Populate Where the Light Gathers | THR Populate of Siskeen

[Davik Haize]

OBJ. III
Casaana

She said, "Body is already crammed full enough, and it mostly gets around on repulsors” the way a grizzled salvage mechanic from the fringes does. “So yeah, into the leg. It already mostly matched." With that same certainty of a man who made boats fly with nothing short of junk and a prayer.

“I guess.” he said, looking at the droid parts coming together, and it came to him that his own little hovering droid was missing. A pang of distress ran up his spine. Where is Skip? Incoherent memories flashed through his mind again. Stop. Focus. Get your bearings together.

Davik looked at her, wondering whether he was seeing things again: a girl working on a droid in the middle of some noble, social gathering on Naboo. Nothing made sense. But even if he was, this might be his own imagination giving him the tools to piece together the wreckage that was his mind.

“Mind if I help?” he said, “Doesn’t look like either of us belongs to… whatever the hell this shindig is about.”​

 

[Persephone Dashiell]

OBJECTIVE II

Persephone opened her mouth to say that aquaponics farms did grow seafood but quickly shut it. Didn't seem worth it to try to correct this guy on the finer aspects of agriculture and food production. All he was focused on was eating said fruits of food production.

Taking a sip of her shimmerwine,she merely nodded instead, thinking that the safer option. This was an event for refugees after all, not for correcting Jedi.

Before she could change the subject the Chancellor arrived, giving an impromptu speech. Persephone idly wondered what the Chancellor would do about the Tapani issue.Burn the enemy out of a hole apparently. The teenager didn't pay attention before because she truly had no plans on living in the area before this. Hopefully this wouldn’t interrupt her plans.

Eyebrow raised slightly as the man mentioned nearly fainting from talking. Talking in front of a group of his peers. It didn't inspire any hope within her if this man was in a true battle.

“Why? Were they going to beat you with canes if you failed the presentation?”

A legitimate question in her eyes. Otherwise what would be the point of nearly passing out. Then eyes turned to him and she took another sip of her wine, unbothered.

“Oh, no thank you. I don’t eat the equivalent of sea bugs.”

Rich coming from a girl who had been forced to eat rodents before.

---

Zee could move silently. All part of his programming on the security and bodyguard side of things. Highly advanced servos also helped, but the droid found moving purposefully also assisted in his endeavor.

Such as right now when he was walking up behind Mister Arlos. Metal hand reached out and fell on the teenagers shoulder.

[ Why are you hiding Mister Arlos? It seems you are trying to stare a hole in Miss Persephone. ]

Optical sensors dimmed, as if he was blinking, but in reality he was relaying information.

[ I do not believe she has psychic powers to sense your intense gaze. ]

Kael Vayra | Kiran Arlos ​

 

[Oriana Indupar]

Guinevere Cavello | Evandro Wenelle
​

Oriana gave a small curtsy as Guinevere approached to speak with her. The other outranked her in the royal hierarchy, and it only seemed appropriate given the public setting. She had been raised with a great deal of manners and rigid expectations, this being one of them. From what she could tell it was outdated in the High Republic. However, she hadn't met all of the noble families yet.

"Princess Cavello."

Giving a small flush at the compliment, Oriana shook her head.

"I didn't do much Guinevere. Merely followed your directions." Speaking of, her gaze carefully searched the room. "Have you seen Lord Wenelle? I need to know when he is ready for his speech so we can call the room to attention."

 

[Malcolm Ironmaster]

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

Malcolm smiled. "Tranquility, Master Thio. I didn't mean to interrupt a tender moment between my friend and her husband." Despite his social anxiety, Malcolm was rather perceptive when he wanted to be. "How does the evening find you, Jax?"

 

[Vulpesen]

"Another day, another dance," Vulpesen murmured as his boots clicked softly against the marble halls of the Naboo ballroom. Once upon a time, those boots had crunched in the gravel and grit of battlefields across the galaxy. The coat that rested on him had deflected sabers and blaster bolts in equal measure, preventing him from bearing the mortal wounds threatened by such weapons. Now, the silk shimmered with glittering phrik dust, scrubbed and cleaned from that grime. only the faintest hint of ozone could be detected if one pressed their nose into the fabric. He led a different life now, one of politics, intrigue, and dances.

Maybe he was getting more sedate in his older age, or perhaps it was the gorgeous woman who walked at his side, but he was finding himself more at ease at these functions. He still felt a bit out of place when it came to moving with the music, but at least his skin no longer crawled at the concept of speaking with dignitaries and diplomats.

It weas a further comfort that at the edges of his mind, he could sense the familiar presences of his sister and Jax somewhere within the room. Everywhere he looked nowadays, it seemed that he had family on the periphery. It was a comfort he had never expected in his youth, but one that he was more than grateful for, nowadays. "So, what's on the agenda for tonight?" he asked, his golden eyes turning towards Ra'a'mah .

Jax Thio

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Objective II - The Grand Ballroom
Interacting with: Adelle Bastiel
Indirectly: Aurelian Veruna Ulysses Renoux

Oh, thank Shiraya, Sibylla mused, even as she turned with surprise at Adelle's presence, grateful for the interruption that she tried her best to keep reined in.

Ah, perfect, an out!

"Of course," She replied, composure sliding neatly back into place as she turned back to the young Lord, giving him a seemingly apologetic smile as she inclined her head toward the blonde heir beside her.

"Forgive me, Lord Cavill, but my duties appear determined to carry me elsewhere."

However, the blonde heir was not quite ready to release the moment.

"Of course, Your Excellency," he replied smoothly, dipping his head with practiced gallantry, the light glinting gold off his slicked back hair tied back at the nape of his neck.

"Duty must always come first," yet his oceanic gaze lingered a fraction too long, that smile sharpening just enough to suggest calculation beneath the courtesy.

"Still, when you do find a moment this evening, I would very much appreciate the opportunity to raise a matter of some concern."

There it was, the hook beneath the courtesy.

Remi paused, letting the words settle before adding lightly with a courteous gesture that made his silk cape give a slight flutter, "Nothing that cannot wait, of course. Though if it must, I am more than willing to make an official appointment through your office."

Drat.

Sibylla heard the leverage immediately. How he was using the matter of noble concerns, wrapped in politeness, to invoke her time and attention with proper banners. The sort of request she could not easily refuse, not without compromising the role she was meant to embody -- to be a bridge between the Crown and the Houses.

Before she could respond, Cavill continued, emboldened by his own momentum.

"And," he added, smile widening with notable charm as he gestured toward the ballroom, "should the evening allow it, I would be honored by a dance. Merely one, if you are able to grace me with it later tonight."

Oh, bold indeed.

Sibylla kept her smile firmly in place, even as her thoughts turned swiftly, searching for a way to disengage without giving offense. Thankfully, Adelle's pressing request provided the opening she needed, and she stepped into it with practiced grace.

"I would not wish to delay matters of urgency," Sibylla replied pleasantly with practiced politeness, "But if time permits, perhaps we may yet find a moment on the floor."

It was neither a rejection nor an acceptance, just the possibility -- enough so as not to aggravate or slight the man. It appeared successful when Lord Cavill inclined his head again, clearly pleased to have been left with the possibility rather than refusal.

"I shall look forward to it, then," he said, clearly his confidence unshaken as his smile grew wider, with a bow, "Enjoy your evening, Your Excellency."

As Adelle guided her away, Sibylla's gaze slipped past Cavill's shoulder.

And there he was.

Aurelian, moving through the room with infuriating ease, drink in hand, wide, charming grin in place as he escorted another nobleman toward the Voss sisters, one a painter and another a dancer in the Royal Theed Ballet. Beautiful, in that effortless tempting way that felt like a challenge rather than an invitation.

Oh, so perfectly captivating.

Something tight curled beneath Sibylla's ribs, and without quite meaning to, she pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, displeasure tightening there.

So he had left her for 'drinks' to take over conversations he had no desire entertain ... and now this.

It was not jealousy. Not quite. It was an acute, incredulous perturbation that was edged with the rebellious spark of being challenged -- and the faint, dangerous amusement that followed when she realized she intended to answer it.

Very well.

If Aurelian wished to play games, then.

A faint, knowing smile returned to her lips as she and Adelle put distance between themselves and Lord Cavill. Sibylla cast one narrowed glance in Aurelian's direction, catching the sight of the bolder sister Maela tipping her head up in interest. While Sibylla could not hear what they were saying, she certainly could read the painter's body language as her gaze swept over Aurelian with the keen, curious gaze of a potential new muse.

It was barely discernible, but there, that slight unamused huff and the subsequent hum of annoyed audacity settled low in her belly, before Sibylla took a breath and shined a smile up at Adelle, her expression softening into something grateful. And when they were far enough away, she leaned in just enough to murmur, "I do hope this pressing matter involves something with a high alcohol content..."

A pause, then a dry addition, pitched low. "...Seeing as I am drinkless for the occasion....someone was… distracted."

The edge of annoyance was there, subtle but unmistakable.

A heartbeat later, Sibylla straightened and smiled properly at Adelle, genuinely this time.

"You look lovely, by the way. That dress and hairstyle suits you beautifully."

 

[Ulysses Renoux]

H O U S E • R E N O U X​

Wearing: xxx
Tag: Aurelian Veruna | Sibylla Abrantes

Ulysses allowed Aurelian’s introduction to settle before responding, as though weighing how much of it required acknowledgment. His expression remained open and courteous.

“Ulysses Renoux,” he said at last. “Formerly of Jaemus.”

The addition was deliberate and sufficient. It answered the question without inviting follow ups, and it framed his movement as concluded rather than ongoing.

“My affairs now keep me within the Republic, not everywhere at once, though some evenings try to suggest otherwise.”

His attention shifted then, not away from Aurelian, but outward to the women who had been drawn into the orbit of the exchange. He inclined his head to them properly, the gesture practiced rather than ornate.

“Ladies,” he said, with a faint warmth that suggested familiarity with rooms like this. “Your reputations preceded you more quickly than introductions could.”

His gaze settled briefly on Maela, the painter, not lingering, but focused enough to signal intent rather than appraisal.

“If you are inclined toward new subjects this evening, my son is seated alone at the bar. He has an eye for art and a tendency to notice details others dismiss. I suspect you would find him an honest audience, which is rarer than most commodities on offer tonight.”

The redirection was gentle and unmistakable. He did not sell it as an opportunity. He presented it as an alignment of interests.

When Maela took the cue and excused herself with curiosity rather than reluctance, Ulysses turned back to Aurelian, the faintest trace of amusement touching his expression.

“An indulgence. Youth benefits from unexpected conversation.”

His gaze drifted then, not pointedly, but with intent, toward Sibylla. He did not study her long. He did not intrude. He merely acknowledged the direction of her attention and the circumstances surrounding it.

Aurelian would not miss the meaning.

“Speaking of conversation, she has been looking at you,” Ulysses said, voice low and conversational. “Less like someone content to be occupied, and more like someone abandoned to predators who mistake persistence for merit.”

He lifted his glass slightly, not in instruction, but in suggestion.

“You may wish to retrieve what you left unattended,” he paused. “Before someone else mistakes endurance for invitation.”

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

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

Adelle kept her mouth shut.

It was all she could do. Sibylla’s relief had been evident, empath that she was, even as the nigh-unbreakable composure of Naboo’s Voice remained. But the audacity of the noble to continue to use etiquette and civility to consume more of Sibylla’s time, to try and stake a claim on future moments—Adelle leaned heavily on her Jedi training to keep a calm expression, although a little tension could be forgiven.

She had, to this noble’s apparent misunderstanding, just said a pressing matter needed the Voice.

For the first time, Adelle wished this were in Mandalorian space. She could tell this noble exactly every word she now swallowed.

It would’ve been an in-depth lesson on Mando’a for Sibylla to be sure.

Finally Sibylla was able to speak noble-ese and slip from Lord . . . Carfel's? Cobble's? grubby little fingers. Adelle led her wordlessly away, but Sibylla’s tension didn’t immediately leave. Instead it shifted into something that rankled. Adelle followed the slight tilt of Sibylla’s attention, noting that Aurelian and the gentleman he was conversing with had added a pair of women, related if their similar features were anything to judge by.

Oh Aurelian was going to pay for this.

Sibylla leaned in just enough to be heard without being overheard. Irritation gave her further addition an edge.

Aurelian was in trouble.

Adelle smirked and had been about to respond when Sibylla complimented her appearance. Her thoughts came to a screeching halt. The last time she’d been complimented on her looks, it had taken place at another ball, where she’d once again moved among echelons she didn’t belong to.

To be honest, she didn't think such compliments were really deserved.

She cleared her throat, trying to regain her balance, even as her cheeks flushed slightly. “Thank you. As much as I like to dance, these things generally aren’t my scene.”

Adelle slowed their pace to something more casual, now that Lord I-can’t-take-a-hint was no longer in sight, and angled towards the open bar. “The pressing matter was your rescue, so if you need something strong after whatever that was with Lord Di’kut, then alcohol is the first item on the agenda.”

“But now that brings up another pressing matter,” Adelle said, a mischievous smile playing on her face. “If you were abandoned to direcats in nobles’ clothing because a certain someone got distracted, it’s only fair said someone pays the price for such neglect.”

“How would you like to make him pay?”

 

[Warpriest Prime]

​

O B J E C T I V E | Ballroom
L O C A T I O N | Theed, Naboo
G E A R | Gjallerhorn

Vytal Noctura | Adelle Bastiel | Quinn Varanin

O P E N​

Night came softly to Theed, like a held breath finally released.

Lanterns drifted above the marble promenades in lazy constellations, their gold light kissing the water below until the palace canals looked less like engineering and more like poetry. The spires of the Royal Palace burned with quiet radiance against a violet sky, pristine in that uniquely Naboo way that suggested nothing bad had ever happened here and nothing bad ever would. Music threaded through open archways, refined and deliberate, while diplomats clustered in careful constellations of silk and ambition. Jedi lingered at the edges, still as statues, watching everything and touching nothing.

This was meant to be a celebration.
It had become a statement.

Into that polished gravity stepped Prime.

Her arrival did not announce itself with thunder or marching boots. No banners unfurled. No war-horns sang. Instead, she emerged into the courtyard with an almost startling restraint, her massive frame dressed not in battle-plate but ceremonial finery. Gold-threaded silks draped across scaled shoulders, tailored to accommodate her many arms without turning her into a walking spectacle. Her armor was absent, replaced by jewelry forged to resemble it. Blade-motifs softened into art. Claws dulled just enough to be polite.

Just enough.

At her side walked Nightmother Vytal Noctura , pale and composed, an anchor of shadow and poise that balanced Dima's unmistakable presence. Where the Witch moved like a rumor given shape, Dima moved like a fact everyone pretended not to stare at. Heads turned anyway. Conversations softened. Somewhere, a glass stopped mid-sip.

She felt it, of course. The weight of eyes. The measuring. The quiet math of power being recalculated in real time.

For once, Dima didn't bare her teeth at it.

She inhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders back, adjusting her posture the way she'd been coached to do when not trying to intimidate an entire room. This was diplomacy. Or at least...diplomacy-adjacent. There were no Mandalorians nearby to radiate menace on her behalf, no Iron Clergy flanking her like judgment made flesh. Just her name, her reputation, and the fragile goodwill of a Republic trying very hard to prove it still had a spine.

Oddly enough, it was getting easier.

Not because she understood politics any better. Gods knew she still didn't. But she had learned something else. Power didn't always need direction. Sometimes it only needed recognition. A known threat was a useful one. A feared name opened doors. And behind those doors were conversations that never made it into speeches.

Backroom deals. Quiet understandings. Mutually assured discretion.

And, occasionally...people.

Friends, if the Force was feeling generous.

She glanced toward one of the palace bars as they passed, watching a knot of senators laugh a little too loudly at something unfunny. None of them would ever spar with her. None of them would ever understand the joy of impact, the honesty of pain, the way violence could be...clarifying. That loneliness tugged at her more than she liked to admit.

Her steps slowed as the towering doors of the ballroom came into view. Music swelled beyond them, richer now, layered with expectation.

Dima reached up, fidgeting with one of her braids, fingers smoothing it back into place for the third time in as many minutes. Her ears flicked, betraying nerves she would rather face a firing line than acknowledge.

She leaned slightly toward Vytal, lowering her voice as if the marble itself might gossip.

"Do you think," she murmured, hesitant and oddly hopeful, "that it's...weird if I just walk up to someone and say I like their outfit?"

A pause.

"...Or does that still count as a threat coming from me?"

Her tail gave a small, uncertain sway behind her. Keep it together girl, tonight is supposed to be FUN!

 

[Taera 'Calypso']

Tags: Cassian Abrantes | Open

A young man in the sharp uniform of a High Republic officer approached, his bearing speaking to military discipline and the confidence of nobility. Tall, well-groomed, and eyes that spoke of brutal experience. This was not some lordling that had his position handed to him. This was an officer Calypso would have once gladly followed into battle.

He offered condolences graciously, well-spoken. Well-informed too, if he knew her name and situation. She had originally assumed the affairs of a border planet beneath the attention of the High Republic’s capitol. Calypso acknowledged them with a slight nod of her head, never fully taking her eyes off the army on display.

“Duty so often calls us to stand when we would otherwise rest,” she said quietly. How much of her situation did this nobleman know?

Cassian, House Abrantes. One of the Great Houses of Naboo itself. A House of trade and plasma industry, if she remembered right. The only daughter currently held the office of Voice of Naboo, a go-between for Naboo’s nobility and the elected sovereign.

“It is an intriguing display,” Calypso said, thoughtfully. “Certainly the discipline shown in parade outclasses anything Epica itself can field. But drills and parades only tell so much of an army’s efficacy in battle. Historical record is far more accurate.”

“Even so,” she said, turning her body first towards Lord Abrantes then her eyes. “It only confirms what I had brought to my late husband’s attention months ago. The Aurodium Guard, my Family’s paramilitary forces, needs reform if they are ever to perform to the High Republic’s standards.”

 

[Melanie Sato]

OBJECTIVE: II —> III
TAGS: Ayumi Pallopides | Dominique Vexx | Open
Wearing: X

”Chancellor Vexx.” began Melanie. “It’s an honor."
​

She had seen the High Republic’s Chancellor in various broadcasts across the Holonet and heard many stories about her from Senator Pallopides, but this was the first time that Melanie had ever met Dominique Vexx in person. She was every bit as tall and leanly muscled as Ayumi, the pair of them looming at least a head and a half above Melanie. The Chancellor, like Senator Pallopides, was also effortlessly stunning and dressed as if well-acquainted with the tastes of high society. Yet what stood out most to Melanie was Dominique’s eyes, a shade of yellow so bright they almost seemed to glow. It was one thing to view them through a hologram or camera, but another entirely to have them gaze directly upon Melanie. It felt as if the Chancellor's eyes pierced directly into her soul, seeing through her mask of calm and understanding how she really felt about the woman. With her supposed Force sensitivity, it was not an outlandish possibility that Dominique could in fact read Melanie’s mind.

Stop. You’re being paranoid.

“You are right, Chancellor.” replied Melanie. “Even a dance on the ballroom stage can reveal hidden allegiances. But I must admit that I am a very inexperienced dancer. I think I will be of better service engaging in small talk while enjoying Naboo’s cuisine."

“It was great to meet you, Chancellor.” concluded Melanie. “And it was great to see you again, Senator. If you need me, you know where to call. Until then, I’ll be taking up your order to my fullest."

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Tags: Ulysses Renoux | Sibylla Abrantes | Adelle Bastiel

Aurelian groaned internally as Ulysses declined to rise to the bait. No flicker of rivalry, no playful counter. Just composure and that maddening calm of a man who had already won games Aurelian had barely noticed were being played.

How boring.

He sighed, letting the disappointment pass, then stepped forward toward Lirenne now that her sister had drifted away. He placed a light hand at her elbow and turned her just enough so her attention followed his. Directly across the ballroom, Sibylla stood with Adelle, posture tight, expression polite in the way that meant she was seconds from violence.

Good. Let her see.

Aurelian leaned in, lowering his voice. "You see that man over there. Blonde. Silk cape. Looks like he mistakes persistence for charm."

Lirenne smiled, already intrigued. "He looks dreadfully lonely," Aurelian continued. "Lord Cavill. A prince of great renown. Or so he tells himself. I think you'd find him fascinating."

Her eyes flicked from Aurelian to Cavill, then back. Curiosity won. She laughed softly and slipped away into the crowd with purpose. Aurelian straightened, satisfied.

Problem solved.

He turned back to Ulysses with a grin that dared the night to keep up. "You may be right. They cannot seem to keep their eyes off me." A pause, then a tilt of his head. "Or perhaps they are on you, Mister Renoux. Shall we find out?"

Without waiting for an answer, Aurelian started across the ballroom, confidence pulling the space open ahead of them. He felt Sibylla notice him before she turned. He always did. Adelle's voice reached him just as they approached.

"How would you like to make him pay?"

Aurelian stepped neatly into the circle. "Make who pay?" he asked, perfectly innocent, extending both flutes at once. "Because if this is about me, I'd like to register a formal objection."

He placed a drink into Sibylla's hand first, then Adelle's, pleased with the symmetry of it. He felt absurdly proud of himself. Mission accomplished. Drinks delivered. Chaos managed.

"Apologies," he added lightly. "I was distracted. Met a new friend." He turned slightly, gesturing to the man beside him. "Ulysses Renoux, formerly of Jaemus."

His gaze flicked to Sibylla, catching the edge in her expression.

​

 

[Feridade Parthi]

| Location | Grand Ballroom, Theed
| Objective | Accompany the Queen

Parthi entered the Grand Ballroom with the newly coronated Echani Queen on his arm. He had never been one for parties and extravagant galas; his preferred arena of choice, being debate amongst his peers and the battlefield before that. However, with the collapse of the Galactic Alliance, the Mandalorian Empire's occupation of Eshan and everything else wrong happening in the Core, things needed to change, especially when the Queen of Eshan called upon him.​

​

"Ambassador, Your Grace." corrected the Echani dignitary accompanying Quinn Varanin , bowing his head slightly for the correction before continuing, "I fear my status and weight has diminished since the collapse of the Galactic Alliance. Something I will do my best to correct," ​

​

He paused before speaking once more, "It is an adjustment to be made...But one that I have little doubt in settling into." he answered, a subtle glance to his side as he caught the Queen looking around. ​

​

She was certainly not amongst many friends if many given her background, something that may also damage his image being associated with, but she was still Queen of Eshan before everything else, and he her humble servant and voice within theatres where it would heard. So long as her other life did not jeopardize or put the people that he spoke for in harm's way, he would play along as long as necessary. On the topic of Eshan and its independence and a shared disliking of the Mandalorians occupying it, they could agree.​

​

He relaxed his arm as Quinn removed herself from it, his amber gaze following hers to the individuals she was glancing at before returning to hers. His senses were keen enough to know she was keeping an eye out, and hopefully to keep herself out of trouble. He adjusted himself as he bowed his head once more, "The High Republic has a more established sense of authority than the Alliance did in its waning days. I'd argue it is more established than at its height, in fact. They are certainly far more spirited and enthusiastic in the chamber... But of course, politics is politics, no matter who runs it, Your Grace. Appearances can be deceiving."​

​

[ Open ]​

​

​

 

[Mara Aurelai]

Location: At the bar
Wearing: Gold Backless Dress
Briefly accompanied by: Secciah Khal, Ducha of Harterra
Tags: Romin Renoux + OPEN
​

"Isn't that the Princess of Eshan?" Mara whispered to her companion, eyes spying Quinn Varanin in the crowd. "And isn't she, well... a Sith?"

"I believe so, yes," Secciah replied, chugging her cocktail.

"Then what is she doing here?"

Setting down her empty glass and gesturing for the bartender to pour her another, the older woman waved her hand vaguely. "You've answered your own question, girl. She's a princess. This is a time and a place for princesses."

"Even if they are evil oppressors?" Mara murmured.

"Ha!" Secciah barked a laugh. "And this coming from a Hapan ducha. Or did you forget who you are?"

Mara frowned at her. Secciah noisily guzzled another drink, then sighed. "Don't give me that look. You're the one who wanted to come here and - how did you put it? Make connections?" She sneered, her tone turning vicious. "These people aren't going to lift a finger for Hapes. They're too busy with their mischief and loveplay. They care for little else beyond satisfying their own base desires."

"You drink too much," Mara said. "Besides, they will soon be at war with our enemies, if they aren't already."

"Go and talk to the Chancellor, then. Or the King of Naboo, or perhaps his precious Voice. See if you don't have to wait behind a long line of idiots for whom this is all one big joke. See if they'll listen to a word you have to say - and if they do, see if they actually do what they say they will!"

Mara had no intention of talking to such big players (at least, not yet), but by now she was genuinely rattled by Secciah's cynicism and felt like she had something to prove. "Fine," she said, standing up from her chair. "I will."

She whirled around and set off into the ballroom at a brisk, determined pace... only to find all three of her targets already engaged in three different conversations. For a few minutes she just stood there watching them, hands clenching into trembling fists at her sides, until at last her resolve faltered and she turned away. Heading back to the bar, she sat down as far away from Secciah as possible and held her head in her hands.

Things had not been going well for her lately.

Taking a deep breath, she raised her head and looked around. Directly to her right was a nobleman ( Romin Renoux ) who was drinking some sort of wine. Judging by the boozy odor, it was strong stuff. "I'll have what he's having," Mara told the bartender.

 

[Guinevere Cavello]

​

Gwhen smiled at her friends courtesy. For people who hadn't grown up in this life, it would be odd to lead two different types of relationships with everyone you met. There was how you had to act in public and how you could act behind closed doors, and the two never mixed.

"Don't be modest. I could not have done this without you."

Her bright sea foam eyes searched around the ballroom, looking for the man in question. "I am sorry, but I have not seen him yet. We could check with the doormen to see if he has arrived yet?"

Oriana Indupar​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Objective 2
Tags: Lorn Reingard ​

Aiden's gaze found Lorn in the crowd, moving towards him. Aiden wasted no time, he stepped forward, without hesitation and pulled Lorn into a brotherly hug, firm and brief, the kind that said more than words ever needed to. When he let him go, Aiden returned to his place at Lira's side as naturally as breathing, his hand hovering near her back in a steady, protective habit.

"You as well, It's good to see you my friend," Aiden said warmly, his voice low enough to stay personal in the crowded room. His smile lingered, softened by genuine care. "Where have you been?"

It had been too long. Aiden could feel that truth in the space between them, in the way the Force settled around old familiarity and unasked questions.

Then Lorn's attention shifted to Lira, and Aiden's expression changed with it, brightening into something gentler. He glanced down at her, and a quiet chuckle escaped him.

"This," Aiden said, pride threaded through the fondness, "Is my daughter, Lira. Adopted."

He dipped his head toward Lira, giving her a little introduction with the same calm steadiness he brought to everything. "Lira," he added, "This is a good friend of mine, Lorn Reingard."

Lira's smile widened, small and earnest, as if she had decided Lorn was safe the moment Aiden said the word friend. She stepped half a pace forward, the hem of her formal dress whispering over the marble, and held her hand out with a sweet politeness.

"Nice to meet you, Lorn," she said, her voice soft but clear.

Aiden watched from her side, warmth settling in his chest. He let her have the moment without hovering over it, though his presence remained steady and close, a quiet promise that she was never alone in rooms like this.

 

[Pari Sylune]

Wearing: x

Pari had never attended a grand ball before. Among the Chalactan Adepts, such displays were considered unnecessary, even indulgent, and celebrations, when they happened at all, were quiet and modest affairs. Yet the longer she remained on Naboo, the more she came to understand how deeply its people revered beauty, ceremony, and art. During the era of the High Republic, the noble houses were especially active, and they never missed an opportunity for pageantry.

Jedi were technically invited to such events, though most of the younger Padawans had declined. They were convinced it would be dull, an evening crowded with elders exchanging polite conversation. Pari, however, was relieved that at least one friend had agreed to go with her. She genuinely wanted to see what all the excitement was about.

"You look nice, Pari."

Slin, a young Cathar Padawan, stood nearby, watching her from the edge of the common room as she adjusted her clothing before a full-length mirror.

"Thank you, Slin," Pari replied softly. "That's kind of you to say."

"Oooo, Pari has a date!"

A cluster of popular girls drifted past, their voices dripping with mockery. Pari merely glanced at them, her teak-colored eyes calm and curious rather than offended. It was difficult to unsettle someone as disciplined as Pari.

"Don't listen to them," Slin said quickly. "They're just jealous."

Pari smiled at her, then turned back to her reflection. "All right. I think I'm ready. I won't be too late. Are you sure you won't come?"

"Oh no," Slin said, shaking her head. "I'm spending the evening studying galactic history. That last test nearly destroyed me."

"Then good luck," Pari said warmly.

The Royal Palace was mercifully close to the sanctuary, close enough that she could walk without haste. She had agreed to meet Aileni Ifor Xeraic at the entrance, and her steps quickened slightly when she spotted him waiting beneath the palace lights.

"Hi," she said, beaming as she approached. "You look very nice tonight."

 

[Kiran Arlos]

Objective: 2
Tags: Open
Indirect: Persephone Dashiell ​

Kiran Arlos had gotten good at noticing footsteps.

Even on polished marble, even beneath music and chatter, even when everyone around him assumed the palace itself was the only thing worth paying attention to. So when a metal hand landed on his shoulder from behind, he still felt his body tense on instinct, just a flicker of surprise that traveled straight through his spine.

Then he registered the weight, the angle, the unmistakable presence.

He let out a breath he had not realized he was holding and chuckled lightly, the sound coming out more relieved than amused. "Hey, Zee," he said under his breath, keeping his voice steady. "And I'm not hiding."

His eyes slid to the pillar he had been leaning against, close enough that it might as well have been an accomplice, like it owed him credits. He pushed off it a fraction, straightening his posture as if that alone could rewrite the narrative.

"And I'm not staring a hole into her," Kiran added, a little too quickly. "I'm just admiring how well dressed everyone is." His gaze swept the ballroom in a broad, professional arc, taking in gowns, uniforms, and glittering jewelry with all the seriousness of an actual security assessment. "And also keeping an eye out. Making sure no one does anything foolish."

He almost believed himself. Almost.

Because then his eyes found Persephone again, like a compass needle snapping north.

For a brief moment, the room softened around her. The chandeliers caught in her hair. The line of her shoulders, the way she carried herself among people who had never had to fight for air, made something in him ease and ache at the same time. Kiran's mouth tilted into a small, involuntary smile, something warm and stupid and unmistakably his.

It lasted barely a second.

Zee's voice cut through it with merciless precision. "[ You are doing it again, Mister Arlos. ]"

Kiran's smile faltered. He cleared his throat, as if sound alone could reset his face into something neutral. He turned slightly, angling away from Persephone and back toward the safer direction of empty space.

"Sorry, um…" he muttered, and he clasped his hands behind his back in an attempt at looking composed, as if he were not currently losing a silent argument with his own eyes.

He stared ahead for a beat, letting the ballroom blur into shapes and movement again. Lantern light spilled through archways. Conversations resumed a senator laughed too loudly at something that was not funny. Somewhere, a server glided past with a tray that cost more than Kiran's monthly rent.

A moment later, he glanced to Zee, his expression settling into something quieter.

"So…" Kiran began, and the single word carried more worry than he wanted it to. His throat tightened, and he swallowed it down. "How is she?"

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

Sometimes events like these demanded the prime of Naboo’s noble houses be on their best behaviour with their polished smiles and their impeccable posture, a living tableau meant to remind the galaxy that Theed remained not only the capital of the High Republic, but the capital of peace itself.
Other times, they were permitted a little indulgence.

A presence slipped into the negative space of the circle where Aurelian had just joined Sibylla and Adelle; quiet, deliberate, close enough that no one noticed it until it was already there. Not through stealth alone, but through a near-perfect practice of knowing when to exist and when to be ignored.

Bastila leaned in from just behind Sibylla’s shoulder, hands loosely folded behind her back, posture casual in the way of someone enjoying herself far too much to pretend otherwise. Her head tilted, dark hair catching the ballroom light as though she were genuinely considering something curious rather than deliberately inserting herself into the moment.

She breathed in slowly, unhurried by the world.

“Hm,” she murmured, the sound soft but sudden enough to announce her arrival all the same. “You were in such a hurry to get over here that you seem to have forgotten my drink, Aurelian?”

Her eyes lifted then, hazel tones warm with amusement as they settled on him. She took in the faint tightness at his jaw, the way his shoulders had squared just a fraction too late; the quiet, unmistakable look of self-satisfaction that he wore like a tailored jacket. It did not fool her. It never had.

A smile touched her lips. Just a little. Enough to make it worse.

“It’s almost like…” She paused, letting the silence stretch, playful and precise. “…you were worried about something. Or no...maybe…” her gaze flicked briefly toward Sibylla before returning to him, “…was it jealousy?”

The word landed between them and stayed there, uninvited and unignorable, hanging in the air like perfume that had turned suddenly sharp.

Only then did Bastila straighten fully, her presence unmistakable now, as if she had always belonged in the circle and everyone else was merely catching up to that fact. Her hands shifted, relaxed at her sides, expression bright with a wicked sort of civic-mindedness.

“I say,” she added lightly, eyes dancing as the hairs on the back of her neck prickled, her subconscious aware of something that had shifted, “That we throw him in the lake, always a good laugh.”

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

​

 

[Isla Reingard]

Isla nearly laughed, the sound catching in her throat before it could escape. She settled for a sharp breath through her nose and a look that made her opinion painfully clear.

"No," she said. "You did not leave an impression." She tilted her head, eyes steady. "Easy E is the only name I know for you. Or care to remember, frankly."

She lifted her chin, posture straightening the way it always did when she decided she was done tolerating nonsense. "You can call me Isla. Or the Jedi who knows everything. Whichever helps you sleep."

She took a calm sip of her water, letting the silence stretch just long enough to be uncomfortable. Inside, she sighed. He's deflecting. He's proud of it. He thinks this is banter.

"It doesn't seem like you're educated on how to act at these things," she continued, voice level. "You're sitting alone at a bar, drinking, making yourself look careless." Her gaze flicked to the other glass. "You are a literal child doing this in public."

She leaned slightly toward him, not unkind but unyielding. "Why are you even drinking by yourself?" The question landed without accusation, just blunt curiosity. "Are you trying to forget something, or are you just bored with how hard your rich kid life is?"

She watched his face carefully as she spoke, feeling the restless knot inside him tighten. He wants to be seen. He wants to be untouchable. He is neither.

Isla set her glass down and folded her hands in her lap, grounding herself. "Because from where I'm sitting," she added quietly, "this looks less like confidence and more like avoidance."

She held his gaze, unblinking, waiting to see if he would finally answer honestly.

Elian Abrantes​