Faction The People v. Lysander von Asacania

[Verity Stuyveris]

LOCATION

THE HIGH REPUBLIC HALL OF JUSTICE

COURTROOM 2

MORNING

♫ GROCER'S DAUGHTER — THOMAS NEWMAN

x

x

The High Republic Hall of Justice was an exemplar of Theed architecture: golden stone topped with a great green domed roof, with five other smaller domed circular structures arrayed around its perimeter. The atrium was packed with observers and the press as Verity Stuyveris entered with the other members of the prosecution, with members of the press straining at the barriers that had been erected, calling questions, asking about whether she thought the Republic would win this case.

Verity ignored them, her glacial demeanor resisting the thaw. Of course, she wanted to exude an air of confidence, and realistically this should be an open-and-shut case, but there was no telling with Sith. They had their fingers in all kinds of pies, and though great efforts had been taken to keep the judge's and the jurors' identities secret ahead of the trial for safety purposes, it was difficult to guarantee anything in a pluralistic democracy such as this one.

So she didn't make promises that she couldn't keep.

She went through the extensive security process, shucking her blazer, her earrings, a bracelet, and her Senate lapel pin, tucking the jewelry into her handbag before putting it through the security scan. A few minutes later, she was entering Courtroom 3. She set her briefcase on the table and snapped it open to retrieve some documents and notes, and made chitchat with her second- and third-chairs. They were more seasoned attorneys, with an extensive practice record. Verity had been asked by the Attorney General to stand in. Something about her prosecutorial nature and effective communication style.

The reality was that there were significant concerns for anyone involved in prosecuting this case. Verity Stuyveris had already poked the Sith Covenant in the eye in every conceivable way -- publicly, rhetorically, legislatively, and very nearly literally during her encounter with Mercy -- and lived to tell the tale. Thus, it seemed wise not to expose anyone else to the risk when the Senator had so ably placed herself in danger of her own volition.

Faced with the request, Verity had felt like a rat in a trap, but on further reflection and now, in the glare of the lights, she had to concede perhaps she was instead -- the cheese.

Conversations went on in a hush. The defendant was escorted in. Verity had insisted that Lysander von Ascania not be trussed up and wheeled in in restraints on the theory that it would prejudice the jury. Her eyes lingered on his hair momentarily before she turned back toward her co-counsel. "That's... a choice," she murmured to second-chair with a wry smirk; the other two attorneys chuckled under their breath, grateful for the sarcasm to cut the tension.

It didn't work.

The Bailiff stepped forward and called, "The court will come to order. All rise for the honorable Judge Avara Bel'kor." An older Bothan woman with a silvering russet coat, carefully groomed facial fur, and a pair of spectacles perched on her snout entered. A respected institutionalist by reputation, she was understood to be methodical, politically difficult to categorize, and fiercely protective of judicial independence.

"Good morning," she announced, her voice gravelly. "You may be seated. The court does call the case of the People v. Lysander von Ascania. I will take appearances for the record. People?"

Verity stood effortlessly. "Verity Stuyveris for the People, Your Honor."

"Defense?" The Bothan looked across the court room to Lysander's table.

x

x

WITH

Lysander von Ascania • @Other Interested Parties

 

[Astra Sadow]

"Astra Sadow representing my client Lysander von Ascania , Your Honor." Dressed in an expertly tailored, black suit with an equally black tie, her burnt golden eyes met those of the Judge with her chin high and shoulders squared. Being in this place was no great concern of her's. They had nothing on which to charge her. Oh, the intelligence community might grumble otherwise, but a Republic couldn't go around baselessly accusing people, could it?

Speaking of which, she spared a sidelong look at Verity Stuyveris . Kind of her to 'insist' on Lysander not being wheeled in strapped down like some sort of wild animal. Astra might have had quite a bit of fun at their expense over such a thing. So, a woman able to keep her baser desires in check. Not a fool selected at random for a show trial? Should keep things interesting.

She leaned in Lysander's direction to whisper -- confer -- with her client, "You've settled on your plea?" A smirk pulled at her lips. Somehow, Astra got the impression the man was going to be quite the troublemaker in court. Hopefully he'd be kind enough to know when the court's patience was reached and to step back.

Lysander von Ascania | Verity Stuyveris​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Astra Sadow Verity Stuyveris Aurelian Veruna Danger Arceneau Sophelia Ardemark Corazona von Ascania | Open​

Time stopped announcing itself as days; Lysander’s mornings came and went to the sound of boots against durasteel and inspections. Jakku might as well have been eons past. Just a chapter the galaxy flipped through without so much a glance in his direction. Nothing to authorize, no envoy duties, not even a command roster. Solitude, once his chosen weapon, felt like chains here.

In every dark corner of his mind, the faces he trusted crowded in. Naniti, Varin, A’Mia, Meya. There were so many. Memories stalked him until sleep fled. Were they alive? Had the others escaped that dust-choked hell? Even Luciana drifted through his thoughts, a niece he barely knew. Did Acier writhe in a reflection of this same cage? Was Cora cursing his name between prayers? The unanswered questions cut deeper with every passing hour.

Years spent clawing through the Black Wall for freedom, only to realize the universe never really lets you leave. Now every choice was part of a script written by strangers. Lysander believed he was beginning to watch his own funeral.

There was once a time when doors opened because he carried authority. Now they only opened because someone else had the code.

Then the cell doors opened; the world became.. painfully real. Two marshals stood waiting. Force-dampening binders were cinched tightly. Not a single word passed between them. Gone were the Sith blacks, the pretense of power. He’d been stripped down to a prisoner’s tunic. That familiar fear that typically radiated off sentient beings in his presence was nowhere to be found.

Stepping into the courtroom, the blonde's vision blurred beneath the onslaught of stares. Amid the swirl, his gaze snapped to Verity. That face landed like a punch to the gut, yanking him back to their debate at Summer Palace and the volley of short-lived letters that followed.

Once escorted to the defense table, the bailiff soon called the room to order.

Leaning closer to Astra, warmth returned in the form of a smile for the first time in weeks. "Not guilty, yes,” the words barely cleared his teeth. “You almost sound worried, Astra," Pleasantries never stood a chance with them; their conversations always drifted toward philosophy. There seemed little sense in breaking the habit now. "The plea isn't an escape, it's just.. the first sentence of whatever comes next." The levity eased him more than he expected.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora sat primly in the gallery's front row. Everything about her was meticulously neat; her hair, her clothes, her folded hands, and even the bandages wound over the right side of her face. Given present circumstances, the corruptive injuries she'd sustained on Jakku had been slow to heal.

Nothing in her demeanor gave away the fact that she was having an out of body experience.

When Lysander appeared, Cora pulled in a quiet, shuddering breath. Everything about this hurt, but she couldn't deny the necessity of it all. A grim conversation she'd shared with Aurelian, eerily on the eve of Lysander's capture, was the singular sliver of hope she now clung to. A life sentence was the best case scenario, he'd said.

She hadn't thought this possible. Any of it. Not the capture, not the trial, not the better part of the galaxy turning it's eyes onto the sordid Ascania. Perhaps Lysander himself didn't either, given his meteoric rise to power among the Sith.

Something about the brightest stars burning for half as long.

Cora's fingers found the Ankarres sapphire he'd gifted her, brushing over the gemstone and fiddling with the band. Her other hand reached for Fatine's. The brunette had gone uncharacteristically silent next to her.

Together, the sisters quietly stared at their brother. He looked well enough after weeks in Republic custody, not a twinge of nerves about him. Still, those shackles cinched tight around his wrists might as well have been around Cora's own heart.

There was still good in him. But despite that good, he'd helped to build one of the galaxy's most violent war machines.

CC: Lysander von Ascania

 

[Srina Talon]

LOCATION: THE HIGH REPUBLIC HALL OF JUSTICE [Courtroom]
TAG: Verity Stuyveris | Astra Sadow | Lysander von Ascania | Corazona von Ascania

The courtroom smelled of lemon polish, rare old paper-bound books, and those insufferable Rominaria blossoms that Naboo insisted upon planting everywhere. Sweet enough to make lesser creatures think the scent innocent and beautiful…But to Srina? They created the cloying scent of a baby-powdered funeral home.

It was cloying, annoying, and made her nose twitch as if to sneeze.

She loathed Naboo.

It was on this planet that a child who had never drawn breath had been laid to rest beneath immaculate marble and blue roses that never seemed to wilt. At the time, the Confederacy had thought the phenomenon was born of some deeply buried compassion, but the wintry woman had only ever known it to be one thing. The grave of her firstborn child.

A daughter she would never see, never hear, and never have the chance to care for. Stolen from her by the Jedi of old because of a scorched earth policy against the Sith. She had hardly understood the concept then, and certainly hadn't grasped the truth about the zealots that the Light and the Dark carried. She hadn't learned her lesson about the cruelty of goodness until her diplomatic mission was turned into a massacre.

Until a trap was sprung and the bomb went off.

Srina hadn't learned her lesson until she was buried in rubble, ironically, beside her Jedi fiancée and losing the one thing that mattered most. Her daughter. Now—Now the Light had brought yet another of her children to this happy, shining world, for sentencing for crimes that hadn't even caused an eyebrow to raise. Why would they?

Her pristine ivory robes drifted through security lines without any urgency, stitched with ancient runes so fine that they appeared no more than decorative embroidery. Their purpose was both concealment and certainty while they passively caused the minds of others to believe that she belonged exactly where she stood. They smoothed over suspicion before suspicion could even be born…While her features, Echani to the last, were nearly identical to those of her people.

Her genetics had no originality. Mothers looked like daughters, sisters like sisters, neighbors like neighbors. It could be impossible to tell them apart.

With that…She passed quietly through the halls. There were no weapons on her person that could be detected, and authority bent around her presence as naturally as water flowed downstream. Guards found no reason to question her, and clerks assumed the paperwork had already been filed. Identification badges already registered—Even though no such thing had taken place.

By the time anyone might have thought to wonder…She was already seated in the back of the room.

Hawkish eyes settled upon the courtroom with all the warmth of winter. The prosecutors, the judge, and any of the spectators who had come to watch a man be measured like livestock before slaughter. Such gentle, sweet people.

The High Republic seemed determined to teach her that there could be no peace between them. Before this—it was the treatment of Quinn Varanin that made her turn her focus toward this bastion of truth and justice for further inspection. Her eyes, mercurial silver instead of yellow-gold, finally settled on Lysander von Ascania and she exhaled softly.

Srina did not reach out for him with overwhelming power. There was no violent intrusion, no display worthy of frightened Jedi tales. Instead, she merely allowed the quiet thread that connected a student and teacher, a mother and child, to become visible. That was the wavelength that she spoke through…Even if he could not reply.

<<You did not call for me…Did you thimk I would not appear?>>

He would know that she was there long before he was able to find her by sight. Her voice brushed across his thoughts with the softness of falling rain, impossibly gentle, against the coldness of her personality. <<…Let me take you home…>>

It would seem like a peaceable offering. Something…Soft. But Lysander would know her better than that. Nothing about the Blackwall Empress was "soft," and nothing lit her ire faster than one of her people being in chains. She did not care what he had done, what he would do, but was fully prepared to burn this building to ash if they did not let him go.

Never question, not ever, what a mother might do for their young.

Not even a Sith.

 

[Meya Liefi]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania​

Her bridge's quiet was broken only by the steady hum of engines and the muted chorus of consoles speaking to one another in soft electronic chirps.

Blue displays illuminated the room in uneven pools of light that rolled across polished metal and the faces of her men absorbed in their stations. One of them glanced up as a holoprojector beside him flickered to life, its image struggling for a heartbeat before resolving into the unmistakable seal of the High Republic.

"Lady Meya," Meya looked up from the datapad in her hands. The gang member rose from his station to face her properly. "The High Republic has begun broadcasting the trial." Whatever report she had been reading ceased to exist in her mind.

The holofeed in front of her changed immediately to the courtroom. It materialised in shimmering detail, packed with spectators, reporters, and officials. Her eyes skimmed over them without interest until they found him. Her expression hardened.

Around her, the bridge had grown quieter. Twin Sun members who had moments before busied themselves with navigation and communications found themselves stealing glances toward the projection. None of them spoke. They knew well enough what they were looking at.

"Look into this court." Several members immediately turned toward her.

"The judge. Every member of the prosecution. Every clerk attached to this case." Her fingers curled slightly against her chair. "I want everything concerning the Republic's judicial system. Judicial procedure. Sentencing practices. Appeals. Jury selection. Judicial ethics. Every notable ruling. Every public criticism. Every commendation."

Meya believed the Republic liked to present itself as the opposite of an Empire. It condemned tyranny, corruption, exploitation and greed, yet so much of its prosperity likely, no... more than likely rested upon corporations that amassed fortunes because factory workers accepted salaries too small to ever stand beside those who employed them. Senators condemned slavery while defending economic systems that left entire sectors trapped in generational poverty.

Perhaps that was governance. Perhaps every civilisation eventually reached the same conclusion—that someone would always bear the cost of another's comfort.

She knew she did.

The Twin Suns existed because she profited from suffering. Smuggling. Spice. Protection rackets. Markets respectable governments refused to acknowledge until they required something from them. She had never hidden behind noble language or pretended her hands were clean. She demanded loyalty and payment. In return, her people were fed, protected, employed, and avenged when wronged.

Honesty did not absolve her. Neither did lofty ideals absolve the Republic. Not in her opinion. She found hypocrisy more offensive than brutality. Her attention returned fully to the courtroom.

"If he is convicted..." Meya finally looked away from the holofeed.

"If he ends up in a prison," she said evenly, "I need to know which facilities are capable of holding Force-sensitives within this region of Republic space." Men began immediately typing. "I want every prison within transfer distance."

"Maps." Another command. "Architectural schematics." Another. "Security protocols, guard rotations. supply deliveries, maintenance schedules." She paused only long enough for each order to be acknowledged before continuing. "Find me former prisoners who served inside them. Former guards. Construction contractors. Maintenance crews. Medical personnel. I want anyone who has walked those corridors."

 

[Mauve du Vain]

Few things captivated the public eye like a trial. And a trial of a Sith with noble and Jedi connections? Well, this would be all the Core talked about for the next three months.

So delectably messy.

A smirk curled the corner of Mauve’s plum painted lips. She sat at the back of the courtroom, observing. As “Lady Tapalo” she had connections now within the High Republic. Status. Legitimacy.

Even if she still spent most of her time on Nar Shaddaa.

She would have given it all away for… well. It didn’t matter anymore.

Like a wilted flower thrown out after feeling bad it died.

Tapping her stylus against her lips, Mauve adjusted her grip on her datapad and looked around at the other observers. There would be whispers in the hallways outside the courtroom. If she picked those up then it would be a scoop. But the feelings from those around her, their reactions to the information as it came out… that would be far more valuable to her.

 

[Persephone Dashiell]

SHELL PILE, SHELL PILE

Persephone had tucked the sunglasses into the neckline of her black dress. Legs crossed in front of her, a style of boots completed her outfit. Stylish in her eyes for a court day, but one couldn't be caught in the Core looking like a haggard ragamuffin. She was seated next to Mauve du Vain , spending the later half of her summer as her intern at the Art Institute of Nar Shadda. So far it had been a lot of dusting and even more cataloging art into various systems.

When possible she picked Miss du Vain's brain for business practices of being an art dealer and weaving in and out of society. All in all, despite wanting to put a bounty on the woman at one time, Persephone found herself learning quite a bit.

Persephone had no idea why her summer mentor wanted to be at the trial of Lysander von Ascania .She personally hated the idiot and hoped he would get tossed into a hard labor camp. A girl could dream after all.

Taking notes - why she had no idea - Persephone wrote a question to Miss du Vain on her pad and tilted it in her direction.

Why are we here again?

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: D'Qar

Equipment:
Vanguard Robes | Lightsaber | Shoto | Cybernetic Arm | Tic

Ace sat alone atop the broad stone overlooking the training clearing outside the hidden Vanguard base on D'Qar. A small holoprojector rested beside him, its pale blue glow painting shifting light across his face as it transmitted a live broadcast from Naboo. The image shimmered faintly as the projector compensated for the breeze, but it remained clear enough for him to recognize every face. Then the marshals escorted Lysander von Ascania into view.

Tic remained perched on Ace's shoulder, watching the proceedings unfold. His little head tilted first one way, then the other, photoreceptors narrowing ever so slightly as though even he could tell something about this felt important.

Ace hadn't said a single word since activating the broadcast. Corazona von Ascania had already told him everything after Jakku. Lysander had survived, had been captured, and now he stood before the High Republic in restraints.

Ace couldn't stop seeing the parallels between them. Both of them had willingly entered the Covenant believing they could make a difference. Both had climbed higher within its ranks than they'd ever intended. Both had helped strengthen the very machine that controlled the Core. Now Lysander stood where Ace himself had stood only months ago. A prisoner.

He should've been there. Not to defend him or against whatever verdict the court ultimately reached. Just... to be there.

Lysander had done so much for him. Meliant. The Vergeworks. Remowa. He even had taken the time to reach out to Ace while he was still incarcerated. Now their positions had reversed, and Ace could do nothing except watch through a holoprojector from the other side of the galaxy.

Despite everything, a small part of him couldn't help feeling relieved. Lysander was out. So was Isobel. Whatever happened in that courtroom, neither of them would spend another day feeding the Covenant's endless appetite.

Maybe this could become what Ace's own imprisonment had become. Not an ending. The beginning of something better.

The thought survived only a few moments before doubt crept back in. His own crimes weighed heavily enough on his conscience every day, yet Lysander's position within the Covenant had been far greater than his own. Mercy's apprentice. A member of the Council. One of the organization's public faces. Ace couldn't pretend those things wouldn't matter when the sentence was handed down.

The courtroom continued moving around him, voices rising and falling through the speakers, but Ace barely registered the words. His attention drifted away from the proceedings as another thought quietly surfaced.

Fatine. He hadn't seen her among the spectators. Maybe she wasn't there, or the cameras simply hadn't found her. Either way, he hoped she was alright. Lysander wasn't just some former Sith to her. He was her brother. Whatever conflict twisted inside Ace's own chest, it had to be infinitely worse for her.

A soft, concerned chirp interrupted his thoughts. Tic leaned gently against the side of his head, the little droid's weight barely noticeable against his shoulder. Ace smiled faintly, though it never reached his eyes. Without looking away from the trial, he lifted a hand and scratched beneath Tic's photoreceptors, earning another quiet trill in response.

"I'm fine, buddy..." He said softly, eyes never leaving the hologram. "Everything's gonna be... alright."

The words sounded reassuring enough. His voice did not.​

 

[Loren Ardemark]

What form does justice take?

The young scion of House Pelagia sat near the front, his eyes wide and full of pain at the proceedings and all they reminded him of.

There was one of the great architects of all his suffering. Loren’s eyes danced in the light and stung. He gazed ahead hotly, struggling to control his emotions.

Vengeance was not the Jedi way.

No matter how many of Loren’s people were murdered due to this man and others like him.

So what form does it take?

Execution?

Life in a labor camp?

An apology?

And what if he was redeemed? One like him. What if he came to the light. What then?

Loren’s knuckles bled to white as he clenched his fists atop his knees and stared.

 

[Mauve du Vain]

Violet eyes flicked down and read Persephone's datapad. Mauve started scribbling her reply.

Because, ragamuffin, this is about to be the epicenter of the galactic core for the next two months.

She paused tapping her stylus against her lips again, then continued writing.

And because the power brokers will come out of their sewers to back their respective sides. If you know the political landscape, you can navigate it better. For art sales.

Except half of their inventory was not, strictly speaking, legal in the Republic. That's why the art gallery was on Nar Shaddaa still. That and all the Sith and Jedi artifacts Mauve had tucked away for exclusive buyers.

Mauve tilted the datapad toward her intern and lifted an eyebrow.

Persephone Dashiell

 

[Sophelia Ardemark]

Sophelia was not dressed like when she'd last met Lysander von Ascania . Gone was the armor-weave and battle clothes and in its place a dress in the style of Pelagia House colors robed her slim figure. A blue that nearly matched her eyes with accents of purple that matched the family crest. Bandaged hand found Corazona von Ascania 's other one and gave it a small squeeze as Lysander came out. A wound still healing from Jakku. Another one on her neck, bacta patch visible with her feathered locks of golden hair bound upward.

Her first impression was surprise.

It was startling to see him without his armor. Without that sword pointed at her throat.

He hadn't seen her yet.

So it was equally strange not to see the burning embers of hatred in those frigid depths locked onto her. He looked more like his age now. And it only reminded her of someone else. A flash of rusty-hued hair. A similar smile. She swallowed and looked away.

She still wouldn't change anything. What happened on Jakku. What she'd done. She'd do it all over again. Even if Master Grindell had lectured her when she returned about how dumb it had been to get stunned, too. Head craned as she looked for Helios Ardemark . Then to Cora. She could only imagine what it would feel like to have a brother or other family member go that far wayward and cause so much destruction and pain to others.

She was not naive enough, though, to believe every wound in Tapani had begun and ended with the man standing in the middle of the room. History was rarely so generous as to grant a single villain upon whom every sorrow could be placed. Lysander had made choices. Others had followed. The entire Covenant should be held accountable. But today was only about bringing accountability to Lysander.

Whatever that looked like.

She faced forward again, catching the look on her cousin's face. Loren Ardemark

Reaching silently through the force, she sent a calming brush around the sharp, jagged edges of Loren's emotions. Not to take them away. Just a nudge to remind him he wasn't alone.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

Weeks of non-stop groundwork alongside his aides had brought them to this exact moment. A potential lifeline for the condemned man rested securely in Aurelian's back pocket, meticulously arranged since his quiet promise to Cora. Positioned within the shadows of a private gallery high above the main floor, his eyes locked onto the courtroom below. Part of him craved the spectacle, eager to watch the Republic bring down its full wrath upon a Sith. Yet a stubborn, inconvenient sense of obligation refused to let him sit idly by.

Restlessness stirred beneath his tailored clothes, driving his right leg into a quick bouncing motion. Aurelian extended a hand, resting it against Sibylla's leg to anchor his focus. Beside him, the Voice of the Houses remained perfectly composed while he weighed the precise timing for playing his hand. Glancing over at her, a sharp smirk breached his stoic expression.

"This is why I do not make friends," he declared quietly. "Then I am obligated to stick my neck out for them at the most inopportune times."

​

 

[Lorn Reingard]

Tags: Acier Moonbound​

Lorn settled onto the stone beside the younger man proved a noisy affair; joints popped and worn muscles protested, drawing a low groan from the seasoned Guardian before his boots finally planted flat against the ground.

Eyes shifting toward the glowing hologram, Lorn watched the Republic court proceedings unfold. The sight of another Sith behind bars offered zero personal conflict for him. Justice demanded its due, and as far as Lorn was concerned, the man could rot in a cell forever without causing him a single sleepless night. Yet Ace saw something worth saving in that courtroom, and that made the boy's pain Lorn's business.

A wry attempt at comfort pushed past his lips before he fully processed the thought. "We could go for prison break number three if you'd like?"

Regret hit immediately after the words left his mouth. Humor felt cheap against the heavy weight resting on Ace's shoulders, but Lorn stayed put.

 

[Helios Ardemark]

THE HIGH REPUBLIC HALL OF JUSTICE
COURTROOM TWO
THEED, NABOO

He made the time in his schedule for this. In fact, the day had been cleared for him almost as if he hadn't needed to mention it. His people were watching, so many eyes from within the Republic and beyond, in this courtroom and not. Ambassador Helios Ardemark of the Tapani Refugee Diaspora, acting High Lord of House Pelagia, returned to the seat beside his cousin, having been briefly pulled away by a request he would handle later.

He didn't mean to leave the old Bestinian aquaculture professor waiting for so long, but his time being what it was these many months? Surely that academic wouldn't begrudge his need to be present for this; if anything, he likewise had eyes on the broadcast.

Who didn't?

Coming back in, he cast a look around, trying to spot his sister, but came up empty in his brief parsing of the many present. Helios released a sigh as he settled back in at the front, eyes tracking forward first to the proceedings which, thank the ancestors, had hardly begun, confirming he had a moment. So he checked back in on Loren, who was a Jedi, true, but if there was anything he'd come to know over the years, it was that even Jedi struggled at times, like any mortal; in this Jedi, it was writ across his knuckles, his face, his eyes. He tilted towards his cousin and laid a hand on the Knight's shoulder, turning his attention away from the front.

"Breathe, cousin, lest you combust: let's not give his masters any ideas."

His quiet tone carried no shred of humour. Helios had since tempered his anger and grief for the sake of representing his people well, but it was there, alive in the undercurrent. His thoughts strayed too at times.

It was the way things were, now. One way or another, justice had to be served.

Loren Ardemark • Sophelia Ardemark​

 

[Persephone Dashiell]

Persephone rolled her eyes at the scribbled reply. The handwriting was atrocious. There was a mental note to hire a tutor for her summer boss after she left. A parting gift.

Easy Purpy. While this may be the galactic epicenter for the next two months, how many are looking for art pieces? 'I had such a hard day defending a war criminal. I know what will cheer me up, art from a sketchy Zeltron hailing from Nar Shadda.' You're not even using your real name, Get with reality, you just wanted to be seen.

Tilting the datapad, Persephone gave an 'am I wrong?' look to her present employer. She was, in fact, not wrong. Hopefully they wouldn't be here for two months. Persie wanted to get back to real work, not watching a circus. Frankly she expected nothing to come of this. Probably imprisonment with the Jedi, which would be like a Club Med resort.

Mauve du Vain ​

 

[Verity Stuyveris]

LOCATION

THE HIGH REPUBLIC HALL OF JUSTICE

COURTROOM 2

MORNING

♫ DARK MINUET — NICHOLAS BRITELL

x

x

The Judge proceeded through the boring procedural elements before turning her attention to pre-trial motions.

"'ll hear arguments now on closing the courtroom to the media. People?" the Judge said, then settled into her seat and folded her hands in front of her.

Verity stood. "Thank you, Your Honor. My request is straightforward. We are dealing with a man with an established link to a terrorist group and rogue state, the Sith Covenant. We have seen how they handle challenges to their authority on countless occasions. While it is true there is a presumption that public trials are in the interest of justice, that presumption is rebuttable under the Republic Rules of Criminal Procedure, which has been upheld half a dozen times, most recently in Towerdale v. Naboo, where the High Court affirmed that the interests of justice must also consider the safety of court personnel, judges, and juries."

The Judge looked to Astra Sadow . "Ms. Sadow, I'll hear from you. Do you object?"

x

x

WITH

Lysander von Ascania • Astra Sadow

 

[Astra Sadow]

Astra leaned away slightly with a smirk. "Worried?" Her head turned back toward the gallery behind where they sat. The smirk softened. Then she met Lysander's eyes once more. "Only that these proceedings don't last a solitary minute." Did she mean Srina's offer? How could she, with the woman threading the needle of her Will through the Force so carefully? Sometimes you didn't need to hear a conversation to know if a party's lips were moving what they said. Metaphorically, of course.

Little early for a blood bath. Wouldn't beating the Republic at its own game be so much more rewarding? Astra thought so.

The Judge called the Court to order and got on with the formalities, which led Astra to sit up and with her head high. There was no need to be ashamed to represent someone in need of an unbiased -- or properly biased -- legal representative, after all. Especially when Lysander was prepared to declare himself not guilty of the charges.

Astra paused for just a second before she stood to her feet and direction her attention solely to the Judge. "I do, Your Honor. The Prosecution has yet to substantiate the alleged link to any terrorist group or rogue state. In fact, my client is quite eager to learn whether a Republic Court holds jurisdiction at all concerning the charges the People plan to bring forth. But," she lifted a hand as if to forestall an objection that wasn't coming, "in the interests of addressing my colleague's concerns..." Entirely justifiable ones, but Astra would never admit that because she wasn't hexed to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. "As this Court has convened, those in attendance are already a matter of record. Therefore, rather than deprive the People the opportunity to witness justice in action, I propose that the identities of the assembled jury be redacted to avoid any unjustifiable accusations of undue influence."

They already had Srina Talon in attendance. It was a little late to worry about dancing on the edge of a knife. Perhaps they weren't aware of it. Poor, poor fools.

Lysander von Ascania | Verity Stuyveris | Srina Talon | Corazona von Ascania​

 

[Danger Arceneau]

Reviewing from a Holonet Feed
Arceneau Tower | Eriadu
| Dress x | x | x | x | x | x | X | X |

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The pale blue glow of the HoloNet screen washed across Danger's face, illuminating little more than the sharp line of her cheekbones and the fiery emerald narrowing of her eyes. Beyond it, her office on Eriadu remained swallowed in darkness.

The People v. Lysander von Ascania.

Danger's lips thinned.

Things had happened too damn karkin' fast.

She and Lysander had traded messages whenever circumstances permitted. He had spoken of trying to find his place in the galaxy, of figuring out what came next after everything he had endured. Danger had expected a multitude of scenarios, but trouble certainly seemed fond enough of the young blonde -- certainly she had not expected to see him sitting in a High Republic courtroom.

A sharp click broke the silence before a bright cherry-red flame briefly illuminated the Queen of Trade's face as she lit her cigarillo and drew deeply, the ember burning brighter before smoke curled lazily from her lips. Her gaze never left the broadcast.

"Find out everything you can about whoever's representin' Lysander," Danger ordered, her smoky alto belying the clipped molasses of her drawl. "Have our lawyers scour Republic law. Precedent, procedure, every loophole they can find. And see what favors can be pulled."

She took another slow drag that made her cheeks pucker, the crimson and blue wash of the holoscreen and the cigarillos casting shadows over the crow's feet at the corner of sharp eyes narrowed as the event unfolded.

"I want every detail on everyone involved in this case. Judge. Prosecutors. Investigators. Witnesses. All of it."

Knowledge was power, and Danger Arceneau had built an empire upon knowing precisely where to apply it. Cause sure as she was raised knowing there wasn't a blockade credits couldn't find a crack through, she was bettin' that the High Republic was gonna make a spectacle of this. Perhaps Lysander was merely the example standing where politics, fear, and the Sith question the Republic was fighting collided. Perhaps they intended his trial to establish exactly how the Republic meant to answer Sith actions along its borders and throughout the Core.

Either way, Danger intended to understand the board before anyone finished moving their pieces. A quick draw of two fingers plucked the cigarillo from her lips, sending a trail of spicy blue white smoke curling up towards the ceiling before she flicked ash at a tray beside her.

Her gaze settled upon Lysander again as the defense was called to make its appearance before once again, she brought the vice to her lips and the tip of her cigarillo flared.

"Let's see what hand you've been dealt, son."

Cause sure nuff he won't be alone.

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

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Upper Courtroom Observation Balcony
Interacting with: Aurelian Veruna
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Sibylla felt Aurelian's long restlessness long before he spoke.

Others might have seen only the composed King of Naboo seated beside his Voice, the sharp features over his bronze face set into an unreadable mask as he watched the proceedings below. But Sibylla knew better. She saw the subtle bounce of his knee, the way those angular lines seemed to sharpen the longer his attention remained fixed upon the courtroom and its proceedings.

So beneath the sweeping folds of her sleeve, Sibylla let the warmth of her hand slide over the hand that lay over the deep bronze violet of her gown over her leg, letting her fingers curl around his as they lay hidden neatly beneath the elaborate fabric and gave a gentle squeeze.

But it was his words however, that drew a faint furrow between her brows.

This is why I do not make friends.

There was no need to look any further into who he was referencing, and in this particular instance, of course Aurelian meant Corazona von Ascania . However, it had only been a recent and quiet admission from the Veruna Patriarch that Adelle and Cora finally graduated from friend-adjacent to friends in his vocabulary. So hearing him speak of obligation and sticking his neck out at inconvenient moments made her blink curiously.

Interesting, though she immediately thought he was referring to coming to the hearing to support Cora in person.

"Supporting friends is not an obligation, Aurelian," Sibylla murmured, turning her gaze toward him. "It is a choice we make because we care. I am certain Cora is grateful to see you here."

Yet her curiosity lingered as Sibylla caught how the two lines pinching between his brows only seemed to deepen. It was the same sort of expression he had when he was strategizing and going over variables in his head in the war room.

What was going on?

She knew well enough what Aurelian thought of Lysander, just as she knew his thoughts concerning Acier. Dangerous men granted dangerous power, capable of inflicting harm upon others and themselves. At the same time, those who cared for them became tangled in the consequences.

Truth be told, Sibylla also had her own thoughts percolating on the matter regarding her history with the former Jedi Padawan and how that stood with the situation with Acier. Honestly, she felt tied to this far more personally than she should -- she and Lysander had history, and although several years had passed between them, they had shared something at one point, and he had been her first real friend. A friend she had cared for and wanted to see safe and unharmed. Seeing him now, down below in those restraints, made the blonde boy with elegant blonde locks and green eyes and a snarky sense of humor seem so distant. Was there still a sliver of that Lysander there? She hadn't had a chance to speak with him to make that observation for herself, but if only for Cora's and her goddaughter Lucy's sake, she hoped that it was.

Then there was also how this would affect Acier and his own precarious position after turning himself in and what happened afterward. Why was it that Shiraya saw fit to have the men she cared for in her life be cast in such predicaments? It made her wonder and test where she stood. Where she would land on the circumstances unfolding before her as much as with Acier himself. It frustrated her as much as it made her feel helpless on the matter.

Perhaps at that sensation, Sibylla finally gave a slight bemused huff at the irony. That she was feeling a mirror of what Aurelian was feeling himself now. What it felt to care for friends and how whatever affected them also affected her.

Funny how things turn out. Truly, every thread seemed to knot somewhere around her.

With a quiet breath as the closing arguments began, Sibylla's attention returned to the courtroom below even as her hand remained curled around Aurelian's.

"What is on your mind?" she finally asked.