First Reply A Dreary Night

[Damian du Couteau]

Damian du Couteau, Senator of Empress Teta
Location: Coruscant, Old Senate District
Outfit

Damian looked upwards to the night skies of Coruscant, he focused towards the general direction of his home Teta. The City planet itself proved far too bright for stars to shine bright enough for any night sky, but Damian always felt like he knew where to look. The young du Couteau heir sighed, his arms slowly lifted him back up and he swung his legs back over the ledge to stand.

The Coruscant reconstruction had gone smoothly enough, while not as simple as applying a fresh coat of paint over the scratches, it was essentially the same thing. Just keep building on top of the ruins. Damian couldn’t find fault in that thinking, not that there was any different path for the engineers and architects to take. It was all anyone could do, try and climb one more rung up to the light, even if they needed to build the next rung themselves.

He looked around the ruins of the Senate district, the area around him had mostly been cleared of major rubble but there wasn’t much head-way. Why work on repairing a district that isn’t needed anymore? The move to Fondor had affected much in the galaxy and while the Alliance attempted to move as much as possible to their new capital planet a lot of history had remained. Damian walked up to the destroyed entrance of a building once known as the ‘du Couteau’ building, it was originally the Alliance Monetary and Finance facility that assisted in revenue services.

There wasn’t much in the way of fond memories held within these ruined walls, it had given his father countless sleepless nights and long work hours. Finance and Economics, words that would make normal citizens bored and tired on instinct, for one such as the young du Couteau heir it just meant work. He breathed deeply and walked inside, careful with his step, Damian pushed forward to find his old office. At least whatever remained of his office post attack.

"It's got to be here somewhere." The Tetan assured himself.
​

 

[Serina Calis]

Tag: Damian du Couteau ​

Serina Calis moved through the shattered halls of the ruined financial district like a predator surveying a fallen kingdom. The darkness of Coruscant's broken skyline did little to diminish the subtle glow of her armor's crimson patterns, casting eerie reflections across the dust-covered walls. Every step she took was purposeful, her heeled boots clicking against the rubble-strewn floor with an unhurried confidence.

Wealth.

That was what she had come for—not in the crude sense of credits or jewels, but the knowledge of it. The secret alchemy that transformed numbers on a datapad into power. The Jedi scorned materialism, but Serina had long understood the truth: credits ruled the galaxy with a grip far tighter than the Force ever could. With enough credits, one could buy armies, planets, entire civilizations.

Lust, hunger, desperation—every base instinct that drove the lesser beings in the universe could be reduced to transactions. Credits were desire given form, greed made manifest. It was not the Sith or the Jedi who ruled the galaxy. It was the financiers, the bankers, the quiet architects of industry who dictated the shape of war and peace alike.

She let out a slow breath, lips curling into a smirk as she trailed a gloved hand along the half-collapsed doorway of what had once been a prestigious institution of commerce. The du Couteau Building. The name meant nothing to her, not yet, but its ruined state spoke volumes. The Alliance had fled from this building, and in their absence, the foundations had begun to rot. That, too, was a lesson: wealth had to be maintained, controlled, watched over like a lover who might stray at the first sign of weakness.

"Greed," she murmured, her voice a sultry whisper in the emptiness. "The one desire no being in this galaxy can escape."

And yet, it was not greed that had brought her here, but ambition. If she was to shape the galaxy to her liking, she needed to understand how power truly moved. Force alone would never be enough—Serina knew that now. True strength came from playing the game, from knowing where the strings were and how to pull them.

She stepped through the wreckage, the sharp lines of her bodice accentuating the graceful sway of her form beneath the layers of armor and cloth. Somewhere in these ruins, there would be ledgers, data entries, records of how power had shifted before the collapse. Knowledge that would soon belong to her.

Then, movement.

Serina's piercing blue eyes flicked toward the silhouette of a man standing amidst the debris, his gaze distant, his posture stiff with thought. He had not yet noticed her, and that was something she could use.

A smirk curled at the corner of her lips as she stepped forward, allowing her presence to announce itself before her voice did. The glow of her armor cast faint magenta highlights onto the broken walls, illuminating her like a specter in the darkness.

"You're either lost, or you know something I don't," she purred, tilting her head ever so slightly, her voice a measured blend of curiosity and amusement. "Either way, I think you're exactly what I was looking for."

 

[Damian du Couteau]

Damian du Couteau, Senator of Empress Teta
Location: Coruscant, Old Senate District
Outfit

Damian paused as he watched a feminine figure approach, a woman’s voice broke through his silence as he attempted to recall if he knew this person. His lone crimson eye widened and eyebrow raised to her strange comment, Blind sided again brother? Damian could hear his sister joke as he attempted to register everything at once. It wasn’t difficult in having to adjust only using his left eye, but he could make do without the itch his bacta bandage covering gave him. The bigger itch though was his curiosity of figuring out who this woman was and why she was here in the ruins of the Senate district.

The woman that was in front of him though certainly stood out, so he believed his surprise was justified. The woman seemed out of place, even if the Senate building had not been destroyed or abandoned and this was just a usual business day. The faint eerie magenta light that was coming off of her armour was mesmerizing as it was also a fascinating design. Damian blinked and realized his own awkward silence and cleared his throat as his cheeks burned in embarrassment.

“Apologies, you have caught me unaware. My name is Damian du Couteau,” He introduced himself as he bowed slowly. “My staff should have messaged me ahead of your arrival if you were expecting me.” Damian explained, his mind racing for answers all the while.

Not sure how to respond with someone saying I appear lost. He hadn’t expected to meet anyone out here, less so if they were looking for information or something else he could provide. The young du Couteau heir had hoped he succeeded in clearing out his schedule for today from any Senatorial work or meetings. But something felt strangely off to Damian, nothing dangerous or suspicious, just unusual and curious.

“If it pleases you, I hope to finish a few things quickly here and then we can discuss any matters soon after. . . and perhaps in a more respectable location.” Damian offered.
​

|| Serina Calis ||​

 

[Serina Calis]

Tag: Damian du Couteau ​

Serina's smirk deepened as she studied the man before her, eyes flickering over his form with slow, deliberate interest. His surprise was evident—the widening of his lone crimson eye, the faint hitch in his breath, the momentary lapse in his composure. He carried himself with the unmistakable air of nobility, yet there was something unpolished about him, a rawness she found… endearing.

Du Couteau. Now that was a name of interest. She let it roll through her mind like a fine wine across her tongue, savoring its weight. Someone with connections, influence, and more importantly, the knowledge she sought. Serina tilted her head slightly as she absorbed his polite, formal bow, his voice carrying the well-trained cadence of someone used to diplomacy.

Her lips curled as she clasped her hands together in front of her, the motion measured, elegant, yet predatory. The glowing magenta lines on her armor pulsed faintly as she took a slow step forward, closing the space between them ever so slightly.

"Oh, you're the du Couteau heir?" she mused, amusement lacing her tone. "How delightful. I was hoping I'd find something useful in these ruins, but I never expected to stumble upon someone quite so… accommodating."

She allowed a pause, letting the weight of her words settle. Then, with a soft, knowing chuckle, she added, "I assure you, I didn't come expecting you. Though had I known, perhaps I would have made an appointment."

Her gloved fingers brushed absently along the fabric of her sleeve, her sharp blue gaze never leaving his. There was something fun about him—the way he was still scrambling to place her, the way his mind was racing behind his singular crimson eye. He was too polite to be dismissive, too curious to ignore her outright. A useful trait.

At his offer to relocate to a more respectable venue, Serina let out a soft, melodious laugh, tilting her chin up slightly as she regarded him.

"How very proper of you, Damian du Couteau," she purred, voice dipping into something more indulgent. "But tell me… does the dust and decay offend your sensibilities, or is it something else? Do ruins make you uneasy? Or is it the idea that I may be looking for the very same things you are?"

She let the question linger, her smirk deepening ever so slightly.

Then, with a graceful turn, she stepped forward again, her movements slow and deliberate as she gazed at the shattered remnants of the building around them.

"There's something poetic about it, don't you think?" she murmured, mostly to herself. "We build and build, stacking wealth upon wealth, power upon power… until it all crumbles and someone new comes along to sift through the remains."

She exhaled, shaking her head slightly before turning back to him, mischief dancing in her expression.

"But if it pleases you, I suppose I can humor your suggestion. Lead the way, heir du Couteau."

The way she said his name was teasing, almost mocking, but laced with a purr of intrigue. Serina had found something interesting today. And she wasn't about to let it slip away.

 

[Damian du Couteau]

Damian du Couteau, Senator of Empress Teta
Location: Coruscant, Old Senate District
Outfit

Not that Damian had never been given words of encouragement before or assorted compliments, all the same he found what the woman said a bit off putting. It was then a moment of realization came and he felt a rather strong sense of exhaustion arrive into his mind and body. Is she one of those tantalizing nobles turned Senator? Trying to baffle and tease other Nobles for their strict sensibilities and code of conduct? Damian straightened himself but slowly relaxed his shoulders and mental guards, the galaxy was a strange place and meeting a colleague in the ruins of the Senate district hardly seemed that weird.

All the while though Damian couldn’t quite calm the inner silent alarm in the back of his mind, but he mentally shook it off.

“Most beings enjoy a clean venue and being without worry that the roof might collapse.” Damian explained a bit dryly, “-Personally I avoid dust for the sake of my outfit. . . though it cannot be helped here.” He explained with both hands gesturing the sorry state of the building around them. He could only inwardly sigh at the thought of the judgmental eyes of his tailor when he returned back to Fondor.

“If you are truly intending to search for the same thing, I will hardly refuse the extra pair of eyes. A complete set is hard to come by these days for me.” Damian spoke rather matter of fact. Another attempt of dry humour.

If she was just going to joke and look for mild entertainment at his expense Damian didn’t mind; He had been forced to entertain far worse people before and he was more than ready to act the generous host. Besides she could be an important dignitary, best to play it safe and keep her happy. Damian continued his walk down the broken hallway, his office wasn’t too far and it appeared far less destroyed than other sections of the building. A rather good fortune but Damian didn’t hold his breath.

“The irony isn’t lost on me.” He was in fact pilfering through the remains of a building that was named after his father’s sacrifice on Teta against the Maw. The dubious nature of the chancellor that his father served also added to the poetic irony of it all as well. “-But the fact that anyone that comes after us even digs through what we leave behind makes it all worth it in the end.”

There was a strange feeling of hope that whatever they built helps provide the foundation for something more or even something better. A hopeful dream of the future.

“And you can call me Damian, all the extra syllables are unneeded for someone like me.” Damian added, he had his own opinion of such formalities with honorifics. But the most important opinion was that he felt conversations are far shorter when removing the need to include titles and family names in every other sentence. At least for myself, one less thing to track in conversation and more time to focus on more important matters.

He quickly scanned the rooms and the roof up ahead, Damian finding the familiar looking office just a few meters away. The anxiety slowly grew as he approached his old office, the door was left open and peering inside he saw what was left. Destroyed walls, glass casings laid broken on the floor with the mannequins that were inside strewn across the floor with the outfits torn and ruined.

“Do be mindful, plenty of broken glass everywhere Miss.” Damian warned as he carefully stepped across several pieces of glass shards. The cape was on one of these mannequins if I remember correctly. "I'll try and be quick here, but welcome to my old office. Apologies for its sorry state. I promise my office in Fondor does not offend anyone's sensibilities."
​

|| Serina Calis ||​

 

[Serina Calis]

Tag: Damian du Couteau ​

Serina followed Damian with the unhurried grace of a queen surveying her court, the sharp clicks of her boots softened by the dust that had settled over the ruins. She watched him carefully, absorbing the subtle shifts in his demeanor—the exhaustion creeping into his posture, the mental recalibration as he tried to place her within his world of decorum and duty. It was adorable in a way, watching him attempt to categorize her like another noble in his political dance.

His dry humor brought a quiet chuckle to her lips, rich and velvety, but she did not reply immediately. Instead, she let the silence stretch between them, watching how he filled it, how he carried himself despite whatever internal alarm still flickered at the back of his mind. She could sense it—the hesitation, the curiosity, the wariness.

She liked that.

As they stepped into what remained of his office, Serina glanced down at the shattered glass, her lips curving in an amused smirk at his polite warning. Miss, he had called her. A charming little formality, but unnecessary.

"I'll survive," she murmured, stepping forward without hesitation. The dim glow of her armor reflected off the broken shards, casting strange patterns against the ruined walls as she moved deeper inside.

She turned in a slow circle, taking in the remnants of the room, her expression shifting to something softer, something almost genuine. The mannequins, the shattered casings, the torn garments—it was all so telling. This was not just an office. It was a relic of something more. A past carefully constructed and now laid bare by time and violence.

Serina exhaled through her nose, reaching down with gloved fingers to pick up a delicate scrap of ruined fabric from the floor. She examined it between her fingers, letting the silence stretch before speaking again, her voice almost thoughtful.

"The things we leave behind," she mused, "tell a far more interesting story than the things we keep."

She turned back to him, tilting her head slightly as she studied his face. He's not like the others, she thought. He wasn't immediately looking for an angle, wasn't trying to impress her or dismiss her. He was simply existing, navigating the weight of his own legacy in real time.

She let the ruined fabric slip from her fingers and took a step closer, her blue eyes locked onto his.

"You're an optimist," she stated, not quite an accusation, but certainly an observation. "You believe that what's built today will become the foundation for something greater tomorrow."

Her lips curved, not unkindly, but with a quiet, knowing amusement.

"How terribly noble of you, Damian."

The way she said his name was deliberate, emphasizing his earlier request to drop the formalities. A small indulgence on her part.

She turned away then, casting another glance around the ruined office, her fingers grazing lightly over a dust-coated desk.

"I find that history is more often written by those who take," she continued, her voice casual, yet carrying the weight of something deeper. "Those who dig through the ruins aren't always looking to build. Sometimes, they just want to steal whatever power is left."

Her fingers stilled, tapping idly against the desk as she cast a glance back at him.

"So tell me, Damian—what exactly are you hoping to reclaim from the past?"

 

[Damian du Couteau]

Damian du Couteau, Senator of Empress Teta
Location: Coruscant, Old Senate District
Outfit

Damian continued to search the floor, each mannequin wearing unique designs but he finally spotted one that had nothing but a cape. Several large chunks of debri were quickly pushed off as he carefully untied the cape and examined it with his lone eye. A soft sigh of relief escaped his lips as the unexpected tension was released from his shoulders. The cape itself was almost a near replica of the one he was wearing, the key difference being the trimmings of gold and the emblem pin that represented his father’s initials in a quite stylish Tetan font.

Standing back up, the cape being carefully folded by him without even looking, Damian returned his focus on the woman. He still couldn’t really categorize her, a melodious voice and laugh that disarmed him but her questions and striking eyes kept him from entirely labeling her as just another aristocrat. I’m aware that I want to trust her, which is concerning. Damian always heeded his father’s words of being cautious of those with natural charisma, it was another thing to meet someone quite so poised and graceful.

“I respect the work of people I’ve come to know and understand,” Damian wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to her remarks. “-It’s easy to see the sheer galactic scale of horridness that threatens to wash us all away, so the mere fact there stands so few people in defiance; Well I admire their determination, so I guess it gives me hope.”

Damian slowly moved closer to his desk, noting the dust as the woman also grazed her finger over his desk for a moment. He moved around and gently pushed away the broken chair, Damian eyed the many scratches and broken pieces but thankful it largely remained intact. Using his left hand he pulled his right hand’s glove off and quickly dusted away a biometric lock and placed his hand on it and heard the lock mechanism creak open.

“My past self perhaps? My naivety? Innocence? Hope?” Love of the days long passed? Damian’s lips cracked and formed into a boyish grin as he really had no answer for her question. “My apologies, I can be quite wistful at times but it soon passes.”

He looked into the drawer that opened and quickly scooped up several data-slates and placed them haphazardly on top of his desk without much thought. The information on them was largely outdated but account numbers and details left on them still required a bit more attention that Damian didn’t want to give them currently. Instead his singular crimson eye stared intently at a decorative box he had brought with him from after the second Tetan invasion. My father's lightsaber. Gingerly he placed it on top of his desk as well and returned his focus to the woman.

“We all cast a light and will never know how it will reflect or where the shadows are cast. . . I try not to worry what historians will write about me or what others will take. I can’t very much retake my planet back without an army, so I focus on influence and economics.” Damian explained, his boyish grin fading back to his usual neutral expression.

“More and more I’ve been thinking back to a story my father told me. . . but I won't bore you with my melancholy any further.” Damian placed his ungloved hand on top of the decorative box, his protectiveness coming to him instinctually. “-If you can forgive my boldness in asking, but what are you looking for? I would hate to see us go through this much effort and leave this place without finding whatever it is you came here for.”
​

|| Serina Calis ||​

 

[Serina Calis]

Tag: Damian du Couteau ​

Serina watched him carefully, her gaze lingering on the way his lone crimson eye softened as he handled the cape—how his fingers moved with careful precision, folding it as if preserving a memory rather than just fabric. The subtle shift in his posture did not escape her. The weight that had clung to his shoulders lifted, even if only slightly, with the retrieval of something so seemingly simple.

Fascinating.

There was something undeniably human about Damian du Couteau, something unguarded despite his best efforts at caution. His sense of duty, his reverence for the past, his quiet hopefulness—it all made him an anomaly in a galaxy where cynicism and opportunism ruled. He did not speak like a man consumed by power or vengeance, nor one shackled by grief.

But neither is he naïve.

Serina leaned slightly against the edge of the desk, arms folding loosely across her armored bodice, her fingers idly tapping against the dark fabric of her sleeves. The flickering magenta glow of her armor cast faint reflections against the polished edge of the decorative box he had placed before him.

His father's lightsaber.

Serina's eyes lingered on it for only a second before returning to Damian himself.

His words intrigued her. There was a kind of resignation in them—acceptance of his position, yet no lack of ambition. He was a noble who understood his limitations, a tactician who played the long game. Influence and economics. That, at least, was something she could appreciate.

Then came the question.

What am I looking for?

Serina let the silence stretch just long enough to make it deliberate, her blue eyes glinting with something between amusement and calculation.

"How refreshingly direct of you," she mused, her smirk returning as she traced a finger along the edge of his desk. "Most men would prefer to dance around the question, but you… you ask as if you already expect me to deceive you."

Her voice was light, teasing, but laced with something deeper. She turned slightly, her gaze sweeping over the ruined office once more before finally answering.

"Knowledge," she admitted, her tone smooth and indulgent. "Not credits, not treasures—though I do find those useful—but knowledge. The kind of wealth that is not counted in vaults but in power."

She shifted, her posture still poised but now carrying a hint of something more dangerous.

"Tell me, Damian, have you ever noticed how the galaxy revolves not around the strongest warriors or the wisest scholars, but around those who understand the flow of wealth? The currents of power? The ones who dictate where resources move, who has access to what, who prospers and who starves?"

Her voice dipped slightly, becoming softer, more serpentine.

"And what better place to begin than the ruins of a system that once controlled the ebb and flow of galactic finance?"

Her eyes flicked toward the decorative box beneath his hand, then back up to meet his gaze.

"But you already knew that, didn't you?"

Serina let the words settle between them, savoring the way they hung in the air. She had no need to lie, no need to hide behind the usual masks. If Damian was half as intelligent as he seemed, he would already have suspected as much.

She reached out then, lightly tapping one of the data-slates he had so carelessly stacked on the desk.

"Perhaps our goals aren't so different after all."

 

[Damian du Couteau]

Damian du Couteau, Senator of Empress Teta
Location: Coruscant, Old Senate District
Outfit

Damian narrowed his eye, unsure of how to interpret her movements as she continued to step closer. The faint glow of her armour reflecting off of the various shards of glass scattered, as if he couldn’t escape her influence. He kept his body steady as he took measure of her words, addressing his bluntness in his question.

When the woman carefully maneuvered the conversation towards the data-slates, her hand tentatively touched one of them. Damian’s eye widened but he fought against his own realization as he attempted to force himself down a different path. But I’m still a Senator, duty has me obligated to protect sensitive Alliance information entrusted to me.

“If you wish for a dance there are several establishments I can recommend, none too far either.” He spoke, attempting to offer himself a bit more time to think. He tried to figure out how to keep both the slates and his own personal treasures safe with him at least for the time being.

“But as to your question; the larger than life, incredible beings of Force users, Great Warrior legends all make impacts in this galaxy. Some are more far reaching than others, but much like an endless ocean it doesn’t matter how large the impact, the waters always calm and submerge.” Damian explained.

It wasn't a profound revelation, but Damian wasn't arrogant enough to believe his impact could leave any bigger crater than the literal titans that have come before him and will come after him. But all the same the craters will fill up with water as the oceans return. Truly even as impossible Force users were to understand, the depth of their power was measurable, the truly unquantifiable were all the sentient beings in the entire galaxy. Not even the Alliance entertains an idea of a census across the thousands of member worlds.

“My father would agree with you, perhaps the connection in all living things through the Force is far greater than any of its practitioners could ever understand completely.” Damian tore his gaze away and casted down his stare towards both the cape and the box. He nodded to himself once as he raised his head to face the woman once again.

Damian moved closer to her with a sad smile, well within arm’s reach and outstretched his open right hand. His left still held both the glove of his right and the cape, while his crimson eye appeared soft and tired. He kept himself in between the data-slates and the woman, but he also knew what he was offering had the potential to be far more impactful. I’ve already given up on ever enjoying a full night of restful sleep.

“If we were to entertain a contract between one another, I would enjoy the privilege of knowing your name.” Damian offered, “-Being referred to as ‘The Woman’ also has its own charm I guess.”
​

|| Serina Calis ||​

 

[Serina Calis]

Tag: Damian du Couteau ​

Serina's smirk deepened as Damian maneuvered himself closer, closing the space between them in a way that felt as much a negotiation as it was a test. His singular crimson eye held exhaustion, resolve, and something else she could not quite place—an unspoken resignation that intrigued her. There was no fear in him, no desperate need to assert control or dominance. He stood before her as an equal, as if daring her to take the deal before it was ever spoken aloud.

The outstretched hand, the deliberate placement of his body between her and the slates—it was all part of a game she knew well. A dance, though not the kind found in establishments of leisure.

Serina let the moment stretch, let the weight of the silence coil around them. She could feel the way his presence resisted hers, how the very air between them was thick with unspoken thoughts, quiet calculations, unvoiced curiosities.

Then, slowly, she reached out.

Her fingers—gloved, yet delicate in their movements—brushed against his own, not in a firm shake, but in something more lingering, a featherlight touch that teased the boundary between formality and something far less structured. A silent acknowledgment of the unspoken contract forming between them.

"My name is Serina," she finally murmured, her voice smooth, indulgent, as if she were savoring the syllables herself. "Serina Calis."

She let his hand go then, taking a step back, her blue eyes never leaving his. The glow of her armor pulsed faintly as she exhaled, as if the very energy within her was responding to the quiet tension of the moment.

"I do hope you don't bore easily, Damian," she added, tilting her head slightly. "Because I have the distinct feeling that neither of us will get much rest in the days to come."

A soft, knowing chuckle escaped her lips as she glanced once more at the data-slates, her gaze lingering, but no longer pressing. He had chosen his battleground, and she had no desire to push where the deal had yet to be made.

Instead, she let her attention return to him, her smirk turning into something almost sincere.

"A contract, then," she murmured. "Let's see what kind of history we can write together, shall we?"

 

[Damian du Couteau]

Damian du Couteau, Senator of Empress Teta
Location: Coruscant, Old Senate District
Outfit

Damian took note of the light hand-shake, if he could even call it one but the young du Couteau heir accepted it all. He wasn’t here to judge and dictate proper business etiquette with other noble types. A part of him did though care but Damian recognized a lost cause and this Serina Calis would just tease and joke until he became flustered. Better to save time and skip straight into silent resignation.

“Lady Serina Calis.” Damian repeated as he bowed deeply and completed the courtsey with a cape flare as he slowly let go of her hand. Her name was unknown to him and he begun to grow anxious of what he could find when searching for information on her. Do I need to worry about political rivals? A desperate need of public relation help?

“At the very least I can write a name on this blank credit check,” Damian spoke as he returned his attention to the data-slates. “-Also as an aside; I actually do wish to find some time for sleep, despite how I might appear and carry myself,” Damian really couldn’t find anyone to grant him that wish for a comfortable night of sleep. I close my eye and all I see is the endless amount of work that I need to finish.

He quickly pulled the small data-cores and left the slates on his dusty desk. There wasn’t much left in the office that Damian wanted to take with him, so he returned his attention back to his decorative box and grabbed the lightsaber. He eyed the weapon, he knew Force users could read far deeper into the kyber crystal within, as if they could peek into the history of the blade.

It just feels like a cold metal hilt that produces a weightless blade. He clipped the lightsaber to his waist, Damian had chosen to keep the hilt clip when he had his father’s outfit tailored for him even though the young heir was not Force Sensitive himself. He put his glove back on and gently patted the lightsaber, gently holding it before returning both his arms crossed over his chest.

“But tell me, what do you want history to say?” Damian returned his attention back to Serina. “The adoration of the people, where they build statues of your image? Or do you want future great leaders asking what Lady Calis would do in their situation? Or something different, unique even?” If Damian was going to continue his streak of sleepless nights, he would like to know what kind of dreams of the future he would be missing but instead working towards.
​

|| Serina Calis ||​

 

[Serina Calis]

Tag: Damian du Couteau ​

Serina's gaze flicked to the lightsaber now clipped to Damian's waist, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Interesting. A senator, a noble, a tactician, and now—a man carrying a weapon he could not wield. She wondered what it meant to him. Was it a symbol of legacy? A burden? A reminder?

Or was it simply another tool in his arsenal, something to project the image of a warrior without needing to become one?

Either way, she found it charming.

His question, though, was what truly captured her attention.

Serina let out a soft, amused hum, shifting her weight slightly as her fingers traced idle patterns along the edge of his desk. What do I want history to say?

It was not a question many dared to ask her. People assumed, as they always did, that ambition was a monolith—that those who sought power wanted one thing above all else. Glory, dominion, immortality in the annals of history.

But Serina had never cared for statues. Statues were cold, unmoving, left to be forgotten or defiled when the tides of time shifted.

She exhaled slowly, her smirk fading into something quieter, more introspective.

"No statues," she murmured. "No grand speeches in my name. Those things are for fools who believe their legacies are made of stone."

Her gaze lifted to his, piercing and deliberate.

"I want to be the question history never stops asking."

She stepped forward then, closing the distance between them again, but this time there was no teasing lilt to her voice, no playful coyness. Only raw, quiet certainty.

"I want my name whispered in war councils, pondered over in lecture halls, muttered in the halls of power by those who think they understand the game but know they're missing a piece. I want leaders centuries from now to hesitate before making a choice, wondering if I accounted for it long before they ever drew breath."

She tilted her head slightly, her golden waves catching the faint light of the ruined office, her blue eyes gleaming like cold fire.

"I want to be indispensable to the future, Damian. Not a monument. Not an icon. A force woven into the very fabric of galactic power."

Her lips curled slightly, a smirk returning—not playful this time, but something dangerous.

"I want my influence to be so thoroughly entrenched that people will never be certain if they're following my designs or their own."

Then, finally, she let out a soft laugh, stepping back as if shaking off the weight of her own words.

"But what about you, dear heir du Couteau?" she asked, her voice returning to its usual velvety smoothness. "What is it that keeps you awake at night, besides the ever-growing stack of unfinished work on your desk?"

She gestured slightly toward the slates, mischief flickering in her expression.

"Do you dream of retaking Teta? Of carving out a new place in the galaxy for your family name? Or are you, perhaps, still waiting to find out what history will say about you?"

 

[Damian du Couteau]

Damian du Couteau, Senator of Empress Teta
Location: Coruscant, Old Senate District
Outfit

Damian felt uneasy as Serina walked closer to him, a strange sensation of his personal space being challenged. He wanted to take a step back but he felt the desk pressed against his backside and only caused his anxiety to grow. The past few months had not been kind to him, the soreness of his face was a reminder of how close he had been to eternal sleep. Damian eased himself forward, finding the situation familiar when he had visited a research station near a black-hole.

Celestial bodies such as stars collapse into perhaps the most terrifying natural phenomena in the entire universe, let alone the galaxy. But. Damian had stared into the depths of true utter darkness, they were majestic creations In a quite brutal and unforgiving type of way, but majestic all the same. He had wondered how close he could get to one back then, but now he wondered if he should step back before it was too late.

“I dream of the gardens and time with my family, enjoying what Teta has given us.” Damian spoke, his uncertainty growing as he glanced at the slates for a moment. The faint glow of her armour projecting light as if similar to how those photon spheres that surround black holes. He closed his eyes for only a second before opening them and took a step forward closer.

“And to dance once again within the palace halls of Cinnagar.” Damian spoke as he unfolded his other cape from his hand and side-stepped away from Serina as he spun around. He grabbed both ends of the cape as if it was his dance partner and with a quick twirl he returned his focus to Serina.

“To do all that, Teta must be liberated from the Dark Empire. Quite the brooding name honestly, like the Krath. Names that sound as if nothing good could ever come. If I could be so bold to say.” He explained. “Perhaps once Empress Teta shakes off her shackles, I’ll extend an invitation to visit the Royal Gardens. Maybe even provide you with a new cape.” He added, his eye sparkled at the thought of seeing the old tailor shop once again.

“I hope you don’t mind some unsolicited advice Lady Calis; chasing that kind of power and influence is a dangerous and delicate path. I might be able to catch your hand from falling once or twice, but there is a gaping maw that awaits below. It does not get easier nor less dangerous the longer you walk along it.” Damian warned with a small gesture with his hand. The planet of Coruscant once the crown jewel of the Alliance left to the wayside was proof that nothing good could ever last. So enjoy it for as long as possible.
​

|| Serina Calis ||​

 

[Serina Calis]

Tag: Damian du Couteau
​

Serina watched Damian carefully, her expression unreadable as he spoke of gardens, of family, of dances longed for but lost to time. His words were gentle, wistful, touched with a rare kind of sincerity she had not expected. He was a man who had suffered, who had seen the depths of destruction, yet still held onto something as fragile and fleeting as a dream.

That alone made him dangerous.

Hope, after all, was the most stubborn of all illusions. It made people fight wars, make bargains, sacrifice everything for the slimmest chance of reclaiming what was lost.

And yet, when he twirled his cape as if guiding an unseen partner across a ballroom floor, Serina could not help but let out a quiet chuckle. It was not a mocking sound, nor was it dismissive. It was something else—something rare.

It was genuine amusement.

Damian du Couteau was unlike anyone she had ever met.

She tilted her head slightly as he spoke of the Dark Empire, of Empress Teta, of the path he walked toward liberation. A noble's duty, she supposed, but one wrapped in something far more personal.

So he is not a mere bureaucrat, nor a man playing at power for its own sake.

When he stepped forward, warning her of the abyss that awaited those who sought power without caution, Serina's smirk faded just slightly. Not in offense, not in defiance, but in something closer to curiosity.

For a moment, she said nothing, merely letting his words settle between them like dust in the air.

Then, after a beat, her lips curled once more—not into a teasing smirk, but into something sharper.

"Oh, Damian," she murmured, shaking her head ever so slightly. "You speak as though I haven't already fallen."

She took a step toward him, closing the space he had so carefully placed between them, her blue eyes gleaming with something colder now, something knowing.

"There is no catching my hand," she continued, her voice smooth, deliberate. "I have already stepped beyond the precipice. The path I walk does not frighten me—it thrills me."

She lifted a single gloved hand, not to touch him, but to gesture vaguely toward the ruined city beyond the shattered walls.

"Coruscant is proof enough of what happens when men hesitate, when they compromise, when they lose their grip. Power is never truly held—it is borrowed. And the moment you think you own it, you are already at risk of losing it."

Her eyes flicked back to him, studying him with a quiet intensity.

"You understand this already, don't you? You have lived it."

A pause.

Then, finally, her smirk returned, lighter this time, less cutting.

"But I appreciate the sentiment," she mused, taking a slow step back. "Truly, I do."

She exhaled softly, then glanced toward the folded cape in his hands.

"I think I would like to see these Royal Gardens one day," she admitted, her voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. "To walk where history was written. To understand what it is you fight for."

Her gaze flicked back to him, lips curling once more.

"And as for the cape… well, I'd hope you'd make sure it suits me."

The teasing lilt returned to her voice then, though it was gentler than before, less of a test and more of an invitation to continue whatever strange, unexpected game had begun between them.

Because Damian du Couteau was, for all his caution, not trying to change her.

And that, perhaps, was what made him most interesting of all.

Serina let the air between them settle, her words still lingering like the faint glow of her armor reflecting off the ruined walls. Damian was intriguing—too intriguing. He was measured but not cold, calculating but not ruthless. His ideals should have been naïve, yet they were carried with a weight that suggested he understood the cost of them.

She liked that.

No, she liked him.

Not in the crude, fleeting way that nobles toyed with one another at galas, nor in the way the powerful sought to control those beneath them. It was something else—something rarer. Damian du Couteau was not a man she needed to break or bend. He was already tempered, already shaped by the fire of war and duty.

And that made him useful.

Serina took another slow step back, letting him have his space again, her cape shifting ever so slightly behind her as she folded her arms across her chest.

"Tell me something, Damian," she murmured, tilting her head. "When the day comes that you stand in the halls of Cinnagar once more, will you dance for your people, or will you be the one leading them?"

She let the question hang for only a moment before continuing, her voice taking on that smooth, silken quality once more.

"Because you seem like a man who still thinks he must earn his place in history, rather than simply take it. And that, I think, is what sets us apart."

She turned slightly, taking a slow step away from the desk, letting her fingers trail lazily along its surface once more.

"You chase victory," she mused. "I am victory."

Her gaze flicked toward him again, sharp and knowing.

"You believe in the fight. The struggle. The cost. You find meaning in it." A pause. "I do not. I have no interest in war for war's sake, nor in rebellion for the sake of principle. I deal in inevitabilities."

She let out a quiet chuckle, shaking her head slightly.

"But perhaps that is why I find you so… compelling."

Her fingers stilled on the desk, and she turned back to him fully, her blue eyes locking onto his once more.

"I would rather be the one who writes history than the one who is merely remembered for struggling against it. And whether you realize it or not, Damian…"

She took a step closer again, though this time, there was no teasing smile, no flirtatious tilt of her head.

"You are already doing the same."

A beat.

Then, finally, her smirk returned, lighter now, something almost indulgent.

"But I will take your warning into consideration," she mused. "Though I suspect I will have fallen much further before you ever manage to catch me."

She turned on her heel then, her cape swaying elegantly behind her as she began to walk toward the shattered doorway, casting one last glance over her shoulder.

"Come, Damian. Walk with me. Unless, of course, you are afraid that I might lead you somewhere you shouldn't go."

The invitation was unspoken, but undeniable. She had no interest in leaving just yet. Not without seeing how much further this dance between them could go.

​

​

 

[Damian du Couteau]

Damian du Couteau, Senator of Empress Teta
Location: Coruscant, Old Senate District
Outfit

Damian took in her words for what they were, no warning, just a truth she believes with absolute certainty. While it was abundantly clear that he had little knowledge of the woman in front of him, Damian had just learned her name only moments earlier, he had seen what it means to fall. This time when she moved closer he remained relatively still, his confidence growing ever so slightly.

His attention returned to the sorry state his office was in, but more broadly the state of Coruscant. It didn’t take a genius to see how being so close to a hostile galactic power would cause detrimental effects on trade and the economy. He needn’t nightmares to tell him how even shifting a few percentage points of unemployment would cause an uptick of suicide and further ruination of innocent life.

No, Damian didn’t need the nightmares, he had his reports and statistics. A different kind of nightmare brought to life, but one he learned to accept and work with to its logical end.

“You should realize the depths of which I will go to reach those who need help,” Damian explained, he offered a rather ungraceful shrug, “-I've dove into a horde of undead to help out citizens, ruined my outfit in the process too.” Damian recalled the rather horrid business back on Celanon. A duty of a Senator compels me to help after all.

“You are right, despite everything I do, I believe I must earn everything. Even though my father always told me I never needed to earn anything from him. I am his son, nothing else had mattered to him.” Damian glanced around the ruined displays and many broken mannequins and torn outfits.

“Yet here I am, attempting to be the good son. . . . I commend your certainty in yourself, I truly do.” Damian responded as he wasn’t sure how to properly read Serina. The woman was more of an enigma now than when he first met her, not for a lack of trying on his part either. But he'll settle with what she had offered to him so far in their conversation.

“But as to your question; if it were up to me, I’d lead my people to share a dance with me. I can’t imagine myself demanding anything more from them.” Damian’s expression broke into a small smile as he watched Serina head towards the doorway, back to the hallway they had come from earlier.

He walked next to her and gestured ahead, asking her to take the lead. “-I’ll try and catch you all the same, in any path we might find ourselves.” Damian reaffirmed. He had thought far too much about death, maybe because he had taken life far too seriously. Perhaps I should smile again.

“We got to chase the wind on a windy day after all.”
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|| Serina Calis ||​