Populate Where the Light Gathers | THR Populate of Siskeen

[Ayumi Pallopides]

Dominique Vexx Melanie Sato

The grand ballroom was being filled with people as she looked around herself at all of them. PLenty of faces she really didn't know which only meant she needed to meet people maybe... or a serving girl... or lure Dominique away. She didn't really make a plan for this as the new chancellor appeared and looked good.. then she spoke and it was nice. She was for the unity and the celebration and listening... and she was heading over to the table as she got a few berries. The sight of Melanie was welcoming as she spoke when the chief of staff came closer. "You do as well, if I hadn't been looking aat those two serving girls I might mistake you for an available dance partner."

She said it and it was a joke in humor while she was walking and listening about what had been done. "And always so dutiful even here where we are trying to raise funds. Take a moment and breathe, enjoy the party even if you don't want to." She shrugged as she said it and was used to it more then enjoying it. SHe made the usual donations not from Denon but from her personal accounts more then anything and didn't sign it. "Plus, this one is more clean but it is just like any other. One or two might care about the people from Tapani, most will say the situation is bad and all will agree the threat is real. That is why we opened up Denons stations and facilities. We can take in a large portion for it and we'll gain much."

She said it and was moving as she went to go and try to see Dominique for a moment if only to congratulate and thank her in person. The chance for this was well... a lot better then she would have expected and there was even more coming as some projects were finished and operating now.

 

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

Kinley Pryse will pay you for your misery or she'll sell you someone's pain​

Wearing: x

The Royal Palace of Naboo rose out of the evening mist like a dream that had learned how to judge you.

Kinley Pryse took it in from the bottom of the marble steps, hands shoved into the pockets of a jean jacket that had seen more dust than polish in its lifetime. Chandeliers glowed through tall arched windows. Music drifted out, something delicate and expensive, the kind of sound that assumed everyone listening had nothing to fear.

She snorted softly and started up the stairs anyway.

It might have been the stupidest stunt she'd pulled in a long while. There was still a bounty on her head, active, last she'd checked. A decent one, too. The kind that made people squint at your face just a second longer than polite, then smile like they'd already spent the credits.

But the guards at the entrance barely blinked.

Formal gowns swept past her in silks and satins, tailored uniforms gleamed, jewels caught the light. And then there was Kinley Pryse, cowboy boots clicking against palace stone, scuffed toes unapologetic beneath the hem of a wildly too casual dress. She hadn't bothered pretending tonight. No disguise, no false name. If anyone was looking hard enough to recognize her, well, she'd deal with that when it happened.

Inside, the gala unfurled in a riot of elegance. Crystal glasses chimed. Laughter floated too easily. The open bar glimmered like a personal challenge, bottles lined up in a way that whispered one drink won't hurt.

An open bar was an invitation Kinley usually accepted without hesitation.

She paused just long enough to clock the exits, the security rotations, the way conversations clustered and broke apart like tides. Her fingers brushed the edge of a hidden comm at her hip. Somewhere in this palace was the reason she'd come, buried beneath charity speeches and polite smiles, hidden behind the assumption that no one dangerous would dare walk through these doors.

They were wrong about that.

Kinley Pryse straightened, lifted her chin, and stepped fully into the light of the gala, boots echoing softly against marble. Let them sip their drinks. Let them talk about donations and virtue.

She had business here tonight.

And it wasn't the kind you toasted to.

Open to Interact​

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Taera 'Calypso']

Objective I - Strength on Display
Indirect: Cassian Abrantes | Open

Naboo breathed history. All of its grandeur came from lasting centuries, legacies that survived. Beautiful and elegant because Naboo’s noble battlefields were in ballrooms and with words. Epica had a long way to go to reach this level of sophistication.

Calypso moved through the crowd, the light of chandeliers glittering off of her black dress and golden skin alike. The front was modest, tasteful with a high collar that fit her svelte frame. The back however, well . . . It had been some time since the funeral and it still left some things to the imagination. Even if it gave ideas for such imaginings. Her bronze and copper hair had been plaited and twisted into a classy updo for the occasion.

Lancel’s pretty rose of a future bride was here somewhere. Partially responsible for the planning, if he had told Calypso truly. Her eyes wandered over decorations, food, and the arrangement of things appraisingly. Depending on how much her ‘partial responsibility’ covered, the girl had promise. Calypso could almost forgive her late husband’s final mistake.

Almost.

The Chancellor gave a pretty little speech about solidarity, unity, and standing fast against the darkness. Fairly new as she was to the noble circles of the High Republic, it brought a brief upward tick of her eyebrows. She wondered how much of it was flowery language meant to appeal to the ears and deep wallets of the audience, and how much of it was actually believed.

She had seen Lord Obaith near the open bar, conversing with an aide of some kind. Jedi politely mingled on the fringes of the finery, although one had seen fit to gorge himself. Somewhere, the King and Voice of Naboo themselves floated around. The guest list was impressive, she had to admit.

But her interest was in the military display.

Calypso made her way steadily to the eastern terrace. Among the gardens and landing pads, the new clone army of the High Republic stood in parade formation. Machines of war sat alongside them. This would be the major force that would be defending Epica, should the Sith Order ever tire of sharing borders. Calypso took a flute of champagne from a server’s tray and sipped at it delicately. The Ten Families had their own armies and paramilitaries but gods knew they’d never get their act together to unite in the face of a greater threat.

Too many egos, too much ambition.

The Atria Family’s own paramilitary, the Aurodium Guard, were professionals but small. They would be deployed in conjunction with the Army of the High Republic should defense of Epica be required. Her mind turned back to the time when she had been soldier, sergeant to an arrogant lordling lieutenant. She’d need to push for some stringent standards if the Aurodium Guard was to not embarrass itself.

An officer of the High Republic stood nearby, dutifully answering questions asked by nobles that rarely asked the intelligent questions. Calypso kept her ears open, listening to answers given, even as she kept her eyes on the army before her.

She’d have to call a Family Meeting when she returned to Epica.

 

[Isla Reingard]

She was halfway through a thought that was not hers when a high pitched baby voice cut through the noise.

"Trust me. There will be plenty of time for dances soon."

Her friends giggled and kept walking, already leaning into the attention like it was the point of the evening. Isla stopped dead. Her face twisted before she could stop it. Disgust, sharp and unfiltered. She watched them drift away, perfume and laughter trailing behind, and then looked back toward the bar.

He had already turned around.

Young. Too young. Sitting at the marble counter like it was a dock and he was tying himself there. Empty glass pushed forward. Fingers lifted for another drink. Relaxed posture, practiced charm, and underneath it all, a tightness he was trying very hard not to feel.

Isla frowned.

Where were his parents? Where was anyone who was supposed to notice this? His sister? Brother? She took a breath, steadying herself, and stepped closer. The closer she got, the louder his emotions became, muffled but insistent. Avoidance. Restlessness. A low hum of something that felt like running in place.

She stopped just behind him, looking over his shoulder at the bartender's hands as they moved. Bottles clinked. Ice cracked. It all felt wrong to her, like watching a child put on an adult's coat and insist it fit.

"This hardly seems appropriate," she added, folding her arms, amber eyes fixed on the side of his face.

Inside, her thoughts tangled. He's younger than me. He's trying too hard. He's hurting and pretending he isn't. The Force brushed against her awareness with a quiet nudge, not a vision, just a knowing. This was not where he was supposed to be tonight.

She waited for him to look at her, already bracing herself. People never liked being called out. But she could not unsee it. The bar. The drink. The way he was sinking instead of standing.

Isla stayed where she was, stubborn as stone, letting the music play on around them.

Elian Abrantes​

 

[Jax Thio]

Location: Grand Naboo Ballroom
Equipment: Formal Outfit, Jax's Prosthetic Arm, Jax's Third Lightsaber, Marriage Ring to Jairdain
Tag: Jairdain Ismet-Thio


Objective II: The Grand Ballroom


Jax remained close at the bar his hand wrapping around a bottle of Red Wine snagging it from the bartender. "Excuse me sir," the bartender mentioned. "You'll need to pour that in a glass."

All Jax did was slip a credit chit worth 500 in front of him. "The way this is going," he said observing the dancers on the ball room. "I'm going to need every drop. Let me have this mac." With a wave of his hand, the cork popped out from the bottle. Jax summoned the Force once again and the cork stopped midair and floated towards the table.

"I'm not used to all this fancy stuff," Jax mumbled taking a swig of Red Wine. "Even after all these years living amongst the rich and powerful."

He didn't know how Jair did it rubbing elbows with these nobles personally Jax couldn't stand them. But Jax wasn't there for them, he was here for Jair for it will be his final night before has to head out to Lothal tomorrow. There was a battle that was about to take place between the Imperials and the Syndicate. Jax needed to make sure the citizens who had endured years of hardship due to the Imperials brutal occupation are safe.

"Where are ya Jair?" Jax said taking another chug from the bottle. "Feeling a little awkward here."

 

[Fallon Draellix-Kobitana]

Location: Naboo gala
Objective: OBJECTIVE 3
Loadout: here
Tags: Cynan Obaith

Wearing this

Fallon crossed the dance floor in her perfect white dress that hugged her body closely, she loved this dress but hardly ever found an event to wear it too. The cutout panels around her middle exposed her toned stomach and pale skin and the line of her dress went smoothly off of her hip and down her leg without interruption or bothersome contours. Her drink on the other hand was a multicoloured thing that the barman had made for her to "suprise her" it was nice, it reminded her of the beaches on scariff.

She was glad she had got to the planet the day before, enough for her travel sickness meds to wear off before she added alcohol on top, she would hate to be out of sorts for the charity work she loved so much.

Her breath caught.

It was him.

The achingly beautiful and wonderfully philanthropic man she had met on Geonosis. And he appeared unaccompanied. She had enjoyed their interaction, but so much professional boundary had left her little time to feel like she had socialised properly with her new ally.

She took a breath and walked over to him. "Cynan Obaith. It is a pleasure once again. I had hoped to see you here." she offered him her hand to let him greet her appropriately. "You are the most handsome in the room as always." she glanced around "And its a much more competitive crowd that geonosis" she laughed.

 

[Aileni Ifor Xeraic]

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

"Mother, please. Stop fussing over me..." Aileni groaned as Dreidi continued to adjust and tightened the bowtie around his throat. It was tight and everything felt like it was choking him. He had no clue why people wore outfits like this.

"Aileni Ifor Xeraic, for the umpteenth time I have told you not to call me mother! Now stop squirming! You want to look good for your date, do you not?" Dreidi teased with a smirk on her lips and Aileni could only look away from to avoid blushing.

He coughed and sighed heavily, "not...not a date... I'm just... Just hanging out with a friend at this gala..." He brushed his hand against Grisial as he tried not to think about the teasing from his mother all too much. "Can I go now please, mum? I... I don't want to be late."

Dreidi sighed and nodded her head, taking in one last look of him, clearly she was not ready to see him all dressed fancy and heading out to social events like this one. Aileni was just glad that she didn't try to cut his hair or change it. After a final hug, Aileni was released from Dreidi's clutches and felt a sigh of relief to be able to attend the event without his mother hovering over him. His fingers reaching up and attempting to create some airway between his throat and the restrictive collar.

Why was it so tight!?

Arriving at the gala, Aileni looked around outside to see where Pari might be. He was curious what events like this would entail, there were no galas or grand ballrooms back on Dathomir so Aileni had very limited experiences with how things like this went. All he knew was that they were great for spies from what he had read and they involved dancing. Aileni had spent weeks learning some simple dance steps so he didn't trip or stumble around his feet. It was similar to fighting katas but also not?

The young Dathomiri teen felt very out of his element seeing all the suits and dresses, and elegance on display. Aileni really hoped to not make himself look a fool in front of Pari, or at least not make her look a fool for allowing him to be her friend.

 

[Cynan Obaith]

Objective: 3
Outfit: Suit
Tags: Fallon Draellix-Kobitana

Holding what appeared to others as a glass of red wine but was in fact an all too healthy and tart cranberry juice, Cynan listened intently to the rousing speech that their new chancellor Dominique Vexx gave to the crowded ballroom. He was intrigued to see how the political game would be played with her overseeing it all. He doubted anyone from Denon would be caught by surprise of any dangerous or illegal behaviours by senators or others within the High Republic. It gave him thought about what he should try and sort out if he ever desired to pursue the senator lifestyle, for now that was not going to be possible. Naboo already had a great senator and ruler, he felt assured that things within the capital were going to be in safe hands. It was elsewhere that he might desire to relocate and represent if he found the opportunity too tempting.

While deep in his own thoughts, Cynan heard a familiar soft voice calling out to him. A smirk danced once again on his lips as he turned around and spotted the delightful pink hair of Fallon. His eyes lingered long enough on her dress that Fallon would notice that he definitely was appreciating the way it hugged her figure and the confidence she held while wearing such a dress. It was something that he was allowing Fallon to notice, he wanted her to see that he could not help but admire her beauty once again.

He was thankful to have the chance to see her so soon after their all too brief interaction on Geonosis.

"Well, hello again Miss Draellix-Kobitana." He gave a respectable bow to her, taking her unoccupied hand and placing a soft kiss on the back of it. "Your words are far too kind, but most appreciated." He gave her a playful wink before taking a sip of his drink.

"I do believe you are a stand out as well tonight, the way you wear that dress, it certainly blows the competition out of the water. If I may be so bold." He grinned as he took a step closer to her, "surprised to see you attending an event like this, I would have assumed you find galas a droll affair." Cynan gave a soft laugh as he spoke.

 

[Malcolm Ironmaster]

Objective 2 - The Grand Ballroom
Tags: Open

Malcolm continued to people-watch from the edge of the ballroom, claiming a flute of shimmerwine from a passing server in an attempt to feel less awkward. Despite his Chandrilan upbringing, he never quite got used to high society social gatherings.

 

[Davik Haize]

OBJ III.
Casaana

Where am I?
Unintelligible voices filled his mind from a hundred conversations going all at once around him like white noise. An open bar full with all sorts of refreshments lay before him under a colonnade. Silken banners bearing royal Naboo sigils hung proudly over the row of evenly spaced marble columns. Men and women, donned in garbs that could buy a planet, shuffled about with drinks in their hands.

What did he do?
His ears began to ring. Scrambled images flashed across his mindeye: a severed hand with a red lightsaber falling on the ground. Warm blood splattering across his face. Terrified voices screaming. People in Tapani attire fleeing from something. A throat crushed in his hand. Hyperspace coordinates punched in a navcomp. Naboo.

Davik braced himself on the bar, spilling Corellian on the table. What did you do? His mind was gunning an engine with no tibanna. Marooned in the dark space of his psyche, reaching for memories as distant as stars.

Find your center, came the whisper of his dead mentor from the fringes of his stranded mind. He looked around him and saw a teenage girl working on a disassembled droid on a nearby table. She struck out like a Star Destroyer in a Mantellian scrapyard. Just like him.

Davik trudged over to her. “Data line’s gonna get punched when the leg locks.” Who the hell puts a scomp link in a leg? Whoa, easy there, cowboy. Don’t take it out on the kid.​

 

[Kael Vayra]

​

Objective II
Tags: Persephone Dashiell

Kael had just nodded his way through yet another conversation, offering the practiced smile of someone who understood exactly none of what had been said, when the noble finally drifted away. Kael exhaled in relief, shoulders relaxing as the tension left him. He turned his attention back to the real highlight of the evening and plucked another shrimp from the growing pile on his plate.

As he wandered aimlessly along the edge of the crowd, his thoughts blissfully empty and his focus entirely on the food, he nearly collided with someone stepping into his path.

“Starting a shrimp farm?”

Kael blinked, then laughed, the sound warm and easy. He lifted his plate slightly and gave it a playful wiggle before taking an exaggerated bite, chewing with theatrical seriousness.

“What kind of farm grows shrimp?” he asked through a chuckle, clearly pleased with himself. “And besides, I’d be terrible at it. I’d eat the whole farm before it ever turned a profit.”

It was not an exaggeration. Kael could eat. A lot. Endless training, constant movement, and long days spent running drills or missions meant he was perpetually hungry. His metabolism burned quickly and meals tended to disappear faster than anyone expected. The towering mound of shrimp on his plate was simply practical planning.

Their conversation was cut short by a subtle shift in the room. A ripple of attention moved through the crowd, followed by the hush that always preceded importance. Kael followed the line of sight and stretched up onto the balls of his feet, craning his neck to catch a glimpse as the Chancellor made her grand entrance.

“Man,” he murmured, eyes wide. “I can’t imagine talking in front of all these people.”

He glanced back at the woman beside him, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “When I was at the academy, I had to give a presentation on proper use of force. Nearly fainted.”

The irony was not lost on him. He could face blaster fire, charging beasts, or a hostile duelist without hesitation. Put him in front of a crowd with a speech and his stomach twisted itself into knots.

As the Chancellor began to speak, Kael listened with half an ear, still distracted by the spectacle. Then came the word shrimp. Followed by a remark about having it on good authority.

Kael froze.

Slowly, he became aware of eyes turning toward him. Smiles. Quiet laughter. The woman beside him glanced down at his plate and then back up, amusement clear on her face.

Embarrassment flooded his cheeks. He awkwardly tried to shift the plate behind his back, as if hiding several pounds of shrimp were somehow possible.

Too late.

“Great,” Kael muttered under his breath. “Now I’m the shrimp guy.”

He lowered his head in mock defeat, shoulders slumping dramatically. After a moment, an idea sparked. He straightened and held the plate out toward the woman, offering it with a hopeful grin.

“Here,” he said. “Eat some. Make it look like I got the shrimp for both of us.”

 

[Fallon Draellix-Kobitana]

Location: Naboo gala
Objective: OBJECTIVE 3
Loadout: here
Tags: Cynan Obaith

Wearing this

"You may be as bold as you wish if you keep flattering me like that." she grinned as the removed her arm from his grip and discretely rubbed it where his kiss had caused the hairs on her arm to stand up.

"surprised to see you attending an event like this, I would have assumed you find galas a droll affair."

She raised her eyebrows and gave a little casual shrug. "You say that, but mum was a senator and literally met my other mum at one of these things. What we do costs a lot of money... and.. guess.. who.. has.. money." she flipped her head back and forth to punctutate each word, looking playfully at the gathered dignitaries she was expected to network with given the chance. He was a little right though, the events could be exceptionally dull at times, the same people making the same fake compliments to each other, drinking the same drinks and eating the same food.

"I would suggest that the drollness, is that a word? Is inversely proportional to the quality of the company you choose to mingle with."

She flipped around and came in close to him with her hip touching his. She raised her glass to point.

"Now... the woman over there is very pleasant, very generous, but talks far too much about property prices on Coruscant for my tastes.

Hmm... him... the man with the tattoos, he looks like he's got a story, and you'd be damn certain he is going to tell you. No, I cant imagine inviting him to check the lines of my dress with his hand." subtle hint there Fallon, very subtle.

 

[Colette]

This wasn't a guard job, but that didn't mean Colette would treat it in any other kind of way. Her eyes scanned over the crowds to take in each face that she could and put it on the backburner in case she needed it later.

Most people here were unknowns to Colette, but there were a few of the usual suspects around. Lily's presence made sense, she liked balls. Shan was with her too which was a pleasant surprise. Elsewhere, Lira shone like a diamond under a desk lamp which meant that Aiden was around.

There was absolutely no need for Colette to delve this deep into some sort of unofficial guard duty, but part of her felt compelled. Fate had a way of intertwining in places like this. A slip-up here, a follow on over there, and suddenly someone was in danger.

The chancellor arrived almost on cue and held a speech. Too grand, too plastered with sweet words for Colette's taste. Even if she'd tried to, there was no hiding the fact that the chancellor wasn't speaking to every citizen of the Republic at this moment as much as the chosen few who had the privilege to be in attendance. So while others clapped, Colette did not. Call it skepticism but more often than not politicians were as much a cure for the cancer as they were the very symptom of it, but that was a debate for some other time.

The knight positioned herself on a ledge above the dance floor. The dancers' colorful and ornate clothes were a sharp contrast to the Jedi's well-worn navy-black jumpsuit. To say that she was underdressed felt like an understatement. At least if someone was judging by the looks that fell upon her. But Colette could hardly care less. These were the creme-de-la-creme, the big cheddar cheeses, the dons of the deal.

Big people with big titles to hide bigger egos behind.

But then who was this simple tribal to say what was and wasn't okay in a galaxy she hardly even understood? These were all folks that coped with the burden of existence in their own way. Some by deluding themselves into importance, and others who simply wanted a good time. To that end perhaps Colette should have gone to the open bar instead, but oh well. She was here now. The music was kind of okay and much like the chancellor had pointed out the shrimp were actually really good.

Someone interesting was bound to be around as the evening progressed. Eventually.

… Hopefully.

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Objective II - The Grand Ballroom

After endless days of work and worry, and the difficult transition from Queen back to Voice once more, the inauguration gala offered Sibylla a moment to finally breathe. Of course, tomorrow would bring another full slate of meetings and concerns from Great Houses and commoners alike across Naboo. Tonight, at least, allowed for a measure of relaxation.

And a drink or two, Sibylla told herself she was looking forward to her upcoming vacation. A full week away would be splendid.

At least, that was the thought she clung to as Aurelian Veruna left her yet again, deftly slipping away to chat with the Gungan Ambassador because he had no desire to. He vanished with practiced ease -- a few charming words, a handshake mid turn, a murmur of collecting drinks, and he was gone.

Leaving Sibylla to discussions of waterways and cultural exchanges.

So there she stood in her Voice regalia, off white vine silk threaded with blue and gold embroidery that caught the light when she moved. The gown hugged her curves without apology, elegant rather than ostentatious. A delicate gold filigree necklace and matching earrings accented her throat and ears, while her thick hair, braided back with care, fell into soft dark chestnut waves down her back. Sooty black kohl framed her hazel eyes, a light touch of blush and rosy lipstick completing the look.

She was lovely.

Lord Remi Cavill joined the conversation with a compliment upon Aurelian's departure. Convient one might say, for the look in the heir to House Cavill's eyes suggested his interest extended well beyond her role as Voice of Naboo. New Centrif's natural resources made his House valuable, and ambition followed close behind. His request for a private meeting had already crossed her father's desk.

Sibylla was quite certain she understood the intent.

"Lord Cavill, you flatter me," she replied warmly, her tone pleasant but measured. "Though I suspect Naboo itself deserves the compliment. We merely live up to her expectations."

Best to keep this cordial, she thought, as the two Lords chuckled and raised their glasses. Beside them, the Gungan Ambassador Tai Mai Kinp stood with arms folded, clearly displeased by the interruption.

"Ambassador," Sibylla said smoothly, redirecting with ease, "You were telling us how pleased you were that the Otoh Sancture waterways will be highlighted in the upcoming cultural exchange. Your insight into Gungan preservation efforts would be invaluable."

Tai Mai Kinp blinked, then gave a soft huff as her irritation faded.

"Yes, yesa. That be important. Waters remember everything."

The lights dimmed as attention shifted toward the dais. A hush fell over the gala, and Sibylla turned with the room. When she saw Dominique Vexx standing there, her expression softened.

Pride bloomed quietly in her chest.

She knew the weight Dominique had accepted by stepping fully into the Chancellor's seat. Too many leaders shied away from such choices. This one had not.

As the inaugural speech unfolded, Sibylla listened intently. The Republic still searched for Kalantha, but it could not afford to stand still. She could only hope that whatever their former Queen was facing, that it would end soon with her rescue. When applause finally rose, Sibylla made a mental note to seek Dominique out once the crowd receded and offer her congratulations properly.

For now, her hazel eyes wandered, scanning the ballroom for one particular presence. Carefully styled dark curls. That maddeningly unbothered posture. The man who had, yet again, vanished to entertain precisely the people Aurelian had no desire to deal with.

He would pay for that.

Perhaps she should start charging him for every minute he abandoned her to diplomacy alone. No, she amended privately, that would only encourage him. He would turn it into a game, flash that infuriating smirk, and quip back, oh no, I have been so terrible, clearly I must be punished, just to see if she would rise to the bait.

She exhaled softly, amused despite herself.

"Where is he?" Sibylla murmured, excusing herself with one last round of pleasantries as she moved through the room. Of course, just as she caught sight of the man near Ulysses Renoux , Lord Cavill's call drew her attention, trapping her yet again.

"Your Excellency, forgive me, but I wanted to ask if I may have a moment of your time in private."

Oh no, Sibylla thought to herself, keeping her faint smile on her lips, but internally, giving a groan. It was there in his expression. The look of a suitor.

Blast it.

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Objective II - The Grand Ballroom
Tags: Sibylla Abrantes | Aurelian Veruna

Adelle moved through the crowds politely, gait effortlessly fluid. She hadn’t actually thought Aurelian would carry through on what he’d said at the Life Day festival on Ukatis. But a message to her HoloNet address had brought her here. The lab-created gems on her dress caught the light and sparkled as she made her way to the ballroom. She’d taken some time to style her hair but with it as short as it was, there wasn’t a whole lot she could do to make it as fancy as some of the noblility here.

Not without a wig.

Bodies and presences alike filled the space. Emotions swirled in eddies and currents, beacons of Light moved like the stars themselves had become fireflies. Adelle honed in on one presence, the one that wore charm like armor, that armed themselves with a blade of sass.

Someone that had seen her break.

He stood next to a nobleman she didn’t know (not that she’d know any of the nobility here, unless Corazona von Ascania somehow showed up), all poise and polish. Adelle turned her feet towards him but caught sight of Sibylla. Surrounded.

And her presence screamed indignation and a silent plea for help.

Corellia’s nine hells, Aurelian.

Adelle readjusted and moved to provide whatever support Sibylla needed. She might have to drag Aurelian onto the dance floor for abandoning Sib to whatever this conversation was.

“Excuse me,” she said, interrupting whatever was being said at the moment. “I need to steal the Voice away for a pressing matter.”

She hoped that would pass for diplomatic. But she also didn’t care. It’s not like she’d see these people again. And even less likely that they’d remember her.

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Objective: 3
Tags: Isla Reingard
Indirect: Guinevere Cavello

​

Elian turned at the sound of her voice, and recognition clicked into place with an almost reluctant amusement. It was her, the Jedi he had knocked flat once…maybe twice. The details were fuzzy on purpose. You did not talk about fight club.

His mouth curved as he glanced back at the fresh drink the bartender had set down, ice still cracking in the glass. Then he looked at her again, expression easy, tone lightly irreverent.

"What could be more appropriate?" he asked. "Since you seem to be the authority on… what was it… appropriate?"

A quiet chuckle slipped out of him as he rested his hand near the glass, not drinking yet, just enjoying the fact that she had noticed. He gestured to the seat next to him. "Please have a seat and tell me, and make it somewhat interesting."

 

[Ulysses Renoux]

H O U S E • R E N O U X​

Wearing: xxx
Tag: Aurelian Veruna

Aurelian’s approach did not go unnoticed.

Ulysses had marked him several moments earlier, not by rank or insignia, but by ease. The young man moved through the ballroom without resistance, as though the space expected him and made allowances accordingly. That alone suggested pedigree. The glasses in his hand were balanced with casual precision, and the smile he wore was practiced without being hollow. Ulysses regarded him the way one regarded a promising blade, not with suspicion, but with respect for potential.

He inclined his head slightly at the greeting, the gesture measured and sufficient.

“It is a beautiful night,” Ulysses replied, his tone smooth and unhurried. “And sometimes daring the galaxy to look is exactly the point.”

His eyes followed Aurelian’s brief glance across the room, not because he needed the cue, but because it confirmed an instinct. The evening had been constructed with an audience in mind. The Republic was inviting scrutiny rather than shrinking from it. Ulysses thought it bold. He also thought it necessary.

“I am adjusting,” he added after a moment, answering the second question without elaboration. “New stations take time to settle.”

As Aurelian lingered, Ulysses shifted his attention just enough to notice what the younger man had not yet acknowledged. A brunette ( Sibylla Abrantes ) stood several paces away, her gaze fixed with unmistakable interest, not on Ulysses, but on Aurelian. When another guest drew her into conversation, her eyes rolled with restrained irritation before she allowed herself to be led away.

The corner of Ulysses’s mouth lifted, just slightly.

“It seems you have competition tonight,” he said, voice low and lightly amused.

He raised his glass in a small, courteous acknowledgment, neither pressing the conversation nor dismissing it. Charm, he knew, was most effective when it did not overstay its welcome.

 

[Romin Renoux]

H O U S E • R E N O U X​

Wearing: xxx
Tag: Open

Romin Renoux occupied a quiet stretch of the bar where the light softened just enough to flatter without forgiving. He sat alone by choice, one arm resting against the polished surface, the other cradling a narrow glass of red wine whose origin he had confirmed before accepting it. He had learned that much, at least. Certain habits were worth cultivating even when the rest of protocol felt negotiable.

The wine was good, heavier than most of what circulated the room, and he took his time with it. Appearances mattered tonight, even if he treated them with a lighter hand than his father would have approved. Romin had inherited the same watchfulness, though he wore it differently. Where Ulysses measured rooms for leverage and consequence, Romin catalogued them for tells, for seams in presentation, for the small failures of taste that betrayed insecurity.

His gaze drifted across the ballroom without hurry. He noted who stood too rigidly in borrowed confidence, who mistook ornament for authority, and who had clearly been dressed by committees rather than conviction. There were rules here, and he knew most of them. He simply chose which to respect.

He rolled the stem of the glass between his fingers and allowed himself a brief indulgence of memory. Adelina Draco would have been at his shoulder by now, close enough to avoid notice, close enough to be heard. She would have murmured something sharp about an ill chosen color or an overworked insignia, and he would have nearly smiled into his wine before remembering himself. Trouble had always come easily with her, and he missed the simplicity of that.

For now, the bar offered distance. It allowed him to observe without committing, to exist within the evening without declaring his role in it. As heir apparent, expectations hovered whether he acknowledged them or not. Tonight, he let them wait. He took another measured sip of wine and continued to watch the room assemble itself, confident that sooner or later, someone would decide he should not be sitting alone for long.

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Objective-1
Tags: Taera 'Calypso' ​

It was not the gown or the champagne, not the way the terrace light caught the edge of jewelry. It was the way she watched the formation, as if she could weigh the army by posture alone. Lady Baroness Calypso stood a little apart from the loudest knots of nobles, composed in the way of someone who had learned that calm could be armor.

He did not know much about her, only the broad strokes that traveled quickly through Republic channels when tragedy struck a Great House. Recent loss. The kind that turned ceremonies into noise and made condolences feel like an intrusion.

Still, some things deserved to be said, even briefly.

Cassian excused himself from the generals beside him with a small nod and crossed the marble with measured steps, careful not to approach like a guard, careful not to startle. The clones remained in immaculate formation beyond the balustrade, their presence a steady backdrop to everything else.

"Milady Calypso, forgive the intrusion." he said when he was close enough to be heard without forcing her to turn. His voice was even, respectful, and kept deliberately low. "I wanted to offer my condolences. I know words do not mend anything, and I imagine this is the last thing you want dragged into tonight, but I would be remiss not to acknowledge it."

He let the silence after that remain hers to use or discard. Then, because the terrace existed for more than grief, he shifted the conversation toward what was in front of them, toward something practical, something safe.

"I am Cassian, of House Abrantes." he added, giving a slight incline of his head rather than anything theatrical. His gaze moved briefly to the lines of soldiers and the dormant machines of war, and the holotables pulsing with simulations. "What do you think of the display?"