Private Where Diplomacy Is Tailored

[Jairdain Ismet-Thio]

The bell above the door chimed with a soft, elegant note as Jairdain stepped into the Handsome Devil Haberdashery & Couturier. Even without sight, she immediately felt the shift in atmosphere — the way refined places carried themselves with a quiet pride, like a finely tailored garment draped over a confident shoulder.

The floor beneath her boots was polished, resonant, each step sending subtle vibrations along its grain. The air was a tapestry of scents: brushed velvets, treated leather, exotic perfumes, the faintest bite of pressed starch, and something warm and metallic beneath it all — wealth, ambition, secrets dressed in silk.

Sage wriggled in her satchel, poking his little green head out to sniff the room before settling against her hip with a soft huff, curious but cautious.

Jairdain let her awareness drift gently outward.

The shop was beautiful.

Not visually, but structurally — every surface was positioned with intention, every piece of cloth humming its own distinct signature in the Force. It was a place designed to impress, not overwhelm—a place where every stitch carried its own form of power.

And someone powerful was already here.

She felt him before she felt anything else — a presence sharp as a pressed lapel, deliberate as a tailor's cut, polished like stone worn smooth by fire. Not aggressive. Not hidden. Simply… aware.

Watching.

The sensation of being measured — not visually, but appraised — brushed across her skin like a fingertip trailing along silk.

She slowed her pace, not in hesitation, but in acknowledgment.

This was not a shop one wandered into unnoticed.

Her steps carried her deeper into the space, fingers brushing lightly along a display table to feel the texture of an embroidered coat. It was quality work — someone here understood the language of fabric the way she understood the language of the Force. Precision. Intent. Expression made tangible.

Her head lifted slightly, turning toward that focused presence she could feel somewhere near the back of the room — behind a partition or curtain, perhaps. Still. Observing, not yet choosing to step forward.

"I was told this establishment favored excellent craftsmanship," she said softly into the stillness, her tone warm but measured. "I see that was no exaggeration."

Sage chirped, tail thumping the edge of the satchel as though greeting whoever watched them. Jairdain offered the faintest smile. She did not need sight to know she had the full attention of the room — or of the figure whose presence balanced itself like a blade's edge in velvet.

She waited. Composed. Unpressured. A guest who understood precisely what type of place she was in — and who was now awaiting the host to reveal his hand.

Aurelius Baldor

 

[Aurelius Baldor]

Where Diplomacy is Tailored
Tag: Jairdain Ismet-Thio
​

The Uscru Entertainment District shop for Handsome Devil was intended to be a pleasant, luxurious location, where one may indulge in fine tastes and express themselves, and as such was designed to be pleasant to all of one's senses. Aurelius was a man who had a taste for the finest things in life, after all, so the businesses he operated would be no different. The scents, the sounds, the tactile experiences were all tailored, like their clothes, to make the experience an enjoyable one.

Aurelius had many ventures across the galaxy, but as chance would have it his business had taken him to his upscale clothing shop on Coruscant. New lines of high-end accessories were planned to be released soon, and he was ensuring that the store would be prepared for the launch. As he was ensuring that the shop was up to his standards, he heard the chime gently announce the arrival of a customer. He slowly made has way through the store, catching the occasional glimpse of her through the racks, before stepping out as she spoke. "Of course we do," he said with a smile, warm and inviting, as he stepped forward. "I have a rule that I don't sell anything I wouldn't wear myself. You'll find nothing but the highest quality here." The Devaronian was dressed in a smart black suit and luxurious crosh-hide leather dress shoes, and a gold chronometer peeked out from his sleeve. The man's presence, both physical and otherwise, was elegant, refined, but with a sharp edge, like a stiletto knife wrapped in silk. He wore his pride and confidence like the finest velvet, draping himself in it such that even those who could not see could feel that he was a man who never took half-measures in anything in life. But he was, nevertheless, inviting, warm. And there was no lie to be sensed in his words. If there was one thing he would never lie about, it was the quality of his clothes.

Aurelius observed the woman; how she moved, her micro-expressions and idiosyncrasies, skills learned from years of gambling. He noticed how, despite initial appearances, she did not seem to be looking at the wares on display as much as feeling them, sensing them, that those brilliant amethysts never seemed to move position. Curious. The woman had a powerful air about her, that much was clear to him. "How may I help you express yourself today, signora?" He inquired, addressing her politely with a formal Epican term.

 

[Jairdain Ismet-Thio]

The voice that greeted her carried exactly what the room promised—refinement, confidence, and a carefully cultivated ease. Jairdain turned toward it without hesitation, her posture straightening not in deference, but acknowledgment. She did not immediately move deeper into the displays; instead, her attention settled on the presence addressing her, reading cadence and balance rather than expression.

"I can feel that," she said calmly. "Quality leaves its impression long before fabric is ever touched."

Her fingers brushed lightly along the edge of a nearby garment—not in idle curiosity, but to confirm what she already sensed. The weave was deliberate, controlled, made by hands that understood restraint as well as indulgence. She inclined her head a fraction, a gesture of quiet respect.

"You have built a space that is considerate," she continued. "Pleasant without excess. Luxurious without being demanding. That is not accidental."

Sage shifted within his satchel, his small head emerging just long enough to sample the air before settling again, content. Jairdain allowed herself the faintest smile at that—creatures tended to respond honestly to places crafted with intention.

When he addressed her directly, she met his attention without mirrors or hesitation. Her unseeing eyes remained steady, focused in that way unique to those who navigated the world by other means. Whatever he observed in her movements, she was equally aware of being assessed—not as a curiosity, but as someone accustomed to such scrutiny.

"I am here on personal business," she said evenly. "Though I do serve the Protectorate."

The clarification was offered without emphasis, simply as context, not leverage.

"I have little patience for clothing that is ornamental but impractical," she added, her tone warming just slightly. "I need garments that move well, endure travel, and still respect the spaces they enter."

Her hand rested lightly against the counter, grounded, present.

"I was told that if one values craftsmanship and discretion equally," she concluded, "this would be the right place to come."

With that, she waited—calm, unhurried, entirely comfortable in a space where appearances mattered, but substance mattered more.

Aurelius Baldor

 

[Aurelius Baldor]

Where Diplomacy is Tailored

Tag: Jairdain Ismet-Thio



​

"Ah, a woman after my own heart. Some people come in wanting to look like they're in a Life Day parade, and while not to my tastes, what they want is what they want, so it's what they get." Aurelius said with a chuckle. "As for craftsmanship and discretion, that's the truth," Aurelius said with a smile. He gestured to some of the suits on display nearby. "Coruscanti Chic, for example, is our flagship line. Comfortable, fashionable, and offers protection comparable to contemporary body armor as well as baffleweave pocket lining for concealing a commlink or holdout pistol, whatever you want to keep secret from scanners."

Returning his gaze to her, the corner of his lip curled into a smirk. "Of course, I doubt a woman of your refinement would settle for a suit or dress off the rack. Nor should you." He motioned towards another area of the store. "If you would be so kind as to follow me, I can direct you to where the real magic happens. You let us know exactly what you're looking for; Materials, details, any features you wish, as flashy or subdued as you desire." Assuming she followed, Aurelius lead the woman to another room in the back of the store.

This room was, of course, just as luxurious as the main storefront, but quieter. Tailor droids stood at attention, while all across the room were displays, samples of a wide variety of fabrics, silks, velvets, leathers, and more, as well as a multitude of metals and gemstones. "We can take your measurements here, or if you already have them prepared we can get right to the fun part. Browse our materials to your heart's content, or if you have something special in mind let me know. If we don't have it, we can get our hands on it." He gestured widely around them. The amount of options available were breathtaking, perfectly calculated to be as wide as possible without being overwhelming or overstimulating.

He turned back to face her, hands clasped behind him. When he wanted to, he could be a very polite businessman. "Now, from what you've told me so far, you need something elegant but durable, refined but not overly flashy. And nothing that would be a problem for the little one." He said, motioning to Sage. "What might a servant of the Protectorate such as yourself need to protect against? As you surmised, we value discretion, so nothing you say here will leave this room."

 

[Jairdain Ismet-Thio]

Jairdain listened without interruption, her attention following Aurelius's movement through cadence rather than sight. The shift into the quieter back room registered immediately—the softened acoustics, the stillness of the tailor droids, the hum of careful craft waiting to be put to use. It was a space designed for precision, and she approved of that.

"I appreciate restraint," she said gently, as her fingers moved across one of the fabric samples. Not to browse aimlessly, but to read—texture, weight, breathability. "I am not interested in spectacle. I need clothing that belongs quietly wherever it finds itself."

She paused, considering how best to translate instinct into instruction. "My preference is simple," she continued. "Clean lines. Soft structure. Pieces that layer easily and move without effort. I spend more time in libraries, ruins, gardens, and quiet halls than anywhere meant for display."

Her hand lingered on a linen-like weave, then a light wool blend. "Natural fibers where possible. Breathable. Nothing that shines. Texture over ornamentation. I need to feel at ease in my own skin—and for my clothing not to demand attention when I still." As she spoke, the picture assembled itself clearly: long tunics with gentle drape, loose trousers or wrap-style lower robes, light outer layers rather than heavy cloaks. Functional, modest, intentional.

"For color," she added, "I favor calm tones. Creams. Bone. Warm ivory. Stone gray. Soft taupe. Muted greens—sage, moss. Occasionally, a faded blue or indigo, but sparingly. I prefer hues that reflect light gently rather than command it."

Sage shifted at her side as if in agreement, tail flicking once before settling again.

"I do not wear jewelry beyond necessity," she said. "A simple belt. Small pouches. If a lightsaber is present, it remains unobtrusive."

Then she turned—fully, deliberately—toward Aurelius, her unseeing eyes steady, her presence grounded and unmistakably clear. "As for protection," she said calmly, "I serve the Protectorate. That places me in opposition to forces that thrive on domination rather than balance."

She did not raise her voice. She did not sharpen her words. "The Sith," she continued. "The Empire. And any who stand against life, freedom, and unity." There was no flourish to the declaration—only conviction.

"I am not seeking armor disguised as clothing," she clarified. "But I will not refuse quiet protections woven into the work. Discretion matters. Mobility matters. Endurance matters."

A pause, then a faint, appreciative curve to her mouth. "And," she added, inclining her head slightly toward Sage, "nothing that restricts movement or poses a hazard to a curious companion." She let her hand rest lightly against the worktable, patient and composed.

"If that is something your craftsmanship can accommodate," she concluded, "then I believe we will work well together." And she waited—calmly, comfortably—in a room where intention was measured stitch by stitch.

Aurelius Baldor

 

[Aurelius Baldor]

Where Diplomacy is Tailored
Tag: Jairdain Ismet-Thio ​

As she spoke Aurelius took mental notes of her every request, slowly forming a mental image of the attire she desired. "Conservative, muted and calm. Everything you wish can easily be accommodated here. I must admit I often find slugs and blaster bolts flying my way, so I do tend to lean towards 'armor disguised as clothing', as you put it, but if you do not wish for such that is perfectly acceptable. That being said, we try our best to ensure that all attire we make provides at least a modicum of protection. Dead folk don't make for great return customers, after all."

Aurelius nodded as she spoke of the Protectorate's foes. He was no fan of the Empire either, but not quite for the same reasons as hers; more-so for the pain they inflicted on his coffers, how they impeded his business. As for the Sith, he didn't entirely know where he stood with them. Sure, he hired out his services, but while his own personal rules had loosened, he wasn't sure if he would go so far as to work for them. He nodded, saying simply "I see, I'm certainly a man who values freedom myself." In that statement, at least, there was no lie to be found. It did not speak entirely of his situation, but it was not a falsehood. Plus, there was that one time over Honoghr where he helped the Galactic Alliance.

The woman was certainly interesting, to say the least. Every movement was taken with intention, and she was likely appraising him for his own intentions as well. Nothing he wasn't used to. He had never taken up arms against the Protectorate, but chances are smugglers under his banner have probably moved through their territory. She was clearly solidly on the light side, but the same could not be said for a scoundrel like himself. Sometimes he wondered how he appeared to those with the Force when, like now, he wasn't wearing the Equalizer, but it wasn't like he could ever become one and see for himself. No, with his old mantra of "never deal with Forcies" long out the window, best he could do was be on his toes and protect himself as best he could.

He was relaxed, however. He had no intention of getting on the woman's bad side, and unless she sensed ill intentions he did not expect she would draw on him either. No reason for this to be anything other than a regular business transaction. "Will that be all, signora?" He inquired politely.

 

[Jairdain Ismet-Thio]

Jairdain listened without interruption as Aurelius spoke, allowing his practicality and dry humor to settle naturally into the space between them. When he finished, she inclined her head slightly—not quite a bow, but a gesture of acknowledgment shaped by long experience in rooms where intent mattered as much as words.

"I understand the appeal," she said evenly, her tone calm and measured. "And I do not object to protection—only to protection that feels the need to announce itself."

Her fingers returned to the array of fabric samples, moving now with quiet certainty rather than assessment. She paused over a weave that offered resilience without rigidity, tracing its texture with the kind of appreciation that came from knowing exactly what she would ask of it.

"I have served as a diplomat, a warrior, and a consular," she continued, her voice carrying no pride, only clarity. "Each role taught me the same lesson in different ways: the most effective defense is the one that does its work without altering the room, the conversation, or the person wearing it."

There was no bravado in her words—only the weight of lived truth.

"Armor woven into cloth has its place," she added thoughtfully. "I would be foolish to dismiss it entirely. I prefer safeguards that sit quietly, that preserve freedom of movement and presence rather than redefine it."

She turned toward Aurelius again, her unseeing gaze steady and attentive.

"If your craftsmanship offers protection that does not restrict motion, does not disrupt calm, and does not change how I am perceived when I enter a space," she said, "then it aligns well with what I need."

A brief pause followed, and then the faintest curve touched her lips. "And," she continued, "I appreciate the philosophy behind keeping your clientele alive. It speaks to foresight—and a certain respect for continuity."

Sage shifted in his satchel at her side, tail flicking once before settling again.

"No," she said gently in response to his question, "that will not be all—but it is more than enough to begin." Her hand came to rest lightly against the worktable, her posture relaxed yet attentive. "I trust your craftsmanship to take care of the rest."

And with that, she waited—composed, grounded, and entirely at ease in a place where intention mattered more than spectacle.

Aurelius Baldor