Faction The Coronation Ball [First Order | Invited Guests]

[Dea]

She took note of AMCO looking at her with interest. It was moreso scientific wonder than anything else and she supposed that she couldn't blame him, given that she was...probably the first and only one of her 'kind' if one could call her that.

Yet when Ingrid L'lerim called her an abomination, she was of course, appalled. Onrai intervened, describing just what her body was made from, and yet, that did little to help the situation. It didn't change the fact that she was being spoken of as though she was some kind if object or sculpture, and one that had no real sense of self. Was this how sentient droids felt? She was always sure to treat them like any other person, instead of something with no feelings to order around. And she never ignored them when they were standing right in front of her.

"With all due respect, isn't it impolite to speak of someone directly in front of them and as though they aren't even there?" She wanted to just wander off on her own, yet she couldn't until she knew what Vanessa had wanted her here for. If it was to show her off, that didn't really seem to be going well.

 

[Ariel Yvarro]

​

AVALONIA​

​

Ariel took a moment to look at the Conductor, she smiled, and for once felt some manner of relief. A glance over at the ballroom and she was able to watch as happy couples took to the dance floor. She must have been lost in thought because she hadn't really noticed just who was approaching her. Instead, she looked down into the glass of whiskey she had in her hand. Ariel wondered if she ought to get a fresh new glass, but then she thought it would be a waste.​

​

It was only when she thought about taking a sip did someone's voice break through, Ariel looked up and over toward Djorn Bline he complimented her on the speech, "oh, thank you." She was sure that's what you were supposed to say? What the heck was in the whiskey anyway, she thought to herself and he proceeded on. "Yes, quite so, Commissioner Bline." He was correct, she took his hand and shook, a firm touch in return she was sure. ​

​

She had not gotten his name during the diplomatic meeting that took place prior to the ball. "You are correct, it is nice to have that by the way, your name that is." Oof. She cleared her throat and gestured toward the ambulatory. "Let's walk shall we? I'd like to get a view of who has arrived and who hasn't." Ariel swirled the whiskey in her glass ever so slightly. "It is my hope that through the work here in the First Order that the galaxy can see that Imperialism isn't some sort of boogeyman waiting to take you away. Rather, it is a way of life, a stable way of life that ensures peace and prosperity."​

​

"Far too often, people like to make us the villains of their stories and it is not something I care to entertain." Ariel was quite frank as she spoke with Commissioner Bline. "Tell me, Commissioner Bline, what have you seen thus far here at the Ball? What personalities have revealed themselves to you, aside from the usual disdain between your nation and the Sith Empire."​

 

[Xander Blackmoore]

WEARING: xxx
TAG: Sigrid Adair

The transport could not have moved any slower. It had been some time since Xander had shown himself in this region of the galaxy. His pursuits had changed over the years as he still had not solved the mystery of his stasis. The force seemed to want him in this time, and Xander had all but reclaimed everything that had formerly been his. There were familiar faces and names from his time, one whom was rather close.​

​

Lucianus Adair​

​

The man was another noble, and perhaps at one point a rival. Today they were more like brothers than enemies, and friend was not a word which did their relationship justice.​

​

Xander sat and looked at the parchment in his hand. It was just like Luc to have a missive sent to him in a rather archaic and formal manner. The gesture brought a smile to Xander's lips as he knew it would be like him to do the same. The words were short, but the message was clear.​

​

"I need you to stand in for me at the Coronation of Natasi Fortan. My granddaughter will be in attendance and needs a proper escort. I have informed her that you will be the perfect gentleman, and expect your designs would not be the same as they were for my sister."​

​

"You will recognize her."​

​

The monarch chuckled at the memories the letter brought to his mind. There had been a point in time when Lucianus would have said those words with disdain, but Xander could imagine the man laughed as he wrote them. His nephew was at large in the galaxy, and Xander often wondered if they had crossed paths.​

​

Tonight was not the night to dwell on such things. It was not the night to stand out either, though it would not be like Xander to blend in. His attire would certainly attract attention, as would the title he bore.​

​

He was announced.​

​

"Xander Blackmoore, King of the Induparan Crown Worlds, Regent of Ec Pand."​

​

For his own designs Dark Lord of the Sith would not be given, and it seemed to be wise as the room was off. Xander could feel it. The force, it was absent. Luc has said she would be recognized, and the man was not wrong. As his eyes fell on the woman he was to meet the features which decidedly belonged to Dangereuse we more than evident.​

​

He walked up to her confidently, yet with a measure of caution.​

​

"Lady Adair, I presume? Xander Blackmoore. I believe your grandfather told you to expect me."​

​

For a moment he looked past her to the selection of wines. Getting the attention of the barkeep, Xander pointed to a particular bottle.​

​

"That one. It was bottled in a good year. You will enjoy it I think. Would you care for a drink?"​

​

Dark eyes moved around the room looking for the woman he was to accompany.​

 

[John Locke]

​

Location: Dosuun | South of Avalonia | Rosewood Castle
Wearing: Wait for it...a tuxedo
Accompanying: Gianna Aegis
Also as part of invite: Allyson Locke

​

There was something in the eyes of those who had stared into the abyss, looked too closely into the flames of war and found something staring back at them. It was the reflection of yourself, a harsh unfiltered truth about yourself and the world. John had seen it before in the sailors he’d served with, in the soldiers he helped. He saw it when he looked into a mirror, that memory of how close he’d come to crossing the line, to becoming the very thing he’d spent his life fighting.

It was a look he’d hoped to never see on her face.

John had known that Nar Kreeta had been bad, a battlefield to rival any other in recent galactic history. An enemy that was so terrifying, so momentous that it had brought sworn enemies to the table to negotiate. He just hadn’t known, hadn’t realised how badly it had affected the Jedi, how badly injured she’d been till now. He’d seen her work herself to exhaustion, till she was so tired that she couldn’t stay on her feet. Seen her give everything she had and more to help those around her, to relieve their pain and terror. It was just…he’d never seen her so fragile before. There was always something ethereal, something magical, about the flame-haired woman, some part of her that seemed to be made of light, that aura that surrounded her, lifting those around her by just her presence.

There was still that presence there, the light wrapped around her, still herself but there was something else. A weight in her gaze, that occupied the silence between words. Something had happened there on that world, something that wasn’t accounted for in the reports, in the data and paperwork that had found its way to him via one channel or another. In the middle of telling the story of a war one often lost sight of the trees for the forest. The problem was John was more concerned about a single tree right now.

He couldn’t help himself.

He knew there wasn’t anything he could do to make it better, he knew that all too well from personal experience. As much as he wanted to help, to reach out a hand and wipe away that worry, that pain like you would wipe away a droplet of water…he just couldn’t. It was perhaps one of the hardest realisations he’d ever had to come to terms with. Sometimes you couldn’t fix everything. Not something that came naturally to the engineer but all he could do was be here, let her know he’d be there to support her no matter what.

The man lifted a hand, resting it on top of the delicate pale hand pressed against his arm. Dark-eyes didn’t even give the ballroom a second look, the pull of the ball of the inevitable social networking non-existent. In that room the great and powerful might chart out the fate of the galaxy, but it would still exist tomorrow and the day after. It would still be there and so would he. That would be enough.

Somewhere out there there was an executive who would trade his soul, trade all the stars in the sky for a chance to mingle and trade power and deals. But John was only concerned about the star on his arm, the woman who despite everything she’d been through, despite all that she had seen still shone, the avatar of all that was good.

“You know, I bet a castle like this has one of those hedge mazes, or at least a flower garden.”

Growing up gardens, trees hadn’t really been part of John’s experience, nature had felt so far away, so distant from his everyday life. Sure, he’d see it in a holodrama or read about it in a book, but that was a far cry from actually experiencing it. It was one of the many things he loved about the Spritegate Shore, that sense of nature that permeated the entire estate. Still, he’d walked the galaxy, seen wonders that few had ever imagined. Designed technology that few could hope to comprehend or expand on, but…the idea that someone would set aside such a vast amount of land for decoration, to fill with flowers or a hedge blew his mind every time. There was a part of him that couldn’t comprehend it, just as a part of him revelled in it.

A short walk had led them to a bar, one without a droid at that, before a few steps led them through great glass doors to a patio, the lights of the party shining through the windows behind them. A series of dancing shadows weaving across the grounds like a giant shadow-puppet show. The gentle breeze drifting across the grounds carrying the scent of flowers and water. The smells of nature, both out of place in the urbane setting of the party yet so perfect for these grounds.

It really was like something out of a holofilm, enough to make John stop and blink, just drinking in the sight. He almost expected to see a knight in armour making his way across the grounds, his metallic shell catching the light from the castle as he knelt in front of a fairy wrapped up in light and magic.

Dark eyes flicked towards the red-haired Jedi at his side, the gentle wind sending wisps of her hair and the fabric of her dress waving in the breeze. The cyborg’s lip’s curled up into a smile, the light of amusement dancing in his eyes as his hand reached down, fingers entwining with hers as he nodded at the grounds.

“Come on an adventure with me?”

The fairy and the knight.

 

[Rurik Fel]

E X E C U T O R
KNIGHT OF THE EMPIRE
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
B R E A T H E
Noelle Varanin | Quinn Varanin | Ellie Mors

Revelry. An Empire resurgent, wrought to life in this perilous Galaxy of disorder and chaos. Rurik, of course, never one for these events in spite of his origins born in the purple as a noble in-exile on Serenno, blood right to the throne of the Fel Empire, Bastion. A seat which he'd since reclaimed.

In the rightful claim of the joyous tone of the event, Rurik made his best attempt at appearing endearing, in spite of his otherwise gruesome (sparing his 'Iron Skin') or foreboding (donning his 'Iron Skin') appearance. There was no uplifting himself to the aesthetic standards of the rest present here, donning ensembles likely worth more than he'd seen since his exile from home.

There was no aim in his mind of indulging in the chemical pleasures of bitter liquor and sweet herbs as they let unclasp their desires in favor of a supposed night of no judgement. He could only truly be content in idle observation of the Galaxy's most fascinating figures assembled in one venue.

In the silver, gold and purple not too unlike the rainment donned by his ancestor Roan Fel, Rurik entered the venue, his marred and disfigured face concealed by the metallic visage clasped over his face, the usual smooth steel replaced with ornate engravings into the masque. As he entered the Castle proper his gaze fell idly on those around him before a glint piercing his gaze from an ornate crown captured his attention.

He recognized the ornament, belonging to none other than Spencer Varanin , but not the woman donning it tonight. Though the resemblance was clear, uncanny. More resemblance of the late Queen than his primary disciple in Errant. No doubt she was truly born in the purple to the Empress Varanin herself.

He approached, warily that is.

"Your grace." He offered, addressing Noel by her assumed title as Queen of Eshan, offering a nod of his head in acknowledgement to her royalty.

"I am Rurik Fel...of the New Imperial Order, but the politics are irrelevant. How fares Eshan, its people?" Rurik inquires of genuine curiousity, treading lightly as not to mention his Varanin apprentice.

HOUSE FEL
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER​

 

[Alkor Centaris]

When the young woman arrived, Alkor offered her a kind smile. He had not seen Mishel in a very long time. She was much younger then, little more than a child with wide, bright eyes who still found beauty in an unkind Galaxy. It surprised him that she retained her mirth some ten years hence. However unlike many things that surprised Alkor, this was a pleasant one.

She had contacted him through Kurayami and they had all made plans to meet here and lament the passage of time over drinks. She couldn't have chosen a better pair of cousins for the job.

"Good to see you again, Mish," he greeted warmly. There was a freshness to the lack of decorum, he found it brushed off the icy formality that a structured event imposed. He eyed the Gardens and surmised she wasn't at all wrong. Kurayami hated these big to-dos. However, the crowd, the eyes on major Galactic players- it was the perfect place for a swap meet.

"Yeah, 'ami's never been one for big parties," he recalled. He tried to count the number of events he had found the man exploring the bottom of a bottle in, but his memory failed him. He was not surprised by that fact. "He's probably nursing some Namana to take the edge off."

When she mentioned her sister and gestured toward the Confederate delegation, Alkor discreetly turned his body away from the direction she had pointed in and let the crowd obscure his face from view. "I hadn't realized," he said in a slightly quieter voice. "I'm familiar with your Confederate friends. I'm all for avoiding that particular Gundark's nest."

She took his arm, the contrast between them almost comical. He was in a brown duster, she was in a little black dress. They almost looked like a grizzled, working class father escorting his daughter to prom night.

Mishel had always been a kind, free spirited person. When she met Alkor, he was still not even half of a real human being. The things he had seen, the things he had done, and the things that he would do thereafter would all slowly chip away at the marble and sculpt him into the man walking together with her at this ball.

There were many words to answer her question. Not many of them were pleasant. Yet, it was a happy occasion and he was here to see friends. He opted to focus on the positive. "All things considered, I've been doing well," Alkor replied. "Been doing a lot of business out beyond the Rim. Even got commissioned by some pretty reputable folks to start moving product closer to the core, so I'll be rolling in credits soon enough."

"And what about you?" he asked her. "You were just a kid when I saw you last. You've sprouted up and bloomed!" There was a time when Alkor never would have given a compliment unless someone wrung it out of him. He had found a certain softness in the past few years, a sheath to let the honed edge of a killer rest. "Seems like you're doing pretty well?"

They made their way out from the main thoroughfare and toward where Kurayami was waiting. Hopefully the other man hadn't gotten to far ahead of them yet.

Mishel Kryze | Kurayami Bloodborn​

 

[Daegon Corvinus]

WEARING: xxx
TAG: Seraphina Corvinus | Fevris Derzelas | Robogeber

"Perhaps, then again, would she not also appreciate the influx of credits said business would bring to her economy?"​

​

Daegon smiled. Seraphina was more than correct in what was hidden beneath her words. It would be rude to conduct business at a party which was not his. There were many reasons why one could suggest such a thing. However, the smile on Daegon's face only grew wider as the Epicanthix leaned down to whisper in his bride's ear.​

​

"Though, handling business at someone else's party was how you and I met."​

​

Did she remember their first meeting so long ago? Daegon did. It had been her voice which first drew his attention to the young diathim. The melodic song which seemed to dance upon her words had always captivated him. He had followed the sound until his eyes rest upon the beauty which had spoken them. It was how he had come to do business with Seraphina's father. His intent had never been to strike a deal with the man, save for the chance to meet the young woman which had accompanied him. One meeting became many, all of them an excuse to visit the woman who now stood at his side.​

​

"I have loved you from that first moment," he finished as his lips barely touched her cheek.​

​

Eyes scanned the room for the woman he hoped to introduce his bride to. Instead they fell on the rest of the delegation from the Confederacy. It seemed everyone who was important had arrived. Every Exarch was in attendance, along with the Vicelord himself. An errant thought crossed the Viceroy's mind. He would be among that circle one day. Ever the one to advance and climb, Daegon had his eyes set on more than the office he held.​

​

"If she does not arrive, then, we shall simply enjoy our evening in whatever way will make you happiest. I did hear the gardens here are second to none among the First Order. I do not imagine they would rival what we have at home, but nonetheless, they are said to be beautiful."​

​

She had always liked the gardens, even her blindness had not kept that from her. Perhaps there was a sadness at the thought of not being able to see, but whatever ill would come of it, Daegon would help her to bear it. After all, Seraphina had helped him carry much over the past decade. Certainly he could carry her now. The thought of doing so seemed the least he could do considering the support she had always shown him. Even now as the conversation shifted to that of Alessandra Malvern's allergy.​

​

"Her concern for her child is natural. Any parent would be concerned." His eyes looked over toward the Malvern's. "Such an enviable thing at times. Do you wish that we would have had children?"​

​

Seraphina was correct, the topic had never come up between them. It was not that Daegon did not want children, he simply had not given the matter thought, save for the time Derek Dib asked about them. He had never seen Sera blush so deeply as to discuss that prospect with someone that was a stranger to them at the time. Now, the man was their dearest friend, and would be the first to hear such news if there were ever any to share. More could have been said on the topic, but Daegon could feel it... or rather not feel it.​

​

Their connection to the force was being suppressed.​

​

Daegon nodded in response to his bride.​

​

"They are manipulating the room so that they force cannot be used here. With the potential hostiles together in one room, it is smart. Derek should have done this on Siskeen."​

​

It was practical and pragmatic.​

​

Daegon would have explained more had it not been for the guest which had run into Seraphina. The instinct to protect and defend rose within the man. Since Siskeen, Daegon was even more vigilant about keeping her safe. Closing his eyes, the Demon took in a deep breath. This was not the time to find himself in an altercation. The Admiral, as he had introduced himself, seemed distracted.​

​

With a nod of his head, Daegon greeted the cyborg, droid, whatever this man seemed to be.​

​

"It is a crowded room is it not," he said with stoic expression. "I am Daegon Corvinus, and this is my wife Seraphina. I am the Viceroy of Thyferra, and the owner and CEO of the Xucphra Corporation. Pleased to meet you."​

​

The Demon turned to Seraphina. The apology was hers to accept, and knowing the Angel of Thyferra well, Daegon was certain he knew what her answer would be.​

 

[Hazel Zanteres]

Dress
Nearby: Allyson Locke | Amea Virou
Inevitable Reunion: Nora Lithos | Nylea Apollodor | Elisea Korrado

-x-​

Hazel let out a content sigh as she sipped on her newly acquired wine. The placebo effect of having something familiar in hand was already at work, relaxing the Hapan as her nerves settled. It was a measure of irony, that someone who had been a medic on battlefields, stood before powerful Force users, and dealt with the arguable possessive affections of a Dravala, would be nervous being in a public space.

She fiddled with one of the bracelets that hung from her wrist. Today was a time where she was ever thankful she had moved to physical charms and trinkets to keep her appearances. With the Force being suppressed as it was, Hazel would’ve had a difficult time keeping up her little illusion.

Not that she had anything wrong with how she looked these days. But having a pair of unnatural horns and tail was attention the Hapan didn’t want right now. Nor was it exactly ‘welcoming’ when you were trying to tend to a patient.

Hazel sighed, taking a deeper sip of her wine. She could feel presence on the Force, faint as they were, like needles in the back of her mind. Too many to really focus on, but certain ones stood out amongst the crowds.

A couple Sith she had made acquaintances of, Jedi she had helped in the years gone by. Two individuals that were seated further down the bar, one a former patient and the other who was a completely different person now.

The Hapan reached out slightly, wondering who else she could sense, only to freeze when a familiar one crossed by like a gust of wind.

“Mishel?” She stood up, gaze shifting around, looking for the young woman she had once considered a daughter. However, as Hazel began to walk around, a couple more presences began to filter through her mind, very old ones that she hadn’t felt since the days of the Sacred Lotus.

An inevitable reunion was drawing ever near...

 

[Srina Talon]

_____________________________________

Tag: Darth Empyrean ​

She never minded what he wore. Or didn’t.

Truthfully—She might have preferred it over the delicate ensemble that had been arranged for her. If she was being entirely fair, which she never was, the young woman might have acknowledged that plenty of thought had been placed into it. White was one of the two colors of House Talon. The small bits of moonstone and crescent-shaped accents lent a soft reference toward obviously Echani heritage. It was tasteful rather than tacky. From the way the hem diverged to a thigh-high slit to the fact that there wasn’t anything to hinder her movement made it seem as if they had taken her proclivities into account. Anyone who had ever tried knew that fighting in formalwear was not ideal.

The Confederate Exarch was aware of the colorful past her chosen plus one held with a variety of the nations represented. She also knew that he would play the game as required. Srina might not have retained the silver-tongue required to navigate the floor with honed precision, but she did watch, and observe. As she had oft seen him take the face of Dorian Harper, she was agonizingly aware of his skill.

And her lack of it.

When a gentle touch sought to turn her face away from the countless masses, the Echani almost tensed. The soft pressure of his lips against her skin caused the tension between her shoulder blades to momentarily dissipate. It let her breathe. Such a small and innocuous gesture meant more at that moment than words ever could. Especially, to her. He was there. She was not alone—And he would not sentence her to such a fate in the midst of a potential viper’s nest.

She lingered close for a moment before his words drew a ghost of a smile to the kiss of her mouth. It was a mere twitch that would be missed entirely if someone wasn’t watching very, very closely.

“Partaking in moderation, Maliphant, is the key to indulging with discretion.”, the return was equally light, with the same cadence that he had presented to her. If he didn’t know any better, he might have suspected that she was teasing him. Her head shook in mild amusement when the golden-eyed man mentioned this so-called “Lord of Stench” that would likely abhor the moniker. “We both know that your tolerance for alcohol is far higher than your tolerance for people. The drink, in this case, would simply be an innocent bystander.”

Especially—Those that seemed to strike a nerve.

The wintry woman allowed herself to be led toward the dance floor and moved around the other guests like a whisper. She never touched them. Srina adjusted, her form following his, while her free hand rose to curl around his shoulder. The touch to her palm was noted. Little things, small comforts, let her remain the ever-glacial right hand that the Vicelord expected her to be. As they fell into a rhythmic sway that timed seamlessly with the stringed orchestra she drew nearer. Close, enough, that they could speak without being easily overhead. “Is this diplomacy?”, she asked, and a faint frown drew the curve of her lips into a frown.

It didn’t feel like diplomacy. It felt, like a powder keg. An explosion, correction, a natural disaster waiting to happen.

His smugness about Caulder Dune caused her hand to slide from his shoulder to rest delicately against the side of his neck. She was a full head shorter than he was and the movement would only allow her to be closer still while she tugged apart the statement. Perceptive eyes flickered across his face while she tried to figure out exactly what the idiom meant. It was no hardship. Maliphant was…Striking, for lack of a better term. She had rarely known a man to be so handsome, in certain lights, that it was almost too painful to see.

“Three or more is considered a crowd?”, the words were hesitant. A little uncertain that she might have missed the joke. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Four was a gathering, five was a party.

All right then. Darth Adekos didn’t like parties.

That made two of them.

The idle chatter fell away for a moment when a familiar dark mop of hair crossed her vision. Not quite behind Maliphant, not enough to hide, she saw the brother of the Vicelord. The one she had spared. The one that had conveniently disappeared. Her eyes flickered away and returned to her dance partner.

She was loathe to admit he was right so early in the night but…No. Perhaps, imbibing was not a good idea.

 

[Nora Lithos]

Nylea Apollodor // Elisea Korrado

Two... They were two. And so was everyone else in this goddamn place.

Where were they? Nora frowned as the search seemed to grow all the more hopeless. Too many people with the same idea for what passed as a proper dress, enough cleavage to decapitate a rancor. Nora shook her head and began to descend the stairs as others made way towards the dances. You’d have thought that an Echani stood out in a place like this, but no matter where Nora turned there seemed to be a well-trained, white-haired woman to be found and while she normally wouldn’t have complained this was really not the time for it.

What was that thing Nylea had wanted to share?

Didn’t matter. Nora shook her head and entered the crowd to go on a one-by-one search for her friends. Seemed to be the only viable option, really. It wouldn’t exactly be hard to tell the faces of the Lotus apart, now would it?

Oh, it definitely wouldn’t.

Nora would be aware of that one soon enough.

 

[Maijan Paisea]

FIRST ORDER CORONATION BALL

Rosewood Castle // South of Avalonia // Dosuun
ENGAGING: Salvor King
JUST AN ILLUSION

For someone who seemed so insistent on getting all the eggs in his basket, the athlete didn’t seem too occupied with keeping them. As an invisible spectre, she'd already munched down one...no, two.

"Good catering."​

“Trruly.” Maijan admitted, a knavish curl ghosting the edges of her lips. The marble skinned woman seemed to apparate out of nowhere –– which seemed an impressive feat for someone who was supposed to be suppressed of The Force. This was the nature of someone who was unable to affect the physical world so well as construing images for minds. Always seeking some sort of muscle. She’d lost much of her ability to persuade and negotiate with a little bomb ticking away in the nape of her neck, but a practice she couldn’t abandon lest she lose it entirely. She wouldn’t be under the control of this government much longer, so long as she kept making the right contacts. A technoid seemed appropriate. As did Darkwire. Anyone technically inclined who could make the right incision and not trip the protocols that would…

Best not to think about it.

At least they’d let her wear a dress. How it came into her ownership would remain as mysterious as the White Current’s maestro. It was admittedly out of character to purchase, given her affinity for the five-finger discount, and nobody was the wiser until the day they needed to count inventory. By then, it was always too late.

Casually, she plucked her third egg from the tray and made a gesture with her free hand, attached to the arm draped over the edge of a nearby counter to crutch her unbothered lean. The placidity of her expression eroded in favour of the reaction to her unveiling the illusion, completely unravelling herself from the threads of the White Current for a full exposé. As tangible as the rest of them gathered about, remarking on the catering of the opulent event.

And as tangible as she was, she was equally chatty.

“Turrrns out things have to be qwiite expensive until they’re worth being free.”

 

[Fiolette Fortan]

​

Fiolette looked in the direction of the ballroom, "what say we have ourselves a dance?" She inquired with a smile, whilst arm in arm toward the dance floor. The ball looked to be a success in her mind, as dignitaries and guests continued to arrive in full. The couple paused only to hear Ariel speak, and Fiolette smiled - at least until Madelyn Lowe approached. "Indeed such an occasion as it is if you'll excuse us Grand Vizier." Fio's tone matched Lowe's icy gaze, for as far as Fiolette was concerned Lowe was a pitiful waste of talent and money. The Galidraani had no doubt her wife would converse with the wretched thing later on, and to that end, the retired Lord Admiral would be grateful for a drink, or five.​

​

As they moved through to the ballroom proper, Fiolette laid eyes on another defector. Robogeber and rather than continue to eyeball him. She focused on her beautiful wife Taeli Raaf . "Have I mentioned just how beautiful you're looking this evening?" The dress alone was enough to distract Fiolette from expressing or feeling any more ill-will toward some of those present. "The Masquerade Waltz, a Galidraani favorite," she recalled with fondness as they reached the dance floor. ​

 

[Brama Tagge]

Rosewood Castle // South of Avalonia // Dosuun
ENGAGING: Phoenix Edorath
HUNGRY LIKE THE WOLF

“..and that’s how I got this string.” Brama boasted, tugging at the line of Krayt Dragon pearls that had been refined down to small spheres around her neck. “That was a night of the finest marrow, let me tell you.” The elder Tagge nodded sagely, short of making a chef kiss gesture as she regaled the tales of her premiere Krayt Dragon hunt on Tatooine. A younger version of the aged Senator that stood in fanciful garb this eve. Even her hair was braided and the strap of her eye patch beaded.

She’d managed to keep the attention of a cluster of uniformed First Order individuals just before the speech and orchestra music. Their faces were warped with fascination. The collection she’d been discoursing with had been busy pledging their services to the resurgence of The First Order, and the display tonight was a credit to their service.

“Oh, do excuse me. The dancing’s begun, which means we get to spectate how effective the generosity of the libations have been.” An obliging chuckle emerged from the throats of her audience and each gave a small, curt bend at their waistlines to end the conversion.

As she moved, at the skirt of her dress a four-legged creature managed to navigate alongside her. Boyce, the needier of her two hounds, dotingly trailed at her heels. Gido was content to wait outside, assigned to the duty of a pleasant Stormtrooper. A few misfit glances looked their way, revealing the whites of eyes in shock but they quickly went back to their conversations. Brama was unbothered as she approached the ballroom.

Several were already swanning around the dancefloor, dotingly gazing into one another’s eyes. For a moment, a fist clenched around her heart. The memories of her late husband taking silhouette amidst the dancers and for a moment she imagined how obnoxious they’d be out there. He’d be leading, she’d be insisting against it..all the while avoiding the feet of those who actually knew what they were doing. Each heartbeat brought a yearning ache to her joints.

Watching would become painful, so she looked away at the faces mostly representing the CIS. Exarch Srina Talon and her arm candy apparently Darth Empyrean and of course rarely distant, Viceroy Darth Metus .

She spent enough time discoursing with politicians.

Next to her was a First Order individual, the company of the evening.

“Those two seem too young to have hair like mine, don’t you think?” The woman cooed easily and tilted her chin in the direction of the Echani dup. Easily, she swirled her drink around so the remarkably durable ice cubes tinked against the edges. The whiskey’s odour wafted upward, and she relaxed the tenseness of her shoulders in response, gently folding one arm into the nook of her other while glancing at Phoenix Edorath , indicating she intended to hear a response to her introduction.

Politely, the Corellian hound sat next to the Galactic Alliance's Tepasi Senator.

 

[Ishana Pavanos]

Food. Ishana's eyes grew wide at the array of it, "this is a spread, habibti." The Balmorran gave a chef's kiss to the layout of food and quickly got in line. It never failed that the First Order were foodies at heart and it showed. The buffet worked a bit different rather than the person serving themselves. Waiters and staff would serve them, all you had to do was point to, mention, or both at the item you wanted. The fact that there were so many options is what got Ishana. She loaded up with steak, potatoes, shrimps, and some greens so her wife wouldn't eyeball her or mention something about calories.​

​

It was true the ol' pilot was getting up in age, but she thought she worked off most of her calories in the best way possible. The couple took a seat in the corner and for the moment the formal dining area was quiet. Which meant she and her wife had the place to themselves, for the moment at least and that was okay with Ishana. The Balmorran didn't have to worry about the politics at play that were no doubt ongoing. As she settled into her seat she looked over at Kaalia. "So, uh," she began in between bites, "what uh, what are we doing for life day?"​

​

Kaalia Pavanos ​

 

[Mishel Kryze]

​

Mishel knew better than anyone just how easily things could be misunderstood, words, expressions, and gestures. Mistakes and miscommunication had a way of simply bearing down on what was an otherwise relatively small problem with a simple solution at the ready. They made things complicated, needlessly so, and thus she moved with Alkor toward the Red Rose Bar and away from the vast majority of politicians, away from the eyes of the Imperials, the Confederates, and the Sith. They were both on their way to see a particular man who had a habit of floating between factions like stardust gliding from one system to the next.

"Yeah, he probably is, but the bar is just over here and I am definitely in the mood for a Binary Suntwist." A lovely cocktail that was fruity, but dangerously high on the alcohol level. It bit hard on the way down, kicked someone right on the Gromas if they weren't paying attention to how fast they were drinking it. "I love my sister, she's a generous woman when you get to know her." Mishel thought so at least but her views were colored. "Mhmm, well, I'm not one for dancing around big to-do crowds anyway."

Admittedly the way they both looked was comical but it only gave all the more reason for Mishel to smile. At least, until she felt a familiar presence that of Hazel Zanteres and she paused a moment. She looked around but dismissed it, it wouldn't have been the first time that Hazel had been around but not made herself known. Mishel figured if the woman wanted to chat, they could do so but she wouldn't push or search any further for a connection that had seemingly been lost to the ages.

There had been at least two things in play that made Mishel look the way she had. It was a different body, one that had been cloned and aged up from her original cells. Secondly, as with the mentioning of the first - Mishel died. She died saving her sister Alessandra Creed 's life. They had managed to meet again and Mishel was even living under her sister's roof. But, Mishel still felt distant and a little unsure of all the fuzzy memories that laid about in her mind and if they were truly her own.

Mishel's curiosity of crystals, had led her initially to Jorus Merrill, who in turn led her to Alkor Centaris and Kurayami Bloodborn. Those were the days where the Tygaran learned that there was more to life than the brooding edges of the Knights of Ren. "Yeah," she chuckled when Alkor seemed amazed at how she had grown over the years. If he only knew it took dying to grow up. "Yeah I have, and in some ways, I'm still growing up." They rounded a corner and headed into the bar itself. "I am doing okay, yeah I guess I'm doing alright." A slight pause as she looked him over a moment. "You look like you're doing alright yourself, all things considered."

"Okay, I always knew the First Order was fancy, crack a womp rat on the fire this place is fancy." Mishel had seen quite a few fancy places in her day, "oh there's Kurayami, I think. He's still bald, right?" It was hard to tell these days, but she was sure he was. "Let me grab my drink and we can make our glorious rounds."

As she was sure there would be glorious rounds. "Yes, one Binary Suntwist and one... oh, hey, yes I will take Seoularian Soju, one shot please, and." She held a hand up to grab the Galactic Credits. "And, one, because it's been years Prosperian River Beer." The kind of cocktail that made you believe it was just a root beer twist, but oh it was so much more. Mishel returned to Alkor and Kurayami as the two cousins were talking with drinks. "This is mine, this we can share, and this is mine."

She took the shot of Soju with ease and called for a few other shot glasses. "Here, we go, this is the Binary Suntwist, and this is the Prosperian River Beer."

Kurayami Bloodborn | Alkor Centaris ​

​

 

[Salvor King]

BODYGUARD TO THE DIRECTOR OF THE TRADE FEDERATION
E G G
Maijan Paisea

---

---

​

“Trruly.”​

Leisurely, King's head inched indifferently to his left towards the source of his accostation. His brow furrowed. Had she helped herself to the deviled eggs? His deviled eggs? THE KING'S deviled eggs? How bold. He lowered the platter, pulling it closer to the center rather than letting it hang out to the left. A defensive gesture, but the sheer, slow insouciance of it gave the illusion of casualness.

The tight contortion of his brow softened into a lift on the left side. The individual was oddly similar in appearance to the woman he'd fought in the Togrutadome just a short time prior to this coronation. King wasn't certain exactly what she was, but if anything he hoped she wasn't here for a similar endeavor. King eyed her up and down behind his tinted spectacles. She certainly wasn't dressed for it, but then again, neither was he.

King doubted the First Imperials would be too friendly to the idea of an impromptu bout.

These ideations were likely incredibly unfounded. Not everyone was looking for a fight, he had to remind himself of that. The post-match restlessness hadn't quite worn off yet. His fingers twitched, calling out for the familiar clench of a fist. Maybe this was why The Lord of War had brought him along.

His default deadpan returned with a quiet sigh. He opened his mouth, intent to wave the woman off and spout some non-sequitur about Gat Tambor being left alone. Before he could, despite his low-effort protection of the deviled eggs, she took another. Hear insistence and lax lean on the nearby counter made her look just as over it as he was. This time, no discernable expression shifts came across his face.

“Turrrns out things have to be qwiite expensive until they’re worth being free.”​

As if trying to posture himself in defiance of her helping herself, he too took another egg from the platter. Were the eggs really that good? King had just been hungry. He chewed slowly, his blank visage still staring in her general direction. Yeah, alright, they were that good. It took him a moment long enough to begin to border on awkward before the egg would disappear down his throat and allow him to respond.

"Truly." Endearment? Or a mock? King didn't intonate one way or the other. Behind his shades he looked down to his platter and back up to the stranger. "You must speak from experience, given how many of my snacks you helped yourself to before I could be bothered to notice."

 

[Alban Roble]

C O R O N A T I O N

Tag: Gat Tambor | Salvor King
Wearing: x
Word Count: 2,032

Alban Roble was a man of class, business, and style. One had to be if one wanted to get anywhere on the highly industrial and elitist world of Fondor if they wanted to get anywhere on the world that was famous for their starshipwrights. Most failed and were left at the bottom of the social and industrial pile. Some were able to find levels of success and claw out a living for themselves, set stakes around a piece of economic territory and call it their own.

But Alban Roble? He wasn't content with being a mere survivor. He was not content with his share of the scraps. He wanted it all. And he was, in all senses, unstoppable in his pursuit of it.

His personal shuttle reverted to realspace, dropping from hyperspace into the orbit of the First Order capital of Dosunn. Alban was a native of the Confederacy, at least to an extent. Only in the last couple of years had Fondor become part of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Thus, when the Confederacy had waged war against the First Order, Alban had been merely a spectator in it all. That had been before Roble Manufacturing had even begun its ascent to intragalactic status, much of which was owed to the Confederacy in the first place.

Then, the two titanic nations had been the fiercest of enemies. And in that war of attrition, the Confederacy had ultimately won, the First Order is left to be consumed by unknown forces that came from the Unknown Regions of space. But now they were resurgent, but the Confederacy didn't seem to mind; rather, in fact, they seemed to welcome it. Rumor had it that the Vicelord would be in attendance, and if that were so, then that meant Alban had little to worry of any political repercussion from attending this coronation.

The shuttle shook slightly as it descended down Dosunn's gravity well, but Alban paid little attention to it. It wasn't like he was scared of a little turbulence -- the man had fething built ships with his own hands -- and instead, he keyed on a datapad that in turn powered up a speaker device embedded into his ear: his link to his personal artificial intelligence, HANS, his closest confidant and thing he had to a friend.

"Something the matter, Sir?" The artificial intelligence's programmed Coruscanti accent seemed almost inquisitive. Alban hadn't paid much attention to a personality matrix when he had coded the artificial intelligence, but it seemed that regardless HANS had developed its own personality and sense of being.

"Nothing much, really. You got a program for tonight?" Alban asked into his ear. From all appearances it would seem that Alban was talking to himself; the speaker bud that the artificial intelligence spoke from was expertly hidden and concealed; not that there really was any point of it.

The artificial intelligence took a moment to respond -- Alban assumed it was doing a few quick transmissions, something that took a small increment of time given the base distance between Dosunn and Fondor -- but finally, it spoke. "I've downloaded and processed the entire program, including the list of guests invited and in attendance, list of speakers, and the list of musical pieces and their accompanying dances that are to be performed in the ballroom."

Alban nodded, a gesture of thanks that was somehow picked up by the artificial intelligence despite its lack of any visual detection, which was similarly wordlessly acknowledged. "Ariel Yvarro has just begun speaking. Would you like me to transmit the speech?" the artificial intelligence offered.

"Guess there's no reason not to," Alban said, shrugging before giving a brief glance out of the window as the shuttle continued its descent. He could now see the city of Avalonia sparkling below; it had no sheer impressive might like Fondor, but Alban couldn't deny that it held it's own kind of beauty, a kind that could at least be appreciated by him.

The speaker began emitting a slight static, letting Alban know that HANS had switched to a transmission of the coronation before a woman's voice began playing. "-- Ladies and Gentlemen, --" the voice began as the static swelled down. A deep breath subsequent exhalation was audible before the female voice -- Ariel Yvarro, Alban presumed. "-- I want to thank all of you for attending tonight’s ball. Your attendance means a lot to me, and to the First Order. I’d also like to take a moment and thank the citizens and the members of the armed forces here in the First Order. For without your sacrifice, your perseverance, and determination, we would not be here today; and to the Chiss, the Echani, and all of the refugees who arrived on Dosuun looking for a new place to call home. --"

There was another pause. "-- You who saw we were in need of help, and rather than turn away, you decided to stay, and it is you who have made this moment possible. I have the utmost gratitude for the men and women of this world. More importantly, I am humbled by stories of survival, the tales of defiance against the Ssi-Ruuvi, and the will of the Imperials. Not just here in Avalonia but to Sejong, Cape Velikaya, New Laveau, and all throughout our realm. You who refused to go quietly in the night, you who refused to give up, to those who are no longer with us. May their memories live on forever in our hearts. Tonight, we celebrate not just the crowning of our Supreme Leader, Natasi Fortan. We celebrate you, all of you who have struggled, who have strived to carve out a path for yourselves in this galaxy. --"

There was another pause, briefer than the first. "-- Know that we here in the First Order want to become part of the change in the galaxy. We want to see peace and stability restored here within Wild Space and the Unknown Regions. We want to bring prosperity through service and strength to those that will stand with us. We remember what has been in the past, knowing that we must keep ever onward, ever forward unto dawn. --"

There was the tiny, barely audible sound of a clinking of what Alban presumed was a glass. "-- I raise a toast, to the health of all those here, to the memories of those who are no longer with us, and to the bright future of the First Order. Under the guidance and leadership of Her Majesty, the Supreme Leader, Natasi Fortan. --" The sound of a sip before the glass was set down. "-- Now, without further ado, I introduce to you our conductor for the evening an old friend of the First Order. Conductor Laan Kenmen and his new First Imperial Orchestra, enjoy the evening everyone and welcome to Avalonia. --"

The speech ended, replaced with the sound of an orchestra starting a lively waltz. "That's enough, cut it," Alban said, and the feed abruptly stopped. At last, the shuttle touched down onto the firm ground of one of the capital's many hangar bays. He stood up and stretched, making sure the beryllius cuffs of his finely tailored suit were immaculate. "Is that speeder you dialed up here?" he asked again into his earpiece as he descended the ramp from the shuttle into the cool evening air of the First Order's capital.

"It should have arrived by now, Sir," HANS replied, and sure enough as Alban passed through the security barrier into the city proper, there sat a closed speeder taxi, plated in an aesthetically-pleasing design and built with a variety of fine metals. Perhaps it was Alban's starshipwright mind working when he noticed that, or perhaps it was just something common that everyone took note of. Regardless, he settled himself into the fine upholstery of the vehicle as it sped its way to the coronation.

The steps up the palace were decked with guards and guests from every corner of the galaxy, conversing on the veranda while various speeders continued to pull around and discharge their various visiting officials, dignitaries, and other invited guests. Music of the orchestra that had begun at the end of the seminal speech floated through the open gates and down the palace steps. Alban exited the vehicle and, his hands down the pockets of his suit's trousers began up the steps alone.

At the entrance into the palace, he was stopped by a Guard. Before the Guard had a chance to speak, Alban waved his invitation towards the guard without a word. The guard raised a hand as if to protest, but seeming to think better of it, waved him through. As he entered the inner doors, a Herald pronounced him as Alban Roble of House Roble and Roble Manufacturing -- a lot of Roble's in a single sentence -- and a fashion of speech that was filled with much more nobility than Alban had a taste for. But like the guard, he didn't offer up any protest and instead went to find the nearest bar.

He found it quickly alright, and from the ornate decorations and the fine dresses of the people around, he was suddenly glad that he'd brought his wallet with him. "Merenzane Gold, on the rocks," he said to the servicing droid, tossing a couple of credits across the bar. The droid collected them and went off to make the drink, while Alban rested nonchalantly on the bar.

"Alban Roble," an unknown female voice suddenly called, and he turned to see an attractive young woman with dark skin tones and wearing a form-fitting dress. "I didn't think I'd see the venerable director of Roble Manufacturing at such a. . . noble event such as this."

Alban Roble gave a daring smile. "I didn't think I'd see Rava Savitii at the First Order coronation either. Confederacy Quartlery doing a piece on the coronation?"

Rava tilted her head to the side, giving a smile full of bright-white teeth as the ice in her shallow-cupped drink tinkled lightly. "Probably something like that, yeah. Plus, there are some high-level people here from the across tthe galaxy. Perfect opportunity to get some exclusive interviews, if only they'd talk to us," she said, a drop in her tone hinting that she was feeling a level of annoyance.

"Oh?" Alban asked, cocking his head to the side as the serving droid put his requested drink on the bar next to him. Alban picked it up with one hand, his eyes still on Rava as she talked, taking a sip of the Merenzane Gold as she spoke to him.

"Yeah," Rava continued, "There was this one Skakoan from the Trade Federation who all but brushed me off when I tried to speak to him," she said, an offhand nod behind Roble. Alban turned to see who she had described, the tall, distinct form a Skakoan decked out in fine robes. That looked like one of the beings that Alban had actually intended to meet -- Gat Tambor of the Trade Federation, who at the very least could become a useful connection for him.

"That reminds me," Alban said, not taking his eyes off of Tambor, "I have to get to a meeting," he said, standing up from the bar and brushing past Rava who turned to look as he walked by her, her mouth wide in astonishment and offense at Alban's abruptedness.

"Typical Alban Roble, always rushing off to find a better catch," she called after him with a tone dripping in derision, but Alban ignored it. There was a much more important guest to attend to.

He saddled up to face the Skakoan directly, one hand holding his drink, the other in the pocket of his suit's trousers. "Gat Tambor," he said, giving an incline of his head with all the drapes of respect. "It is an honor to meet your eminence. I am Alban Roble, of Roble Manufacturing. Pleased to make your acquaintance." He gave a nod to who he assumed was a bodyguard standing next to the Skakoan. "How are you fine gentlemen doing this evening?"
​

​

​

​

​

​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"It was the least I could do, your Excellency. The First Order offered me sanctuary when the One Sith fell, it was only fitting and fair that I returned the favor when similar misfortune befell the First Order." But the former Emperor's intentions were not utterly altruistic, nothing the Sith did ever was. He had also taken that time to entice many First Order scientists and engineers into the Sith Empire, taking with them their knowledge of intrinsic First Order technological designs. The Sith had since used that gained knowledge to improve their own military, advancing many of their ships with First Order technology. In Epicanthix culture is was common for a conquered enemy to have their culture assimilated by the victorious Epicanthix, and while the circumstances were not even remotely one-to-one with the Sith and the First Order, the once Emperor still felt inclined to take advantage of the situation where he could.​

​

Then his eyes shifted, away from focusing on Natasi's face. Another moved to join their conversation, one whom the once-Emperor had not had the pleasure, or displeasure depending on the circumstances, of meeting face-to-face. ​

​

Irveric Tavlar.​

​

Turning to face him, Carnifex's face revealed nothing of what he was thinking. If one expected him to burst out in a rage against the leader of the New Imperial Order, they would be sorely disappointed. If anything, Carnifex admired the firebrand for his tenacity and the resolve of him and his followers. They had, after all, provided the perfect crucible for the Sith to cull their weakest elements in the fire of war, and such bloodletting was something the Sith were far overdue for.​

​

"Indeed? Such happenstance is amusing, but the spindles of fate are constantly weaving different strands. The pathways that we have both embarked on left no other recourse but to converge here, where neither can act on our baser impulses." He brought his drink up to his lips, downing the rest of it in a single swig. It was at that time that Ariel Yvarro made a speech to the assembled, and announced that the time for the first waltz of the night had fallen upon them.​

​

"Apologies, but that is my cue. I promised my wife the first dance of the night, and she is not one to be trifled with."​

​

Setting aside his empty drink for a waiter to clean up, the former Dark Lord of the Sith moved towards a far smaller woman who stood off to the side of the gathering. She was dressed resplendently, her dress accentuating all of her curves and desirable physical features. Reaching out to take her hand, Carnifex led her onto the dance floor. Together, step-in-step, they danced as eloquently as any of the other guests. Carnifex had been tutored in the various styles of dance ever since he had been a small boy if such a visual was conceivable. ​

​

He looked into her eyes, and she into his.​

​

"You look ravishing this evening, my beloved. My mind hearkens back to those youthful days, how we danced then."​

​

Natasi Fortan | Irveric Tavlar | Salara Zambrano ​

 

[Darth Empyrean]

“Do I look like a man who deals in ‘moderation’, Srina?”, he asked quietly as he eyed the crowds.​

​

His gaze, however, fell back to her face as he brushed some hair behind her ear. He may have led the dance, but he had sparred with her enough to know exactly what they both were doing - speaking more through body language than words. It was less him leading the dance, so much as a syncronized effort, thoughtless acted upon as their muscles demanded. Perfectly in sync.​

​

“It is diplomacy in the most… lazy way. The First Order wants to appear relevant once more, and in doing so hopes to be recognized in an official capacity by the galactic powers that be. I imagine their hope is wining and dining, underhanded deals, and a touch of backroom escapades is a step in many to achieving their once great opulence.”​

​

Maliphant twisted her around to face another direction, his gaze wandering from her eyes to the few who lingered on him. For a brief moment, he even made eye contact with the elder Brama Tagge - though he offered nothing in terms of recognition, nor betrayed any emotion to the stranger. Many would look upon them - likely less for the alchemist and more for the porcelain god he danced with.​

​

The Sith knew many had tried to gain Srina’s hand - and it teased it slightly, how much it might bother some in the room that he had taken the Dread Queen for himself. He took care to present her to them with the tenderness she deserved, an art piece they could look upon but not touch. Petty, surely, but what was a man without his faults?​

​

He smiled at the thought before speaking again;​

​

“In truth, I think the age of the First Order has passed. This all seems more… ‘Fight against the dying of the light’ than a renaissance of fascist imperialism. I believe the Imperial powers that be are already well grounded in the New Imperial Order, and unless the First Order unseats them, they’ll be forever stuck in the realm of Tanomas Graf - a sad old fool with an empire that reflected his disappointing skill.”, Maliphant said with a quiet disdain.​

​

Not that he held anything against the First Order or the Galactic Empire under Graf - just that none of them seemed all too well tuned to the reality they faced. Though, what did he know? Unlike half of his sith ‘friends’, he was never a Sith Emperor - something that somehow grated on him.​

​

Srina Talon​

 

[Loske Treicolt]

ROSEWOOD CASTLE // SOUTH OF AVALONIA // DOSUUN
Maynard Treicolt // O P E N
HOLDING ON

​

Their attendance couldn't be accredited to their personal merriment –– though if temporary joy could be found, it was likely discoverable amidst the opulent display the First Order had organized. It was worth an impressed, awe-struck expression as soon as they walked in the door as House Treicolt. At that, Loske had squeezed her spouse’s hand. A House. She had a house and a name. Through all the war, loss and toil, that union made it worth it. A union that, with everything said and done, was likely the least influential tonight. And presumably the pair with the least agenda. Mere war heroes and Galactic Alliance poster children among Emperors, Empresses, Moffs, Senators, Exarchs, Viceroys, Imperators, accolades on accolades exchanging words and glances. It was a mixing pot of potentials ranging from opportunity, reverie and conflict.

“I just..hmm..” She started with a huff, still not entirely over the Yinchorr debacle and the repercussions. As with everything these days, it seemed to be racing so quickly that it slowing it down was all out of grasp. Reacting felt… meagre and insufficient. They had to be better than this. She had to stop thinking about it until it turned into a more productive conversation. She had to be more informed.

Tonight was a worthy first step until they visited some other version of an Imperial world.

In the brief intervals between arrival and before Ariel Yvarro ’s speech, Loske had the opportunity to look across the gathering. There were known clusters and unknown clusters; Features that formed familiar faces, and faces that were only known because they held some weight of importance on the galactic scale. The cornucopia of representatives was truly a medley from all nodes on the spectrum. Different ideals were in dangerously close proximity, rid of their weapons. The only hostility was what crawled beneath their skin and in their brain coils.

Everything would start with a conversation.

Could wars start and end here tonight? Based on some of the handshakes and individuals nearby, perhaps. Was this all it took for Peace? A placeholder of a ceremony and the potential for promises? Maybe the bloodshed could abate. Hopeful naivety had a chance tonight, and she’d don it unabashedly. This was likely more a painful experience for Maynard, who’d been the punching bag of The Sith from prepubescence to modern-day.

Her train of thought was cut short by the call to attention for a ceremonial oration. She listened to most of it in muted appreciation, leaning easily against Maynard and fiddling with some of the knots above her hip idly. Save for one of the distinct call outs.

"You who refused to go quietly in the night, you who refused to give up, to those who are no longer with us. May their memories live on forever in our hearts. Tonight, we celebrate not just the crowning of our Supreme Leader, Natasi Fortan. We celebrate you, all of you who have struggled, who have strived to carve out a path for yourselves in this galaxy."

That was perhaps the truest generalization that the Moff could have included in her speech. Everyone here, alignment aside, could attach themselves to that notion.

At the orchestra's initiation, a belated sort of horror started to blossom. Mostly at the acknowledgement that the pair had willingly walked into a room that all but nullified one’s connection to The Force. For Loske, it should have been almost a nostalgic journey, to her premiere years as only a pilot and a Force attuned in denial. Or maybe she should have been appreciative, the sensation diluting what would have otherwise been an overwhelming display of Light versus Dark all shoved into the castle's proximity.

Unfortunately, it was a more volatile reaction than that. One her body rejected. Inarguably it was less violent than any other time she’d had some sense of The Force stripped from her — usually by way of individual connections –– instead it was more akin to a sort of miasma, something more subtle that initiated a rising queasiness in her belly that became unignorable when the conclusive clapping started to jostle any settling that she’d managed to cultivate through the speech.

With a brief explanation to Maynard (mostly composed of gestures and knowing looks) she bee-lined to the bathroom to settle her clenched belly. Within the designated space were gorgeous gowns and unknown faces. Some painted with makeup, others tattooed to religious sects Loske hadn’t anticipated. No matter — she was preoccupied and eternally grateful for the foresight to include some sort of refreshing minty mouthwash.

Emerging from the lavatory with slightly more flushed cheeks than when she’d entered as the only betrayal from her countenance for the upset of her stomach,

Gratefully the tightness of that bond forged through fire with her spouse superseded the suppression, and she focused on it like a beacon to re-join him. Wherever he was now, the natural movement of the crowd obstructed an immediate visual.

The odyssey back was cut short with overhearing a conversation discussing the source of her physical unease, and she drew a tight-lipped expression in response to the serendipitous eavesdropping.

"They are manipulating the room so that they force cannot be used here. With the potential hostiles together in one room, it is smart. Derek should have done this on Siskeen."

Just her fortune, it was in discourse with a member of the New Imperial Order. The executors of Kyber Dark. For a brief falter in step, she considered interjecting but decided against it and pressed beyond to engage the odyssey back to that end of the link. This place wasn’t a traditional battlefield, but it had the organizers of wars here –– best not to operate in isolation for too long.

HOUSE TREICOLT
THE GALACTIC ALLIANCE​