Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Private The Balance Distinguishes Not Between Gold and Lead


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"And you see, then, after my holdings in Larr Shipping didn't pan out, I returned to…"

Cora kept a polite smile pinned to her face as Baron Hresvelg droned on about his investments on Denon and Coruscant and Empress Teta. It had become somewhat fashionable among Ukatian nobles to have interests in the fine worlds of the core and inner rim – from goods to friends to company shares.

None of it had amounted to much, really. Not to anyone off-world. Even the wealthiest aristocrat on such a backwater planet still lived on a backwater planet.

Cora did not care for his blathering. Still, like a good Ukatian noblewoman, she remained prim and polite. A carefully cultivated air of quiet interest hung about her, the sort that kept her expression from glazing over. It helped that there was a mask covering the upper half of her face, hiding any lines or creases of discontent around her eyes.

"Hmm," she said. Another twenty seconds passed. "Ah."

The masquerade was thrown by an up-and-coming Duke. A commoner who'd owned a distillery, he'd recently come into the king's good graces. It was, perhaps, a few steps down from the sort of event her father would've allowed her to attend. Cora had a hunch that some of the women caked in rouge were harlots. They laughed loudly, clinging to the arms of equally inebriated men, the edges of their skirts hitched into the hikes around their slender waists.

There was also a rumor that the new Duke had come into the possession of a few illegally obtained Force artifacts.

The Jedi had not come with the intent of allowing dull conversation to wash over her, but it was as good a cover as any.

Razmir Tezhyn Razmir Tezhyn
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Surrounded by the tragic parade of theatrical capes, feudal tunics, and scandalous gowns, Razmir's suit held up as a shining diamond of elegance—sharp, clean, and unmistakably meant for a better age. Hand-cut. Impeccably tailored. Defined not by trend, but by truth. Relaxed, but far from casual. The wool was shorn from sheep that traced their lineage to a family native to Alderaan, long before its first apocalypse nine-hundred years ago.

Wearing the suit, Razmir didn't simply look sharp. He was untouchable.

Why, then, did it bother him that he couldn't tell whether the people here kept glancing his way because they admired his forward-thinking sense of style or because they were gossiping and laughing behind his back because he stood out?

Grumbling under his breath, he snatched another glass of the local wine blend from a passing waiter and started back towards the duke's table. As he walked, he glanced to check up on some of his crew to distract himself from the rest of the backwater yokels.

Carver, the elderly Defel with dark brown fur, had cornered two victims to torture for the night—though, perhaps torture was too strong a word. The old couple he conversed with seemed genuinely smitten by the endless stream of pictures Carver produced of his kids back home.

A couple groups further he could see Crowbeak mingling with the younger nobles. His black beak stood out against the red plumage flaring out from beneath his attire. Both Carver and he had chosen to wear something more local to better blend in with the other guests. A particular hurdle that had proven too much for Raz to overcome.

He took a sip of the wine, scrunching his face at the sour note it left on his tongue.

He didn't spot Yeza or Sil anywhere in the crowds. He hadn't seen either of them since the crew first entered the ballroom and split up. Most likely, he considered, they snuck off to check out the duke's security systems, taking advantage of the fact everyone else would be too busy mingling and socializing. The two had always been the most effective duo of their crew.

Raz smiled. Perhaps tonight he and Cardinal would finally one up them. He glanced to his tall friend seated next to a shorter figure with red-brown hair. Cardinal wore long white robes, trimmed in black and gold-clearly marking him as a man of the faith. He had managed to draw their host, the duke, into a deep conversation. The conversation likely covered the finer points of Force theology and its implications on society in great depth and detail. The duke, apparently, was well versed in such matters, and Raz knew Cardinal was more than happy to indulge.

As long as Cardinal remembered to work in the few conversational hooks they'd prepared to nudge the duke toward their deal, Raz didn't begrudge the distraction. If anything, he felt a strange sort of relief. Cardinal had always craved someone who could match his depth of knowledge on faith and philosophy. Maybe the duke was doing more good than they'd planned.

With a smile, Raz eased into a nearby conversation-close enough to stay within the duke's line of sight. Close enough to keep up the subtle touch of emotional pressure.

Corazona von Ascania Corazona von Ascania
 
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Cora was not fully enthralled in the Baron's monologue. Not was she expected to be - openly hanging on someone's every word would be considered a display of nativity. Instead, it worked to her benefit to let her eyes wander every third sentence or so, accompanied by a sip from her glass or a gentle flutter of her fan.

Some men never learned the art of conversation.

During those little intervals where she could glance toward the rest of the ballroom, Cora's focus quickly honed in on the non-humans. One, hairy as a Wookiee but shorter, with less intense musculature. Another, an avian species of some sort.

Ukatis' population was homogeneous. Only a handful of offworlders lived here, and they were often merchants residing in one of two large cities. To see at least two non-humanoids attending the party? It was either a sign of progress, or some backward spectacle.

Cora couldn't work out which it was. Especially so given that their host was occupied by a clergyman of sorts.

"I see." Another sip of deep ruby wine. "Is that so?"

The Baron's voice was actually quite pleasant, like a sort of white noise if you tuned the meaning of his words out. It almost made her a little regretful that she'd soon leave his company, given who she spotted next.

A humanoid male, wearing a suit cut in the modern style of the core worlds. That caught her attention - but what kept it were the subtle features of his face. They were refined, almost. Subtly aristocratic, almost.

The Force shifted. Again, subtle. On Ukatis, there was much meaning in subtlety. Cora decided to let it guide her.

"Excuse me," she smoothly cut into the end of the Baron's run-on sentence. "Our conversation has been pleasant, but I must powder my nose."

She smiled, tilted her head in a brief bow, and drifted away. Her feet carried her not in a beeline, but in a gentle meander too practiced and elegant to be called languid.

Perhaps, her shoulder would absently bump into Razmir. Perhaps, a little splash of burgundy wine would escape her glass.

Razmir Tezhyn Razmir Tezhyn
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Words rolled off Razmir like rain on stone. His conversation partners had acknowledged him. They exchanged a compliment or two, then he started looking away to signal his disinterest.

"Fascinating. I'll have to try that sometime."

He recited politeness by rote, replying without the slightest hint of commitment. He was merely a passenger to their conversation, and that suited the others well.

They'd been embroiled in a petty game of posturing and politics. Razmir's arrival had threatened to upset the careful balance they'd reached. He was an outsider, to boot, which had made him both threat and playing chip. By making his complete neutrality clear early into the conversation, Razmir had saved himself the polite needling and unpleasant questions. That spared him the mental capacity to maintain his emotional manipulations of the duke without seeming like a blundering plebeian.

The duke, by contrast, was making a less adequate showing. He broken several rules of propriety during his conversation with Cardinal: first he'd invited a man of lower station—by all means a stranger to his court—to sit by his side, then by dismissing nobles who came to pay their respects to him, and finally he'd completely neglected his duty as host to make the rounds this evening. By Razmir's estimation he'd been talking to Cardinal for the past hour.

Unfortunately, Razmir suspected that careful maneuvering of his wouldn't be noticed. He wasn't an expert on customs at events hosted by the nobility, but the general level of noise at this masquerade seemed far louder than what he was used to from high-society. The amount of alcohol served seemed to similarly exceed the average. Between the boisterous laughing and the occassonal laughing shriek from the guests, the scene felt more reminiscent of a high-end cantina than a refined event for high society elites.

Razmir sipped the wine, frowning. Backwater planets and their uncouth customs.

He took some comfort noting that he wouldn't be needed here beyond this evening. Once the deal went through, he'd be dealing with the duke through external contracts. They would handle the bulk of shipments funneled through the estate and Razmir wouldn't have to step another foot on the world. His task would be simply keep the duke sold on lies and misdirection while providing meaningless trinkets from obscure Force traditions. A bargain compared to what he would be gaining when shipping through Ukatis.

Razmir risked another glance at the duke. The trust between him and Cardinal was beginning to really solidify. A little more pushing on his emotions was all it would take to-

Someone bumped his shoulder and nearly sent wine flying on his suit. He flinched barely in time to avoid the wine from the offending party's glass. The offending party in question being a short blonde woman in a dress several cuts above the others' in quality and sense of good style. Razmir's gaze lingered on the stitching of the skirt, or rather the lack of its visibility. Was that oro-weave embroidery? And the drape of the dress seemed to actually add shape to her silhouette rather than lying dead limp against skin—

He snapped his gaze back up to greet the newcomer with a practiced smile that conveyed the proper nonchalance, mixed with polite forgiveness for the intrusion.

Corazona von Ascania Corazona von Ascania
 
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"Oh!" Cora gasped. She wobbled on her heels before steadying herself. A few drops of wine had sloshed from her glass, landing on the floor instead of Alderaanian wool.

A flush crept along the edges of her mask, a bright pink border against the harsh black lines resting over her nose and along her cheek bones. Her lips pursed, twisting in a sorry sort of smile.

"I do apologize," she said, and it sounded genuine enough. Cora recognized the look he gave her. She'd practiced it in the mirror dozens of times.

"I wasn't watching where I was going."

Just a young woman, perhaps a touch ditzy, at a raucous party. Perhaps a debutante from an important family who longed for something a little more interesting than the stuffy balls and galas of high society.

"I didn't get you, did I?" Cora craned her neck, peering at the lapel of his suit. "It would be a shame to soil such fine fabric. And in a garment so unique."

Blue eyes flicked down to her glass, into the deep red surface of the wine before she took another sip. A pleased hum sounded from the back of her throat, and she smiled.

"For a place like this, anyway."

Razmir Tezhyn Razmir Tezhyn
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