Dominion CIS Mix Tape || CIS Dominion of Har Binande

[Abel Denko]

BLACK MAGIC WOMAN

The atmosphere was...familiar.

At first, the Jedi could not quite put his finger on it. Perhaps it was the uncanny combination of liquor and pheromones raging through his veins which averted his attention, but his guard was significantly lower than usual. It was not until his advance was made and his greeting uttered that Abel began to take notice. As he turned, back now pressed against the bar to watch the woman as she strode past, his Starweird student reached out. The midnight of her presence upon his psyche was what clued the Jedi in.

What was familiar? A faint aroma of Darkness, the very same which clung to the shoulders of his student. It was not enough to stall the attraction. It was enough to give the man but a moment's pause before he humored Fauvel's words. His response was spoken directly into her thoughts: << I would be lying if I said I hadn't been watching holovids on dancing for months after.>>

At least now he was confident he could move to a beat. Hopefully.

His gaze met the expectant eyes of the Black Magic Woman. The expectation in her expression was met by confident strides. Perhaps a touch bold, he reached out - his dominant hand gingerly settling upon her waist. He drew her closer, setting her back upon his chest. Bass. His hips moved in tandem with the beat, his offhand raising above his head slightly. Nothing too fancy - an appetizer.

And to Fauvel he asked. << Scale of 1-10, how bad do I look right now? >>​

Fauvel Astier | Vanya Aklin

 

[Titus Dorn]

TAINTED LOVE

Of course you couldn't. The pair of us do seem to fit together quite well.

The soldier had grown to know Tegan only as a fellow warrior. He knew in a firefight, she'd have his back and he would have hers. Strong. Brave. Damn good with a rifle. Yet never in Titus' wildest dreams would he imagine a flirtatious tone being directed towards him. Moreover, he never imagined that he would enjoy it. Nonetheless, as she spoke, a satisfied chuckle fell from his lips. He couldn't help but smile at the words. And as she led him to the dance floor, her words were the furthest thing from workplace appropriate.

It was a damn good thing that they were clocked out.

Titus reached out, catching her hand as she backed away onto the dance floor. He gave her a light spin and then guided her into his arms. Complete with a wink. "Careful soldier, I'll take your breath away."

Seriously though. What the actual feth was in that drink?​

Tegan Farron

 

[Vaux Gred]

Tags: Kiff Brayde

Vaux smiled a little, leaning in a little closer as Kiff mentioned he had a berth that could fit two. She soon spoke, again under the attempt at her to seem more smooth.

"If you think we'll fit, then I don't see why not...." However, something kept gnawing at the back of her mind. It sounded a bit like her, possibly the last bit of her logic left from the drink. It definitely sounded like something she'd yell a rookie pilot, but to herself instead.

"Gar mirsh solus (You're an idiot)." She looked confused for a moment, trying to wrap her head around things and figure out why something didn't feel right.

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

N O T A G A I N​

WEARING: xxx
TAG: Palm-Imer | Vytal Noctura

Gerwald struggled internally with what was happening inside him. How was it that a woman he had never dared to entertain to think of anywhere near a romantic capacity was suddenly the most attractive person in the room to him? What was more, Palm seemed to think so as well. It was odd. One moment the wolf had found reason to struggle with his feelings in general, and the next moment there seemed to be such clarity.

How could he have ever thought there was anyone other than the Nightmother? How had he been so blind to her for so long? The woman had made many attempts to reach out and offer friendship, only for Gerwald to spurn it. He had been such a fool. There was only one thing he could do to make it right.

“You must forgive me for being a fool, Vytal. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, and I have been so wrapped up in myself I did not see you for the ravishing beauty that you are.”

He stepped closer to her, attempting to nudge Palm out of the way. It was clear she wanted the Nightmother all to herself, and Gerwald was certainly not about to let that happen.

“We can go find a fire right now if you would like… or find somewhere a bit more private where we could start one of our own…”
​

 

[Darth Elyria]

Tag: Darth Metus​

A Festival of Love.

Pah.

Elyria could recall when there were grand rites and rituals that had commenced in her glory where the primitives threw themselves before her. Why would they have a festival of something so fleeting? So fragile? She had held such passion in her infancy, so deeply, that it brought down the sky. She had also been shrugged away as the balance of power shifted. Rejection gave her emptiness a name.

To celebrate something so volatile seemed to be a chance to invite little more than weakness. On the opposite end of the spectrum, it sparked open jealousy, for people that were so broken they simply got mad at others for being whole. Petty. Purely, petty children of which she had no desire to entertain. She dressed in a plain black dress that fell in light muslin cloth from her shoulders. It cinched to her impossibly small waist and her feet were actually bare. If everyone else could get away with poor strips of leather and twine for footwear—Why bother?

She had remained quiet, polite, and seemingly even-tempered while Darth Metus had his discussions with lesser human beings. They were small men, with small minds, and narrow views. Zero creativity or ambition. Elyria had no use for creatures with such detriments. By the time they finished playing the political games, she was exhausted by it. In truth, she wished to go back to the Well on Ryloth and lounge about until the ringing stopped hurting her ears from the incessant bleating, however, a promise was a promise. She would view this world and what it had to offer.

She would learn from her guide and assimilate with this new reality.

Shoes in hand she let them fall to the floor while she took a seat in one of the wicker chairs as if it were a throne. Black fabric shifted while she placed bare feet in the Vicelord’s lap and grudgingly accepted a flute of champagne. It was not red. She preferred, red. But she would try it all the same. She was doing what the people did. See as they did. Act as they did. When in Naboo, dress like a bird. When on Ryloth, have a pair of lekku. Here? She would drink tasteless champagne.

Eyes that were dark as the night itself swept over the assembled people. She recognized a precious few of them by sight, though, she could recognize the progeny of the Vicelord by their Force Signature. The light toast caused her to pass a rather confident smile back. “Yes. To me.”, she reiterated without missing a beat. Bringing the flute to her lips she paused.

Something about it made her want to put it down. She frowned, though, she did not fear it. Nothing so small could be of any threat to her. She took a sip.

Bah, she wished it was red. Better quality, at least.

But the compliment that Darth Metus passed felt strangely personal. He had always held a pleasing form. This was nothing new, but he seemed to fill out his civilian street clothes quite nicely. “This beverage is swill…”

“But I am pleased, strangely, to drink it with you.”

 

[Tegan Farron]

Objective: Tainted Love
Tag: | Titus Dorn |

----------------

This was not the way a person was supposed to speak to their commanding officer, on the clock or off of it. Tegan was quite aware of this fact, continued to think this fact, to try and tell herself those words again and again, and yet it changed nothing. Even though she was aware that this entire situation was hardly professional of either of them, she couldn't seem to put any distance between herself and Titus. Moreover, she didn't want to.

Maybe drinks had been a bad idea?

Be that as it may, when the blonde's wrist was caught and she was spun into a secure hold, she had no control over the amused laugh that bubbled up her throat in response to that and his comment. "Looking forward to it, sir." Was she? Never in a million years would she have ever thought about this scenario. Yes, Titus was of course attractive and no one could dispute that. But Tegan had respect for him, and would never try to step all over that fact with a flirty nature.

And yet here she was, held close, her tone flirty, and now with her body moving of its own accord to the music filling the room.

So damn strange...

 

[Darth Metus]

T A I N T E D​

L O V E​

Flap!

The sound of the primordial one's shoes hitting the club floor was practically lost in the bass. Were it not for sheer proximity, the Vicelord would not have been able to hear it. The sound was one which heralded the woman's descent onto the wicker loveseat that he had settled upon. She graced it like a throne, a fact which brought a light smile to the man's face. Seated beside, her feet them raised and settled upon his lap. Ah, what a picture this was - seated in the club as if they were an actual couple. Now there was one Hell of a thought. Darth Metus practically drank to that one.

He paused, long enough to see the champagne flute settled into the woman's porcelain grasp. They toasted - to her at his behest - before indulging in the modest offering of the evening. Upon first taste, the beverage was nothing special. It was the sort that the Sith could expect to find in a watering hole of little renown. Fortunately, Darth Metus' own personal tastes were the furthest thing from being exceedingly refined. He had led a life of warfare - of selling the art of killing for profit - long before becoming Vicelord. Therefore, there had been plenty of days where there were worse offerings jammed down his throat.

This one was at least sweet.

And as soon as the first swallow landed in his stomach, the Sith blinked. His sulfuric gaze traversed the form of his primordial companion. Like always, she was dressed exceedingly well - and it was always dark. A reflection, perhaps, of the abyss she called home? Or was it simply a personal taste? Nonetheless, the dress she had chosen hugged her in all the right ways. Darth Metus practically caught himself staring, and thus offered a compliment. To which she remarked that the champagne was swill. Her tastes were exceedingly more refined than his own. In fact, he had to imagine that she was royalty of some sorts long before their meeting.

Darth Elyria settled for nothing less than the best. And if she had to? He'd hear about it, that's for damn sure. However, the Sith was not expecting the tail end of her thoughts. She was pleased to drink it with him? What, was he growing on her? Chit, the way she was looking tonight, it's not like he was truly complaining. Darth Metus smiled ever so slightly, before taking another swig of the champagne.

"I try to be good company." he remarked, before settling his gaze upon her own. Sulfur peered into the abyss - he could feel himself staring once more. So he blinked, cleared his throat, and looked away. This...this wasn't like normal. Maybe he was just tired and the fatigue was making him sleepy stare. Yeah. That was it.

"Y'know, you never told me where you're from." he said, attempting to steer their chat away from how excessively pretty she looked tonight.

​

 

[Rann Thress]

Lurv?​

WEARING:

TAG: Magdalena Lethe

“...What?”



Contaminant?



Rann Parted his fingers and looked at Magdalena’s drink. Then at her, then at his own. Suddenly a realization exploded into his mind. Perhaps...his mind wasn’t his own.



“Hey uh...can you check this?” He pointed at one of his drinks of Breath of Heaven that he had drank, there was still some at the bottom.



“I’d hate to ask you to do this...but..I don’t feel right. Something seems very very wrong. My heart is beating really fast, I’m very clammy. Nervous.” He ran his hand along his chest again, trying to soothe his heart. “I feel...really strongly. I didn’t feel like this before. Can you check? Please? For my sanity?” He wiped his eyes and looked at her, pleading. He needed to know. Something was definitely wrong with him. This wasn’t Rann. It wasn’t even Darth Qanah. He hoped, prayed, that this was the cause of some sort of tampering.
​

 

[Aspect of Defiance]

The night would continue with all kinds of infatuation until the antidote was found. None who were under the influence of the potion would remember what happened. Their memory would simply be blank space. Reports of the night would lead to an investigation uncovering a prank gone horribly wrong. At least there wasn't a holo-recording of all the embarrassing fun.

Spoiler: OOC Note

Feel free to keep posting even though the dominion is over. Just because the thread has a wrap doesn't mean the fun has to!

​

 

[Darth Elyria]

Tag: Darth Metus
​

Why was he watching her so intently?

“Is there something wrong, Isley?”

They tended to orbit around one another because he didn’t exactly trust her not to start eating his constituents when her stomach started to growl. That didn’t mean that he was solely focused on her, however. Elyria had spent many a day perched on the edge of his desk or crawling the walls of his office in Theed while he dealt with the daily minutia that running a nation required. Mostly, he ignored her in efforts to complete his work so his Apprentice would not whine. It was beyond her why he liked the White Rabbit so much. Truly, she was grating.

Elyria brought the flute to blood-red lips and took another sip while she leaned back in the chair. The second taste was just as bad as the first. Her head tilted. What was this? A heady feeling washed through her and warmth spread through her from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. Oh, how abhorrent. Still. She was the curious sort. What seemed to be taking all of the Confederacy by storm seemed exceedingly obvious. The drink was not what it appeared to be. “We should drink a great deal of this poison. Then—You can call me a lot of names meant to hurt feelings I no longer have.”

“And you can sit still making noise with your nose.”

The raven-haired woman looked supremely pleased with herself for deducing what should happen at an event like this. Elyria didn’t sleep, unless, she was depleted. This left for many an evening in which her only companion and window to the outside world was the Holo-Net. “I have seen this happen many times on the vidscreen you gave me. Usually, it ends in some form of trickery that is meant to be both…Amusing and optimistic. They claim, it can be scary.”

“I do not find it frightening.”

She paused when the sable-skinned man asked where she was from. The rambling that she was doing, uncharacteristically, about holo-dramas was interrupted with a slight frown. From the lofty position she had taken with her feet resting in his lap, she should have been very pleased. She had alcohol, drugs, and a handsome man with which to partake. This question was sobering.

“I..Do not know. I am of the Vault.”

 

[Palm-Imer]

Wearing: XxX.
Tagging: Gerwald Lechner ~ Vytal Noctura ~ Rann Thress ~ Magdalena Lethe ~ Vaux Gred ~ Darro Praji ~ Kiff Brayde

​

The geminaie had no idea what it was that had suddenly awakened such passionate feelings within her, nor did she seem to care that much. There was only Vytal Noctura, standing like a goddess of the night before her. The stunning dathomirian complimented them both in return, the words spared to Gerwald were little more than background noise to the Ambassador but the ones directed at her put a bright, pleased smile on her lips. Soon enough the embers of a stormy desire would begin to shine bright behind the golden pools that were her eyes.

Then something utterly unacceptable happened, the hulking form of the lupine stepped forward trying to obscure her view of the Nightmother. Jealousy was something Palm-Imer had never quite experienced before, always the selfless and laid back one. However, there was no other name for the bitterness that suddenly bit at her. As luck had it, she would have to compete for the beauty's affections.

Palm moved to the side, allowing Gerwald a momentary victory over the Nightmother's personal space that suddenly they both seemed to covet so, but it was nothing if short lived. The geminaie glided to her side, amber seeking emerald as one of her hands moved to gently push back a strand of raven hair that had strayed from its original place. That simple gesture and the closeness alone were enough to make the Ambassador feel nothing short of blissful.

Palm was ready to counter Gerwald's proposition with one of her own, every strand of her being refusing the thought of letting the lupine whisk away the Nightmother. Her words were only stopped thanks to the power of observation. For a moment, the geminaie took notice of how the Dathomirian seemed to be enjoying both of their companies - and absolutely nothing was more important to Palm in that given moment than Vytal's own contentment. Once again her voice was velvety and light, a certain playfulness dancing in her gaze. "Somewhere more private does sound like an enticing idea, if you'd like to forgive a fool..."

For a second, the steamy gaze left the Nightmother to meet the Lord Commander, apparently still finding a deeper meaning in them even if right now he was more of a rival than anything else. That alluring and sly smirk still stretched her lips, a single, silent, and rhetorical question plastered in her eyes. Could they tolerate to share her attention?

 

[Magdalena Lethe]

Rann Thress

"What are you saying, that someone slipped a love potion into your drink?" Magda gave a derisive snort, withdrew the device from her bottle and set the water back on the bar. When she looked back to Rann he was holding his glass and looking ... well, pathetic. "Oh."

Well. Guess that's what it really took to get noticed by guys in this suit. The sudden realization of it was a bit deflating, if she was being honest - even despite how alarming it had been just a moment prior.

"Sure," Magda set the device to COCKTAIL, "of course I'll check," took his glass from him and plunked the metal straw in. A few moments, a few flashing lights.

BRRT.

CONTAMINANT.

"Good gravy," she blinked, "your's has it, too. Hey - HEY," Magda turned to the bartender who was just making her way by.

"Another drink for your beau?"

"For my what? No! These drinks are contaminated. What are you putting in them?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, sister."

"I'm not your sister you pointy-headed polly. Where is your manager?! I'm going to report this tampering..."

 

[Vanya Aklin]

Wearing: xxx
Tag: Abel Denko Fauvel Astier

There was something to be said about firsts, the first kiss, the first touch, the first time, how the sensations of those moments became burned unto ones memories. That first touch, the heat of his palm felt through the barriers of clothing, was enough to entice a content sigh from her lips. There were no objections as he bought her against him, so that her back was against his chest, and her hips could move to the rhythm with his, slowly, oh-so-slowly, while her head rested against his shoulder. This game of seduction was one the Nightsister played well, one she had mastered, one she would not loose. Her hips moved in time with the beat of the music, her hand grabbing his and guiding it along her body so that it rested against her abdomen, encouraging him to hold her tighter, to pull her harder against him.​

But Vanya had not cared for his divided attention. She had not needed to be in his mind to know that words were still being exchanged with the woman at the booth, that he would not simply abandon her, and it meant that his attention was not entirely on the tattooed vixen as it should have been. So she would make it hard for him to maintain the divided attention, hard to form words in the mental link. Her backside rocked harder against him with a demand of attention, a sudden friction to put a stop to the distraction. Turning in his embrace her gaze found his, smouldering and intense as she pressed harder against him, so that he would feel the swell of her breasts on his chest as fingers gripped the roots of his blonde hair and pulled his lips to hers.​

There was no hesitation, no shame, no coy or bashful demeanour from her, just a bold confidence as she kissed him, lips parting to chase the taste of him as she painted herself against him, so that every part of them touched. "Pay attention or you might be left behind." She warned him, the first words she spoke to him, her lips brushing teasingly against his before teeth seized his lower lip in a teasing and vicious bite to shake his focus on the woman at the table, to make him pay attention to her, to the movement of her body against him, and the beautiful promise of what the night might hold for him if he’d pay attention.​

 

[Fauvel Astier]

Wearing: XxX.
Tagging: Abel Denko ~ Vanya Aklin ~ Open.

​

The black claws still hugged the glass of wine. Almost as red as the starweird's own gaze, even if it lacked their eerie glow. <<"Good to know the teacher still learns too.">> Eyes lost on some corner of the bar, away from the couple, Fauvel smiled. It was not the first time that she found her friendship and mentorship under able quite peculiar. She, like everything born of her land, was a creature of darkness. Abel surrounded himself with a Light that Fauvel would never truly experience, and still she had a lot to learn from it. Perhaps the same could ring true for him, her magic and darkness the opposite ends of what he was.

Then she heard his voice within the confines of her mind once again, but this time her answer was delayed as she caught a glimpse of the couple through a mirrored wall behind the bar. The noise heard next was nothing short of unfathomable, for no one in their right mind could have ever conjured the image of Fauvel Maridt Astier of Blood Reign, snorting.

The reaction was the result of a combination of the effects of alcohol and the surprise of the unexpected. Here they were, fretting over dance steps while this dark woman had not hesitated for a second before taking the reigns of the situation. It would seem her dear Abel was more the prey rather than the hunter she was supposed to aid. <<"Well I am inclined to believe you look just fine to her, Abel">> Phantom laughter would follow the words, and then she took another sip of the wine.

If things remained on this route she was sure privacy rather than counsel would be in order, it remained to be seen if the Nar Shaddaa raised Nabooian noble's concentration would pass the test of will that the mysterious lady had provided. This night was proving to be quite entertaining, even if that slight prick of caution was still stuck to her thoughts - inspired by her mentor's dance companion. However, it was not nearly strong enough to dampen her amusement.

<<"How was it that they call it?...Ah, yes, might you be 'in over your head', Lord Denko?">>

 

[Vytal Noctura]

Two romantic interests? Surely this would stretch credulity and cause one to snap out of the spell; much as being ordered to kill someone would break hypnosis. It being the Nightmother, a woman of power and authority, this would undoubtedly be certain. To think of the mental and spiritual training and experience! And the regal bearing of a Nightsister of Dathomir on top of it all -- a woman not prone to an Outsider's wiles.

It was sudden. But it was not unthinkable. Vytal was more often isolated than not in spiritual matters or research. The lack of company was not entirely by choice. In the beginning it had been because her time among the stars had been fraught with peril and betrayal by those seeking to take advantage of a Nightsister unaccustomed to galactic civilization. After she managed to accept her surroundings it became less a choice and more a consequence. Surrounded by people, but too removed from notice.

So when two handsome or pretty people suddenly caught her eye -- with a bit more passion than normal -- why should it be that strange? Gerwald often stayed at a distance until just recently. Perhaps they'd just never gotten to know one another well enough. As for Palm-Imer, there was nothing wrong admiring another woman's beauty.

Vytal smiled at Gerwald's compliment. Not from a place of haughty disdain, but appreciation. Witches of Dathomir might be aloof and insular, but they were not heartless. A little flirtation and recognition could go a long way. The smile then grew wider at the invitation.

Green eyes slid a bit to the side as Palm glided closer. It was only when the other woman reached up to brush a strand of hair back with the heat radiating from her being so near that the dark brow of the Witch wavered. An unexpected, gentle, and personal gesture by the lovely lady. Of course she wouldn't accept anything less, or so her pride would demand aloud if asked.

"It is," she agreed. A slow sweep of the area with her eyes, the Witch regarded the pair from the corner of her eye for a moment. "I feel there is so much for us to... talk about, but I don't feel inclined to share you with the rest." Not wanting to leave her thought to question, one pale hand slowly fanned outward to stroke the cheeks of Gerwald Lechner and Palm-Imer at the same time. They descended in offer for the pair to take them. The two of them might be at odds over who got the Pale Witch, but the Witch was not the least bit torn over which of them she wanted.

 

[Abel Denko]

BLACK MAGIC WOMAN

Snort.

The cacophony which chimed in the Knight's head was enough to cause his lips to draw into a smirk. Ever the dignified noble, it was rare to hear anything but pristine words echo from the woman. Even telepathically. Yet this? This was a rare moment that he would never forget. << What was that? >> he mused. Though he spared the though to jest with his student, the majority of his attention was upon his dance partner. She was the definition of bold as they moved upon the dance floor. Her hand guided his own. Her hips were provocative in their sway. Grinding, even.

Based on that, Abel was inclined to believe Fauvel when she said he looked just fine. << I'm beginning to think you're right. >> he thought in reply.

Apparently, his partner took exception to that. Though the communication was wordless, it seemed to illicit a response from the midnight woman. She turned, pressing her form upon Abel's front. Her fingers traced into his head, guiding his face down - colliding his lips with her own. She parted his lips and invaded his mouth, an act that caused his eyes to widen ever so slightly. It was then that he first heard her voice. Pay attention or you might be left behind. His bottom lip was nipped in the process. There was plenty to read between the lines as she continued to move against him.

And were the Knight any average sod, that might have been the moment that the telepathic phone call was disconnected. But for a man reared on the mean streets of Nar Shaddaa? There were only two words ringing in his head. Red Flag. His lips curved into a coy smirk. His dominant hand found hers and he guided her in a neat twirl, before drawing her back into his arms. He leaned in close, his own lips just a breath away from her ear.

"So you hear more than music..."

Fauvel Astier | Vanya Aklin

 

[Darth Metus]

HAR BINANDE

Is there something wrong, Isley?

The Sith sometimes forgot that Elyria was a mother of sorts. And like any parent, you couldn't hide chit from her gaze. The fact that he was appreciative of her appearance, far more than usual, seemed to not be lost upon her. So much so that she called him on it. With a question, mind. A simple one at that. It wasn't that Isley did not find her attractive outside of the night's events, mind. Far from it. In fact, if things were far less topsy-turvy than they were (mainly her appetite for eating people) he might have stepped a little closer to that particular abyss. But, there was a country to run, a "white rabbit" to keep away from her jaws, and lessons of mankind to render.

Suffice it to say, he kept his eyes on the prize and not on the curves. Though, he'd occasionally sneak a peek out of the corner of his eye. "Something wrong?" he repeated. A light chuckle escaped him. He took another swig of the beverage as punctuation, attempting to discern a fitting answer. But, the contents had only served to pour a heeping some of feth it onto his systems. "Well, frankly, you look good enough to eat tonight. Can't help it." He coupled the words with one of his trademark grins before returning his gaze to the flute.

Ah, and therein lied the rub. The primordial one was able to deduce the situation far quicker than the Vicelord. She called their beverages poison, which was an odd choice. His eyebrow lofted and he hovered the glass just beneath his nose. An elementary application of his will confirmed every word she uttered. This was no average swill. Was it lethal? Not as far as he could discern. And given the atmosphere, it was most likely served to loosen up the patrons. "Make them feel their true selves" as the Zeltrons would often say. Isley chuckled at the thought, shaking his head ever so slightly.

"Drinking this chit, I'd be more likely to try and change your last name." The primordial woman was certainly pleased with herself for identifying what was going on, and to this Isley raised his glass in praise. Not that she needed his approval. Not that she sought it. He continued to listen to her prattling on about Holo-vids, a fact which made his eyebrows raise. Though the mundane was certainly beneath her, and though she'd never admit as much, Isley was beginning to think there were parts of mortal living that she enjoyed. Enough to label amusing. "Well, at least you haven't stumbled upon the Holiday romance flicks yet."

He leaned back in the seat ever so slightly, moving his offhand as if to illustrate his point. "Small town girl leaves to go to university and becomes a rich bigshot. Is engaged to corporate yahoo. Goes home for the holiday. Falls in love with local bumpkin, throws away engagement and career to be a stay at home mom for their gremlins. Happily ever after." To this, the man sucked his teeth in disgust. Who actually lived like that? He punctuated his thoughts by completely draining the flute of its contents and motioning for an attendant to bring another. If she wasn't frightened, he sure as feth wasn't either.

And in his efforts to not stare, he had posed a question. A simple, icebreaker-style one at that. However, it seemed to cause a negative reaction. She frowed ever so slightly, before answering. She didn't know where she was from.

"I see." he remarked. Reading between the lines, that meant she probably didn't remember anything about who she was before the Vault. And that wasn't a conversation topic he was going to crack open here. Rather, he waited until the attendant brought his second glass and took a hearty swig. The poison started to feel like a standard buzz. "Well Miss Vault," he began, casually rotating the glass as he spoke. "I have a different question. What's it like, you and the other guy." He was, of course, referring to himself. Just the one with a touch of gray in his beard.

"Did you sit about, watching holo-flicks? Or was it all business all of the time? Gotta know what I'm getting into here."

Darth Elyria​

 

[Rann Thress]

O B J E C T I V E​

WEARING:

TAG: Magdalena Lethe

Rann stared at his empty glass with Magdalena’s straw inside of it. He didn’t notice how hard he was breathing. Or how angry he was getting. His fists were squeezed so tight his organic hand began bleeding.​

He had been drugged. He had embarrassed himself because he was drugged.​

He slowly looked at the bartender as he shook with rage.​

“What did you put in these drinks.” He said with quiet anger, barely holding himself back.​

“I didn’t-cough...cough cough” she began coughing as the force around her throat tightened slightly. Not enough to restrict air, but enough to cause panic.​

Rann stared at her, his hands upon the bar. Trying very very hard to contain himself. This wasn’t the place to make a scene. However, his drink had been tampered with. His emotions hijacked. He already heavily suspected a love potion of some sort. Had to be. At least, he sincerely hoped.​

“No games. No lies. One more chance. What did you put in these drinks.”​

“I...a cough love potion. I’m cough sorry.” She looked at him with a hand on her throat, pleading with her eyes. Rann released her from the choke and looked down at the bar, not looking at her as she backed away and massaged her throat, over exaggeratedly gasping for air.​

Rann turned to look at Magda and shook his head.​

“I’m...I’m...sigh I’m really sorry.” He loved her. He was absolutely smitten. but it wasn’t real. It was the drink, the drug. This night became so unbearably awkward now because of it. But, Magda earned Ranns respect.​

“Thank you for not...I mean... just...Thanks. You’re a good friend.”​

He turned to look back at the bartender.​

“You. Go. Away.”​

“You got it.” The Zabrak responded as she hurriedly moved down the bar. If love wasn’t such a positive emotion she’d likely have been dead where she stood. But Rann was still madly in love with Magda and didn’t want her to see that part of him.​

He wiped his eyes again and propped himself up on the bar with his elbow and hand.​

“This night sucked.”​

 

[Vanya Aklin]

Wearing: xxx
Tag: Abel Denko | Fauvel Astier

The taste of him was lingering on her tongue like a potent poison, snaking its way through her taste buds until he was all that remained. There was a notion to kiss him again, this time for the pleasure of it rather than as a delicious warning but Vanya refrained. The night was young and their first kiss would not be their last kiss. Instead she enjoyed the feel of him against her, the heat from his chest, the warmth of his breath as he spoke into her ear, and how he maintained his concentration without missing a beat. He took control, twirling her away and reeling her back in, as though she was a puppet and he held the strings. His movements seemed effortless, coming almost naturally. Or maybe it was his confidence bleeding into the dance steps.

"One would need to be deaf not to hear." Her reply came with a certain arrogance some individuals would attribute to the Dathomiri Nightsisters; but it also came with an unshakable confidence both in herself and her abilities. Vanya was not a child - she felt the ebb and flow of the Force around them as surely as she lived and breathed. << And I have not been deaf for a long time >> This time her lips did not move. There was no attempts made to hide the telepathic communication from the woman at the table, or how the Nightsister intruded forcefully upon his mental space. If he intended to maintain the conversation then she refused to be a third wheel. In fact obsidian eyes traversed to the other woman and narrowed dangerously, as though challenging her to accept the mental link, daring her to join their interlude.

Vanya held him intimately, like a lover would, not ashamed over the provocative movements of her hips against him, the bump and the grind that was their dance, the way her fingers tangled his hair once more as though she intended to coax his mouth back to hers. All the while she had stared at the woman. << Perhaps you should join us and we can see how good his concentration really is >> This time the statement had been directed to Fauvel Astier as the Nightsister sought her mind.

 

[Darth Elyria]

Tag: Darth Metus
​

Her foot twitched impatiently in his lap while she languished in the wicker chair that seemed to be her paper throne for the evening. Her companion seemed to be taking his sweet time in responding to her inquiry, thusly, she sipped contentedly at her swill. It was a foul beverage. The ebony-haired creature let her head fall back and her hair seemed to move on its own to settle in a neat pile that almost resembled a cobra winding down. “I know what this world is, now. I’ve seen so many of your kind…Learned so much. Especially, watching holo-theater…”, she trailed off, lightly, dismissing the fact that she very well may have once been of the same genetic roots.

“All of the loud, mouth-breathing apes. They’ve taken something very precious.”

What had they taken?

Obviously, everything. Anything and everything that she had once deemed belonging to her person. The very air they breathed was an egregious theft. “Perhaps, if they stand down, I will not destroy them in taking it back.”, she spoke to the ceiling, head still tilted back, though her admission was softer than her usual bouts of grandeur and proclamations of future plans for mass murder. The sharp and rather waspish edge was not present. It might have been the drink.

It may not have been. She would not expect him to know nor care for the difference.

She turned her head and dark locks fell slightly against her cheek while orbs of pure onyx surveyed the Vicelord with a leisurely perusal. “Your body warms.”, she paused, briefly, while he made his witticisms and made some crass comment about eating her. Unthinkable. She was not yet so weak that she would allow a pup to take a bite out of her. Her eyes narrowed when he grinned before her brow rose, and she let her head roll back again.

“I will let you pretend that it is the drink causing you to lust after me, Vicelord.”

Elyria would have been required to sacrifice all intellect not to know that they were partaking in some sort of strange experiment involving drugs that lowered inhibitions. If dearest Isley were thinking clearly, he would have thought better of it. She was one creature, truly, that he did not wish would act out on all of her desires. She kept each and every one in check while in his presence. When he taunted about changing her name, a soft sigh caused her chest to rise and fall in a dramatic huff. “I do not have a last name to change.”

She was curious about these “holiday romance” flicks that he spoke of.

“Are they educational?”

Elyria did her best to learn about this world. To be part of it, for his sake. Often, she felt as if he did not realize how difficult it was for her to assimilate. Her diet made it thrice as hard, when most things with a pulse, especially wicked things, looked good enough to eat. Such craven things this Sith demanded of her. It was heresy, blasphemy, to deny her. As he explained the concept of holiday romance she frowned. It deepened, as it grew more involved. “Why does she simply not take all she wishes?”

“Gremlins are fair companions. They travel well, though I would not call them younglings.”

He drained his beverage and signaled for more. She might have lifted her head, but she enjoyed relaxing a little too much to bother. When he inquired about her past though, she seemed to grow contemplative. Pensive. Her hair began to rustle with a certain restlessness that exuded her thoughts though she kept them to herself. He did not, see. He was blind. A child as far as the nightmares and shadows of the deep were concerned. Isley drew her from her reverie with a new question. Was this what humanity did when intoxicated? Pelt once another with personal questions that drew discomfort?

She sighed. When on Har Binande, she supposed.

“You understand that my presence here is an anomaly. I am out of phase. Time is odd.”, she returned after a long moment. One of the attendants came over and refilled her drink, despite, the sudden glare she levied for the simpleton daring to breach her personal space. The liquid softened her response and she slowly settled. ”It is odd. Because it does not exist, until it cracks apart.”

As to what life was like?

Different.

“…We rule without contest. There is no need to win anyone over. No need to pander. There is no need to supplement my hunger with anything more than what a human may ingest, though, the occasional criminal may prove himself quite the meal. You are strong enough to sustain me. The warring states that exist currently collapse under the weight of their own hubris. Hatred can only be carried so brightly, so long, before it burns out.”

Her words were quiet. She deliberately only ever explained certain aspects of his possible future. One wrong word, one wrong act, could cause everything to change. A paradox was already occurring. She shouldn’t exist; both here, and there at the same time. Yet she did. “You purchased me a small feline.”

“For a companion. Not for food.”, she amended, before taking an even sip of the poison.