Populate Where the Light Gathers | THR Populate of Siskeen

[Aurelian Veruna]

Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

Aurelian darted along the ledge like a slippery toddler, laughing as she tried to grab him. "You cannot catch me," he sang, sidestepping her reach.

Then she slipped. Reflex took over. He lunged to steady her, hands catching fabric and wrist. He kept her upright, saving her from the water. And promptly toppled backward into the canal.

He surfaced with a gasp, curls plastered to his forehead. "You did that on purpose!" he accused, sputtering. He blinked at the water around him. "…I am not getting some brain eating amoeba from this water, am I?"

​

 

[Ethanael Halscott]

Ethan did not attend events like this.

Not galas. Not coronations. Not rooms thick with perfume, ambition, and political theater masquerading as celebration.

He brushed an invisible speck of lint from the sleeve of his tailored black coat as he stepped past the announcer, barely catching the tail end of his own name. The sound dissolved into applause that wasn't for him anyway.

He was an industrialist. An engineer. A builder of hulls and hyperdrives.

Not a philanthropist.

And certainly not whatever this was.

The coronation gala for the newly appointed Chancellor of the High Republic glittered beneath chandeliers the size of light freighters. Gold banners draped from vaulted ceilings. Orchestral music shimmered through the hall like an overengineered atmospheric shield.

He checked his chrono.

Still early.

Still unnecessary.

There was absolutely no reason for him to be here.

His jaw tightened slightly.

How dare his aunt send him.

Of all people, him. The engineer. The one who preferred schematics to speeches. The one who could dismantle a hyperdrive manifold blindfolded but couldn't navigate small talk without calculating escape vectors.

He would have been perfectly content in his office, reviewing structural tolerances for a new hull configuration. But Josephine, of course, had insisted.

"You cannot live inside a box forever," she'd told him.

He had pointed out that his box was elegantly constructed, climate controlled, and optimized for productivity.

She had not been amused.

He exhaled slowly, steadying himself as he surveyed the crowd.

An eclectic mix. Senators in layered silks. Corporate magnates wearing smiles like tailored armor. Military officers polished to mirror sheen. And then the inevitable, the intoxicated orbiting bodies already losing control of their trajectory.

He moved carefully, deliberately.

Side-stepping a laughing couple.
Pivoting past a group debating trade tariffs.
Avoiding unnecessary physical contact with the precision of someone navigating a crowded hangar bay.

He hated being touched by strangers.

The bar glowed at the far end of the hall like a sanctuary.

He slipped onto one of the high stools, posture straight, expression neutral. A small island of composure amid the tide.

He leaned slightly toward the bartender.

"Martini," he said evenly. "Stirred. Not shaken, please."

His tone was calm, clipped, the way he spoke to foremen, admirals, and procurement officers alike.

He folded his hands lightly against the polished surface and let his gaze drift across the room.

Studying.

Mapping exits.
Assessing power clusters.
Identifying who was watching whom.

He might despise galas.

But he never stopped being an engineer.

And engineers always evaluated structure.

Even when the structure was political.

Adelle Bastiel ​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Aurelian Veruna

Sibylla blinked, shock tearing through her as she lunged for him -- oh no, too late.

Aurelian slipped and then there was a very loud splash.

No.

Oh no, no, no.

The words pounded through her head as she rushed to the ledge, palms flattening against the stone as she leaned over.

"Aurelian!" she called out, voice high with genuine alarm. For one breathless second dread rising in her chest... at least until he surfaced, sputtering, and then had the audacity to accuse her of pushing him. As if she subscribed to Ukatian methods of disposing of irksome significant others.

I.. what?!

Sibylla stared at him.

"I… did it on purpose?" she sputtered in an incredulous tone. Her mouth fell open only for her to snapped shut again as indignation took over.

She straightened at once, hands planting firmly on her hips, skirts flaring slightly as she glared down at him. A scoff escaped her, followed by a short, half-disbelieving laugh.

"Of all the absurd conclusions," she shot back, hazel orbs flashing. She cast an exasperated glance skyward, as though the stars might provide better sense than the man dripping below her.

"Trust me, Aurelian, if I had any desire to toss you into the waterway you had no qualms relieving yourself in earlier, I would have done so with far more gusto and deliberation." She was so upset now that this time she didn't even care about the volume of her voice. A guard neared from a distance, but another guard quickly waved him down before either King or Voice could notice, the two deliberately backing away as if to say: say nothing.

Sibylla paused, the quick rise and fall of her chest betraying the lines of tension there. Then a faint tremor of exasperated breath escaped her, and she stepped closer to the edge, making an impatient gesture as she extended a hand towards him.

"Out. Before you decide I have orchestrated this entire event to secure yet another suitor."

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Objective II - The Grand Ballroom
Tags: Ethanael Halscott

True to her word, Adelle had slowed her roll with the drinks on the third one, savoring the flavor profile of the whiskey rather than drinking for the burn. To be fair, the dance she’d had with Colette had done a lot to smooth over the earlier frayed emotions. But dealing with drunk Aurelian had soured things a bit.

A man around her age in a well-tailored suit approached the small bar and found the spot furthest away from the dance floor. His eyes, sharp and analytical, flitted over the room and she could practically see the gears turning in his mind.

She could also feel the discomfort radiating off him in waves.

If she intervened, this would be the second person she would be attempting to save from a social situation.

Kriff it, why shouldn't it be her?

Adelle angled toward him, watching his fingers fuss with a drink napkin, trying to line it up according to some imaginary lines. Perfectionism or a desire for precision?

“You're never going to get it perfect,” she said. The soft breeze of a person walking by fluttered a corner. “You'd have to go somewhere else.”

Adelle looked up to his face and took a slow sip of the whiskey. “And you do look like you’d rather be somewhere else.”

 

[Emilia Locke]

//: Dominique Vexx // Ivalyn Yvarro //:

​

Wearing: [X]
Objective II

The music carried on uninterrupted strings rising gently beneath the murmur of diplomacy and crystal. Conversations overlapped in polite layers, laughter folding into the marble expanse of the ballroom without urgency. Emilia had just lowered her champagne glass when she noticed the approach.

She allowed the Chancellor the first exchange as was proper remaining comfortably within the edge of Dominique's orbit without crowding it. There was no need to assert presence; she already had it.

Only once formal greetings had been exchanged did Emilia turn fully.

Her gaze settled on the honey-blonde woman with calm, open interest. There was no narrowing of eyes, no subtle recalibration of stance. Just acknowledgment.

"Grand Vizier" she said smoothly, the name carried with easy familiarity rather than surprise. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure."

She set her glass lightly onto a passing attendant's tray before accepting the offered hand. Her grip was assured, balanced the handshake of someone who had negotiated contracts worth planetary GDPs and still knew how to make it feel personal.

"I'm glad we've remedied that."

A faint smile touched her lips, genuine and unforced.

Around them, the gala continued exactly as it had before the Chancellor luminous, the Queen composed, the Republic glittering beneath vaulted light. Emilia did not lean in, nor did she retreat. She stood with the relaxed poise of a woman entirely comfortable among heads of state and industrial titans alike.

Her posture remained effortless shoulders relaxed, spine straight, weight settled evenly in heels that were chosen for both beauty and stability. The gown she wore caught the light in subtle undertones rather than spectacle tailored to flatter without announcing itself.

When Ivalyn asked what brought her here, Emilia allowed herself a brief glance outward across the ballroom not evasive, simply contextual. Nabooan marble. Republic officials. Corporate couture. Force-sensitives masking themselves poorly beneath perfume and politics.

"Naboo has been my home for a very long time." she said, returning her gaze to Ivalyn. "When something consequential gathers under its sky, I prefer to be in the room. Networking is always important in business, as much as it is in politics."

A slight curve touched the corner of her mouth. "Besides, being in the room brings clarity far better than reports do."

Her eyes studied Ivalyn in the same quiet way Ivalyn had studied her. Posture, breath, micro-shifts of expression, Emilia did not bristle under scrutiny. She had grown up being evaluated. She was all too familar with the games that were played in gilded halls.
​