Populate Where the Light Gathers | THR Populate of Siskeen

[Isla Reingard]

Isla stared at him for half a breath, unimpressed by the smile, the gesture, the performance. Of course he thought this was charming. Of course he did.

Fine.

She took the seat anyway, stiff-backed and stubborn. Sitting did not mean agreeing. Sitting meant supervision. Someone clearly needed it.

"For Force's sake," she said flatly, glancing at the glass like it might bite him. "You hardly look like you've finished puberty and you're already drinking your way through a political statement." Her mouth twisted. "At least try to pretend you're not making a fool of yourself."

She leaned forward and caught the bartender's eye. "Two waters." No room for argument. When they arrived, she slid one directly toward Elian, pushing it until it touched his hand.

Inside, her thoughts buzzed. He's defensive. He's fragile. He's hiding. This is going to be exhausting. She folded her arms again and finally looked at him properly. Too relaxed. Too young. Too much noise inside him for someone pretending this was fun.

"Aren't you educated on how to behave at noble events?" she asked, brows lifting. Then, softer but sharper, "Easy E?"

Elian Abrantes​

 

[Jairdain Ismet-Thio]

Jairdain found him by feel, the familiar pull of Jax's presence standing out amid the noise and layered emotions of the evening like a steady current beneath churning water. The ballroom and colonnade were alive with sound, shifting moods, and polished tension, but he was unmistakable to her, a fixed point she had learned by heart over years of shared danger and quieter mornings.

She approached along the edge of the colonnade, her pace unhurried and composed, guided by memory, instinct, and the gentle awareness the Force afforded her rather than any need to see where she was going. The soft fall of her formal wear had been deliberately chosen to be elegant without excess, fabric that moved with her rather than announcing her. The cut no longer hid what it once had. The gentle curve of her stomach was unmistakable now, no longer something that could be dismissed as posture or layering, but a quiet truth she was no longer inclined to disguise.

She stopped beside him, close enough that her presence settled against his like a calming hand at the center of his back, and reached out to rest her fingers briefly against his arm, a familiar point of contact that grounded them both.

"You are exactly where I expected you to be," she said lightly, her voice warm, carrying just enough amusement to soften the tension she could feel coiled in him. "Holding the bar hostage and terrifying the staff."

Her hand remained on his arm as she continued, tone calm and certain, unshaken by the spectacle around them. "You are not awkward. You are honest. This room just isn't built for that."

She paused then, listening, allowing the layered sounds of music, conversation, and distant laughter to wash around them, before adding more quietly, "I was with the Tapani delegation. They are tired. Not broken. There's a difference, and too few people here understand it."

Her thumb brushed once against his sleeve, a familiar, reassuring gesture that carried more meaning than the words themselves.

"I will miss you tomorrow," Jairdain said simply, without drama or accusation. "But I know why you are going. And so does this one." Her hand drifted to rest at her middle, protective and unconscious all at once, a small smile softening her voice. "You are not the only person you are protecting anymore."

She shifted slightly closer, lowering her voice so it belonged only to him amid the noise of the gala.

"And for the record," Jairdain murmured, "if you are going to scandalize the nobility, at least use a glass. Let them be offended properly."

Her fingers tightened briefly around his arm, affectionate and steady, anchoring him as surely as she ever had.

"I'm here now," she finished gently. "You don't have to endure Naboo alone tonight."

As she settled beside him, Jairdain became aware of a familiar presence nearby, one she recognized not by voice or movement alone, but by the particular steadiness of it. She angled her head slightly in his direction, a small smile touching her lips, quieter and more knowing than polite.

"Malcolm," she said, warmly, without surprise. "I should have known you'd find the vantage point where you can watch everything without being dragged into it."

There was no need to explain herself or fill the space. The acknowledgment carried the weight of shared experience, of missions completed and trust already tested.

"I'm glad you made it through the evening," she added lightly. "I suspect that counts as a minor victory on Naboo."

Her hand returned to Jax's arm after that, her attention resettling where it belonged, but the door remained open, as it always did between people who had already bled in the same direction once before.

Jax Thio Malcolm Ironmaster @open

 

[Emilia Locke]

//: TAGS OPEN //:

​

Wearing: [X]
Objective II

The velvet dusk of Naboo had begun to spill shadows across the hills as Emilia Locke stepped out from the speeder and onto the polished stone steps of Theed Palace. The air still held the warmth of late afternoon, fragrant with lake-spray and the gentle bloom of nightflowers drifting up from the lower terraces. Behind her, the estate lights flickered to life one by one, like stars summoned by ceremony.

She took her time ascending.

A single assistant hovered nearby, taking her coat with practiced ease before withdrawing. The garment had served its purpose a silken silver overlay that caught the last light like starlight clinging to fabric. Beneath it, Emilia wore a high-necked gown of deep navy, cut close to the frame with minimalist elegance, sleeveless and slit just high enough for stride, but not scandal.

Inside, the Grand Ballroom was already buzzing.

Civic leaders, noble families, representatives of the High Republic all gathered in little constellations beneath the vaulted crystal skylights. Music drifted like a memory from the far wall, the string ensemble half-shrouded in soft up lighting. Servers moved like currents between tides of conversation, each tray bearing flutes of fizzing Corellian blossomwine and miniature delicacies sourced from five worlds.

Emilia walked in unannounced.

Just a heartbeat before the room’s focus would shift before the ceremonial welcomes concluded, and the main address began. Perfect timing. Just late enough to be noticed, not late enough to be impolite.

She didn’t announce herself, and didn’t need to with the last name Locke it carried a certain prestige. Faces turned. A few whispers followed her steps like echoes. Locke. Not the cousin on every holobillboard, no but the one who managed her business with silent precision and unnerving reach.

Her eyes scanned the crowd once, precisely. Not searching. Measuring.

There was Dominique, poised, unmistakable even from behind. Already positioned where the attention would gather. Emilia didn’t interrupt she wouldn’t undermine a moment like that. Instead, she broke off from the main floor, moving toward the perimeter where low alcoves and art installations gave space for the observant and the powerful to linger without appearing aloof.

A glass found its way into her hand. A gentle nod was given to the server as they stepped away.

From there, she leaned against one of the marble balustrades that ringed the inner floor, half in shadow and watching. Her presence noted, acknowledged, but not imposing.

As Dominique’s voice rang out, smooth and deliberate, Emilia’s eyes remained sharp beneath the neutral exterior. Composed. Calculated. Theatrics honed with experience. The speech didn’t waver it was neither too indulgent nor too sharp. A glance toward the crowd showed the usual assortment of reactions earnest nods, careful applause, a few gauging expressions not unlike her own.

​

 

[Malcolm Ironmaster]

Objective 2: The Grand Ballroom
Tags: Jairdain Ismet-Thio , Jax Thio , Open

"For Light and Life, Jairdain," Malcolm replied with a smile he knew she'd feel through the Force. "For the record, it's just a bit of social anxiety. I'm hoping to get myself over it, but I'm not going to make the first move. That's still a little scary for me." He grinned. "That said, anyone here that you'd recommend I welcome or avoid an interaction with?"

 

[Alina Grayson]

Objective II

Alina entered the Grand Naboo Ballroom without ceremony. Her golden hair, was worn loose down her back, catching the chandelier light like pale fire threaded through silk. Her gown was elegant but restrained, ivory layered with subtle gold filigree at the seams, Naboo craftsmanship without excess. It was designed to move easily, to allow her to turn, to step, to leave if she needed to. There were no visible weapons, no armor plates, no sigils announcing rank or allegiance.

But the Force did not let her pass unnoticed.

She felt the room before it ever truly saw her.

The Grand Ballroom was a tapestry of controlled emotion: grief folded into etiquette, fear disguised as resolve, ambition masked by charity. The chandeliers scattered light across silks and uniforms alike, but the real currents moved beneath the surface quiet negotiations, unspoken evaluations, the careful weighing of who stood where and beside whom.

Alina paused just inside the threshold, allowing the space to settle around her rather than forcing herself into it.

Azure eyes traced the room slowly, deliberately. Senators leaned toward one another in murmured debate. Nobles pledged ships and credits with hands that had never known scarcity. The Force around her was quieter here than it had been on battlefields, but no less heavy.

Alina moved deeper into the ballroom, unhurried she accepted a glass of wine from a passing server but did not drink from it right away, the motion more social acknowledgment than indulgence. Her presence was calm, steady like a shoreline rather than a wave.

When Chancellor Vexx took the dais, Alina turned with the rest of the room, posture straightening not from obligation but respect. She listened intently as the speech unfolded unity, resolve, response. The words carried weight, sharpened by recent tragedy. Alina felt the truth of them ripple outward, some received eagerly, others skeptically, some desperately clutched like a lifeline.

TAG: Open

 

[Dominique Vexx]

Grand Naboo Ballroom
Theed, Naboo
Objective II
Evening

"Chancellor! Rousing speech. Especially in that attire," Governor Kiron acclaimed with a studious eyeful. "I don't believe I've seen you wear something so... regimented before." The smile was easy, but the look was meaningful.

Dominique gave a polite laugh in response. "Thank you, Governor. Our detractors at times believe us soft because we wear fashionable outfits made with artistic and culture meaning. So that our people retain the freedom to continue in that vein, I chose something that should reinforce that there are more than hollow sentiments behind what I had to say." Something reflecting a uniform or that a naval commander might wear. People knew her as the Director of Denon that did whatever was needed to make a deal. It was important people see something more as she stood before them as Chancellor. It was an Office loftier than any one person that held it. One of uncompromising vision and indomitable will.

Many factions the Republic had to contend with had a militant or authoritarian bend to them, so the outfit seemed appropriate. They all stood on equal footing. They could all prosper and co-exist together, or -- should they choose -- they could fight; but those that chose the latter would find the Republic not the soft, malleable prey they would grow fat from conquering.

"There are matters of the homefront to contend with, Chancellor. I hope that invitation would allow those worlds in dire need to receive due support," King Feros interjected before Kiron could go on in a poor attempt to woo or cow the Chancellor.

"Always, Majesty. The Republic does not command obedience; we earn participation by ensuring the whole benefits. Any world in need of my Office's support or investigation is welcome to reach out any time." Another reach she had so many assistants. So many worlds whose problems needed catalogued and prioritized. When you threw open the door, you shouldn't be unprepared when people walked through it.

With a polite excusal, Dominique slowly moved through the crowd. She reached out to take hands, to shake or to hold, with smiles or somber exchanges alike with those in attendance. Some people truly did need help, and they were eager to try and bring those needs to her attention now when so few barriers stood between them. A precisely worded letter was good, but physical contact and inescapable pleas were better.

A number of follow-up items were added to the databanks of Dominique's glareshades as she progressed through the ballroom. No one needed to worry she would forget them because of a lively celebration or a silver-tongued devil got in front of her.

Dominique turned her head and found Ayumi Pallopides drawing nearer. The Chancellor smiled and held out her hands toward the other woman. "Senator, I hope you've been enjoying your evening so far."

Under the circumstances, Dominique couldn't monopolize Ayumi's time, but she wouldn't eschew her company. She was even free to follow the Chancellor, but meeting and greeting countless people wasn't always an enjoyable activity; especially when there were so many other distractions nearby. And if no one approached Dominique, then she would simply end up approaching them.

OPEN​

 

[Ra'a'mah]

Ra'a'mah arrived without announcement, the way she preferred, present rather than proclaimed.

She emerged onto the marble promenade as the evening settled fully over Theed, her steps measured, unhurried, the soft echo of boots against stone nearly lost beneath drifting music and low conversation. Lantern-light caught in her copper-red hair as she moved, the glow turning it briefly to embers before it darkened again beneath the violet sky. Her attire was formal, Naboo in its restraint rather than excess: layered fabrics in deep, muted tones, elegant without ornament, chosen to belong without competing.

At her side walked Vulpesen, his presence a familiar constant, though Ra neither leaned nor deferred. They moved as two people accustomed to navigating rooms where meaning mattered more than spectacle.

Her amber gaze swept the terraces first, taking in the Strategic Command Exhibition with quiet appraisal. Not as a critic, and not as an admirer—but as someone accustomed to reading what strength was being communicated beneath the polish. Clone formations. Shield generators. Holotables projecting reassurance instead of threat. Discipline without cruelty. She noted where senators lingered longest, where refugees stood quietly absorbing every word, and which officers spoke with clarity rather than confidence alone.

Only then did she turn toward the palace proper.

The Grand Ballroom drew her attention next, light spilling through open archways like a held breath. She did not enter immediately. Instead, she paused at the threshold, observing the constellation-painted dome beyond, the mingling of mourning colors and finery, the careful choreography of unity being tested in real time. This was where promises would be made that could not be easily undone. Where intentions would be weighed by those who had already lost everything.

Ra'a'mah stepped inside at last, seamlessly becoming part of the room rather than its focus. Conversations adjusted around her presence, some quieting, others sharpening. A few glances followed—recognition without certainty, curiosity without invitation.

And somewhere beyond the arches, laughter rose from the western colonnade, carrying with it the unmistakable looseness of truth softened by drink. Ra did not look there yet. The night was layered, and she had learned long ago that timing mattered as much as position.


For now, she simply stood, present in the heart of the Republic's test: watching, listening, and letting the evening reveal what it would.

Vulpesen

 

[Ayumi Pallopides]

Dominique Vexx Melanie Sato Sibylla Abrantes

"Well it is much better now." SHe said it with a smile while she moved and stopped for a moment. Looking at Dominiques outfit with a nod of her head. "You look wonderful Chancellor and oh so official. Though now I can't exactly invite you to a beach in Upcity." She said it with a small lament while looking at Melanie when she moved a hand to bring her forward. "This is my chief of staff, a talented youth who is going to help secure a grand future for Denon." She said it as a compliment for Melanie and for Dominique, her support had made a lot more possible. "And the words you gave were wonderful for the people. It should loosen a few credit books for Tapani." She said it while looking at Dominique and around at the others. "Sadly though I don't think I will get to take all of your attention and time. Getting a dance might even be out of the question but I'd settle for a single lady or three chancellor." She said it but turned only for Melanie. "Oh don't fret, it is a party. Enjoy yourself that is an order as your boss... just maybe not to much we do want to just show Denon's beauty is comparable to Naboo.

 

[Aiden Porte]

Objective 2
Tags: Open
Indirect: Alina Grayson Dominique Vexx ​

Aiden kept Lira close as the Chancellor's party entered, the ballroom's attention turning like a tide. He felt Lira's awe before she even spoke it, her wonder bright in the Force, tugging at his focus.

He leaned down slightly, keeping his voice low so it stayed theirs. "That is the newly elected Chancellor," he murmured, his tone warm with quiet certainty.

Lira's eyes did not leave the woman on the platform. The chandeliers scattered light across Dominique Vexx's silhouette, turning her presence into something almost unreal. Lira's lips parted, and then she whispered, barely a breath, "She looks amazing."

Aiden's gaze drifted, just a flicker, across the crowd, and he caught sight of Alina among the others, her posture composed, her expression intent. For a second, his attention fell into place with a different rhythm entirely, a familiar steadiness that had nothing to do with politics or speeches.

Lira, of course, had no idea she had changed the subject for him without meaning to.

Aiden smiled, the corner of his mouth lifting, and he whispered back, "She really does," then gently pulled his eyes away from Alina and returned them to the Chancellor at the railing, where the speech rolled on in practiced cadence.

Dominique's voice carried, confident and bright-edged, and the room followed her wherever she led it, through humor, through grief, through resolve. Aiden watched the faces nearest the dais. He watched the ones farther back. He listened for what did not match the applause, for the places where the Force felt strangely quiet.

Then the speech ended.

Applause surged up like a wave finally allowed to crest, strong enough to rattle the air. Lira's shoulders bounced with a delighted giggle, and she leaned closer to him as if the noise itself was thrilling.

"She's really something," Lira said, eyes shining. "Have you met her before?"

Aiden nodded, a genuine smile softening the line of his face. "Yes," he answered, steady and sincere. "We've worked together a time or two. There is not a better person for this position."

Lira's grin turned mischievous, as if a brand-new idea had just found her. She leaned in close, giggling again. "What about you?"

Aiden let out a short laugh and shook his head, the thought clearly ridiculous to him. "Oh, no," he said, amused. "That is a job I do not want, because if I become Chancellor, then you are going to be Mini Chancellor."

He tipped his head toward her, eyes bright with teasing warmth. "And that," Aiden added, "Is the toughest job."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Objective III
Mercy | Arris Windrun | Open

​

Lavish, just as one might expect from Naboo, a place where nothing was ever done halfway.. at least when it came to grandeur. The kind of realm that could restore beauty even after the ravages of war, if it so desired. Presentation too, perhaps, or so his ears perceived, arriving as a speech echoed through the air. Personally, some words called back to an earlier chapter, one where his education traveled beyond the blade, and into subtler nuances. Admittedly, Lysander only caught only fragments, his mind drifting elsewhere, for a multitude of reasons.

One of them was old memories surfacing as the trio drew closer.. many arriving unbidden. Then the more recent images arrived. The last time they had ventured into Republic space together, Edic Bar went down in flames, a battle tearing the place apart. That confrontation had been neither accidental.. nor a source of regret. But tonight didn't feel anything like that. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

There was more at the periphery of the Sith's consciousness than just the elegance and history surrounding them. Coming back now carried far greater risks than ever before. Lysander was well aware of that. He wasn't so naive to believe the Republic simply forgot. Few ever did. Either way.. he had never shied away from a challenge.

If there was a prize to be taken from the evening, it would be information.

The nobles were unmistakable, some even mingling with refugees from the Covenant's new home. He moved through the throngs without seeming out of place. A small whisper of awareness would still shadow his thoughts, feeling the weight of eyes. Caution was not a weakness.

Draped in a black tunic, Lysander's attire was minimalist elegance. A long coat was worn open at the front, everything else dark just as expected, though the boots were at least polished.

Fingers swept to smooth the front of the ensemble before his attention slid to Mercy and Arris. The glance held only a second or so before his attention returned to the bar that was now before them. A bow of the head spoke first. "Bit of a trek," voiced calmly, nodding his chin toward the bottles, "for Tapani spirits, don't you think?"

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Tags: Ulysses Renoux | Sibylla Abrantes | Adelle Bastiel

Aurelian followed the man's glance without turning his head at first. Then he did, because of course he did, and there she was. Sibylla, radiant and patient and clearly being cornered by Lord Cavill, who looked like he'd dressed himself in a hurry and then decided confidence would carry the rest. Aurelian felt the familiar internal groan curl up his spine.

Oh come on. Does he ever get tired?

Cavill leaned in just enough to be irritating. The smile. The posture. The assumption that proximity equaled permission. Aurelian took a slow sip of his drink to keep himself from intervening on instinct alone. That man had no shame. A blond peacock with a House crest and half a brain, convinced that resources made him irresistible. Important enough for her, he probably thought.

What a twat.

If Cavill pressed, Aurelian already had a shortlist of solutions. A polite interruption. A sudden summons. A strategic redirection involving a senator who talked endlessly about tariffs. Worst case, Aurelian would simply insert himself and remind Cavill, gently and publicly, exactly where his ambitions ranked. He smiled at the thought.

Then Shiraya bless the chaos, Adelle appeared.

Aurelian watched her cut in with all the subtlety of a dropped glass. Sibylla's posture shifted instantly, relief flickering before she masked it. Cavill looked stunned, which was always satisfying. Aurelian exhaled, amused despite himself.

I really do keep her around for a reason.

He turned back to the man beside him, refocusing easily. "A new station?" Aurelian echoed, brows lifting with genuine interest. "On Naboo, perhaps? Or are we just borrowing you for the night before you cause trouble somewhere else?"

He shifted his grip on the glasses and smiled, sharper now. "Forgive me. I'm Aurelian. King of Naboo. Occupational hazard, announcing myself late."

He glanced around the ballroom, already cataloging faces. "If you're settling in, I can save you some time. Introductions here are half the battle."

Aurelian angled them a few steps toward a pair of women nearby, both dressed in flowing silks that favored motion over structure. Sisters, unmistakably. One laughed easily, the other observed with a painter's eye. He turned to briefly look if Sibylla was looking. Two could play at that game.

"Lirenne and Maela Voss," Aurelian said. "From Moenia. Artists, patrons, and dangerous conversationalists if you underestimate them. Free spirits, both of them..."

The sisters inclined their heads, curious but warm. Aurelian stepped back just enough to let the moment breathe.

"And I realize I've committed the worst possible sin tonight," he added, turning back to the man with an apologetic smile. "You have my name, my title, and my planet, but not yours. I promise that wasn't intentional."

He raised his glass slightly, waiting, attention fully returned.

​

 

[Dominique Vexx]

Grand Naboo Ballroom
Theed, Naboo
Objective II
Evening

Dominique smiled as Ayumi Pallopides seemed of good cheer. She usually was, but as she represented Denon now, Dominique was particularly mindful she and their home was doing well. "Perhaps when the sun rises. Naboo has some rather radiant beaches."

A nod was given to Melanie Sato . Another thing Ayumi was good at was surrounding herself with trustworthy people. Those able to help get her ideas implemented and avoid some of the social and political fallout from how they shook up the establishment.

"That is good to hear. The people of Tapani need our help," the Chancellor replied with a nod and a smile. They were the planet of the hour, but there would be others. It would be a balancing act to make certain not to put too much stress on the good will of others; but she hadn't overstated the need for them to band together to face the full force of an Empire. Fanatics had a strength of their own that could weather steel, but the people of the Republic could gird themselves for such trials.

"Keep watch, Senator, perhaps you'll get your wish if no one else in the crowd finds the courage to step forward." It wouldn't hurt to get at least one dance in this night. Diplomacy and business were instrumental, but so was interacting with people on a social level. It was an opportunity to dance in the Grand Ballroom of Naboo.

"I cannot disagree with Senator Pallopides," Dominique addressed Melanie once more with a smile. "We must take opportunities like this to remember why we fight -- what we fight for, and for whom we fight. Faces. Names. Places. Even a simple dance in a Ballroom can carry so much significance."

OPEN​

 

[Lorn Reingard]

Tags: Aiden Porte​

Lorn entered the ballroom. He kept one hand occupied with food, as usual. A small plate. A few bites taken already. It was easier that way. If he ate, he didn't have to talk. If he ate, he didn't have to think.

Except he always thought.

Somewhere, Bastila Sal-Soren was probably tucked into a shadowed corner with that sharp little smirk, silently judging him for eating like a starving scavenger. The thought irritated him more than it should have. Worse, it irritated him that he cared at all.

He scanned the room, half-expecting to spot Isla weaving through the crowd with friends, laughing like the galaxy hadn't tried to break them all. She wasn't in sight. Maybe that was for the best.

Lorn's gaze moved from faces to posture, from posture to presence. He recognized uniforms, titles, empty smiles. Nobody he actually knew. Nobody who would look at him and see anything except a Jedi Guardian shaped by war.

Then he saw Aiden. Aiden stood near the edge of the crowd, calm as a fixed point in a moving tide. Beside him was a tiny human in an absurdly formal dress, wide-eyed like she'd stepped into a dream.

Lorn felt his shoulders loosen. Just a fraction. He approached, careful not to startle the child, then offered Aiden a quiet smile. "I was starting to think I didn't know anyone here."

His eyes flicked down, softening. "How have you been?" Lorn asked. Then, with a small tilt of his head toward the girl, "And who might this be?"

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Objective 3
Tags: Isla Reingard
​

Elian's smirk deepened at the nickname, like it hit some private nerve he was not going to admit was sensitive. He rolled the water glass lightly beneath his fingertips, the condensation slick against his skin, then lifted his gaze to Isla with a look that was equal parts amused and unapologetic.

"Easy E," he echoed, letting it hang there a second. "Left an impression, didn't I?" His tone was teasing. "That's usually what happens."

He took another deliberate sip of water, as if to make a show of compliance, then set the glass down with a soft click. He then reached for the....other glass.

"And for the record," he added, leaning back on the stool like he owned the whole colonnade, "I'm very educated. I'm fully aware of how to behave at noble events." His eyes flicked toward the ballroom, toward the polished lights and carefully arranged smiles. "Right now, I'm simply hydrating my way through this one."

Elian's gaze returned to her, taking in the stiff posture, the steady stare, the Jedi certainty that made him want to poke it just to see if it wobbled.

"So," he said, the smirk sharpening just a little, "Who do I call you, then?" A beat, and the edge slipped into his words like a blade sliding home. "Besides the Jedi who thinks she knows what she's talking about."

 

[Phillip Slate]

Tags: Open
Objective: III
Outfit

Phillip sighed to himself as he leaned against a table, sipping at the somewhat fizzy drink. Public events like this wasn't quite his forte. He'd prefer a quiet night under the stars, taking in the view as opposed to whatever...this was meant to be. A small crease making its way onto his nose as he frowned in thought. Was this meant to be some grand show of reassurance to the Tapani people? in Phillip's eyes, it was a farce. You could hold as many celebrations as you could, but it was false hope in his eyes.

Of course, the actual reason was meant to be a celebration for the Chancellor, but Phillip did not quite care for the politics of the Galaxy. That was something other members of his family would be more concerned with than him. Every day, Phillip was discovering that he very much seemed to be a poor example for the Slate family. Artisans, skilled in whatever craft they could get their hands on, experts in some kind of field, whereas Phillip was...well, he didn't quite know how to describe himself.

He had seen various familiar faces around. Aiden was somewhere, but Phillip hadn't wanted to bother his master. That lad, Elian or something, who had been involved on that night of axethrowing was somewhere amongst the crowd. Phillip was pretty sure he had seen Isla near him. At that thought, he found himself getting another drink. He hadn't wanted to think much upon that day anymore than he had to.

"Credit for your thought Philly?"

That voice. The Padawan let out a long groan, running his hand down his face before turning around to face his cousin, trying his best not to let her glare get the better of him.

"Alia. What are you doing here? And where's Anthony? You two are normally joined at the hip."

Alia Slate smirked to herself, patting Phillip on the head condescendingly before turning her gaze across the room.

"My brother had a different event he had to go to. You know how it is for real artists...Oh wait, who am I talking to? Of course you don't. Either way, I'm here to quench my thirst, like it seems like you have. Is this a part of your little...Jedi training?"

She wagged her finger at the drink in Phillip's hand, keeping a smirk on her face. It was no surprise that most of the Slate family didn't look kindly upon Phillip's choice to join the Jedi. As if it was an act of him running away from his lack of talents. In response, Phillip just kept silent, gripping onto his glass tighter, staring off into the distance.

 

[Shan]

Objective 2
Tags: Lily Decoria
----------------------

Of course, there had been no hesitation on Shan's part to come to the ball with Lily. Whilst it was a well-known fact to basically...anyone who knew Shan that he didn't quite care for public appearances like this, he cared deeply for Lily. And so that was why he was here. Not for the Chancellor, not for the others here, but simply for Lily. If it hadn't been for the event, Shan would have been off doing some kind of relief work for refugees, or making sure there wasn't any medicine needed.

"Dancing might be the best. That way you can show off how spectacular your dress is."

Yet another thing that wasn't much in Shan's wheelhouse. He was no expert dancer. But he could do enough to get by, as long as he treated it as if it was some kind of training. He reached his arm out to link it with Lily's, as his gaze flickered amongst the room, trying to see how many familiar people, if any he could see here. The affairs of the Galaxy had been lost on him, considering his somewhat...hermit-like lifestyle he had, moving from planet to planet to see who needed his aid.

It seemed however that there weren't...many. To put it simply, there was one. Colette . It had been an age since he could last recall seeing her. Before he had put his role as a Jedi behind himself. It was perhaps a decision he knew she wouldn't care for. Shan saw himself as someone normal. Common like the others. He was a doctor first, Jedi second. With that being said, that didn't mean the sight of her didn't bring a grin to his face alongside a slight nod before he looked back over towards Lily.

"Sorry in advance, if I've suddenly grown a second left foot when it comes to dancing."

 

[Casaana]

Objective III
Tags: Davik Haize

Huh? What? Casaana looked up as a shadow fell over her table to see a dark haired man with brooding eyes who reeked of alcohol standing over her. She blinked slowly, once, then twice as she processed. Silently reaching into the box, she pulled out the circular multi-lensed body of the little seeker droid. "Body is already crammed full enough, and it mostly gets around on repulsors. So yeah, into the leg. It already mostly matched." Still, maybe she should put some braided conduit or something over the wiring when she ran it up the leg.

There was something about him that seemed deeply wrong, even without extending her Jedi senses towards him. Like he'd just run flat out for a mental mile and was trying to hide the panting. Stressed and trying to hide it. Also adding to the strangeness of the man was how he'd loomed up over her to give unprompted advice in that way of his. Not that she was worried about her own safety. Not on Naboo, not with the massive influx of soldiers on parade and off duty flooding the city, or the lightsaber on her belt.

 

[Arris Windrun]

OBJECTIVE 3
Lysander von Ascania | Mercy | OPEN
Synth Disguise

Arris didn't feel comfortable in her new skin. Just to fit the 'ganic mold took a lot of work. First, she had to strip the outer casing of her cybernetic arms and legs and cover them with more synthflesh. Her subdermal armor caused visible seams, meaning most of that was removed, too. Then, she went ahead and altered her hair. Black, loose, and wavy.

Vulnerable didn't begin to describe how she felt, but Arris Windrun looked very different. It was unlikely anyone could recognize her. Hell, she even changed her voice, too. A bit lighter... more civilian, she reckoned. The clothes she wore were hastily thrown together, quite literally, from what she found on the floor. Comfortable, convenient, and honestly? It looked nice. At least she thought so.

The incognito cyborg stepped behind Lysander and Mercy, only to emerge when they all paused to soak it in. It felt... gross... Arris had never further outside her element.

Of course, Lysander led them to a bar. Well, the Talusian wasn't one to pretend a stiff drink didn't solve at least some of her current problems.

"Bit of a trek," voiced calmly, nodding his chin toward the bottles, "for Tapani spirits, don't you think?"

"Maybe they took their best stuff with them," Arris replied. "Go ahead - pick my poison."

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Feridade Parthi //: OPEN //:
//: Attire //:
//: Objective 2: The Grand Ballroom //:

Balls and galas were always events that Quinn often looked forward to. There were moments in time where she was allowed to be a Princess, forget that she was a Sith, and live almost in a fantasy. Nowadays, these events often spelled out politics — webs to weave with others and see who she was allowed to catch. It took the magic out of them, as so frequently happened when growing up.

The magic of many things was lost.

In recent times, the heavy crown of Eshan rested upon the ashen halo of the Echani. Her first step into ruling was a gift from the Mandalorians when they absorbed Eshan into their cloud of influence. She hated how the entire situation still bothered her, but there was no going back. The door for her sister's rule had closed, and it was her turn. Quinn wondered if her mother would ever step in, given how Noelle's tenure had gone.
If she had, Spencer would never make anything evident, and Quinn would never ask.

A hand ran down the silks of her dress as she found herself on the arm of the Senator. The man had made his presence known, and their ideals for Eshan were aligned. A pleasant present from the Alliance, she thought quietly. At least she had an ally, one that agreed with the ideals of Eshan first.

Glancing from under the stray strands of blonde white hair, Quinn smiled.

"Senator," she started as they entered the grand ballroom. "How comfortable have you made yourself within the Republic?" She asked, her eyes scanning the room, seeing faces that she knew were enemies of hers.

They were enemies of the Sith, but today she needed to be the Warden and Queen of Eshan. The individuals here could be future allies. The thought made her wrinkle her nose slightly.

As a known Sith, Quinn regularly drew on her presence in the Force. She would appear neutral, extremely weak, and quiet in the Force. To one that didn't know, she would simply pass as a regular individual — one that sat outside of the ancient war between light and dark. It was a necessity, not just for her own well-being, but for those around her. The Phobis core, the instrument that was bound to her soul and life, resonated when she wasn't suppressing her Force aura. With it would come a feeling of dread and fear… two things that had no place at a party.

//: Mercy //: Arris Windrun //: Lysander von Ascania //:​

Quinn removed her arm from Parthi's as she once more adjusted her attire. She felt something in the back of her neck as she raised an eyebrow. Familiar threads of the Force pulled at her own presence; her eyes moved quickly searching for the sources. Over at the open bar, she picked apart the three who had decided to crash the party.

She sighed softly and pinched the bridge of her nose. Hopefully, they weren't as rambunctious as they tend to be.

Pulling her attention away, the Queen returned to scanning the room. There was a face, a Jedi in particular, whom she had wondered would make an appearance. She had missed the woman during her last visit to the Republic territory during the holidays, so she hoped to have a moment, even in passing, with Bastila Sal-Soren . She did her best not to look as if she was looking for someone and turned her attention back to Parthi.

"Is it any different than the Galactic Alliance?" Quinn smirked as she tilted her head slightly with curiosity.

 

[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 , Malcolm Ironmaster

"About time you showed up," Jax smiled embracing the soft and smooth touch of his wife. His heart went aflutter and he slowly shifted his gaze to Jair's warm yet pensive expression. "I was about to make an ass out of myself."

Jair would always anchor Jax whenever he felt overwhelmed by the wave of smugness that that Naboo nobility portrayed. It was almost as bad as Alderaan, but Jax had a lot of crazy adventures on the planet. It was to the point where it filled him with nostalgia. Naboo in comparison was boring and basic. Sometimes Jax wished he set up the rebel cell in the Unknown Regions. There was just something about living on the edge that excited Jax even as he got older, he just couldn't find himself sitting still.

"I'm glad you're here," Jax murmured his hand placed firmly on Jair's growing stomach. Though Jax liked to live for the moment, his family kept him in check. Soon they'll have another child which made Jax all determined to protect and provide for them.

"You know I used to fight not only for the Alliance but for myself," Jax said. "But even when I go to Lothal tomorrow, I'm reminded that I can't rush recklessly as I once did. I have you, Jayna Ismet-Thio and now our baby that is growing every day inside of you."

Jax knelt down kissing Jair's stomach. "I wonder how you're able to walk though." He asked. "When you were pregnant with Jayna, you were waddling like a Penguin. I felt tempted to feed ya some raw Fish!"

Just then a young man approached he and Jair. Jax's eyes grew wide as he got to his feet. "Apologies just grabbing something for my wife," he said hastily though that was an obvious lie. "Just go to the dance floor and ask around. Everyone is friendly tonight, it's not like they'll turn feral as soon as the moonlight shines on them."

The Jedi Master chuckled. "Or will they?" He joked.