Dominion Shifting Tides | Dominion of Devaron

[Damian du Couteau]

Damian du Couteau, Senator of Empress Teta
Objective: One Reforged Alliances
Location: Fondor, Senate Building
Outfit

Damian’s lone eye scanned his data-slate, there was almost an irresistible urge to sigh in relief but the most he allowed himself were the faint tugs near the corners of his lips that form a ghost of a smile. His new rush of reports had all but been completed upon arrival, either this was a rather large faulty error in his accounting department or it was a mercy bestowed upon him from the galaxy. The young du Couteau heir prayed for the latter but steeled himself for the former.

He stifled a yawn as he leaned into his seat, his attention broken to the sound of the Chancellor’s voice that had just called the Senate into session. The admittance of a former Alliance member world was a rather common occurrence, even before the galactic shift, unfortunately. Damian and his people had plenty of experience of such a matter, which for his own part the process was rudimentary for his staff to help the Devaron’s delegates and their staff to handle any preliminary data-slate work. Dotted I’s and crossed T’s as the saying went. His father had assisted in the initial acceptance of Devaron into the Alliance fold, the contacts he made allowed Damian quite a bit of flexibility to how he approached particular delegates. Of course he knew the original involvement had a different tune than what had been played currently.

Markets had shifted and adjusted, but such fluctuations would ripple well into the sixth or seventh month time frame. Not that Damian worried to see a dramatic downturn in his year to date predictions, he just knew without proper steady guidance the profits and earnings of inter-galactic companies would spiral out of control. How many pensions had been wiped and just what disastrous societal consequences would occur across hundreds of member worlds? Damian closed his lone crimson eye shut and attempted to remove those thoughts from his head. He could already imagine what a single point increase in unemployment would cause millions to suffer, what more would such a galactic uncertainty of such proportions leave behind?

“How many sleepless nights will I suffer?” Damian muttered to himself quietly.
​

|| Alicio Organa | Spirit of Temperance ||​

 

[Valery Noble]

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Outfit: Combat Jumpsuit | Wedding Ring
Weapons: Blasters | Lightsabers

Valery's eyes flicked to the mirror as Connel froze — not with surprise, but with that quiet alertness that came from years of doing this dance. She leaned just slightly to one side, enough to glimpse the faint red thread of the tripwire stretching across the next hallway, barely perceptible unless you were looking for it. Her gaze moved back to him and the subtle gesture of his hand — the throwing lightknife ready.

She gave a slight nod — quiet was best.

While he prepared to handle the oncoming patrol, Valery shifted into motion — a whisper more than a presence. Her boots barely kissed the floor. She moved like a dancer slipping onto center stage just as the lights dimmed. She moved past him in a fluid blur, slipping close to the wall as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed faintly ahead. Connel had this. She trusted him.

As the corridor opened up before her, she crouched low at the edge of the tripwire, her eyes tracking its emitter point. Her gloved fingers moved delicately, bypassing the trigger mechanism with a small diagnostic tool she pulled from her belt.

A breath.

The wire fizzled, then blinked out. Still crouched, she looked back over her shoulder toward Connel, lips quirking into the barest smirk. She didn't say a word. She didn't need to.

The path was clear.

Connel Vanagor ​