Faction You're Invited | NIO & Allies

[Yula Perl]

Observation #1: Imperials like alcohol.

The Order had no shortage of grizzled war heroes, and grizzled war heroes tended to numb the pain with a drink or five. As guests started to arrive, the activity at the bar picked up. Fortunately, most of their orders were simple—like the blonde who’d requested a brandy, neat. “Here you are, Sir.” She’d placed the short-stemmed glass in front of Hans Rennagen with a smile, nursing his drink before someone in the crowd caught his eye.

Next came a surprisingly familiar face. “Tafo?” The tone of her voice made it a statement as much as it was a question. Tossing the towel onto her shoulder, she braced herself with both hands against the countertop and grinned. “It’s good to see you again. You’re a far cry from Frostwythe.” It didn’t take an empath to sense his unease, and it’s wasn’t uncommon for the more spartan Jedi to feel restless at a lavish event. “You kiddin’?” She chortled and waved to the shelf of neatly stacked liquor bottles behind her before pausing in realization. “Uh…sorry.” Chuckling sheepishly, she poured Aaran Tafo a glass of the same brandy the blonde had previously requested. “What brought you out here?”

Another blonde approached the bar—a woman wearing a simple, yet classy black dress. Yula’s attention shifted her way and she smiled politely, gaze lingering on the The Major ’s vaguely familiar features. “Gin and tonic it is.” She set to work gathering ice into a highball glass before adding the gin, then the tonic water on top. A quick mix and a lime wedge on the rim, and the glass was set before its patron. “Here ya go ma’am: gin ‘n tonic.”

Yula moved down to the next patron, keeping an ear out for Aaran. He was the first friendly familiar face she’d spied this evening, having recognized a few of the upper echelon imperials from holocasts and recruitment posters. Fortunately, the majority were interested in procuring their drink and moving on. Even Berach Ulrand, with his unnerving smile, kept to himself after she’d slid a mug of ale his way.

“What’ll it be?” She chirped to Tulan Kor , who was the poster child for grizzled war veterans. Little did she know that the Lichtenberg patterns scoring half of the man’s face had been administered by her own sister.

Unbeknownst to her, one of the waiters had somehow slipped over the counter and ended up next to her. “Excuse me—” He started before Yula jumped, grabbing her chest. “WH—oh.” Exhaling forcefully for a moment, she snickered her reaction away with a hand clasping waiter’s shoulder. “What do you need?”

“One of our guests, the Grand Vizier, has requested a particular wine. Do we have any ‘Petit Syrah’?”

Yula’s brow crinkled in thought. It wasn’t a wine that they had stocked tonight, but Petit Syrah was familiar to her for a different reason. Instinctively, her gaze darted to the crowd. Why were there so many blondes here tonight? Then, she found Enlil . Grand Vizier, huh. Mischief hadn’t been her motive in coming here, but some opportunities were too good to pass up.

Smiling back at the waiter, her voice was as conversational and friendly as ever.

“Tell the Grand Vizier that he can go kark himself.”

 

[Boo Heavenshield]

If you didn't see the bar, just watch the crowd.

The people would lead you to the Holy Land. Or the dance floor. Which at her age was never not awkward. Making her way slowly, the woman's steely blue eyes worked the room. People were mulling about, every which way, but several seemed pointed off to one side of the room.

That was where she found her. A cute Zeltron-looking girl who was working bar. “Tell the Grand Vizier that he can go kark himself.”

The kid had moxie.

...did people even say moxie anymore?

"Well, I certainly hope I'm not about to order what he ordered," the white haired matriarch noted casually, glancing over at Yula Perl as she straddled up to the bar and peered over to try and take stock of what they were working with. Was there any Corellian whiskey on that back shelf?

"What about you, dear? Are you drinking anything?" the woman asked the Zeltron-looking girl tending bar, deciding to borrow a tactic from a horrible old flirt of a Jedi she'd known... well, long before this young woman had been born. "Can I buy a round for a bartender?"

The answer might help Kory decide if she was going to order a cocktail or just back away slowly with something more straightforward.

 

[Aaran Tafo]

"Still cold as Chaos and we're surrounded by sharks." He replied smoothly to the bartender. A slight smile spreading over his face. "Not that different from Frostwythe." His tone was wry, but he was at least grateful to find someone to converse with. He had no true dislike for the men who served the Iron Sun. But Imperialism was hardly his preferred method of governance. He could admit it was an effective and efficient one. But he'd take liberty, freedom and excitement over order and efficiency any day of the week.

He accepted the brandy with a grateful nod. Trusting that Yula Perl was not looking to poison or drug him with something foul. Raising the glass to his chest, he took a small sniff of the brown lquid, letting the deep earthy tones roll around his nose. It was a heady experience. For a brief moment, the scent of alcohol filled his perceptions. He could just drown out the music, the noise, the presence of others. Instead, just enjoy the burning spice of the brandy as he took a small sip and allowed it to filter down his throat.

If coming here got him a good drink. Maybe it wasn’t so bad that he agreed to come along.

He observed, with some amusement as Yula moved back and forth, taking various orders. Was she the only one manning the bar? Seemed a bit inefficient at such a large event. The poor Shadowrunner would be run ragged by the end of the night. "I'm here because of peer pressure." He finally said. Giving the slightest shrug. "Felt rude to say no." He made a vague gesture with his hand. "You know how it is. They see you declining it as a personal offense. Makes things trickier in the long run."

If not for the accused politics, he would not be here. But apparently, he was a 'War Hero' of some kind for his efforts on Sernno. And that merited an invitation to things like this.

His explanation given. He simply sat there at the bar, enjoying his whiskeythought a series of slow measured sips.

“Tell the Grand Vizier that he can go kark himself.”

Before he nearly spit it out at Yula's declaration. Instead finding the burning liquid going down the wrong pipe, reducing the Warden of Peace to a series of hacking coughs. Coughs that quickly evolved into a chuckle. "Old friend?" He asked, figuring there was some kind of history between Yula and Enlil if she was going to be that bold about it as serving staff. Otherwise, she'd quickly find herself tossed out into the snow.

Unless that was part of the plan for her? Who knew when it came to Yula.

His gaze was then drawn to Korynn Sol-Syna . A slight raising of his brow at her request to buy Yula a drink. He wasn’t quite sure if she'd be able to get away with drinking on the job. But who knew, maybe things were a bit more lax here. "Could I also get a glass of water please. Brandy went down the wrong way." He croaked out, flagging down the same waiter that had called for the wine in the first place. Figuring he'd leave Yula to deal with a no doubt either outraged or amused Vizier.

 

[Halketh]

H O S T
H A L K E T H
THE CROWN OF ICE
Auteme | Lucien Dooku | APPROACHABLE

A sense of calm weighed on the miraluka's shoulders as he lingered in his quarters, taking one final moment to pat himself down before stepping out of his grand closet and presenting himself to the attendant who had stepped into the role of his late apprentice. Clad in dripping, polished gold, satin black, and pressed white, every inch of the Warlord from head to toe screamed luxury. He tilted his head, soothing back his inky strands to allow the light better access to those jewels embedded into a much sturdier and ostentatious blindfold compared to his normal. Ringed fingers brushed over the laurel curling from the back of his head to rest just about his jeweled ears and at last, an anxious shift of his shined leather shoes rattled the layers of golden necklaces strung from his throat. "Well?" He asked the zabrak lingering by his chamber door, "How do I look?"

There was a dissatisfactory moment of pause as the man considered and it was enough to force The Vulture to nearly sigh, only choking the sound and cutting himself off as the man spoke at last: "Very good sir."

"Would she agree?" Halketh pressed as he collected the maroon half cape from its place upon his bed and swung it up to drape over his left shoulder and arm, fastening it into place with a slight fumble.

More silence followed.

"Would she?" The Warlord paused, turning his head back towards the man.

"She would, yes."

"You hesitated." Halketh sighed, brushing his gloved hand over the velvet to soothe it into proper, sharp folds. "This party is for her, you know. We shan't dance around her passing. It happened- she would be depressed to know we were, too." His words tasted bitter and hollow and he was unsure if he offered them to his attendant or himself more. This consideration would weigh his thoughts as he stepped out into the corridor and turned, drawing a deep breath to prepare himself as the music swelled this deep into the fortress.

He was a reclusive man and he much preferred it that way. Most were unaware of even his appearance, much less the interior of his sanctuary, but in the wake of the recent campaign and the heavy losses suffered by all involved, he knew his apprentice would wish for him to spread his wings for the people and invite them in; to offer respite in a time when relaxation seemed impossible. Nervous was an understatement, but he reeled in the reins and suppressed his emotions, hiding his Presence from those sensitive below as he stepped off to attend the party he had meticulously planned from his recovery bed.

The liveliness of the events was more than plenty to draw him from his brooding as he thrust himself through the double doors and smiled brightly, lifting a heavily accessorized hand to greet those who turned with his entrance. "Good evening, good evening," Halketh quipped, dipping his head graciously, "Thank you for coming."

He was late to his own party, but it was with purpose. He wished for everyone to arrive before he set his greater plans into motion. The gold-clad Lord of Ice swept through the crowd quietly- noticeably without the familiar rattataki girl by his side. It made his heart shriek to gaze to his left and find her missing. It had since the moment he had awoken in the medbay after Serenno and found her Presence gone from his sight. But, life kept moving. The galaxy continued its spiral. Time passed, as much as he refuted it. He paused only to pluck a flute of champagne from a tray passing by and turned his head, expanding his sight to bask in the colorful blurs and smudges painted across the moving canvas all around him.

Courage was found in the familiar, golden bubble he splashed across his tongue and he cut a path through, nodding and smiling at shapes both familiar and unfamiliar as he moved. Perhaps it was best to warm himself up with the flame of familiarity first, and such was found in the glistening light of Lucien Dooku twinkling not far away. Though the man was occupied with his plus-one, Halketh would approach him from behind regardless. "Well now, if it isn't my favorite Prince!" The miraluka called, grinning brightly.​

​

 

[Willan Tal]

LORD_PROTECTOR
Galidraan Free State
CARLAC
Tag: Berach Ulrand DECEASED Erskine Barran
Open to interaction also.

One had to appreciate the finer things in life, and Willan, as such, was never a stranger to social events and balls. It was the lifeblood of any Galidraani aristocrat with high stature and wealth on the homeworld; he'd spent many a winter as a young lad awkwardly dancing at the annual winter equinox ball held by his father and even as an older man was prone to hold his own impromptu social gatherings for his officers. Still, it felt frankly bizarre given his deployment on the frontlines had left him without luxury or amenities for months to be in such a regal occasion like this and be surrounded by toffs. Some of which he recognised all too well from the campaigns and gatherings of the Imperial assembly, others he knew not so well nor well acquainted with. No doubt his tom boy of a daughter Enedina Tal was among them, no doubt scowling in the corner or trying to intimidate some imperial tax official into giving her his drinks.


The Galidraani exile mixed freely with the crowds of partygoers, talking freely and engaging with anyone who struck his fancy. Simultaneously, two of his bodyguards kept a healthy distance and followed their supreme leader dressed inconspicuously in suits like many of the men present. Cigarra in one hand and glass of Corellian red in the other, his eyes laid upon the scene of a rather freakishly out of place Col. Berach move about the place with all the grace and decorum of an ape in a spaceport store. A sly smirk emerged on his face as he spotted exactly who the brute was going over to, his headstrong and somewhat idiosyncratic 2nd in command Lord Erskine Barran. He'd seen the pair in their natural habitat in the command centre and battlefield many times and the pair never ceased to amuse him, Berach lacked the decorum and class of the more aristocratic officers of the free state forces and yet Tal would never see it fit to replace him. The man-mountain, after all, had been a rather reliable soldier and man of the Galidraani cause, even if he was some typical lout from a backwater, Willan still owed him the recognition and acknowledgement of his battlefield merit.
​

​

 

[Enlil]

Yo, who the f-

After a brief exchange with a pair of dignitaries from border worlds seeking transition into the Imperium, Enlil took a moment to look toward the young man who hurried back to him empty handed. The boy looked almost afraid as he gestured for the Grand Vizier to lean closer, and he whispered the message from the supremely bold woman behind the bar in the King's ear.

"Repeat that," Enlil responded evenly as he drew back and locked eyes with the waiter. "A bit louder, I am certain that I misheard you."

"No sir," the youth shook his head quickly as color drained from his face. "The lady specifically said to tell you that you could go... erm... kark yourself, is what she said, sir."

Whoever the woman was, certainly she had a defiance that rivaled the Imperium itself. Yet, such a bold action... the King ruminated for a moment on who vetted the staff for this event, and decided that he would have words for them at a later time. More importantly, the King narrowed his eyes and scoured the room for the offending party.

Behind the bar, he spied a certain familiar skin tone and all the fire that came with its owner's personality. He leaned down to the boy and wore a taut smile, forced. "Now," he said in a much quieter voice, "please tell the woman working the bar that if she wants to be sure that the credits for tonight's event are transferred to her account without a hold, she will acquiesce to any request for alcohol from any guest, regardless of how she feels on the matter. And if she wants me karked so badly, she'll have to come do it herself."

"Uhm, my lord," the young man stammered. "I don't think it would be appropriate-"

Enlil did not blink. "Yet you found her message appropriate to convey to me, and returned empty handed, without any wine. Go, tell her, and do not make the same mistake twice. You will find me much less amicable if my thirst is not slaked the next time."

"O...of course, my lord Vizier." with a stiff bow, the boy retreated once more toward the Zeltron behind the counter. He would have gone himself, but with his new position came certain expectations. His appearance and discourse at the event with the various invited parties was compulsory, even if he wanted to sneak away and have words with Yula Perl .

For the moment, he continued to mingle.

 

[Rurik Fel]

M A N _ O F _ I R O N
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
LORD EXECUTOR
KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE
CARLAC
Halketh | Lucien Dooku

STARLESS
​

Just as Bastion did, victory once more lifted an intangible weight from Rurik's iron shoulders. Struggles vindicated. The strife which he'd struggled to tangle with his entire existence, finally snuffed from the depths of his consciousness. So called for revelry, not for him, but for the rest who'd sacrificed and fought for another of the New Order's many grueling victories. He'd...wondered yet doubted the possibility of the Imperator making his appearance here. As shadowy as the nature of the Lord Executor was, it was somehow...more endearing to social interaction than his superior was.

This may very well been his upbringing, raised to be polite and quiet as nobles and those born in the purple fraternized with one another over ornate finery. In place of the Iron Skin, Rurik opted to arrange himself much in the image of Roan Fel, one of the last great Emperor's of his dynasty. With a breastplate of silver and gold, the Imperial Sigil ever endearingly described as the 'Iron Sun' pressed into the chest piece with an ornate engraving. However, he still kept his tortured gaze concealed behind the metallic visage. To wield the image that was upheld of him, the Lord Executor. The wounds from Serenno were still gnashing deep into his mortal form, his soul. But he would endure, as he always had.

There was few who might've attracted his interest at this gathering, he thought, not as an indebtment to their character but there was only so much the Fel in-exile would relate in line with any other New Imperial. He was ever content with this emotional isolation, it allowed for more introspection, more focus on what matters.

Then he spotted the host of the affair himself, the mysterious yet still eccentric Halketh . The image of the man drew a narrowed auric gaze from beneath the mask. As much as the Carlaci Corps had given in service to the New Order, as much as Halketh was an outspoken and determined politician within the assembly...he was still a shadowy, enigmatic figure. Not too dissimilar to himself.

Where they diverged is that...it was fitting of Rurik's position to be detached from these circles, to watch from beyond and intervene where it was necessary. That was not the nature expected of the Imperial Warlords.

Rurik would shine light unto what was truth, to diverge from what was false. As he approached his kin in Lucien Dooku, Rurik did not linger far, his gaze focused on the Lord of Carlac as he greeted Dooku, immediately after Rurik would approach himself, nodding once to the two before his attention shifted to Halketh.

"Brother, Lord Halketh. Was not expecting such a gesture from Carlac, as welcome as it is." Rurik says in greeting, his tone as placid as it might've been expected to have been.

 

[Laraine]

Laraine entered, an apologetic smile on her face. She hadn't expected it to take so long to find a place to land. The Melodie allowed her coat to be taken, revealing a sleeveless amber tunic that complemented her red hair and soft yellow eyes while contrasting with her blue-green tail. It was simple and modest, yet fitting for the occasion, though some might find the color combination strange. As always, her lightsaber hung at her belt. The Knight watched the crowd from her hoverchair and recognizing Rose Ann Lovely from the Temple conversing with someone. She decided to approach the two, placing her hands in her lap as she patiently waited for an opening in the conversation.

 

[Roudac Gannan]

A GUEST AND A +1

Delilah Graham | The Major | Halketh

The foyer to the establishment was flashy, ornate and carried a general theme of color and pattern. It was interesting to look at, the effort made was obvious, though after the countless events and celebratory functions Roudac had attended, it was just another elaborately dressed up hall. The glitz, the glamor, all little more than dressing for the real purpose of the gathering - to introduce and mingle. Dressed in a finely crafted business suit, all black including the shirt and tie, the Allegiant General for the First Order elected to keep his coat as he dismissed the service at the entry. Any consternation was met with indifference, as Roudac proceeded through the coat area and stepped to one side.

He observed the guests, a plethora of faces from all manner of organizations and Governments throughout the galaxy, and recalled each one. To say his job required a thorough understanding of the most well-known individuals from the span of regions in known space was an understatement. Being the appointed Moff of Defense, as well as lead council of the First Order High Command, required a lot of names and faces to pass by his desk and a mind capable of remembering each one.

Roudac offered tight-lipped smiles to those who entered before him. He remained to one side, hands crossed over one another in front of him, in a casual posture. He noted some members from the First Order, especially one that had recently become the Director of the FOSB, and had deemed to attend on the arm of an Admiral of the New Imperial Order. Interesting. Roudac thought as he watched the tall sentient walk by, his cool brown eyes neutral, though the interest clearly piqued for a later discussion. Still, when he saw the individual he had invited to the event from his peripheral, Roudac turned and adopted a more genuine smile.

"Moff Graham," The General said with a nod of his head as he stepped forward to meet her. He waited for her to reach his spot just inside the foyer, before he offered an arm. "You look beautiful this evening. Thank you for accepting the invitation."

Truth be told, Roudac had little patience for the pomp of events. He tolerated public affairs like this one, purely because they were part of the expectation of his position, yet he had never liked the social element of his job. So, thankfully, Delilah Graham had been willing to accompany. And it would be no surprise to either of them to know that Roudac would likely need her as an anchor for tact and tolerance before long. Yet, the day had been somewhat agreeable, so perhaps Roudac would be in a more amicable state of mind... or perhaps not. It depended on how quickly be walked into a conversation with a stuffy, self-entitled socialite that bored him to death with pleasantries and lefthanded conversation.

"Shall we?" He asked, his expression likely saying it all for that moment, before Roudac resumed his tight-lipped smile. "Feel free to prod me, if my smile is faltering."

Then, with a quiet exhale, the Allegiant General moved with Moff Graham into the hall proper...

 

[Auteme]

Lucien Dooku Halketh Rurik Fel ​

"You're adorable when you talk fancy," she said, breaking character for a moment to give a snorting giggle. It was always his grin -- and the little show of affection -- that just forced her to smile. Despite the personas they'd both crafted for events such as these, she couldn't help but feel relaxed and honest around him. Whatever reservations she might've had about the party faded. She took a small sip from the glass he'd given her.

Her eyes wandered in search of the man Lucien had described. Blindfolded, well-dressed... well, Aaran was over at the bar. She was glad to see he was in attendance, but she wasn't the enigma she was looking for.

As soon as a voice called out from behind them, she knew their host had found them first. She released Lucien to turn. Her smile turned more 'formal' as she looked at the Carlaci warlord. His presence- she couldn't quite place it.

"I suppose I'm the only one who thinks of you as a king," she joked, nudging her partner.

"You must be Lord Halketh. My name is Auteme Denko-Durren, Knight of the New Jedi Order -- it's a pleasure to meet you." She reached her hand out for a gentle shake. "The both of us have been looking forward to this event. Your castle, the service -- marvelous. We are honored by your grace and hospitality."

Flowery words, for the most part, but her respect for their host was genuine.

Not soon after, the metal man arrived. Auteme did not know Rurik Fel well, yet he was exactly as stoic as she'd expected him to be. For the moment she stood aside, merely holding her drink.

 

[Jaster Awaud]

- The hulking man had been at the party for some time now, his company was able to snag an invitation due to its ties to the region. Lord Halketh had been an interesting fellow that the CEO had been interesting in meeting for some time. The information he received from his shadow brokers was that this party was where one went to make connections. Since the old Mandalorians connections were either dead or long retired, it just meant making more. Thus was the reason for his being here at this party and in an environment he was less then thrilled to be in.

- For the last month or so, Jaster had been jumping from one party or meeting with the upper One Percenters since his company began to hit rocky shores. A company that thrived on law abiding nations making many things illegal and thus he could move with inflated prices. All under the guise of legal paperwork and paperwork approved by planetary governments that received the proper kickbacks. You know, the proper way smuggling and transporting was suppose to be handled. However, since some governments were either killing off his buyers and suppliers, Jaster had to find more above bored work. Damned Cults.

- Thus he was here, rubbing shoulders with CEO, COO, and others of the alphabet soup that was the business world. Now he was looking to make his way towards Grand Vizier Enlil to which was one of four individuals he would like the pleasure to meet with today. He noticed the man was having some trouble getting a drink and so Jaster made his way over with two drinks.

- The monstrous six foot five inches tall mandalorian made of a multitude of cybernetic components was stuffed in a black business suit that was recently refitted for his new broad chest and thickened arms. Yet still he looked like a Mercenary that was forced to wear a suit and told to be nice to those around him. Jaster walked up to where the Grand Vizier was sitting and set a glass of wine in front of him. "It seemed you were having some trouble securing a drink Grand Vizier, please have a glass of Crème D'Infame," The large cyborg in a suit bowed his head, "Apologies, I am Jaster Awaud, CEO of United Trade Conglomerate, I saw you struggling and do what I do best, get people what they need." Jaster smiled as he lifted his head.

- He gestured to the seat across from the Vizier and if approved would sit with the man. "I brought a few bottles for Lord Halketh, but it seems he is busy so I thought to share it with someone of greater status as to not belittle my gift to our host," The mandalorian lifted the glass, "I hope you accept my gracious gift."

- If anyone did look into Jaster through the Force or other means, they would know he was not an individual that would use poison. No he did not need such a thing to dispose of those he saw as enemies. This was nothing more then a simple gesture of niceties and a conversation starter.

 

[Delilah Graham]

B R I C K by B R I C K​

Delilah surveyed the room cautiously as she entered, carefully emerging into the foyer that was dotted with people. She spotted two people she instantly recognized in person, and a few others that she was sure she'd seen Security Bureau dossiers on. Falling into the former category was Roudac Gannan , Allegiant General and chief advisor to the Supreme Leader and Moff Council on matters of defense. "Allegiant General," she said gravely, nodding with a pleasant smile. She placed a gloved hand in the crook of his arm and allowed him to escort her further into the room.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, you know," she said in response to his compliment. "And it's really me who should be thanking you. I hardly ever get away from the capital these days. The last time I did, well -- " She waved a hand as if to dismiss the near-death experiences she had on Cantros. " -- let's just say I think it's less likely I'll be bombed, gassed, shot at or otherwise harassed here. The New Imperials certainly know how to throw a do, don't they?"

Delilah felt that she was being held at arms length -- not by the Allegiant General but by many others -- because of her association with the clandestine services. Perhaps they thought she had transmitters built into all her jewelry, and listening devices in her handbag, but nothing could be further than the truth. She only wore the transmitter jewelry on special occasions and the listening devices currently on offer from the Quartermaster clashed horribly with her shimmersilk clutch.

"I'll keep an eye on things," said Delilah approvingly. She snatched a pair of champagne flutes from the tray of a passing waiter and offered one to Gannan. "This will help. Now. Do we have any reason to be smiling? Did you overhear anything useful yet? The only thing I heard in the ladies room was an argument about whether Lucien Dooku was hot or not. It seemed rather passionate, but it wasn't quite the kind of intelligence I usually deal with."

She touched her glass to his lightly. "Cheers. Is that RIP Carlyle Rausgeber with Director Shepard? I'm not sure I like the looks of that."

Roudac Gannan | Halketh | Caarlyle Rausgeber | The Major

 

[Arcturus Tal]

As the party continued to move forward, Arcturus made note of some of those who had arrived. Friendly faces from the homeworld had joined the event, leaving Arcturus feeling a bit more at ease. He was no stranger to such extravagant occasions, but the slice of familiarity made him feel a bit more at ease. Arcturus took a moment to down his drink, grabbing a second glass and heading toward Willan Tal . It had been a while since they had seen each other face to face. The last time they did, it was brief. The war was on, after all, and there was a lot to be done. For once, however, Arcturus would actually have the time to properly reconnect with his uncle.

He calmly walked to Willan's side, with a nonchalant attitude as he approached. Well, nonchalant for a Galidraani nobleman, anyway. They may have been at a party, but he was still a Tal. As he approached, he gently put a hand on Willan's shoulder.

"I see that they managed to pull you away from the front after all," he said, letting out a chuckle.

He took a moment to motion around to the party with his glass.

"Quite the turnout, if I may say so myself. Tell me, uncle, how long has it been since you've been around all of the bells and whistles of fine society? I know I've been itching for a change of view."

The words left his mouth as if in jest, but beneath them was the slightest piece of genuine truth. It seemed like the war had waged on for eons, and Arcturus had only recently joined the conflict. He could only imagine what it felt like for those who had been in it from the start.

He made another motion, this time toward DECEASED Erskine Barran and Berach Ulrand before taking another sip from his glass.

"Good to see we aren't the only ones to make it here."

 

[Caarlyle Rausgeber]

A I N ' T T H A T A K I C K
THE BAR
The Major ​

"True, but if there is one thing I remember fondly of Natasi, it was her propensity to throw quite an affair." The Prefsbelt Commander mused, following Shepard with a brisk pace. His eyes glared over those present. A mix of sorts. He spotted Tavlar's new whipping boy, the Grand Vizier Enlil and his majesty of the freshly liberated Serrano Prince Lucien Dooku or was it King now? In any case he was basking in the glory with some fancily dressed concubine of some description. Not that he would bother with the royal and whom his bedmates happened to be. That was COMPNORs business.

Shepard stopped and provided an order to Yula Perl for her drink. Ever the gentleman, Rausgeber waited for his company to provide her own order, all the while assessing the man wearing some sort of warlocks frock. Carlyle's gaze wandered up and down, before he gave Aaran Tafo an affirmative nod, "Wonderful selection they have here." Carlyle purred, attempting to ease any tension or grievance conjured by his gaze. He looked at the mans drink. Hard liquor. He'd have to have the same. Carlyle then watched as a broad shouldered brute ( Tulan Kor ) pondered what to have. Eager to cash himself a drink, Carlyle slipped beside the man. "Do you mind if I go first sir?" And not waiting for any reply, and with a pearly white shiteater, Rausgeber immediately followed with a curt, "Thank you." Being Admiral Regent had its benefits.

"If I may ma'am," The youthful naval commander mused, flashing the Zeltron a smile and a wink, "I'd rather like your finest whiskey. Aged whatever the longest is, but preferably aged in a wroshyr ask if you can." Carlyle requested, "Atop that of course, I'd like it on the rocks. But," He raised and wagged a condescending finger at the Zeltron, "I'd like the ice made from one of the spring waters." Another warm smile, "Can't be spoiling a damned good whiskey with any impurities from the tap." He chortled, before flashing the barmaid some New Imperial coin. A tip of fifteen credits, slapped onto the counter.

As he waited for the preparations for his drink, Carlyle turned to Sybil, "Enjoying it?" Rausgeber inquired, raising a brow, "I have to say Sybil," He sighed, "It has been too long since we've last met." He mused, leaning against the bar, "When was it we last met? Was it... Pa'Desh? Or was it before then? I do know your woman, Graham, she was something of a help back then." Carlyle added, "But of course, I can't say for certain." His eyes looked down to his boots, and then traced their way up her form, "In any case," He regarded her with a soft look, devoid of smarm and surprisingly genuine in scope, "I have dearly missed the company of old friends like yourself."

 

[Arren Sareth]

Agent. Arren Sareth
Enlil

Arren moves through the gilded marble halls, crimson banners embroidered with fiery white 'iron suns' the heraldry of the New Imperial Order lined the castle's vast and long hallways. A transparent plastic earpiece sits curled above and over the right lobe, she listens keenly to the comlink chatter of Imperial Security Bureau Agents deployed as security throughout the event. Arren wears a polished rank plaque corresponding to the rank of "Agent" proudly on the knee-length charcoal leather overcoat worn atop a stone grey high-neck tunic.

Wearing the traditional piped bloused breeches of a commissioned officer, if the uniform didn't make it clear enough the belt fastened tightly around Arren's waist and its' pistol holster worn openly it was a clear declaration that the "Imperial Agent" was here as part of security staff. Though, Arren was no ordinary "Imperial Agent" but a force wielder within the organisation an "Inquisitor". Arren weaves with a light step through the faint scent of liquor and smoke that permeated through every floor of the structure.

Stepping out from the myriad of colours and fabrics of the jubilant guests, Arren appeared without a word like a quiet shadow beside Enlil. "King Enlil." The woman's Telosian accent slipped from between her lips in greeting the man, suppressing it down quickly into a more neutral core accent. "Anything unusual or out of place among the Guests or event staff, Sir?" Ever suspicious, Arren's eyes leer through all those that surround to give the impression of attentiveness. The truth though? Arren's mind was turned to the ebb and ripple of the living force.

The search was for infiltrators and foes, those with unannounced allegiances to a foreign power. Arren thought that if she didn't ever let her guard down to treachery she would never be surprised. With that said, her respect and trust in Enlil went above that of an acquaintance.

 

[Tulan Kor]

"Gin and Tonic, hold the Tonic."

Ha-ha. Funny joke. Everyone laugh. Clown goes backstage. Still a miserable clown.

Tulan mulled over the party, observing each and every single one of them.

Then a waiter came, said something, or rather started to. Tulan grabbed the Waiter by the forearm, which caused him to make a small 'urp' like sound.

"Tell that fucking pansy to come tell the lady themselves."

Tulan was not a fan of royalty, Emperors, or Kings. He served under one. He didn't even like the idea of counts, Princes. People born into power. Tulan's reputation, ability, power, and status was self-earned. Then, Tulan, somehow, got more mad.

Thanks to the pompous Caarlyle Rausgeber . Tulan sized him up- and knew exactly the type, even before he opened his stupid mouth to torrent off a series of equally-as-pompous-as-his attire crap about whiskey. He was skinny, his hands were soft, and he had a rather bony, weak-looking chin. Tulan turned his head halfway, speaking quietly. His words carried with it the reputation that he had, the weight of his actions, and the violence in his nature. Rausgeber might've been taught tactics and could consider himself a thinker, but Tulan was practically death personified. On the battlefield, in combat- he had yet to meet his equal.

So when Tulan Kor threatened you- it came with a fair bit of levity.

"Talk to me like that again and I'll flail you alive, and not a single shiny piece of metal on your uniform will stop me."

Tulan went back to waiting for his drink from the lovely Yula Perl .

She seemed familiar.

​

 

[Enedina Tal]

Galidraan Free State
C A R L A C

Enedina frowned and took a drink from her glass of wine. She was dressed and adorned in the most acceptable formal attire she owned, and all around her, the sights and sounds that would typically be expected from a party filled the air, but Enedina found she barely noticed them. The food was delicious; the music was delightful, and yet she couldn't seem to stop her mind from wandering in several different directions all at once, and it was making it increasingly difficult to enjoy the occasion. Mentally intrusive sounds of explosions and cries of terror flashing in her head and the sight of men crying for mother, she shut it out with a sip of her wine and moved from the crowds and to an isolated table. Enedina had taken far longer to prepare for the party than she had for her officers meeting with the Galidraani 1st brigade earlier that morning. She was wearing one of her finest dark dresses that hugged close to her waist and cascaded down over her legs in an elegant mix of purple and gold. She had tied her hair back in an elaborate bun and prettied herself up as decently as she could.


She much preferred the confines of her military attire and the familiarity of the brigade life; being a woman in Galidraani society meant bearing the brunt of aristocratic expectations on your shoulder and being adept at looking like a pretty little thing for social occasions. Growing up in her fathers household left her often running away from the family maids and hiding in the estate grounds to avoid being forced to go to balls, more often than not being found by her father hiding in some hedge. Fortunately for herself, she was allowed to pursue a military career; if things had been different, she might've thrown herself out of the nearest window if she had ended up a trophy wife for some lard lord back on Galidraan. But thankfully, no lord was interested in marrying a tomboy Galidraani soldier lady. Her eyes scanned the room for familiar faces, but she could not find spot any among the many guests that occupied the space. She settled for standing idly by a table decorated with wine glasses, hoping that someone might offer her some conversation or one of the other Galidraanis might show their face.

Halketh DECEASED Erskine Barran Arcturus Tal Willan Tal Berach Ulrand Lucien Dooku Auteme idk I'm tagging random people. ​

 

[Willan Tal]

LORD_PROTECTOR
Galidraan Free State
Carlac
Tag: Berach Ulrand DECEASED Erskine Barran Arcturus Tal Enedina Tal

"Only just old boy, only just, one might've said practically dragged here," he remarked back with a laugh, patting his nephew on the shoulder and turning his attention back to the louts. He had all the time for his nephew; he was a good sport who performed his duties well and without complaint. He'd of been proud if it were his son, but regardless Arcturus carried the surname with pride and honour, which was all that could be expected of the male Tal line.


"Last time I was at a function, I think Enedina was still in the academy, I was too deep in the first order military, and the Sith didn't yet have a warrant on my head."

The free states recent moves of war and declarations against the legitimacy of the Sith state, led to Tal and many other exiled opposition figures landing wanted posters on their heads. Many pro Sith Galidraani decreed them as being little more than violent reactionary thugs wishing to usurp the monarchy and parliament and rule of democracy. The wailing of cornered rats was often amusing, though, and the treacherous clique that ruled Galidraan for the Zambrano dynasty were no different. Wailing that had only grown more pained and desperate with each member assassinated or blown up by the resistance.


"Berachs a lout that is true, but he's a good boy as is Lord Barran, though one might say putting the pair together is like seeing a throwback to the Galidraani stone age."
​

​

 

[Okkeus Dainlei]

Objective: Try to have some fun
Wearing: (x)
Tags: Hans Rennagen

———​

Four hours prior to the event

His robotic hand slid down his face, wiping the freshly-fallen water off of it. Leaning over he rested his arms on the counter of the sink. The water could be heard flowing down through the drain, the sound slowly dying out. He stared at the sink for a few seconds before lifting his gaze towards the mirror.

What he saw was a tried, worn out man looking back at him. The same man who was running on barely any sleep, and was still having nightmares about the battle. Though it was a few weeks past, it felt like it just happened just minutes ago.

Aches and pains ran all across his body, whether from the battle or self-harm. He was only part of the man he used to be. In reality, he was ashamed that he let himself lose faith in the force. But right now, it didn’t feel as if it was in his corner of the ring.

Focusing his eyes back to the mirror, he noticed some of his hair had fallen onto his face. Taking both hands he ran them through his hair, slicking it back somewhat. No matter how he was on the inside, he still was a Knight of the Galactic Alliance on the outside, and he should at least look somewhat presentable.

Grabbing a towel, he wiped the remaining few drops of water off of his face. Looking into the mirror for a final time, he faked a smile. Believable enough. Time to go party.

———
​

Current time

The snowfall blended in with his white suit, making it almost unnoticeable. He felt sorry for all the guest that wore black. But most of his wardrobe was white and grey, so he would have his off days as well.

Walking through the massive doorway, he was greeted with bright lights and fancy music. Guests had already made their way to the dance floor...and to the bar. Looks like it was going to be one of those events. Hopefully nothing too crazy happened.

After politely declining beverages from the waiters, he eventually made his way to one of the open tables. Lowering himself into the seat, he rested his arms on the table. He took a sip from the glass of water already there.

Some familiar faces could be spotted in the crowd. First was Lucien and Auteme, who were talking to who he guessed was the host of this event. Soon approaching them he saw Rurik Fel, which was someone who he would not had expected to be here. Next he saw Aaran at the bar, with none other than Yula Perl behind it. Looks like he knew quite a few people here.

But one face he knew almost a little too well.

Making his way towards him was Hans. The two hadn’t spoken since his message and departure from the Imperial Knights. He had no idea how the man would react. They had to check their weapons at the door, so at least that wasn’t an option.

He watched at the man set his drink down on the table, and then greeted the Jedi. Standing up, he met the man’s gaze. The greeting seemed nice enough, so he stayed calm.

“Greetings Hans.”

After the few seconds of silence that followed, he decided to say something else.

“So, yeah...I guess this is kind of awkward.”

 

[Julian Qar]

- THE DOC -
Open for interaction
The Drip

Hesitation couldn’t cover the feeling he had as the staff took his outerwear and the small weapon from his holster. He didn’t feel comfortable without its weight against his chest, security, that’s all he could muster when asked to disclose the reason for its presence. It was unlike Julian, once carefree and easy-going now took things in much more profoundly than before. Today he was trying though, trying to push past the gloom of past events - tackling it all, bit by bit just like those around him.

With one smooth movement, the doctor pushed down the front of his black shirt that had bunched up through his vest. He looked more like a mortician than an actual attendee of such a lavish affair. Julian was dripping in black from head to boot, the only hints of color were the two rings he wore on his fingers, a silver skull on his pinky, and a golden band on his ring. On the lapel of his shirt was a crimson medical cross stamped into the fabric. Around his bicep he wore a black band, their names etched on the underside pressed into his shirt. He’d been wearing it since he got back from Ziost and had refused to take it off since.

Julian paused to catch the Warlord’s words, he could feel the man’s fire from where he stood. It was a similar flame he’d felt before when he had delivered the news to the flashy Miralukan. The Doc was grateful it wasn’t the bloom he stunned off - that ride home was unforgettable still. Quietly he made his rounds amongst the crowd, catching their faces as he passed by them on his way to the grand hall to attempt to be social.

Voices, that’s all they were to him and now that distortion hadn’t rattled their vocals, it was hard to pinpoint who was who. Turning on a dime he caught a glass of wine from a roaming waiter that passed by him, not even hesitating to take his first anxious sip as he watched the boiling coming from the bar. The Carlaci doctor sighed, rolling his eyes as the birds ruffled their feathers over drinks, or perhaps it was who was consuming the most air. Regardless he stood outside of that space for a moment, thankful he had left his kit with the staff...just in case.

​