Populate Where the Light Gathers | THR Populate of Siskeen

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

Ivalyn stepped down from the shuttle ramp and offered a polite word of thanks to the pilot as her heels met the carpet below.

Fashionably late.


She allowed herself the faintest inward smile at that. Better this way. Less spectacle. Less scrutiny. If fortune favored her tonight, she might even pass unnoticed for a few precious minutes, just another guest arriving after the room had already settled into itself. Mrs. Ivalyn Sellek, she thought wryly. A novelty she had not yet tired of, and one she was content to keep close, unadvertised.


Tonight, there were no titles she wished to carry. Not really. Of course, some would be spoken regardless, these things always announced themselves whether one invited them or not. Balls, galas, coronations… Balance knew she had attended enough of them across enough lifetimes to recognize the rhythm. The arrivals, the glances, the quiet recalibration of rooms.

On either side of her walked members of her personal guard.


They moved with her pace, neither ahead nor behind, a presence felt more than noticed. The Zafarīn Guard cut a restrained silhouette: armor dark and matte, deliberately neutral, absorbing the light rather than reflecting it. No sigils caught the eye. No banners followed. They were not here to impress, nor to threaten, only to remain. To ensure that nothing reckless intruded upon the evening.

They were bound to her by charter and oath, not to ideology, not to state ambition. Protectors of her household, of her wife, of a future not yet written. That distinction mattered, even if most in this room would never know it.

Inside the palace, the doors to the Grand Ballroom opened upon a space heavy with intention.

The domed ceiling rose high above, painted in constellations as they had appeared on the night Tapani burned, a reminder, subtle and inescapable. Crystal chandeliers cast softened light over flowing gowns and formal uniforms, over the discreet threads of mourning woven into noble attire. Conversations layered over one another in low, purposeful tones. This was not a place for volume. This was where words were weighed.


Somewhere, Senators were clustered in careful knots, debating aid packages with practiced urgency. Nobles spoke of ships, credits, sanctuaries, pledges made with an eye toward who might be listening. Survivors of Tapani moved through it all like quiet gravity, honored and undeniable, their presence alone a rebuke to easy philosophy.

This was the battlefield where the Republic decided not just what it would do, but who it intended to be.


As Ivalyn crossed the threshold, the murmur shifted, not silenced, but adjusted. She felt it more than heard it. Somewhere ahead, an attendant's voice carried, clear and formal:

"The Grand Vizier of the Imperial Commonwealth of Dosuun."

So much for anonymity.

She neither slowed nor stiffened at the announcement. Her posture remained composed, her expression serene, one bare shoulder catching the light while the other was traced in quiet brilliance by the beaded sleeve of her gown. Black fabric fell in clean lines, elegant without indulgence, the slit at her leg a matter of confidence rather than display.

The Zafarīn Guards flanked her as she entered the ballroom proper, their formation subtle, precise. Not a wall. Not a wedge. Simply there.

Ivalyn inclined her head once, acknowledging the room as it acknowledged her in return.

No conquest announced. No demands made.

Just presence.

And tonight, that would be more than enough.


[OPEN TO INTERACTION]
[Courtesy Tags: Adelle Bastiel | Emilia Locke | Sibylla Abrantes | Aurelian Veruna | Dominique Vexx | Aiden Porte

 

[Malcolm Ironmaster]

Objective 2: The Grand Ballroom
Tags: Jairdain Ismet-Thio , Jax Thio , Ra'a'mah , Vulpesen , Open

"I meant no accusation or implication with my question," Malcolm replied. "I was merely curious. I may be half a century old, but there are always things I can learn." He bowed again. "I hope I did not offend."

 

[Ra'a'mah]

Ra'a'mah listened without interruption, her expression attentive rather than guarded, allowing the exchange to settle before she spoke. When she did, her tone was calm, warm, and deliberately disarming, cutting through any lingering tension Malcolm's concern might have carried.

"No offense was taken," she said easily. "And you needn't bow on my account." A faint smile touched her lips, not formal, not distant. "Please, call me Ra. Titles have their place, but this isn't it. Tonight is about cooperation and clarity, not hierarchy."

Her gaze met Malcolm's fully then, steady and open. "Your curiosity does you credit. Anyone who believes they have nothing left to learn has already stopped being useful to the galaxy." There was no rebuke in her voice, only reassurance. "And your record speaks for itself. Batuu. Corellia. Standing between civilians and an Empire that prefers obedience to justice. Those are not small things."

She shifted slightly, posture composed but relaxed, very much the presence of someone accustomed to negotiation tables and strategic briefings rather than meditation halls. "I work closer to logistics, coordination, and long-term stability than I do doctrine. The Force is a reality of the galaxy, yes, but it is not the axis around which everything else should turn."

Ra inclined her head just a fraction, acknowledging both Malcolm and the company around them. "If you're here to listen, to observe, and to understand where the Republic intends to place its weight next, then you are exactly where you should be."

Her expression softened again, just enough to signal welcome rather than evaluation. "So no apologies necessary. Consider this an introduction, not a misstep."

Malcolm Ironmaster Vulpesen Jax Thio

 

[Taera 'Calypso']

Tags: Cassian Abrantes | Open

Honest. Concise. A sense of poetry, however small. Calypso watched him attentively, listened to his silences, when he chose to breathe. He spoke the truth of the High Republic’s cloned army—a man trying to impress her would have kept his attention on her and not turned to look at the forces arrayed below. She drank from her flute, pale liquid sparkling as it caught the light, her eyes never leaving him.

“Mmm, indeed,” she hummed thoughtfully. “I am far less concerned with perfection. Oh it’s fine for an ideal to chase, but it’s as useful as the childish fairytale of chasing rainbows. The Aurodium Guard is . . . fraught with corruption. I had hoped Faustus would begin implementing stricter standards, start retiring or honorably discharging those that hadn’t earned their commission or rank. His death has postponed those reforms at best.”

Calypso looked down at the champagne in her glass as she slowly tilted it in a circle before looking back at the soldiers on display. “Now I’m in the unenviable position of having to wait for the will to be parsed out and the barony to be officially conferred to the heir Faustus named. The lawyers seem to be taking their sweet, precious time about it.”

 

[Malcolm Ironmaster]

Objective 2: The Grand Ballroom
Tags: Ra'a'mah , Vulpesen , Jax Thio , Jairdain Ismet-Thio , Open

Malcolm grinned. "Of course, this is also a party, of sorts," he said. "Perhaps someone will need a dance partner."

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Objective II - The Grand Ballroom
Tags: Aurelian Veruna | Sibylla Abrantes | Bastila Sal-Soren | Ulysses Renoux

"Oh, Lord Cavill and his ilk are a credit a dozen," she said mildly, lips curving just enough to suggest amusement. "That number has increased rather dramatically since my appointment to Voice."

A very soft huff of contempt escaped Adelle. “You deal with them far more politely than I would. A inch given means a mile taken.”

Aurelian swept in suddenly, passing off two flutes of champagne to them both, the noble he’d been conversing with not far behind. Adelle’s eyebrows raised ever so slowly at the King’s rather dramatic objection and defense. A presence in the Force approached—or had it always been hovering nearby and she hadn’t noticed—like light glinting off steel weapons, a sun beating down on fighters. Aurelian gave the most insincere of apologies Adelle had heard in a long time, self-satisfaction evident in the charm he wore.

Sibylla did not sound amused in the slightest.

The Force presence drew incredibly close and revealed itself to be a young woman who looked to be the same age as Sibylla. She joked softly about her lack of drink before proceeding to read Aurelian to filth.

Adelle found no fault with the young woman’s suggestion though.

"A pleasure to meet you, Lord Renoux," she said evenly, smile flawless. "I do hope you are enjoying Naboo. It has a way of revealing things."

"Indeed," Sibylla continued lightly, lifting her flute a fraction before turning back to Ulysses, "it would seem the gala has afforded you both many opportunities for connection."

"Allowing you to be quite industrious with your time," she added, the words settling back upon Aurelian sweet as spun sugar and twice as dangerous, "How fortunate for the room to have your attention so generously distributed, Your Majesty."

Oh Sibylla was pissed. Adelle could feel the sting so carefully layered under composure and deliberate word choice.

She inclined her head politely, then leaned closer to Adelle as though to underline the point.

"But I have been equally fortunate in my own company," Sibylla said, perfectly pleasant. "May I introduce Wolf Bastiel of the Mandalorian Empire, and my Handmaiden, Bastila Sal-Soren."

Ah, kriff. Adelle inclined her head as she was introduced then took a sip from the flute. She’d been hoping to avoid being linked with the Mandalorian Empire for tonight since Naboo’s official response to certain Mandalorian actions. She was not here as a representative or anyone special.

“The pleasure is mine,” Adelle said evenly, tapping into her Jedi training to try and not embarrass either Aurelian or Sibylla. More so Sibylla.

Bastila. The name of the young woman just behind Sibylla’s shoulder rang a bell. As did the title Sibylla called her, Handmaiden. Where had she heard that name before? Adelle took another small drink and hoped the conversation would not grow to include more people.

But she was with the King and Voice of Naboo, so she probably should not hold out much hope.

 

[Aileni Ifor Xeraic]

Objective: BYOO - Teen Chaos!
Outfit: Suit
Tag: Pari Sylune

Aileni froze when he spotted Pari, the dress was too pretty, it was like she was wearing a galaxy in the form of a dress. It was sparkly and the blue complimented her well. The young teen boy felt like he was a deer in headlights. Unable to move his body, unable to look away respectfully as he stood there. When Pari complimented his suit, Aileni could have screamed at himself as his throat seemed to clamp tight, no voice or words was willing to come out and the brain seemed to be stalling in his mind since he couldn't think what to say.

"Uhhh...ermmmm...yes." Aileni nodded his head, it took effort to force himself to even come up with that much to say. "I also... your dress.... It's like a galaxy... cool." Aileni stated, there was zero confidence in his words and he felt his pale skin reddening as he stood there. Why couldn't he just act normal? What was causing all this stuttering and blushing?!

Rubbing the back of his neck, Aileni pointed to the inside of the palace for the gala, "dance? Do...phew...yeah...do you want to dance?" Aileni asked as he swallowed the nerves that seemed to be burning his stomach into a puddle. Hopefully he would be able to function normally in a dance and not stumble around like an awkward fool. Would this be just how he was around people forever? Was this a curse that had been placed on him? Aileni had no real understanding of why he felt like this or what could be causing it.

Which was frustrating.

 

[Jairdain Ismet-Thio]

Jairdain's expression softened at Malcolm's words, the tension that had never quite reached her shoulders easing all the same. She turned slightly toward him, angling her body just enough to signal attention without breaking the quiet line of contact she kept with Jax.

"No offense was taken," she echoed gently, her tone sincere rather than ceremonial. "Curiosity, when it comes without judgment, is usually a sign of someone still listening. That is never a flaw."

Her head inclined a fraction, acknowledging the bow without encouraging its repetition. "And learning does not expire," she added. "Not at fifty years, and not at twice that. The Force has a way of reminding us of that, whether we ask it to or not."

At Malcolm's mention of the evening being a party, a small, amused breath left her, something warmer than laughter but lighter than gravity. She could feel the pulse of the ballroom around them—the music, the careful joy, the exhaustion dressed in silk.

"It is," Jairdain agreed. "Though Naboo has a habit of calling its tests celebrations."

Her hand rested briefly at her abdomen, unconscious but protective, before returning to Jax's arm. "If someone needs a dance partner," she continued, her voice calm and wry, "I suspect they will find one. The night seems determined to keep people moving, whether they planned to or not."

There was a pause, then she added, gently inclusive rather than teasing, "Just remember that even a dance can be a kind of listening. And tonight, that may be the most important step of all."

Malcolm Ironmaster Jax Thio Vulpesen

 

[Ulysses Renoux]

H O U S E • R E N O U X​

Wearing: xxx
Tag: Aurelian Veruna | Sibylla Abrantes | Adelle Bastiel | Bastila Sal-Soren

Ulysses did not rise to the challenge in the way it had been offered.

He stepped forward when Aurelian did, neither lagging nor hurrying, allowing the King’s confidence to clear the path while he observed the effect. The ballroom adjusted around them in small, telling ways. Conversations faltered while attention shifted. Some watched openly. Others pretended not to. Ulysses noted which reactions originated from calculation rather than curiosity.

“Attention is rarely accidental,” he said quietly as they moved.

He let the words sit, then added, without emphasis, “And seldom impartial.”

Aurelian’s presence drew eyes easily toward him, and Ulysses allowed it. He had long since learned that visibility was most useful when it was borrowed rather than claimed. As they crossed the floor, he felt the weight of scrutiny settle and slide, testing for weaknesses that were not there.

He noticed Sibylla before she turned. She had been the subject of their conversation for the most part.

There was a tension in her posture that suggested restraint rather than ease, the kind born of obligation rather than inclination. Adelle stood close at her side, attentive in a way that spoke of familiarity and duty rather than ceremony. Others lingered at the edge of their orbit, waiting for a moment that would justify intrusion.

Ulysses did not announce himself when they arrived. He allowed Aurelian to step into the space first, to break the circle with practiced charm and distribute the drinks with a symmetry that drew smiles and narrowed eyes in equal measure.

When his name was offered, Ulysses inclined his head in acknowledgment, the gesture economical and sufficient.

“Sibylla,” he said, tone even, neither warm nor distant. “Adelle. Bastila.”

His gaze met Sibylla’s briefly, long enough to register the sharp intelligence there, then moved on without pressing. He had no intention of competing for her attention, nor of rescuing her from the attention already being offered.

“Naboo is generous with its evenings,” he added, more to the room than to any one person. “They encourage people to show themselves.”

He lifted his glass slightly, not in toast, but by way of a gesture as he drew further attention to the room.

“I find it best to watch what follows.”

Ulysses settled into stillness at the edge of the circle content to let the currents continue to test themselves. Whatever games were being played here, he did not need to name them aloud. They would reveal their players soon enough.

The Duke inclined his head slightly after a time, as though arriving at a decision rather than making a display of it.

“Now,” he said evenly, his gaze settling on her without pressing, “if this young man is too foolish to stand here and not ask you for a dance, I see no reason that slight should go uncorrected.” A brief pause followed, deliberate rather than dramatic. “May I offer to take you for a turn?”

 

[Romin Renoux]

H O U S E • R E N O U X​

Wearing: xxx
Tag: Mara Aurelai

Romin listened while she spoke, his attention steady in a way that surprised him. He had expected impatience or the familiar urge to redirect once the conversation turned uncomfortable. Neither came. Instead, he found himself noticing smaller things. The way she held the glass as if daring it to betray her. The way her voice flattened when she said disappeared, as though emotion had proven inconvenient in the past.

He did not interrupt. He let the silence remain useful.

Maela stayed beside him, quiet and deliberate. One elbow rested against the bar while she held his stolen wine loosely, her gaze moving between Mara and the room beyond them. She watched the exchange with the same attention she gave people worth remembering. She did not intrude, and she did not withdraw.

When Mara finished, Romin took another sip of his wine. The pause was not theatrical. He needed it to be sure he did not say something careless.

“That’s rough.”

The words were plain and unembellished.

He turned the glass slowly between his fingers and glanced toward the ballroom, where laughter carried farther than it should have.

“I’m not very good with sudden disappearances. They leave too much behind.”

He did not look at her. He did not need to.

“These events don’t help. Everyone’s pretending they ended up exactly where they planned to be, when most of them are simply making noise and hoping it passes for confidence.”

His mouth twitched, close to a smile but not quite there.

He turned back toward her.

“If you’re trying to build something again, starting here is unkind. But you’re not wrong for trying.”

Maela shifted slightly at his side. Her grip tightened a fraction around the stem of his glass, and her attention sharpened. She rested her free hand on his shoulder as if hoping to peel him away.

Romin tipped his own glass toward Mara.

“For what it’s worth, you’re not doing as badly as you think. You’re still talking. That matters.”

He let the moment remain where it was. The bar had brought its share of unexpected company.

 

[Aiden Porte]

Lorn Reingard
Indirect: Alina Grayson​

Aiden smiled warmly at the mention of Yavin, a spark of curiosity lighting his expression. "Intriguing," he said with easy amusement. "I may have to make a trip out there myself and see what you have been up to."

At his side, Lira was positively beaming under the attention. Her hand lingered half-extended for a moment longer before she let it fall, shy but pleased. She leaned into Aiden's leg, drawing comfort from the familiar contact, then straightened again as if reminding herself she was supposed to be brave here.

"I was very lucky," Lira said earnestly, looking up at Lorn. "Some bad people were after me, and Aiden saved me."

Aiden let out a soft smirk and shook his head, affection and quiet pride in the gesture. "Luck had very little to do with it," he replied, his voice gentle but certain. He looked down at her, then back to Lorn. "She's braver than she lets on."

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Objective II - The Grand Ballroom
Location: Let's play games
Interacting with: Ulysses Renoux
Bastila Sal-Soren Aurelian Veruna Adelle Bastiel

You deal with them far more politely than I would. An inch given means a mile taken.

Adelle's words threaded through Sibylla's thoughts as the conversation carried on, Aurelian still wearing that maddening, self-satisfied smile, the one that suggested he was rather pleased with how events had unfolded.

Oh, he would, wouldn't he?

How very satisfied he must feel with this particular outcome.

Well. Adelle was right -- an inch given meant a mile taken, and Sibylla found herself suddenly weary of always choosing the passive path. Live a little. That had been Aurelian's refrain, hadn't it for as long as she'd truly known him. A challenge, even. An invitation to step beyond restraint and take the risk instead of merely managing it.

Who was she, then, to ignore the lessons the infamous Prince of Parrlay himself had taught her so well?

So when Duke Renoux extended his invitation, Sibylla's smile brightened suddenly over her heart-shaped face. She inclined her head at once, accepting before any protest or interruption could find its footing.

"It would be a pleasure, Duke Renoux," Sibylla replied in a warm and decisive tone, extending her half-finished flute back to Aurelian. Perhaps the suddenness of it caught him off guard, for he took it automatically.

And as she moved away with a soft swish of skirts and a drifting hint of waterlilies in her wake, Sibylla turned just enough to offer the group a cordial smile, her hazel eyes flicking briefly from Adelle to Bastila and finally to Aurelian.

"Excuse me, Your Majesty… ladies," Sibylla said lightly, the words polished to perfection and weighted just enough to matter. "Do continue. I'm quite certain the evening will provide ample diversion."

With an unhurried lift of her chin and intent written cleanly into every step, the Voice of Naboo turned away and accepted the Duke's hand.

For once, it was King Aurelian Veruna the Second of Naboo, and not his Voice who remained behind, left to conclude the conversation -- and to watch her go.

 

[Vytal Noctura]

​

"Tis good to be mindful of how your actions will be taken, Dima," the pale Witch of Dathomir replied calmly, "but do not be too mindful. So long as you do not peel it off them, how they respond tis a reflection on them not you." Bright, emerald rings looked up at the tall, fierce-some woman at her side. It was easy to say, but the trying-to-be-gentle giant among them took such rebukes personally. Difficult not to when you did everything possible and were shunned all the same. A Witch understood. A second later, Vytal added as a suggestion, "Try not to grin."

Was it weird? Vytal was hardly the social butterfly. She was far more at home among those that conjured ancient and forgotten lore, not empty-headed politicians. While with the Confederacy of Independent Systems the Nightmother had always maintained a hatred for politics. They were truly a necessary evil. If she hadn't been responsible for how other witches were treated because of these noise makers, Vytal never would have bothered.

Her eyes cut to the side for just a moment. In time to catch a man's head snap away when their eyes met for a fraction of a second. Not fast enough, Vytal reflected in private. A soft click of the tongue followed suit. Dima wasn't the only one there that got looks of desire and terror alike. Admittedly, most of them terror. Better that than having their hands all over them -- that lot she reviled from the way they'd looked upon the Twi'lek that lived near the Castle on Ryloth.

Did any of them appreciate Dima's efforts? Vytal had hardly bothered. Her red scale armor was fashionable enough for these people. Seeing how the last time the witch had set foot on Naboo it had been in the midst of a Nether schism with monsters running rampant and people being corrupted, no one should begrudge her preparedness. The planet had recently had something similar happen again, but from pharmacuticals instead of spiritual monstrosities. Hardly a safe place to be caught wearing an umbrella for a dress.

"Do you know anyone living on Naboo?" Hardly a need for a reason to come to a ball such as this, but Vytal was curious if there was something more to Dima's desire.

Warpriest Prime​

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

Bastila stood in almost shocked silence as she watched Sibylla’s form to disappear into the press of bodies and music. Had she expected this? Absolutely not, this was Sibylla, Sib, the girl who was composed, calm and unwrathful. Yet here they were, now stood long enough for the absence to land within the group.
She took a breath and then with no rush. No quick exchange. Just a smooth, predatory sidestep she moved into Aurelian’s space, close enough that her presence was unmistakable but not so close as to grant him the dignity of the intimacy some would take it for. The silk of her dress brushed against his sleeve as she leant in slightly, relaxing her posture to match her expression of composure in the way that usually precedes disaster.

Her eyes flick in the direction Sibylla went. Then back to him.

A single brow lifted along with the corner of her mouth.

“Well done,” Bastila murmurs, voice low, almost conversational. “That was… very efficient.”

She reached out, and took the abandoned flute from his hand without any need to ask, before inspecting it with mild curiosity, as though it too had somehow disappointed her. The corner of her mouth twitched, not quite a smile. Not even close.

“You know,” she continued, in the tone of noble pleasantry, “there are many ways to live a little.” Her eyes fixed on his now. “Very few of them involve publicly cornering the Voice of Naboo and looking surprised when she decides she’s done indulging you.”

Her eyes did not move from his, although her head tilted enough to present the kind of look that suggested she was already done passing judgment and is now simply deciding how educational the consequences should be.

“…You are,” Bastila adds, delicately handing the flute back, “so deeply in the doghouse right now.”

OUTFIT: XoXo | TAG: Sibylla Abrantes Aurelian Veruna Adelle Bastiel Ulysses Renoux EQUIPMENT:

​

 

[Kael Vayra]

​

Objective II
Tags: Persephone Dashiell Kiran Arlos

"Well… no," Kael said, blinking at her response, genuinely caught off guard by the sudden escalation of the conversation to being beaten.

Did other people really not get nervous speaking in front of crowds? The idea felt foreign to him. She seemed entirely at ease in this environment, relaxed to the point of mild boredom, while Kael stood there acutely aware of his own hands, his posture, and the plate he was holding. Still, it did not bother him much. People were different. That was fine.

"I just, uh, get kind of sick to my stomach talking in front of others," he continued, rubbing the back of his neck. "Always have."

He shrugged and watched as she lifted her glass and took a sip of wine, graceful and unhurried. Kael suddenly realized how dry his own throat felt. The room was warm. The air heavy with perfume, spice, and conversation.

"Well," he said, lifting his plate slightly, "more for me."

He popped another shrimp into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully and trying to look casual about it. He was not succeeding. It was difficult to appear subtle when standing in the middle of a crowded ballroom with a plate stacked high enough to be noticeable from across the room.

"But I don't think they're considered bugs," Kael added, continuing as if this were a perfectly natural turn in the conversation. "Fish, maybe. Definitely closer to fish than bugs." He paused, eyes lighting up as a thought struck him. "Hey, fun fact. Did you know a shrimp's heart is in its head?"

He turned mid sentence as someone else approached, only to stop short.

Another man stepped in confidently and leaned down without hesitation, pressing a kiss to the woman's lips. Kael froze, eyebrows lifting as he watched the interaction unfold. His expression settled somewhere between polite curiosity and complete confusion, like someone who had accidentally walked into the wrong scene of a play.

Slowly, almost ceremonially, Kael raised another shrimp to his mouth.

He took a bite.

And continued to watch, saying absolutely nothing, content for the moment to observe, chew, and exist quietly as the shrimp guy in the corner of the room.

 

[Dominique Vexx]

Grand Naboo Ballroom
Theed, Naboo
Objective II
Evening

"Ambassador."

Chancellor Dominique Vexx had been making the rounds, and while some might be trying to keep an eye on her to avoid attention the Denonite had a way of maneuvering through a crowd to find those she'd set her eyes on. The trick was never to move in a straight line. Approaching from the side was best. It avoided the appearance of 'sneaking up' on someone without giving them the chance to run.

"A pleasure to see you here tonight. And Your Grace," Dominique's voice grew warmer and slightly louder at the same time as if surprised she was there beside Feridade, "I didn't know you would be able to attend tonight. An unexpected pleasure to have you here tonight." Golden eyes beheld the pair from behind her translucent lilac glareshades. The Echani certainly had a glow about them when viewed in that light.

The duo weren't alone, however. Colette had taken an interest in them as well. Dominique glanced at the woman, but had no particular relation with her yet to be as excited to see her, of course. Well, such excitement was always reserved for a leader of a planetary government. It wasn't entirely artificial either. How else was a Republic to govern except by interacting with the local governments?

In this case, not so local. Which suited her well enough. They were part of the Mandalorian Empire; a people whom the Republic sought to normalize relations and find a means for long-term coexistence. There were challenges, but few things in life were simple or easy. Naturally, Quinn wouldn't speak for Aether, but establishing good relations with one of the planets in Aether's sphere would only help demonstrate she wasn't a boogeyman -- it was possible to get along with a Corpo.

"You've both availed yourselves of the amenities, I hope. With so much changing in the galaxy every day an opportunity to simply talk is a gods-send." Would they be interested in engaging socially? Dominique knew not to trouble those of Eshan if they weren't in the mood for words. They had so much in common with the Mandalorians.

Feridade Parthi | Quinn Varanin | Colette
OPEN​

 

[Alina Grayson]

Alina carried herself with the poise of a woman used to formal gatherings but untouched by their affectations. Her eyes, keen and aware beneath the calm surface, moved slowly across the room assessing, observing, grounding. Not searching, exactly, but open. Present.

And then she saw them.

Near the edge of the ballroom, Aiden, composed but visibly at ease. Lorn, ever watchful yet touched by that quiet steadiness she'd come to admire in him. And there, between them

Lira.

The little girl stood in a dress of soft green, its color like the first leaves of spring, her hand in Aiden's as she took in the ballroom with wide-eyed wonder. The sight of her there small, radiant, utterly unafraid sent something warm and unexpected blooming in Alina's chest.

She didn't hesitate.

Her approach was unhurried but certain, each step landing with the kind of grace that didn't demand attention so much as earned it.

"Lorn," she said warmly, her tone sincere, a hint of familiarity softening her formality. "It's good to see you again." Azure eyes fell on Aiden next, with a gentle smile followed by a nod. "Good Evening Aiden, you look well." and then finally her posture softened all the more and she turned her gaze to Lira.

"Lira," she greeted gently, her voice bright with recognition, though not too loud for the moment. She didn't interrupt it was never her way but rather folded into the moment with natural ease. "You look beautiful."

Her smile deepened as she came closer, lowering slightly not quite kneeling this time, but close enough to meet the girl on her level. Her eyes, luminous and kind, held Lira's without effort.

"And more importantly," Alina added, her voice carrying the warm cadence of shared memory, "I hope there were no cookie crimes committed tonight."

"May I stay with you and Aiden for a little while?" she asked, offering her hand to the girl with a smile that held no expectations only invitation.

TAG: Aiden Porte Lorn Reingard

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Tags: Bastila Sal-Soren | Adelle Bastiel | Sibylla Abrantes | Ulysses Renoux

Aurelian stared. Actually stared. Openly. Bewildered in the way one only gets when reality takes a sharp left turn without warning. Ulysses Renoux had asked Sibylla to dance. Just like that. Calm. Polite. As if the notion had not just stomped all over Aurelian's evening.

Another utter twat. The word landed fully formed in his mind, hot and incredulous. Who did that man think he was. Worse, who did he think she was. And then Sibylla accepted. Of course she did.

Aurelian felt it before he understood it, his heart kicking harder against his ribs, heat crawling under his skin as she stepped away from him and onto the floor with Ulysses. The music rose. The crowd shifted. And she moved with that infuriating grace she only ever seemed to use when she wanted to make a point.

Oh. So this was a point.

He stared whorishly. There was no other word for it. His gaze followed the line of her shoulders, the turn of her wrist in Ulysses' hand, the way her skirts swept when she laughed softly at something he said. It made his jaw tighten. It made his fingers curl around the empty flute he still held.

He did not like this feeling. Not one bit.

Behind him, Bastila chose that exact moment to speak. "Well done."

Aurelian snapped around. "Why are you even here?" he shot back, irritation sharp and unfiltered. "There is no doghouse," he added immediately, defensive and entirely unconvincing, "so therefore I am not in it." He took two steps away from her on instinct. He did not need her getting ideas. Or worse, enjoying this.

"And you," he said, turning on Adelle now, pointing with the hand still holding the flute. "You are supposed to help me out. Take the bullet. Distract our new friend Ulysses so Sibylla doesn't have to." He dragged a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the anger buzzing through him. It was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous. He knew that. Didn't stop it.

Then something that had been said earlier finally caught up to him. "Wait," he said, narrowing his eyes at Adelle. "Did Sibylla just call you a wolf?" He leaned closer, squinting at her like this was suddenly very important. "Do you howl? Like a little pup? Or is it more dignified. Because I feel like that is information I should have been given in advance."

He gestured vaguely toward the dance floor, where Sibylla spun neatly past Ulysses again. His gaze betrayed him, flicking back despite himself.

"…I don't like this," he muttered, mostly to himself.

​

 

[Emilia Locke]

//: TAGS OPEN //:

​

Wearing: [X]
Objective II

The soft murmur of conversation and clinking glassware filtered through the Grand Ballroom's vaulted ceilings, gilded light dancing off crystal chandeliers and mirrored walls. Emilia Locke moved through it with quiet confidence her heels barely whispering against the polished floor in her fitted dress in muted dark blue.It was elegant without being ostentatious the wardrobe of a woman who didn't need to advertise power to wield it.

She passed diplomats and planetary ministers without slowing, a subtle nod here, a polite smile there. Emilia's attention was fixed ahead not hunting for attention, but moving with the purpose of someone whose place in the room was never in question.

Dominique Vexx stood alone for the moment, a brief interlude between pleasantries and political engagements. Emilia seized the opportunity with precision, weaving effortlessly through the crowd before coming to a smooth stop a few paces from the Chancellor.

"Madame Chancellor," Emilia greeted, her voice rich and composed, just loud enough to rise above the music and murmurs.

She dipped her head slightly not quite a bow, but a gesture of deliberate respect before lifting her gaze to meet Dominique's behind the lilac-tinted glareshades.

"Allow me to extend my congratulations not too belated, I hope. Your appointment has caused quite the stir, though I suspect that was half the intention." Her smile curved faintly, knowing but never impolite. "Naboo knows a thing or two about the art of appearance. But I imagine the reality of the office has given you little time to savor the view."

Her tone softened just enough to convey sincerity beneath the practiced cadence. There was no flattery here only recognition. Both women were too seasoned to mistake one for the other.

"I won't keep you long," Emilia added, letting her eyes briefly scan the nearby cluster of guests potential allies, rivals, and opportunists alike. "But if your schedule allows later this evening, I'd appreciate a moment to speak in private. Business, naturally. A few matters I think the Republic and Naboo could approach... with mutual benefit."

A slight tilt of her head, just enough to suggest she meant more than trade figures and supply routes.

TAG: Dominique Vexx + OPEN

​

 

[Clémence D'Asterra]

​

The music was gentle and rhythmic, to encourage dancing. It was different from the kind of music they played at Port Virellis balls, but she couldn't quite put her finger on how, exactly. More brass, maybe, a different kind of piano wire. She stood out of the way with her mother, Tessa D'Asterra , who glanced at her slightly swaying and very bare shoulders with her contempt not particularly veiled. "I don't see the point dressing so..." said the matriarch, her voice trailing off as if she couldn't find an appropriate word to describe her daughter's dress. Appropriate, because the word Tessa clearly had in mind surfaced, as if it had been written on her mother's forehead.

Whorishly. As if bare shoulders made it scandalous. The daughter regarded the mother's dress in turn. It was perfectly fine, though it could not be mistaken, at all, for racy.

"What do you mean, mother?" asked Clémence airily, though she knew perfectly well.

"You are betrothed," Tessa said. "Therefore, you have no need of attracting a man."

"And so I am not attempting to," Clémence countered before lifting her champagne flute to take a little ship. "As I'm sure you'll have noticed, my dress is quite in line with the fashion. But you needn't trouble yourself, mother. I'm certain His Grace will be along presently, and he will behave in as gentlemanly a fashion as he always has, so there is no need to chaperone me. Go and enjoy the party. Or scheme behind a parlor fern. Or step on a waiter's toes. Whatever it is that will bring you joy."

"This Naboo air does not agree with you," Tessa said sternly, though quietly, barely moving her lips. As if the great and good of Society had nothing better to do than use their lipreaders on two minor nobles from the hinterlands. "I should perhaps inform the footmen that you have been taken ill. They can tell the Duke that you have returned home to rest."

"That won't be necessary, Mother," said Clémence. "Though I do appreciate your kind concern. I think I see him coming now."

Orestyn Carda ​