Populate Where the Light Gathers | THR Populate of Siskeen

[Adelle Bastiel]

Thank you for finally getting your wife, Merryn.​

Objective II - The Grand Ballroom
Tags: Ivalyn Yvarro | Indirect: Aurelian Veruna | Rayna Lockley | Sibylla Abrantes | Ulysses Renoux | Renn Vizsla

Now that Adelle had something else to anchor her attention on, Yvarro’s words slid off easily, unable to hook themselves in her head. The bartender started making their drinks, swiftly, deftly mixing and pouring into a stemmed glass for the Grand Vizier and an old fashioned for herself. He pushed the glasses onto the counter, Yvarro plucking hers up with precision. Adelle gave her thanks and reached for the old fashioned.

Yvarro closed the distance again and Adelle did her best to pay it no mind. But then two fingers pressed against the skin of her chin and lifted.

"Fret not, Miss Bastiel," Ivalyn murmured, her tone low and unhurried. "I rather look forward to being in your hands."

She took a measured sip, eyes never leaving Adelle's as she did, then eased back, connection broken as cleanly as it had been made.

Oh kriff everything. Adelle strangled the whimper that threatened to rise, unable to completely silence it. That woman knew exactly what she was doing.

The moment ended and she stepped back into a professional poise. Feth her. Where the kriff was her Whills-damned wife! To her credit, Adelle recovered nearly as quickly, the only sign a slightly faster pace of breathing.

“The Mand’alor will answer,” she said evenly, noting the tone Yvarro spoke with. As if it was inevitable that they would meet again.

With any luck, Aether would appoint someone better suited to be the Commonwealth’s envoy.

She looked around at the ballroom, purposefully away from Yvarro, idly wondering if Sibylla had finished her dance. Aurelian had vacated their earlier spot although Adelle had expected him not to linger there long after she left. Her eyes fell over the other patrons at this smaller bar, few enough and easily counted. Aurelian stood with his back to her, angled towards a strange blonde woman with his arm behind her in a very familiar manner. For her part, the woman seemed to be trying to maintain a bit more distance than Aurelian’s stance allowed. But then she leaned in and whispered in his ear.

Adelle rolled her eyes and sighed, picking up the glass of Whyren’s when it was set in front of her.

She was going to need several drinks.

Adelle nearly choked on her whiskey when Renn Viszla was announced. Kriff it all, where was he five minutes ago? He should’ve been the one subjected to Yvarro, not her.

 

[Renn Vizsla]

D U T Y

Tag: Adelle Bastiel | Ivalyn Yvarro




Renn did not go to the bar immediately.

He never did.

Instead, he let the room breathe around him for a few heartbeats after his announcement, long enough for the currents of attention to settle, for the inevitable recalculations to finish. Only then did he move, threading through the ballroom with an ease that suggested he knew exactly where he was going.

Because he did.

He spotted Adelle before she spotted him, standing at the smaller bar, shoulders set just a fraction too tight for someone who claimed to be perfectly fine. The glass in her hand was steady, but the set of her jaw wasn’t. Not rattled, exactly. More like… recently tested.

Renn angled toward her, boots whispering over marble, and came to a stop at her side with the casual familiarity of a man who had stood beside her in far worse places than a Naboo ballroom.

“Evening,” he said quietly, voice pitched for her alone. Amused. Warm. Observant.

His eyes flicked once, just once, taking in the slightly faster rise and fall of her breathing, the way she’d claimed her space a little too deliberately. The kind of composure that came after someone else had tried to take it from you.

“Judging by the look of you,” he added dryly, “I’m guessing I missed something… memorable.”

His gaze followed hers then, tracking the line she’d been staring down a moment earlier. He found Ivalyn Yvarro without effort, hard to miss, really, then let out a soft huff of understanding.

Ah.

Renn leaned a little closer, not crowding, just enough to make the comment conspiratorial.

“Let me guess,” he murmured. “Close proximity. Strategic use of personal space. The sort of confidence that rattles the beskar off a veteran?”

The corner of his mouth twitched.

“On the bright side,” he continued, eyes still on Yvarro, “you survived. And she didn’t even get Mandalorian teeth marks out of it.” His gaze slid back to Adelle, sharp but teasing. “I’d call that restraint. Growth, even.”

He straightened, finally signaling the bartender with a brief nod.

“Next round’s on me,” Renn said, tone easy. “Consider it hazard pay for diplomatic ambushes.”

Then, with a sideways glance and just enough humor to cut the tension:

“And if she comes back,” he added, “I’ll happily stand between you and destiny. Ambassadorial duty.”

 

[Casaana]

Objective III
Tag: Davik Haize

He was quiet again, Casaana could feel the emotions swirling around inside the man, anger, desperation, resentment. He snapped at her, and she let it go with a tightening of her lips. Maybe those diplomacy classes were paying off, but she knew she hadn't done anything that should have upset him, so it was likely defensive? He didn't apologize, but she felt him clamp down on his emotions. Force knew she'd had to do it plenty of times herself.

"Sorry to hear," Casaana said after he told her about loosing his ship. "I'd like to have a freighter one day, just go from star to star as the mood takes me. I know, sounds more romantic than it is." The long-sitting tea left behind a condensation ring on the table when she picked it up to take a drink, wetting her suddenly dry mouth for this next part. "Sounds like you lost some friends too. I know what's that's like. The Republic can replace your ship, but they'll always be missing."

 

[Davik Haize]

OBJ.III
Casaana

Casaana didn't bite back, didn't judge. She said the exact right things. Things he needed to hear, and things that were the truth. And why wouldn't she? She was a figment of his imagination, right? A part of him that represented endurance, control, accepting fate as it came. How otherwise would she know his long-forgotten dreams to traverse the stars as a child and the loss of friends along the way?

His memories came together. All of Judge's violent acts in the past week surfaced to comprehension and froze his blood. But looking into Casaana, the frigid shame was drowned deep in her empathic eyes, and Davik felt the tightness in his chest ease, relax.

"It can but it won't be the same ship." he said, his tone of voice calm. She'd understand – whatever droid she ever called a companion could not simply be replaced with the same one from the shop, just like the Duchess couldn't. She was a friend as any sentient, and she bore memories just as any living thing does. Or so he liked to think. He thought of the friends he lost on the way, too – Waylon: dead; Damien, Morrow, Rin: all gone in the wind, somewhere.

Davik looked at the table full of droid parts and thought, 'But we can still rebuild.' Nothing's ever truly gone. Piece by piece, we build ourselves again until we are whole again.

"Why don't you do it now? Take a freighter and travel the stars," he said, asking like he was asking himself. ​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Objective II - The Grand Ballroom
Interacting with: Ulysses Renoux
Indirect tag: Aurelian Veruna Adelle Bastiel Bastila Sal-Soren Rayna Lockley

A damned fool.

For certain, His Graces observation was on point -- but truth be told, it could be said of her as much as Aurelian.

For the entirety played out like a scene that would have caught the envy of the most scandalous of Holofilms. There Siyblla was, whisked away round the dance floor, the very picture of Naboo delightful and lovely beauty and charm, seemingly caught up in the joy of a dance when truly, her smiles pursed with every wayward glance to the corner of her eyes as she swept past towards the shadows of that distinct alcolve bar where Aurelian stood leaning in close while the blonde woman closed the distance to whisper into his ear, that mischevious grin etched broadly over his fac.e

Fine. Fine. It is alright. Perfectly alright. Let him enjoy the night, finding particulars to discuss whatever he was discussing with quiet intimacy with... whoever that was.

Yet there was no denying how her belly twisted, her lovely pink lips pursed, and the straightening of her shoulders as much as the lift of her chin, all the churning aggravation at Aurelian's coyish stance bubbling forth. That was what Aurelian was good at wasn't it? Using his charm, his looks, whatever sort of vice he could glean to smooth conversation over and network.

Leaving her with the more boring aspects that he had no desire to dwell over. Her job, he had told her once, as a Voice, in that teasing, suggestive way of his. Playful and mischievous. The very smile he was now giving to another so easily even as Sibylla knew he looked at her differently.

Her jaw tightened, and even the delicate muscles along the curve of her neck and collarbones seemed to bristle, an obvious tell as it became harder to retain her emotions under a mask of perfect composure.

"I would love to," Sibylla sang, even as she felt incensed and aghast at her own rankled emotions. It was perturbing really, and frankly, " .. fresh air would do wonders for my constitution, you are more than kind, your Grace, for your astute observations."

Aurelian wanted he to do her part. Fine. She would do her part.

She took a deep breath and brought the smile back to her lips.

"Tell me more about Jaemus, your Grace," she began, conversing quietly as she gave Ulysses her full attention for once, doing her best to focus on what mattered...even if she had a few choice thoughts on how to make Aurelian pay for this after.

"Is there anything I may assist with that you are interested in venturing with Naboo or the Great Houses?"

She didn't bother looking back at Aurelian then. No, she refused to. For one, she had no desire to see him play his game with whatever skirt so desired his company that he was willing to entertain. And as the line of Aurelian's sight should he turn to keep tabs on Sibylla, would find that the pair would move with Siyblla smiling up at Ulysses as he led the Voice of Naboo out towards the solitude and intimacy of Theeds Royal Gardens.

In this regard, Sibylla didn't use quiet murmurs or the dip and incline of her head to make suggestive overtures or casual conversation.

No, she did something far, far worse.

Let Aurelian's imagination do the dirty work.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Tags: Rayna Lockley | Sibylla Abrantes | Ulysses Renoux

Aurelian watched Rayna over the rim of his glass. He had heard variations of this pitch a thousand times from a thousand different contractors, all of them promising ironclad loyalty until the first thermal detonator went off or the credits dried up. Normally, his eyes would have glazed over by the second mention of "stability."

But then she leaned in. The scent of her perfume and the warmth of her breath against his ear made him grin. She wasn't just another mercenary; she was a player who understood the board. The fact that she acknowledged his game and offered to let him win was a stroke of brilliance. It was a complimentary demonstration of her "flexibility," and he found himself genuinely delighted. It was rare to find someone who could keep up with his pace.

"Charming," he murmured as she pulled away. He liked her. She was sharp, professional, and possessed a wicked sense of timing.

His satisfaction was short-lived. His gaze flicked past Rayna's shoulder just in time to see the green silk of Sibylla's dress vanish. She wasn't just moving away; she was leaving the floor entirely, guided by Ulysses toward the gardens. The Duke's hand was steady, his posture insufferably protective.

Aurelian's jaw tightened. The game had shifted. He hadn't expected her to actually leave the room, and the thought of her out there in the moonlight with that stoic shadow of a man felt like a sudden, cold draft. He signaled the bartender for another drink, snatched it from the counter, and downed it in one go. The burn of the alcohol helped anchor his focus back to the woman in front of him.

"I'm sure we can find a use for Silvane," he said, his voice regaining its smooth, melodic edge. "Especially if you are at the head of it. Most private military contractors have leaders who are quite dull and unappealing. I think I would much prefer working with you."

He set the empty glass down with a sharp click. He needed to keep his head in the room. "If you wish to deal with the Republic as a whole, I'll have to direct you to Chancellor Vexx. However, I am more than interested in securing a contract specifically for the Great Houses. It all depends on your ambition here."

He stepped a fraction closer to Rayna again, his eyes bright and dangerous. "I will say, I am far more fun to deal with than anyone else in the Republic. And I would quite enjoy making certain people very jealous by being involved with Silvane."

​

 

[Lorn Reingard]

Tags: Aiden Porte | Alina Grayson​

Lorn listened without interrupting, the smile on his face quieting into something softer. Aiden spoke like it was simple. Like stepping up was the only option. Lorn believed him, too. That was the problem. The kid really meant it. Wise beyond his years. More than Lorn had been at that age, back when he still thought he could outrun consequences.

He nodded once. "You did the right thing," he said quietly. "And keep people like Alina around. She's good for you." His eyes flicked toward Lira. "Good for both of you."

Aiden's next question caught him off guard. Ala.

Lorn's brows lifted, then he huffed a small laugh through his nose. "Yeah," he said, already scanning the room. "I should go find her. Isla too, if she's here."

He reached out and gave Aiden's shoulder a firm squeeze. The kind of touch that said, I'm still here.

"I hope you have a good evening," Lorn said. "Try to enjoy it, if that's still something we're allowed to do."

Then his mouth twitched again. "And if you need a babysitter, let me know. Ala would be more than willing to take on that duty."

He stepped back, offering one last smile. "Good seeing you, brother."

-Exit-

 

[Rayna Lockley]

Rayna didn’t retreat when he stepped closer but she didn’t close the distance either.

She held her ground with practiced ease, glass balanced loosely in her hand, posture relaxed enough to invite conversation without conceding control. His interest brushed against her awareness sharp, pleased, competitive layered now with something more personal. She found it… endearing, in a way one finds a clever card trick endearing when they already know how it’s done.

The faintest smile returned, this one genuine.

“You’re right,” she said calmly. “Most of them are dull. Or desperate. Sometimes both.”
her tone was light but assured. “Silvane tends to avoid putting either type in front of heads of state.”

She let her gaze flick briefly politely to where green silk had disappeared beyond the doors, then back to him, the motion subtle enough to be deniable.

“As for ambition,” Rayna continued, smoothly reclaiming the thread, “mine is narrow by design. We don’t chase visibility. We don’t leverage jealousy. And we don’t bind ourselves so tightly to one power that we become a liability when the board shifts.”

She angled her glass once, a quiet punctuation.

“A contract with the Republic would go through Chancellor Vexx, of course,” she acknowledged. Then, gently, “But a contract with the Great Houses is something else entirely. Targeted. Modular. Protective rather than political.”

Her eyes met his again, steady, thoughtful.

“We would not operate against the Republic,” Rayna said plainly. “Nor against any House under our protection. That line doesn’t move, no matter how entertaining the offer on the other side might be.”

There it was clear, clean, immovable.

She allowed herself a hint of amusement then, a quiet curve of her mouth that acknowledged his last remark without encouraging it.

“And while I don’t doubt you’re far more fun to deal with than most,” she added lightly, “Silvane isn’t interested in becoming a prop in anyone’s rivalry. Stability doesn’t survive being used as leverage.”

A pause. Softer now.

“That said,” Rayna finished, “if the Great Houses want a partner who keeps problems from ever reaching a ballroom or a garden then we’re worth a conversation.”

Rayna held his gaze a moment longer after her last words not as a challenge, not as a test, but as a professional courtesy. The point had been made. The door had been opened. There was no need to linger and risk turning substance into spectacle.

She let out a slow breath, subtle, grounding, and the faint smile softened into something more neutral.

“I won’t keep you longer, Your Majesty,” Rayna said gently. “Tonight belongs to you and to appearances that matter just as much as policy.”

Her eyes flicked, briefly and without comment, toward the garden doors before returning to him. No judgment. Just awareness.

“I'll be in touch,” she continued. “And if you decide the Great Houses would benefit from a quieter layer of assurance, I’ll make myself available through the appropriate channels.”

She inclined her head then, the gesture precise and respectful, neither submissive nor familiar.

“Thank you for the conversation,” Rayna added, tone warm but contained. “I suspect we’ll have another under calmer circumstances.”

With that, she stepped back, returning her glass to the bar empty and, already easing herself into the flow of the gala once more. The black silk of her dress disappeared seamlessly into the crowd, her presence fading without urgency or drama.

She left behind exactly what Silvane intended

Interest.
Clarity.
And just enough mystery to invite the next move.
​

TAG: Aurelian Veruna
Indirect TAG: Sibylla Abrantes Adelle Bastiel Bastila Sal-Soren Ulysses Renoux

 

[Fallon Draellix-Kobitana]

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


Wearing this

She laughed, "yeaaah, i'm not going to be one of those people who says 'oh no, corpos are as bad as the sith' The sith suck, you think they are awful, the most awful thing you could imagine, well they are even worse than that." she gave a little fatalistic laugh and then shrugged. She probably shouldnt pull on that string, she was somewhat desensitised to the horrors of war, but so many people werent. Although as a humanitarian she felt Cynan possibly knew a little more of the shitty parts of the galaxy, and that made her feel seen, even comfortable.

She smirked. Maybe she should have called him straight away. She had thought about doing it. She had thought about calling him several times but she just hadnt, and she didnt know why. "I'm very sorry. Perhaps my plan was to have you thinking of me and your desire just grow stronger with anticipation?" maybe she was better at this than her mother said she was, she could be a little eager at times. Maybe this was her growing up and taking more mature steps and not just hoping to let her looks do the work.

She pulled her body in a little closer to his, as if they could have gotten closer. She wished she could reposition his hand just ever so slightly, but there was decorum to think of after all, the senators daughter knew people watched and talked. She hoped they didnt see the way her hairs stood on end as his breath touched her ear. She made sure to show her grace, but it was his grace that interested her more.

"Im all this public grandeur, sharing softness in a harsh galaxy, tell me one thing about yourself that noone else here knows. I can keep a secret." she whispered as they danced.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Bastila Sal-Soren //:
//: Feridade Parthi //: Dominique Vexx //: Colette //: Emilia Locke //: Ivalyn Yvarro //: Merryn Sellek //:
//: Attire //:

Quinn continued to smile through it all. But constantly her attention was pulled by what was happening elsewhere. While it was annoying, because she wanted to be near someone else, she kept her attention on the Chancellor as best she could. Her face showed interest, learning cultures drew her curiosity, but the moment the woman suggested working together, she realized.

Looking to the ambassador, she placed a hand gently on his forearm. He needed a way to get into favor with the Republic for Eshan's sake. Quinn knew she would only cause problems with the others involved. This was his world, this was his strength.

It's what was suitable for the Echani people.

"Ah, Ambassador Parthi would be perfect to discuss relations with. I'm always helping — Eshan has been blessed for as long as I can remember." A pat again on the man's forearm, he would know that she held no interest in this conversation any longer.

He was now responsible.

Colette. That was a name that rang one bell. And that bell belonged to Reina, a woman she had connections with, a woman who had sworn her blade to the Echani Crown… to her. Turning her attention to the Jedi, her features hardened slightly.

"Unfortunately, I don't remember much of Woostri — but I do remember what I've heard about your relationship with Reina." She kept her voice soft, fighting the tension she felt, knowing the feelings of worthlessness that came with the faulty master and padawan relationship.

"She's doing well, she's getting stronger and finding her place in this galaxy." It was all Quinn would say on the matter; her hand pulled away, unshaken. Manners seemed to be overlooked in the Jedi academies. At least Reina had them, but Quinn was curious as to why Woostri?

Still, Quinn's attention drifted again.

Bastila stood alone now, it was the opening she'd been waiting for.

The memory of their earlier meetings lingered, the way curiosity had taken root and refused to leave. Quinn inclined her head politely to the group, already stepping away.

"The pleasure is mine, Ms. Locke," she said warmly. "We should speak again later."

Then, lighter now — almost eager —

"I need to take care of something. My apologies."

Gathering the red fabric of her gown, Quinn moved through the crowd with practiced grace. The other conversations blurred as she closed the distance. Bastila's companions had drifted away, leaving her momentarily unclaimed.

And suddenly, Quinn wasn't a Queen or a diplomat or an heir.

She was just… Quinn.

She brushed her pale hair back behind her ear, her smile softening into something genuine — a little shy, a little hopeful.

"Bastila," she said, a breath of warmth touching her cheeks. "Hi."

She paused, catching her breath — not realizing she had been holding it, then finally...

"Would you like to dance?"

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

Bastila had once Aurelian departed her side made every effort to deliberately not watch the room.
It was a skill she’d learned young, how to stand alone without looking lonely, how to let stillness become armour. Hands folded loosely at her back, posture relaxed but precise, gaze drifting just past the crowd rather than into it. Anyone looking would assume she was waiting for someone. Or no one at all.

But her eyes were never still for long.

Across the soft gleam of polished marble, she caught a flicker of movement; Sibylla and Aurelian, separate and apart. The way they carried themselves, an unspoken sparring match woven through smiles and sidelong glances. She watched for no more than a moment, admiring quietly the subtleties of their separate dances. The grace of their duel was something she understood; it was familiar, a different language layered over motion and restraint. Yet she couldn’t help but smirk, he was still digging a hole to nowhere.

And then Quinn said her name.

It landed softer than she expected.

She turned, and for a heartbeat the rest of the hall truly did fall away.

“Quinn,” Bastila replied, the name quick off her tongue, surprise flickering briefly across her features before it smoothed into something quieter. More honest. Her hazel eyes searched Quinn’s face; not in caution, but recognition. As if confirming that yes, this was real. That she had actually come. Suddenly she corrected, “Sorry, I mean; your majesty.”

The question followed, simple and devastating in its sincerity.

Would you like to dance?

For a moment, Bastila didn’t answer. Not because she didn’t know; but because she did.

Her lips curved, slow and unguarded, the kind of smile that rarely made it past duty or discipline. One hand lifted, fingers brushing lightly at the edge of Quinn’s sleeve before she seemed to think better of it, letting the touch linger just long enough to be felt.

“It’s about time someone asked,” she said softly, a hint of dry humour threading through the warmth. “I was starting to wonder if it was going to be a terrible waste of the music.”

She inclined her head; just slightly. Respectful. Intimate.

“Yes,” Bastila added, more quietly now. “I’d like that.”

Then, because she was Bastila and restraint was stitched into her bones, she offered her hand rather than taking Quinn’s outright, an invitation instead of a claim.

“Lead the way,” she said, eyes lifting to meet Quinn’s again, steady and open.

Then Bastila Sal-Soren, heiress to a Jedi Dynasty moved the room with the Heiress to the Sith Empire itself and even the Force didn't know how to react.

OUTFIT: XoXo | TAG: Quinn Varanin EQUIPMENT:

​

 

[Shan]

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

"Well, you've most definitely dressed for my attention at least."

Of course, he had been teasing about the idea of having two left feet. Shan wasn't overly bad when it came to actual dancing. He had practiced plenty of times in the past, and had a fair few moments where he had to dance for some kind of event. Not that he necessarrily care for it. Whilst Lily may have had plenty of dancing experience in her childhood, most of Shan's childhood had been spent patching people. Though he broke out into a slight grin, just ready to let Lily guide his movements either way.

Yet that was when Lily brought up Colette and Quinn, causing Shan to glance off in that direction, before giving a small shrug of his shoulders. He had been there on Woostri. It had been where he had taken a life for the first time. Yet he hadn't held it against the Sith Order. Sure, they had done the invasion, but they didn't make him do what he did.

"If you need to stop Colette, then you should do so. Even if it would upset her. Her Majesty is one of your people, and so it makes sense to defend them. I'd defend my people, or my family if I had any."

Of course, Quinn wasn't necessarily family to Lily, but Shan could understand how important the royal family would have been. It would be better to defend them than to stand by. He didn't want Lily to have to stand up for anyone, since it would ruin the date but at the same time, he wanted her to know that he wouldn't hold it against her if it came to that.

 

[Mykel Dawson]

___________________________________________________________________​

Formal Wear

"Indeed... It certainly did not help that the New Jedi Order had also abandoned the Alliance during its time of need, but I digress." A decisive jab at an old and obsolete organization of Jedi as he quickly continued, "I do, however, owe my life to the Lightsworn and the Jedi of the High Republic for their rescue."

The Echani ambassador would be able to feel a gloved hand gently placed on his shoulder from behind.

"Despite our splintering, the New Jedi Order stood with the Galactic Alliance to the very end, from Coruscant, to Arkania, and finally to Atrisia." Mykel's voice was soft, yet resolute in his correction. "Countless graves and tears remain on each scarred world as testament to the sacrifice of my fallen brethren, alongside the valiant soldiers and our terrorized citizens of the Alliance. So please let the dead rest in peace without cursing their memory. Be well, Ambassador, and best wishes for the Six Sisters." Storm grey eyes briefly flickered onto the newly installed queen, his expression completely blank.

The wandering knight then withdrew his hand and moved on, his back soon swallowed by the ever shifting tide of the crowds.

Feridade Parthi Quinn Varanin Colette Dominique Vexx

---

The Consular couldn't wring a single drop of enjoyment from the gala, but such venues were useful for diplomacy where most of the real sausage making occurred before all the bills and treaties were neatly drawn up later as a formality.

Tonight, Senator Pallopides was on the menu for boudin, who appeared to be having little trouble enjoying herself by comparison.

"Good Evening, Senator," he greeted with a small smile as he approached, politely attempting to insert himself into the conversation. He was a tall man in his own right, yet the Amazonian still managed to tower over him in her heels. "I've heard of many impressive developments out of Denon. It didn't always have the best reputation, but under your tenure in the Senate, its fortunes sure have taken quite a turn for the better."

Ayumi Pallopides Melanie Sato

___________________________________________________________________
​

 

[Ra'a'mah]

Ra'a'mah had remained quietly present through the exchange, not withdrawn, but attentive in the way of someone who understood when to let meaning unfold without interference. When Malcolm spoke of leaving, of following the pull he felt toward starlight, and whatever awaited beyond the ballroom, her expression softened with genuine regard.

"Then I hope the night is kind to you, Malcolm," she said warmly. "Whatever the Force has placed in your path, I trust you will meet it with the same care you've shown here." Her tone carried no formality beyond courtesy, no instruction beyond respect. "Enjoy the air, the stars… and the freedom of not needing to have the answer yet. Good evenings have a way of becoming important ones when we let them."

She inclined her head slightly in farewell, a simple gesture meant to send him on without weight or expectation.

Only after he had made his intent clear did Ra turn her attention back to Vulpesen. At his question, there was the briefest pause—not hesitation, but the kind of moment where choice is acknowledged rather than rushed. Then, a small smile touched her lips, understated but unmistakably genuine.

"I would be happy to," she replied, accepting his offered arm without ceremony. "If we are to spend the evening surrounded by speeches, symbols, and expectations, it seems only fair we claim a little joy of our own as well."

Her gaze flicked briefly toward the dance floor, where music and motion blurred the edges of politics into something almost human again. "Besides," she added softly, "Naboo would consider it rude if we didn't."

Vulpesen Jax Thio

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Bastila Sal-Soren //:

The blush that colored her pale cheeks deepened as Bastila spoke her name. There was something in the way her voice rolled with each letter; Quinn wondered if she was looking too deeply, hoping for something more from their passing moments. Her eyes trailed along the woman's arm as she watched the small touches, felt them, reveled in them. Quinn smiled wider as she took Bastila's hand in hers and led the woman towards the dance floor.

"Just Quinn." She gently corrected Bastila, "I just want to be Quinn…" She mused as they found a spot, "With you…" her hand carefully pausing just briefly before she let it rest on Bastila's hip. The other hand continued to hold the Jedi's hand. Each step moved, guiding Bastila to the rhythm that played over the crowd.

After a moment, Quinn drew the woman closer, feeling the light side illuminate against the muted darkness of her presence.

"I think with our previous, but brief conversations, I feel we're beyond titles and the like." A soft laugh escaped the smiling princess as she let herself enjoy the moment. They were on opposite sides of almost every conflict and thought in the galaxy. Quinn wanted to enjoy this momentary peace, to be allowed to be something beyond her alignment.

"You're beautiful, as always." She let her hand slide from the woman's hip to the small of her back. Quinn watched carefully, feeling any indication that she had stepped beyond her boundaries.

This was different from dancing with Aerik that evening, during the masquerade, where she had attempted to catch Bastila's attention. She wasn't used to having to fabricate a situation to be noticed. Quinn was someone who walked into the room, and heads turned. She was acknowledged and known…

Yet, Bastila often seemed as if she didn't notice her or made an effort to ignore her until Quinn made a move.

The Echani quickly realized she was chasing…

Quinn didn't chase.

"I'm surprised you were left on your own." She feigned a slight annoyance on behalf of Bastila, "Don't they realize who they have the fortune of being in the presence of?" Quinn grinned as a breathless laugh escaped her lips.

"Guess it's my gain and their loss…"

Another movement as Quinn stepped closer, letting her cheek brush gently against Bastila's, allowing her whisper to linger against the brunette's ear.

"I hope this is okay."

 

[Ayumi Pallopides]

Mykel Dawson Sibylla Abrantes

Her initial search for Sibylla Abrantes had been less then fruitful... mostly cause she had found one fruit and two delicious people serving them on platters. Both were really welcomed. Ayumi's fingertips had just traced the delicate gold embroidery along the server's collar slow, appreciative, following the line where silk met sun-kissed skin when the girl let out the tiniest, most charming hitch of breath. The sound went straight to Ayumi's eyes with a tight lipped smirk and stayed there. The server's uniform was Naboo styled at its most wickedly elegant: dove-gray silk stretched taut over her with a the deep V neckline framed in fine gold thread that only emphasized her beautiful caramel skin.

A waspish-waist cinched impossibly small before blooming into a lush, hourglass so perfectly sculpted it made the short, floaty skirt look like an afterthought. Every small shift of weight caught Ayumi's gaze and she was already cataloguing those long legs. "You still haven't told me your name," Ayumi murmured, voice low and warm as she leaned in, letting her lips brush the shell of the girl's ear for half a heartbeat. "I'm starting to think you might have crashed the party just a little." The server's smile was equal parts shy and knowing, dark eyes flicking up through long lashes. She tilted the tray of crystal flutes just enough to give Ayumi an even better view along her neckline and Ayumi rewarded her with a slow, approving hum.

That was when the polite shadow fell across them. "Good evening, Senator." The voice was.... well she wasn't one to be rude. She didn't startle. She rarely did. Instead she straightened with languid grace, one hand lingering a final, possessive second on the small of the server's back before sliding away. She turned toward the Jedi with the same warm, unruffled smile she'd been wearing a moment earlier only now it carried the faintest afterglow of private amusement. "Master Jedi." she greeted, dipping her chin in courteous acknowledgment. Her tone stayed velvet-smooth, inviting rather than dismissive. "You've caught me in the middle of a very important diplomatic cultural exchange."

She flicked a teasing glance back toward the server, who had gone gratifyingly still under the sudden attention. "But I'm never too busy to hear kind words about Denon." She stepped half a pace to the side, opening the small circle so the Jedi could join without forcing the girl out. One manicured hand gestured lightly toward the tray still balanced so prettily in the server's hands. "The tenure on Denon though for me is now through two Republics." She said it with a smile on her face though. "But we shouldn't be rude. You should compliment this beautiful woman before I convince her to run away with me to a beach instead."

Her eyes sparkled with the amusement and flirtation aimed at the woman in effortless measure. "What brings a man of your patience to interrupt such a promising conversation?" She asked it and it wasn't an accusation more a very pointed question to make sure he knew. "I am though always happy to meet one of the High Republics protectors."

 

[Mykel Dawson]

___________________________________________________________________​

Formal Wear

Pallopides acknowledged his presence, albeit reluctantly, donning that sickly-sweet facade of courtesy the Consular had come to know well among politicians , like a mildly irritated service rep still on the clock. However, she made no effort to conceal her risqué handling of the server as she did, a move so deliberate it felt as though she was dangling the other woman before him intending to provoke a reaction. Never had he witnessed such brazen indulge before in such a formal setting. He could only imagine what happened behind closed doors.

Yet whatever state the server had been in before his arrival, she seemed to sober up immediately when the Senator identified the plainclothes man as a Jedi instead of another sleezy politician. Especially in the face of his calm reserved demeanor. It was as if a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped right over her head. She averted her gaze when he met her eyes.

Her eyes sparkled with the amusement and flirtation aimed at the woman in effortless measure. "What brings a man of your patience to interrupt such a promising conversation?" She asked it and it wasn't an accusation more a very pointed question to make sure he knew. "I am though always happy to meet one of the High Republics protectors."

"I'm just a guest, Senator," he informed her with a small shake of his head, maintaining his professional bearing. "But one with a proposition that I believe would be of great interest to you and your ongoing renewal campaign on Denon."

For a women like Senator Pallopides, he imagined her appetite of the flesh was great, but her hunger for prestige and legacy even greater.

"Could we speak in private?"

Ayumi Pallopides​

 

[Ayumi Pallopides]

Mykel Dawson

She did a small chewing of her lower lip and only offered a smile to the server. "Go on, I'll see if we can reconnect later." There was a nod and the woman was going off as her head turned to look at him for a moment. "This way." She said it and motioned with a head. No drinks for her aside from the glass of water one hand while she was walking. The gala was a lot of things but she rarely wanted to partake in such a place of anything impeding to her senses. Instead finding a place off to the side of the ballroom as she sat down on a lounge seat. Stretching out her legs though as she maintained herself but haad a smile. "Ahhh that is nice, always good to get off your feet. Now about your proposition? Lets talk but we'll just call is a business potential Proposition sounds a little to much like it would mess with my record and reputation."

 

[Taera 'Calypso']

Objective I - Strength on Display
Tags: Cassian Abrantes

Calypso smiled when he spoke of honesty, accountability, and lawful pressure. Epica . . . did not often operate by those exactly. And a little corruption, a little bribery, in the right places, the right fields could grease wheels that were ordinarily shackled by red tape. But she could do what she could that would not invite scrutiny from the High Republic, even as she had invited someone highly placed in the High Republic’s military and intelligence to aid her.

Lesser families bent to pressure eventually, if they had no advantages over the Family in power. Calypso would prefer to keep it that way. If those more resistant to her powers of persuasion saw her plans were backed by the High Republic, their protests would fade away into nothing more than impotent whispers.

“No further questions,” Calypso said, “about the matters at hand. I will not take up more of your time as I understand you are here for business. And I should go see about how well the charity for the poor souls from Tapani is going. Epica lives in the shadow of the Blackwall. It’s hard not to see a cautionary tale.”

She inclined her head. “My thanks for your company and knowledge, Lord Abrantes. I pray that this can be handled privately, but I’m glad for your discrete correspondence with this.”

With a final look at the army and its displayed discipline, Calypso turned and headed back into the ballroom.

 

[Gavin Restur]

[Objective II: The Grand Ballroom]
TAGS: OPEN (Searching for High Ranking THR Officials, but anyone is welcome to interact)

Now you come back? Better late than never, I suppose...
​

And on the topic of being late, the man was quite late to...well, whatever this entire event was. You see, the man had been M.I.A. for quite a few months, now.

Previously, he was on the frontlines of the Galactic Alliance's war with the Galactic Empire. Joining a secret rebellion in the shape of The Hidden Path, to work against the Empire from the shadows. Fighting in the cold trenches of Arkania, slaughtering other men in the hopes that his side would come out on top. Freezing his ass off as blaster bolts whipped by his head, and plunging his forcepike in the stomach of some poor kid. Going for it all.

Just to end up short.

He could see the writing on the wall, likely before many others could. That the situation was beyond salvageable. Despite the strength of the Alliance, the Empire just kept winning, and winning, and winning. And it likely wasn't even a matter of the Empire being outright stronger. It mostly dove into the fact that the morale wasn't there. He saw it first hand, with both the Jedi and the other troops of the Alliance. How demoralized they were. How battered and broken they were. Temples raided, people driven out. It couldn't be stopped.

So, he did what he always did when it was hopeless: he booked it.

He's all for dying for a cause. The idea of sacrificing himself in a grand battle was appealing, not terrifying. But there was no grand battle. His death wouldn't contribute anything for the greater good of the galaxy, the greater good of people. It'd just be another tally in casualty reports, another body to be tagged and bagged, and lost somewhere in the galaxy. And that just didn't sit right with him.

So, he left. Went off into hiding in some far away planets from where all the conflict was, and where possible Imperial forces could search for him, and killing those who found him. He wasn't popular, but knowing his name wasn't an insanely uncommon occurrence. Hiding, and waiting. Maybe the Alliance could pull a miracle. But, it wasn't meant to be.

The Alliance that had saved him, had fallen.

Well, what now?

Maybe it wasn't all hopeless just yet. While he hadn't spent much time in its territories, The High Republic seems to have risen in the galaxy as the only government that he could see himself aligning with. The only governing body left that will stand up against that which is evil. And he can agree with that.

Whether it was him being invited, or hearing word through the grapevine of his usual contacts, or whatever the case may be, he learned of the event happening on Naboo. With whatever had transpired on Tapani, The High Republic was looking to make a statement to the rest of the galaxy that it will stand against those who do harm. A military display, political conversations, the whole work.

And he figured, maybe this is the right time. The right time to find a new opportunity.

So his ship entered the atmosphere of the planet, heading towards Theed. Parking at the palace, and making his way towards the interior. He wasn't ever one for high society, so the look of such a beautiful place was quite foreign to him. And he was...woefully underdressed for such a place. Still wearing his coat, and boots. And, of course, his wide-brimmed hat.

Steps eventually led the man into the Grand Naboo Ballroom. Taking a moment to look around at all the people, some maybe slightly familiar in his memory. Though, he doubts the likes of himself would be familiar to anyone here. But that didn't matter. He was here to talk business, but not with a silver tongue and crossed fingers.

He was here to help.