bloody red that inherently caught the eye, while Srina, perhaps in mockery, was clad entirely in white. The feathered fabric of her evening wear seemed made for her, as if she had been poured into it, expensive and rare.

No one would know the lining was etched with iridescent Sith runes, with a purpose that was deliberately left unclear. Her eyes drifted over the crowd while Quinn Varanin spoke up, her tone edged, ever sweetly, with the impatience of youth.

"I've never been fond of masquerades,"

"Our kind never is…", Srina returned, soft as ever, speaking of both being Echani and Sith. When the face and eyes were hidden from them, their keenness of vision failed, and it left her with a distinct feeling of blindness. She did not like it when she could not see. "But masks are mirrors, little one. If you watch closely and give your senses time to adjust…You will see the truth."

Quinn pressed on, her words laced with challenge, curiosity, and a touch of mischief. Srina listened to her with distant fondness, as always, giving the young one her full attention whilst also surveying their surroundings. "Have you tired of your lovers so swiftly?", the question was asked without any expression, though there was a faint tick at the kiss of her mouth that betrayed the ghost of something that might have been a smile.

Might have been.

Her eyes followed where Quinn indicated, toward an innocently winsome girl, and her head tilted for a moment while she considered her words. She did not seek to tame her child, but she did wish to teach her so that she might withstand all pressures that being ranked in the upper echelon of Sith required. Their ancestors had walked among the Jedi, unseen and unnoticed until their eternal enemy had nearly been wiped out. They should be able to do the same with impunity if they hoped to be greater than what came before. "We are here because I once considered Naboo my home. I know the terrain, the territory, and the people."

Even if they did not remember her.

Srina still owned a small cottage by a large lake that was maintained by droids…But she had not been back to it in years. Not since finding Aryn Teth once more, not, since discovering he was once more among the living. The fight they'd had…Well, repairs had been required.

"And I can tell you with the utmost certainty that few things test patience more than the high-minded principles of polite society. You are hunted here—And diplomacy is not an art that can be learned in comfort. You must stand among those who would smile while sharpening knives, and know whether to return the gesture with a knife of your own, or another smile."

Jutrand was under Eternalist control, which left Quinn far safer there than she was here. Sith with ambition these days tended to be blunt about their intentions, mouthy, instead of reverently clinging to the shadows to wait for opportunity. Srina would see a threat coming a thousand parsecs away…But here? Things were different. It was a challenge. "How often have you seen me raise my hand against one of our own? How often do I resort to breaking bones when they step out of line?"

The answer to this? Never. Not because she was unwilling…But because it wasn't necessary.

"The moment we resort to force, understand, that we have already lost something. Control."

She breathed in lightly and allowed herself to continue observing the movement of those waltzing, the laughter, the false sense of peace. The illusion of civility was almost…Beautiful. Such a strange way to lie to each other, with song, and dance. Srina would never understand. Her gaze flickered back to the flaxen-haired young woman at her side…"—And control…We never lose that."

The mention of Gerwald Lechner caused her expression to shift, not quite into a smile, but something of remembrance. "I do not fear that you will unintentionally start a war. Unlike my wolf, I believe that you will do so on purpose.", the words held no barb, no bite, or insult. It was a statement delivered with all the emotion of relaying the weather. Gerwald had made the grievous error of seeing two sisters concurrently. The odds of Quinn doing the same were possible, but slim.

The odds of Quinn deciding that some ingrate needed to pay for their sin with their entire bloodline?

That was less a game of chance and more so a state of inevitability.

For a fleeting instant, the veil of her concealment seemed to shimmer, the faint glint of gold beneath silver showing, expressing a shadow of what she really was. Then it was gone, and she was only the masked mother again. Ethereal, unknowable, and flawlessly composed. She turned to Quinn and reached up to brush back an errant strand of hair from her child's face. It was fleeting, reverent.

Filled with more devotion than any embrace could ever hope to offer.

"Go. Find your conversation…Choose your dance. Listen, learn. I will be here should you have need of me…"

Restraint was perhaps the hardest thing to teach a young woman who could move things with the power of her mind. She could have anything she wanted, in the palm of her hand, so why not take it? Was that not the philosophy of the Sith? Want, take, have? Certainly, it was…But there was more to leading an Empire than "taking" whatever drew their eye. It was about leading, which was something their predecessors rarely had to do. Leading a secret mob from the shadows was not the same as commanding an entire nation, nor was it an excuse for selfish pursuits.

Their work came with a price.

Idly, the diminutive Empress reached up to touch the small phylactery that sat warmly against her sternum. Darth Carnifex always seemed to respond when she focused on it, as if he could hear her secret thoughts and concerns. It may not have been true, but the vessel that contained his life had become a quiet talisman for her—A grounding stone.

Would he hear her now?

 

[Kito]

//: Open //:
//: The Midnight Waltz //:
//: Attire //: Mask //:

Socializing was becoming harder and harder. It wasn't the same, but she would need to get used to it. Kito stood in the corner, staring out of the eye holes of a fox-like mask. She didn't have anything else, minus the demon-looking one, and figured it wouldn't be appropriate for this occasion. Thankfully, her usual companion had been available to help for such events, she figured something out. Though time wouldn't allow her to make an appearance.

Coming to something like this was already terrifying enough, but to go alone was another level. Maybe Kito wasn't cut out for events like this, even if deep down she did want to come. She wanted to meet people and find a place of belonging among those like her. Jedi, those were the ones she belonged with… right?

The smiling kitsune mask tilted upwards slightly. Kito had gotten her hands on some of the wine being passed around. She had only tasted anything like this during the coronation gala. The acidic flavor tightened around her tongue as she gulped — now that the Shaper was beyond sipping for taste. The numbness that followed the third glass was pleasant; she stopped feeling as much, but her mind was still mulling over the anxiety she couldn't shake.

Words and memories lingered despite the rest of the glass finishing with her last gulp. Setting it down on one of the passing trays, Kito leaned against the wall and fiddled slightly with the cuffs of her shirt. She had hoped that the Force would allow just a moment, but it seemed time had finally run out. So, she quietly tried to think of ways to start a conversation with someone. She was never good at it, but there had been practice?

Kito groaned as she looked around for another waiter who would have access to another glass of wine or champagne. She hoped for the latter only for a brief momentary memory, and the dryness of the liquid was unique. Unable for the moment to find something, the Shaper settled into her place against the wall. Her eyes returned to the ocean of people mingling, talking, and dancing with each other.

Sighing softly, she lowered the mask and folded her arms. The room spun for only a moment as Kito tried to find some happiness within herself.

She needed to try to enjoy herself.

 

[Isobel Serraris]

THE MOONLIGHT MASQUERADE​

Location — Naboo, Serraris Estate
Objective — Objective one: The Moonlight Waltz
Tags — Lysander von Ascania Josiah Denko / Closed
Paraphernalia — Outfit, Lightsabers (concealed)

The lapse she had undergone repeated itself in her mind as she awaited an answer from her guest. Yet. . . Had her lady mother not taught her proper etiquette? Had she not taught her how to act a proper lady? All the lessons that had shaped her childhood had been for naught with her recent clumsiness And though the Nabooan had anticipated a sharp retort, a snarl that rightfully blamed the young lady for her lack of grace. None came... For the man merely inclined his head towards her, introducing himself, rather than giving her the cold shoulder. Strange, but acceptable.

Isobel's eyes drew upward toward the masked visage of the taller man--his eyes bore a certain kindness, the type not oft-seen in a galaxy tainted by war. Without instruction, a smile found its way on her lips once more, as if reassured it would not cause harm. "Josiah Denko," She repeated, the name sounded familiar, or mostly the second name. House Denko... Her memory unraveled in desperate search for its origin, but had its name sounded in the halls, it would no doubt be of noble origin. Mayhap it too was Nabooan or Hapan?

No matter the origin of his name, another question lingered in her mind: had he been looking for her? Why her? What reason could he possibly have? He swore to be of the Shirayan Order, did that mean they had finally selected a mentor for her? Hm, there was little purpose in overthinking the reason for their introduction, so she silenced such thoughts for now. "House Serraris does have a habit of aiming to impress." She confessed at last, yet her previous blunder forced a red to bloom across her cheeks in a clear blush. "My sincerest apologies once again, Mister Denko..."

She inclined her head once more, a silent apology for the previous matter and the one that followed. For if he had approached her in error, she had foolishly taken up too much of his time. Mayhap it called for an introduction, a clarification: "My name is Isobel Serraris." She said after a pause, her blush slowly vanishing once more as her brow furrowed lightly beneath her mask. "Have you, by any chance… been looking for me?"

Their conversation did not remain uninterrupted for long, as the presence of another found them. With blonde hair, an owl-like mask and a dark suit, his presence was too familiar... And only when he spoke her name did the realisation dawn on her. "Lysander!" The Nabooan let slip, a bit louder than would be deemed formal. Though the masquerade had been open to all sorts of unique people, Isobel had not expected him to join the festivities after their meeting. Yet the beam on her face spoke volumes about how she felt at his arrival. Before she could think better of it, she stepped forward and tried to hug her new friend in greeting. "I was not expecting you to come.."

 

[Aether Verd]

HOUSE SERRARIS ESTATE, NABOO
The Midnight Masquerade

Patiently, the Mand’alor orbited the gilded hall of House Serraris. From behind the cold face of his helm, his gaze swept from mask to mask, face to face, yet none met the image that lingered in his mind. None were the bright one who had stood beside him on Iridium, hands steady while the world itself tried to fall apart. None were the healer who had smiled at him through exhaustion and smoke. Each unfamiliar face turned him further into the sea of strangers, until his eyes caught the faint glow of moonlight spilling through an open archway.

His steps carried him toward it without thought. The garden waited beyond, soft and silver, and at its heart lay a marble fountain shaped like lilies in bloom. Aether’s gaze caught on it for a heartbeat, and then his head turned fully. He stopped.

For a small eternity, the music died in his ears. The chatter of nobles dulled into nothing, the laughter faded. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart, quick and uneven against the weight of his chest. He did not know why. Perhaps it was the sight before him, perhaps something more. It felt as though the moon itself had descended from the heavens and chosen to wear Mandalorian iron.

Persephone stood there beneath the light, wrapped in silver and silk, the soft gleam of her armor reflecting like ripples across water. The healer who had once braved fire and ruin now looked as if she had been sculpted from calm itself. Aether did not know how long he stared before realizing that his jaw had fallen slightly open, mercifully hidden behind his visor.

He took a single step forward, and then another, until his hand rose to the side of his helm. The hiss of air was soft as he lifted it free. Dreadlocks fell loose as his swordhand brushed them back, and he cradled the helmet in the crook of his arm. The silence remained. Only the slow, steady rhythm of his boots against polished marble filled the space between them.

This was foreign ground. He had faced battlefields that reeked of blood and smoke, fought monsters born from darkness, thrown himself from burning ships, and walked away from horrors that could unmake lesser men. Yet none of it had ever made him feel quite like this. Unease twisted in his stomach, strange and unfamiliar. It was not fear, nor the sharpness that came before combat. It was the pull of something else entirely.

And still, he moved closer. There was no force in the galaxy that could have kept him from doing so. The feeling was that of a moth drawn toward flame, inevitable and unthinking. With each step, another stray thought crossed his mind, the kind that would make his warriors laugh themselves breathless later. Did he have helmet hair? Was his cloak crooked? Ridiculous thoughts, but they filled the silence until he found himself standing before her.

The fountain’s light painted her in silver and gold. He smiled, and it reached his eyes even before his lips caught up. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, softly, with that same warmth that had once broken through the smoke of war, he spoke.

“I see you.”

The words were simple, but they carried something that lingered between jest and reverence. He gestured lightly toward her attire, and the smile deepened. “I do not have enough words to describe how...incredible you look this evening.”

Aether’s laughter came low and easy after that, shaking loose the weight in his chest. “I had thought of inviting you for traditional tea,” he admitted, “but I figured this might be... more entertaining.” His gaze flicked toward the hall behind them, alive with laughter and light. “So, tell me. What do you think of our Naboo friends and their masquerade?”​

Persephone Halcyon + Open​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Naboo - Serraris Estate

Equipment:
Masquerade Attire | Lightsaber (hidden)

The smuggler's comment drew a practiced smirk from the rebel, Kinley was as charming as ever. Ace folded his arms, nodding a greeting in her direction.

"If it isn't the Quacta calling the Stifling slimy."

Ace cast a sidelong glance at Devin following his jab. He stopped just short of the bar, mask angled slightly toward her, tone easy but precise. Kinley, like always, seemed too relaxed for someone surrounded by marks. And too sharp for anyone to mistake her for one.

"This is Devin." He said, pointing a thumb toward him with the faintest flick of his hand "Teasing and backhanded compliments is all he's good at."

The space between them stretched, heavy with old familiarity. When he finally looked at her again, his tone was flat but the kind that only someone who'd seen her work would recognize.

"Who're you here for, Pryse? 'Cause something tells me it isn't the free drinks."

While he waited for her to answer, his gaze absently gravitated toward the floor. To Sibylla. Morbid curiosity or masochism, he wasn't sure what it was. But he had caught it.

At first, it was just movement. But then the world seemed to narrow, sound collapsing into a single, muted hum. Aurelian's hand curved around her waist, their bodies drawing together in a way that left no doubt of what was coming.

And then they kissed. It wasn't theatrical. It wasn't staged. It was real... unguarded, honest, the kind of kiss that made the whole ballroom fade into nothing.

Something in Ace's chest cinched tight. A sharp, unbidden ache that cut through him so fast it almost stole his breath. He didn't know if it was jealousy, loss, or just the brutal reminder that she had chosen someone else, but whatever it was, it hit deep. The Force surged with it, raw and instinctive, flooding outward before he could stop it.

A faint tremor rippled through the nearby bar. Glasses chimed, then splintered - a crisp, crystalline sound that cut through the music for half a second before vanishing back into the noise.

Ace's jaw clenched. He forced the breath back into his lungs, shoulders tight beneath the jacket. The warmth that had flared in his chest hollowed into something cold and distant. Swallowing once, he let the mask do its work. The smirk slid back into place, dull and practiced, as if nothing had happened.

"That was weird, huh?" He muttered, voice steady but quieter now.

Then, as if nothing had shattered but glass, his gaze snapped back to Kinley. "Now. You were saying, Pryse?"

Devin Virell | Kinley Pryse ​

 

[Josiah Denko]

HOUSE SERRARIS ESTATE, NABOO
The Moonlight Masquerade

Ah.

For the briefest of moments, a familiar sensation brushed against Josiah’s senses. It was faint, like the aftertaste of smoke upon the tongue, yet distinct enough that he recognized it at once. Darkness. Not the natural shade cast by the lanterns above, but the kind that reached through the Force and pressed faintly against the soul. His jaw tightened as memory stirred. He remembered that taste from all those years ago, when he had fallen into the abyss of the Dark Side and served it as both acolyte and prisoner. For an instant, the sensation lingered, like a whisper carried through the waltz. And then, it was gone. Cleaned away, as though it had never been.

His guard rose quietly, though his posture did not change. He was far from the only servant of the Light in this place, and he would not start a scene in a hall filled with masks.

A new presence approached before he could dwell on it further. A man in dark attire, his manner measured, his tone respectful. “My lord,” the stranger greeted, bowing lightly before turning his attention toward the young woman beside him. Josiah inclined his head in kind, voice even as he returned the courtesy. “Good evening.” he said, offering the stranger the smallest of nods before his focus returned to his would-be Padawan.

Isobel Serraris.

She repeated his name as if testing it upon her tongue, then hastened into an apology. Josiah raised his swordhand, palm out, a quiet gesture of assurance. “No apology needed,” he said with warmth threading through his tone. “I was indeed looking for you. The Order has given me the honor of training you in our ways.”

He was ready to continue, perhaps to offer a word of comfort, when her expression changed. The sound of her voice brightened, a sudden joy breaking through the calm. She turned toward the blonde stranger, greeting him with excitement that filled the space between them. The sound made Josiah chuckle under his breath.

“Well,” he said with a faint smile, motioning toward the pair. “Official business can wait. The night is young, and I would rather not be the old man standing in the way of two friends reuniting.”

He then folded his hands behind his back as the orchestra swelled once more, content to linger in the light of their laughter rather than the echoes of his own past.​

Isobel Serraris , Lysander von Ascania + Open​

 

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

O B J E C T I V E - 1

Kinley Pryse is so wanted even her shadow has a bounty​

"This is Devin." He said, pointing a thumb toward him with the faintest flick of his hand "Teasing and backhanded compliments is all he's good at."

"Nice necklace," Devin drawled, voice dry as Tatooine's sand. "Wedding gift?"

Kinley's smirk tilted wider. "Party favor." She grinned, cool and unbothered as ever. Devin was easy on the eyes, she'd give him that, but she reminded herself to keep it professional. Too young, too messy. Business before pleasure. Always.

She swirled her drink, the picture of composure. Kinley Pryse never looked rattled; that was part of the legend. She might not belong here among the polished marble and perfume-drenched elites, but the trick was to make it seem like they didn't belong with her.

"Who're you here for, Pryse? 'Cause something tells me it isn't the free drinks."

Kinley feigned offense, one hand to her chest. "I'll have you know my cousin's uncle's grade-school tutor is a dear friend of the host." The lie rolled off her tongue like she'd rehearsed it.

But Acier wasn't listening. His gaze had drifted toward the dance floor, toward a striking woman currently tangled up with some dashing fool. Kinley followed his line of sight, her smirk curling into something sharper. The couple looked picture-perfect, but the tension in the Force told a different story. The glass shattering across the room confirmed it.

Well, well. Someone was unraveling.

"You know the best way to get over a girl?" she said, her tone low and teasing. "Get higher than the problem."

A small bag of spice appeared between her fingers, then vanished again, sleight of hand, a magician's trick, gone before the light caught it.


Acier Moonbound Devin Virell

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Domina Prime]

​

MOONLIGHT WALTZ
Regalia of Ha'rangir​

The Warpriest pouted childishly, her great form shrinking in on itself as she stood at the edge of the ballroom. The waltz spun on like a storm she couldn't join. Ribbons, laughter, the soft whirl of gowns and grace, all moving around her like water around a stone.

She tried not to let it sour her mood.
After all, she was a fine lady, wasn't she?

A princess, even. A creature of stature and poise. Surely, surely it should have been an honor for one of these finely dressed gentlemen to take her hand.

But none came.

Her jaw plates twitched with irritation. Her ears hung low. The longer it went on, the heavier her chest felt. Until she realized that somewhere beneath all the divine pride and war-hardened faith, she was just...sad.

Siv Kryze 's voice cut through her thoughts like the edge of clarity.

"Dima," he said, helm dipping slightly. "You're fighting harder than anyone here, even if they don't see it. They mistake silence for weakness and softness for surrender. But you? You're standing here anyway. That's strength. You want them to dance with you? Then stop waiting for them to think you belong. Walk up, offer your hand, and make the moment yours. You don't need to fit their rhythm, make them keep up with yours. You've already got their attention; all that's left is to remind them why."

Her ears fluttered like birdwings, and her teeth chittered in delight.

Something clicked inside her.

Her four hands flew up, smacking the sides of her face with an audible thwack as she tried to shake herself out of her sulk. "Y-yeah! You're right!" she barked, startling a nearby servant. "I'll TAKE their hand! Even if they don't like it because I'm a LADY, and I DESERVE a dance! Tonight, I'm gonna live my fairytale!"

She thumped one of her fists proudly against the heart of her chestplate. Siv might've meant confidence with grace, but Dima...had taken it as a declaration of conquest.

The ground almost seemed to tremble as she stormed forward. Not unkindly, but unavoidably. Her enormous silhouette carved through the dancers like a prow through waves, scattering couples and sending the orchestra slightly off tempo.

Her tail flicked behind her.

Until someone stomped on it.

A pained yelp tore from her throat. "O-ouch! WATCH IT!" She spun, glaring, only to soften instantly at the sight of the poor offender, a young noblewoman in silk. "Oh...love the dress! Super cute! NOW MOVE!"

She grimaced through polite smiles, apologizing between gritted teeth as she pushed through.

Her heart was hammering.
She didn't know where she was going.
Only that she was done watching.

And then, she saw her.

A girl in a fox-like mask, Kito standing alone by the wall, her posture unsure and glass empty. The loneliness in her stance was almost familiar. The way her fingers fidgeted with her sleeves, how her gaze drifted away when anyone looked too long. Dima recognized that kind of pain.

Her steps slowed. Her ears lifted slightly.

Without thinking, she wrapped her long tail around herself protectively and approached, her shadow stretching until it touched the girl's feet. For a moment, Dima hesitated. Then, with a tiny, almost childlike motion, she reached out and gave the hem of the girl's suit a gentle tug.

The kitsune-masked woman would see was something both endearing and heartbreaking.

The towering warpriest stood clutching her own tail like a stuffed toy, four arms shifting nervously as her upper claws brushed her pale hair from her mask. She smiled, awkwardly, earnestly, a little too wide.

"So...like," Dima began, her voice dropping into a sheepish murmur, "I wanted to ask if you wanted to, I dunno...take my hand and um, dance. OR I COULD TAKE YOURS! If you'd like~"

She paused, wincing at her own tone. "Cute boys are in short supply. And, uh...I'm trying to be like, a real 'noble lady,' but it hasn't been going too well. You're alone too, so I thought maybe we could both be noble lady princesses and...dance together. Instead of watching everyone else~"

The last words came out softer, shy as a confession. Her claws fidgeted with the edge of her tail. "Unless you're busy, you probably have a cute boy already~" she added quickly, eyes dropping to the floor. "I-I can go."

And for the briefest moment, the goddess of war looked very much like a child, trembling at the edge of something she didn't understand, wishing only to belong to a world that still looked at her like a monster.

O P E N​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

​

Objective1: The Moonlight Waltz
Tag: Isobel Serraris | Josiah Denko
Mask

It didn't take long for Lysander to discern a familiar aura surrounding the man. The Light, the radiance, it was unmistakable, revealing him as a Jedi. But it would also stir something expected within Lysander tonight. His former master had been surfacing in his thoughts with increasing frequency since first sensing his signature recently, when multiple factions found themselves colliding over Atrisia. Ever too good to him, ever too patient, but something unspoken was there, a shadow he could not escape, no matter how far he ran.

He knew it would have to be faced soon, being one of the reasons that drove him to Naboo earlier this week.

Beneath it all, he could not deny missing Brandyn Sal-Soren .

Before thought could ripple through his mind, before his heart could even stutter in surprise, the girl was already in motion, senses overwhelmed. Arms that wove around him stirred something almost unfamiliar. His shoulders remain rigid for but a moment. And within that tension, no denial took root, nor did he resist the embrace that pulled from him a soft sigh, a single breath that was like admitting defeat. Frame easing, he drew her in, conceding to the same language.

“You do realize,” he murmured, a thread of mirth in his voice, “that shouting my name across this gathering kind of defeats the purpose of masks.”

Once he withdrew, hands drifted away like the final notes of a song. His focus returned to the Jedi, this time with a spark of respect, followed by a graceful bow of his head. “I didn’t intend to derail any business. But if I don’t ask her to dance, I’ll be accused of wasting the masquerade. I promise I’ll return her with both feet intact.”

When their eyes met anew, a gentle gleam kindled. There was a playful edge to his tone, “Well, I half expected you to check if I’d remembered your instructions.”

He trailed off briefly, allowing the silence to fill the space before continuing. “They’ve been watered daily, and kept somewhere the sun can reach.. but not too much sunlight. Because.. that would be bad, and they’d dry out.”

Lately, it was strange, even to him, how he had been on better behavior, his thoughts settling into a rare, calm rhythm.

Lysander reached out, palm unfolding like a petal, that of courtly refinement. “So, before the tongues of gossip invent a dozen stories about us just standing here, will you dance with me, Bel?” Composure ebbed, replaced by something genuine. “If I happen to step on your toes, you may consider it revenge for the tea’s offense.”

​

 

[Loomi]

Naboo
Tags: Braze

Epo-1, Lushi​

"The masks let would-be nobles mingle with commoners more freely," he went on. "The mystery suspends all that class and status nonsense for one night."

Being somebody important sounded so restrictive. Loomi remembered well when she spoke to Corazona after her engagement. The turmoil she had experienced was real, and very clearly harmful towards her well being. The Godoan's own mother was now only just coming to terms with how she had been forged into a tool by a caste system. Status seemed to bring so many issues. Maybe it was for the better that Loomi had lost hers.

That caste system hardly mattered anymore these days. Ord Providence was what kept it together, and it had since been lost.

But you seem nervous... what would you like to do

"Dance... and maybe forget everything for a while..." Loomi decided in a hushed tone. "If... you'd teach me how to dance like everyone else is."

She hadn't done so before.

 

[Fatine von Ascania]

Midnight Waltz | Cassian Abrantes ​

"Well," Fatine insisted in the teasing air that lingered between them. "We could all do with a little rebellion now and again."

Though he was noble-born, Cassian had a different charm to him than Ukatian men. He was modern, and though he seemed intent on stretching her patience, she was fascinated by how easily he took her playful taunting - and then gave it right back.

When he finally offered his hand, Fatine arched a sharp brow. She let that patience stretch a little bit more before settling her smaller, delicate fingers against his own.

Inwardly, she felt a small spark of surprise as she brushed against callouses. That's right, she reminded herself. He's a soldier.

"Oh,"

A quiet murmur slipped past her lips as Cassian traced along the contour of her palm. Fatine righted her expression almost immediately as they swept into the dance.

It was there where he touched upon her Ukatian complaints, a topic that she was far too eager to expand upon. This time, when his hand brushed against her lower back, her painted lips pulled into the line of a smirk to contrast against the rosy flush of cheeks.

"What do I hope to find?" She echoed with a small laugh as he dipped her. "I don't want to be some sheltered, meek little thing used as marriage fodder. I want to live on my own terms."

Fatine had been young, around 10 or 11 when her eldest sister had been wed. There was a darker side to Ukatian traditions - many of which had been lost on her then. Still, she remembered the way that the light had faded from her sister's eyes. It was something that had struck with her even now, and had been given a deeper meaning after learning the abuses she’d suffered under the hand of her husband.

While Cora's plight hadn't been a catalyst, it cemented Fatine's desire to break free from the expectations of Ukatian womanhood.

"You happen to be dancing with an actress, you know."

As Cassian guided her into their next turn, Fatine followed the flow of their dance effortlessly. Even as a wild child, she had still been trained in all manner of courtly skill.

"The plays I perform in are exclusive to Ukatis," she added with an air of vanity, trying to make the small-time playhouse sound like something only select individuals were allowed to attend.

Fatine leaned in close, close, full lips pulling into a smug little pout. "Do you like art, General? Ukatis may not be as refined a Naboo, but we have our own charm.”

Pity that she didn't realize that Lysander von Ascania had already clocked her dancing.