Public The Moonlight Masquerade [OPEN TO ALL]

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

House Serraris Estate Gardens
Location: Menance?!
Aurelian Veruna


"A menace?" she repeated, giving a soft gasp, feigning scandal, though her grin betrayed her.

"Well, perhaps that is fair… but if we are handing out titles, then gentleman is hardly the word I'd choose for you," she declared, her chin lifting just slightly in mock defiance, though the wine-warm glow coloring her cheeks softened the effect.

"Frustrating, entirely too charming for your own good… and a most relentless pusher of boundaries," she went on, each word punctuated by the lazy flick of her wrist as she raised her glass for another sip.. "Yes, that seems rather more accurate."

The teasing in her tone gentled, dissolving into something more genuine, "But for all of that, you do mean well."

The smile that lingered after was softer, touched with the warmth of drink and affection both. For a moment she merely studied him -- the way laughter lingered in his eyes, the careless tumble of dark curls over his brow, the glint of mischief dancing in his amber eyes, and how even the faintest brush of his fingers along her wrist seemed electric.

Almost without thinking, she lifted her free hand, fingers threading into the tousled darkness of his hair. The silky strands slid through her touch, and she let out a small, helpless laugh at the simple intimacy of it.

"Not just that you mean well," she murmured, voice thoughtful, "but that you see things others overlook. You always have."

Her expression softened, hazy and fond in her tipsy reflection.

"I'd never have ridden a Guarlama or gone swimming in the middle of the day, or laughed, or smiled half so much as I have these past months, had you not goaded me into it." She gave an incredulous but grateful smile. "You have a way of pulling people out of their shells.... of making them live."

She let out another light laugh, full of that pleasant, giddy warmth. "And just like tonight, you're still doing it. And I'm glad for it. Because I am, in truth, also having a rather wonderful night."

The last of her words settled into the quiet around them, her gaze lingering on him as her hand slipped from his hair, her fingertips tracing lightly down to the nape of his neck, where her fingers came to rest.

"I am especially glad," she added softly, "to see you laugh as you have tonight."

Then her voice dropped to almost a whisper.

"I like it when you do… more than I ever thought I would."

 

[Siv Kryze]

.​

OBJECTIVE 1: THE MOONLIGHT WALTZ​

​

The music curved around them — a slow rhythm, deliberate, the kind that invited quiet risks. Siv's gaze lingered on her visor a moment longer, watching the chandelier light glide across the curve of her helmet like a heartbeat.


"Careful," he said finally, his tone carrying a dry undertone of amusement, "keep watching me like that and someone might think you're studying more than just the room."


He let the silence breathe for a moment — just long enough for the teasing to settle — then shifted, stepping a fraction closer. The faint weight of his presence met hers, the polished floor catching the echo of his boots.


"You said moments like this remind us to pay attention," Siv murmured, voice low and deliberate. "So pay attention to this one."


He extended a gloved hand, palm up, the gesture steady but edged with challenge — an invitation wrapped in command. "Dance with me."


A beat passed, his visor reflecting hers. "Let's see what you notice when the galaxy stops moving for a minute."

Tags: Veyla Krinn + Open​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Objective-2
Memorial Gardens
Alina Grayson
​

Aiden's expression softened at her words an echo of a smile ghosting at the corner of his mouth, brief but sincere. Compliments were not a language he trafficked in often, yet from her, they carried no artifice. He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging it in kind.

"Thank you, Alina." he murmured, tone warm but measured.

He followed her gaze toward the archways once more. The gardens beyond seemed to breathe in rhythm with the night, each flicker of light drawing the eye further from the laughter and politics of the ballroom. The Force flowed stronger there quieter, older, and unguarded.

"Politics and illusion." he said softly, half to himself. "And the illusion of peace most of all." His eyes tracked a pair of nobles drifting past them, their laughter light, their masks too carefully crafted to be honest. "Still, even masks have truth in them. You learn what people wish to hide by the shape of what they choose to reveal."

He looked back to her then, her amused smile reflected faintly in his own calm. "Peace and quiet," he repeated, his voice low, threaded with the wry humor that surfaced only when he was at ease. "Yes. Rare enough that it almost feels like a luxury."

A soft pause followed, the weight of the music behind them dimming into something almost distant. He extended his hand not a gesture of ceremony, but of companionship. "Hey." he said quietly. "Before the evening remembers it's supposed to be loud."

The air shifted as they crossed beneath the archway together. Lanterns swayed overhead like low stars, their light trailing over the patterned stones. And as they stepped into the garden, the laughter and music faded behind them leaving only the hush of wind through petals and the gentle rhythm of their footsteps among the ghosts of blossoms.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Location: Lighter
Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

Aurelian's breath caught when her fingers slid into his hair. For a moment, the entire world seemed to fade: the gentle hum of night insects, the soft clink of glass, even the lazy sway of moonlight over the garden. Her touch was tender, yet it completely unsettled him. He tried to laugh it off, to find some clever remark, but the words just tangled behind his grin.

"Well," he finally managed, his voice low and rich with amusement, "frustrating and entirely too charming I'll accept. But 'pusher of boundaries'? You wound me, Your Majesty. I'm practically a saint of restraint." He tilted his head towards her hand, still in his hair, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Exhibit A, I might argue otherwise."

Her laugh whispered against him, warm and dizzying. He leaned in a fraction closer, the air between them charged with something both dangerous and utterly compelling. The wine was thick in his blood, or perhaps it was just her; either way, it didn't much matter. "You make it sound like I dragged you screaming into all that fun," he murmured. "But I think you just needed someone to remind you how to live."

He reached up then, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand where it rested at his neck. His voice softened, quiet and open. "You give me too much credit, Sibylla. I don't really pull people out of their shells. I just... I follow the light when I see it." His eyes met hers, steady now, the playful teasing replaced by something strikingly sincere. "And you've been that light, whether you intended to be or not."

He laughed then, a breathless sound that broke the quiet intensity between them. "Shiraya, listen to me. The wine's making me poetic. What a terrible habit." He lifted his glass in mock salute, the corner of his mouth quirked up. "Next I'll be reciting verses about your hair or writing sonnets about your bravery."

But when he looked at her again, the grin softened. "Truth is," he said, barely above a murmur, "I'm nothing without you. Without your constant guidance, your unwavering support. You've kept me sane when I should have burned out long ago."

He leaned in, close enough that his words brushed against her cheek. "And if I laugh tonight, it's because you're here. Because for once, the galaxy feels lighter."

​

 

[Dominic Praxon]

"It's a gods-damned security risk," Dominic said, spittle unintentionally flying out and covering his datapad. He wiped it, groaning with increased annoyance, with the starched sleeve of his formal attire.

He looked over the list of attendees at the event, some going by aliases, some brazen and overt. It gave him a headache. Security of Naboo was the purvey of the King of Naboo, or the Queen, or whoever it was that was in charge currently. Dominic put aside his feelings about the hot-potato that was being played with Naboo's leadership. It would only see him spiral.

He put the datapad down. It slid across the table. Only then did he realise that 'put' was more like a throw. Keep your head on your shoulders, Trozky.

"How do I look?" He said, adjusting the stiff collar around his neck.

"Dignified, sir," came the response from the aide. He didn't trust their opinion, but still agreed of his own accord.

"Right then. Better to show up to this soiree late than never," he said, before stepping out of the transport that had brought him over from his secured speeder parking zone.

"About the issues with Veruna?" The aide said, referencing the concerning down turn in traffic going through Naboo's main port of the moon of Veruna.

"I will talk to Lord Veruna if the moment permits. Otherwise. I shall simply mingle."

"As you wish, sir."

With that, the Senator of Naboo stepped into the fray.

// Open //​

 

[Jael Amnen]

From outside the understated speeder, her leg was the first thing to emerge—toned, poised, and lit by the pearlescent glow of Theed’s evening lamps. The Priestess of Nocturnism stepped onto the marble drive with a grace that seemed guided by an unseen hand.

She accepted the offered assistance only once it was unnecessary. Deference, after all, could be a performance. The gentleman’s bow—measured and courtly—belonged to a time when Naboo’s nobles still danced to slower songs. She took his arm regardless, her fingers cool against the warmth of his sleeve.

"Allow me, my dear. At least let me escort you inside before you are bombarded with suitors," said the man, his tone touched with fatherly affection.

"You are too kind...Lord...?" Jael responded, silver eyes tender beneath the ornate filigree of her mask.

"Oh—no high titles. Merely a humble businessman. Clarion Quos, if you must. Though, given our disparity in age, best you call me simply 'Mr. Quos.'"

Her smile was small but sincere. "Certainly, Mr. Quos."

They crossed the threshold together, the hush of the gardens behind them giving way to the hum of the masquerade beyond. Music drifted like perfume through the grand hall—strings, laughter, the faint clink of glass on glass. Masks glittered in the candlelight, transforming faces into half-truths and dangerous possibilities.

"Oh...my."

Mr. Quos’s gentle hand rested briefly on her arm. "You’ll do just fine, dearie," he said warmly. "You’re with House Amnen, aren’t you? The hair gives it away. They wouldn’t have sent you if they didn’t have faith in you. Have faith in yourself, too."

"House Amnen...yes," she said softly, almost reverently. "But to myself I shall have no faith. My faith rests with the Mother. She shall sustain me."

Mr. Quos smiled, misunderstanding entirely. "Then she must have raised a fine daughter indeed."

Jael returned the smile, pitying his innocence but offering no correction. His kindness would be remembered, even if his ignorance would not.

"Now go," he said after a pause that lingered just long enough to betray his hesitation. "Join the fray."

Jael nodded and released his arm. The warmth of his presence faded instantly, leaving her skin pricked with cold. She drew in a slow breath, steeling herself, and began her descent down the grand staircase.

Below, the masquerade glittered like a thousand hidden intentions—music swelling, voices rising, secrets already being traded behind jeweled masks.

She stepped into it with a prayer uttered to still her racing heart.

OPEN​

 

[Raylin Fall]

Location: Da Gardens

​

Raylin's push into the garden was briefly interrupted. While, yes, the gardens were a maze of flowers, hedgerows and... ferns. Flowers. Lots of flowers. He took a deep breath, having calmed down enough. And just on the other side of the garden, perhaps a little far off... he heard voices. Hootie-tootie cutesy voices.

"but that you see things others overlook. You always have."

He grimaced.

"Exhibit A, I might argue otherwise."

He grimaced again. Lovers. Cutesy little lovers in the Garden. He pushed onwards, about to say something, but stopped. He felt someone behind him. Raylin was a lot of things, and a stone-cold killer, a trained professional in tracking, hunting, killing, and occasionally saving people. So he knew when someone was behind him, watching.

She was ethereally beautiful, the woman about forty feet away from him. She was shifting in his mind, forming things that could not be possible. One moment, one instance, she was beautiful, the next, a rotten corpse. A skeleton. Shifting, waving. Formless, solid, opaque, translucent. She paced, hands folded together. She was blue-white in color, the next, more vibrant in color and dress than anything he'd ever seen. She was beyond his understanding, beyond his comprehension. And she was only there for a few moments.

His chest hurt. Where a bullet had pierced his armor, just barely. A narrow brush with death. It hadn't hurt in years. He blinked again. He shut his eyes purposefully, holding them shut before opening them again. Nothing more. Silence. Emptiness. Not even the annoying cutesy couple somewhere off to his left in the gardens too. He didn't know what to do. What to say. He was quiet for a moment. Then he spoke.

"You're not real, are you?" He said into the void. A question, an attempt at reassurance.

There was silence. Then, an answer.

"What makes you real?"

It. She. Said. The voice was like ten at once. He swore he even heard his own. He turned his head, wishing he had a gun on him. The galaxy seemed less scary with a gun in hand.

"You're the first in the garden to be so close to death in a long time, Sergeant Fall." It was near, it was close, it was far. It maybe wasn't real. But it was there nonetheless. He stood there, quietly. The form was still standing still, in the same spot. Almost forty feet away.

"I wonder what you'll find here." It said, turning a corner. Her voice was mocking, cruel, curious, inquisitive all at once.

What would he find here?

What was he supposed to find here?

 

[Isobel Serraris]

THE MOONLIGHT MASQUERADE​

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

The effortlessness of his actions, the way his hands tightened around her arms--a promise to keep her steady, to keep her in balance, even when her body wished to lead her astray. Her gaze briefly shot up to meet Lysander's, mayhap out of shock, or out of gratitude. Yet it slipped from her grasp as quickly as she had captured it, forcing her head to be cast aside, shame once more overwhelming her senses in wild abandon. And still, their dance had continued, a bit slower or more careful than before, but the pair refused to let the blunder dominate their eve...

Isobel's words only consisted of counting, one, then two, and three, as she tried her best to keep up with Lysander's rhythm. Even giving him the trust to spin her around once, as dizzying as it may be on her senses... And though she tried not to show it, her lip quivered briefly to suppress the coming nausea, before she retook the reins of control. Bearing witness to his frail apology... Why did people think they must lie or exaggerate to make her laugh? Or at least, exaggerate the wrong things, he could have jested about the flowers growing metres tall under his care-- Said something that made her easily deduce the joke in his words... But what point was there in fussing about silly mishaps from moments ago..? None.

"It is fine..." She let slip between her counting, her tone nigh on sung her disagreement, as did her body... With the loss of her tempo, she accidentally made the wrong move again and stepped on his foot. Instead of an apology, a disappointed sigh was all she could bring up, before trying to recover the flow they had been in moments before.

His stance changed, his hand became gentle on hers, as if he was moving a fragile vase around instead of leading a waltz. And yes she welcomed it, not shying away or dismissing him as she had done other men on this evening and the ones before. It was pleasant. "Are you smiling?" The noble's words were etched by surprise, as she noticed the corner of his lip turning upward, and that glimmer in his eye brighten. The shadows within her heart wished to play it off as mockery, that he was laughing at her, but it was blinded by the light that knew he was not.

"We do not have to be perfect," Isobel partially repeated in turn, her words as gentle as the morning dew on grass. It had been words she could have said herself, be it to a youngling or a fellow padawan, or mayhaps one of the mourning civilians in their gardens... Yet the mention of the here and now made the message different, and it spoke true. There may be many a Lord or Lady waiting to judge the flaws of one pair or the other, but why must that spoil the feast for them? They could laugh, and dance, and enjoy the endless neoclassical music being produced by the orchestra. They could make it a night to remember, but that was theirs to decide, not someone else's. "You are right, but please, do tell me if your feet start to hurt... Mine are starting to feel like wooden blocks and they have not been crushed by someone else's clumsy footwork." She giggled softly.

In time, their dance shifted from a wild river, to a calm canal, each step following the strong current as it led them forth--One might almost call it fluent. The Padawan's counting could not be heard, as she kept her eyes solely on Lysander's mask, following his lead as blindly as a soldier follows orders. That was until he confessed a truth that froze time... and her heart, for a moment, it was not often--no never--that she had heard such words. "With me? There's a lot of other ladies and lords..." She stammered, her rhythm faltering while her face turned as red as a rose. The still waters shifted into chaos once more... Isobel's steps grew frantic, rushed and slowed, as if unable to accept that people wanted to be with her. Even if she would do the same for them...

In spite of the well of disorder their dance now drowned in, they remained afloat, for now. Her one hand still cradled in his grasp, while the other shifted anxiously from her skirt to his hip and back and forth, unsure where to settle it. "There... I... You may have meant it different, pardon me." The mumble vanished under the clamour of tens of instruments, and yet her mind was louder. Repeating his words as if repetition would reveal some manner of truth or second message to it. In her absent-minded state, her feet -- and skirt -- were dragged behind her step, more often than not posing an obstacle on his steps. And such hindrance could only be eluded for so long-- or not long, as it was not Lysander who tripped over her skirt, but Isobel herself. Who, foolishly, reached out for Lysander, only for her efforts to potentially drag him down as well.

​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

House Serraris Estate Gardens
Location: Did you hear that?!
Aurelian Veruna

Sibylla arched a brow at his teasing, her expression a picture of mock indignation softened by amusement.

"Oh, right, fair," she said, the words lilting with playful reproach. "Then perhaps I ought to go back to holding my tongue and stifling every wild impulse I possess. Wouldn't that be far safer for everyone involved?"

As if to make a playful point, her fingers began to withdraw from the nape of his neck, though the motion was slow and reluctant until she felt his thumb brush over her hand. The touch was disarming and halted her entirely and for a moment, the world seemed to sway gently around her, the warmth of the wine and the low velvet rasp of his voice combining into something dizzying, especially amidst the flicker of flustered delight his compliments were giving her.

"A light, am I?" she countered lightly. "Shiraya, perhaps you are the one who ought to compose verses for the tragic love affair of Set and Vere," she chuckled, giving a shake of her head.

"But if there are to be sonnets," she continued with mock seriousness that failed with the twitch of her lips, "then surely they should be written about your infuriatingly soft hair."

The mischief in her eyes deepened as she brushed her fingers through his curls once more, utterly betraying her to Aurelian's earlier point on restraint.

"Truly, what sorcery created such curls? It's dreadfully unfair. I half suspect they are the true source of your political success."

The jest faded as his words deepened with sincerity, and her laughter softened, giving way to something tender.

"Yes, well..." Sibylla began, her voice trailing off in a husky murmur. Her lashes lifted as she met Aurelian's gaze, and she found herself far too aware of how near he was, how easily she could trace the warmth of his breath against her skin.

"I told you I would support you," she murmured barely above a whisper, her fingers unconsciously beginning to draw slow, lazy circles at the nape of his neck.

"I am a woman of my word," she added with a twist of her lips as she leaned closer, her following words brushing along the edge of his jaw. "But more than that...you have shown me that you are a man worth supporting."

Those hazel eyes lifted again with a mix of mirth, affection, and something far more dangerous than either dared name.

It was then, of course, that the sound of someone murmuring nearby made her freeze, her eyes widening in alarm. They were no longer alone.

"Did you hear that?" she mouthed quietly at him, drawing close as if trying to avoid being seen.

 

[Kinley Pryse]

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

O B J E C T I V E - 1

Kinley Pryse doesn't smuggle spice. She persuades it to change ownership​

"Yeah? So, what's the rig tonight, Pryse? Hearts, more credits, or both?"

"I told you. I'm here as a favor to my cousin's uncle's grade-school tutor."

The lie slid off her tongue like second nature. At this point, half her life was improvisation, and the truth had long since become optional.

She drained the last sip of the fake liquor and set the glass behind her with a soft clink. The boys were still wrapped up in some mindless guessing game that passed for entertainment in these parts, but Kinley only played for stakes that mattered, namely, credits. Acier could keep his wingman and his sob story; she had business to handle.

"Pardon me, boys. Nature calls."

Her grin curved wicked and knowing, a promise wrapped in mischief. Then she sauntered toward the ladies' room, though the only call waiting for her in there was a criminal one.


Devin Virell Acier Moonbound

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Location: I didn't hear anything
Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

Aurelian's grin curved slow and dangerous, the kind that lived somewhere between easy amusement and direct invitation. "Go back to holding your tongue?" he echoed softly, his voice full of mock horror. "Now that would be the real tragedy. The galaxy would mourn the silence of its magnificent menace."

Her fingers slid away from his neck. He nearly said something smug, but that small, deliberate touch of hers stilled the thought. He was suddenly dizzy with her, feeling the brush of her skin and smelling the faint scent of peach liquor. It felt far too good to be safe.

He huffed a laugh when she mentioned his hair, trying for casual but failing as she threaded her fingers through it again. "My political success?" he murmured, leaning into her touch, his grin turning wicked. "You've uncovered my deepest secret, Your Majesty. The curls do all the work. I just stand there and look thoughtful."

He would have said more, but her voice softened. The light teasing dissolved, giving way to something heavier. Her fingers remained at his neck, tracing patterns that burned. The words she whispered, "a man worth supporting," hit deeper than they should have. He blinked once, steadying himself against the weight of her gaze, which felt like a profound promise and a challenge.

Then the soft murmur from beyond the hedge broke the spell. Sibylla froze, eyes wide. Before she could speak, Aurelian moved. His hand slipped around her waist, and with a swift pull, he drew her back against the shadowed edge of the archway, his body instinctively shielding hers from view.

"Scandalous," he whispered near her ear, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as the distant voices drifted past. "Are you afraid to be seen with me?" His tone was a low tease, warm and husky from the wine. "Should I fetch your mask? I'd hate to see your reputation perish just because you were caught near Aurelian Veruna at a party."

He leaned back just enough to look down at her, eyes gleaming in the half-light. "You could tell them you were lost," he suggested softly, still keeping her close. "Or," his thumb brushed her hip lightly, "you could just stay hidden right here."

​

 

[Veyla Krinn]

Veyla's posture shifted subtly, leaning just enough toward him that the motion was noticeable yet careful. The music curved around them, slow and deliberate, pulling at the edges of her attention even before she moved. Her visor caught the chandelier light, glinting with quiet amusement, reflecting a spark of curiosity and challenge.

She let a small beat pass, savoring the teasing weight of his words. He's deliberate… patient… daring me without ever forcing it.

"Careful," she murmured, letting a faint smile color her voice, "or someone might start thinking you're showing off to make me notice."

Her hand hovered for a moment, the subtle shift in her stance almost imperceptible, before she brushed it against his gloved hand and allowed her hand to rest on top of his. The touch was light, deliberate, threading into the music's rhythm and the quiet tension between them.

"Fine," she said softly, letting the teasing edge linger, "I'll dance… but don't expect me to go easy just because you asked."

She let her gaze linger on the mirrored reflection of his visor, matching the steady weight of his presence with her own poised curiosity.

"Let's see what I notice," she added, voice low and playful, "when the galaxy stops moving for a minute."

The soft swell of music threaded around them, carrying the quiet promise of something unspoken, and for a moment, the world beyond the ballroom seemed to fade, leaving only the pulse of the dance between them.

Siv Kryze

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

House Serraris Estate Gardens
Location: Frankly, I don't give a damn
Aurelian Veruna

Sibylla's breath caught as the world shifted, one moment bathed in moonlight, the next swallowed by shadow. The cold press of stone met her back while the heat of Aurelian's body shielded her from view. The faint scent of wine and lavender filled her senses, the rush of his nearness muddling whatever reason she still possessed.

The glass slipped from her hand and landed with a soft thud on the moss, but she barely noticed. The sound of his low whisper brushed her ear, and all she could think was Shiraya help her; his voice had no right to sound that good -- low, husky, and threaded with humor that curled around every word like smoke.

For a heartbeat, she could only breathe him in feeling her heart flutter wildly beneath her ribs. Then she gave a quick, breathless low laugh as she lifted her gaze to meet his, half defiant and wholly undone, the soft waves of her chestnut hair framing her heart-shaped face as she looked up at him.

"Afraid to be seen with you?" she whispered back in an unsteady but bold tone, the edges softened by wine and something far more dangerous -- conviction. "Hardly."

Soft hands came up to his chest, the flat of her palms coming to rest against the firm lines beneath his coat.

"No," she went on bit more quietly now, but certain as her hazel eyes flickered up, catching his through the sliver of shadow between them. "I told you before, Aurelian, I'll stand beside you. Gladly."

Slender fingers rose higher, sliding up from his coat to the back of his neck. She felt the heat of his skin beneath her fingertips, the faint tremor of his breath when she drew him closer.

"And if my reputation is to suffer for it, well…" Her full lips curved into a small and reckless smile, the warmth of her breath brushing against his skin until there was barely an inch between them.

"...then I suppose I might as well give the Swan of Solleu something worth whispering about."

Then she kissed him.

It wasn't the wine that guided her, but choice -- clear, deliberate, and wholly her own. The faint sweetness of wine and peaches met the taste of him, and in that instant, a shiver of electricity coursed through her and set every nerve alight. The world seemed to fall away until there was only the heat of his hand at her hip, the loop of her arms around his shoulders, and the quiet rhythm of their shared breath.

And in that dizzy, perfect moment, Sibylla realized something with startling clarity: for once in her life, she didn't give a damn who saw.

 

[Josiah Denko]

HOUSE SERRARIS ESTATE, NABOO
The Moonlight Masquerade

It was a touch awkward to linger idly by while his newfound padawan and her companion drifted toward the dance floor, but such was the nature of youth. The night belonged to them, to their laughter and their blooming friendships. Josiah had lived long enough to know that patience was its own kind of wisdom. The journey between Master and Padawan would span years, filled with lessons, triumphs, and missteps alike. He could afford to wait one more evening before their true beginning.

For now, he watched in quiet contentment, the gleam of the chandeliers mirrored in the surface of his wine. The waltz swirled on, elegant and effortless, the orchestra’s rhythm steady as a heartbeat beneath the murmur of voices. Eventually, his gaze drifted toward other matters; such as where he might secure another drink. Perhaps afterward he would seek the serenity of the gardens, away from the hum of nobles and the perfume of endless conversation.

He had only taken a few steps when a voice greeted him, lilting and precise, yet carrying the weary tone of someone enduring more etiquette than she cared for. “Good evening, my lord.” she said.

The title caught him off guard. He had not heard it spoken to him in years, and for a brief moment it felt almost foreign. A quiet chuckle escaped him before he inclined his head in polite greeting. “My lady,” he returned warmly, a trace of amusement threading through his tone. “I fear you are mistaken. I am not waiting for any particular partner.”

From behind his mask, his brow lifted ever so slightly, the faint curve of his mouth suggesting something between humor and curiosity. “And what of you?” he asked, his voice steady and rich with its Nar Shaddaan lilt. “Are you tarrying for a partner, or seeking one?”

The words carried no pretense, only genuine interest. For all the grandeur around them, Josiah found the rarest thing in this hall was conversation that felt real.​

Adelle Bastiel​

 

[Raylin Fall]

​

He walked further along the gardens, stopping. He heard voices, more voices in the gardens beyond. All around him, whispers. Pride in their son, whispers of dodging the draft. The pride that he didn't. The voices of Commanders and Sergeants gone by. Pathfinder, Raider, Medical training. Words like tourniquet, bleeding. Screams of his wounded comrades.

The smell of sweat as he ran across with a brother on his shoulder. He heard the line, mouthing it as one of the entities said it aloud-

"He's not heavy, he's my brother."

"He's not heavy, he's my brother."​

"He's not heavy, he's my brother."

"He's not heavy, he's my brother."
​

"He's not heavy, he's my brother."
​

Memories of firefights and skirmishes, frantic efforts to save his comrades. Not all bad. Heroism in the eyes of his fellow troops. Alliance and Republic alike. He stopped, watching, listening. No visages gave way to old battlefields and firefights, training centers or days gone by. Just repeated words, echoes of the past playing aloud around him.

And maybe just to him. Or maybe other people could hear. But he didn't feel afraid. There was no maliciousness here. He'd know it. No, this ethereal... thing, was trying to tell him something. Or maybe ask him. He walked forward, the voices giving way. A chorus, a consensus reached. He could feel whatever it was thinking. His grip tightened on the bottle he was carrying. The garden was still before him. This fucking stupid garden-

---

"Are you taking the drink, Sergeant Fall? Or is the drink taking you?"​

---

He stared at the bottle in his hands. Even somewhat drunk, the words hurt, dug into him like knives he'd never known.

"I don't know."

His voice was meek, quiet. Ashamed.

 

[Siv Kryze]

.​

OBJECTIVE 1: THE MOONLIGHT WALTZ​

​

Siv's gaze lingered on her visor, the light from the chandelier catching and dancing across its edge like a slow heartbeat. The music, the quiet murmur of the hall—it all faded beneath that small motion. Her question carried something layered beneath it, something testing.

He didn't answer immediately. Patience had always served him better than wit.

A low hum escaped him—half amusement, half consideration—as his stance shifted, weight easing off the wall.

"Depends on the moment," he said at last, tone calm, the edges roughened by reflection. "The galaxy's full of things that demand attention—most of them loud, dangerous, and proud of it."

His visor tilted toward her slightly.

"But the things worth seeing?" He let the pause linger. "They don't ask for it. They hold still… and let you notice them anyway."

The corner of his mouth tugged beneath the helmet, not quite a smile but close. His hand extended—not as command, but as invitation—open, steady, daring her to accept.

"Come on then," he murmured, the dry edge of his tone softening to something almost warm. "You've been watching long enough. Let's see if you can keep up."

He inclined his head toward the dance floor—where light, motion, and shadow wove together beneath the music.

Tags: Veyla Krinn + Open​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

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Objective1: The Moonlight Waltz
Tag: Isobel Serraris
Mask

Only observation was needed to discern the Padawan's mood, for the way her breath hitched before releasing a sigh, was heavier than any misstep. But with the elegance instilled in him since youth, his posture stood unaffected, which allowed his frame to absorb the slip.. the heart of an aristocrat calmly on display. One hand offered to keep her steady, while the other returned to encircling, as one might when soothing a wound.

A maze of twist and turns ensued from twirling, and Lysander guided her, decadent notes of the symphony wafting through the air. Had there been one thing possibly affecting his performance, to invite a darker cloud over the two, it would've been the disappointment he registered for but a brief time.

Fortunately, it thinned, leaving no trace.

Through her voice, a different melody slipped through, a softer note than he had braced himself for. A familiar pulse surfaced, the one that made him conceal his feelings behind a mask recently. His emerald eyes, half veiled by the mask, found hers again. But this time it was different. Her gaze had snared the truth fluttering there, and there was no way to tuck it back in. That corner lifted higher, into something that refused to hide.

A confession then uncoiled, like a secret breaking free of its cage. "You caught me."

The pause after bloomed, a little bubble of honesty floating freely between them. "I should protest.. but I won’t.”

Words struck differently than when he had first spoke them into existence, and somehow, they sounded truer from her. The usual firmness of his mouth had yet to return.

As golden light could tiptoe through stained glass, so too could the warmth in his tone. “It would appear your wooden blocks have quite the endurance,” Lysander added dryly.

He wouldn’t break the moment. An inclination of his head pulled drew him closer. “You think me so easily swayed? Well, maybe.. but when it comes to ladies and lords, none of them are quite like you.” It seemed as though more hovered on his tongue, a truth just behind his teeth, but it felt better to just let the moment breathe..

“I have a hunch their dances aren’t as graceful as it appears.”

A small laugh, almost a whisper, escaped him, gone as quickly as it came, but real, nonetheless. “Besides, you still owe me a turn or two.” The last syllables stripped away the final shard a well-crafted facade.

A maddening crescendo threatened to drown out all else, but what reached him was not the orchestra's roar. The Sith caught the stammer, the way words became knotted in a web, unraveling before taking any shape. Beneath that crashing symphony of strings and horns, it would be the blend of disbelief and doubt echoing the loudest between his ears.

That familiar flush surfaced, flicking across her visage like a candle’s shy flame, unfeigned, unvarnished. Bel didn’t hide behind all the fancy manners. She was just.. her.

Lysander registered a hand growing restless, searching for a place to belong. He wanted to offer comfort in smallness, to accommodate. But for all his balance, even he could not defy momentum forever, and for the first time tonight, it gave way. So, they went down together, his arm around her tightening during the fall to shield and soften the impact, as the marble floor raced to meet them.

A tangle of fabric and breath, he saw her face close to his, weight held carefully, so as not to crush her. “So,” he murmured, softened by amusement, “Seems the Force does have a sense of humor. I said I’d rather stumble with you.. and here we are.”

With a shift of his shoulders, he scooted sideways, inviting her into his little space. Settling back and his knees hugged close, the floor felt equally right as any opulent ballroom. Instead of scrambling up, he just stayed put, his focus happily wandering back to her. Lysander couldn’t help but feel cozy in the imperfect moment, if you could even call it that.

Unbidden, his fingers lifted, brushing the air to tuck a stray wisp behind her ear; somewhere within the gesture, he also found solace from the darkness pressing in.

“Maybe," he sighed, "the best dances are the ones where you step on toes and still keep trying to find the rhythm.”

As he drifted into the space between them, something awakened in his chest, a tiny ember he hadn't noticed in ages. It was fragile, but stubborn.. stubborn like him. A glimmer of Light that refused to fade, bright enough to shake him, piercing the veil of Force signature. And, he realized with a start, it was the Padawan next to him who’d stirred that glow to life.

Shifting once more, he rose, every bit the poised companion, but didn’t turn away. A palm extended.. with hope.

"Shall we try again, or have we given the floor enough of a show tonight?

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[Aurelian Veruna]

Location: Trouble
Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

Aurelian froze when she kissed him. The world seemed to narrow into a single, blinding point of contact. Her taste was dizzying: sweet wine and something sharp underneath, something he hadn't realized he'd been starving for until this instant. He kissed her back with the same reckless hunger she had ignited, one hand rising instinctively to cradle the curve of her jaw while the other pressed gently into her hip, anchoring them both.

Crickets sang, and the garden was heavy with jasmine and moonlight, but the night spun around them. All he could feel was her, warm and alive in his arms. When she finally drew back, breath mingling with his, Aurelian exhaled a soft, dazed laugh. He was utterly undone. "You are trouble," he murmured, his forehead resting against hers.

He traced a thumb along her lower lip, still flushed from the kiss. "Sibylla," he whispered. "You're going to be the death of me. And I think I might thank you for it." Then a sound drifted from beyond the hedge: music dimming and the faint chatter of departing guests. The spell broke, gentle this time, as reality crept back in. Aurelian sighed, but he didn't let her go immediately. He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, his fingers lingering. "The night's ending," he said quietly. "If I don't get you home, Cordé will murder me in my sleep. I'm quite serious, Sibylla, she terrifies me." His tone was playful, yet his smile softened with real affection as he kissed her temple. "So, before my untimely demise, allow me to escort you properly."

He stepped back just enough to offer his arm, his eyes bright with mischief and something earnest beneath it. "For the record," he added, his voice low, "I had fun tonight. More than I have in a long while." He held her gaze, quieter still. "I don't want this to be just one night." He smiled again, crooked and a little shy despite himself. "Walk with me, Your Majesty. Before I lose my nerve and drag you right back into the shadow."

-Exit-​

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

The Moonlight Masquerade
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Oh thank gods, he had a sense of humor. She caught the briefest twitch of an eybrow from behind his mask as he turned the question around on her. His accent sounded familiar--not Corellian, but something possibly adjacent? It was going to bother her if she wasn't able to place it eventually. Her own Corellian accent would be light but recognizable--it was one part of her birth identity she clung to. Adelle's smile faded a bit, remembering a time when she had a partner for any dance. Na'an would've hated this and probably would've found a way to do something incredibly drastic, possibly reputation-damaging, and fun in the moment.

"Would that I was tarrying," Adelle said quietly. "As it is, if you'll forgive me the faux pas of complete honesty--"

"I'm seeking a savior from the absolute tedium nobility seems to like in their conversations." Gone was the politeness of the smile, though she kept her expression carefully neutral. Didn't need to offend anymore sensibilities than necessary. But then a thought occurred. She arched an eyebrow and a sly crooked grin slowly formed. "Why do you ask? Are you, by any chance, offering?"

Josiah Denko