Populate What’s a God to a Nonbeliever (BSS Populate of Empty Hex)

[Fenn Stag]

​

Fenn Stag.

A ruthless, killing machine with a penchant for violence and excessive brooding. Some considered him insane after the Dark Harvest infection nearly killed him- however, the rumor was that the vaccine and antidote for the virus was only possible because of Fenn's physiology. Or perhaps, more accurately- Preliat's. But tonight, he was not the killing machine: He was an appreciator of art, despite his distaste for wearing anything other than black.

He entered, towering above most. He was frightening in his physical presence. A dark, brooding stare, a physique that was honed by training, war, and a beskar-synthetic arm. He did not wear his helmet to the function, but rather, a fine set of armor and a cape. A sleak, black attire. His hair was unusually combed- and for all accounts, Fenn was....

Handsome. Good-looking. Put-together.

Which, probably was the first time that he ever even considered the notion. He entered, hands clasped over each other, observing this and that. Without his helmet he felt powerless. Sometimes he felt as though the face underneath was the mask- and he was really a killing machine, and the helmet helped put a barrier between him and the galaxy at large. So here- amongst the fancy, wealthy types of the galaxy, he felt like a freak. A monster, something to be observed. Something beyond their comprehension of suffering, of violence, of capability.

His eyes scanned the room, catching Mauve du Vain . Her flawless form, always calculating, plotting, planning. Ever in control. He envied that feeling, wondered how it felt to be beautiful and to be in control. He never felt like either.

His eyes scanned the room, the predator always searching. His eyes settled on Aiden Porte and his apparent date- Sibylla Abrantes . Despite Fenn's uncanny ability to kill people, he also was quite knowledgeable in who he was killing- and he recognized the dress and garb of Naboo royalty. His eyes settled on Aiden. The Portes were well known in his circles- primarily as the ones who foiled them.

Interesting mix of people.

He approached the bar, roughly three feet away from the Naboo royalty and the Jedi Guardian.

His gloved hand tapped the bar.

"Alderaan Twist, please."

His voice was gravelly, low in pitch and slow in tone. Careful with his words and reckless with his actions. Quite an interesting character, Fenn was.

Or perhaps, he was really insane under all that brooding.

 

[Persephone Dashiell]

FASHION SHOW

Hand slipped around his offered arm as they moved about the space. Or attempted to. Typically she went to Coruscant Fashion Week, scoring tickets through contacts. That was a lot of sitting along the runway and watching the fashion then parties after. This seemed a bit opposite ; get sloshed and full on hors'devours now then sit and watch models walk by. Seemed a bit rude to models who probably starved themselves in the week leading up to this event.

"I thought you may have matured over the years and your memory with it. Either way, probably won't be until later in the evening. One, who wants to hang around a sixteen year old girl and two, being the host she's probably swamped. If I had to guess we won't see her until the end. No matter. I guess we could think of something to do in the meantime."

Gaze drifted to a woman draped in gold ( Sibylla Abrantes ) and arced an eyebrow. Whomever this woman was she had come to impress. To be seen. Despite the crowd she stood out around the bar, speaking to a man.

"Someone is on the hunt for a husband." Persephone took a sip of her wine and indicated towards the bar, hoping Iko Vel was older and smarter to follow her lead. "Now that's a dress. I doubt it has pockets, way too slinky."

Catching his eye, she thought about her own dress. It was more revealing than she was used to yet this was also a fashion event. Less rules than a traditional gala. Plus she was older now and looking ahead at carving her own identity. Wine glass passed back and forth in front of her in a motion to catch attention to the area.

"This isn't too.....lady of the night, is it? I was at a wedding recently and saw a crab-lady prostitute....don't want any whispers. Don't want to be the crab-prostitute of this event."

 

[Aiden Porte]

Sibylla Abrantes
​

Aiden's reply came with a quiet huff of amusement, the faintest shake of his head as he followed in her wake through the glittering crowd. The air shimmered with perfume and laughter, a hundred overlapping conversations spilling into one another, but even amid the noise, Sibylla's voice carried warm, wry, and utterly at ease in a place that had no business feeling safe.

"Let's just say," he murmured as they reached the bar, "In your future if you ever come across and individual by the name of Roman Vossari " His tone was dry, as though commenting on the weather. "Run, as fast as you can."

The Knight chuckled as he shook his head and gave her a gentle nudged. "I merely kid, Roman Vossari is one of my closest friends, a great, true and dedicated man. There was a time I helped him clean horse stalls. One time he helped me put out a fire on Ukatis. And one time we got horribly drunk, and one of those beverages was indeed glowing. His phrase that day was 'the more you drink the better it taste'....." Aiden shook his head and instantly started laughing.

That earned the bartender a faint smile as Aiden leaned lightly against the counter, scanning the rows of crystalline bottles that lined the mirrored wall. Beneath the easy posture, though, his eyes never stopped moving. He marked reflections, body language, exits the small, practiced calculus of someone who had lived too long on the edge between diplomacy and danger.

"Whiskey, then," he said quietly, signaling for her order before turning back toward the room. "Two whiskeys."

The bartender, unbothered by simplicity amid extravagance, poured their drinks, both glasses rich amber. Aiden passed hers over with a subtle incline of his head, fingers brushing the chilled glass only briefly before withdrawing.

"If it glows, your on your own." he added, tone soft but genuine tease.

For a heartbeat, the light caught her profile gold against gold, confidence tempered by calculation. She was searching the crowd even as she smiled, her gaze moving with precision that made him almost forget she wasn't trained in his Order's ways.

He followed the line of her glance and felt that faint ripple again. The one he'd noticed earlier. It stirred at the edge of his senses not threat, not yet, but a gathering weight in the air. A presence with purpose. He couldn't name it, only feel the shift. And there was one that caught his attention as his gaze scanned the room, Fenn Stag

For now, he posed no threat.

And beneath it, still, that lingering ache the echo of Inara's light, faint and far. The Force around her had always been gentle, radiant, touched by the kind of compassion that could soften even the Senate's harshest chambers. To feel her absence now was like trying to breathe through frost. He knew he shouldn't blame himself, but underneath the layer of poise and determination....he did.

If only he was with her that day.

He forced the thought back to the present, exhaling slowly as he clinked his glass lightly against Sibylla's.

"To survival." he said quietly and though the words were half a jest, there was a gravity beneath them.

 

[Iko Vel]

IKO VEL
"You can take the Boy outta the City, but you can't take the City outta the Boy"​

Tags: Persephone Dashiell

---

"Well. That was your first issue. Though I have matured. I think. I don't want to boast around as if I have an ego or anything."

He shrugged his shoulders at the fact they'd have to do something to occupy themselves until the end of the night. Sure, there'd be the fashionshow, but for Iko, he'd still need to find some way to amuse himself as he let his eyes scan over all the different outfits. What was it about girls that found this stuff so cool? Iko shook his head, until Persephone brought his attention towards the bar and the gold dress. It seemed like age had at least made Iko somewhat wiser however, as he followed Persephone's lead. This was her element. Not his.

"Hm...I dunno myself. I've always thought gold was a bit...what's the word? Tacky? But what do I know about fashion?"

Nothing at the end of the day. Well. That was a lie. He knew some of the basics. Contrasting colours, clashing accessories. It had taken quite a bit of debate amongst himself before Iko even entertained the idea of putting on the earring he currently had. It went with his jacket at the very least. His eye caught Persephone's at the same time, and blinked as he processed her question. A small flush coming over his cheeks as the lad tried not to think about it too hard. What was the right answer? If he said the wrong one, would it offend her? He didn't fancy getting slapped...

"Well...It probably don't mean much in my uneducated opinion...but you look dazzling Perse. Can hardly bring myself to look away. You ain't no crab...erh...well. I don't like to say that word. I could see you up there with the rest of the models."

Ironically, Iko was a bit more...clean about his choice of words. Even when it came to cursing the lad tried to control himself. At least he hoped he had given the right answer. It was the truth and spoken as much from the heart as it could.

"Maybe next time we go to an event like this, I'll let you pick out my outfit."

---

​

 

[Eaton Waters]

A lot of work to be done. And the fact Black Sun was out in spades meant that Eaton was going to make his way there. The man had been wandering around lately. Chasing bread crumbs from his sister. But now he was taking those gifts and going to Nar Shaddaa. A fashion show?

Ysalamiri?

He could rock a pair of Ysalamiri boots. It'd just add flare to what he could do in his hunts.

His hot rodded Niathal landed and he had made his way inside.

And they had shoes too? That'd be good. What he really needed was a nice cape.

 

[Isur]

Objective 2

No. They weren't broken up.

Isur and Crustacea were doing just fine.

But sometimes Black Sun had other things to do. And he couldn't always take Her of The Glorious Pinchers to every social event. Besides what would Isur even wear? Here, on Nal Hutta, he had an idea.

Armor and blades.

And a goal to discourage. To dissect. No, it was clearly the objective to desecrate.

Something that he had done plenty of times. Typically though pirate lust and gluttony. But today? He had a different plan.

Spread the word of The Great Tooth.

An ancient Karkarodon deity. The Great Tooth, it was said, was responsible for all the teeth in all the Karkarodons. And it was the species main way to hunt and to feed.

Teeth.

That was why in addition to his armor was his bag. Several copies of hand written tomes. Many with only the sacred chant of "Teeth. Teeth. Teeth!" as the only words in the book.

Additionally, as per tradition for the traditionalists, motion cameras linked to holorecordings of Gregorian Karkarodon chants of "teeeeeeeth" in various pitches that would play when the room was entered.
And the final coup de gras, statutes of the Great Tooth.

But the last step? Changing the telescopes to the right constellation.

 

[Persephone Dashiell]

"So maturing into someone who thinks is boasting? I heard that correctly? Who are your friends that think stringing two thoughts together is high brow?"

There were many questions for Iko Vel ,most notably the boasting about thinking comment. It sounded like him, that was for sure. Just his reasoning was beyond her at this point. An ego. An ego for having some sense. Taller and broader he may be but perhaps his brain hadn't caught up to his height. Such was the case with boys.

A small shake of her head at her own thoughts and another sip of wine as she watched the Gold Lady at the bar. Iko may have thought gold was tacky but it depended on the context. This dress? Stunning. Gold fixtures on a wall with no rhyme or reason? Tacky.

"So just revealing enough, thanks. Good to know this crab-lady still has her reigning crown, so to speak. You can say prostitute you know, its not like you're using the word I used to describe her. Or you can use sex worker, I think that is the official term. Either way, if I see her tonight I'll point her out. Can't miss her...I hope she has more than one sequined red dress though."

Another sip of wine as her thoughts drifted to another event.

"I'll keep you in mind. I'm done with finishing school and as far as I know Myra and Makai aren't making me do the entire debutante ball thing. Gross tradition, its like being put on the market - bad enough I have every mouth breathing third son of a Senator or Duke wanting to introduce themselves."

 

[Darth Anathemous]

Location: Objective 2
Wearing: Dress
Tag: Mauve du Vain Arris Windrun

She caught that little pause.

"Less than before," she pointed out "Thought I'd tone it down a bit, working outside the wall and all."

The Sith gave her a little smile, but there was something wrong with it, her eyes did not carry that same warmth, dropping momentarily, as though something was wrong.

"It's been hard to find anything tailored to my... physique, on such short notice, not since leaving The Order."

A nervous sip on her champaign, she looked up in time to see an impending Arris Windrun , quickly spitting out the last hushed explanation, lest her true objective be drowned out by drinks and smothered by the evening crowd.

"I was hoping to speak with you about that, actually."

And then, as though nothing happened, it was back to polite little smiles and nods as Arris joined them. The cyborg didn't recognize her, but Kaila certainly remembered. Brows a little higher, she'd tilt her head as she approached.

The fact she worked for the zeltron caught her off guard.

"Boss?" she chuckled nervously after a time.

"You must possess a great deal of influence, to have the Dark Horse of Ruusan on your payroll."

"And to think, we met in a pirate's bar." she said with a much more genuine smirk, and another sip.

Arris was given a once over then, this being the first time she'd seen her up close like this. Strong and rugged—with terrible fashion sense if those boots were anything to go by—it was hard to imagine that the woman was Sith, let alone that Mauve had one in her employ.

Then again, depending on how this night went, Kaila might find herself in the same... boots.

"Will you be joining us, miss Windrun?" she hummed.

"Or are you not part of the... collection~?"

​

 

[Iko Vel]

IKO VEL
"You can take the Boy outta the City, but you can't take the City outta the Boy"​

Tags: Persephone Dashiell

---

"No, but maturing into someone who thinks he's all smart and grown up without proving it is. I think I've matured. I just have nothing to show it, and without proof, it might as well be boasting."

He didn't elaborate on the friend question. That was one thing Iko still struggled with all the time. The lad was outgoing and social, but he couldn't help but feel different to the people he was surrounded with. In a way it was self-isolation. Yet he didn't want to focus on that, keeping a smile on his face...even as there was still a faint blush,

Iko finally gave a sip of his wine, wrinkling his nose for a moment. This wasn't exactly something to his tastes. But hey. IF everyone else was drinking it, he wasn't going to try and stick out. It just meant he was stuck with this junk. It did link into the self isolation that Iko was trying not to focus on however. Whilst the others around him may have had rich tastes, Iko was not like that.

"I mean...can you blame them for being interested in you Perse? As long as they see how you are though, most of them will probably be scared off...Wait. I...I didn't mean that in a bad way. I just..."

There we go. Putting his foot in his mouth. There was the old Iko as he shook his head. It was tough for him to think about other guys talking to Persephone, even though they weren't even together anymore. There was just some kind of...jealousy at the thought of her being at something like this with someone else. Iko let out a small sigh to himself, chalking it up to the fact that Persie was just one of his only friends. That had to be the answer. Right?

"So...guess you ain't going to be missing school?"

It was the best change of topic he had. Sure, it wasn't a great topic...but it was better than nothing

---

​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Objective Two
Nar Shaddaa | Fashion Show
A Little Party Never Killed Nobody
Interacting with: Aiden Porte
Eventually: Mauve du Vain | Open

If Nar Shaddaa had a heartbeat, it was chaos set to music.

The fashion show had only grown more frenzied as the night went on, its pulse kept by the thunder of music and the glimmer of holoscreens that painted the vaulted ceilings in waves of light. It was beautiful, in a way that made Sibylla's skin hum. Overwhelming, decadent, impossible to follow, and yet impossible to ignore.

She had expected chaos, but not this level of artistry in the madness. If Theed's balls were poetry, this was a fever dream written in neon.

Honestly, if Sibylla was truly honest with herself... it was rather exciting.

Aiden's remark drew her attention back from the swirl of movement. By the time his story reached the part about the glowing drinks, she couldn't help but laugh. It was a soft, low, genuine sound that brightened her eyes and flashed a wry, amused twist of her lips.

"I do not have the luxury of being acquainted with this Mister Vossari," she replied, her tone coated with light amusement, "but from the sound of it, the pair of you could turn even the most respectable event into an adventure." Her eyes danced, hazel bright beneath the glinting lights. "And I must confess, I rather envy that kind of friendship."

The thought tugged her briefly to think about Dominique, and the alias she had created Sibylla that still sat unused in some secure file. Perhaps it was time to dust it off. Go on a little adventure by herself for a few days.

Rebel.

However, her attention drifted again as the pull of her instinct pulled her focus elsewhere. The Force might whisper to Aiden, but Sibylla had her own ways of listening. The subtle language of the body, as much as her tenure in politics, made her able to pick up on cues and clues.

That was when she noticed Fenn Stag .

A man only a few feet away at the bar, with a rough, gritty voice as he made his order, but an angular face that told some stories. He was handsome certainly, but there was a distinct presence to him that most men in finery didn't possess. The way his shoulders rested, the balance of his stance, yes, she had seen that before. Mandalorian, or near enough.

Her time as Ambassador to the Mandalorian Empire had given her exposure to such postures, and while he didn't wear armor, Sibylla could tell well enough that this was a soldier or a warrior just the same, just by his frame.

Sibylla's attention returned to Aiden as he passed her a glass of whiskey. The amber caught the light between them as she gave the glass a swirl and then subtly dipped a polished fingernail delicately into the liquid. The lacquer didn't so much as ripple. Catching Aiden's curious glance, she offered a small shrug and a wry, knowing smile.

"Better to make sure than regret it later," she murmured a bit too dryly, "You'd be surprised how often a drink hides more than flavor."

Rainspire flashed in her mind, among other times where poison or a drug had been at the root of a nobleman's sudden, ugly death.

Nonetheless, she lifted her glass to tap it lightly against his.

"To survival," she echoed quietly. Unfortunately, after she took a sip, her face scrunched despite herself as the whiskey burned in a not-so-pleasant way and she coughed softly, setting the glass back down on the counter with an unladylike wince.

"Goodness," she managed, voice hoarse with laughter. "That was not quite what I expected."

She tilted her head toward Aiden, her expression regaining its composure only by sheer will.

"Perhaps a glowing drink wouldn't be so terrible after all." Her eyes flicked toward the Fenn at the bar, a flicker of mischief there.

"What about an Alderaan Twist? Does that glow?"

 

[Fenn Stag]

BEMUSED EXPRESSIONS AND HAPPENSTANCE​

Fenn's eyes, not particularly hateful, not particularly, happy, amused- seemingly devoid of anything other than a stare of analysis, of sizing one up, found itself flicking over to Sibylla Abrantes . He was quiet for a moment-

didn't steal itnomine? no. lie? maybe. not here—not ever.
voices—too many—static—gone—
belong? no place. nowhere.
he's not—he's not real!!!!!
echo echostopstop
who said that?​

And then the world came back to him. His mind raced, time to time. Got away from him. The Doctors said it would happen for a while. Pills, therapy, books, poisons, injections. He stopped taking the pills and cared little for needles. He fought this fight on his own.

For a moment, those touched by the force could feel it. A chorus of voices, a symphony played out of tune. It was terrifying for just that fraction of a moment. But he stared at the Naboo woman before him. His gaze resumed on her, sizing her up. It wasn't so much the way a man would normally look at a woman in that dress as much as it was a hawk sizing up something in a field. Unpleasant, might've been the word. Or maybe, intense.

Then he spoke. Words dragged across gravel. A man beset by war and bad decisions. His voice was hoarse, carried weight. Quiet, reserved, cold, standoffish.

"No. You do, though."

He didn't say it as a flirtatious remark. It wasn't a slight, it wasn't anything. Just an observation how he saw her. His eyes flicked over to Aiden Porte . He stared at him in that same way, like he was a bird of prey and everyone else in the room was a mouse in a field. He unnerved people, to say the least.

That- and he was perhaps, still insane from the Dark Harvest.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Objective Two: Fashion
Tag(s): Naamino Zuukamano | Open

The grin that spread across his friend’s face was a familiar one, and it instantly tugged something loose in Lysander’s chest. He tipped his glass before savoring the last mouthful. “Strategy,” he echoed, letting the word linger for a moment. “That’s a very polite word for it.”

His casual tone was easily swallowed by the cacophony of noise surrounding them. “Businessman. That's one word they use for me. But I prefer ‘connoisseur of opportunities.’ Less dull than merchant, and less.. nefarious than smuggler. It all depends on who’s asking. I like to let them wonder.. it keeps the doors open, and the knives hidden.”

Memory of a certain someone on Tatooine came to the forefront of his mind.

Lysander lifted the empty glass in mock salute before sliding it on a passing tray with natural finesse. “Fame is always exaggerated. And fortune? Temporary. But influence..” The teen's smile held. “Influence lingers. And that, Naameh, is the only currency worth chasing.”

The Zabrak''s drink remained untouched.. but he wouldn't comment. He respected the choice.

“Tonight I’ll settle for a decent drink and company that never fails to intrigue me.”

The bar caught his attention then, a temptress in the shadows, with a gleam of bottles, promising another pour.

So, his shoulders shifted, angling toward it.

“Come.” Words unfurled like smoke. “The bar flaunts its treasures. I suppose we'll even look less like statues and more like two dudes enjoying themselves.”

Aside from the reunion, he was still here to mingle.

"And do tell me what else is new for you these days."

Some things never changed. Still the Ukatian Loth-cat, forever on the prowl, always ready to sink teeth into allies or foes alike.

Perhaps, that was why, as he took the first step, his hand instinctively drifted down, fingers caressing the curved hilt of his weapon in a way that was almost affectionate.

 

[Persephone Dashiell]

Giving an odd look to Iko Vel for the boasting comment she left it alone, instead choosing to drink some wine instead of reply. It seemed he had this all sorted out and to be frank,Iko always had his own moral code. Such example was the prostitute thing - just one of those things people had or grew up following.

"I would say ninety-nine percent of them are not interested to begin with. Oh, they are interested in one thing, credits. Now anyone with eyes can see that my parents are not my parents - we're not even a decade apart in age. However, some are truly that stupid. Or, they think a massive windfall is coming my way from Missus Arceneau. Not at all but you know that. Yeah I have credits of my own and one could consider me an heiress now, but only to the Dashiell side of the wealth."

A swirl of her wineglass and she shrugged.

"Frankly it may just come down to picking one of the idiots and arranging it like a business contract. Not anytime soon though."

Topics switched and she sighed, taking another sip of wine before answering. She was done with finishing school - as in the school that taught young men and women how to act in these situations. Her real education was still dragging on. It would continue to drag on for many, many more years to come.

"Well....I'm working on trying to get into this program by making this entire compendium of my work on the Ashlan Crusade. Trying to get my Doctorate in Xenoarchaeology. Maybe dabble in art history on the side, unsure. Depends on how things go. What about you? Should be staring down the barrel of being done. I think."

 

[Iko Vel]

IKO VEL
"You can take the Boy outta the City, but you can't take the City outta the Boy"​

Tags: Persephone Dashiell

---

There was that strange feeling in his chest again. Persephone talking about arranging a pairing between herself and someone else. As if it was some kind of business decision. It didn't sit right with Iko. But he had learned well enough how to hide his displeasure about certain decisions. Instead he sipped at the wine again. As much as he hated the taste, it was better than to just stand there silently with nothing to say.

Of course...the actual knowledge of what finishing school entailed was lost on Iko. It hadn't been something for him. For the Lad, being at fancy parties like this was a rare occurance. And it wasn't as if his manners were terrible. In fact, he liked to believe he was quite polite. Manners Maketh Man and whatnot.

"Hm? Not sure myself. Something historical would make sense, considering my...capabilities. I haven't used Psychometry much though..."

Whilst Iko still had some form of training in the Force, both from the small time he had amongst the Jedi, alongside the tutors Judah had gracefully helped him with, the Lad had always struggled to approach that ability. It was something rare, even amongst the Kiffar. But it felt wrong for Iko to have access to it. He hadn't been raised as one. His father hadn't even given him the tattoos to mark him as one. He was getting off track however, as he turned his attention back over towards Persephone, giving her a grin.

"But, we both know history ain't my thing. I've been thinking about getting into Smithing. Sure, the salvage business seems fun and all...but I want to make something. With my own two hands. Swords. Armour. Leave all the mass made nonsense to the factories. I want to make works of art."

In a way, it was amusing. Iko couldn't see the interest in dresses, or fashion...yet that very same interest was what Iko had in weapons. You had your mass-produced junk, but then there were the masterpieces that only true Artisans could make.

"Of course, I wouldn't be able to make a living off that anytime soon. So I'll probably head the salvaging route anyway."

---

​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Sibylla Abrantes
​

Sibylla's laughter caught him off guard, soft and genuine in a way that slipped past the noise and spectacle of Nar Shaddaa. For a moment, it almost drowned out the pulse of bass and the endless chatter around them. Almost. He found himself smiling faintly despite the weight in his chest, the kind that had been with him since Inara's abduction. Hearing Sibylla laugh was a reminder that not all light had gone out of the galaxy.

Her quip about Vossari earned a tilt of his head, the corner of his mouth lifting just enough to show that she wasn't far from the truth. "Adventure is a generous word." he murmured. "Some might call it recklessness. Though… I've learned that friendship often asks you to follow recklessness where you otherwise would not." He said it lightly, but there was a sincerity behind it. Roman Vossari for all accounts, has been and would always be one of his closest and truest friends.

Still, Sibylla's instincts were sharp, sharper than most courtiers he'd ever escorted. He noticed where her gaze had drifted toward the man at the bar with the kind of posture no amount of finery could disguise. Aiden felt the same calculation stir in him, the Force brushing faintly against his awareness, outlining a presence that did not belong entirely to the pageantry of this room. His eyes narrowed slightly before he let them soften again, playing the part of the polite escort.

But Sibylla's reaction to the whiskey pulled his focus back the cough, the soft laugh, the spark in her eyes as she teased. For a fleeting moment, he saw not the Voice of Naboo navigating daggers behind smiles, but simply a woman allowing herself a breath of levity in a night full of danger.

That, more than anything, made the corner of his mouth twitch in quiet affection.

"Careful." he said lightly, voice pitched just for her. "The last time someone underestimated Corellian whiskey, it ended with them singing a song at a life day Gala in front of friends and family."

He didn't mention it had been him.

"Perhaps a glowing drink wouldn't be so terrible after all."

"What about an Alderaan Twist? Does that glow?"

"Let's find out shall we?" Aiden said, as he motioned to the bartender. "Two Alderaan Twists..." Aiden looked back to Sibylla with a smirk. "Dare to make a wager if it glows or not? I believe it will glow...."

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Objective Two
Nar Shaddaa | Fashion Show
A Little Party Never Killed Nobody
Interacting with Aiden Porte
Eventually: Mauve du Vain | Open

I've learned that friendship often asks you to follow recklessness where you otherwise would not.

Those words made Sibylla think back quietly and for a moment, her expression dipped into a subtle, thoughtful longing. There was the softest of bittersweet smiles that lingered over her lips, one that she then curved upward in a warmer smile.

"You should consider yourself fortunate, Aiden, to have such a companion," she said with quiet sincerity, but that melted into a melodic laugh as she shook her head at the image his story conjured. "Though from the sound of it, your friend has a rather creative definition of good judgment."

"Honestly, that sounds like my youngest brother. Though he needs no alcohol to burst into song. I suspect he does it purely for the amusement and the audacity of it."

Around them, the fashion show was in full swing. The pulsing rhythm of the band vibrated through the air, and the electronic beats filled the vast venue with energy. However, Sibylla's attention soon shifted once again to Fenn Stag who had just answered her question about the Alderaan Twist. How he responded was enough to make her blink and blush faintly in confusion.

"I glow?" she repeated, amusement playing through her tone as her delicate dark brows lifted. Her smile lingered as she glanced down at the golden Karlini silk of her gown, at the way her jewelry and hairpins caught the hololights and shimmered with each small movement.

"Well, you're not wrong," she admitted, laughter softening her words. "With all the lights from the runway and the band, I suppose my dress does reflect a bit more than intended."

"I'll take it as a compliment, kind sir." Her lips curved wider, the sparkle in her hazel eyes catching the glow of the holoscreens.

The bartender returned then, sliding two tall glasses across the counter, the faint citrus of the Alderaanian Twist curling through the air.

"Ah hah, see, no glow," Sibylla said, glancing back toward Aiden, her pearly white teeth flashing in delight as she took the drink in hand. The holographic lights rippled across the surface of the liquid, making it gleam like liquid starlight. A quick, discreet check assured her it was safe.

"Well then," she said, raising her glass with a graceful tilt toward @Fenn Stagg, "with the recommendation of our companion here, let's see how this one fares."

She clinked her glass lightly against Aiden's before taking a sip, the tart sweetness of the cocktail filling her mouth as she gave a look of approval.

Not bad at all!

Around them, the music swelled again, laughter rose from a nearby table, and Sibylla allowed herself a brief moment of ease within the chaos.

 

[Isur]

Objective 2

The beginning of this little trip was easy. Isur could out books on a shelf. He could put up statues. And setting up the motion detector? Simple. Just like proximity mines. And instead of explosion? It created a whole chorus of "teeth" in perfect Karkarodon chants.

It was always a good sign when he could see those going well.

What he really needed was the telescopes. Isur knew the coordinates. And his data pad could quickly redirect them. But the thing is it? He needed to find where he was going.

The Karkarodon Corsair was getting himself turned around. If only he paid more attention to the maps, and not being distracted by Her Glorious Claws. Probably wasn't the best way to study, being around Crustacea.

Growling. He starting to make a cut on the doorframes. "So. Many. Hallways."

 

[Fenn Stag]

I AM​

His eyes drifted between the two lieslies they lie they lie bite kill claw smash break they need to break and gave a faint, very faint- perhaps the teetering edge of a smile. It was obvious by Fenn's eyes and facial structure alone that he rarely, if ever smiled they're watching you, Fenn. They don't like you, you should kill them. when the occasion should've called for it.

Companion.

How little the three of them had in common. It was almost the setup to a bad joke in poor taste. A royal, a Jedi, and a born killer walk into a bar and order an Alderaan twist whats it matter, they know you're insane. They can see it. They can feel it, bitechokekick slam them. They're weak, weaker than ever and will always be weak

Fact of the matter is, the people who can't kill will be subject to the will of those that can.

Don't touch that Fenn, it's hot. Let it cool off.​

Focus, son. Crosshairs on target. Adjust for drop and rotation.

​

and then, by some miracle, there'd be a punchline. Perhaps at his expense. He didn't say much to the Naboo royalty- in truth he didn't have much to say. He knew her by name, face, and by how much she'd be worth with her head cut off and presented to the right people. The same for the Jedi, if not more with how many personal vendettas his family had racked up over the years.

He breathed. His mind raced. He was in control. He'd always be in control. Not the voices. Not them.

"Sweet, not bitter. Enjoyable for an evening such as this."

A brief clicking, whirring. His mechanical arm found its way back under the cloak. Hence the gloves. He turned his head back to the festivities, the lights transitioning produced an eerie effect on Fenn- giving him a rather demonic, if not ghoulish appearance for a brief moment. The force moved darkly around him, swirling, oily shadows of black against a matte white painting. He pushed off the bar, turning to the fashion show before him. His eyes settled on Mauve du Vain , giving her a nod across the festivities. Then, he nudged his head towards the two of them, if he was able to catch her attention.

Look who's coming to talk to you, no doubt.

He said without a word spoken.

"Pleasure to meet you, I am Fenn Stag- your highness." He said towards Sibylla Abrantes and Aiden Porte respectively. He made it clear that she was being watched and she was known. Perhaps, in a way, he wanted to put her out of her element. His loyalty was after all, to the Black Sun. It was not a secret, nor was it that they had recently made a rather successful and fruitful incursion against the newly-formed Republic. His head faced the two of them, and that's when he broke into a wolfish, knowing grin. Not a smile, no, it was almost a threat.

Fenn was not just a broken, scarred man, haunted by years of abuse, near slavery and war.

No, he was cruel.

 

[Arris Windrun]

OBJECTIVE 2

Arris didn't need to follow Mauve's gaze around the room directly; her brain implant utilized extrasensory data to track the two on whom the Vigo's sight landed. Instead, her artificial eyes were cast sidelong at the boss. She wanted to roll them, but instead they flicked up when Kaila mentioned her performance in the tournament.

She grinned and interjected, "Using me to flatter her?"

Her eyes followed the woman's gaze down to her boots. The cyborg shrugged a bit dramatically, emitting an audible hiss from her cyberware.

"I'm to be up on the runway. Fashion is a form of violence too, yeah?"

An answer to both questions, she reckoned.

Tonight was likely her most unusual yet in the Zeltron's employ, a thought she mused on with another drag.

Mauve du Vain Darth Anathemous

 

[Aiden Porte]

Sibylla Abrantes Fenn Stag
​

Aiden stood at her side, glass in hand, posture loose enough to look relaxed but balanced all the same. He watched her laugh, the faint color touching her cheeks at Fenn Stag’s remark, and for a fleeting moment, the tension in his chest eased.

“He is something else to say the least, but nonetheless there is no truer friend and companion to have at one’s side.”

Still, Fenn’s presence pulled at him. The man’s tone had been casual, but Aiden’s instincts filed away the details, stance aligned with a fighter’s balance, eyes that missed nothing. He was not a random reveler.

Aiden gave a small smile and a nod, just before his attention was turned to the bartender.

The bartender slid the drinks forward, Aiden noted the faint sheen of condensation on the glass, the way Sibylla checked hers with practiced subtlety before lifting it.

He clinked his glass lightly against hers, offering the smallest nod. “To Home.” he softly said a quiet toast, half elegy, half acknowledgment. The words carried weight, for Naboo had been a symbol of hope and light.

He took a sip. The citrus cut through the burn of the whiskey that still lingered, and he exhaled slowly, letting the sweetness steady him.

The music swelled again, thunderous and alive. The music had become a living thing, a pulse that rolled through the floor and up into the bones. The crowd swayed with it, jeweled silhouettes catching the light in flashes of color and motion. To anyone else, it might have been intoxicating all rhythm and glamour, the kind of scene meant to erase thought. But Aiden Porte never truly let himself forget where he was.

“Good call.” He said, his tone light as he gave Sibylla a small wink. He glanced back over to Feng acknowledging him once more.

"Pleasure to meet you, I am Fenn Stag- your highness."

Aiden's expression didn't change, not outwardly. To anyone watching, he remained the calm, attentive escort. But behind the stillness, his focus shifted, the air around him tightening as if braced for something unseen. His voice, when he spoke, was level, courteous even.

"Careful, friend." he said quietly, the warmth in his tone not quite masking the steel beneath. His eyes never left Fenn's, steady and unflinching. "Some things are best left unspoken."