Populate Where the Light Gathers | THR Populate of Siskeen

[Aurelian Veruna]

Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

Aurelian darted along the ledge like a slippery toddler, laughing as she tried to grab him. "You cannot catch me," he sang, sidestepping her reach.

Then she slipped. Reflex took over. He lunged to steady her, hands catching fabric and wrist. He kept her upright, saving her from the water. And promptly toppled backward into the canal.

He surfaced with a gasp, curls plastered to his forehead. "You did that on purpose!" he accused, sputtering. He blinked at the water around him. "…I am not getting some brain eating amoeba from this water, am I?"

​

 

[Ethanael Halscott]

Ethan did not attend events like this.

Not galas. Not coronations. Not rooms thick with perfume, ambition, and political theater masquerading as celebration.

He brushed an invisible speck of lint from the sleeve of his tailored black coat as he stepped past the announcer, barely catching the tail end of his own name. The sound dissolved into applause that wasn't for him anyway.

He was an industrialist. An engineer. A builder of hulls and hyperdrives.

Not a philanthropist.

And certainly not whatever this was.

The coronation gala for the newly appointed Chancellor of the High Republic glittered beneath chandeliers the size of light freighters. Gold banners draped from vaulted ceilings. Orchestral music shimmered through the hall like an overengineered atmospheric shield.

He checked his chrono.

Still early.

Still unnecessary.

There was absolutely no reason for him to be here.

His jaw tightened slightly.

How dare his aunt send him.

Of all people, him. The engineer. The one who preferred schematics to speeches. The one who could dismantle a hyperdrive manifold blindfolded but couldn't navigate small talk without calculating escape vectors.

He would have been perfectly content in his office, reviewing structural tolerances for a new hull configuration. But Josephine, of course, had insisted.

"You cannot live inside a box forever," she'd told him.

He had pointed out that his box was elegantly constructed, climate controlled, and optimized for productivity.

She had not been amused.

He exhaled slowly, steadying himself as he surveyed the crowd.

An eclectic mix. Senators in layered silks. Corporate magnates wearing smiles like tailored armor. Military officers polished to mirror sheen. And then the inevitable, the intoxicated orbiting bodies already losing control of their trajectory.

He moved carefully, deliberately.

Side-stepping a laughing couple.
Pivoting past a group debating trade tariffs.
Avoiding unnecessary physical contact with the precision of someone navigating a crowded hangar bay.

He hated being touched by strangers.

The bar glowed at the far end of the hall like a sanctuary.

He slipped onto one of the high stools, posture straight, expression neutral. A small island of composure amid the tide.

He leaned slightly toward the bartender.

"Martini," he said evenly. "Stirred. Not shaken, please."

His tone was calm, clipped, the way he spoke to foremen, admirals, and procurement officers alike.

He folded his hands lightly against the polished surface and let his gaze drift across the room.

Studying.

Mapping exits.
Assessing power clusters.
Identifying who was watching whom.

He might despise galas.

But he never stopped being an engineer.

And engineers always evaluated structure.

Even when the structure was political.

Adelle Bastiel ​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Aurelian Veruna

Sibylla blinked, shock tearing through her as she lunged for him -- oh no, too late.

Aurelian slipped and then there was a very loud splash.

No.

Oh no, no, no.

The words pounded through her head as she rushed to the ledge, palms flattening against the stone as she leaned over.

"Aurelian!" she called out, voice high with genuine alarm. For one breathless second dread rising in her chest... at least until he surfaced, sputtering, and then had the audacity to accuse her of pushing him. As if she subscribed to Ukatian methods of disposing of irksome significant others.

I.. what?!

Sibylla stared at him.

"I… did it on purpose?" she sputtered in an incredulous tone. Her mouth fell open only for her to snapped shut again as indignation took over.

She straightened at once, hands planting firmly on her hips, skirts flaring slightly as she glared down at him. A scoff escaped her, followed by a short, half-disbelieving laugh.

"Of all the absurd conclusions," she shot back, hazel orbs flashing. She cast an exasperated glance skyward, as though the stars might provide better sense than the man dripping below her.

"Trust me, Aurelian, if I had any desire to toss you into the waterway you had no qualms relieving yourself in earlier, I would have done so with far more gusto and deliberation." She was so upset now that this time she didn't even care about the volume of her voice. A guard neared from a distance, but another guard quickly waved him down before either King or Voice could notice, the two deliberately backing away as if to say: say nothing.

Sibylla paused, the quick rise and fall of her chest betraying the lines of tension there. Then a faint tremor of exasperated breath escaped her, and she stepped closer to the edge, making an impatient gesture as she extended a hand towards him.

"Out. Before you decide I have orchestrated this entire event to secure yet another suitor."

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Objective II - The Grand Ballroom
Tags: Ethanael Halscott

True to her word, Adelle had slowed her roll with the drinks on the third one, savoring the flavor profile of the whiskey rather than drinking for the burn. To be fair, the dance she’d had with Colette had done a lot to smooth over the earlier frayed emotions. But dealing with drunk Aurelian had soured things a bit.

A man around her age in a well-tailored suit approached the small bar and found the spot furthest away from the dance floor. His eyes, sharp and analytical, flitted over the room and she could practically see the gears turning in his mind.

She could also feel the discomfort radiating off him in waves.

If she intervened, this would be the second person she would be attempting to save from a social situation.

Kriff it, why shouldn't it be her?

Adelle angled toward him, watching his fingers fuss with a drink napkin, trying to line it up according to some imaginary lines. Perfectionism or a desire for precision?

“You're never going to get it perfect,” she said. The soft breeze of a person walking by fluttered a corner. “You'd have to go somewhere else.”

Adelle looked up to his face and took a slow sip of the whiskey. “And you do look like you’d rather be somewhere else.”

 

[Emilia Locke]

//: Dominique Vexx // Ivalyn Yvarro //:

​

Wearing: [X]
Objective II

The music carried on uninterrupted strings rising gently beneath the murmur of diplomacy and crystal. Conversations overlapped in polite layers, laughter folding into the marble expanse of the ballroom without urgency. Emilia had just lowered her champagne glass when she noticed the approach.

She allowed the Chancellor the first exchange as was proper remaining comfortably within the edge of Dominique's orbit without crowding it. There was no need to assert presence; she already had it.

Only once formal greetings had been exchanged did Emilia turn fully.

Her gaze settled on the honey-blonde woman with calm, open interest. There was no narrowing of eyes, no subtle recalibration of stance. Just acknowledgment.

"Grand Vizier" she said smoothly, the name carried with easy familiarity rather than surprise. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure."

She set her glass lightly onto a passing attendant's tray before accepting the offered hand. Her grip was assured, balanced the handshake of someone who had negotiated contracts worth planetary GDPs and still knew how to make it feel personal.

"I'm glad we've remedied that."

A faint smile touched her lips, genuine and unforced.

Around them, the gala continued exactly as it had before the Chancellor luminous, the Queen composed, the Republic glittering beneath vaulted light. Emilia did not lean in, nor did she retreat. She stood with the relaxed poise of a woman entirely comfortable among heads of state and industrial titans alike.

Her posture remained effortless shoulders relaxed, spine straight, weight settled evenly in heels that were chosen for both beauty and stability. The gown she wore caught the light in subtle undertones rather than spectacle tailored to flatter without announcing itself.

When Ivalyn asked what brought her here, Emilia allowed herself a brief glance outward across the ballroom not evasive, simply contextual. Nabooan marble. Republic officials. Corporate couture. Force-sensitives masking themselves poorly beneath perfume and politics.

"Naboo has been my home for a very long time." she said, returning her gaze to Ivalyn. "When something consequential gathers under its sky, I prefer to be in the room. Networking is always important in business, as much as it is in politics."

A slight curve touched the corner of her mouth. "Besides, being in the room brings clarity far better than reports do."

Her eyes studied Ivalyn in the same quiet way Ivalyn had studied her. Posture, breath, micro-shifts of expression, Emilia did not bristle under scrutiny. She had grown up being evaluated. She was all too familar with the games that were played in gilded halls.
​

 

[Ethanael Halscott]

Ethan had been studying the napkin as though it were a structural flaw in a hull plate.

He smoothed one edge.

Adjusted the angle.

Aligned it precisely with the grain of the polished bar.

It was something to correct. Something to make orderly. Far preferable to staring at his chrono every twelve seconds.

He lifted his martini with careful fingers and took a measured sip. Dry. Clean. Predictable.

Unlike the room.

Music swelled beneath the vaulted ceiling. Conversations overlapped in shimmering waves, trade agreements, ceremonial praise, thinly veiled rivalries dressed in compliments. Laughter burst too loudly from somewhere to his left.

He barely registered her approach at first.

Just the faint displacement of air as bodies shifted around him. A cooler draft brushed the back of his neck, and instinct forced his gaze upward.

A woman stood beside him.

Composed. Observant.

He glanced briefly between her and the napkin after her comment, that he would never get it perfect.

His expression did not change, though internally he bristled.

He hadn't been obsessing.

He had merely been… passing time.

Fifteen minutes was a reasonable diplomatic minimum. Enough to say he had attended. Enough to justify departure.

Then she read him.

Not cruelly. Not mockingly.

Plainly.

He exhaled once through his nose.

"Well, of course," he replied, voice even. "These gatherings are fundamentally identical. Power on display. Those who wield it prefer proximity to one another, or the opportunity to calculate how best to joust without drawing blood."

A beat.

He studied her now, not rudely, but analytically. Posture. Attire. Bearing. Was she political? Corporate? Something else entirely?

"At any rate," he continued, lifting the glass slightly before setting it down again, "yes. I would rather be almost anywhere else. My office. A library. Even…" he paused, faint distaste flickering across his features, "a café. Or public transit."

He visibly shuddered at the last one.

"Why do you mention it?" he asked. "Is it truly that obvious?"

A slight grimace followed.

"Noted. Something to address later."

He straightened just a fraction, posture instinctively formal.

"Ethanael Halscott. Primo Victorian Enterprises."

He extended his hand, palm steady, grip precise rather than crushing.

"And you are?"

Adelle Bastiel ​

 

[Mykel Dawson]

___________________________________________________________________​

Formal Wear

Her response earned another chuckle from Mykel. He hadn't expected such a coy reply from the audacious Senator.

But the others in her family?

Pallopides...

Pallopides...

Pallopides...

Hmm.

Where had he heard that name before? The answer was just on the tip of his tongue, a wisp of knowledge lost just at the edge of his memory from old archive crawls during his Padawan days. Something to look into later, especially as he expected a regular presence on Denon moving forward.

"I didn't mean personal ambition for leadership so much as wider aspirations for the whole Republic project," he clarified. "I have no complaints about the current Chancellor. Her speech tonight was quite rousing. She gives me hope that the Core will once again see the light of liberty one day soon."

Ayumi Pallopides​

 

[Ayumi Pallopides]

Mykel Dawson

Oh so close, he seemed to have it right there as he thought and she bowed her head. "The core worlds will need a lot and hopefully the Republic will be able to make it there." She wasn't eager to bring more war to the worlds but playing the long game of letting the sith burn themselves out in the case of the covenant could mean they scorch the worlds to deny anyone them. "I have seen a few battles on those worlds and am not eager to repeat them." SHe looked up and over though for a moment as her hand came up with someone grabbing the empty glass. "She is around here somewhere but Melanie Sato can get you all of the information for a meeting on Denon. We'll be able to go over in more depth everything. Including how to set it to the standards of some of the bills going into effect later that have been introduced."

 

[Orestyn Carda]

Tessa D'Asterra

He smiled and was glad that Tessa's insight had cut to the matter immediately rather than having to dance around it.

Diplomacy was not his strong suit.

Maybe that is why he liked Tessa's presence.

She knew what to say, when, she knew what was happening and how to address it. Sometimes a bit strongly, forcefully, but never in a way that made Orestyn think she didn't know what she was doing.

"Yes, indeed." Orestyn finally said with a nod, guiding her, turning her in his arms. "She seems like a sharp woman just like her mother." He smiled there, thinly, yes but a smile nonetheless. "But I have little idea what to talk to her about. What do I say, Tessa, do I talk about fashion? I know nothing of it. Do I talk about gossip? I cannot stand it."

He shuddered almost to think about it.

"Yet, I know I must find a common tongue with her, or we will both suffer under it."

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Objective II - The Grand Ballroom
Tags: Ethanael Halscott

Empath that she was, it was hard not to notice the shift in his emotions after her comment. Way to go, Adelle, really nailing conversation tonight. Perhaps the only conversation that hadn’t gone awry in some fashion was the one she’d had with the Jedi Colette. The one she’d had with Sibylla didn’t count, it had been cut far too short.

Even so, it didn’t seem to put him off talking to her, since he went on to explain that all events put on by the elite were essentially the same thing, just different days. Having had to attend a CorSec ball as a guest and a government ball as CorSec security, Adelle understood.

He turned his sharp gaze on her, still cataloguing, still crunching numbers. Adelle met his light eyes steadily, taking a sip of her whiskey. It took a lot of effort to not immediately retreat from it. Being seen, being noted had always unnerved her. It triggered her paranoia, and she felt old whispers of suspicion and preciously bought knowledge gnaw on the edge of her mind.

Krayt wasn’t working alone. There are others.

The man looked away, returning his focus to his drink instead and listing off everywhere else that would be better, in his opinion. Her sigh of relief came out as a slow, normal exhale although another drink of whiskey was needed. His following question and comments came rapid-fire, as if he knew the answer the second his question left his tongue.

Adelle set the old-fashioned glass on the counter as he introduced himself, offering his hand. There was a moment’s hesitation before she took his hand, forcing her brain to remember that it was Mandalorians mostly that gripped the forearm in greeting and precious few others.

“Adelle Bastiel,” she said. “Iron Wolf of the Mandalorian Empire.”

Ethanael didn’t try to crush her hand but neither did he hold it like she was some delicate lady. Her own hand was far more calloused than his and she felt a flash of self-consciousness, reminded that this was not her field. Adelle leaned an elbow against the bartop, pushing away thoughts of the upper echelons surrounding her. After all, she had managed to not embarass herself so far.

“And no, not obvious. I’ve done work with CorSec before so my guesses are more accurate than most.” She picked up her glass again. “But it is almost always a guess.”

“I must admit, I'm not familiar with Primo Victorian Enterprises. What’s your business?”

Adelle couldn’t offer a quiet escape for him but maybe creating a pocket of calm in this room would suffice.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

Aurelian slapped his palms against the stone and hauled himself up with far less grace than he intended. It took two attempts and a muttered curse before he managed to scramble onto the path, boots squelching.

He stood there dripping, curls flattened, jacket clinging miserably to his shoulders. For a second he just blinked at her. Then he smiled.

"Tona is going to be so mad when she sees me," he admitted, almost impressed.

Water pooled at his feet. He grimaced and immediately began tugging at his soaked jacket, peeling it off and tossing it aside before wrestling with his shirt. Fabric clung stubbornly to his skin.

"This is deeply uncomfortable," he informed her.

He glanced up, grin returning as he stripped down to his trousers. "I am going to tell her you pushed me." He wrung water from his shirt, studying Sibylla with mischief. "Think she will believe that?"

​

 

[Ethanael Halscott]

Adelle Bastiel​

"Well met, Ms. Bastiel," Ethanael inclined his head slightly. "Or… is there a more proper way to address you?"

There was no irony in the question. Only careful precision.

'Iron Wolf' lingered in his mind like an unfamiliar title in a schematic. He understood military hierarchies. Corporate ladders. Naval rank structures. But Mandalorian honorifics were less intuitive.

His grip had been balanced, firm, deliberate, though he had noted the texture of her palm. Calloused. Functional. Someone accustomed to real work.

He did not comment on it.

He merely adjusted his stance, turning fully toward her. When she spoke, his attention did not drift. His eyes softened slightly, in focus.

"Ah," he acknowledged when she referenced law enforcement.

"Always a knack for reading people," he continued thoughtfully. "You may consider it an educated assessment, given your background. I hope I am not being overly presumptuous."

A genuine concern in his voice that he might have crossed a conversational boundary.

When she admitted she was unfamiliar with Primo Victorian Enterprises, he offered a warmer smile, relieved, perhaps, to explain something factual.

"Our business," he said, "is, quite frankly, whatever my cousin wills it to be."

He gestured subtly across the gala floor toward Ivalyn, whose presence seemed to bend space around her.

"My aunt inherited the company as Primo Victorian Shipwright. She… expanded its reach. Diversified the portfolio. Strategic acquisitions. Infrastructure development. Energy. Defense. Exploration." A small pause. "It is now less a company and more an ecosystem."

He cleared his throat lightly.

"I apologize if that is terribly dull."

He meant it.

"My role is comparatively simple," he continued. "I engineer. Design. Architect what is required. My cousin determines need; I determine feasibility."

He lifted his martini, taking another measured sip.

"Although," he added, almost absently, "I do not mind it. As mentioned, I prefer my office. I can create. I can solve. Without… navigating rooms such as this."

He offered her a faint, almost apologetic smile, unaware that the sincerity of it might land differently than intended.

And then, as if following conversational protocol, he redirected.

"Tell me, Ms. Bastiel, what of you?"

He studied her with quiet curiosity.

"I do not believe I have encountered the Iron Wolves before. I would be interested to hear your perspective."

A genuine intellectual engagement.

He wanted to understand.

 

[Mykel Dawson]

___________________________________________________________________​

Formal Wear

He nodded. The race was on to secure the Core in the wake of the Galactic Empire's collapse. However, he hoped for more beyond a passive containment strategy. There was no containing evil. The Alliance had learned that lesson the hard way.

However, he kept his true feelings to himself, not appropriate nor productive for the venue.

"Very good," he said with a nod before he rose from the seat. "My people will contact yours and hopefully we can meet again sometime next week for a full formal proposal. I look forward to working with you, but I won't take up anymore of your precious time. Goodnight, Senator."

He offered a faint smile and a small bow before melting back into the throngs of guests on the ballroom floor.

[END]

Ayumi Pallopides​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Aurelian Veruna

"Oh, for blasted sakes, Aurelian, would you just --" Sibylla burst out, aghast as he began stripping out of his jacket, then his shirt. She lunged forward, fingers snapping around his wrist just as he started wringing the soaked fabric, half panicked he was about to continue undressing.

Never mind the way moonlight caught on the beads of water tracking down bronze skin. Never mind the maddening grin pulling at his mouth and tying unhelpful knots low in her stomach.

Absolutely not.

She was far too incensed for that.

"Not nearly as livid as I am at present," she shot back sharply, and there was no mistaking the heat in her voice now. Oh there was no poise, no diplomatic composure this time around. This was Sibylla entirely unfiltered -- completely and utterly and furiously irritated by the King of Naboo and the catastrophic chain of decisions he had entertained all evening.

"Please," she scoffed, rolling her eyes as she cast a swift glance around the gardens, searching for an area that would get them out of sight and any curious ears. She found it shortly, and the entrance towards the hedge maze, the one that contained the very discreet hedges an Ukatian princess and her consort had selected for their privacy.

"Get over here," she ordered, gripping his wrist and dragging him with surprising strength toward the shelter of the garden greenery, her skirts swishing sharply around her ankles as she marched him toward the hedges, fully intent on scolding the King of Naboo within an inch of his life.

"And it is not Tona you should be worried about. Just wait until Corde hears about this."

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

Aurelian stared at her, scandalized. "I was not going to strip to my name day suit," he protested. "I simply require less… moisture."

She declared herself livid. "Livid at me?" he demanded, stumbling slightly as she yanked him toward the hedges. "What did I do? You pushed me." He laughed at his own accusation, though it lacked conviction.

Normally being dragged somewhere private by Sibylla would have thrilled him. Then she said Cordé. His grin faltered. Just a fraction.

He allowed himself to be hauled into the greenery, trying to regain some composure, wringing water from his discarded shirt again as if that helped his case.

"There is no need to tell her," he said quickly. "I have not done anything wrong, really. I merely went for a midnight swim."

He shrugged, attempting charm. "Very refreshing. Good for the constitution."

​

 

[Dominique Vexx]

Dominique's smile grew more buoyant in the face of the adversity Parthi spoke of with the High Republic being the largest representative republics left in the galaxy. There certainly were challenges ahead. They'd already weather several and that was both she ascended to the Office. The Black Sun, the Galactic Empire, the Sith Order... none of these were entities or collectives to be taken lightly. Even the Diarchy, Imperial Confederation, and the Mandalorian Empire could not be overlooked; efforts would need to be made to maintain amicable relations, if not improve upon diplomatic and economic ties.

A subtle lift in Dominique's brow accompanied Parthi's hope of becoming a member of the High Republic. A slight pivot of the head. Nothing noticeable at a distance, but with the Ambassador standing right there... She trusted he'd understand the Chancellor had heard every word. The man had certain made quite the bold statement. It was a proposal Dominique was not inclined to dismiss out of hand either. Not because she wanted a war with the Mandalorians -- by no means -- but it was an opportunity. If circumstances worked out that an exchange would be in both government's interests... Well, one could never be certain what the future had in store. One could only prepare for when the opportunity became available.

With a gesture, the Chancellor had a flute carried over for her to join Parthi's toast. "To the Republic, and all those whose efforts make its prosperity possible." Eshan included, it would seem.

"I would welcome an opportunity to speak at length regarding the future. Borders on a map help provide structure to galactic affairs, but they are not physical barriers to keep us from exploring the many possibilities within our reach."

Feridade Parthi

Soon a woman's voice rose nearby and Dominique's golden eyes shifted to regard the new presence. There was a brief moment and a slight nod of welcome, but Ivalyn Yvarro made it clear she wasn't there for the political angle but the economic one. "Grand Vizier," she replied politely, but made no effort to woo the woman.

If anything, it was mildly bothersome that Ivalyn sought to occupy Emilia Locke 's time. The woman had patiently been awaiting the Chancellor to no longer be occupied with matters of state. Dominique hadn't forgotten Miss Locke by any means. Though, she did give Feridade a nod and a smile to show her attention hadn't wandered off because of the interruption. Chasing everyone that came up to you was a recipe for social disaster. That said, she also was mindful whether the Ambassador wished to discuss the particulars further out here in the option.

Merryn Sellek​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Aurelian Veruna

Once Sibylla was satisfied they were well beyond the eyes and ears of guests and guards alike, she came to an abrupt stop and whirled to face him.

Aurelian, as if on cue, began to backpedal with the unmistakable air of a child who knew he had pushed far past the acceptable boundary.

"Oh," she said sharply, lifting her chin as she took a deliberate step toward him, "so now it was your decision to go for a midnight swim?"

Her hand was still clasped firmly around his wrist and she only became aware of it when she tightened her grip unconsciously, refusing to let him slip away from the argument.

"How remarkably convenient," she continued, a short huff escaping her as she shook her head. "You do change your tune with admirable speed."

She stepped closer again.

"And what of everything else earlier?" she pressed, voice tightening, moonlight illuminating her heartshaped face with delicate light. "Is this to be the pattern now? At every gala? Every public affair? Acting out when any man or woman decides that they will take up the chance to court my hand?"

Even when you know I am already yours.

He knew it already. Knew that she was his already. There was no denying where her entirety lay, and just like that, her frustration spilled out before she could temper it.

"A hand," she added, voice sharper still, "which, may I remind you, is still thought to be publicly available."

The words hung heavier than she intended. Because that was the truth of it. King and Voice. Duty first with appearances maintained. A relationship they were still figuring out amongst themselves in private, while hiding what they truly felt for one another in public.

Her nostrils flared as she drew in a breath that did little to steady her.

"If it troubles you so much," she demanded hazel eyes flashing, half furious and half breathless as she looked up at the shadowed, chiseled lines of his face caught in moonlight, "then what do you want to do about it!?"

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

When did she become so feisty? Aurelian stared at her, water still dripping from his hair, shirt clenched in his fist. He probably should have felt properly chastised. Instead, somewhere beneath the haze of alcohol, he felt something dangerously close to admiration.

Shiraya help him.

She was right. He knew it, even now. He could not turn every gala into a battlefield because someone dared to look at her. That was not kingly. That was not controlled. That was… jealous.

Jealousy. It sat in his chest. He had never liked the feeling. It made him reckless. He exhaled slowly, the fight draining from his posture. For once he did not reach for a joke. Before he could second guess it, he stepped forward and pulled her in, one damp hand settling at her waist as he pressed a firm kiss to her lips.

There was very little they could do publicly. They both knew that. Offices. Optics. Timing. He would have to endure it.

When he pulled back, his forehead hovered near hers. "I can behave," he said quietly. Then, with a crooked, self aware tilt of his mouth, "Maybe."

His thumb brushed lightly against her side. "As long as you know you are unavailable. Even if the rest of the galaxy does not."

A breath left him, heavy and tired. "And I will make your suitors' lives hell at these events," he added, almost thoughtfully. "For distraction. Subtle hell. Creative hell."

He finally sighed, loudly. "I am sorry," he said, and this time there was no mischief in it. "I should not have acted like that."

He blinked at her, tiredness settling in. "Now will you take me home?" he asked, softer now. "I am not entirely certain I would not get lost on my own."

​

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

Ivalyn listened as Emilia spoke, and something almost imperceptible warmed in her expression. Competence was attractive. So was composure.

"Undoubtedly," she murmured, "reports rarely capture the temperature of a room."

Her eyes lingered on Emilia a moment longer than etiquette required.

"I am glad we have met, Ms. Locke."

She felt the Chancellor's gaze before she turned to it.

Ah.

There it is.

She noted the Chancellor's watchfulness without reacting to it. Territorial instincts were common among new sovereigns.

"I had hoped to discuss a potential commercial alignment between your company and my nation," Ivalyn continued smoothly. "But I would not deprive the Chancellor of her evening."

The words were courteous.

The tone? Possessive of her own authority.

She returned her attention to Emilia.

"Perhaps," she continued lightly, "we might arrange a more private conversation? Qosantyra is quite lovely this time of year. I would be delighted to host you."

Only then did she turn fully to Dominique.

"Chancellor," she said calmly, without apology, "there are matters of trade I would prefer to discuss directly. I find clarity best achieved without spectators."

Her expression never sharpened.
Never softened.

"I extend the same invitation to you. Qosantyra. One-on-one."

Her smile never faltered.

No lines drawn.

She had acknowledged the hierarchy.

And subtly redrawn it.

"Until Qosantyra."

She did not elaborate.

She did not negotiate further.

The invitations had been extended. The lines drawn, subtly, deliberately. Ivalyn took the opportunity to depart the Chancellor's inner circle.

Merryn's hand found hers without looking, fingers threading together with the ease of long practice. Ivalyn's thumb brushed once over her wife's knuckles, grounding and grounded all at once.

And that was that.

The music swelled. Conversation resumed. Crystal chimed.

Ivalyn and Merryn walked hand in hand toward the gala's exit. The crowd parted as it had when she arrived, though this time the movement felt different.

Intentional.

She did not look back.

[Thread Exit]


Emilia Locke | Dominique Vexx | Merryn Sellek

​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Aurelian Veruna

So much for maintaining her anger.

The kiss stole her breath. Her chest rose and fell sharply as her breathing quickened, all that frustration and fire dissolving into the fervent way she kissed him back.

When it ended, she was still breathing hard, his quiet assurances and apology washing over her -- well as much as they could, given that he had still said maybe after claiming he could behave.

"Then do not do it again," she countered softly, lifting her gaze to meet his. "You already know where I stand. I love and want you. Only you."

She drew in another breath, then gave a small, resigned nod, shaking her head as she rubbed at her forehead. It was astonishing how thoroughly he could exasperate her and somehow make her love him all the more for it.

"Shiraya's sake, you are lucky I adore you. Yes, I will take you home," she agreed, only for her eyes to drop to his bare chest, and she shook her head again, gesturing at him.

"Go on. Put your shirt back on. I realize it is damp, and while I am certain you enjoy provoking a reaction from me, I would rather others not be afforded the same opportunity."

She took his hand and began leading him toward the darker path, already retrieving her commlink from her pocket to arrange the pickup at the revised location.

Home.

A hot shower. Plenty of water. Perhaps a pain stim for the headache she was quite certain would await him tomorrow.

Or perhaps…

She cast him a sidelong glance.

Perhaps she should let him endure the hangover, if only so he would remember it.

Tona would certainly agree!

~ Exit Post ~​