Populate Where the Light Gathers | THR Populate of Siskeen

[Pillar of Faith]

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Night settles gently over Theed, the kind of Naboo evening that looks like it was personally art-directed by the Force itself. Lanterns float above marble promenades, their light reflected in the slow, dignified waters of the palace canals. The spires of the Royal Palace glow gold against a violet sky, pristine and serene. This was meant to be a celebration of Chancellor Dominique Vexx , a triumphant debut for a new era of leadership. Instead, the banners have been reworked, the speeches rewritten, and the evening has become something heavier: a statement. The Great Houses of the Republic stand shoulder to shoulder with refugees of Tapani, proving that the Sith Covenant's message did not land the way they hoped.

Music drifts through open archways. Diplomats murmur. Jedi observe quietly. Somewhere beneath the polished marble and ceremonial silks is the unspoken truth: this ball is a test. Of unity. Of resolve. Of whether the Republic actually believes its own ideals when things get ugly.

Objective I: Strength on Display

Along the eastern terrace, overlooking the gardens and landing platforms, the Strategic Command Exhibition presents the Republic's answer to the Covenant's threat: discipline without brutality. Clone troopers stand in immaculate formation beside modernized walkers, atmospheric fighters, and mobile shield generators. Officers field questions from senators, nobles, and refugees alike… Explaining evacuation protocols, planetary defense grids, and how the Republic intends to protect what remains of Tapani culture.

This is not a parade meant to intimidate. It is reassurance made tangible. Holotables display simulated defensive engagements, while medics demonstrate battlefield relief technology now being repurposed for refugee aid. Jedi occasionally pass through, a quiet reminder that the Republic's strength is not merely manufactured. Attendees here can network with military leadership, volunteer resources, or quietly assess how prepared the Republic truly is… Because some people trust speeches, and others trust armor.

Objective II: The Grand Ballroom

At the heart of the palace lies the Grand Naboo Ballroom, its domed ceiling painted with constellations visible on the night Tapani burned. Crystal chandeliers cast soft light over flowing gowns, formal uniforms, and the subdued colors of mourning woven discreetly into noble attire. This is where words matter most.

Senators debate aid packages. Nobles pledge ships, credits, and sanctuaries. Tapani survivors are honored guests, their presence a quiet indictment of the Sith Covenant's philosophy. Deals are made here: political, economic, and personal. Speeches can inspire unity or expose fractures. This is the battlefield where the Republic decides not just how to respond, but who it intends to be when the galaxy is watching.

Objective III: The Open Bar

Then there is the western colonnade, where the marble gives way to laughter, low voices, and a very intentional open bar. Naboo wines, Corellian spirits, Tapani liquors salvaged from fleeing estates, nothing is spared. Musicians play lighter tunes here. Ties are loosened. Masks slip.

This is where secrets leak like cheap ale. Officers vent frustrations. Senators speak honestly for once. Nobles test alliances without the weight of ceremony. Refugees tell stories that never make it into official reports. Information flows freely, greased by alcohol and shared grief. Deals started in the ballroom are finished here, or quietly undone. If the Republic has a pulse tonight, it can be found at this bar… Slightly slurred, emotionally compromised, and dangerously sincere.

Spoiler

Feel free to move around between objectives. They are just there to set the scene for you! For narrative purposes, this story takes place before the Corellia Junction.

Faction Threads:
X | X​

 

[Kael Vayra]

​

Objective 2: Chilling
Tags: Open

Kael wandered along the buffet set just outside the ballroom, a porcelain plate balanced comfortably in one hand as he surveyed the spread with open enthusiasm. His eyes widened the moment he spotted the chilled seafood display.

"YES, I love shrimp," he said aloud, far too excited for a formal event.

He grabbed the tongs and proceeded to pile an impressive, arguably excessive amount of shrimp onto his plate. Once satisfied, he stepped away from the table and turned to take in the gathering, absently picking at the food as he watched nobles and dignitaries mingle beneath soft lighting and drifting music.

Today, he wore nothing suited for battle. His robes were ceremonial, clean and carefully arranged, meant to clearly mark him as a Jedi while also signaling peace. No armor. No reinforced plates. Just fabric, symbols, and intention. The nobles tended to get uncomfortable around visible weapons and armor, and Kael had been advised more than once that appearing nonthreatening was part of the job. These robes had been pulled from the back of his closet specifically for occasions like this.

He had just finished a bite when an older woman approached him, her posture proper and her smile warm.

"Thank you for all that you do," she said sincerely.

Kael, mid chew and thoroughly unprepared, attempted to respond without choking.

"Oh it's nuffin," he managed around a mouthful of shrimp.

Her eyebrows lifted slightly at his complete lack of decorum. For a brief moment, Kael worried he had committed some unforgivable social offense. Then she smiled again, softer this time, and moved on without another word.

Kael quickly swallowed and exhaled, shoulders sagging as the tension left him.

He was definitely not cut out for this whole fancy thing.

Still, the food was excellent, and that counted for something.

Plate in hand, Kael continued to roam the halls, offering friendly smiles, small waves, and polite nods as people greeted him. He found himself drawn into conversations that quickly sailed far above his understanding. Discussions about Republic policy, proposed bills, economic relief packages, and interplanetary logistics flowed around him like a foreign language.

He nodded when it seemed appropriate.

Smiled when it felt expected.

"That's above my pay grade," he said more than once, earning polite chuckles from those who assumed humility rather than honesty.

Truthfully, Kael felt like a fish out of water. But he played his role as best he could, standing as a visible Jedi presence, eating good food, and reminding himself that sometimes simply being there was enough.

 

[Malcolm Ironmaster]

Objective 2 - The Grand Ballroom
Tags: Open

Jedi Master Malcolm Aramis Ironmaster walked into the Grand Ballroom, attired in his ceremonial robes - grey pants tucked into black knee-high boots, a resplendent white Jedi tunic with tabards in Chandrilan blue embroidered with the wing motif of the Silver Jedi Order in metallic silver floss, a Chandrilan blue cape fastened over his left shoulder, a blue leather pauldron on his right shoulder, and his saber holstered at the end of a baldric crossing his chest from left shoulder to right hip. He scanned the room, taking in his surroundings.

 

[Ayumi Pallopides]

Objective II

With everything that haad been happening the chance for a show of force... wealth... sophistication? It was hard to argue. The Noble houses could be quite a show she knew as Ayumi cut a lethal, elegant figure against the shifting glow of the transport, her presence in the speeder with its white and gold outmatched by a dress that seemed woven from the very finest of silks. The garment was a masterpiece of minimalist architecture: a deep black, body-con silhouette that clung to her lightly bronzed skin with predatory precision. The off-the-shoulder neckline dipped into a sharp, structured sweetheart curve, accentuating the graceful slope of her collarbones and the deceptive strength held in her shoulders.

The fabric was matte and obsidian-dark, molding seamlessly to her waist before tapering to a hemline that hit just above the mid-thigh. It was a look designed for the high-stakes atmosphere of the Upcity elite and sophisticated enough to pass any biometric security checkpoint, yet sleek enough to allow for the sudden, explosive movement of a woman who was always prepared for a deal trouble. With Dominique Vexx and possible her chief of staff Melanie Sato here well she would have to make it double. As she moved, the rhythmic jingle of her heeled repulsors hummeded against the polished floor, a steady cadence that mirrored her unwavering focus. The anklets making a small cushion for the backs of her feet to be positioned and no dirt to cling.

With every stride, the waist-length cascade of her dark-honey hair swayed like silken shadow against the back of the dress, the natural golden strands threaded through the mahogany depths catching the light. Her skin glowed with a sun-warmed radiance that defied the artificial atmosphere of the city, the rich copper tones standing out in stark relief against the unforgiving black of her attire. She carried herself with the practiced ease of an official in the hem of the dress riding slightly with each long, confident step to reveal the fluid power in her legs. She didn't just walk through the area towards the ballroom; she claimed the space around her, her silhouette a sharp, dark inkblot against the blur of the passing crowds.

Her face remained a mask of cool, polished glass and in the bright, overhead glow, Ayumi's deep dark honey irises transformed into molten gold, the amber flecks within them shimmering with a sharp, gaze. She scanned the ballroom with ease in her gaze, her eyes darkening toward black as she stepped into the pockets of shadow between the light. The small, pale nick below her lower lip was a silent, barely-there detail that grounded her ethereal beauty in a violent reality, hinting at the scars hidden beneath the expensive fabric of her gown. She looked more at it and had brought plenty for the refugees, they had even given way to aa lot of interest as the Sunwire haad space for millions who wanted to try and rebuild.

 

[Ulysses Renoux]

H O U S E • R E N O U X​

Wearing: xxx
Tag: Open

Ulysses Renoux did not arrive with the crowd.

He entered at a measured pace, boots whispering against polished marble as the night air followed him briefly through the archways before yielding to the warmth of the palace interior. Theed had always understood presentation, and tonight it leaned fully into that reputation. The light drifted rather than shone, and the water carried reflections with ceremonial patience. Everything suggested harmony, which sharpened the understanding that this harmony had been assembled with care.

The Duke paused just inside the threshold, not out of hesitation, but to observe. From this vantage, the choreography of the evening revealed itself. The banners bore their revisions without apology. The chosen colors spoke of unity without erasing grief. The placement of guests told a story more honest than any speech scheduled for the night. The Great Houses positioned themselves where they could be seen beside Tapani refugees, close enough to imply solidarity while distant enough to preserve comfort. The effect was deliberate, and Ulysses found it competent.

Music carried from deeper within the palace, filtered through open archways and layered with the steady murmur of conversation. Diplomats leaned toward one another, voices kept low as though volume itself carried consequence. Members of the Jedi Order were present without drawing attention, their stillness forming quiet counterweights to the movement around them. Their role this evening was not intervention, but observation.

Ulysses moved when it suited him and merged into the flow without announcing intention. He accepted a drink from a passing server and allowed his attention to travel across faces rather than names. He noted who looked outward instead of inward, who listened more than they spoke, and who treated the presence of Tapani survivors as obligation rather than honor. The ball was already performing its function. Positions were being taken, and lines were being drawn without ever touching the floor.

When he reached the Grand Naboo Ballroom, the scale of the space demanded acknowledgment. The domed ceiling rose above the gathered assembly, its painted constellations fixed in careful remembrance of a night that could not be dismissed as distant history. Chandeliers scattered light across silks and formal uniforms, catching on the subdued tones woven into noble attire. Mourning was present here, restrained but intentional, and therefore impossible to overlook.

Ulysses remained near the edge of the floor, champagne untouched for the moment. Senators debated aid corridors and reconstruction charters with an urgency shaped as much by audience as by conviction. Pledges of ships and credits passed between nobles with practiced ease, though the sincerity behind each would reveal itself only later. Tapani survivors stood among them as participants rather than symbols, and their presence lent gravity to every promise made within reach of their hearing.

This was not where battles were decided, but it was where they were shaped. Words carried weight here because they would travel elsewhere, stripped of context and sharpened into leverage. Ulysses watched the process with the calm of a man long familiar with such terrain. War had fronts, and politics had rooms like this.

He lifted his glass at last, not in salute, but in acknowledgment. Whatever the Republic chose to be tonight would not be determined by banners or prepared remarks. It would be determined by quiet agreements, deliberate silences, and the willingness of those present to stand where conviction demanded rather than where comfort prevailed.

 

[Lily Decoria]

Objective: 2
Outfit: Dress
Tag: Shan | Open to conversations

Balls and dances were always something that Lily had found herself somewhat comfortable in but she knew it wasn't always something that was super comfortable especially as she got older and noticed that people attended the dances and social events with dates. She had never been someone who felt the need for a date but also knew it was something expected of her and something that could appeal more as a way to enjoy the very draining social events and conversations that people always desired to have.

Lily selected an iridescent style dress with a head piece and jewellery that were recent purchases. It was a tailored dress so it fitted her figure well and Lily was excited to see how it would look in the lighting of the ballroom since the colours shifted and changed thanks to the style of the silk dress. Lily had reached out to Shan and asked him to attend the ball with her. Their first ball as a couple, it was something that made Lily both very excited and quite nervous since she was worried that she would make a stumble or embarrassing moment for them.

Clasping her hands behind her back, she wandered into the ballroom and looked around, taking in who was attending the event and curious to see how things went with this new chancellor for the High Republic. A person with new goals, potentially new directions as well as desires on what she wanted to leave the position in as High Republic. Politicians were a group of people that Lily wasn't sure how she felt about since they seemed to be the types who prevented her from getting into the battle, from what she perceived as saving lives.

"Shall we get a drink or dancing first?" Lily turned to Shan with a grin on her lips.

 

[Malcolm Ironmaster]

Objective 2 - The Grand Ballroom
Tags: Open, Lily Decoria

Malcolm noticed the Jedi he'd fought beside on Corellia entering the ballroom with her companion. He smiled and waved from across the room but remained where he was, not wishing to intrude in her evening.

 

[Atham Harek]

Objective III: The Open Bar

The door to the dropship opened, a hail of gunfire erupting as Atham made the first movement out. Atham's rifle came up, aiming at an enemy soldier. The soldier wasn't paying attention, trying to order his own troops to open fire on the dropship. A assaultman armed with a rocket was coming up behind the other trooper. Atham turned his rifle just slightly to the left, let off two shots. The shots went accurately into the assaultman's chest, causing him to flail backwards, dead on impact. The other soldier looked over at him- turning his head to where his compatriot was just killed by. He had green eyes, and a soft jawline. He was thin, but not malnourished. Probably a runner. He didn't have any facial hair. He shaved that morning, not expecting such a daring assault. Or perhaps he just wanted to look good for his day, for his troops. Atham didn't care. He couldn't afford himself to. He turned his sights on him again, green eyes meeting a black visor. Atham let the slack out of the trigger while green eyes was barely getting his weapon up. He put two shots in his chest, and one in his head. His green eyes never left Atham's behind his visor.

He breathed deeply, taking another swig of his drink. He had requested to be far away from the nobleman and the do-gooders and the dog and pony show. He was required to be here, an Officer and a gentleman, of course. But the party was that way, and he was here. He wanted another drink. He hadn't even finished his first one.

Green eyes came to see him again. He saw him in his dreams quite often. But green eyes had been dead for close to a whole year now. Atham had been promoted. Moved on. Lived. Become a practical war hero to some.

A fancy party and free drinks, well. That made green eyes sod off and go prance around someone else's nightmares for a while, it seemed. Go bother someone else, you ghostly twat!

​

 

[Casaana]

Objective III
Tags: Open

Casaana had come out this night in the hopes of a celebration and was riding out the pivot in how the evening was being presented as best as she could. The support for the Tapani was a good thing, even if she was sure few of them were in the mood for a big to-do about them and their tragedy. Arriving to find Naboo in a full-on celebration would have been even more insensitive through.

The Padawan knew she wasn't suited to the ballroom, only the continuous efforts of Braze meant she even had something appropriate to wear in such a setting, while the way she kept herself out of politics meant she had even less to say or contribute in such a grand setting. Likewise, a military demonstration was the last place she'd be comfortable. Casaana had participated in fights before, even breaching into the Death Star itself over Atrisia, and was no coward, but she hated death and killing. Seeing the troops and machines of war arrayed out would have been a gloomy sight to surround herself with on an already depressing night.

Instead, she'd brought a box of disassembled droid parts she'd been tinkering with for a few weeks now, taking a small table tucked away between a café and the adjoining building in the cool night air, as she started working them back together. The rescued parts had needed rust cleaned from them, repainting, and reconfiguring as part of her refurbishment of the little droid. Once it was done, it'd hopefully be quite the capable little companion for her. For now though, she was fitting together a leg assembly, trying to get the scomp link she'd rebuilt for it to fit inside, a cup of slowly cooling tea sitting mostly forgotten amidst the strewn parts. She'd wanted something fizzy, but all the carbonated drinks were sugary syrup, and she wasn't going to drink alcohol even if the new Chancellor had invited all the Jedi out with the temptation of drinks. Pausing, she considered what it'd take to make a fizzy tea and considered it for her next project, before getting back to the task at hand.

 

[Cynan Obaith]

Objective: 3
Outfit: Suit
Tags: Open to interactions!

"Have the additional resources and funds gotten to the survivors of Tapani and the families hit the hardest?" Cynan asked Sawel.

"Yes my lord, we received notification and a plethora of thank yous and appreciation for your generous offerings." Sawel replied as he walked with Cynan towards the event.

Cynan let out a sigh of relief, "it is fortunate that we were able to mobilise all that so swiftly. Important that we can see who is attending and who we can persuade to share in our beliefs, as well as people willing to spend some money towards the humanitarian aid work." He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose since it meant that today was going to be something that required his work mindset and not the joys of celebration and letting one's hair down figuratively speaking.

"Ensure that my drinks will appear alcoholic but are not. I need to be sober for this event and able to maintain the coherence to inspire others to our cause." Cynan confessed, he could feel the smiling Sawel looking over him, "yes, yes! It's very mature of me! Gah, I am fortunate that none of my sisters are going to see or hear about this mature act I am doing." Cynan gave a soft chuckle, "and means that when home I expect at least a dozen bottles of red to be ready for my consumption."

There was always going to be a time and place for a drink and he did hope to leave here wanting to be celebrating a successful discussion.

Entering the open bar, Cynan breathed in deeply and made his way into the crowd. Taking note of the politicians, the soldiers and even Jedi that were attending the event. People from all walks of life within the High Republic and each one could help the cause of spreading out humanitarian aid to Tapani and other systems at risk of a similar fate. There was a hope that he could find someone that would be willing to help him find his step into a the deeper politics of the High Republic so he could try getting more of a voice in the senate.

 

[Oriana Indupar]

OBJECTIVE II : THE GRAND BALLROOM
​

Oriana flittered around the ballroom, dressed in a flowing gold gown of the finest silk. She had worked with Guinevere Cavello to help prepare the space for the evening, working secure keynote speaker Evandro Wenelle to speak of the horrors on Tapani. The entire point of the evening was to highlight the tragedy and raise credits for the refugees. Many Noble Houses had been wiped out completely, others left in tatters. Not only the Nobles, but everyday citizens were also displaced.

She passed a Jedi with uncouth manners loading up on shrimp and speaking to one of the older noble ladies. Oriana gave a tight smile before moving on. Not everyone could be trained on etiquette but perhaps they should. Maybe it was time to look in to sponsoring free courses throughout the High Republic to bring those up to speed. She was involved on the fringes with an education initiative.

Something to save for another day. Tonight was about Tapani and their plight.

"Mister Tevas, a pleasure you could come..."

"....Lady Rhyvan, stunning as always."

For now she was playing the part of well polished noble. One of the only things she knew how to do. At the very least some of her antiquated trainings could come in to use this night. Squaring her shoulders, she went off to try to find Gwen or Lord Wenelle, greeting those as she went.

 

[Persephone Dashiell]

OBJECTIVE II

Persephone wasn't sure how she got roped into representing her adoptive parents charitable cause, the ArcDash Foundation. The focus was primarily children's medical causes and a sizeable chunk of credits had gone this evening to Tapani refugees in order to get help to the most vulnerable. There had been no announcement, no placard though. Her parents were discreet with the foundation, wanting the work to speak for itself. She was more here as the face just in case someone had questions or needed to network further.

Smoothing the fine top layer of her blue ball gown, Persephone idly wondered if she would be the 'face' of the Dashiells in the High Republic. With her plans to go to the prestigious Agamar University dashed thanks to the Mandos deciding to massacre an entire town, Persephone was now finalizing the beginning of her studies at Kalinda University. Not as well known for her plan of study, but her family had donated a boatload of credits over the years, so a small perk would be found there.

Gaze looked to see if her cousin, Balun Dashiell , was present in the sea of ceremonial burlap. He did live in this territory, wouldn't exactly be a stretch.

Grabbing some shimmerwine off a tray, she nearly ran into one of those ceremonial burlaped beings. This one carrying a massive plate of shrimp. Eyebrow raised slightly. Persie was convinced the Jedi cult starved their members to keep them more compliant, this just cemented her theory.

"Starting a shrimp farm?"

Kael Vayra ​

 

[Kiran Arlos]

Objective: 2
Tags: Open
Indirect: Persephone Dashiell
​

Kiran Arlos had been told this was an honor, and he had nodded like it mattered.

In practice, it was a paycheck wrapped in polished marble and politics. He was here as formality, as a warm body in the right uniform with the right earpiece, one more quiet layer between the Republic's pretty promises and the reality that people liked making statements in places that could be sabotaged.

It had been a few weeks since he had last heard Persephone's voice.

Weeks of silence that had started as something he assumed would pass, something sharp but temporary, the way storms on Geonosis always looked worse than they were until you were standing under them. He had tried to reach her almost every way he could without crossing into pathetic. A call. A message. Another message that he deleted before it sent. A holo that sat in his drafts until he hated the sound of his own honesty.

He had even sent flowers, because it felt like something an adult would do when they did not know how to fix what they broke. He had sent another apology card too, because apparently the apology in person had not been enough, or maybe it had been enough and she just did not want it.

Either way, he had decided to leave it alone before he turned "I'm sorry" into "I'm not listening."

So he worked.

He moved through the palace like he belonged there, like he had not grown up learning to watch doors because doors were where danger liked to pretend it was polite. His eyes tracked lines of sight, entrances, exits, the way a cluster of senators unconsciously formed a choke point near the center of the ballroom. His hand brushed the edge of his comm every so often, checking in, listening to the murmured updates from the rest of the security detail. He pointed guests toward food and beverages with practiced ease, the same calm voice he used when someone asked where the refreshment tables were and when someone asked where the nearest med station was.

He kept his posture relaxed. He kept his face neutral. He did what he could.

Naboo felt like the kind of place where you could make a few credits and pretend you were just another body in the room, not a kid trying to keep his life from tipping sideways. The lanterns outside the archways drifted like slow, glowing thoughts. The chandeliers above threw soft light over silk and uniform jackets, over mourning ribbons tucked into seams like secrets.

It was almost easy to forget the galaxy was bleeding.

Almost.

Kiran was halfway through directing a flustered aide toward the nearest service corridor when he looked up, and the world narrowed.

Persephone.

For a beat, he forgot the room's noise. He forgot the measured music. He forgot the weight of the earpiece on his skin. She stood among diplomats and nobles like she had been born into the chandelier light, like the marble floors had always known her name. Her hair caught the glow and made it look like she was holding starlight she had stolen and never bothered to return. Even from across the room, he could see it in the set of her shoulders, the faint tension at her jaw.

She looked beautiful.

She also looked tired in a way that made something in his chest twist, sharp and instinctive, like he had spotted a crack in a hull before anyone else noticed.

Kiran's first impulse was so strong it was embarrassing. To go to her. To cross the ballroom like nothing else existed and say her name like it could pull her back to him. To apologize again, properly, in a way that would finally land.

He did not move.

He held himself still the way he had been trained to hold still, the way you held still when you were not sure if stepping forward would help or hurt. He kept his gaze on a fixed point that was not her face for a second too long, like if he stared outright it would count as chasing. He found things to keep himself busy.

He adjusted his stance near a column for a better angle on the main floor. He checked the flow of foot traffic by the archways, noting the way one security droid had drifted out of position. He guided a pair of guests away from a service door with a polite smile that did not reach his eyes. He responded to a quiet comm update with a clipped acknowledgement.

All of it was real work.

None of it was why his pulse would not settle.

Because even while he stood there doing his job, his awareness kept circling back to her like gravity. He could feel the distance between them in meters and in weeks and in all the words he had not been allowed to say. He could feel the way the room's light caught her profile and made her seem untouchable, not because she was above him, but because she had chosen, at least for now, to be away from him to not talk to him.

Kiran swallowed once, hard, and forced his breathing back into rhythm. He would not make a beeline. Not in front of everyone. Not like a kid who could not control himself. But he could not unsee her either. So he stayed where he was, steady and quiet, hands loosely folded behind his back like he was nothing more than another piece of the palace's careful order.

And all the while, his thoughts kept one simple, stubborn line running under everything else.

Please look this way.

Just once.

 

[Aiden Porte]

Objective 2
Tags: Open​

Aiden stepped into the Grand Naboo Ballroom as if crossing a threshold into a living painting. Crystal chandeliers scattered light across marble and silk, and the domed ceiling held its constellations like a quiet warning dressed as art. Music drifted between pillars. Laughter tried to sound effortless. Beneath it all, the air carried tension carefully folded into etiquette.

He was not alone.

Aiden glanced down to his right, and a small smile tugged at his mouth. Lira stood beside him, wide-eyed in a princess dress that made her look like she belonged to the story the palace liked to tell about itself. She was utterly mesmerized, her gaze tracking the lanternlight, the gowns, the uniforms, the drifting colors, as if she could not decide what to love first.

He felt her wonder like a warm spark in the Force, bright and clean against the heavier currents in the room.

Aiden lowered his hand toward her, palm open and steady. "Come on," he said gently.

Lira looked up at him, still half-caught in the spell of the ballroom.

He tipped his head toward the sea of people and soft light. "Let's go take a walk," Aiden added, his voice calm, fond, and quietly protective. "I can already tell you have a bunch of questions."

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Objective-1
Tags: Open​

Cassian Abrantes held his place along the eastern terrace as the march of reassurance flowed past in measured cadence, boots striking marble with a discipline that felt almost ceremonial. He stood among other generals and senior officers, their uniforms immaculate beneath the lanternlight, their presence arranged as deliberately as the exhibition itself.

Questions came in steady waves from senators, nobles, and Tapani refugees who kept their composure by clinging to details.

Cassian met them without embellishment.

He spoke of evacuation corridors and shield coverage, of patrol rotations and response times, of medical assets being reassigned from front lines to relief stations. He did not promise what could not be guaranteed, but he made clear what would be done, and what had already been put in motion. When concern sharpened into suspicion, he did not bristle. He let calm and clarity do the work.

A column of Republic soldiers marched by, banners catching the violet sky, armor flashing in the gold glow of the palace spires. Cassian turned with them, crisp and precise, and snapped a salute that carried more weight than pageantry. The soldiers returned it in perfect unison, not looking for praise, only acknowledging a shared purpose.

For a moment, the terrace felt like a single body breathing.

Cassian watched the formation pass, the disciplined lines, the restrained strength, the way it steadied the crowd without threatening it. It was reassurance made visible, and it was, in its own way, beautiful.

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Objective: 3
Tags: Open
​

Elian Abrantes finished the dance with the kind of ease that always surprised him a little, as if his body remembered elegance even when his mind was still catching up to it. His partner, beautiful in that effortless Naboo way, all soft laughter and bright eyes, slowed with him as the music tapered into its final notes. He offered her his hand for the last turn, guided her through it with a light touch, and when they came to a stop he stepped back and bowed, crisp and practiced.

She smiled like she had been waiting all evening for someone to be that properly dramatic about it, then dipped into a graceful curtsy before slipping away into the lantern-lit crowd.

Elian watched her go for a beat longer than necessary.

His first glass sat warm in his chest, not enough to blur him, just enough to make the night feel like it had edges made of velvet instead of marble. Theed's western colonnade had a way of doing that, turning pressure into music, turning duty into something you could ignore for the length of a song.

Truth be told, he should have been home.

He should have been somewhere quieter, somewhere with fewer eyes, fewer smiles, fewer reasons to pretend he was fine. But the festivities tugged at the wild spirit in him like they always had, like Naboo itself could sense the part of him that wanted to run instead of stand still. Or maybe it was simpler than that.

Maybe he was just using alcohol to drown out the recent events until they sounded like someone else's story.

Elian exhaled slowly and drifted back toward the bar, slipping between clusters of officers and nobles with the practiced grace of someone raised among politics but born for the messier corners of life. He took a seat at the marble counter, one elbow resting as he scanned the room without really seeing it, letting the noise become a wash.

A small group of noble girls passed behind him, their laughter bright and conspiratorial. One of them glanced his way, eyes lingering, the sort of look that said she recognized the name and liked what it implied. Another offered him a smile sweet enough to be dangerous.

Elian returned it with a charm that felt half real, half armor.

"Trust me," he said, turning slightly on the stool so his voice carried just enough to reach them without sounding like he was chasing. "There will be plenty of time for dances soon."

They giggled, the sound trailing away like perfume as they continued on, and Elian let his smile fade the moment they were out of range.

He faced the barkeep again, lifting two fingers in a casual signal.

"Another," he said, and his tone held the easy confidence of a man who belonged here, even if part of him still felt like he was trespassing on his own life. He slid his empty glass forward. "Mix it up this second round. Surprise me."

The barkeep's mouth quirked like he approved of that. Bottles shifted. Ice clinked. Something dark and expensive splashed into a shaker. Elian watched the hands work, and for a moment he let himself be exactly what the night wanted him to be, an Abrantes son at a Naboo ball, polished, laughing, alive. And then, beneath the music and the lanterns and the open bar, the truth tapped at the back of his skull like a quiet warning. You can drink it down for a while.

But it will still be there when the glass is empty.

 

[Dominique Vexx]

Grand Naboo Ballroom
Theed, Naboo
Objective II
Evening

Golden rings shone brightly even in the well-lit chamber where the Chancellor stood. Her mirror image made a subtle adjustment to the high collar of her jacket under her watch. It was not her customary style. Denon fashion was far more eccentric. Their clothing lit up with the same energy and purpose as those sporting augmentations and tattoos of every conceivable kind. What she studied and carefully plucked at in the mirror was not that. There was influence born of it, but it had to be tailored to the expectations of a wider audience. Dominique wasn't afforded the luxury to promote only Denon's lifestyle.

Satisfied it rested properly on her shoulders, Dominique reached over to retrieve her glareshades. Chancellor or not, Dominique wasn't going to hobble herself merely so people had the pleasure of gazing into her eyes. If there was going to be any sort of Event whilst entertaining her guests, she wasn't going to learn of it minutes too late. The galaxy moved too quickly for word of mouth to suffice. Shame she couldn't tie it into the Republic's Intelligence apparatus though. That man had been justifiably stingy on that front.

With a deep breath drawn and released, she pivoted on the heel of her boot and strode toward the door. Panels thrown open, Dominique marched down the corridor with her escort taking up her flanks.

Soon, the Chancellor's party stopped before the doors at one end of the ballroom. Dominique paused just for moment before she gave a single, slight nod for two of her escorts to push the doors aside. Dominique strode through the open portal with a small smile on her lips. Those nearest would turn to see who had arrived, and more would turn to follow as a murmur arose of the Chancellor's entrance. A hand lifted in greeting, but those she'd assembled stepped in quickly to form a line between her and the crowd to dissuade well-meaning nobles and guests.

Her boots carried her around to a spiral staircase that ascended to a platform for all the people in the room to see, not just those closest. At its crest she stepped up to the railing and lifted a hand in greeting to those in attendence and to gather their attention. The music gradually died down.

Dominique's voice carried through the room, and was picked up by a hovering drone nearby to broadcast it afar, "Guests, friends, allies... Citizens of the Republic, thank you all for gathering today in recognition of our collective achievements, of the suffering of the masses, and the uncompromising vision for a better tomorrow." A second's pause as people mentally switched gear. "I have it on good authority -- for those able to join in person today -- that the shrimp is especially on point." Those closer to the buffet outside the ballroom may have chuckled with a bit more authenticity than those nearer the Chancellor at the humor. Kael's enthusiasm hadn't gone unnoticed.

But to matters at hand, "Recent galactic events have foremost been on my mind. As I am sure they have been on your own. The abduction of Kalantha. The assault of Atrisia. The Galactic Empire's broadcast of Capital intent. The Galactic Alliance's dissolution. The Mandalorian and Diarchy taking up arms against one another. And, now," another second's pause for listeners to brace, "the Sith Covenant's brutal assault on Tapani and the throwing down of the gauntlet against the rest of the galaxy."

"What shall we do? Who can we trust? Can the Republic protect us?" Dominique's eyes slid across the sea of people before her. "We are gathered here, today, to cry out in one, harmonious voice, 'Yes.' Together we forge a phalanx that these trials and tribulations will break themselves upon. Where each of us alone are strong, we support our neighbors where they are not; and they, in turn, support us where we are not. There shall be no hole for the forces of evil and depravity to slip through. No act of crime or terror they commit to break our resolve. What they do to one, they do to all." Her hands spread out wide to either side to encompass all those that stood in that chamber, and beyond.

"As your Chancellor, I do not ask of you any more than you ask of yourselves. That we join hands to see one another through these times. That we strive toward a brighter and better future for ourselves, our children, and our children's children. We not only can do this, we must." A hand slapped down atop the banister. "That is the resolve of this Republic. They may seek to test us. To break us. And if they try, whomever it is, they will know this now: we will respond. Not in a week. Not in a month. Not in a year. We will hunt them down to whatever dark hole they crawl out of, and we will burn them out."

Dominique made a show of exhaling with a slow shake of her head. "Were diplomacy and peace possible-- were prosperity and development for all satisfactory with all peoples. To those willing to engage in conversation to strike an accord between our peoples, this Republic is listening," an open hand stretched forth, "and committed to finding a way forward together."

"With that, I invite you all to enjoy the evening, and do not promise there won't be others with words to share. Speak freely with one another, form bonds where you can, contact my Office in support of your efforts. On that note, I'll leave you with this thought:"

Out of the night that covers me
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance,
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate
I am the captain of my soul.

"Invictus," by William Ernest Henley​

With that, the Chancellor of the High Republic turned to descend the stairs once more. The music resumed. Countless conversations would fill the air as others thought to dance, and enjoy the entertainment of the night; the worries of galactic importance could wait, some thought. They hoped. Not all of them had the luxury of thinking so, and those that did only did so because of the efforts of countless Officers of the Republic putting forward every scrap of effort to bolster their ability to respond. It was Dominique's job to make sure they had what they needed to do just that, and to help everyone else put their faith in those people.

OPEN

Kael Vayra | Malcolm Ironmaster | Ayumi Pallopides | Ulysses Renoux | Lily Decoria | Oriana Indupar | Persephone Dashiell | Kiran Arlos | Aiden Porte | Aurelian Veruna | Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Guinevere Cavello]

​

Wearing: x

​

Guinevere had spent weeks preparing for this night, weeks of careful correspondence, endless consultations, and measured diplomacy alongside Duchess Indupar to ensure the charity gala would succeed. Funds would be raised for Tapani refugees, names would be reassured, and powerful guests would leave feeling benevolent and seen. On paper, it was everything a princess of Avalon was meant to do.

None of it had prepared her for the indignity of the day itself.

Camelot, her family's Naboo lake house, had been transformed into a staging ground. Servants moved around her in efficient, merciless orbits, tugging and pinning and smoothing until she felt less like a woman and more like an offering. Every hair was fixed into place with agonizing precision. The dress,silk and structure and subtle grandeur, had been selected without her input, chosen by committee as if her body were simply another decorative element to be arranged.

She caught her reflection once and looked away just as quickly. She did not recognize the woman staring back.

There was no point to perfection, not really. Not when it was demanded rather than chosen.

Her fiancé certainly saw no beauty in it. Lancel Atria had looked at her earlier with open contempt, his words sharp and venomous, each glance another reminder that whatever this engagement had once pretended to be, it had long since rotted. They had come to a quiet, dangerous agreement: the betrothal would not survive. Somehow, some way, they would ruin it, together, if necessary.

But plans required time. And Lancel had been called away before they could decide on the method. At least, Guinevere told herself as she stepped into the transport, she would not have to endure him tonight.

The gala was already alive when she arrived, light spilling across polished stone, music drifting through the air like a practiced sigh. Laughter rang too loudly, glasses chimed too often. Faces turned as she entered, admiration blooming on cue. Princess of Avalon. Future duchess. Symbol, spectacle, success.

Guinevere smiled because it was expected of her, then slipped away from the crowd at the first opportunity.

She had work to do. The duchess would be here somewhere, and Guinevere intended to find her and congratulate her for all the hard work.

Threading through silk and ceremony, she searched and her mint green eyes fell the one person who might see her as something other than a figure in a dress. She was displeased to see Elian Abrantes had already made his way to the bar, but oddly her displeasure was surface level. It was so like him to be starting trouble early. She wanted to go see him but her eyes fell upon Oriana Indupar first, looking beautiful in flowing gold. Business first, then pleasure.

"Duchess Indupar. It's so lovely to see you. You should be proud. This event turned out well."

Tags​

 

[Melanie Sato]

OBJECTIVE: II
TAGS: Ayumi Pallopides | Open
Wearing: X

The ballroom was beautiful - and an utter waste of credits.
​

Even for purposes of diplomacy, there were smaller and better buildings to arrange for formal meetings or ceremonies. Melanie supposed such glitz and glamor was to be accepted of the nobles of Naboo, whose centuries-old houses were constantly seeking to one-up each other for no other reason than to preserve their fragile egos. Some of them undoubtedly walked amongst the crowd now, seeking the attention of everyone and anyone.

As for Melanie, her focus was firmly fixed on making it over to her boss, Senator Ayumi Pallopides. Her stunning figure popped in and out of sight as the crowd shifted, Melanie’s small frame doing little to help her weave her way towards her boss. She was pushed and jostled around, nearly being knocked to the ground as the crowd rushed to see Chancellor Vexx for themselves. If Melanie had chosen less practical clothing for today, perhaps she already would have tripped over and humiliatingly fallen to the ground. Yet she would overcome this challenge, just as she had all the others she had faced in her twenty-nine years of life.

After all, if Melanie could not even survive being short, she had no chance of one day rising to become a Senator herself.

At last, the crowd cleared and she found herself a few meters in front of her boss. As always, Senator Pallopides looked effortlessly gorgeous, dressed in finery that fitted her seamlessly in ways Melanie could only dream of. Noticing that Ayumi's gaze had shifted towards her, Melanie addressed her boss.

“Senator Pallopides.” began Melanie. “You look gorgeous, as always."

“All of our most urgent tasks have been filed and can be postponed a day or two.” continued Melanie. “The education bill is just about finalized in its current form. All we can do now is win votes. Even if it takes some wine to butter the other Senators up.”

​

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Location: Ballroom
Tags: Ulysses Renoux | Sibylla Abrantes

Aurelian returned from the bar with two crystal flutes balanced easily in one hand, the pale gold liquid catching the chandelier light as he moved. One for him, one for Sibylla. He hoped she would forgive the delay. Grand nights like this had a way of stretching time, especially when you were born to the place and everyone assumed you were available to them.

This had turned into quite an evening. Naboo did elegance like breathing, and for once, he did not have to manage it. Republic banners, Republic guests, Republic anxieties. None of it was technically his problem. He could let the planet shine on its own and simply exist inside the glow. It was a rare luxury, and he was enjoying it more than he probably should.

He weaved back through the crowd, exchanging smiles, nods, a few murmured remarks that meant nothing and everything. He had left his second-in-command mid-conversation, promising drinks and disappearing the moment a server passed. Aurelian's attention span had always been selective. Tonight, it shifted again.

An older man stood near the edge of the ballroom, posture relaxed, gaze active. Not lost, not impressed. Assessing. He moved like someone accustomed to rooms rearranging themselves around his presence, or someone deciding whether they should. Aurelian did not recognize him, which was interesting in itself. He prided himself on knowing faces that mattered, or at least faces that wanted to.

So that's one of them, he thought. Or someone trying very hard to be.

Aurelian adjusted his grip on the glasses and angled his path casually, as if coincidence were doing the work. He slowed near the man, offering an easy smile that had disarmed senators and started wars in equal measure. Nobility was in his blood. Mischief was a choice.

"Beautiful night," Aurelian said, voice light, conversational. "Hard to tell whether we're celebrating or daring the galaxy to pay attention."

He glanced briefly toward the floor, the clustered conversations, the careful proximity of power and grief. Then back to the man. Curious now. Engaged.

"How are you getting along tonight?"

Somewhere behind him, he half-expected Sibylla to appear, arms crossed, unimpressed by his timing. He hoped she would. It would mean the night was still behaving normally.

​