Public The Moonlight Masquerade [OPEN TO ALL]

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Naboo - Serraris Estate

Equipment:
Masquerade Attire | Lightsaber (hidden)

For a long moment, Ace didn't answer. The echo of that kiss still clung to him, its aftershock thrumming through the Force like pressure beneath his ribs.

He blinked, once, pulling himself back to the present again and the ballroom's noise rushed in once more. Kinley's smirk was razor-smooth, that little bag of spice flashing like a threat disguised as a trick. Beside him, Devin had already cut in with that lazy, self-deprecating drawl, sliding between them with the ease of someone who knew exactly when to steer the ship. Buying him room to breathe.

Ace exhaled through his nose, tension easing by degrees. He didn't say thanks, it wasn't their language, but his glance at the pilot lingered a fraction longer than it needed to.

When he finally spoke, his tone was even, dry, just enough bite to sound like himself again.

"Yeah, not my game." His gaze drifted to Kinley, the weight behind it deliberate. "Messes with the 'magic powers'." Ace added, wiggling his fingers as if to make the point.

The smirk he offered her was faint but real, a ghost of his usual humor. He reached past her, snagged a glass from the bar that hadn't been shattered by his earlier lapse, and lifted it slightly toward both of them. It wasn't a Scarif Slush, but... it was better than spice, at least.

"You two go ahead, though. Toast to bad habits. You're both experts."

He took a sip, the taste dull on his tongue, and set the glass back down untouched. The ache in his chest pulsed again, less like fire now, more like an old scar being pressed. Then he straightened, rolling his shoulders once as if shaking off the memory.

"Alright." He murmured, his voice dropping to a calm that felt almost like armor. "Let's try to make it through the rest of the night without starting a war or overdosing. Low bar, I know."

At this point, whatever Kinley was here for? He didn't care anymore. It was someone's else's problem. Right now, he just wanted a distraction.

The Force around him settled, faintly restless but contained now, like a storm held behind glass.

Kinley Pryse | Devin Virell​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

A thoughtful hmm escaped Cora as the other woman gently secured the flower around her wrist. The way her delicate touch lingered didn't escape the blonde, but she didn't rebuke it, either.

So much could be learned through body language.

"You are a scientist, then?"

The Echani's allusion to botanical experimentation was both a relief and a concern. A relief that her sense of smell wasn't entirely turning on her, but a concern for the dark nature that typically followed such practices.

And yet, she didn't find the blossom any less beautiful. Cora held her arm out, wrist bent so that she could admire the splash of crimson color against pale skin. Then next sound that left her was one of surprising approval.

Just when she was about to question the particulars of this new species, her conversation partner found a new angle.

The wedding ring. Beneath the crystal, Cora's lips pursed in a breath of amusement, an expression that reached the crinkling of skin around her eyes.

"Who says that this isn't a decoy to keep the suitors at bay?"

One that hadn't deterred the Sith, but Cora would've found a swift excuse to leave the conversation if she hadn't been enjoying it.

"My husband trusts me to fend for myself. But what about you?" She gave the glass a gentle swirl as one would wine, blue liquid painting a pale cloud along the glass' edge. "Have you come here in search of a partner? Or a plaything, perhaps?"

The air between them was light and playful, as much as it could be with the lingering tension that coiled behind their words.

"Lysander!" The Nabooan let slip, a bit louder than would be deemed formal.

Where she'd been all fluid lines and measured grace, Cora's head suddenly snapped to the side. Not too much - just beyond Jorryn's shoulder, that soft blue gaze piercing the crowd until she witnessed a lovely young woman embracing her brother.

Cora's heart lurched, as it often did when she saw Lysander von Ascania . Their relationship growing up had been so simple and pure. Now, it was a complicated, tangled mess.

Still, Cora found that couldn't love him any less because of it. To her, he would always be that boy with the blonde curls and a smile that lit up every corner of his face - not to mention her heart.

"Ahem," she was quick to clear her throat with another laborious intake of blue milk. Slowly, her attention settled back onto the Echani. "Apologies, that was rude of me. You were saying?"

Jorryn Fordyce

 

[Aerik Lechner]

WEARING: xxx || TAG: Quinn Varanin | Srina Talon | OPEN​

If Aerik or his siblings had ever set foot on Naboo, he would have remembered it. This planet had once been important to his parents. Gerwald had served as the Lord Commander of the Knights Obsidian during the days when the Confederacy of Independent Systems held the world as its capital planet. This was also the birthplace of his mother Naedira Darcrath . It was odd to the pup that they never visited the world, but the circumstances of her death and rebirth likely made it a complicated venture.

Would she remember her family?

Aerik could not imagine the difficulties surrounding those events. His father was not a soft creature, and only two people seemed capable of tempering the dark and violent rage the Dread Wolf embodied. The power to bring such a mighty beast to heel was something that Aerik did not understand, and yet…

She was here.

The pup knew better than to crush on a teacher from the academy, and yet it was almost a right of passage. Echani seemed to carry an elegant beauty about the way they appeared and moved, and even made combat and violence a radiant sight to behold. Aerik was captured by it. There was a certain innocence about the acolyte which the academy had not stripped from him, and most of that was due to how much like his father he was. There had been rumor and story about how aloof the Dread Wolf had been when it came to women, and it seemed Aerik was just as ignorant.

“Stay away from crazy.”

It was the only advice his father had given him on the matter, and it came without any further explanation or context.

Quinn Varanin was not crazy, at least Aerik seemed to think so. Even as he saw her across the room in the red dress and golden mask all he could see was her elegance. It was equal in his mind to that of the woman she was with, Srina Talon . The Empress was a frightful creature. His family was indebted to her, and by extension that meant Aerik was hers to command regardless of who his master was. If these two were not enough to convince the pup that Echani held a certain immaculate beauty, nothing else would.

He was smitten, and it was all too innocent for a Sith.

“Right,” he said to himself as he finished whatever was in his glass and set the empty vessel on a tray as one seemed to float by.

He pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning against and made his way across the room. There were those who had found partners and began to dance. It was elegant and sophisticated. This was not the kind of celebration his father was known for hosting. There was not enough ruckus, fighting, or mead, to come close. This was something more noble. The protocol here was something his mother and the Zambranos had made him practice. His fiery colored eyes would already draw attention to him. His behavior did not need to.

Aerik was stoic, until he was not. The only time he had lost control of his temperament was near his first change. He could not keep the anger or other emotions in check. What brewed beneath the surface of his stoney expressions was anything but disciplined. Aerik had simply learned it was better if no one knew. It allowed him to hide his strength and keep an advantage. It was a tactical and practical decision. Something Lupo were not known for.

Aerik was not just a Lupo. He was something more, something better.

His first greeting was to the white Empress, Srina Talon . He bowed his head low showing deference. This was what was expected in these types of settings after all. Unlike his father, Aerik had been raised knowing how to blend in when duty demanded it.

“Your Majesty.”

He waited for what time was appropriate, pushing every bit of nervousness he felt as low as he could. It would not show to most, but to the trained eye of an Echani, he could not hide it fully. His head turned to Quinn Varanin , bowing to her as well, though not as low as it had to Srina.

“May I have this…” Aerik cleared his throat trying to avoid tripping over his words. “Would you like to dance?”

 

[Isobel Serraris]

THE MOONLIGHT MASQUERADE​

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

The deception... Her smile wavered as she bore witness to how he had nearly drowned her gift, it did not provide her much reason to do it again. Should circumstance allow that... "And what told you that I would not do that now, Lys." And though a light hurt graced her words, she tried her hardest to make it appear as humour--As if that ever was her forte. Isobel forced herself to take a deep breath and let her disappointment slide right off, but that glimmer in her eye remained. The quiet judgment of the dishonesty he had fed her for the sake of not disappointing her, it felt so familiar and so agitating.

The dance permitted no room for distraction, and thus Isobel forced her attention back to her footing, so that it might keep her from tripping over her own gown. Yet her efforts met defeat at once, for she nearly slipped while following after Lys. Fortunately, she managed to catch herself, composing herself once more through the steadiness of his grip--and the gentle tightening of his hand as he studied the cuts marring her fingers. Of course... she had forgotten to wear her gloves, whilst mother had told her to do so, but her head was in the clouds as always. "The roses proved to be quite stubborn this year." The young lady explained, a familiar red blush gracing her cheeks once again as she coped with the shame. "And yes, I've been at war with them before I learned to walk." Which was not as young as it may seem.

When his hand found her back, she tensed--her eyes widening like a guarlara hearing thunder and a gasp escaping her lips. After a brief moment, she let go, not explaining what happened or why she tensed, it would only make things worse than they already were. "I never said I could dance... Or that I was any good at it." Isobel mumbled, and did her best to follow his instructions, but sometimes mistaking one for the other and stepping on his fancy boots. "Sorry-" She blurted out on one such instance, nearly tumbling forward, but catching his arms just in time. Yet the waltz continued, if she stopped moving, the pair would only shape an obstacle for the other dancers and draw attention. The girl forced herself upright and resumed the choreography, counting under her breath. One, two, three...

It went well for a time, and a cautious smile found her lips as her gaze finally centred on Lysander, and not her clumsy feet. So long as she kept control over her timing and... all of that, it would turn out fine. Right? Little did she know that her father's gaze had been trailing the pair since the moment they hugged. And his displeasure was as clear as day.

 

[Kinley Pryse]

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

O B J E C T I V E - 1

Kinley Pryse looks so good even her wanted posters have lip prints on them
​

"Not his game. Not tonight."

Kinley lifted her hands in mock surrender, palms out, a lazy grin playing at her lips. She never pushed the stuff, never had to. The smart ones steered clear of the devil's burn; the reckless ones paid her well enough to learn the hard way.

"But me? I'm a simpler creature. No magic tricks, no codes. Just bad habits."

"My kind of man," she quipped, rubbing her thumb and fingers together, the universal gesture for credits.

Once the payment slid across, the little bag made a reappearance, flicked toward the pilot with the kind of casual grace that came from too many deals like this. Kinley stirred her drink as if the exchange were no more exciting than the weather.

Her careful chestnut eyes drifted to Acier, studying him over the rim of her glass. The fancy girl who'd gotten under his skin was still in his head; Kinley could see it plain as day. When she finally caught that flicker of realization in his expression, that Kinley was the least of his problems tonight, she smirked. Good. She wasn't in the mood to play babysitter, and she'd rather not bruise any egos unless she had to.

"Let's try to make it through the rest of the night without starting a war or overdosing. Low bar, I know."

"Aye."

Fortunately for everyone involved, neither of those things were on her agenda tonight.

Acier Moonbound Devin Virell

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Raylin Fall]

Smokin'....
​

It was cathartic. Raylin was a lot of things, and not without his scars. He had escaped grievous injuries for the most part but the battles remained with him. He didn't have the force or wealth to wallow in, nothing to dull the pain or take the edge off.

Cigarettes and the occasional recreational drug use would do. And-

A stiff drink now and again. He stood up, rubbing his head. Headaches came first, then the shakes. The demon drink got ahold of him a while ago, and he hadn't been able to stop. Some days he'd stay in his barracks room, in a bender or in a stupor. Naboo wine made for good company when all you had was yourself and dead memories. It took the death of hope for him to let the idea of inner peace go.

He knew what he was. He knew his end. He'd die, with no fanfare and on some nameless or perhaps forgotten planet. It'd be a footnote, another dead Republic trooper subjected to the schemes and machinations of the demigods of Jedi and Sith waging war against each other across the galaxy. He'd die and nobody would remember him after about twenty years or so.

He took a swig from the bottle he swiped from the party- a whole bottle of wine for himself. His tolerance had led him to take it in stride, and he wouldn't be too terribly drunk- the stuff was light, fruity, party wine. Not sad-drink-alone wine. He stood up, walking further into the garden. He adjusted his beret and his uniform, then a voice said- ethereal, otherworldly, carrying the tone simultaneously of a whisper and speaking next to him. Like the voice spoke in three places at once, here, far, and in his ear.

"You shouldn't smoke in the garden."
​

Raylin, a quarter of the way into his stupor, replied curtly:

"Fuck off, ghost."

Raylin thought it was a person just hiding and being coy. A servant, a bellboy, a valet parking attendant for the speeders.

 

[Telula Vale]

Telula Vale
​

Objective: 1 - The Moonlight Waltz
TAG: Open
Wearing: [Dress] [Mask]


More and more recently Telula found herself returning to places, or visiting places that she had either never expected to return to, or had never seen before. Tonight was the former, and it would be quite the fib on the tip end of her tongue if she were to say that she was not somewhat nervous to find herself on this planet, mulling about in such elegance. A thought which made one of the young woman's hands lift to touch the delicate, albeit simple mask adorning her face.

Nervous or not, Telula felt no need to hide. There was no one she was attempting to impress nor hide from, and attending this masque had merely been something she felt not only the desire to do, but a need as well. Some small inkling that tonight was important and she was supposed to witness...though she found herself reaching for the mind of the dutiful Hound who was not by her side yet again. Sooner or later Kai was going to grow annoyed at his lack of attendance to her ventures and what a mess that was going to make.

The hand that had moments before touched the mask on Lula's face now fell to join the other along the skirt of her dress. She pushed gently against the fabric as if to smooth out wrinkles in the black lace that simply were not present. A sign of her nervousness, perhaps. Or maybe it was old habits resurfacing; an uncertainty of her surroundings and the people within. She had been a shy, nervous creature once upon a time...

Which is why now her posture straightened and an easy smile tugged at the corners of her painted lips. Whatever reason had brought her here, one thing was for certain, she would not remain a wallflower throughout the depths of the evening. The music was lovely, the surrounding people were elegant and beautiful, and that alone allowed Lula to start making her way around the edges of those currently engaged in dance while she looked for not only welcoming - or curious - people to mingle with, but perhaps a drink to keep herself this steady as well.

​

 

[Lorn Reingard]

Tags: Bastila Sal-Soren​

Lorn had mastered the art of standing still unnoticed, a Jedi trick useful in war and even more so at parties. A tray of hors d'oeuvres became his shield. He started with a cautious bite, then, out of sheer discomfort, ate half the platter by the time Bastila began speaking.

Her voice had a polished, deliberate rhythm, but her words carried weight. "Not permitted the luxury of friends." That phrase lingered. He chewed on it along with the spiced pastry he'd just stuffed into his mouth, unsure which sat heavier.

When she said he "filled the space," he nearly choked. He shot her a sideways look, a mix of bafflement and faint amusement, before deciding it was safest to chew faster and pretend he hadn't heard. With Bastila, it was always hard to tell if something was a compliment or an accusation.

Then she went distant. Her eyes tracked something, or someone, across the ballroom. He followed her gaze instinctively, tracing the same line through the crowd, and landed on a woman radiating impossible stillness and pale fire. Even through the masks, he felt a tangible weight, like a presence pressing on the very air. The Force stirred, tense and alive, and Lorn's gut tightened.

He'd seen her before... Just didn't know where. Before he could piece the thought together, Bastila moved again with grace and careful calm, as if settling back into herself after a momentary lapse.

Now she was teasing him about appearances. "Careful standing too close..." He huffed a quiet, disbelieving laugh and picked up another pastry, just to give his hands something to do.

"Do I dance?" he repeated, muffled around the food. "No."

He paused, studying her profile. Her composure didn't quite mask the strain underneath. Finally, he lowered his voice. "You said you're not permitted the luxury of friends." He paused, then tilted his head, his brow furrowing beneath the mask. "Who exactly forbade that?"

He didn't stop there. "And that woman you just looked at, who is she?"

Lorn leaned slightly closer, quiet but intent. "And why are you so upset about your 'peers' dancing?"

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

​

Objective1: The Moonlight Waltz
Tag: Isobel Serraris
Mask

Everything spoken earlier still hung between them, clinging like a venomous vapor, stinging his senses like needles. The flush on her cheeks was plain enough, the discomfort written there for any to see, but through the current that coiled around him, through his attunement to the Force, he sensed more. A deeper unease lurked beneath, a ripple of self‑consciousness that cut sharper than her words conveyed.

Lysander had meant his jest to lighten her, as he always did, for his quips had been his armor and blade, serving him well from the Core Worlds to the Outer Rim, with always the same effect of easing tension. But with Isobel, his humor had not eased her; it pierced. The realization of this jarred him more than he wanted to admit, causing his little facade of wit to crumble further.

As she stumbled, her body rebelling against the waltz, he caught her effortlessly, his embrace steady. That misstep would simply fade into the choreography, folded into the movements of his arms, which were guiding her back into rhythm.

The spike of her nerves struck him, though he dared not to show it.

Had she been seeking refuge from the sensations of this masquerade ball, he found he did not mind. For in truth, he welcomed it, the pressing of weight, the trust in one's grip. Rather than a burden, he bore it as a gift. Lysander didn't wish to push her away as his words had nearly done; he wanted her there.

The movements were channeled by muscle memory that replaced conscious thought so long ago, leading into another turn. Beyond their steps, the space around them had been mapped, aware of the other dancers, and the pulse of strings that wove everything together. When they were brought close again, his head dipped just slightly.

“I never meant to upset you. I was only trying to ease things.. it was wrong of me.”

Now, though, he risked giving away more than he intended.. his awareness through the Force, even muted, even hidden, might yet betray him..

The lead hand that had propelled them onward now cradled instead, less a command than a promise. A quiet smile played at the corner, just enough to unveil a glimpse beyond the surface. Every internal beat was steady. And so, he inhaled once more. The blonde then gave more words to the space between their steps.

“We don’t have to be perfect out here.” The hand eased at her back through the next three steps, barely a whispered breeze, hoping to make it feel more as an invitation than anything else. “We can stumble, laugh, and still move together.”

As he said that, his fingers trailed over her palm where thorns had left their mark; an acknowledgement of the wounds she had confessed earlier, an apology.. to say her truth was more valuable than any falter.

"Besides, tonight, I'd rather stumble with you than glide with anyone else."

​

 

[Jorryn Fordyce]

// Lady Jorryn Fordyce //
// Objective I // The Moonlight Waltz //
// Focus // // Corazona von Ascania //
// Attire //

---

---

As the Echani's hand rest upon the mysterious blonde's she could sense a faint feeling of apprehension, a curiosity in just what kind of scientist Jorryn was. Of course, the truth was presumably enough to scare the girl away, but there was a more readily consumed portion that she shared.

"I would consider myself more of a botanist these days, though this flower has certainly caught some curiosity." A thumb brushed against the red petals lying on Corazona's wrist. "I would love to tell you more about it later on, I think it has great potential to benefit the galaxy."

The conversation slowly danced back towards the wedding ring upon the blonde's finger, a smirk growing upon her lips as Cora mentioned it's use in chasing away suitors.

"I imagine it works on the younger, stupider ones, though it may incentivise some others." The Sith leaned in close to the blonde's ear, a delicate tune strumming along with the words. "Take me for example."

The words came quietly, an amused tone hiding whether the words were serious or not.

As the woman mentioned her husband, an exaggerated click of the tongue as she feigned disappointment in the woman being married to a man. Teasing in the way that only two girls who knew how these events usually went could.

"Should I have come for some playthings?" The mask shifted upwards as Jorryn's amusement continued to grow, surprised at the bold jests her new companion made. "Maybe I am some she-devil come to steal you away in the night. To bring you to my lair and have you surrender to me."

The words intentionally mimicked the raunchiness of some novels she had read in her youth, though the smirk on her lips gave away the insincerity of the words. Tempting as it was, Jorryn wasn't exactly the spiriting away type of suitor.

"I'm still far too sober to be searching for a plaything, and far too uninterested in the crop that seems to have cultivated here." Obscured amber eyes gazed upon the gathered nobility in the ballroom, no morsel so tasty as to abandon good company. "So I suppose I shall look for a partner instead, and I'm rather enjoying the one I am with right now."

Her gaze followed the woman's as she stared over her shoulder, white hair pulling across the limb as she craned her neck to follow the look. A blonde man stood across the way and a mental note was added as she turned back to Corazona.

"How about in place of your husband, I shall be your partner for tonight?" A hand reached across towards the blonde, held softly aloft as it silently asked to be taken. "I don't presume to replace him in every way..." Her voice fell like silk and honey as she allowed the innuendo to fall into Cora's mind. "But I am greedy enough to ask you to embrace me in a dance for tonight."

The Echani stood tall now a charming smile across her pink lips and the full visage of her intricate dress on display. She would allow the woman to take her in fully before making her choice, vanity caressing her shoulders as she knew there was no chance to be denied.

The hand awaited an answer, to be lightly grasped and allowed to lead the Jedi to the ballroom floor.

"Shall we, my dear?"