Public The Moonlight Masquerade [OPEN TO ALL]

[Reina Daival]

Tag: Open
Objective 1 - Moonlight Waltz

Well. Reina was beginning to wonder why she had came to another ball. That was another term for a masquerade, correct? At least that's what she thought to herself. Of course, she could have asked Kito or Valaine Valentine to come along, since they had offered to come to such an occasion if Reina was to go to one alone...Yet she didn't want to bother the pair. They seemed to enjoy each other's company and Reina didn't want to potentially throw a wrench into it. Solitude was Reina's companion for these events, which was fine by her as she adjusted her mask for a moment, letting her gaze scan across the room.

The orchestra was...pleasant to her ears. It wasn't something that Reina was used to. Fancy orchestral music was far away from her comfort zone. Most of this was far out of her comfort zone but more and more she was venturing out. Getting herself used to more of these events, even if she felt as if she didn't truly fit it. But alas, that is the wonder of a masquerade. You could put on a mask and pretend you were someone else for a while...which of course Reina was not taking advantage of whatsoever. She was a volatile and grumpy redhead out of the masquerade and she was a volatile and somewhat less grumpy redhead within the masquerade.

There were plenty of people mulling about that Reina could recognise...Though of course the only one she was somewhat familiar with was the tuft of white hair hidden by a mask raising an eyebrow at the sight of Acier Moonbound . That was also when she spotted a few of the Mandalorians here. Her...dislike of them had decreased over time funnily enough. That didn't mean she would approach any of them. No. The Ersanyr was happy enough to sit back and enjoy what little wine she would partake in, sipping at the glass as she stood against the wall.

Spoiler: OOC Notes

: Means written/typed communication : < Means Sign Language communication >

 

[Jack Sandrow]

Location: Memorial Gardens
Objective: Socializing & Adventure and nothing else definitely not Objective 3 in any way
Equipment: Just a tailored suit and mask (and the Leaves hidden beneath a few muscle groups)

---

Ahh, the masquerade. Where people could be their truest selves when they didn't want their faces attached to their actions.

There may have been some truth to that, for some other party at some other time. With the Mandalorians, however, it was the mask (or helmet) that defined oneself just as much as their actions. This was just a way to politely change out of the beskar for something slightly more delicate. And Jack was almost sure that everyone was about as armed to the teeth as they could be. Smuggling a weapon into a ritzy event like this was sort of an unspoken tradition, and he'd hazard that for a Mandalorian that applied ten-fold.

So he avoided the ballroom, with its thronging crowds and cheery music. He politely declined the wine (it would be wasted on his physiology anyway), and had made his way into an area that felt a bit more comfortable. Away from the durasteel, the transparisteel, the (admittedly gorgeous) stonework and inlays, the rich and indulgent decor, and into the controlled chaos that was this rather luxurious garden set-up.

He could hear others around, could sense how the Force reflected off those who wielded it (particularly how the plant life reacted to them), and could hear the murmur of quiet conversation in the near distance. Wasn't there some sort of etiquette to initiating conversation?

Seeing the few people milling about, Jack noted two in particular that stood out. He did seem to have his pick for the moment. Tall brown-haired Force-sensitive Light-Sider? or tall brown-haired Force-sensitive Light-Sider? He chose the former.

"Hey there. I suppose you're not one for crowds either?" Even behind the floral-styled half-face mask, there was a sense of mirth in his green eyes. "Or do you prefer the terroir in a more natural environment?"

---

Aiden Porte

 

[Eaton Waters]

An invite came to his door. He did his best to ride the line between the High Republic and their fanciful balls and the Black Sun and treasure havens and dark alleys. The man, half blubreen, and following in the ways of the Witch like his sister, was much more social than she was. More than happy to attend this ball on the outside of Theed, handing the keys to the valet to his M-98 Speeder in Blue Pearl. Fixing the navy and white suit he wore, the man nodded. For him, he was here under very little guise of combat.

Listening, that was something he could do. A cape of navy and the blue mask with white features covered most of his face. He was used to events like this, where people did not need to see his face.

He did carry a few items with him, but none for combat, a sending stone, a deck of cards, and his datapad. Though the last was to help with when conversation included knowledge he needed to carry on a conversation. No blades today, he had the spells at his disposal, but he doubted he’d need them. Looking around, he found a passing server and helped himself to a glass of champagne.

Well, this wasn’t France so sparking wine. Whatever. It was fresh, Naboo fresh.

What he noticed was someone seeming ill at ease here. Perhaps for more than the ceremony of it all.

Shellfish too? That was good.

"Not from Naboo either?" He offered to Pom Stych Tivé

 

[Malcolm Ironmaster]

Tag: Open
Objective 1: Moonlight Waltz
Attire: Formal Temple Robes (Grey tunic and trousers, royal blue tabards, obi, and cloak, brown belt and boots), silver filigree domino mask
Equipment: Crossguard lightsaber, holstered
​

Master Malcolm Aramis Ironmaster of the Silver Jedi Concord arrived, inadvertently yet fashionably late, to the Serraris Estate in Theed. It had been quite some time since he'd last attended a masquerade ball, especially since his homeworld of Chandrila had fallen under the sway of the Galactic Empire, and he felt uncharacteristically nervous. He paused just inside the door, scanning the ballroom for a glimpse of the host and hostess of the evening's festivities, and made mental note of the gathered guests. Reaching out through the Force, he sensed the presence of others who were more strongly connected to the Cosmic Force than others. He gracefully strode towards the dais, intending to pay his respects to the Lord and Lady of the manor.

 

[Darth Anathemous]

OBJECTIVE 1: THE MOONLIGHT WALTZ​

Wearing: Mask + Dress
Tag: Qyssiyana Lysander von Ascania

Naboo brought bittersweet memories, every time.

If Ala Quin were here tonight, she hoped they'd not speak of it till after.

Because she wouldn't apologize, not this time, no matter how much it hurt that she'd become something which drove the Jedi away. She just didn't have it left in her after so many.

She was a Dragon now, in a world of knights.

The ysalimir-skin dress provided by Mauve du Vain shimmered unpredictable patterns across every scale, with every step through the garden, and molten eyes hid behind a mask which left only the devil's lips. Glossed to perfection, they gave a faint smile to her new companions;

Qyssiyana looked adorable as ever, forcing the Dark Lord in disguise to crane her neck as she looked to her date for the evening. The little Elryssia too aligned with the Dark, with her people, the sort she truly belonged with.

Having the siren by her side would get her through this night, she was sure.

"I think we shall make for the dance floor, unless you'd fancy a drink first?" she hummed.

But so too came Lysander von Ascania , who served a much different, but equally valuable purpose in her life. The boy would make an excellent edition to the House of Iron, and she couldn't wait to introduce him to Tamsin Starfall .

But of course, he was preoccupied tonight, she made sure of it.

"And you," she said over her shoulder.

"Did you remember your homework, student of mine?"

In truth she was playfully shooing him to get 'personal time' with Qyssiyana, this wasn't a real test. But if he could be her eyes and ears while she danced the night away with the three-eyed beauty?

Perhaps for just a night, the fates would smile for her.

​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

​

Objective1: The Moonlight Waltz
Tag: Open
Mask

The ballroom was a familiar stage, though Naboo had a way of making the familiar feel.. strange. Lysander had crossed polished floors on many worlds, in many seasons, but tonight the masks and music transformed the setting into something dreamlike. The waltz rose, laughter rang, and the air itself was perfumed with indulgence.

He moved with the grace of one born to grandeur, as natural as breath. His tailored suit was a symphony of craftsmanship, black wool shimmering with each motion. Embroidered whispers traced the cuffs, and only in movement did those scarlet linings reveal themselves. A dark mask covered his face, its smooth lines forming a watchful visage. His blonde hair was tousled, left slightly unruly, falling about with an ease that was unforced.

For days now he walked Naboo's path once more, the journey beginning with something as gentle as a bouquet bestowed by a Padawan, which led to solace found in tea. Small moments, but sentient ones, melodies in the chaos of life. Beneath those ripples ran another desire: to seek out his former master. Even as the masquerade unfolded around him, that purpose would remain.

One veil at a time.

A corner of his mouth twitched when Darth Anathemous addressed him.. not the sharp smirk he was well known for, but something softer, vanishing as quickly as it came. He inclined his head with a simple nod, recognizing the gesture for what it was.. being the teacher creating space for their own enjoyment.

Words were pitched loud enough to carry over the chorus of revelry. “I wouldn’t dream of forgetting, my Master.”

A glance drifted toward Qyssiyana ; two fingers rose in a small salute, a soft acknowledgment, before letting them fall away like sand.

Instead of diving further into the sea of bodies, Lysander let himself be drawn toward the edge of the ballroom; here, the light softened. A waiter passed by, offering a crimson chalice, its ruby depths gleaming. He claimed the glass but paused, orbs of emerald scanning about as the stem nestled smoothly in his grasp.

He slipped near a column, drawing back from the dancers. Still present, but also apart. Afterall, the night was still young.

From his current position, the scene unfolded. The ebb and flow, the masked exchanges, the smallest of gestures. Standing there didn’t mean he was idle; he was cataloging.

Alone, he found himself quietly pleased.

​

 

[Veyra Saelis]

Objective: 3 THE LIES WE SHARE
Wearing: Dress and Mask
Tags: @OPEN

The whole place was a gaudy display of opulence and time spent on details that didn't matter.

She moved through the crowd not as a guest, but rather as an observer. Each step a deliberate calibration of posture and distance between herself and a world that she loathed with every fiber of her being. Her instincts read the rhythm of bodies the way others read words. The subtle lean of interest, a hand resting too casually on another, a glance that lingered too long. Every gesture revealed something about the being responsible for it.

Her mask hid her eyes well enough given it was affixed to the same tie that kept her hair pulled high and back.

As though her other physical traits were not enough to mark her as an outsider so plainly. The gleam of the ambient light casting fractals across the cybernetic limb she left exposed for all to see. The slight click and whir of servos drawing confused glances before they hastily retreated back to their conversation partner.

Some didn't bother to look away.

Her ears adjusting with barely a twitch with each passing conversation she stole snippets from. Attempting to find a source that was worth the effort of remaining unknown for the time being as she passed by gathered bodies.

It wasn't how she would have pictured her evening at any point, but it would help her in the long run.

Figuring out the who had settled her mind on the matter of attending or remaining on her ship to wait for a choice morsel in the void of space. And supplies were plentiful if you knew where to look for them. Or figure out where the people you needed to worry about were for a great length of time.

Her form never seemed to settle completely as she danced between conversations. Excusing herself with an excited look towards a non-existent friend to soothe the nerves of those more cautious than curious. Each step a fluid movement for the wrong dance. At least not the dance she desired. On she searched, her gaze flicking between servant and guest as her ears worked to catch the interesting bits.

 

[Devin Virell]

Objective1: The Moonlight Waltz
Acier Moonbound

​

The black visor tilted toward the Jedi as if he were just checking another readout from the cockpit. His thin lips twitched, not quite forming a grin, more like the beginnings of one that never truly committed, much like the rest of his endeavors in a different life before becoming a pilot. A shake of the head followed, tapping a hand against the frame of the limospeeder, before finally stepping languidly beside his wingman.

The helmet was heavier than it looked, a burden in its own right, already pressing down on the bridge of his nose. But he rolled his shoulders. He’d worn worse for longer. After hours in an X-Wing with a bucket on his head, this masquerade would surely feel like child’s play.

Even now, part of his soul ached for that familiar durasteel cocoon, where everything in life just made sense..

Boots continued to strike cobblestone with that loose swagger he just couldn’t shake, even if he tried. The same hand from earlier tugged at the collar again, while the other brushed the inside of his jacket, where the trusty slugthrower was snug against the ribs. Partially out of habit, partially out of comfort. Another scan swept across the crowd, eyes darting, not much different than checking for TIEs on his six.

Ace’s line did earn a low chuckle. They usually did. Devin leaned just enough to be heard. “I’m thinkin’ we drink, we dance, and we don’t get shot.. in that order.”

A jest, to be sure, but as it hit the air, he glanced towards the guards stationed near an archway. Way too many of them, and they were standing so still it made him uneasy. That feeling settled into his gut. His body tightened for half a second, and a guilty thumb found itself tracing the edge of a hidden pocket.

If they decided to pat him down, this night was over before it started..

But the guards waved them through. No questions.. no hands. Devin released a heavy sigh from behind the visor. The relief tasted sharp and sweet.. like that first bite of food after a long run.

Once inside. The air hit different. Wine, marble, the hum of strings.

The next movement was practiced, definitely more cockpit than ballroom. Another glance over his shoulder. Perhaps he had spent too much time in cantinas, because part of him was already waiting for the first blaster bolt to fly.

“Lot of guards for a party,” he muttered dryly. A sliver of truth. “Either they’re expecting trouble, or we’re it.”

Rolling his neck once, he glanced sideways. The smirk wasn’t visible this time, but it was still there in his voice..

“Whole place reeks of credits and perfume. But something tells me you might actually start enjoying yourself before the night is over.”

Unsurprisingly, it was the banquet table that called to him. Fruit, glazed meats, delicate pastries. He stared like a starving man believing in miracles. No way in all the stars was he leaving without a to-go plate. Better than choking down what was served aboard the ol’ CR90’s.

“So, what’s the move?”

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Darkest-sider disguised as a young lady, donning destructive Potions hidden within crystal buttons sewn about her dress.

The Nightsister had just stepped in front of a vat of champagne bubbly, intent to slip a home brewed remedy into a single flask, when her eyes shifted to a man standing off in her peripheral vision. She froze because his eyes fell upon her, not wishing to be observed.

She turned to face Eaton Waters , a tiny vial hidden in her clenched palm. She would be close enough that he could perceive that while her stature is quite small, the carriage of her body and her tone of voice simply does not align her age with that of a mere girl.

"Do human beings actually choose to birth from here?" she said aloud to answer him introductory question, her sentence structure sounding as if she were student of a long lost literary art, before feeling how awkward it likely sounded to this part of the galaxy. 'Of course people want to live here. This villa is here.' She shook her head lightly, 'Dialect, honey,' echoed in her mind. She encouraged the voices of the 12 who made up her essence to simmer down. Normally she would give them free rein to speak and do what they will, but diplomacy is even more a mystery with the departed, than herself.

She knew that to most every other regular person, Dathomir is notoriously thought of as the worse planet to hail from, even though practically everyone alive, ever, will never have so much as pondered going there to witness the culture for themselves. To her, considering her life choices Dathomir is paradise, where magick trumps life, where rancors are puppies, plants build structures out of the bodies of unwelcome trespassers, and every inch of the soil and the nether is understood and cursed with ages of spells beyond even her knowledgeable comprehension.

She stood there and mirrored her odd predatory grin she had cast just a moment before, her ailment still lashing out once again as the Jedi Daroli Spesto remained close by, and she had unintentionally found herself standing in front of a humungous pile of smelly shellfish.

'Ick.'

She lifted a goblet of champagne, her slight of hand superbly mastered to unnoticeably slip her remedy in.
​

 

[Alina Grayson]

Objective: 2
Memorial Gardens

Alina walked just a step behind Aiden as they passed beneath the lantern-lit archways of House Serraris, her movements unhurried, her presence unmistakably composed. She had dressed for the occasion with purpose not to draw every eye, but to make those who did look remember. Her gown was elegant, tailored in a deep midnight blue that caught the candlelight like still water at dusk, the fabric flowing easily with each step. Gold accents traced the lines of her silhouette, not enough to glitter. She wore a simple half-mask, shaped in the likeness of a bird in flight, it shrouded her azure eyes brilliantly as it was wrought from dark metal so fine it seemed to vanish in the shifting light.

Her scent moved with her, subtle as a thought. The first note was clean white tea and soft iris, followed by the barest trace of something like ozone, like the air after a summer rain. Beneath it, cedarwood lent warmth that never overstayed, grounding her in a way that felt unmistakably her. It didn't overwhelm, but it lingered. Like something you'd remember hours later and never be sure if it had been real.

Together they crossed the mosaic floor with a kind of unspoken ease. Not arm in arm, not in step, but near enough that their proximity hummed with quiet understanding. They paused at the edge of the ballroom, where music rose and laughter danced through the air like confetti on wind.

Alina didn't speak right away. She let the atmosphere settle, eyes roving across the sea of masked faces, cataloguing exits, weapons hidden in silk, conversations too hushed to be casual. Only then did she glance sidelong toward Aiden, her voice low enough to thread between the notes of the waltz.

"Quite the gathering," she said, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I wonder how many came for diplomacy, and how many came for the illusion of it."

Her eyes followed a noble in a feathered stag mask offering a practiced bow to a merchant dressed like a king. The music swelled. The mask did not.

She took a glass of Blossom Wine from a passing server, nodding politely before turning back toward Aiden. "To a quiet evening," she added, calmly. She lifted her glass gently to her lips and took a small sip of the wine.

TAG: Aiden Porte + Open

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

House Serraris Estate
Location: Challenge Accepted!
Aurelian Veruna

Sibylla's brows arched, those hazel eyes glinting with growing amusement as she secured the gilded mask into place. Of course, he would lean into it, perfectly self assured in that infuriatingly charming way of his. A quiet laugh escaped her then, her head tilting with a faint shake as though conceding the inevitable truth of Aurelian Veruna and his vanity.

"Well, I did ask for honesty," she murmured under her breath, adjusting one final clasp before meeting his gaze again. The compliment that followed, unexpectedly sincere and spoken without the usual courtly inflection, sent a soft warmth creeping along her cheeks and down the line of her throat. It wasn't flattery meant for an audience. He meant it.

That realization did something entirely different to her pulse.

Sibylla had long since learned to read him in the quiet between words, the tilt of his head when something amused him, the faint pull at the corner of his mouth before a lie, the brief pause when he spoke truth instead. What had once been politics had become something else altogether. Familiarity. Trust. And something dangerously close to intimacy.

Yet it was hearing her childhood nickname that managed to draw her from her slight fluster.

"I see Corde and Tona have been talking," she replied, tone dry but the curve of her lips unmistakably playful. "Did you have Tona search for that information... Marcus?"

Her gloved hand slipped into his as he helped her down from the speeder, her steps light as cream silk brushed against the stone path. The evening air was sweet with the scent of moonlilies and lantern oil, the sound of distant laughter carried from the great glass atrium ahead. From behind her mask, her gaze tilted up toward him, the faint cant of her head and twist of her lips betraying her teasing even if the gilded vines concealed her expression.

If he was to refer to her by her childhood name, then yes, Marcus, it would be. Which begged the question. If he new Ynez was her middle name, then was Marcus his?

Their hands remained linked a moment longer than necessary before she finally slid her arm through his, drawing close as they began the slow walk toward the estate's entrance, the warmth from their close proximity making her all the more aware of him. The night shimmered around them: silks rustling, jewelry catching the lamplight, the faint strains of a waltz floating through the open doors. Guests glided past, each one faceless and beautiful beneath gold and crystal masks.

"Mmm," she mused, leaning in until the soft cascade of her hair brushed against his arm, carrying the faint, fresh scent of waterlilies. Her voice lowered to a near whisper meant for him alone.

"You may call it gaudy..." she breathed, the words touched with quiet amusement.

"But House Serraris has always been clever in how it hides its thorns. They are far more than florists and Gualama breeders. Those gardens fund ventures most Houses pretend not to notice, spice routes, rare flora, and trade networks that stretch well beyond Naboo's borders." that had been what her father had told her, after inquiring about a particuarly large order of vintage from the Abrantes estates.

 

[Aiden Porte]

OBJ:2
Memorial Gardens
Alina Grayson Jack Sandrow

​

Aiden's gaze lingered on her for a quiet moment before turning toward the ballroom once more. The orchestra's harmonies seemed distant to him, their sweetness tempered by the measured rhythm of his own heartbeat. He stood in contrast to her elegance, though not in opposition his attire was simple by design as the mask that matched it, the formal cut of a dark tunic edged with silver thread, his saber clipped at his hip beneath a loose mantle of muted blue. It was enough to make him part of the gathering without belonging to it.

"Quiet." he echoed softly, though the word carried a hint of irony. His eyes swept the hall, following the subtle flickers in the Force the practiced deceit beneath painted smiles, the envy behind polite laughter. "If only silence could be trusted. You look wonderful by the way." Aiden said with a simple and easy smile.

The Jedi's attention drifted toward the archways beyond the ballroom where the lanterns shimmered like stars over the gardens, where the murmur of the living was replaced by something older, something that remembered. The presence there tugged faintly at him, familiar and patient, like a distant voice in meditation.

He looked back to Alina, his tone quiet enough to pass as a murmur meant only for her.

"Diplomacy and illusion have always been difficult to tell apart." he said.

"I'd rather take a walk through the gardens before we start taking part in the dancing." he added, his gaze steady on hers. "The air there feels honest."

He inclined his head slightly, a gesture that was both invitation and warning. "If you'd rather not face the ghosts of House Serraris, I'll understand. We We could ask our friend here to join us as well?"

Aiden looked over to Jack with a small smile and nod. "Pleasure to meet you my friend." He held his hand out towards Jack. "You should join us for garden retreat."

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

OBJ:1
Moonlight Waltz
Tags: Fatine von Ascania ​

The polished stone steps of House Serraris gleamed under the soft lantern light as Cassian Abrantes offered his arm to the woman beside him. Fatine Von Ascania moved with a grace that would have silenced the entire courtyard even without the music that drifted from within. Every motion seemed deliberate, effortless, as though she were born to glide through rooms like this one.

Cassian Abrantes had never been one for theatrics, yet even he could admit that House Serraris had outdone itself. The evening air of Theed was soft and perfumed by garden blooms, and as he stepped through the lantern-lit archways, the faint hum of strings and the murmur of laughter followed him inward.

He wore a suit of deep obsidian silk, tailored precisely to his frame, its fabric catching the light in muted glimmers rather than shine. His mask was simple yet deliberate, carved from dark metal and adorned only by a slender inlay of mother-of-pearl along the edges. It hid his eyes just enough to preserve the mystery the night demanded.

"Quite the spectacle." he murmured as they reached the threshold, his voice low enough for her alone. "They say the Serraris family hosts these masquerades to prove that Theed still remembers how to dream, even in times like these."

The ballroom opened before them in a flood of light and sound. Chandeliers hung like captured stars, the marble floor alive with the swirl of dancers. The air was thick with the scent of blossom wine and the hum of whispered politics hidden behind feathered masks. Cassian's gaze swept the crowd instinctively a habit of both soldier and diplomat marking exits, noting faces, assessing intent.

"What do you think?"

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Location: Let's Dance
Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

Aurelian listened as she spoke, his gaze sweeping across the glittering expanse of House Serraris's estate. Lanterns swayed in the soft night air, and the scent of moonlilies and sweet oil was heavy enough to taste. He caught every word, but his attention was just as focused on the glint in her eyes, visible behind the gilded mask.

There was a quiet satisfaction in watching her slip so easily back into the language of power and politics, even here, where they'd sworn to shed their titles for the evening. She couldn't help herself. Neither could he.

When she finished, he turned his head toward her, a teasing light catching beneath the mask. "Mmm," he hummed, considering the sweeping gardens once more, the gleaming domes and flower-choked arches. "Still gaudy." The corner of his mouth curved, threatening a laugh.

He tugged gently on her arm, pulling her closer until their shoulders brushed. "Come on," he murmured, his voice low and rich with amusement. "Let's see what this party has to offer."

Together they stepped into the stream of guests flowing toward the atrium, the light shifting from moonlit silver to warm amber as they crossed the threshold. The grand ballroom opened before them in a riot of color; petals strewn across marble, chandeliers dripping with glass and gold, and the orchestra's melody swelling around them.

Aurelian moved easily through the space, his presence cutting smoothly through the crowd. As a tray swept past, he snagged two flutes of champagne without missing a beat, offering one to her. "It's no whiskey," he said, raising his glass with mock solemnity. "But I suspect you'll appreciate the taste." The faintest smirk touched his lips as he sipped, eyes never leaving her face.

They lingered near the edge of the dance floor, watching the swirl of masked couples move in perfect synchrony. Casually, he returned to her earlier jab. "Oh, Cordé and Tona talk, that much is true," he said, his tone light, the warmth in his eyes betraying him. "They've become quite friendly. Though just between us, I've known Tona longer. She tells me everything."

He leaned closer, close enough for his breath to brush her ear. "Don't worry, Nez," he added, his voice low and teasing. "It's cute. Fits you." The look she gave him made his grin sharpen, wicked and unrepentant. "And yes," he continued, swirling the last of his drink, "Marcus is my middle name. Just in case you need something proper to yell when I inevitably test your patience... again."

He tipped back the flute, draining it in one smooth motion before setting it on a passing tray. Then, without waiting for protest, he caught her hand in his, firm and insistent, drawing her toward the ballroom floor. "Come on," he said, his smile widening as the music swelled. "I didn't even get to dance with you at my own coronation. Let's see what they taught you in those gaudy hills of Dee'ja Peak."

He guided her effortlessly into the open space, one hand at her waist, the other still linked with hers. The light caught on his mask, glinting across the curve of his jaw as he leaned in close enough for only her to hear. "Try to keep up, Nez," he murmured, his words threaded with laughter and something far warmer beneath it.

​

 

[Fatine von Ascania]

Objective 1 | Moonlight Waltz | Cassian Abrantes ​

Fatine readily accepted Cassian's arm, both hands wrapping around strong muscle and squeezing perhaps a bit too tightly to be ladylike. Not for any underlying nerves – no, she was certainly not the anxious sort when it came to merriment.

The gardens were all well and nice, as was the ballroom, but young lady was simply admiring the physique of her escort.

Raised among the nobility of Ukatis, Fatine was accustomed to luxurious surroundings. As luxurious as things could get on the little agriworld. What she was unaccustomed to was being in the unchaperoned company of a man. Ukatian courting rituals could be strict and rather unforgiving, so eligible young aristocrats tended to only met at events like these.

Here, though, there were no watchful eyes. No glaring fathers or fussing mothers, no host of uncles and aunts and so forth to scrutinize the proper placement of one's hand while dancing.

Just her, Cassian, a pair and masks, and a host of perfect strangers. Strangers to her, at least.

"Hmm?" His question had broken her reverie. Fatine tapped her fan to her painted lips just once, humming thoughtfully as her gaze swept the ballroom. "It's beautiful, of course. Simply beautiful."

The curve of her gilded mask caught the light as they moved, light that reflected off of a thousand other crystals and polished metals that glittered in this very hall.

"But I do so tire of beauty," she admitted wistfully. "I much prefer the…"

Fatine trailed off, reaching up to thread an errant strand of dark hair behind Cassian's ear. On Ukatis, such a gesture would've been seen as borderline indecent Her lips quirked into a little smile that tried to be evocative, but came off as far more girlish than she would have liked.

"...untamed."