Faction The Coronation Ball [First Order | Invited Guests]

[Darth Carnifex]

They danced for some time, spinning eloquently in near-perfect synchronization with the other couples dancing. Despite the size difference between husband and wife, they were nonetheless smooth and graceful in each other's arms, decades of intimacy with one another on display. When the opportunity came to disengage from the other dancers, the pair made use of that advantage and twirled away back into the conversational crowd.​

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"Not a single step out of place, my love. Your skill has not diminished."​

​

The former Dark Lord of the Sith pulled up his smaller wife to lock lips, an act that only lasted the span of a few seconds before he let her down. It was a rare occurrence to see Carnifex display any form of emotion in any capacity, although this was a far more insular environment than the large parades, rallies, gatherings, and other assemblies that he had taken part in as the undisputed ruler of the Sith Empire. ​

​

To those that did not truly understand him, it would appear that Carnifex was letting his guard down since his abdication.​

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The truth was that this, much like everything else he publically presented of himself, was an act. A mask worn by a seasoned killer, a facade designed to deflect and misinform. The lines on his face were an unbreakable artifice, carefully calculated and practiced to perfection. That his mind was an impenetrable fortress allowed the ease of deception to cloak his countenance, for there were none in the galaxy who could discern his intentions by his thoughts as they were unreadable.​

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Even the smile he now, seemingly begrudgingly, to curl the edges of his mouth was another calculated move. ​

​

What wasn't calculated was Adhira Chandra walking right up to him and his wife and sparking conversation, though it was a welcome amusement. Bright burning eyes swiveled to meet the Chancellor's own, staring unflinchingly deep into the soft brown irises.​

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"Chancellor Chandra, an unexpected but welcome pleasure."​

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He inclined his head as a respectful gesture to the leading lady of the Revived Galactic Alliance, a strange gesture that would baffle their onlookers just as much as his cordiality with the Sovereign Imperator of the New Imperial Order just minutes earlier. A subtle application of pressure on his wive's upper back signaled her to gracefully depart, for this was to be a meeting between the head and former head of two of the most powerful nations on the galactic stage.​

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"Indeed, I have kept my eye on the politics of your Alliance for some time, as have many others with a keen interest in the Core Worlds. It has been quite a few many years since I last graced those worlds, not since the time where the Sith held court on Coruscant, much like your Alliance."​

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The thin warm smile that he had adopted previously gradually grew more predatory, another calculated move.​

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"I must commend you on the Alliance's successful reclamation of the Core Worlds, that region of space had been without direction for far too long. Though I disagree with your Alliance's mandate, order must be maintained in light of the dangers which plague our quaint galaxy."​

 

[Adhira Chandra]

T E N S I O N
​

Adhira had never been the squeamish type and while many in her current predicament might shrink away from this less than ideal meeting, she rather looked forward to seeing it to its natural conclusion. Her eyes were crinkled at the corners, her face frozen in polite contentment as she peered up into his burning gaze. She politely ignored the almost imperceptible signal that Carnifex communicated to his wife before her departure, though she made it a point to nod her head again as the woman left the two of them alone. Adhira could feel eyes begin to turn toward them as curiosity overcame the assemblage.​

"Ah - Yes," Adhira chuckled into her collar bone as looked down to adjust the onyx string of beads that weighed heavily across her chest, "there has been a great deal of tidying up to do in the Core. It's former occupants left it in quite a state." The woman grinned knowingly up at the Sith Lord, her tone deliberate, but not entirely hostile.​

"...order must be maintained in light of the dangers which plague our quaint galaxy..."​

The Chancellor's dark brown eyes closed for a moment as she entertained, for a moment, the thought that she and her would-be sworn enemy were on the same page. When she reopened her eyes, they were no longer trained on the former Emperor but were instead aimed behind him at Irveric Tavlar. "Indeed," she snapped her eyes back into place, "it would seem we are both familiar with the looming dangers that have been festering in the void. And how did you find our Sovereign Imperator?" She said, referring to the conversation she had spied them in just a few moments prior. It seemed inevitable that she too would have the opportunity to speak to Tavlar that evening, but she was in no hurry.

As one of the servants passed with a tray of drinks, Adhira skillfully snatched up two crystal cups of golden liquid with an acrid aroma wafting from within. She held one of the glasses out to Carnifex and drank deeply from the other. "We visited quite a bit of havoc on your Empire... but it seems the New Imperial Order deign to grant your people a brief reprieve," she was suddenly in a cryptic mood, apparently. She was, of course, referring to the NIO turning their sights southward as they moved in on Alliance territory.

 

[Noelle Varanin]

Tags | Rurik Fel | Open.

Spoiler: The story

Tags | Open.


Noel walked in alone, a silk dress of silver clinging to her like a shift. In her hands was her mother's diadem, an ornament she had nearly not brought with her today. Her mother's death still felt so fresh. The rumors of her sister's affiliations-- Ashin's return and reveal inside their family's kitchen...

The time for mourning had come and gone. She had things she needed to do.

She slipped the crown into her golden locks and stepped out of a shadowed archway. Observing would only get her so far. It was time to fetch a drink.

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 | Vesta

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

Tags | Rurik Fel | Open.
​

Noelle turned in place, leaving the bar behind her as she addressed the voice with a measured smile. She didn't bother to correct the title. She was wearing the crown for a reason. Her gaze skimmed past him, searching beyond him for something unstated. Her attention returned to him, the measured smile deepening.

"They fair well; it is a harsh winter but they endure on. As always." A drink was placed down for her at the bar. She turned, plucking it up and gingerly sipping to prevent a spill. She studied him as she did so, unphased by his appearance. A spark of amusement crossed her features. She lowered the glass from her lips.

"I take it you don't drink then." She gestured subtly to the mask.

M A N _ O F _ I R O N
KNIGHT OF THE EMPIRE
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
B R E A T H E
Noelle Varanin

The immediately cordial response was a refreshing alteration of what his first impression from a Concordian aristocrat might be, but this was a night free of those political bonds as much as it had everything to do with who and why people chose to speak to one another. His connection to Eshan was second hand, Errant. Though he would be smarter than to mention him here, knowing how the world fared was useful information to take. As far as he could tell, business as usual. Harsh winters, an opportunity to prove their endurance and mettle again, to forge another piece of that vaunted legacy.

"Good. I wish them my best." He remarked in response. To the question of his drinking, he offered a rare laugh beneath his steel visage, tilting his hooded head in consideration.

"It isn't that I don't...or that I can't but I'd rather do my part in sparing everyone the displeasure of seeing my true face." Rurik admits, though the mask by now was a face all its own. The Lord Executor himself was made manifest in it.

"I'd wish for you not to contrive my motives for speaking with you but it is curious that the Queen of Eshan would be here, alone when the Galaxy's finest and most elite fraternize in the Ball Room. All the same, I take it the crowded air and bustling noise isn't anything you'd care to partake in?" Fel inquired curiously.

HOUSE FEL
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER​

"Well when you put it in such flattering terms," she laughed. "No. I find it frivolous." She sipped again at the drink, unabashed. "Though others would disagree, I suppose. There's a certain dance to politics that one would be remiss to overlook... Tonight wouldn't be the first time alliances were formed or broken under the sway of music and champaign..."

She fell quiet... then looked up, dismissing her poetic musing with a sweeping gesture, "Politicians do love their parties."

Her friendly air turned on dime, her gaze sharpening on the mask that belayed no expression. "Why?" She shot back, deadpan. If he was looking for small talk, he would be disappointed. Noelle was every bit as direct as the two Matriarchs she hailed from.

It was he who mentioned his motives first. She was simply following up.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"So it appears to be."​

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He reached out and accepted the drink from Chandra's hand, grasping the crystal cup and bringing it up to his lips. He sipped of the golden liquid, letting it wet his tongue before sliding down his gullet with an inaudible gulp. It was a fine vintage, which was to be expected for the level of extravagance that the First Order placed into their ceremonies. He would have to inquire about it later, perhaps he could acquire a few casks for his own collection.​

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"The Sovereign Imperator is as I expected, charismatic, confident, and determined. It is not difficult to see why he inspires loyalty, skills that he had learned within the Sith Empire before he broke his oath." It was a stated matter of fact rather than hyperbole, all soldiers of the Sith Empire had sworn an oath to uphold and defend the Empire with their dying breath. Tavlar and his followers had flagrantly broken this creed, and with it, they had harmed the Empire more than any foreign enemy.​

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It had been a sobering event, but the Sith would endure as they always did.​

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They were, after all, eternal.​

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The former Emperor decided to switch gears in the conversation, steering it towards more impactful recent events. "I have seen reports that the Alliance and Tavlar's Imperials have crossed swords, a most foreboding omen. But it does not surprise me in the slightest, Chancellor." He took another sip, sighing contentedly as the smooth taste washed over his tastebuds.​

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"Have you heard of an operation known as Kyber Dark?"​

​

Adhira Chandra ​

 

[Srina Talon]

_____________________________________

Tag: Darth Empyrean ​

“You know what you look like, Maliphant.”

He knew—And she knew. For all of her faults and refusal to conform to what the galaxy might expect from a well-bred lunar daughter she remained distant. Defiant. Not blind. With every sway steady feet made, drawing them around one another in a slow, leisurely web, they cataloged. Memorized the faces they passed in the crowd. On the dance floor. It was an involuntary habit she had developed from frequently finding herself at the mercy of a blade. She had learned to be careful, to be thorough, because survival required it.

The classically cold woman did not react when the well-dressed Sith brushed wayward tendrils of white-gold hair behind her ear. The action was smooth, practiced, even though such a gesture was relatively new. She allowed it. As much as she allowed anything, to be truthful, which always held some degree of separation. There was a part of her that could never be seen by the public eye. Especially, not here. Not in a palace full of nobility, heads of state, and potential adversaries. The frigid behavior Srina was known for could only be accentuated—Never diminished.

The almost agonizingly nimble Echani found her footing as the melody shifted. Lilting highs and thrilling crescendos that dipped into a comfortable blend of sound that simulated peaceable merriment. Everything about this gathering seemed designed to ensure the status quo. It offered a thin veil that gave the illusion of safety. Moving across the ballroom in time and with relative ease was simply part of the story; part of the ruse. The Exarch would play. For now. She pulled back from Maliphant while his hand remained entrapped within her own. His strength let her depend almost entirely on him while she twirled lightly—Before returning to his arms.

His words had given her something to ponder. Moreover; she could not see a difference between this version of negotiation and every other. It was always the same. The location, the faces, and the goals seemed to slip with the sands of time but the barest nature of it was always present. “You are right.”, she breathed, mercurial eyes flickering, before a ghostly smirk teased across glacier features.

“And wrong.”

Her general poise shifted slightly, corrective, before her sylphlike form inclined toward her partner. She paused when she felt as if she were standing on the balls of her feet but her heels never actually left the floor. It let Maliphant move with her easily, rather than against her. She seemed weightless, transient, and barely-there in a swirl of white shimmersilk while they fell into an easy pattern. “We have not yet seen enough of our host to determine the truth of what they hope to obtain. No matter what words are spoken. No matter what was promised. Whether or not it is the relevancy you speak of—I can not say. What is more telling, far more, is the response.”

“No matter the design; we are here. We have all come, rather obediently, to the table.”

These were the pieces of a puzzle that she had not yet learned how to fit together. She was certain that to some degree, diplomacy, networking, and social graces were intently suffered for the betterment of a newly revived regime. But was that all? Srina did not believe that the First Order had rolled out the reddest of carpets simply to wine and dine. “Most nations handle diplomatic efforts behind closed doors. Most, if not all, have employed underhanded tactics. I would prefer to settle disputes by a test of skill but I have been told this is crude, uncivilized, and ineffective.”

Srina paused in speaking when she felt his focus shift. He moved and she compensated. What would have been an awkward motion became a natural and much-needed turn. She could feel golden eyes peering through her and her hand lifted from his shoulder to let the pads of soft fingers trail along his jaw. It was gentle, though deliberate, enough to lead him back to her. What was that? She didn’t quite grasp what it was that she had missed, but indeed, she had missed something. His grasp on her waist was a little tighter. His posture—An unspoken warning to any that might wish to cut in.

Return to her, he did. The name Tanomas Graf was not one she had heard in quite some time but she well understood the purpose. The disdain that filtered through him could not be denied, though, that wasn’t all she picked up. Every move he made spoke volumes. While the Sith Lord that held her so intently seemed to play off his desires, hide them, she could feel a twinge of flavor. The shade of what he thought, even if, the true color was hidden. “I think…”, she trailed off, quietly, though not without a certain amount of insight. She had never coveted power nor influence in the way Sith seemed destined to. Srina had never once thought of unseating her Master. Of taking his place. She was an apprentice by choice—Not a servant. Not a slave to an ill-held, historical, burdensome religion.

“I think that stones should not be thrown at a nation that has broken free of the cruelty of presumed antiquity. That is no easy feat. The New Imperial Order is very well-grounded, but there is something to be said about the determination and sheer force of will required to breathe new life into a ghost. Perhaps the age has passed. Perhaps, it has only just begun.”

They could only bear witness while events unfolded and history began to write itself in earnest. It would be what it would be, as the Force intended. She let her hand slip and it wandered beneath his hair, under his jacket collar, to wrap around the back of his neck. Srina did not always grasp every verbal social cue, but body language was another story entirely. He was not the only one who could be possessive. “You cannot fault them for their efforts, Maliphant. We are all guilty of doing what we must for that which we hold dear.”

“Like a man attending a party that he has no desire to be at for the sake of another.”

 

[Seraphina Corvinus]

Tag: Daegon Corvinus | Fevris Derzelas | Robogeber
Wearing: XoXoX
Inviter: Daegon Corvinus

Seraphina breathed a sigh of relief when Daegon seemed to take mercy on her. He enjoyed seeing how far he could press her before she began to melt, and truthfully, she had grown accustomed to his teasing nature. It simply still didn’t stop her from responding. They turned back to the topic of the Coronation and she nodded along with his assessments. She mostly agreed with him, only, there seemed to be one large error to his statement. “I wouldn’t rather be killing anyone.”​

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“And—Has anyone died? This seems rather successful, thus far.” ​

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The conversation was placed on hold after she made contact with a tall gentleman that made a better door than a window. She reached back and let her hand rest against Daegon to provide assurances to herself that he was there. Well. That. And to confirm that he would remain there. She had seen him boil over at smaller offenses, though, this was a delicate scenario. He would maintain decorum here because it was a must; but also, because she wished it. Her husband denied her very little.​

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He wouldn’t start now.​

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The sightless diathim remained quiet while the Grand Admiral spoke to someone she did not know. Based on their words it was not a friendly passing of two tall ships in the night. She straightened effortlessly from the delicate curtsey she had fallen into. The way he described both herself and Daegon caused the tops of her cheeks to burn anew. Everyone always seemed intent on levying complimentary verbiage in her direction. Didn’t they know, couldn’t they see, that she was undeserving?​

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Her lips curved into a slight smile while their new companion began to try and wrap his mind around their relationship. It wasn’t the first time. Daegon was everything, in public, that she was not. He was commanding and direct. She was demure and obedient. He apologized anew and her nose wrinkled cutely at the prospect of being called “ma’am” in polite conversation, and a playfully innocent response poured forward. “Oh Mr. Rausgeber…Do I appear so old that I must be addressed as if I am a crone? I’m so wounded. Please, call me Seraphina.”​

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It would make her feel better to have someone address her by name versus “the wife” in every engagement. She held no titles, positions, or authority within the Confederacy but she did call Thyferra home. She grew silent while the Grand Admiral began to answer her inquiry about his evening. She could not see his expressions, nor, could she imagine his features. It was frustrating. It was easier if she could touch something to visualize it—But she couldn’t very well start touching faces at random.​

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People would think her quite strange.​

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His story caused her rather excitable and jubilant mood to slowly slip away. Like sand through a sieve, every word, hit her in the heart, whether she could see him or not. Sera could hear the somber nature of his tone and the loss he exuded must have weighed on him so heavily. Especially, if he freely offered this information to veritable strangers. She wanted to say something.​

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Wanted to make it better. How?​

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Ten years was the length of time she had been married to Daegon. It was her eternity. She couldn’t imagine spending the last decade without him. Without their friends and the close, close, relationships they had forged on Thyferra. She could feel his sad smile.​

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It made her want to cry. Hug the Grand Admiral, then cry. Of course, she would refrain because that would be yet another strange thing that she didn’t want to embarrass Daegon with…But the instinct was there. Manners, first.​

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“I’m so…so very sorry.”, she chimed in gently, after Daegon, and tried not to let on that behind her blindfold that sightless eyes were burning something fierce. As if her husband sensed the change in her, she could feel his hand wrapping around her own. Their fingers entwined and she managed to escape with only a small sniffle. Maybe they wouldn’t notice. It was hard not to identify with that kind of pain. They had been embroiled in the Siskeen tragedy on Olanet and Thyferra…Thyferra had so many ghosts. So much pain.​

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They were still trying to heal it. Decades, later.​

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“We…We had a lot of work to do on Thyferra when we arrived. She was so hurt.”​

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She, obviously, referred to the planet itself. Seraphina had an odd way of connecting to their home and often referred to it as if it were a thinking, breathing, sentient being. She had the utmost respect for it. The most tender love for it. It would break her to pieces to see Thyferra on fire once more. Daegon carefully changed the subject, likely, to keep her from crumbling.​

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It wouldn’t look good for the Viceroy, that, and he hated to see her sad.​

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“Yes—I would so love to explore. Will you come with us, Grand Admiral?”​

 

[Gianna Aegis]

Tag: John Locke
________________________________________________________________​

The emerald-eyed Jedi Knight shook her head slowly while John Locke came to the exact assumption that she expected. He was probably right. She had seen numerous high-profile members of the Confederacy since entering and would likely see a fair few more in the near future. If anyone really needed or wanted input from the Southern Systems there were plenty of people to approach. Even still…She felt a twinge of guilt. He was supposed to be working.

She kept him from it.

“If you wanted to be John, a boy and his droid—I’m not sure this is the place for it.”

They were essentially wading through shark-infested waters, putting it mildly, and without pretense. Gianna believed in the general goodness of all things. She also knew where and when to recognize danger. Even suppressed, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end, ringing with warning about the presence of the Sith Empire. Even the generally calming influence of more democratic leaders entering the fray, like Adhira Chandra , couldn’t change that.

She sighed. He would likely insist.

He did.

The urge to playfully roll her eyes in his direction was suppressed and instead, she only offered a knowing smile. There was no talking John in or out of anything once he had decided it should be so. The certainty of the words he uttered and the shining truth in his expression caused her to glance down at the floor. He allowed himself to feel so acutely. She would need to be mindful of that. “Walking, breathing, all very important things.”

“Extremely important.”

The light tease would hopefully be enough to steer the conversation to an ocean with a little less depth. Gianna didn’t need to see what lay beneath the surface just yet. She shifted while he analyzed her without meaning to. The empath in her had learned to recognize it long ago. She could feel it like a reflection, he mirrored her, and it wasn’t always a joy—Seeing that which she wasn’t ready to perceive. Nar Kreeta was just still too fresh. Still too painful.

Failure.

For someone that never gave up hope, not in the face of monsters, or the jaws of death, she had gotten quite close to it. Gianna didn’t talk about it. She kept her own counsel and had done as much empty meditation as she could to find her center again. To find peace. Rubbing elbows with individuals that had literally burned planets to cinders, now, seemed like the very opposite endeavor to take. She felt anything but peaceful, here. It was a palace.

She should have been awed by the majesty of it all. She should have felt swept away, dressed like a civilian, with a tall, charming man at her side. Should have. It would have been a nice alternative.

Gianna pulled herself out of more dire thoughts as best she could and pressed a polite smile onto elfin features. She focused on the soft, good things, that emanated from John. Let him become her anchor. She let him lead her away from the castle without complaint. The further she got from the individuals that were setting off warning bells, the better, this evening would be. What had she been thinking?

The touch of his hand in her own pulled her back to the moment. The Gardens. Jade eyes flickered along the shadowed pathway while the lights from the party danced through an elegant cascade of viewing portals. The soft breeze let her think. The whisper of the wind that wished for nothing, wanted nothing, and only served to remind her of the living Force. It was grounding. The light quip that the dark-haired cyborg made caused her to tug back softly on his arm. Not that it would bother him. “Following strange men into the unknown is a recipe for disaster, you know.”

“But a brave heroine leading an expedition? I can handle that.”

Gianna tossed a breezy smile over her shoulder while she pulled ahead. It was the type of expression that couldn’t be schooled, but a natural, honest warmth. If there was anyone that could find a garden, between the two of them, it was definitely her. Unless he had schematics uploaded prior to their arrival. Her eyes squinted when she looked back at him for a moment. Did he? That would be cheating.

“I see you thinking about it. Don’t you do it.”, she warned, teasing, while she followed a well-worn path. It was easy to see where people traveled. And where many feet passed—Flowers would likely follow. She continued on until they found a small pond with seemingly bioluminescent lilies scattered among the quiet, still waters. It was pretty. She let go of John’s hand to get a better view and the pale pink of her dress trailed after her in a silken whisper. “I do love things that glow.”

It was a fact, though, a little saddened. The flowers that had marked her would-be grave on Nar Kreeta had held a similar shine in the darkness.

John didn’t know that.

 

[Robogeber]

T A L K I N G
Partners: Daegon Corvinus | Seraphina Corvinus
Attire: Uniform | Rank Plaque | Broach | Face​

Rausgeber allowed a polite smile to pass across his features as Daegon lectured him. It actually sickened him. He had not been there. He was witnessing war in the abstract. Not in the moment. Not with the sheer terror and fear which engaged all who entered the realm of battle. He hadn't experienced bloodlust, and the adrenaline of victory. No. This was some corporate carpetbagger was now paying homage to the art of war and her devastation as but an insolent outsider. But now was not the time to put a fool in his place. At least not yet. "Your condolences both of you," Carlyle gave a small nod to both blind woman and to her greasy haired husband, "Are much appreciated to an old man."

The Grand Admiral's attentions turned to the lovely, vision impaired wife. "I am honoured by the invitation." Carlyle mused, with a slight chortle. "But I must concur with your husband. I'd advise we move toward the gardens, or someplace less crowded." The officer added, "The density around us now, reminds me of my first barracks during basic training." The warlord added with a grin. With the Corvinus' having chosen where to go, Carlyle followed them.

"So you were saying, Viceroy Corvinus that you were a bacta baron." Carlyle began, "I was curious if your products or entrepreneurial talents extended past such things?" The Grand Admiral mused, "I personally am involved in the manufacture and development of miscellaneous and assorted military assets and equipment." Which was not quite true, but not quite lie. It was hard to compartmentalise everything from Super Star Destroyers down to combat boots. "There is of course a large, military component which comes with such production." The officer ceded.

"And, well lets just say we rather enjoy, testing our own equipment." Carlyle mused with a wry jocularity, "But that being said, such exercises and field tests often yield injury." Now the politician and negotiation within Rausgeber had appeared, "Perhaps now is not the venue, and I would loathe to bother your lovely wife with my bothersome bartering, but if there is an in, I may be able to oblige some agreement of a sort."

 

[Alessandra Creed]

Tags: Adron Malvern | Valessia Brentioch | Freyu Molidias | Xobos Yakieer | Jaeger Harrsk
Attire: 123456

Adron thought it too, frankly, and it left her feeling less abashed.

They were unarmed, without droids, or any typical manner of security they generally possessed. Not a protocol droid. Not a Magnaguard. Not even a little rabbit droid. Everyone was, technically, without weaponry. Though only technically. If the First Order wished it to be so they could have quietly escorted out the higher echelon of the nation and dead-drop bombed the entire palace while the abilities of the guests were suppressed. It might not have killed all of them. But it would remove a great swath of competition and destabilize every galactic power present.

It could be something more mundane—Like the implementation of tainted food or drink.

Not everyone could be the Dread Queen and retain a legacy of knowing how to kill a man a hundred different ways with her bare hands. Likely, without repetition. Alessandra found Srina Talon only marginally more interesting than watching paint dry, but at the moment, she was a little envious. It was only the fact that she trusted her mother implicitly that kept her concerns at bay. That familial bond kept her from suggesting that one of the Exarchs stay behind. So that, if murdered, most judiciously, the entire governing body wasn’t lost in one night.

A daughter’s love for her mother brought her here. Kept her here, without, fear of pushing up daisies.

The Queen of Illyria remained silent while her husband spoke his mind about the events that were set to unfold. On one hand, she was gladdened he was willing to withhold judgment, while the other, still left her incredibly wary. “There is…A political game afoot.”, she murmured in response. That much was obvious. She just didn’t know their role in it yet. Full amethyst lips parted to continue speaking but she silenced as a man she did not recognize approached. Why would she?

The life that Adron Malvern had lived as an Imperial with the Galactic Empire had all but died after a war on Tatooine. She had no desire to visit that past, any more than she desired to visit his place of birth. The Count of Serenno had all but died in her head when a screaming Banshee took over the territory and demanded his allegiance.

Long live the King. Her, King.

The low growl that Freyu Molidias exuded caused a slow smirk to linger at the kiss of her mouth. At least someone agreed with her. Strangely enough—It wasn’t this man’s association with the New Imperial Order that set her on edge. It was something else. Something she couldn’t name. Xobos Yakieer had disappeared into the crowd which left only Freyu in their deliberately economic entourage. She knew the orders that Adron had given.

She also hoped that Freyu would choose wisely if it came down to it.

Illyria would survive without her. It would not survive without him—And their son was too young to take the throne. The raven-haired woman inclined her head respectfully when her husband took the time to introduce her to Commissioner Harrsk. She wasn’t bothered by a lack of perceived manners, in fact, preferred it when others dropped pretense and refused to put on airs. Blunt was always better. She hadn’t been born royal.

Just with a silver spoon.

“Charmed.”, she responded, lightly, though not without a certain smooth edge. “The Outer Rim has been less than stable since the OPA collapsed. Perhaps, the First Order will begin to reign in the lawless.”

Adron continued to carry the conversation and she was more than pleased to allow it. He was the statesman. The one who made bonds and secured alliances. Alessandra had a head for numbers that far surpassed the computing power of most machines. Her predictions and expected outcomes were always nigh perfect—Where high risk, typically, yielded high reward. She chuckled lightly when her beloved sought to bait the brusque Commissioner into something a little more potent than wine. “I’m going to assume this means that I’ll be the sober one between us tonight. I warn you Commissioner Harrsk…My husband can put the those with the heartiest of gills beneath the table.”

Alessandra signaled the bartender and requested something without alcohol. She also felt something a little more familiar on the premises. It was just a flash. Mishel Kryze was most definitely somewhere nearby but while dark eyes scanned the crowd, more than once, she came up empty-handed. Raising her comm she sent a brief transmission to her sibling.

<<Be careful, sister.>>

Karking dampeners.

 

[Quinlan Reade]

As the man beside him revealed his name there was as the Sith assumed, no recognition. Even at the unveiling of his surname Governor Reade only knew the name in passing - a general of some sort? The realm of politics was oddly enough, not his forte. I'll have to learn quick. Remember this name. He couldn't place it but he had an unnerving feeling that their paths would cross again in the future. Not where nor why, not how nor when, but there was distinct sensation that Reade couldn't place.

He listened intently, sipping again from the glass in his hand as he contemplated the Sith's words. They carried unnatural weight to them but it was weight that felt proper. Even now he could see the transition of his thoughts as a new vassal of the First Order. Roots were important to Quinlan, it helped to keep him grounded. Though, that wasn't what the Sith was suggesting, merely that he would likely fail to be impressed - not that his roots should be ignored. Then Malikai posed a question that even Quinlan in all his preparation hadn't truly given much thought to. What do you hope to achieve? He took several moments to respond, the silence hanging between them as the party below continued. "A complex question Malikai, but I suspect you knew that." Quin took another moment, eyes jumping around the faces below. "I hope to achieve balance. Order. Not only personally but for the people of Tholon. Power hasn't been my goal, though, the taste is enticing." Reade smiled, eyes turning to the man beside him. The Sith would know something of power, of the control it gave. It wasn't a complete answer, no - but it was perhaps the most honest one he had to give.

Malikai Graush

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Tag: Irveric Tavlar

"I don't know if it's the same for you," Natasi said in response to his commentary about the narrative being shaped already. "But I've always found it incredibly interesting to find what conclusions the self-proclaimed great and good in the galaxy come to. The people who make no effort to understand what they see because they know it can serve their political ends one way or another. It seems so... incurious a life," she said delicately as they continued the waltz. For an ostensible military dictator, Tavlar was more gifted in the art of the dance than Natasi would have anticipated, though she thought perhaps she should have guessed given how politicly astute he was.

When diplomacy went well, it could be a beautiful tango, the movement of two parties in close, intimate circumstances. Natasi felt that far too often it ended up like a badly-done Electric Slide, which had gone through a rather embarrassing renaissance at Galidraani weddings in the '50s. Just well-dressed people flailing about without any kind of connection or coordination, moving in different directions when they should have ben moving together.

"I'll be interested to see what they make of this," said Natasi as Tavlar turned her through the waltz. "Will the headline be: New Imperial Order Leader First to Ask For Dance? Or perhaps, Imperial Summit to Divide Galaxy for Conquest? People can be so tiresome."

As the waltz came to a close, Natasi's eyebrows lifted at Tavlar's invitation. "Of course I'd be pleased to visit New Imperial space," the Supreme Leader said pleasantly. "Perhaps an event to celebrate the completion of the project we discussed during our conference? Although, naturally, they wouldn't need to know about that part." She nodded to the room at large as the waltz ended. Natasi released Tavlar's metallic hand and his shoulder and stepped back, joining in the polite applause for the orchestra.

"You're rather good at that," Natasi said. "Perhaps once my charms and attentions have been distributed equitably we might try another. Perhaps a foxtrot?" The Supreme Leader snatched a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter; the dance had worked up rather a thirst.

 

[Darth Empyrean]

Srina was often physical - in touch, in conversations, in combat. It was her most basic form of communication, as many Echani followed suit. Maliphant could feel her very pulse in her hands, the twitch of her fingers, and the sway of her hips; a skill he had learned from long days on the sparring mat with her, and long nights at their shared apartment on Geonosis. He hummed to himself as his gaze fell back to meet hers, listening as she argued in favor of the First Order.​

​

“Touche, Dread Queen.”, he mused to her as they swiveled about.​

​

“It is true, that while I can impose my assumptions upon them, they have had… Quite the turnout.”​

​

His gaze flicked to the presence of the Zambranos, most notably Darth Carnifex himself. It made him consider for a moment how effective First Order parley tactics were - but twisted his expression into a subtle grin as he spoke again.​

​

“Could this be, instead, something more? Surely, I am not wrong in the First Order seeking relevancy once more, but with such a turnout, and the New Imperial Order here as well…”​

​

He mused, as though dancing around his words with the same rhythm he danced with his Queen.​

​

“Would you put this past them as a message not to the galaxy as a whole that they are returning, but perhaps a declaration of war in the most subtle of senses?”, he said with a cock of his brow. The man exuded smugness, but it was a playful sort, only half dancing on the idea in such a way to both be serious, and tease Srina.​

​

“If the Sith Empire seeks to back the First Order, it could be in the hopes they pull the support out from under the New Imperial Order. Much of its forces are rebellious elements that joined the Empire after their initial fall afterall, and the nature of their relationship was once very fruitful.”​

​

Maliphant pressed his lips gently to the forehead of Talon’s head before bringing her close - to hear his breath, and feel his heartbeat as he spoke a touch quieter. Though in part, it was to watch the crowds again - the man couldn’t get enough of people watching.​

​

“Diplomacy is a nuanced thing, there can be much to be gained from such a meeting - and much to lose. The publicity of it is a double edged sword, but something that will only pay dividends for one of the combatants here today. Who do you think will benefit the most, Srina?”​

​

Srina Talon​

 

[Ariel Yvarro]

AVALONIA​

"A lesson that shall be taught, again, if necessary," Ariel on the surface would agree with Commissioner Bline to an extent and if she were to be truthful. It would be that the lesson would be the most painful when taught on repeat. A silence fell between the two as they made their way through the second floor. It wasn't necessarily uneasy, rather it was comfortable and the music from the orchestra alone was enough to fill the void. She smirked while catching a glance of Natasi taking champagne from one of the floating trays. "Mhmmm?"​

​

Ariel was definitely caught off guard by that one. ​

​

She cleared her throat and with a smile, she replied, "well. If they are filing up then they are perhaps doing so somewhere, where, I am not able to see them." An exhale as she thought on the question again. "I am for the time being more or less occupied with work. Although, should the right person show somehow make their way into my life."​

​

A pause.​

​

"Then it shall be rather entertaining."​

​

Commissioner Bline had asked her question and it seemed they had managed their way into the foyer and away from the ballroom. Not only that but someone had introduced themselves. Sith Lord of the Sith Eternal. Note to self, check with step-mother dearest. "Moff Ariel Yvarro, a pleasure Lord Silmar, is it?"​

​

"I hate to simply say hello and leave, however; I do have other duties to attend to this evening." It was an opportunity for Ariel to do two things, the first of which was to catch up with a new member of the First Imperial Medical Services, and the second was to locate Malikai Graush. ​

​

"Commissioner Bline, perhaps our conversation can continue later on? I'll meet with you in the gardens after the next song, if you're up for it." She wouldn't dare answer that question he asked in a crowded room where ears would no doubt be listening to hear what she had to say. "If you'll both excuse me." Ariel politely stepped away from the two gentlemen and headed toward the first floor. ​

​

​

Djorn Bline | Arctus Silmar ​

 

[Cara Dorniarn]

Interacting with: Madelyn Lowe
Wearing: X
Arrived with: Telis Taharin-Zambrano

Ms. Lowe's response prompted what seemed a standard polite smile. But as Cara escorted Madelyn to the ballroom floor the evidence of smug satisfaction slipped into her cool composure. Perhaps she had been mirroring Madelyn's own smirk or (and far more likely) the doctor carried an ego much larger than herself, one that while normally restrained in all the bindings of proper conduct was loosened with the contents of a certain slim flask. As the pair found a spot on the floor, Cara, out of an old long-forgotten habit, stepped to take the lead. But to her surprise her attempt was thwarted at the last moment, the younger woman taking lead and leaving Cara in position to follow. She quickly saved face with a light chuckle, shaking her head as she explained, "One or four empires have risen since I last danced."

Ultrachrome fingers wrapped about Madelyn's hand. The digits were not at all uncomfortable or awkward, crafted meticulously to be almost seamless for work both on the battlefield and in the lab. The palm and fingertips sported a light texture similar to nothing more than a soft leather glove. Cara's free hand rested on Madelyn's shoulder and, finally adjusted to the role, followed the woman's lead.

The subdued air that preceeded the inquiry should have prepared Cara, yet Madelyn's question caused a small lull in the tempo as the doctor considered how to answer.

"I had the pleasure of serving with Sergeant Lowe, yes. A very talented young lady." Cara averted her gaze to calculate the rest of her response. "I was not informed of her passing until some time after. I apologize for the loss."

 

[Ishana Pavanos]

​

Ishana finished her meal about as quickly as she had gotten it. Or so it seemed, something she attributed to her military training. The ability to scarf down food without a second thought. She pondered on the idea of letting the twins anywhere in the kitchen, "alright, well, let's see if we can't make that happen." Something easy she thought, Ishana wouldn't want either of them to be upset over something that would be above their skill level. She was also sure that her wife was more than capable of selecting something for the girls.​

​

Kaalia then mentioned something of going away together. "Well, then as it so happens, yours truly might have a few options. I've been told by the boys and girls in the void that Sejong is a nice place to go to, so is uh, Victoria and of course there's New Laveau. All of these are here in the First Order, but... we could always go back to Makeb." She remarked with a small waggle of her eye brows. ​

​

She relaxed in her seat, content to not get seconds, at least not now. ​

​

"I realize now that we've been married for well over ten years, and I have to say habibti, you're looking more and more beautiful as time goes on."​

​

Kaalia Pavanos ​

​

 

[Rurik Fel]

M A N _ O F _ I R O N
KNIGHT OF THE EMPIRE
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
Noelle Varanin

In spite of him making his motive as clear as he might've been able to, the metallic visage clasped over his face certainly made it difficult to convey his sentiment genuinely. Revealing the horrid gaze beneath would've aligned himself in another quagmire of issues.

"It certainly wouldn't..." He remarks in reply to her comments of alliances, deals and wars all being brokered over revelry. His gaze set away from her and unto the ballroom where men and women of nations strewn divided by bloodshed were eager to fraternize under a quaint waltz and dance. A certain amusement about it.

Her sudden snap and change of tone shifted his attention back, his weary eyes buried beneath the metallic gaze looking to take her into view once more at her short but telling inquiry.

"Why what?" Was all he mustered initially before he continued. He'd seen that line of behavior before, in her mother, Spencer. Her half-brother. There seemed to be a connection in it. One he admired.

"Why any of it? The Galaxy is aflame...near the brink. Tonight is one of those rare and fleeting moments we can each...forget. Forget about weighing obligations, existential crises and simply observe and commune with one another as the flailing sentients we are, even if nearly everyone here is peacocking some appearance, some virtue to another. Such is nature. I'd think under no other circumstance you nor anyone else non aligned with the New Imperial Order would see fit to have a conversation with me, the reasoning why should be obvious. It's a rare opportunity, one I couldn't let slip." Rurik states, his voice bathed in that cold placidity, even if he lets slip the shroud of coldness in favor for an aura of humor, seemingly self aware of his wholly foreboding appearance.

"One thing I should impart on you...as another 'born in the purple' if you will, royalty. It is best to see more perspectives than that which those around you allow you see. As powerful as you or I might be...it can dangerously fall in the hands of those who'd rather take advantage of it than see the goodness that could arise summit to its full potential." The son of Fel imparts.

"Regardless...I need air, if you'd care to join me." He offers.

HOUSE FEL
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER​

 

[Kaalia Pavanos]

​

"I've got this feeling that they'll be naturals at it," Kaalia remarked with a smile, only quickly interjecting. Watching their children grow and learn as they got older was a beautiful thing. When she and Ishana were expecting Xariah and Xarielle, their first two children, the redhead had been uncertain. She had taken on a major responsibility without the ability to truly prepare for it, but today she couldn't be happier to be a mother. She was giving them the childhood she herself never had.

The woman she was equally grateful for, of course, was Ishana. They had been through much together, but all these years later, their bond was stronger than it had ever been. Kaalia would never take that for granted. So when the Balmorran showed she was receptive to her idea, her eyes lit up a little.

"I would love to go somewhere we haven't gone to before. We should look into those places," Kaalia replied. First Order territory still made her a little nervous, but that was a hurdle she would have to learn to step over. The past was just that, and those who caused her harm then were no longer here.

While Ishana was quick to finish her plate, Kaalia took her time, as always. Her wife's comment made her pause for a moment and made her blush a little. "well..."

"I can say the same about you, miala. Every morning when I wake up and look next to me, you look more beautiful than I recall from the day before."

Ishana Pavanos ​

 

[Maijan Paisea]

FIRST ORDER CORONATION BALL

Rosewood Castle // South of Avalonia // Dosuun
Gat Tambor // Alban Roble
ENGAGING: Salvor King
EGG MAN

Observing his reaction only elicited a closed mouth curl in response. The bravado of apparent nonchalance to the snack pilfering was expected. The world of watching was closely tied to anyone who sought to create lifelike replicas necessary to persuade others to believe.

"You must speak from experience, given how many of my snacks you helped yourself to before I could be bothered to notice."

“Ah humm,” she confirmed with a slow-rolling intonation of agreement, brushing a hand along her hip to rid herself of imaginary dust. By now, Maijan probably could introduce herself as a true connoisseur of hor d'oeuvres. In her past life, luxuries and costly fineries were a way to flaunt the spoils of hijacks and other pirating activities. By now, she’d acquired a taste for the more expensive options –– ones that were no longer available to her thanks to that rotten Mandalorian on Plexis. "Yes. Veryyy experienced."

Falsifying a nonplussed expression, she glanced down at the tray he’d subtly retracted. By now, a good half of them had been consumed by either him or herself. With some notable strain, she twitched her fingers, drumming them against her hip casually while the other arm remained draped. The moving digits strummed the chords of what was available within the White Current.

The suppression was doing a good job to dampen her abilities, she’d be in a plight if she needed to recreate anything animated or impressive, but she could get away still with simple parlour tricks.

Like reproducing her stolen trio of eggs on the platter, with an additional three to make it look entirely refilled.

“Oh, how many?”

This was purely for her own entertainment, and a cool chuckle emerged at the expense of the warrior before she shifted with a nonchalant wave of her hand and folded her arms across her chest, stepping forward.

The manufactured magical eggs disappeared, resetting the plate to it's actual amount remaining.

“Anyvays –– who’s that?” She tilted her chin in the direction of the two executives chatting. She knew exactly who they were. Maybe someone who could get the technology out of her brain. “And who are you? Other than an hor d'oeuvres aficionado.”

 

[Loske Treicolt]

ROSEWOOD CASTLE // SOUTH OF AVALONIA // DOSUUN
Maynard Treicolt // Pom Stych Tivé
PEOPLE YOU KNOW
​

A small smile of reassurance ghosted her lips and the blonde nodded to ease Maynard’s concerns.

"Feeling better?"

“It’s the Force suppression.” She admitted, reassured by his outreach and connection.

"I think people drew borders for a reason, not sure all these people are supposed to be in the same place. You have Darth Metus across from the First Order, Irveric Tavlar a few feet from Kaine Zambrano and here we are...Jedi. Never felt so...surrounded, even if they're pretty much ignoring us."

Being ignored was a concept she was fine with. In Blue Space, there wasn’t such luxury. In a crowded, busy party, there was more space for intimacy and ignorance. More conversations. If they could be ignored in such a self-contained vicinity, who’s to say that wouldn’t be a sample size of the reaction if they chose to just.. slip away.

Loske blinked once. That was a sabotaging way to think. Not an area to dwell in as tensions got thicker and thicker. She refocused and dropped her voice, looking past the witch in their proximity to find Maynard’s initial focus: Darth Prazutis .

If Carnifex was here, and the new Dark Lord, who’s to say the Shi’do that’d brought Maynard down on Bastion wouldn’t be? Suddenly, Loske was sparked with a new objective. If they were being ignored, she was more than fine with that. All the better to hone in on the attendees and seek out those who’d harmed. Fist-a-cuffs in the parking lot.

Maybe she could meet Adhira Chandra and Darth Carnifex there, given the interaction in the distance. It was still peculiar to have someone with that level of everlastingness wade around a room full of mortals. Her mother had ended his life once, others had ended it twice –– the eternity around his darkness was harrowing.

Loske's voice dipped in response to Maynard's admonishment.

“Borders everyone’s insistent on expanding though. Maybe that’s the First Order’s angle...be central to all the connections that otherwise would be...a lot bloodier probably.”

Only freshly reunited with her wayward Mandalorian, the Witch intercepted and snatched up her idle hands –– obviously an excellent observer to another’s well being.

"You should feel better soon,"

“Pom!” Loske exhaled, almost in awe at the sight of the diminutive spell weaver. Without any salutations on the night sister's behalf, the Jedi felt a sensation course through her at the touch of her former ally. Still processing the realities she found herself in, Loske’s stomach slowly calmed in response to the mysterious magicks. A knowing grin replaced her firmly surprised expression.

“I— thank you.”

The first time she’d seen the Wiccan had been on Tython, where Loske had saved the witch’s life and the favour almost immediately returned through a library of potions. The last time she’d seen her was on JanFarthel, where The Alliance had shown faith in The Imperial Order for the first attack where— “Your family!” She finished the thought, realizing the passage of time meant different milestones for different people. Pom had announced at the time she’d been pregnant.

There was a self servitude the raven-haired woman embodied that Loske found herself a smidge envious of. For all the wars raged on over the years, Pom was never a slave to the grind. Even when Cedric had initiated the resurgence of the Grayson Imperium, Pom was only a part of it to understand what the Light side meant for her. Not for any cause or purpose beyond self-discovery. And in that selfishness, she’d been able to create a bubble of a family. And, in further consideration and appraisal, Loske realized that power for personal decision making persevered. Even now the fragile woman had a swell about her belly. Loske remodelled her former question into an observation:

“..Is still growing…” Was it worth asking about allegiances now? Did it matter here? Would it ever matter? Would any of it ever be permanent? Pomsty had once sought the light to get away from what she called the fanged god. It seemed safe to assume that path had not been fulfilled, given Pom’s lack of existence around the Jedi and their purpose. What was it that made friendships important? The memories of the heh they’d been good; or the ongoing shared value system?

"I think people drew borders for a reason

Loske was going to give herself a headache on top of her previous bellyache.

“Congratulations.” She confessed, pulling her hands from the light grip of the witch.

At least she had some level of family to make an introduction, and she loved each time she got the opportunity to proclaim it. A small benefit to strange parties. “Pom, this is my husband Maynard Treicolt.

And this is Pom Styche Tivé, we met back in the Imperium's nascence. She's got..way too many potions tucked away somewhere right now, I'm sure.”

Appropriate pause for reaction.

"How’ve you been? Who are you here with? This is… quite the melting pot.”

HOUSE TREICOLT
THE GALACTIC ALLIANCE​

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
Natasi Fortan

​

"They're wolves, all of them." Circling the two, looking to pick and lash at any weakness. He stated in regards to the very same 'great and good' she referred to. Jedi, Sith, Republic...they were all the same in aim. The ease at which Kaine Zambrano and Adhira Chandra settled into conversation just within the edge of his vision certainly helped Irveric make that case. Not that he was any man of virtue himself, but the sight brought an amused curl to his lips.

"Not that you and I are any better, of course. But with Empire...the intent should very well be too overt to dance around." Or at least, to Tavlar it was. For all his reputation he was confident he'd garnered as one of the slimiest men in the Galaxy. For his betrayal of the Sith in Kyber Dark and now what seemed to be a collapse of relations with the Galactic Alliance. As far as he cared, the Sith were only outplayed at their own game, their betrayal of the New Imperial Order an inevitability. The Alliance? The jury was still out on if Tavlar was the aggressor at all, a situation far too murky to pin any true fault on either side.

After all, Imperialism wasn't a threat, it was a promise.

"Perhaps even, 'First Imperial and New Imperial united? Galaxy trembles in fear.' You and me might in the wrong career fields with how easily these come to us." He remarks with an amused grin, his gaze shifting back to the woman before him as he focuses on the movement of the dance. In spite of her initial impression of his ability, he was dutifully untrained in these matters. Born below the poverty line on Dantooine the rare One Sith or Sith Imperial occasion was the only experience he had to work from here.

The acceptance of her offer was albeit unsurpising but a welcome vocation of her gratitude and eagerness toward Irveric's gesture, which he replied in kind with a smile.

"Certainly would befit the circumstances then, or it could simply be a change of pace. I can only imagine the isolation of the Unknown Regions to be...somewhat wearing. I'd also doubt you'd want the weather the storm of what another dance between us would bring for the head lines and contrived internal narratives of these insecure governments." Tavlar teases, though at that point, the drawn conclusions would less leaps and bounds and far more reasonable assumptions given the context.

Or so he hoped.

To the offer at another dance, a more complex one for that matter, having barely managed to put up the appearance of confidence in the first he arched brow before nodding in acceptance.

"I'm most grateful to be the Supre Commander's first dance and if the night allows it, your wish is my command for another, Miss Fortan. Until then, best leave you to your other guests before they start asking too many questions. If they come to bore you, don't feel too shy, I don't anticipate my company being in the premium to anyone tonight." Tavlar remarks with a nod, half jokingly. Few friends and many enemies, he was doubtful of another interaction as overtly friendly with someone hailing from 'neath another banner tonight. Even if his own self isolating nature mostly made that the fault of his own, more content to drink and mull over his own thoughts than equip faux laughter and smiles to those he disliked, as curious as it was to pick their brain. Plucking a glass of wine all his own he ventured back into the castle proper, freeing the Supreme Commander to fraternize with her other guests, make it not seem as though her attention was so solely focused on any one party.

For now, Tavlar was content to drift and see where the night would will him to.

INTERACTION OPEN | SHOOT A PM

HOUSE TAVLAR
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER​