Session export: [Envoy Corps] The Flitz: Networking Event

Evelyn: I am going to be delayed. If you wait at the Flitz, I can pick you up when work releases me.

Cole stared at the message before sighing. Unfortunately, it did make sense. Evelyn had plenty of commitments and none of them were particularly flexible.

Cole: Very well. Let me know when you're free.

He glanced around for the 4th time since entering the port. The Flitz was adjacently attached, conveniently so, so he turned on heel to head inside. Dressed nicely enough, the Human blended into the loose crowd that made up the bustle of the lobby and bar. Cole passed through, his gait somewhat atypical. Though the cane was no longer necessary for shorter trips, his choice to leave it behind now the stay was extended was more of an oversight than before.

At least the stump of his leg was simply uncomfortable in the prosthetic, not actively painful. Adjustment was slow. Cole took a stool, settling onto it content to observe the surroundings. There was a lot of Brotherhood members here, more so than expected. Was there an event occuring?

“Boldness can often be rewarded, don’t you think?” came a musical voice from directly behind the pair of men.

Charron, of course, didn’t so much bat an eye, and neither did Marick. Spoilsports, the both of them. At least Kerberos had the good grace to flick his ears back in alert.

A sepia hand, limned and lined in golden light that hummed beneath the skin, reached out next to her husband’s and gave some scratches to the char hound’s rump. The blindfolded woman giggled.

“Yes, that’s a boy, who’s a good knight of this spire, yes, you are. Okay! Now stay right there. I have to go make my entrance properly since someone here didn’t even bother to pretend I was sneakyful.”

“Of course, my Lady. An entrance must be impeccable.”

“Charry, dear, you are perfect as always. Be back in just the tick of a tock.” She leaned over and kissed Marick’s cheek, pausing only when he reached out to brush her hand in turn and then gently, minding, set his palm against her exposed stomach. Her smile was secret and softened in reassurance.

“It should be safe for them too. Promise. We’ll be right back.”

Marick nodded once, his lips quirking up back.

Then, the Miralula suddenly disappeared in a burst of light and a sound like chimes and laugher. She reappeared at the top of the stairs to the gallery’s second level, and after a pause to straighten her gown’s skirts and fix her diadem, beamed and began a positively princess-like descent down, slow and floating. It didn’t matter that no one would particularly be looking. There was no purpose but to do it, but joy.

And besides– one pair of too blue eyes would always find her.

“Hello, hello, hello there!” the Miraluka began to holler as she touched down. Rather despite the fact it wasn’t her job. “Welcome, everyone!”

“What? Lula, we gotta buncha stuffs to do!”

“I wun’t be leavin’ till sun down, dun’t worry,” Lulaire muttered as she heaved her body one more time and the latch finally snapped despite the bantha trying to push it out of the way. Lulaire exhaled softly and wiped the sweat from her brow. She raised her eyebrow when she heard her cousin giggling out of the blue.

“Whatchu gigglin’ at?”

“You sure gonna hafta to speak all purdy there!”

“Oh, do go on, git!” Lulaire shooed her younger cousin away and glanced over to the bantha. “Well, you ready to get all purdy up big boy? Gonna give ya a nice spa day then you’re just gonna roll in them muds out there?” The bantha paid her no mind as it was chewing some curd as Lulaire got out a rake to use as a brush for the bantha…

Frantically using her shirt to wipe the mud from her face, maybe she should’ve changed clothes before arriving since it was an event. Surely, if there was an animal there, it may be an outside event.

How wrong she was.

Her head tilted down towards her muddy boots as she stomped around the port in hopes to loosen some of it up.

“Sorry…” Lulaire whispered whoever had to clean up the mud. If she had access to broom and a dustpan, she would’ve done it– then she heard beeping sounds as a droid was cleaning up the particles of dust and even shined her boots before she could say ‘badger.’

Lulaire now had freshly cleaned boots and muddy overalls. She shook her head and laughed to herself while she made her way in and met a familiar sight. Cole. A man she was certain that was going to shoot her right in the forehead when they met on Selen. She reminded herself to speak properly. She wondered if he’s okay now especially when made his way over to a certain yelling woman that happened to be his loud.

“Small world, didn’t think I would see ya- you here.” Lulaire quickly corrected herself.

“Tyris.” Cole had responded, nodding slightly to the Exarch. It quickly explained the increased activity comparative to what was expected. He was about to decline the secondary offer from Charron when a voice he’d have sworn he’d never hear again manifested behind him.

Lulaire. The Jedi who saved his ass back on Selen during the final battle of the Gods. Cole blinked a couple times, letting Charron hand off the map as a distraction.

“It… is a small world.” Did he ever thank her? How the kark did he handle this situation? Shoving down any nervous ticks, he turned to face her and clasped his hands behind his back. Confidence didn’t have to be internal, it’d be fine. “I will take the chance to say thank you again. I’m not sure if I did, properly, before.”

“Oh. Thank you, Mr. Riddick.” Lulaire flashed a fanged smile at Charron as she took the map and glanced at it. Zig did never tell her where to meet. She could always responded back… but she hated messaging. Technology was alien to her.

To her, handwritten notes was more personal and gives a touch of humanity.

Speaking of humanity, Lulaire was more than happy to converse with Cole instead of her face buried in the pamphlet and having to play the game of hunter finding it’s prey. Cole did seem to be a bit better than they last met but she wasn’t doing too well herself during that time. There was uncertainty of her family, farm, the people of Selen, and everything.

She gave him a warm smile at his thanks. How was she suppose to respond? That she was doing her duty? She would’ve done it, duty or not.

“There is no need. I’m glad you recovered well.” Lulaire was grateful to see him. Being a Force user was always difficult on Selen and same on Kasiya, but growing up, she learned to hide it well. Until that moment when she had to use her lightsaber and healing abilities just to keep him from bleeding out. This wasn’t the place to discuss about it either. So she turned to another topic instead:

“I did wanted to apologize to um, call your loud… loud.”

The T-6 landed in the adjoining space port, the pilot signaling to his lone passenger that they had arrived. The small Odanite looked out the viewport in the cockpit with a grin as she picked up the wide-brimmed black hat and adjusted the green frock coat she wore almost all the time now.

The Flitz.

Well, a different location, but The Flitz was The Flitz as far as she was concerned. It was sort of like the lodgings she had on Kiast and those she had on Daleem and Solyiat. Home was home regardless of which world she was one. This hotel was no different to her. The hiss of the door opening and the metallic tap-tap of the odd black staff she used to walk were the only sounds Miho made as she approached.

Upon approaching the Concierge, the small woman took note of those standing close by and waited patiently for her turn at the desk. She knew most of them gathered at the desk currently and wasn’t really in that much of a hurry.

So she leaned on that odd black staff and watched, passively listening to the conversation in front of her.

Cole nodded. He didn’t particularly want to discuss it either. She had seen far too much, which was a risk in of itself. While she clearly had no intent of killing him, using that weakness against him later wasn’t entirely off of the table. Though even he couldn’t exactly put his whole heart into that strand of paranoia. Unusual for Cole, but she didn’t strike as someone who would utilise those tactics.

She was speaking differently though. That was odd. Not worth commenting on particularly, yet,

“Oh. Well.” Cole paused, allowing himself a slight smile. “You weren’t wrong. If I forgive you for that, you can forgive me for some of my own comments. Battles aren’t really the place for polite conversation. I’m glad you made it out of the rest of it.”

Miho smiled radiantly at the Concierge. “My thanks, Mr. Reddick. I think I would like a quick bite to eat and then maybe I’ll go give the new acquisitions a look.”

Lifting the brim of her hat slightly, she looked up - and up - at the Exarch and gave him a quick wink before reaching down to give Kerberros a quick scratch behind the ears. “I’ll be hiding in the lounge if anyone decides I’m needed.”

A slender hand dipped into one pocket and pulled out an oddly large pile of cred sticks and placed them behind the desk as she took her leave and waved over her shoulder. Every other step accompanied by a tap-tap.

Important. Sure.

It was a dubious concept at the best of times. Always coloured by perception bias. As the transport thrummed around him, Thane pondered if this summons really would qualify. If it didn’t, well, then the Exarch would have his ‘important’ privileges revoked.

And his day ever so slightly inconvenienced once Thane snuck into Marick’s office.

His musings were interrupted before long as the vehicle came to a shuttering stop. The Deputy Grand Master took long strides down the ramp and into the Flitz proper. His boots, starting to weather from use, clacked against the flooring in an almost rhythmic way, his stride barely varying. At the same time, he grasped his datapad in his left hand and went to respond to Marick’s message.

The display seemed to balk at his finger’s approach, stuttering and glitching before snapping into a black mirror, reflecting Thane’s blinking stare back at him.

It even started to smoke.

Damnit.

His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath and reached into a belt pouch for a second datapad. He tapped a practiced sequence between the corners of the screen which triggered a program James had installed for him. After a quick bio-recognition, it ghosted the most recent back-up of his device onto the new one.

Clearly, this was a recurring issue.

Grumbling inaudibly, Thane gave up on his neverending dance with technology and opted for his black-gold eyes instead. They scanned the room until Charron and, near him, Tyris himself. Well, that was easy.

Adjusting his course, Thane’s even gaze swept the room and made note of everything at the back of his mind before stopping by the shorter man.

“Reddick. Marick,” he began, Thane’s words dancing in a soft lilt upon his tongue as he offered the Exarch a half-smile and a flash of fang, greeting them both. His use of last name was typical, while the first name for Marick was a sign of earned respect. “What was so important?”

<@189568236201705472>

“No, it’s not,” Lulaire agreed with a small nod. Even she, herself, had found teetering on the edge during the heat of battle and crisis.

Her eyes dropped for a moment when he brought up that he was glad that she got out of it. Yes, but the following weeks was rough as well with funerals. But just like always for the people of Selen, they get back up and rebuild. A cold nose greeted by booping her hand as she glanced down, the cold nose was an occuring part of her life, but she was certinaly surprised that it was happening here at a hotel.

Kerberos tilted his head as he sniffed a bit further. She smelled like mud and a bit of farm. Mostly mud. Kerberos then wagged his tail as Lulaire smiled and patted her chest, “Come on up!” Her arms opened wide.

Kerberos jumped up and Lulaire easily held him and completely forgot herself as her southern accent came in full swing, “How ya doin’ ya big boooooiii? Whooooo such a good boi? You are! Yessss! I gotta-” She stopped as she cleared her throat and supported Kerberos hip with one arm and gave him ear scratches with her free hand.

“It’s… quite a nice place,” Lulaire said awkwardly towards Cole while using her eyes to gesture the lobby of the building.

Cole shuffled back a half step as the hound reached up and hopped into Lulaires arms. As much as Cole wasnt an animal person, animals didnt tend to be cole people.

The accent thing was now blatantly obvious. She was obscuring it. Fitting in. He’d be a hypocrite to tell her to not.

Zuza would.

“It is. Not really my thing. I just came in to wait, though it seems I’ve stumbled onto some event.”

Lulaire grinned as she gave a big MUWAH kiss on the side of the Kerbroes’ head and set him down so he can continue his job. And to avoid becoming upside down and swaddled like a baby because she was sorely tempted. Maybe later.

“Yea- Yes, a friend texted me about the event and I assumed it was… more..” She gestured to Cole, a poor gestured of her trying to make an upside down C shape, “A more outdoor event. Such as a dome with trees, grass, crops, and animals, but it seems I had misunderstood the message.” She glanced down at her outfit with some mud, not covered but a few small splotches and one big one on her side.

“Or I would’ve been better prepared. I should go try to find her. Have you seen her? She’s about yay-tall, this tall–” Lulaire quickly added while her hand was only about an inch or two above her head, “A Zygerrian, she might have her face buried in some… technology square thingy-mingy.”

The double doors parted with a muted sigh, and Forty-One stepped into the lobby.

Cool air greeted him, scented faintly with polished stone and something botanical. The metallic slats underfoot gave a soft echo as he crossed the threshold, pausing momentarily to take in the expanse. A long water tank stretched beneath him, koi fish drifting through the crystal-clear depths — strange, elegant things with trailing fins and placid eyes. He kept walking.

The golden statue at the center caught his eye next — sleek, freshly cast, and framed in eerie clarity by the obsidian pool it stood in. Everything gleamed. Everything watched.

He didn’t linger.

Past the elevators and the message center, beyond the gentle hum of low conversation and distant music, stood the concierge’s desk like a checkpoint. Behind it, the man himself: Charon Reddick. Broad, composed, and unmistakably in command — even without the alert, fire-eyed charhound seated at his side.

Forty-One approached, boots silent now on the lobby floor. He didn’t smile, didn’t offer a hand.

“Evening,” he said, voice calm but firm. “Name’s CT-4147. Forty-One, if you prefer brevity.” A quick glance at the dog. “I’m here for the networking event. Heard this place hosts more than just koi.”

He let the words hang, eyes steady on Reddick.

“Point me to where the real introductions start.”

Cole mulled over. There weren’t many Zygerians about, he only knew the one true blood one.

And about that height…

“Zig?” He asked, glancing over the room, “Ive not seen her. I only arrived a minute before you did.”

After a moment, he added on with a slightly quieter tone, “No one will mind you being yourself, especially if its Zig who invited you.”

Cole felt like a hypocrite saying it, hed never let anyone here see him in a lesser state but… well. Shed saved his ass. Least he could do, right?

Thane’s head tilted curiously as he listened to Marick’s explanation. More than once his attention drifted away, his eyebrows contorting into a partial frown of disappointment at the Kerberos’ attentions lying elsewhere.

He liked animals. There was no deception to be found there. No political games and maneuvering. They weren’t mentally exhausting.

He wasn’t going to chase the attention though.

Turning back, Thane drew a breath in through his nose and out his mouth in one long, overdrawn suspiration. “Cannot fault that,” he remarked, adding a shrug that said ‘I guess’ before continuing. “No guarantee on my spirits, though. A Cesura Sour will help.”

Giving the pair a nod, Thane ensured he was drawn to his full height and planned a direct route to the dining hall. He then followed that route as best he could. He didn’t so much as weave his way through those gathered as casually sidestep them with a soft, almost imperceptible touch here or there to lightly guide bodies out of his way. All the while, he could hear the viol’s tones growing ever louder. It made his fingers twitch as they mined the same notes in answer.

“Though, it seems she has messaged you.”

Cole looked up to Lulaire.

“Apparently I’m to help you?” He looked back down at the datapad judgementally.

Lulaire was admittedly surprised he knew Zig. Small world after all. Cole mentioned that he had just arrived and had no idea where she was himself.

His voice lowered and she frowned slightly. “I… it’s complicated…” Lulaire mumbled back towards him then gave him a reassuring smile, “I don’t mind–” His datapad went off.

“Oh?” Lulaire frowned as she started to pat around her body and then found her datapad in one of the back pockets. And she pulled it out.

She sighed as she tried to unlock the screen. It wasn’t working. Then she tried again. The screen had a few cracks on it but if it was on, it’s still working, right?

“It’s… not working. The uh, glass-screen thing may be too cracked for this.”

Lulaire looked to Cole with confusion expressed on her face, “Help me with what?” Before she could get her answer, she was gently headbutted by the charhound.

“Mmm?” She raised her hand slightly and started to give scritches on his head.

-# <@189568236201705472>

Cole shrugged. He had no idea.

He knew he didnt want to follow the Charhound though. But Zig was also actively watching him, which was nervegrinding on its own. He didnt mind Zig but-

Lulaire heard a voice and she glanced over to the new stranger that offered to look at her datapad. She handed it over without hestitation, there was nothing in there that was private anyywas. Just a lot of missed messages, emails, and many photos of many creatures. In fact, so many that opening the album page would make the phone lag slower than a salted Hutt glided towards his pile of ashes that was once his desk.

“Oh, thank you.” Lulaire smiled as she blinked at the missed messages.

They can wait.

Another week or so.

“I see that– Alright, whatcha want to show me bud?” Lulaire asked as she glanced down to Kerberos and followed him.

-# @bloodjen

Miho listened to the viol for a moment, enjoying the feeling of drifting along the current of song. It was peaceful, serene. Her fingers itched slightly when she saw the piano unattended but shook her head softly with a smile. Music had been one of the few things afforded to her while she was…away.

Coming back to herself with an almost imperceptible shake, Miho tapped the brim of her hat with an impish grin. Perhaps Charon would be able to direct to her to a few games of chance after she got something to eat. That being decided, she walked over to one of the empty tables and took a seat. Miho settled very casually into one chair and leaned her staff against another chair, the picture of indolence content to wait and to watch.

Forty-One gave a curt nod, the visor of his helmet catching the lobby’s ambient light as he turned. He didn’t bother responding — the Concierge had delivered the necessary information, and that was enough.

His footsteps echoed with measured weight as he crossed the slatted metal walkway, the koi beneath darting lazily through filtered light. Their movement drew no reaction. The water, the art, the gallery — none of it held any meaning for him.

He moved toward the direction indicated, passing a pair of Envoy Corps officers engaged in hushed conversation. Their eyes tracked him briefly, but no words followed.

The Dining Lounge awaited — and if the gathering was as diplomatic as it sounded, he would find his opportunity soon enough.

The doors to the Dining Lounge parted with a soft hiss, revealing a space far too elegant for the kind of work Forty-One was used to. Soft lighting spilled from ornate fixtures above, casting warm hues across polished tables and high-backed chairs. The scent of rich spices and roasted meats lingered in the air — subtle, refined, designed to impress without overwhelming.

He stepped inside, boots silent against the marble tile. Conversations buzzed in low tones around the room, diplomats and delegates exchanging pleasantries over crystalware and fine cuts. He clocked uniforms from the Envoy Corps, a handful of Brotherhood officers in tailored dress, and a small cluster of Principate dignitaries seated beneath a hanging garden centerpiece.

No one looked his way for long.

Forty-One scanned the lounge with practiced detachment. His helmet tracked softly as he moved, noting exits, isolated tables, points of cover — and more importantly, faces he didn’t recognize.

He moved toward an unoccupied table along the far wall, angled just enough to give him a view of the room without inviting company. One gloved hand raised to summon the nearest serving droid. If this was a social event, he would play his part. For now.

“I think Zig wanted you to read the messages.” Cole added on, feeling a bit silly for it.

He stood awkwardly as Lulaire started walking away. He then looked at Marick, tilting his head in that direction.

“Is there a bar that way?”

“Thank you.”

Cole followed Lulaire and the Charhound. Just in case Zig was actually still watching him.

Hed make an effort.

Lulaire followed Kerberos while patting down her body again to find the datapad. When she did, she managed to open it, thankfully, and read the message that Zig sent her.

“Oh. Hm.” She frowned for a moment before walking right into the doorway and her datapad fell.

Face flat.

Lulaire winced with a sharp inhale, fanged teeth peeking out over her lips. She squatted down and picked up her screen.

It was more cracked than earlier.

“Another one bites the dust, mm.” She tucked it back into her back overalls pocket and followed the charhound with the message from Zig in mind.

She flashed a smile to the male at the bar, not knowing if he was paying attention after that small drop, “I have a friend who can fix it. Maybe.” She noticed of his finger twitches and wonder if that was who Zig meant? There was a few others at the dining hall so it was hard to say.

Lulaire particularly didn’t like to drink but … now finding out where the money was going, she felt indebted to order something.

“May I?” She gestured to the seat next to Thane and she glanced over to Cole, wondering if he was going to join and was hoping he wasn’t seriously only doing this because Zig asked him to…

-# <@432543120635461643> <@185936112441622529> <@189568236201705472>

Effort somewhat made.

If she needed help, she was a grown woman who’d saved his life. She could ask and he was nearby enough. But he didnt want to hover, knowing he himself would despise it so took off further down the bar.

Cole settled onto a seat, letting his prosthetic rest so it’d take the weight off his thigh. When the bar droid approached he requested a spiced whiskey, nothing too fancy. Just enough to sip and be look over able.

So, that happened.

Thane’s head snapped to the side and his black-gold eyes stared in response to the loud crack. It was an unfortunate side-effect of always being on alert. Not just the somewhat predatory instincts of a Firrerreo, but someone who has always needed to keep one eye open. He tried to look away but had to pause (because someone had been hammering “social niceties” into his head for years and through a variety of intermediaries, which to be fair was probably because he had told Atyiru she was going to get stabbed in the back as Consul) when the woman flashed him a smile.

He offered a sympathetic wince—his eyebrows doing most of the talking, as usual—then turned back to the bar, a gloved finger raised to denote one glass to the bartender. He didn’t need to name his order, after all. The Cerasus Sour was a result of one too many working meetings. They’d know what to get him. A bit of extra tart, too, for that matter.

The Deputy Grand Master’s ears twitched as someone approached, turning his head in answer to the question and gesture. He waited for the woman to finish glancing at her companion (Cole, who he had met…once? Briefly, at best) before nodding. “Sure.”

He didn’t exactly see a reason to decline. He didn’t own the place. Or care much about it so long as he wasn’t bothered. And, frankly, if Zuza hadn’t managed to bother him at a bar, who would?

<@189568236201705472> <@216702440140046336>

Forty-One raised a hand to flag the butler droid, its servos humming softly as it passed — but the unit veered toward a nearby table, its attention claimed by a trio of seated delegates.

He let the gesture fall away.

Then his visor shifted — drawn not to the droid, but to the figure at the bar.

The Deputy Grand Master.

Even amid the polished chaos of diplomacy and silverware, the man stood apart. Calm, composed, the quiet center of gravity in the room. Forty-One’s posture straightened almost imperceptibly. He didn’t approach — not yet. But he watched, and waited, with the stillness of a soldier acknowledging command.

The small Odanite seemed to relax even more into her seat as the droid approached. She listened to it politely before speaking herself.

“Corellian Brandy, please.” Miho said in her soft, melodic voice. “Perhaps the Batuu bits and the Endorian salad as well.”

She thought for a moment and nodded. The last thing she needed was her bodyguards, conveniently ditched back on Kiast, learning she hadn’t been at least making the attempt at taking care of herself.

“Thank you,” Lulaire placed herself onto the chair by him as she let out a small sigh of relief to be off of her feet for a bit. She considered taking tomorrow off and it sounded nice but there was still so much to do back home.

New home, Lulaire reminded herself. She still found herself thinking back to Selen sometimes.

Then she noticed the bartender and it ‘seems’ like they were waiting on her after Cole ordered a bit ago but she couldn’t be sure.

“Oh! Um–” Lulaire felt like a fatheir caught in a speeder’s path. There was a menu between the condiments on the bar as she took it and started to read over it.

This was mostly foreign for her, ordering from a restaurant. Her family really cooks and made everything at home. It took her a bit but she finally found a drink she was willing to try. The food? Already decided.

“I’ll have the.. Silver Sea Martini and Batuuan Beef and Crispy Topato with extra beef, please.” Lulaire did want to spend some credits at least, to help with Zig and the donation it was going to. Once it looked like the bartender went to place the order, Lulaire put the menu back between the metal tongs and rested her head on her hand with her eyes closed as she listened to the music.

“I was not aware that…” She struggled to think of the word before it came to her, “– establishments would sometimes have music.” She opened her eyes and glanced over to the Sephi before back to Thane.

“I’m Lulaire. I would offer to shake your hand–” Her orange eyes looked down to her hands, the mud dried and caked under her nails before back to him, “–but it looks like you are about to go into a very important meeting.”

-# <@189568236201705472> <@185936112441622529>

When Lulaire placed her order, Thane found his own stomach growling involuntarily. The traitor. Before the hereto unnamed bartender could escape their orbit, he ensured he made eye contact. “Double order of Batuuan Beef,” Thane added.

Then came the offer to shake his hand.

The Deputy followed her eyes to her hands, marred as they were by the trappings of honest labour. Just as quickly, he held up a gloved hand for a moment and flexed his fingers. “Coming from one, actually,” came his lilting response. “Though I will decline all the same.” The male Firrerreo nodded to himself, his eyebrows having performed their own dance as his mind worked through his answer. Then he paused with a thousand yard stare as those “social etiquette” lessons hit again.

He was trying okay? That didn’t mean he was very good at it. So many unnecessary rules for interacting with others.

“I do not do…‘touchy’?” he clarified with an accompanying air quote, as if he had heard it one too many times. Usually when he inquired as to why someone was pressing their body against his. They called it hugging.

You know what, where was that drink he ordered?

<@189568236201705472> <@216702440140046336>

“Ah, I do not envy you,” Lulaire replied in respond to having come back from a meeting. Must’ve been a long dull one or he was just a man that’s simply enjoying himself. She doesn’t seem to be hurt about his decline to shake her hand or even bothered about it. It could be because she was dirty or maybe he was someone who was worried about germs.

What she did not expect, the following words that came out of his mouth.

Lulaire found herself chortling, “I’m sorry, ‘touchy’?” She asked, her brows furrowed together in confusion. “Is… that a slang?”

The drinks had arrived. She gave the bartender a warm smile followed by a nod of thanks before looking at the glass itself. It was rather pretty. Should.. she stir it? There was layers. It would made sense to mix it so she used the straw to stir it a bit, not too much and took a sip.

The burn was immediate and it made her recoil a bit to let out a small cough, “Vulptex,” Lulaire hissed under her breath, her southern drawl peeked through for a moment.

-# <@185936112441622529> <@189568236201705472>

In the middle of greeting guests, Atyiru’s head turned around sharply, almost all the way, sensing someone. A presence. A possibility.

She narrowed eyes she didn’t have.

Vulptex?

That was certainly a word. Not usually a curse word, mind, but a word nonetheless. Suppose anything could be a curse if you wanted it to bad enough.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression conveying ‘first time?’ as he remained as otherwise still as ever while she attempted to drink.

“Casual contact,” the Deputy Grand Master explained, in answer of Lulaire’s question. Then he winced and sighed. Sighing was such a versatile state of being, and one of his personal favourites. Then he remembered to introduce himself. “Thane Skotos.”

Oh yeah. He wasn’t saying everything on the outside. Again. More words.

He gestured vaguely at himself instead. That should convey the name’s ownership.

Words were overrated.

“Also, what did a Vulptex ever do to you?” he sarcastically added.

Okay, so more words.

The ‘first time here?’ expression did not go amiss.

“What, no!” Lulaire playfully protested, as she thanked the bartender for water. The drink did taste good, just had a bit more burning sensation than she thought then she threw her hands up and not want to keep up anymore as she continued on with being herself. She was tired and why not. There wasn’t that many people here anyways.

“Long story short? Born and raised in a farm. Mind you, still work in one. Now, we do get some bonfire nights with drinks and food we butcher and grow ourselves but lemme tell ya, we dun’t get them…” She gestured to the drink in front of her. “More so beers and occasionally wine or mead my family made but that’s about it.”

Then he introduced himself, she had forgotten that he didn’t give her his name so that was a nice surprise.

“Nice to mee-” She stopped at his sarcasm, her expression shifted to a blank look, “Vulptex? For being adorable and handsome.” Then she gave him a toothy grin, “Though you might give one a run for it’s credit.”

Thane paused, paying a bit more attention to her flash of teeth (and the fangs therein) than the words themselves, though they were slowly processing.

Listen, it’s a bit of a rundown process at this point. Lack of use and what not. Also, he was never all that good at picking up subtext. Even when that subtext was a transport at high speeds that opted to back up and hit him again. Then another time for good measure.

Still, part of his mind—the no good very bad part—latched onto a few of Lulaire’s words and decided to take a stroll through the forbidden section of his mental archives. It was the smells that hit him first. There was something about waking up away from the hustle and bustle that just smelled different. Untainted. For the first time in a long time he missed his parents and their farm on Corellia. That right there was something Thane hardly allowed himself. It was easier to just…keep moving. Not like he could fix it. Just another file for the great what-if folder.

And…then he slammed back into his seat and the present reality at just about the same time he was taking a long sip of his Sour. Also, finished processing the reference. Here’s where I say he played it cool. Totally smooth. Just another day for Thane.

Yeah, so, he choked on his drink for a moment.

Can say honestly and without reservation that the lungs are not where the alcohol goes. One violent cough later, with some mild spray, Thane was collected once more. “Thank you?”

Cole noticed the Deputy Grandmaster choke on his drink.

Huh.

He sipped his drink, observing the bustle of the bar.

Lulaire could not help herself as she gave Thane the exact same ‘first time’ expression that he had given her earlier while she gathered some napkins and slid them over to flustered man.

The food had finally arrived as she thanked the bartender who dodged like a pro earlier while they stepped away. With the obvious surprised reaction, Lulaire figured that either he wasn’t used to it or was not expecting it from her. She had decided not to press on that.

“Food looks good,” the farmer chimed in as she took a bite and glanced over to him, finally realizing something.

He was a Firrerrero but-

Her facial expression went to enjoying herself to concern.

“I…” She cleared her throat and softened her voice since this was a rather unusual circumstance for Lulaire, “You’re silver.”

Thane paused a moment, a sporkful of meat halfway to his parted lips, then blinked.

“What gave it away?” he quipped with a cocksure grin. Then he chuckled low and took his bite. It definitely was good. Certainly better than anything not catered by Erinyes back at the Ascent. Not that he was overly fond of other people handling his food.

One poison scare and suddenly everyone is sus!

After another bite, the Deputy opted to swirl his glass and stare at the ice as it shifted. “That…is a long story unable to be made short.”

After that, he rested his elbows on the counter and leaned his chin onto his clasped knuckles, offering Lulaire a sidelong glance. “Costs more than one well timed compliment.”

In walked a couple, a young blue haired Zeltron, and a human male who towered over her. Her arm interlinked with his as they walked in tandem. A natural smile plastered on both of their faces, as if one had just cracked a joke before trotting into the door.

She wore a business casual set of dark slacks and a matching open blazer, of which framed her as if it were custom made for her. However, garnishing her feet are a pair of very well worn, very loved, dark combat boots. Her hair slicked back into a tight donut bun, no gel today. 

The man attached to her wore a long, loose fitting, light colored, tunic like robe. Overtop he wore a grey vest that extended past the long robe, down past his knees. Unlike her, he wore no shoes. His hair in a loose bun, strands falling out.

He had invited her to an outing, and she spent far too long stressing about her attire, before deciding on her barely worn outfit she had gotten from her time on the Voidbreaker with her beloved friends and master; Lieutenant Breeze. Once she found out it was the Flitz she was being taken to, she made sure to send a holomessage to Rue, her friend she had met here last time, inviting him to the event, if he wanted to join.

Her heels clicked on the tile floor as they made their way to the front desk.

“Mister Reddick!” Her voice upbeat, slightly more, than her first visit here. She was there on business the last time, this time…. Just to party. 

“Ah and of course Kerberos” She bent down offering the back of her hand to the charhound once again, allowing him to sniff. 

“This is my friend, Dolot Varis, mind if we occupy a space in the bar?”

<@189568236201705472> <@397252802524610580> <@244244163002892288>

“Hello. Esen has told me alot about the Flitz. Only good things, of course.” A slight smile on his face. He was always a bit nervous entering social gatherings, though having spent his early life speaking with clients went a long way in his ability to hide it.

Looking to Exarch Marick, he was struck by how stern he looked, contrasted by a set of beautiful blue eyes. Reaching to take the hand he offered at his introduction, “I have heard of your accomplishments, even in my time as a mercenary.” <@267489687902486530>

“Why yes, he does have very beautiful eyes,” said a melodious voice from directly behind them.

Over Esen’s head, he was treated to a completely clear view of her cheeks puffing in a pout and her ears wiggling indignantly. She stuck her tongue out at him, nyeh, but had replaced the expression with a winning smile by the time either future bridegroom turned.

Esen extended her hand to shake, but she was too late, Dolot was there first. She chuckled, grabbing her wrist, hanging at her waist, as she politely nodded to to Marick.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, to what do I owe the honor Mister Tyris?” She smiled sweetly, dipping her chin once more.

Tracking the charhound in her peripheral, mentally chuckling at his lil stompy but would not outwardly show any expression of humor from Kerberos’ disapproval. A silent chuckle indeed.

Esen mentally jumped at the voice right behind her. Her face and reactions stone cold on the outside, thanks to it being drilled into her. Show no reaction.

She turned,

“Oh hello! -Eyes… oh. I’d have to agree.” She nodded eagerly.

<@189568236201705472>

Lulaire gave him a playful look when he made the witty remark. She was only concerned but it did put her at ease.

The Firrerrero silently ate while listening and taking a sip of the drink she had ordered, pleasantly surprised it doesn’t burn as bad anymore and she started to enjoy the flavor.

Stories, she didn’t mind. Her entire life was oral stories. Generations of it handed down by her ancestors. She even tells her favorite story of the ‘Greedy Bantha’ to her younger cousins every few months.

But she knew some stories were not meant to be shared. Lulaire took a bite of her food and she side eyed Thane when she noticed his shift in body language and that glance.

Her answer? A smirk before she took another bite. She sighed contently. She was partly worried the food would be horrible but it was much better than she had been told by her family members of food made by restaurants versus the food at home. Now, the food at home always triumphs over restaurants but it wasn’t purely trash at all. It was delicious.

‘… timed compliment.’

Time. Her one pure weakness. Lulaire always devoted her life into her family’s farm, her family lives, and whatever missions the Brotherhood’s Clans or her own personal family Clan takes her and she never gave another second thought about her future. It was always her family, the farm, or making sure everyone gets out of the mission alive.

Her future? To her, it meant nothing. Just keep working. Stay busy.

‘Until now.’ And it terrified her.

Her skin was slowly turning silver.

Lulaire was disturbed by this self acknowledgement but she quickly took another sip of her drink, a bigger one. It was a later Lulaire problem. Just like that, her skin bounced back to gold.

“Well,” she set the drink down with a mischievous grin, “Color me intrigued, whatcha thinkin’ on the costs?”

“Desk work is never fun. I’ve done plenty of charts in my day.” She chuckled.

“Thank you kindly. I’ll leave you to it. if you ever want to pick my brain further, I’m just a room away..”

-# “a room away”

She turns and nods to Dolot, as she interlinks her arm with his once more, before turning towards the door to the bar.

<@397252802524610580>

As the those gathered in the Flitz’s lobby conversed amongst themselves, the sound of beating feathers echoed from the establishment’s entrance. Any among them whose interest was piqued enough to glance in that direction witnessed a mass of variegated feathers – mostly cinnamon and obsidian but also canary yellow and a smattering of chartreuse – glide through the sliding door of the lobby just as one of the Flitz’s attendants stepped inside from their mandated break. The bird made a quick turn to circle high above the patrons before swooping low across the floor, coming just close enough to the ground that, when it began to transform back into its humanoid form, a pair of black heels effortlessly transitioned into a leisurely gait that carried the saffron skinned woman toward the bar on the opposite side of the room.

Her hair, made of the same sundry hues seen in her avian guise, cascaded past her shoulders and down her back like a waterfall of radiant feathers — an eye-catching complement to the sable fabric that comprised her thigh split Ataraxis Atelier dress. She typically didn’t wear designer clothing, but after her recent triumph over a certain tall, dark, and brooding nautolan-chagrian hybrid in a shooting competition gave her a free pick from one of his myriad contacts in the world of high fashion, Savi had jumped on the opportunity to select one that reminded her of home.

She’d been thinking of home often, recently. It was odd. Although she suspected the accursed visions foisted upon her during her last visit to the Shame Corner had something to do with it, it didn’t explain why the thoughts of Tamoat had persisted as long as they had. What good came from reminiscing on a planet whose rolling hills and crystalline waters she hadn’t seen in nearly three hundred years, and would never see again? She needed a drink. Maybe the best spirits the Flitz had to offer would provide a respite from the nagging memories.

Her eyes briefly shifted to the man standing at the concierge desk. Right. She had to check in first. She strode over to the concierge desk and gave her name. “Savran Has.” After a bit of waiting, the concierge gave her the go-ahead. “Thanks, Charon.”

Upon arriving at the bar, Savi tapped a manicured nail against his polished counter to get the attention of whoever was tending the bar at the moment. She already knew what she wanted, so hopefully they could deliver. “Widow’s Kiss, please. Neat,” she said. Upon remembering that this drink had likely gone out of fashion more than fifty years ago, Savi started to explain the process for how it was prepared, “It’s a smoked cacao mezcal infused with Chilibloom petals, served with red salt around the brim.”

After completing her order, Savi’s slitted, amber eyes drifted over to where the human and zeltron pairing were standing, just a few seats away. A polite nod was all she gave them before turning to scan the lobby’s interior, letting her eyes wander to occupy herself while she awaited her order’s completion.

<@189568236201705472> <@397252802524610580> <@267489687902486530>

Among those gathered there, only the face of Cole Farrow caught her attention. Her eyes lingered on him for a moment, waiting for him to notice her. Once he did, Savi greeted him with a smile, though she didn’t say anything just yet. He looked preoccupied. She looked around for a moment, only to look back at him with knitted eyebrows and a tilted head.

Pulling their datapad from her small purse, she quickly typed up a message to him:

<:snakesip:963771124653645824> : Where’s Sof? You two are usually glued at the hip.

<:snakesip:963771124653645824> : Would’ve loved to see her.

<:snakesip:963771124653645824> : By the way, the nerve to not tell me you’d be visiting the Flitz.

It had been a few months since she’d last seen either of them. Although they kept in touch via comms, it wasn’t the same as being able to see them both as much as any of them wanted when they lived on Selen. Perhaps a visit to Kasiya was in order? It’d give her the opportunity to establish business contacts, too. Two birds, one stone, as the kids said.

<@1382824894877794314>

Cole looked at the datapad. Itd be so much easier to walk over here.

He looked at the little emoji Savran had assigned to him, sighing internally, before replying.

<:kirbyhasagun:935081724747075614> : Shes at home, I had a meeting.

<:kirbyhasagun:935081724747075614> : My ride home is delayed, this is a unexpected venture. Are you here on purpose?

Huh. If he hadn’t been watching as closely as he was Thane wouldn’t have noticed the tone shift for Lulaire. Frankly, he hadn’t been around other Firrerreo in so long that he almost forgot the warmth of the natural golden hue.

As for costs, well…he hadn’t exactly been plotting anything. Rather, he was enjoying the lack of politics and just letting the sarcasm take the lead. At this point it was almost painfully clear this farmer had no clue as to Thane’s myriad of titles. Thankfully. It was like he was suddenly unburdened from its weighty presence upon his shoulders. He could sit up just a touch straighter and not wonder if an off-hand remark would start a Clan war.

Not that he overly cared if it did. That was on them. So long as it didn’t effect him and his, Thane would let it play out. After all, if some colour commentary was all it took to light the fire, then the sparks were already there.

Maybe he could indulge curiousity for once?

The Deputy Grandmaster finished his first drink while idly pushing the garnish on his plate to the side, freeing more of the meaty goodness. He made a bit of a show out of his pondering, chewing while glancing skyward and letting his eyebrows do their thing. Finally, he swallowed before pointing his spork at Lulaire accusingly.

“You mentioned family-made mead and food?”

<:snakesip:963771124653645824> : Yeah, I thought it a good opportunity to network.

<:snakesip:963771124653645824> : Business is thriving back home.

<:snakesip:963771124653645824> : And that’s a shame. I would’ve enjoyed seeing her. You know how fun we can get when alcohol is involved.

Savi flipped to her datapad’s camera and, with a set of outstretched fingers, held the little device aloft in the air with the Force. After angling it appropriately to capture both herself and Cole in the shot, snapped a picture of them when the timer went to zero. She promptly sent the photo to Sofila with the message:

<:snakesip:963771124653645824> : Look who I found at the Flitz.

<:snakesip:963771124653645824> : Should I bite him? <a:teef:1383058971719499786>

<@216702440140046336>

<:kirbyhasagun:935081724747075614> : I believe she’d refer to the situation as spicy.

Cole sent the text, noticing Savi dropping from a very suspicious pose. He narrowed his eyes.

<:kirbyhasagun:935081724747075614> : Did you just take a picture of me?

<:snakesip:963771124653645824> : You love it .

Savi looked up from the datapad and made eye contact with Cole from across the bar, crossing her leg over her knee so her toned leg was on full display. She flashed a tooth grin.

<:snakesip:963771124653645824> : I took a picture of us. Having a bit of fun with our girl.

Cole raised an eyebrow, shaking his head. He sipped his whiskey before replying.

<:kirbyhasagun:935081724747075614> : I suppose it was inevitable.

Forty-One’s visor flicked toward the butler droid, voice steady and economical.

“Black synth-coffee. Strong. No sugar. Refill as needed.”

His eyes immediately scanned the room, sharp and deliberate, quietly noting the positions of the Grand Master’s Royal Guard — those loyal few who held the true keys to influence.

<@189568236201705472>

Miho smiled her thanks at the droid’s back, unconcerned that it was already off to take care of more tasks. Polite was polite after all.

She eyed the food in front of her with an almost predatory gleam in her eyes. How long had it been since her last meal?

Well, that would depend on what qualified as a meal. A ration bar on the trip from Kiast didn’t usually count when you asked her caretakers. As if she couldn’t take care of herself. Hmph. But, in actuality, the last solid meal Miho had consumed had been the day before she left Kiast.

Maybe they were right to always badger her about eating more. With a casual shrug, Miho lifted the odd utensil that had been delivered with the food and speared a bit of the salad.

As she ate, the small woman began to focus intently on her meal, seemingly ignoring the room around her.

Savran had been idly listening to the violinist’s playing while waiting for her order. Ever the scout for new talent, the Shani waved a hand to catch her attention, then beckoned for her to come over.

Slightly pulled forward, Dolot walked with Esen to the bar. Glancing around as he entered, he knew almost no one. He knew, however, with a group this colorful it was bound to be interesting.

“Shall I order you a drink?” Ha quietly asked his companion.

“Yes! You know what I like.” Esen respond quickly.

Turning to the bartender he ordered a Moogan tea and a whiskey.

Handing Esen the whiskey he asked, “Do you know the lady in the corner with the pretty hair?” <@267489687902486530> <@189568236201705472>

Lulaire’s smile brightened at the pointed spork and his suggestion of the cost to hear his story.

“Well-” She paused as she sensed someone using the Force, momentarily distracting the Jedi.

Casually as she can, she turned to look around with the drink in her head as if she was just surveying the area.

“That depends-”

Maybe it was time to use the Force a bit and she did. Once again, everything was just bright and alive. The music waves vibrated through out and brought whimsical feelings. The energy from the patrons here was vibrant or some was a bit dull.

Then she coughed harshly again as she pulled the drink away. What she did not expect that the man beside her was so powerful, she had no chance to best him. And it was so cold as if she jumped into piercing icy waters before it shifted over to slightly warm and she cut off her senses before she was more overwhelmed.

She shivered as if she was chilly, goosebumps formed on her arms.

Instead of making a common sense decision and drink some water, she took in a deep breath and downed the entire bowl/glass of Silver Sea Martini and set it down.

With a sharp inhale and a small cough, she spun the stool to face Thane, “Would you like it to be private or meet my family? See, whenever we have a lot of meat left from butcherin’, we do bonfires and use the fires for the meats, and a big… what was the word the people use … a buffet? Gatherin’? Of different foods and drinks. I’ll be honest, my family is big and loud.”

Oh.

What was this tingling feeling in her brain?

Must be the result of his Force…

💜 : NO FAAAAIIR 💜 : I WANNNNA BE THEREEEEE TELL HIM I SAY HIIIIII 💜 : ALSO YOU KEEP YOUR TEEFS AWAY FROM MY MAN [ Image 3242837 sent ] [ Image 3242839 sent ] [ Image 3245814 sent ]

Esen gratefully accepted the glass of Whyren’s Whiskey on the rocks trying to peel her eyes from staring at the Shani who had entered, and sstood rather close to them. She casually, but not super casually lifted her glass to her face, acting as if she were drinking it, using it as a guise to locate this lady Dolot had mentioned. Passing over the Shani, the couple at the other end of the bar, the violinist, the lad in the corner, the human sitting alone. She locked eyes with a striking set of blue eyes, reminding her faintly of Tag…

Esen finally spotted Six in the corner, nearly choking on her drink, as she quickly lowered the glass and gulped the remainder down.

“Ooo Dolot, she’s cute. Unfortunately I do not. You should go talk to her.” She whispered eagerly, nudging him in the sides with her elbow.

“I wont go far, and if I did I’ll make sure to message you over the holopad. Now go- Ah- Here, don’t forget your drink-” she shoos him off. Sliding over into his now cleared seat.. not so casually as she turns her full attention to the Shani, extending her hand.

“Hi! I’m Esen, what an interesting choice for a drink, What’s it taste like? Love the dress by the way.” A small but sincere close-mouth smile, plastered on her face.

<@1056685516441006091>

Socorra stepped into the hotel, her dress sweeping quietly behind her. A floor-length, open-backed gown of shimmering black gemsilk clung to her frame, elegant but not loud. The fabric looked as soft to the touch as it did expensive, and featured the likeness of Socorran dragons rising from the hem, their tails coiled into eternal knots at each hip. The dress was built to lie. Sleek lines masked structure beneath, thin sheaths strapped to her ribs, thighs, and hips and anywhere else suitable. Nothing visible, but every inch chosen with purpose. The stiletto boots were reinforced. The Mando-Sith walked near flawlessly in them now; the etiquette and acting lessons had paid off well.

Her hair was mostly loose, falling in a cascade down her back to the small of her spine. A few thick plaits were coiled low at the nape of her neck, practical but deliberate. A pair of small black pins - thorns or claws, were tucked in and subtle. The clasp that held part of it in place could have passed for decoration but wasn’t.

Socorra crossed the floor at an unhurried pace. Her senses expanded outward, brushing across every polished corner of the hotel, listening for vibrations in the Force, eavesdropping on hushed conversations behind veiled partitions and closed doors, snooping into everyone’s business that her mind could briefly touch. She catalogued weapons and emotional cues in guests that passed too close as she approached the concierge desk.

<@189568236201705472> <@244244163002892288>

Taking his drink as he was shooed away, Dolot walked over to the women.

“Hello, I am Dolot Varis. If i am reading the atmosphere correctly. You are on assignment at this vary moment. If you have a moment before you’re needed, would you mind if I occupy it?” <@189568236201705472>

Savran watching the Violist gave Cole a moment to look away from his datapad. He sipped his drink and looked over the room. The Zeltron woman who’d just entered glanced over at the same moment. She looked away just as quickly, and Cole had no intentions of staring.

New members of the Brotherhood likely, he hadn’t seen a dossier matching her or her companion’s figure before.

She stopped to speak to Savran and he restrained a smile. The woman did not know what she was getting herself into.

<:snakesip:963771124653645824> : Sof … you have his comm code. Why don’t you just tell him yourself?

<:snakesip:963771124653645824> : Fine, I’ll leave him alone for now. Introduce me to one of your new Kasiyan friends when I visit to make up for it :p

<:snakesip:963771124653645824> : Oh, gotta go. A cute zeltron is coming over. Miss you, schutta. 💋

<@216702440140046336>

Savi tucked their datapad back into their purse before turning to face the zeltron who came over. Their slitted eyes drifted down to her hand, and after a moment of contemplation they extended their hand to mirror the gesture, curling their tattooed fingers around her hand in a firm grip. “Savi,” they said with a smile, a touch of mischieveousness in their eyes. Then, they looked to their drink. “This? It opens with a bitter dark chocolate taste, also a mesquite note. That turns into a floral heat from the chili bloom petals, which ends with a faint spice that lingers on the lips.”

Then, Savi placed their fingers on the glass and slid it over to her. “Would you like to try?”

<@267489687902486530>

That was a whole lotta words. Thane couldn’t decide if the other Firrerreo was rambling, concerned, or just baseline.

He noted that information away in a slowly growing file.

He also wasn’t one not to notice the ghostly wisps of energy as others manipulated the Force. Which was fine. Thane’s usual mental white noise was on full blast, so eavesdropping would be a concerted effort.

It was alchemical formulae, by the way. Easily confused for recipes. Totally not steak spice.

Should he mess with her, though? From what Thane had been able to glean, Lulaire was rather straightforward and other than her twang and rustic demeanor, he hadn’t picked up much to needle at. Hell, Marick had given him more to work with in their brief greeting. That said, he had known the Hapan a fairly long time.

“Loud can be ignored, or drowned out. Fire cooked, fresh butchered meats?” Thane flit his eyebrows up before taking his last bite with a glint of fang. His rhetorical question hung in the silence until he was finished. “When and where?”

💜 : But it’s funnier if you do it! 💜: I didn’t say leave him alone aldkfjkl;asdjflksdf 💜: JUST NO TEEFS 💜: COME BAAACK AND 💜 WHAT FRIEND WE JUST MOVED 💜: SAVVVVIIIII IM BOR- OH A CUTE ZELTORN TAKE PICS SHCUTTA [ Gif of a loth cat as the camera zooms into it’s wide eyes of curosity ]

Esen blushed, her eyebrows lifted,

“Oh- erm…” she cleared her throat, “Sure.” Rubbing her arm’s bicep,

“mines nothing super fancy, it’s just Whyren’s Whiskey but feel free to it. Can always order more.” A nervous chuckle, as she slid the glass over.

Her blush spreading to her ears, as she reached carefully for the offered glass.

She took a small sip, not wanting to take too much. Feeling the burn roll down her throat.

“Ooh you’re right- I do feel the-“ she breaks out into a coughing fit. Turning her head to cough into her elbow.

-# “Chili.”

Her lips tingling, and her face turning a darker shade of red, as she tries to suppress another cough.

Lulaire flashed an excited smile, “Good question, but hold your orbak for a moment?” She turned her attention to the bartender, Nyw.

“Can I have another of- Actually-” She grabbed the menu and looked over it again. “I reckon I be tryin’ the Fiery Muawh- Mu-stee-tah- Mus-ta-fah-la Mu-st-yee- Mu-stu-….” She was obviously struggling with the second word, having never heard of it in her life.

“Fiery Mustafarian, ma'am?”

“Yes, thank you.”

‘Now, to the handsome fella- what- Oh, his fangs- **what** What was going on in her mind?

“I feel a bit… buzzin’? Right, meats, we havin’ one this Zhellday. If it is too soon, we usually be havin’ them every third Zhellday of the month- Ya know, you got beautiful eyes-” The sounds of coughing did not escape from her as she glanced over to where it was coming from and her brows furrowed into concern. The Zeltron’s face was turning redder.

Was she choking?

Should she run over and do the heimlich maneuver?

Lulaire stayed silent and watched, knowing coughing was a good sign because she was still breathing so yet, like a Narglatch, she was ready to pounce and help her but she hoped the individuals nearby would know the heimlich at least.

-# <@267489687902486530> <@189568236201705472>

Right, so, option D: none of the above. It was the eyes comment that gave it away. Seemed Lulaire was feeling the drink already.

Thane had raised a single brow as he listened, piecing together the info he could. Then he followed her gaze to the coughing Zeltron, just like he had.

Huh. Is that what empathy feels like?

The Deputy Grandmaster took a practiced mental plunge into the frigid waters at his core. The vision of an almost endless expanse of ice covered water. It was there he found his power, corrupted as it was after decades of experience. Slipping easily into it, he pushed out at his awareness until he felt in tune with everything around him.

It was like looking at the sheet music for discordant melodies that had somehow formed a melody. He could read the intentions. The sensations. All before he drew back in with a slow blink and turn of his head. Lulaire felt concern for the stranger. The stranger…well, they were fine. Physically. No real distress.

“They will be fine, worry not,” his dancing words pointed out. Then he glanced at Savi only to make a face, his bottom lip raising, and a quick shrug. Mostly fine.

He then turned back and ordered another Cerasus Sour. “Zhellday,” he murmured, starting to pull out his datapad. “I can add it to my—”

Thane had to stop as the screen flickered, as if daring him to touch it. Several blinks passed before he clicked his tongue and put the device back. “—I am sure I can slip away. But as to where…?”

The lullaby of Thane’s voice gods forgive me as I type this reached to her, Lulaire’s concerned brows eased along with her shoulders but she was still slightly worried. The reassurance seemed to work as she turned her attention back to him.

“You are welcome, anytime. Dun’t hafta be Zhellday, just come on over! I’ll be sure to let my family know that we be gonna have a friend comin’ over, sometime. We got plenty of room! Sometimes our friends bring their kiddos to pet and help out a bit with the animals, it’s rather cute, you know? Watching them figurin’ out the world. The beauty and the aliveness of it all. Like being kissed by the sun when it rained for weeks…” Lulaire blinked.

Since when she talks that much? She talks but not like this.

He asked a good question to where and was grateful for it. This posed another problem. They were going to switch back and forth on the planets, Selen and Kasiya, due to now having two locations, but right now, the farm on Kasiya wasn’t quite ready for a big buffet- then she had an idea. She could convince the family to use this for everyone to come on over and bring everything over as a celebration of rebirth, new change, and wellness/luck on the new farm.

Lulaire giggled at Thane’s technology not cooperating with him. She knew that feeling all too well, “Kasiya. I could send you the coordinates- Oooh, that is purdy~” Their drinks had arrived and she did not expect the Fiery Mustafarian to also be a bowl of drink.

Bottoms up!

Sort of?

“Um-” She started in confusion, picking up the tube that was on the side. Should she.. was she suppose to drink the tube first? Pour it into the bowl?

Although they didn’t visibly react, Savi made a mental note of the dark red that crept across Esen’s features when they offered their drink. Was she just easily embarrassed? Or was it something else that her flushed skin alluded to?

Reaching out to pluck the glass from the table, the shani pressed the brim to her lips and took a sip, savoring the delightful burn that spread through her chest as the whiskey worked its magic. A slender, forked tongue passed between her lips to catch the drifting remnants of the whiskey’s scent from the air before disappearing moments later.

Savi looked to Esen again, and slid the glass back over to her. “It’s good,” they said, “It doesn’t have to be top shelf to be worthwhile. Especially if you’re just trying to enjoy yourself.”

When she tried the mezcal and promptly erupted into a coughing fit, Savi turned and ordered a small glass of milk. “Try this,” they said while sliding it over, a thread of amusement present in an otherwise sympathetic tone. “Not used to strong spices?”

“Hm…” Thane mused at the mention of Kasiya. “Bnar should allow my entry.”

Then their drinks arrived. He looked at his, then Lulaire’s. Back to his. Back to hers. His again. Hers.

What in the…? That was some laboratory grade equipment disguised as a drink. Did it need an instruction manual?

He caught the other Firrerreo’s confusion and could only offer a shrug of ‘yeah I got nothing, too’ before sighing. Considering Lulaire’s reaction to the first drink, he had concerns suddenly.

He pressed two fingers to his own glass and slid it across the counter. At the same time, a tendril of pure will wrapped around her test tube and mixing bowl drinkware ready to pull it to him if needed.

“Trade?” Thane offered. “It is tart, but sweet.”

Dolot, saw the faint twitch he know all too well. A slight tendency to take stock and reach for your weapons was one he shared. He could assume she knew he was also armed.

On one hand he shouldn’t be bothering her when she is working. The opportunity, however, to share a moment with a woman that was not only beautiful, also shared his former profession was not one that came often. A curt response made Dolot worry his presence was unwelcome, but the slight smile and her next words showed, at least the assignment would not involve too much danger.

“A pleasure to meet you Six.” Dolot knew of this name in passing, but bringing it up now would not be prudent. “I mean no offence. My father trained me from a young age as a mercenary. “While somewhat reductive, “boxes” have let me keep my life on many occasions.”

She nodded, not once closing her eyes. Scanning the room while still focused on him. She is good. He thought to himself, hoping dearly his bad habit of saying his thoughts out loud hadn’t betrayed him once again.

“I always hated assignments like this. Food and drink everywhere, but not for us. I do, however, love this music. The violinist in this case is quite talented. Do you prefer a particular kind of music?”

Lulaire grinned and shrugged along with him when Thane confirmed that he too, didn’t know what the tube was for. Her eyebrow rose and she gave him a sideway glance as he offered for a switch on the drinks.

“What, is this third grade lunch tradsies?” Lulaire teased but was honestly, honored. “That’s really sweet…” She mumbled as she considered it. She wanted to ask him if he was sure but he wouldn’t offer if he wasn’t. Besides, this was a good way to test what kind of flavors he likes so she can ask her family to try to make a special kind of mead for him.

With that in mind, she wasn’t going to make sure that he wanted to make this decision. No. This farmer now had a mission and she aimed to complete it.

“I’m not gonna say no if ya offer,” She took his drink and took a sip and winced at the tartness of the cherry but all in all, it actually wasn’t bad.

“So Thane like cherries…” She declared out loud that was meant for her own mental note. “Oh, I said that out loud- I mean, so ya like cherries.” She cleared her throat and went back to one thing she was curious about earlier:

“Okay, back up on the Bnar thing, so you know Ood? Friend? Business?”

“Socky!” chimed Atyiru, flouncing back around Charron and her husband, and absolutely dove forward to tackle the other woman. They would collide in a spring of skirts, inverted opposites: where Socorra wore backless black silk and heeled boots, hair loose save for deliberate plaits, Atyiru wore outer white layers that gave way to rainbows like stained glass beneath on the inner side; her shoulders and back and collar were covered by the mantle style of her top, while her ribs and the bump of her tattooed stomach were exposed; and her hair was done up completely in braids and loopies, strung with tiny crystals of rainbow colors. Doubtless she had not a weapon on her, unless one counted her smile.

They crushed together in a hug, or at least, Atyiru was certainly trying to do so, both arms wrapped around her fellow. Her ears wiggled in delight.

“You came!”

While the droid filled his caf, Forty-One could note several professionals present, whether they were of the Guard, the Inquisitorious, or even Iron Legion was difficult to discern, with many plainclothes present as much as a few in deliberate uniform.

One such person was a tall, lean Miralukan woman, with copper skin and white hair pinned severely back in a short bun. She stood at rigid parade rest against one rear wall, making no move to socialize. Only her red robes gave her away.

And just like that, the concoction formerly known as Lulaire’s drink slid across the table and into Thane’s hands. He stared out down for several moments before giving it a ‘what the Hell?’ shrug and dumped the contents of the tube into the drink.

Wouldn’t be his first round of alchemy.

Not exactly trusting he was doing it right, Thane downed the entire drink in a single long motion. After all, when in doubt and lacking in time to plan…commit!

Hm. Unpleasant.

“Unfortunate,” Thane murmured accusingly at the empty glassware.

He turned back towards the woman as she continued her own musings. The Deputy smirked when she was betrayed by her outside voice only to return to a more neutral expression with her query. How much did he cop to? Would it ruin the illusion and he’d have to deal with politics again?

“Business,” he finally admitted. “Got voluntold into taking a ‘people person’ role, but still find time for my own interests.”

Yeah, that was one way to describe being one degree of separation from the top. And not even a lie!

Caf in hand, Forty-One moved with the quiet purpose of someone used to navigating through ranks and roles without making noise.

He crossed the lounge, weaving between soft conversation and clinking glass, until he came to a stop a few paces from the Miralukan woman. Her red robes marked her clearly, not to the ignorant, but to those who understood what they were looking at. And Forty-One always made a point to understand.

He inclined his head in respectful greeting.

“Ma’am,” he began, voice clipped but respectful. “CT-4147, designation Forty-One. Field asset, currently unaffiliated, here under temporary clearance.”

A beat passed. His gaze, unreadable behind the visor, remained steady on her.

“I’m seeking perspective on the Royal Guard’s current posture. Would you be the right contact for such a discussion?”

Though the Miraluka had no eyes behind a slim red visor, only three wrinkly divots of vestigial lids, the smooth of her brow and tilt of her chin nonetheless indicated a sternness that matched the cool tone of her words.

“That is privileged information, asset. Neither myself nor anyone here would be discussing such statistics with you. Nor am I a recruiting booth. But you don’t seem the sort that needs the banners and bronzium quoted for them, either. What is your interest in the Guard specifically?”

Forty-One remained still, visor fixed on her, unbothered by the rebuke.

“I’m not here for banners. Or bronzium.”

His voice dropped slightly - not whispering, but weighted.

“I’ve seen what loyalty looks like when it’s bought. Or faked. The Guard doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t question. That kind of loyalty isn’t just admirable… it’s dangerous. And I respect dangerous things.”

A pause.

“I want to understand what it takes to stand where you stand - not for ceremony. For proximity to power.”

“And what would you do with your proximity?” She didn’t shift in posture, didn’t so much as turn towards him; her face stayed straight ahead, senses watchful of the room.

Forty-One let the silence stretch for a beat too long — deliberate, patient.

Then, voice low, steady:

“Proximity lets you see the cracks in the foundation.”

Another pause.

“I’d study them. Not to undermine — but to know where to stand when the weight shifts. And when it does… I won’t be the one who falls.”

He didn’t move, didn’t press — just stood there, presence calm and unnervingly certain.

“I don’t need a title. Just the chance to prove I can hold the line when others break.”

Lulaire’s jaw dropped as he downed a bowl of drink as she wince. She rather take her time, take sips, but this man right here, just-

Oh. Maybe because of the tube he would had to drink it fast?

STILL. It’s impressive.

“Eeesh, I rather deal with runaway nerfs than being voluntold to do something-” Then she had a thought and seemed amused by the idea, “You can also use my farm to-” She made a poofing gesture as if she was some magician, “-Disappear. I had heard a lot of high business people do that, disappearin’ for a bit. I think the fancy term is … stabbical? Stab-nickle?” Then she shook her head and waved her hand, “Course, you can bring your family or friends-” Then she saw the bartender walked by,

“Oh, can I have another…” She tapped the glass in front of her, she felt bad that she took away his drink and it seems like he didn’t enjoy her drink. She tilted her head towards Thane to get his attention, “It’s on me, and I do want to keep addin’ to the donations, and I’ll have…” Her orange eyes darted to the drink menu and grabbed the first word she saw, “Lothal Spicebrew.”

It was then she remembered she was supposed to meet Zig as she glanced around and realized there was a small growing number in the dining room. Good. The more there was, the more credits can be spent.

“Where is that Zygerrian?” She then looked over to the violinist and saw the big tip jar at the bottom and noticed it was empty.

Well, she knows what she was going to do before she leaves.

Reiden stepped off the shuttle and headed toward the entrance to The Flitz. He had thought today would have been one of meetings and further work on Arx. He’d even dressed the part with a charcoal suit and a pale blue shirt; he refused to wear a tie unless absolutely necessary, and this was not one of those times. Unfortunately, he was informed that there was a scheduling mix up and the meeting was supposed to be the following day, so he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Then he heard there was some kind of event going on, so he got in his ship and decided to check it out. He was all too happy to leave the jacket onboard - he hated dressing up - and he even rolled up his sleeves as he approached. He had no clue who might be in attendance, but he reined in his natural curiosity as the doors slid open with a soft hiss. It was better to just be surprised - at least for functions like this.

Walking inside, he was once again impressed by the stylish decor, which was no small feat considering the number of times he had stopped by. He smiled as he noticed new art pieces on display. He would have to give them a proper look when he had time later.

His eyes landed on the concierge desk up ahead, noting with some surprise that the Exarch himself was there. And then there was Socorra Erinos. He kept seeing her in different places, but couldn’t recall if they had actually met previously.

The young Zeltron quickly became aware of the scene she was making. Scanning the room and giving an awkward yet cheery smile and a slight wave to those concerned. She was alright, just didn’t handle spices well.

“Oh- thank you.” She graciously accepted, and took a sip, letting the milk rest on her tongue for a moment.

She nodded her head,

“I agree! I’m not much of a drinker anyways, it can be a bad habit. However, occasionally enjoying I think is fine. I’m here this time for enjoyment, mingling. I was invited, by a friend.” She nods her head in the direction of Dolot over with Six.

“I- uh didn’t have too many spicy things growing up. I’m a bit.. sensitive to them… I probably shouldn’t have accepted. Apologies I was just- I-“ she stumbled over what she was trying to say.

-# “…make conversation?”

<@1056685516441006091>

“Thank you, Charron. It’s a pleasure, as always. Oh, it’s likely on the Inquisitorius’ end, or even my fault for the mix up. But I thought it would be good to come here since I was close, see what was going on. I’ll be sure to let you know if I need anything. I know the services here are top-notch.” He turned to give a nod to Marick. “Lord Tyris. It’s been a while. Thank you for putting this together.”

Family.

Yeah, he had one of those. Then he didn’t. That cycle had repeated far too many times than Thane wanted to admit. What he needed most always slipped through his fingers. His impassive features never changed but his presence dimmed somewhat.

“Hm. A sabbatical,” Thane pondered. It was always crisis after crisis. Going off grid could be useful. Also, frankly, hilarious. That brought a half-smirk to Thane’s lips as he thought about the other Councillors being left to their own devices.

Admittedly, most would be fine. Most. Not all. He wouldn’t say who.

“I shall be at the next cookout, then.” He nodded his head in thanks to Lulaire, but placed several credit chips on the counter. His own contribution. “Appreciated, but you already offered me hospitality.”

He then directed a handful more with an invisible grasp to the Selphie violinist’s tip jar. She was quite skilled, after all. “Makes it look easier than it is,” he muttered in regards to the violinist. Again, he found himself miming the notes as they were played.

-# <@189568236201705472>

While Esen stumbled over her words, the entrance of another familiar face caught their attention … but where had they seen him before? It had been more than a year since they last took a bounty or mercenary contract; besides, had they been on an assignment together, they definitely would have remembered him. Maybe they’d met at a club or something?

<@232396983854301187>

Shifting their attention back to Esen, they raised their glass to take another sip while listening. “That’s wise,” they said in response to her comments on drinking. “Passing indulgence can lead to vice before you know it.” They paused to reflect, idly swirling their mezcal. For the briefed moment, Savi’s eyes reflected a faint sadness, only to disappear again beneath a meticulously crafted mask of insouciance.

When Esen apologized, Savi narrowed their eyes and leaned forward. “Don’t apologize for putting yourself out there and trying something new. You’re doing well.” But she could definitely use a confidence boost. “Relax a little. Let your hair down. You’re here to mingle, right? So…”

The fiery-skinned shani tilted get head back to kill the rest of their drink, then reached out to grab Esen’s hand, pulling her just a bit away from the bar. “Let’s mingle.”

Although the violinist’s tune was a bit slow for dancing, they made it work, swaying their hips to the rhythm while running the backs of their hands up through their mane of feathers. They smiled encouragingly at Esen before closing their eyes, letting the rhythm take them. “Dance, Esen. What’s there to lose?”

<@267489687902486530>

Lulaire squinted at Thane, debating if she should argue or challenge him to who was going to pay.

Do they even have a mechanical bucking nerf here? No. It was too fancy for that.

Arm wrestle?

What was she, a middle school child?

With a deep defeated sigh as the credits clinked into the jar, “A'right, just this once.” Their drinks arrived again and she took a sip. Her eyes widen in surprise. Finally, a drink she enjoyed.

“I will have to remember this one,” Lulaire made a note to herself and rose her eyebrow at Thane’s comment of the viol’s skills. She glanced over to the female Sephi.

“It almost sounds like you’re jealous of her playin’.”

A familiar voice returned her lips into a grin.

“Zig!” Lulaire greeted as she turned her attention to the Zygerrian, “Just glad you are here-” Then she noticed the package and raised her eyebrow as Zig was talking to Thane before she looked over to the male Firrerreo.

“Oh! You play the viol? Ah, right, Zig, this is Thane, Thane, this is Zig.”

-# <@189568236201705472>

Through the Flitz’s grand and polished doors, up perfectly cut and clean stairs, and onto the lavish carpet delicately padded a pair of bare lavender feet tipped in stoney nails. The footsteps were soft and silent as a smooth river stone, sound eroded by over a century of conditioning to be unseen and unheard.

But just at their heel was another set, this one clacking with clawed toesies and unbridled merriment. Four three-toed feet clopped inside, a gentlemott escorting his companions.

Today, Alk’s tuxedo and sash, the one embroidered with the Envoy symbol and not the Emissary’s, were accompanied by two new additions obtained at the Shame Corner: a tiny top hat and a monocle on a faux gold chain, precariously in place via thin elastic strings and some craft glue. Additionally, a small corsage, a bouquet of pale purple flowers, adorned the side of the hat (as if they had adorned his vest, they’d have never gotten anywhere as Alk tried to eat them).

Matching him was his hybrid companion, creeping along so delicately, the long skirt of his pale lilac dress swishing gently with his step. The hem and neckline were sewn with more purple flowers, and the transparent, loosely poofy sleeves of tulle encased both arms – or at least, one and a half. Several multicolored, metallic braids trailed all the way down nearly to the floor this time, all decorated with yet more flowers. He carried a basket of the blooms, of course, and had a notebook stashed under them, per usual. But this time, also, a purse, small, light, and green, with purple flowers stitched on. It didn’t quite match, seeming more like it was meant for a child, but he wore it proudly. And if it wriggled with movement inside, well.

Rue looked about as he tip-toed further in, searching for a familiar Zeltron friend. He saw Socorra and a smile bloomed on his lips, and Charron there, also familiar, at least. He waved, and then turned to the dining hall, thinking to search there first.

-

Of course, Alk had other plans. He darted up to the concierge to say hullo to Kerboros again, and then the others. Rue nearly walked right into another man while turning to look after the Mott, and recognized this face too.

“Reiden!” he exclaimed, and happily went to hug the Human. “Hullo! Blessed Night!”

<@232396983854301187>

He almost jumped for his weapons when “Zig” burst through the Door. Zig immediately gave orders to Six and himself. Mind you he wouldn’t mind the order he was given.

Dolot had to stifle a laugh. “You have some great friends… Was that who I thought it was? Oh never mind. My mission is clear and it looks like yours is finished.” He let off a slight laugh at his dumb joke. Wait, was Zig watching? Did she just provide Six a chance to relax?

“What was I saying? Ah yes. I really never thought about the similarity. Artists travel a lot seeking and being sought out for jobs. In all kinds of places.” he found himself quite pondering the statement until he realized she was giggling at how much thought he was putting in.

Dolot made himself cough to center himself. “Can I buy you a meal?” <@189568236201705472>

“We have met,” Thane stated, offering Zig a nod of greetings.

But he also narrowed his eyes as he stared at the viol case. “I presume this is Tyris’ doing.”

With a sigh of resignation, he accepted the instrument, downing his drink since it was ahead of the viol in his mental queue. The Deputy Grandmaster made eye contact with the already performing Sephi, ensuring she would not be offended. Seeing the acceptance, and noting the group starting to dance, he placed the viol on his shoulder.

At first he only added a couple notes. Quick spurts that played underneath the already echoing playing. Then he started on a gentle tempo shift that the Sephi answered. As it became increasingly uplifting in nature, Thane let his eyes flutter closed and a damn near serene appearance settled on his face.

Before long, between the Sephi at the center of the room and Thane perched at the bar, a harmony was reached. High tempo dancing music with dueling melodies echoed out as each player took turns in the lead.

-# <@189568236201705472>

Lulaire finished her drink and thanked the bartender while Thane had started to get himself situated with the viol. That was going to be her last drink of the night. She started to feel a bit more buzzing and honestly, her stomach was starting to hurt.

Lulaire had noticed that people were getting up to dance.

The moment he started to play, He became alive. The energy of the room followed. The Sephi had moved to join him but-

It was breathtaking.

“Wow,” Lulaire whispered in agreement to what Zig said, her eyes stared at him in amazement. Her wonderous orange colored eyes scanned Thane up and down before she caught herself. Her cheeks turned into a darker shade as she quickly turned around to the bartender, “Give me a shot.”

She used the bartender and waiting for a shot as a way to compose herself. It didn’t take long for the drink to arrive and for her to down it. To her amazement she didn’t cough this time, thanked the bartender and leaned over to the side, her elbow propped up on the bar as her ombre hair spilled over her arm while she watched him.

And was obviously smitten.

-# <@189568236201705472>

While doing her best to encourage Esen to dance, Savi briefly shifted her gaze over to the man who had begun playing his viola alongside the violinist. Was that the Deputy Grand Master of the Brotherhood? Who knew he was such a masterful player?

Regardless, the shani found herself possessed by the rhythm of their harmonious playing, letting it dictate her movements as she wound and bounced to the high-paced tempo of the notes. She recognized this tune, and without missing a beat, began to sing the words loud enough for everyone present to her. She hadn’t intended to, but she had learned long ago that when the spirit of good music started to take you over, you let it.

Only those in Savi’s closest circle knew of her career as an underground singer. Cole, no doubt, would be taken by surprise to see the shani singing in public amongst so many strangers. But the soulful, lilting notes that rolled from her lips like liquid gold would remind him of the few times he had sang for him and Sofila in private. Her voice added a perfect complement to the instruments being played.

<@267489687902486530> <@1382824894877794314> <@189568236201705472> <@185936112441622529>

Colors caught Reiden’s eye as he looked toward the bar. He turned his gaze slightly to get a better view, noting they came from a Shani that looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place them. Before he could muse in it further, he heard someone calling his name. The voice was familiar. He spun around and saw even more colors.

Rue. And of course his faithful gentlemott Alk was by his side.

He returned the embrace, smiling. “Rue! It’s good to see you again.”

“And you,” enthused the hybrid around a small chirrup, mrr, already bubbling up. As they pulled back, Rue beheld the packed dining room over Reiden’s shoulder, spying not only the Zeltron he was looking for, but several other faces he knew. And an amazing sound– the singing, the music, the latter which had once only been a dream. “This is… Wonderful.”

Alk, meanwhile, was less inspired by music and more interested in the charhound friend. He stomped a bit, seeking to play, then when he didn’t get a reaction, seemed to clue in to Kerboros’ professionalism. The gentlemott tried to copy him, sitting in his customary loaf.

Reiden tilted his head slightly to better hear the music, his smile growing. “I love it when there’s live music at a place. It really makes things feel more alive. Those are clearly two very talented players, and the singer’s voice is beautiful as well.”

“That– that’s Savi!” Rue’s excitement grew almost physically palpable as he hopped in place, pointing suddenly at the dancing pair and the origin of the voice he could now recognize. His tail flicked and lifted, purr cutting through his words, his skin flushing and shifting with a shimmer of jubilant gold. “Reiden, it’s Savi!”

He hadn’t seen his Shani friend in ages. And there was Miho too! And Dolot! With Esen and Reiden…

The first time he had been here, the loneliness had nearly eaten him alive; Esen had been kind enough to talk to him and draw him into her group with Remy. Now, so many of his friends were here.

Tears welled and spilled down the hybrid’s shimmering aureate cheeks as he hung on to Reiden’s shoulder, shaking him with his bouncing.

“This! is the best! day! We should– oh! We should dance too! Come on!”

He tugged at the Human.

Alk, who had managed to be still and professional for about three seconds, was doomed the moment he noticed his person jumping around. Stompies was his favorite game. He was up and off like a shot, prancing, stomping, kicking, and hopping around and around the two men. He tossed his head at the charhound, inviting him to join playing.

Savi.

That name struck a chord with Reiden. He watched the singing and dancing as he thought back. He recalled the summer festival that Erinyes had put together a year ago and remembered seeing the Shani on that day, offering to teach Rue about drinks, although that ultimately fell through. That was also the same day he had met Rue, although seeing Alk hadn’t happened until months later, a chance encounter with the pair at the Shame Corner.

He laughed softly at the sight of Rue being so happy and excited. It was good to see.

“Why don’t we go and join them, say hi?” he offered.

It was a surprise. Though not an unpleasant one. It drew Cole’s notice back to the music and off of watching the to and thro of those in the bar.

Their voice was nice, complementing the two violas. It wasn’t music that he had grown used to, but it was enjoyable enough. The Human finished up his drink, contemplating returning to the bar for a refill but overall content to stay put for now. Faces, any names whispered he could attach to them, were noted for potential use later.

“mrrRYes!” Rue chirped, laughing gayly at Alk’s antics. He said something in quick, whistling growls of Shiryyywook, then grabbed Reiden’s hand in his only one and ‘towed’ him onto what was now an impromptu dance floor.

Not wanting to interrupt the beautiful music nor beautiful Savi’s singing, Rue didn’t call out to her. Instead he just set his basket on the closest table and spun back towards Reiden, all smiles and twirls. He lifted their joined hands between them and lifted his skirt with his tail, holding it up nearer to his waist to free his legs for more movement.

Esen’s brain swam, a mix of the alcohol, her not being great with words, or social queues, she had practically been living in her lab for the past 2 weeks until Dolot invited her out. Needless to say, her people skills were “rusty.”

A very familiar Zygerrian did a quick drive by snapping her out of her own thoughts. She peaked up, 

“-Oh- hi… bye… Zig.” Deflating slightly that she didn’t get to stop and talk a bit, but she did notice that Zig did have an instrument case… Her eyes followed for just a moment, noticing she was delivering the item down the way. What was Zig up to now? More shenanigans she assumed. Releasing a slight chuckle, reminiscing over her time on the Voidbreaker.

Her thoughts were quickly cut short, as Savi started to encourage her to dance. Why did she have to mention she was here to mingle? “Oh- I… -er don’t-”

She was tugged off her stool and onto the dance floor.

“…dance,” She mumbled to herself, a faint whisper.

Savi’s dances were much more soulful than hers. Esen danced very stiffly, twisting side to side in a sort of awkward shuffle. Her blush spreads to the tips of her ears, turning an even darker shade.

_What’s there to lose?

My pride, my decency. I can’t ever come back to this location again. I had already made a fool of myself earlier with the coughing. Now this? Such a nice location too. Tragic._

She sighed and mentally ticked off that box.

When Zig started cheering her on from the bar, Esen sunk farther in on herself. She wished her hair was down, or wished she had a hood, to hide her face, her shame. Zig- was cheering her on. Eyes. Eyes everywhere watching her so extremely out of her element. Her dance moves became even more stiff as the redness bloomed over all her features, and down her neck. She was overheated, and definitely in need of another drink, or five.

She couldn’t speak to Zig after this, or well… anyone in this room either. Maybe she could make up an excuse to go talk to Kerberos. Go talk to Kerberos? Okay yeah she was definitely not thinking straight now.

Savi started singing, distracting her slightly from her embarrassment. The highs and lows, the melodic pace, it sounded… familiar. Like a singer she had heard a few times… She took a step back, squinting, studying Savi for a moment. It clicked.

Oh no.

Here she was dancing horrendously with a well known underground singer, one she had heard many times and enjoyed the music. She needed to leave. She couldn’t be seen like this. Her eyes locked on with the exit, just to see Rue enter with Alk. Her friends she had invited..

The room started spinning. Her gut started to do flips. The milk was definitely not agreeing with her. All eyes were on Savi… hopefully. A pained close lipped smile was given to the Shani, as she carefully inched backwards, about-turned, and then booked her way to the lobby doors, she could have sworn there was a bathroom around here somewhere. She slid past Rue and Alk, a small wave was given, but her deep red face was locked looking to the floor. She focused on breathing in through her nose, and one foot after another.

<@244244163002892288> <@189568236201705472>

Socorra hadn’t meant to sweep up Thane in her telepathy pass, but now she was damned curious about this alchemical formulae. All she needed to do was analyze the pattern for a split- aah, spice for a steak. It… actually sounded pretty good. Needed much more heat though. Another pinch of Cassandran chili pepper, and if anyone ever had any, a dash of sandroot of course. She’d tell him later; it was a crime to leave it so bland. <@185936112441622529>

Not that the Socorran could do more than set a kitchen on fire, she just knew desert spices extraordinarily well.

“Charron,” she greeted smoothly. “I am here for networking event. Perhaps find office work.“

Safer work, she had promised that to her son.

The former Herald turned her single pale arctic eye to the Exarch, the slightest smirk playing at the corner of her ruby lips. He wore the role well.

“Marick.”

The R of his name rolled off her tongue, her desert dialect still giving it an endearing sound closer to Mar*-eek* than Marick.

The Hapan was one of the only constants left in the galaxy. One of the very few she trusted without question. One she had loved, bled for, died for. Lost her eye for, as if that was somehow worse. Now brother, and the uncle of her child.

She said none of that of course. The woman only bowed as he had and then turned to Atyiru, her freckles the Constellation around her ankle, her sister at arms, the aunt to her child, her wi–

"Socky!”

Atty collided into her like a comet, bright and unstoppable. Socorra barely had time to brace, just manage a winded, muttered “oof” before they were on the floor in a mess of fabric and cybernetic limbs.

“–wife.”

Somehow, even after all these years, Socorra still never quite expected the pounces. Just the glitter, which was now probably all over her dress. The nickname too. And it was a mystery that none of her two dozen hidden blades were slicing up either of them.

<@244244163002892288> <@189568236201705472>

Her dark-skinned arms went around the other woman on instinct, just resigning and going along with it, in the middle of the Flitz lobby, undoubtedly a spectacle. So much for playing a role too. Loose black-and-white hair tangled with white plaits, crystals falling into and catching light in the raven strands. It might have been adorable if either could have seen it.

“Not sure how you pick out. Beautiful,” she said with small smile, peering at the hair ensemble.

Then she felt it before she saw it. The curve of her stomach against her flat, toned abdomen.

For a breath, they were back in time, to when they’d both been swollen with life, when anything still felt possible. She wanted this future again. A sibling for Turi. Atyiru knew, she knew everything. She wanted, needed, a whole family, under one roof. Not scattered across homes. Not half-shared days. Not missing bad dreams and special life moments just because it wasn’t her turn yet. Socorra’s smile faltered.

The mentalist knew better, but she did it anyway, like a moth drawn to flame. Her burn-scarred hand, the natural one, trembled as it rested there on Atyiru’s belly.

<@244244163002892288>

Being pulled along was seeming to be his specialty tonight. Not that it was a problem.

“So that is Zig. I’ve heard good things from my Master.” Looking down at his drink. It was almost gone anyhow. He downed it in one go and said, “one port in a storm please”

As the they waited for their drinks Dolot found himself looking down at Six. “What brings you to this place? Not this assessment, but rather to this life?” <@189568236201705472>

Forty-One remained where he stood for a while after the Miraluka’s final words, the synth-coffee untouched in his gloved hand. The room had shifted around him — not in structure, but in tempo.

Music wove itself into the space like smoke: low, elegant, and sharp in the hands of the Deputy Grand Master. The viol’s notes were deliberate, surgical — a performance so precise it could be mistaken for control. The Sephi mirrored him in harmony, and Forty-One’s head tilted just slightly in quiet approval.

They didn’t just play. They dissected the silence between each note.

Elsewhere, the dancers had taken over the floor. Savi’s voice rose into the space, catching at something in the atmosphere, drawing the others into her orbit. Even Esen, initially hesitant, now seemed caught in the current. Movement. Emotion. Connection.

That was a battlefield of another kind.

At the bar, he caught the motion of Six dragging Dolot along, the ever-animated Zig now perched nearby, presiding over the scene like some brightly-dressed predator. It was chaos — dressed in silk and song — but chaos nonetheless.

Forty-One finally took a sip of his coffee. Strong. Bitter. Good.

He didn’t move toward the bar. Not yet. But his gaze passed over Lulaire briefly, noting the subtle unsteadiness behind her grace — then returned to the viol.

There were too many stories in motion. Too many masks.

He would keep watching. Someone always slipped.

“What do you see?” the Miraluka beside him quizzed, unmoving besides her lips, though her shoulders held a new tension. They were a matched set of unmoved pillars, observing the symphony of life without joining it.

Forty-One didn’t turn toward her. They remained as statues: two immovable figures in a room blooming with movement. His voice was low, composed - not hiding judgment, just offering it plainly, like a soldier delivering a report.

“I see too many people who believe the Force makes them exceptional. Who think instinct is wisdom. Emotion is clarity. Movement is purpose.”

His visor stayed fixed on the dance floor, where Savi spun, and Esen slowly joined her orbit.

“I see too much noise. People performing closeness as a substitute for control. They move because they don’t know how to be still. They laugh to cover fear. They call it freedom, but it looks like unraveling.”

Another sip of caf. Then:

“Too many Force-users. Not enough discipline. The stronger the gift, the more they think they’re immune to failure. That kind of thinking gets people killed.”

A brief silence passed between them.

“I’ve served under commanders who wielded the Force like a scalpel. Others, like a hammer. But no matter how elegant it looks…” He gestured vaguely toward the viol. “…I’ve never met a Force-user who didn’t crack eventually.”

He set the cup down on a nearby ledge, slow and deliberate.

“That’s what I see.”

“Your bias and blindspots are glaring.” The critique was as cool and subtly sharp as a scalpel. “Your obsession becomes ever more obvious. You are distractible and you would be useless as a guardsman if you do not excise those tumors. There are fewer Force-Users in this room than not, yet you give them not a breath. The violist, the Zygrerrian and the Zeltron who have departed, the deliverywoman. Nevermind your other presumptions.”

Forty-One didn’t bristle. Didn’t flinch.

Instead, a quiet hum of amusement escaped him - the barest exhale through his helmet’s vocoder.

“Not distracted,” he said calmly. “Selective.”

He turned his head slightly, just enough to angle his visor toward her without fully facing her. “I see the violist. I heard the cadence of discipline in his playing before you did. I saw the Zygerrian - the way he watches for openings in conversation like a duelist. The Zeltron bled pheromones like a flare before she even spoke. And the deliverywoman?” A pause, then a faint, cold smile. “Too clean to be what she claims.”

His voice lowered, like steel sheathed in silk.

“I focus on Force-users because they break the rules first. It’s not bias. It’s battlefield math.”

He finally turned his full attention to her, his stance grounded but oddly open - as if presenting himself deliberately.

“You say obsession. I say vigilance. You say tumors. I say instincts sharpened by survival.”

A breath. One beat.

“But if I’m wrong - if I am cracked and compromised - then recruit me.” His tone never changed, still calm. “Test me. Try to break me. And if I shatter, you’ll be proven right.”

Another pause.

“If I don’t… then maybe what you’re calling distraction is just awareness you haven’t figured out how to use yet.”

Caught off guard and not expecting to be pulled into a dance, Reiden laughed as Rue pulled him along. He did his best to move along to the rhythm. Of course, he’d learned a range of dances before – it was only prudent given the variety of situations he often found himself in for both work and parties and the like – but it had been a while. It was easier to slip back into than he thought it would be, remembering the patterns, even some improvisational pieces came to mind. But for now, he just enjoyed the music and the singing. Both were beautiful.

Miho finished off the remains of her food with a grin, pushed the plates to one side and turned to listen to the singing and the viols.

She kicked back in her chair and put the heels of her boots on the table, crossing them at the ankle while she sipped her drink. The sounds drifted on the currents of the room, almost making her wish she had remembered her flute. Ah well. Maybe next time.

Rue didn’t recognize the way Reiden danced, nor the way Savi did, but that didn’t seem to stop him. He still held on to the Hunan’s hand or released and took it again at different times, most of his movements involving waving what arms he did have and stomping his feet quickly in various spirited, passionate patterns while twirling about. His tail and how it held his skirt seemed to be just as much part of the display.

He spun and spun with and around Reiden, and then Savi as Esen darted away– thoughts of Kerberos and talking to him, an unfamiliar and stifling emotion, trailing her. Rue’s steps stumbled, but as Zig went after her, he perhaps thought it one of the “women must go to the restroom together” social rules that he had been taught about. He didn’t understand it, but it had seemed an important rule along with the discussing of boys at sleepovers and not asking someone perspiring greatly if they required medical assistance. His smile was wide and his giggles breathless as they danced, even waving to Miho where she reclined.

“Come dance?” he called, the loudest anyone here who’d met him had yet heard his voice, though it still didn’t reach a shout. Alk wasn’t left out of course, still stomping about too.

<@227653769842655233> <@267489687902486530> <@1056685516441006091>

And as quickly as the emotive expression came, it was gone again. It was almost like someone flipped a switch and the instant he placed the viol down and opened his eyes, a curtain of neutrality fell upon Thane.

He surrendered the melody back to the Sephi and placed the loaner viol onto the counter. “Does Tyris have more requests?” the Deputy asked, both Nyw—the bartender—and anyone else in earshot that might be in on whatever this was.

The male Firrerreo sighed, feeling a momentary intrusion into his thoughts that was deftly rebuffed, before signalling for a glass of water. His attention then turned back to the woman who had hereto captured his attention.

And it seemed he had captured hers. At least, that’s what the whole tilted head on palm with a half smile thing was telling him.

Or…he was just assuming. It was hard to tell. Subtext was annoying, but sometimes came at you like an AT-AT with its ankles in a knot.

Let’s be honest, even then he wouldn’t have supreme confidence.

“Right,” Thane said, cracking his knuckles absentmindedly. “That is…a thing I can do.” He gestured at the viol. A quiet, withered part of him threatened to make him smile, but it merely made the edges of his lips twitch instead.

<@189568236201705472> <@216702440140046336>

Nicfer receives a short text:

Hey! Zig says there’s a really sweet Envoy networking event at the Flitz that she’s helping to organize, and we should go to and maybe make friends…or something? Want to meet at the front and walk in like we own it? We can always burn it down if it sucks.

-Xee

Knowing Xi'ana a little bit now, she may actually have meant that.

Lulaire didn’t have any requests. Usually, there’s no music at her home. Just chatting and the dull roar of the fire with the smells of the food hanging in the air. Occassionaly, someone would get bored enough and they would do the line dance. The only one that Lulaire knew of.

“It’s magnificent, you really shone through,” Lulaire grinned as she propped herself back up and soothe down her clothes. As if nothing happened.

“More impressive than my surfing. Or breaking ani-” She stopped herself as her spit went down the wrong tube and she started to cough harshly. All because she suddenly remembered a dirty joke her older cousin had said–

Her cousin stood by the fire with a few other family members, Lulaire included. "You know what my fiancé said? He thinks people shouldn't date beast masters, they are used to controlling massive beasts by straddling them with their legs and breaking them." She winked to the family as they laughed and took a sip of her drink--

“Wat-cough I’m fine-” She cleared her throat. “Choked on the spit-” The bartender, thankfully, handed two glass of water. One for Thane and one for Lulaire. She took a few sips and tried to stop the tingling of her throat.

“I’m real glad you are comin’ to the cookout. I was gonna to ask you for your comm-code.” Her cheeks darkened again. Did she just say that?

Then she shook her head.

-# <@189568236201705472>

Thane’s black-gold eyes had been watching Lulaire carefully. So, just before she went into a coughing fit, he was able to take note of all the little shifts that gave away the line of thought.

He didn’t even need special eyes for that.

When she mentioned his comm-code, Thane’s head tilted and he looked her over for a moment before shrugging. It was an almost imperceptible flit of his eyes. The Firrerreo got his datapad out and placed it on the counter. His eyes narrowed as the stand-off began. Hesitantly, he double tapped the screen and snapped his hand back. Just in case.

So far so good.

He tapped a few more sequences before sliding it closer to Lulaire, seeing it ping in recognition of another device, and transmitted the codes. Several breaths passed before the screen started glitching out. Thane’s hand rose and the Force tossed the device into it all in the same moment. He quickly shut the screen off and on, letting out a sigh as he saw at least a partial success. He received. Her device, however…well, guess he would just have to remind her when he was on the way to the cookout.

With that, however, he noticed several pending notices and at least one from Dacien.

Damnit.

Yet another sigh passed through his barely parted lips. Yay, back to politics. Thane, almost regretfully, pushed off from the bar and rose to his full height. Turning, he paused as he glanced down at Lulaire. “This has been…” The words hung in the air, as if he was tasting the next few options upon his tongue before committing. “Pleasant. Thanks for your time.”

He started to go but paused, just one more time, glancing back at her. His right arm went into motion, a gloved hand almost reaching out to touch the vibrant gradient of Lulaire’s hair but not making it all the way. “This colouring is quite attractive.”

And with that, he nodded farewell and strode off. Of course, he would be making a detour to a certain Exarch who’s privileges were on thin ice.

-# <@189568236201705472>

Well, there was an attempt at least. And he has her information. No matter, the invitation to the cookout was there. Some members of her family would like heads up but Lulaire? Sometimes surprises were the best.

When he got up, she didn’t realize that the man was tall compared to her. Though having a stare-down with quite a few creatures in her life, having to face someone bigger than her was nothing new. And sometimes it was the smaller ones that was more deadly.

So why did she now notice? This is… unusual. Yet, she paid attention as kept her bright smile, “I enjoyed myself as well.” Movements were made to leave only to be halted for a moment. His hand reached out, butterflies in her stomach kicked up, and she found herself frozen like a fathier in speeder’s path.

Again.

Her cheeks darkened enough that you could see it from across the room. Curious orange eyes watched his behind as Thane had made his leave. She tuck in half of her lower lip, her fang peeking over.

That’s a fine ass-

She was clearly amused, excited, giddy as a schoolgirl, and-

“Oh.” Lulaire sighed deeply.

What had she gotten herself into!?

Amber eyes narrowed, a mix of concern and disappointment arising when Savi watched Esen run off. Clearly, they had underestimated how shy the woman was. They would have to check on her, later. But for now, they returned their attention to the music, occasionally projecting belting notes that briefly made the air around them tremble.

A broad smile, one brighter and more genuine than they often gave, appeared on Savi’s face when Rue spun over. Intertwining their fingers with his, they led him on a vivace jig that matched the quickened tempo of the violinist’s music and their singing. A break in the song gave her and opportunity to speak: “Move those feet, Rue!”

<@244244163002892288>

They continued for what felt like ages before Savi broke away to approach Reiden with a confident strut, doing the same thing with him; however, the way the shani rolled their hips in front of him was decidedly more enticing in nature. They even made a point to brush against him once or twice before turning and placing a hand on his cheek, lips pulling into a mischievous grin before they pulled away, letting their nails gently across his skin before they departed. They gestured with their eyes back to Rue, encouraging the man to continue dancing with him.

<@232396983854301187>

They continued to sing, but without words this time, voice rising to an effortless falsetto as they approached Cole. “Coleeee,” they said in a singsongy voice, “Sofila said I couldn’t bite you, but she said nothing about dancing.” They held out their hand, beckoning him to indulge their request with a curling finger.

<@1382824894877794314>

Cole looked sideways and considered the offer. There was no harm in it, not really. Maybe it was the buzz of one glass of whiskey or maybe he was making excuses.

Dancing wasnt really his thing but… Oh kark it. He took a plentiful drink of the water, not wasting the somewhat nervous Droid’s creation, before straightening up. The music shifted tunes, genres, the pace picking up. With that in mind, he offered Savi a small truth he wasnt typically bothering to mention.

“I’m on a new leg, take it easy.”

A look of stunned recognition appeared on Savi’s face when he mentioned the new leg … that was the injury he’d mentioned. What the hell happened? “Remind me to pull answers out of you later,” she said before starting to dance, albeit slower than she had with the others.

“I doubt I’ll need to remind you.” He replied, a slight sigh in his voice.

Cole stepped into the dance with her either way. He wasn’t as fluid as the others, focusing on the beat and being correct in each step more than letting the music guide him instinctually.

Put into a more active scenario, the leg was blatantly obvious for Savran. While he had clearly got the hang of walking again, there was an uncertainty to his movements with his right leg that had never been there before. It far from ruined the dance however, Cole settling into it and for once looking like he was at least enjoying himself a little bit.

Thane’s head was on a swivel again as he entered the main lobby. He was taking note of everyone idly, though his eyes narrowed slightly once he spotted Atyiru.

Sus.

Not making a big deal of it, the Firrerreo proceeded to track down the Exarch, taking care not to interrupt.

-# <@244244163002892288> <@189568236201705472>

Despite being busy struggle-snuggling with Socks, a little whimsical whisper Thane would (unfortunately) recognize as Atyiru’s mental presence knocked politely on the door of his mind. It wasn’t invasive, not reading, merely a feeling, the mental equivalent of an innocent expression from a puppy looking up at one as if to say, who? Me? Impossible. I am so innocent. Hi. :)))

———————–

The VIP Lounge

The Flitz

Synthy sounds of driving, upbeat music softly resonated through the lounge. There were hints of some vintage Chandrillian Club music mixed into it, clearly taking spotlight. A shame really that the reserved volume it was kept at, kranking it up would have really got some bodies moving. Diyrian Grivna chewed on her lip as she glanced around the sparsely populated VIP area. The feline seemed like a fun drinking buddy, ‘Glasses’ there was mysterious and a passing graze of a hand might be intriguing, but the DJ was the only one to catch her eye – a shame to distract them from their deck though. She sighed and took a sip of the colorful mocktail she has been savoring.

“Clearly my eyes are deceiving me. Diy? It’s been a couple years since I’ve seen your face.”

A woman slid onto the sectional sofa tucked away in the corner where the Kiffar has been chilling. She crossed her legs and stretched and arm across the back of it. Diy set her drink down and shifted to get a good look at the face of a vaguely familiar voice. A Mirialan with bronze-orange skin, one hazel and one brown eye, and pale strawberry blond hair pulled back into top neat braids for a mere smuggler. One of many questions Diy hadn’t sus’d out fully with them.

“Izzie, a karkin’ surprise to see you,” her mulberry painted lips cracked into a wide grin. She offered a hug to which Elip Isysna welcome without a beat. Once parted, Diy sat back. “I was expectin’ to meet with a Shroud Syndicate member, didn’t think they’d send you.”

“Well, not many of them have the finesse needed for the Flitz.” Izzie gave her a wink, noting the quirked eyebrow the Kiffar gave. “So, a Consul now, eh?” .

“Shockin’ I know,” Diyrian chuckled. She sighed and leaned against her arm, fingers threaded into tight emerald curls. “Let’s get business out of the way first, then we can catch up, yeah? Maybe finally get to hear the story behind that one?”

The Mirialan glanced down to the tap of a finger on her right hand, pointing out the flower? Avian skull? Tattoo on the dorsum of it. She grinned back, rubbing her other hand under her inked lips. “Mm, maybe, that’s not really my tale to tell. So, let’s get down to business. What do you need to know?”

“An update on the Quantum Shadows situation, and anything you know about the Kon D'irin…” ———————–

Nicfer was doing what always loved to do. Brooding on her ship under the guise of ‘repairs’. Dirty and singed from overhauling some power conduits, she only looked up to see what the ping noise was.

Zig probably sending her a text with video of her shocking herself from some hidden camera or something. It could wait… She thought and lied to herself.

…Could be a mission or something. Better check. So no one show up in person.

She held out all of thirty seconds.

Reading the contents she sighed and jumped back into repairs. Repairs that were unneeded and that she was likely not doing very well.

You are lucky you caught me in between missions. I might have time to show up. You know, for networking or whatever. Be there shortly.

Can’t have people think I am just free all the time.

Anyone on the Voidbreaker would know she was free all the time. She was always on her ship doing who knows what and rarely had poked her head out in a few days. She quickly closed up her work and ran to get changed, trying to continue to lie to herself that she was doing this as a favor.

—-Arrival on site—–

Nicfer was regretting everything. She loved to talk and lie and spy, but socialize with no objective. She always felt unease. No, that wasn’t quite true. She socialized with her previous crew. Frowning and not wanting to think about it, she instead straightens her outfit. Black formal suit that could have passed for a military uniform with all the patches and marking pulled off. Her blue hair styled with a bit of curl and a small braid that separated where the side shave and her longer hair met.

Show time.

Her common phrase she thought to herself before putting on an act or trying to calm her nerves. In this case, she was not sure which was the reason this time. She made her way through the doors of the lobby. She looked for Xee while putting on her best ‘think twice before talking to me’ face.

As Reiden danced with the Shani, he was impressed by their ability to dance and sing in tandem. While maybe not overly technical, he wasn’t sure if it was something that he would be able to pull off, at least successfully. It definitely wasn’t something he would attempt in such a public setting, that’s for sure. But the movements were easy enough to follow and it was actually fun to do something so very different from what he usually would do, both in general and at parties or similar events to this.

He raised an eyebrow as he felt the nails rake along his cheek and gave Savi a nod of thanks as they pulled away, a smile of his own forming. He turned to see Rue still dancing and enjoying himself, and the happy gentlemott doing just the same. It was a good sight to see. <@244244163002892288>

“That’s true. My memory is impeccable, after all,” she replied before returning to humming. Savi stayed close as they danced together, careful to respect his boundaries but ever mindful of the way his movements lacked the fluidity they once had. If he happened to stumble, well, he’d just have to accept her help even if he didn’t like being touched.

He looked like he was enjoying himself, at least, in spite of the newfound challenge of learning to move with the prosthetic limb. Savi flashed him a smile.

Esen’s eyes were locked to the floor, lost in thought, but quickly peaked up as she heard Zig start to mention her name. Perhaps not all the eyes were on Savi like she had hoped. She automatically corrected and stopped. It was like a switch flipped. She stood straight, posture straight, ankles together like she were at attention.

“Ma'am- Zig.” She squinted at her own actions, she was really discombobulated. Zig and her had talked about this previously, Zig was fine with or without rank…. and Esen hadn’t been on the Voidbreaker for months now.. She didn’t even realize, she was too lost in her own thoughts. Alas she was already this far into the bit, she just held position.

She stared at the glass of ice cold refreshment. Her mouth watered, yet she wasn’t sure if that was the thirst for the drink Zig offered, or the result of her stomach doing flips.

Miho raised her glass in a salute to Rue, gifting him with one of her radiant smiles. With a shake of her head, the small Odanite seemed more than a lot content to relax with her feet up on the table.

She finished her drink and set the glass on the table. Perhaps the droids would just keep bringing fresh brandies as she emptied them.

Cole offered a faint smile in return. He felt awkward, but really it couldn’t get any weirder than two people who more or less used to be enemies dancing like old friends. Dancing as if he wasn’t keeping an eye on who was watching.

Yet, still. Fun. Different, in a good way.

“Since when do you sing?”

The pink-skinned Zeltron Xi'ana looked like she’d come straight from the ‘end of the world’ and made it fashion. Her neon-red hair was a mess of braids and scorched strands, tied back with scrap wiring and a length of synthcord. A couple of copper beads and a scavenged bolt threaded through the mess like charms, all mismatched and slightly melted.

Her suit was black and asymmetrical, stitched from mismatched fabrics that looked half-salvaged, half-stolen, and mostly detonation-survived. Her swear word-painted combat boots peeked out from underneath the pants. She smelled like smoke.

Xee spotted Nicfer first and waved, half-lounging against one of the lobby pillars like she’d been waiting forever. She flashed finger guns, literal ones, with twin sparks of flame flicking from her fingertips.

“Sup, nerd,” Xee said, voice high and friendly. “Was starting to think you’d make me network alone like a desperate extrovert.”

The Zeltron wouldn’t have come either, not without putting up a giant front, or just going invisible, like she used to. But she’d promised herself she’d stop vanishing.

Xee straightened and crossed the floor with an easy grin, eyes sweeping Nicfer’s sharp suit. “You clean up suspiciously well. I sort of just ‘borrowed’ a suit.”

Then, quieter, “Glad you came.”

Lulaire turned to see people still dancing and having a good time. Wait, what time was it? She directed her eyes behind her and winced as she saw what time it was. It was already late for her when she arrived. A tired exhale escaped from her as she got up and silently made her way to leave. Not that she’s used to sleepless nights sometimes, you never know what the farm life would throw at you.

Then she saw Thane again, at the lobby. Her hand went up as she tucked her hair behind one of her ears. Putting on a radiant smile, she walked by Thane and Marick, to go to the charhound, gave sweet little Kerberos cooing noises of farewell, scratches, and a kiss on the forehead. It seems there’s a bit of commotion with two ladies that seemed to be hugging as if life long friends who haven’t seen each other.

That’s not what stole Lulaire’s attention at the moment though,“Such a good hardworkin’ boy.” Then she straightened up to look at the pair of them. Did they know each other? She doesn’t really know Marick either. Regardless, “G'night, gentlemen.” Before she made her way to the doors to go hail a transportation to go back home.

-# <@185936112441622529> <@189568236201705472>

“For a while, now,” they explained, “I have quite the cult following in the underground music scene,” Savi paused for a moment to lower their voice, “under the name Besaade. But keep that to yourself. I don’t like many people knowing.”

Rue didn’t seem to take the refusal too badly, his smile turning to the smallest of pouts before he was off again to a strike of the viol’s strings. With her accompaniment gone, the Zelphie brought the number to a natural close, minding the pace of her new audience of dancers. Rue spun and stomped cheerfully back around the slower moving couple of Savi and a Human man, and then back to his own Human man partner in Reiden. He beamed at him, moving as if to clap his hands together on a particular heel stomp, only to hit nothing but air despite his arms reaching. He stumbled a little, recovering quickly, and clapped against his thigh instead, hopping close to Reiden.

The last string faded, vibrant and vibrating, and Rue’s chest rose and fell rapidly. His tail flicked joyfully, dropping his skirt at last.

Of course, being a staunch performer in need of good tips, the violist puffed, took a sip of water and flexed her hand, and went back to it. She had two “couples” up after all. So, she started a slower song, more akin to a sweet ballroom number.

Rue still didn’t know such music, but he didn’t seem to care. He just looked around briefly and then offered Reiden his hand again.

<@232396983854301187> <@1056685516441006091> <@1382824894877794314>

“I suppose that’s the exchange of information for what happened to my leg.” Cole commented, leading her through a turn, “I’d rather sit with a drink for that tale though.”

This music was a bit too intimate for his tastes. Well, for it to be Savi he was dancing with anyway. It was nothing to do with the fact he should have brought his cane. Nope.

“After the festivities have come to a close,” they said. “The night’s still young, after all. For now, rest. I’ll meet back up with you later. I’m going to see what trouble I can drum up, elsewhere.”

They gave him a wink before walking off. The first place they stopped was the violinist, dropping a sum of credits in her camtono that likely exceeded a month’s worth of her typical earnings. “For helping us have a good time.”

<@189568236201705472>

Cole took the step away from the dancing floor, masking the slight limp that Sofila would’ve glared at him for if he didn’t hide it, and finding a seat at the bar once again.

“Whiskey please.”

He caught it, nodding in thanks and sipping it.

Thane turned when Marick did, giving his own nod towards Lulaire once more. Unlike his long time friend, Thane’s gaze didn’t return to their Stare of Communication. Instead, he found himself lingering as he watched the farm girl go.

Only when she was out of sight did his golden gaze match Marick’s too blue one.

Who’s to say how long passed as the pair’s nearly imperceptible ticks and tells did their talking for them, but finally Thane sighed. He ran a hand through his hair and tilted his head somewhat.

“We will discuss this more,” he warned. “Later.”

And then the Deputy Grand Master made his own departure. He, unfortunately, had work to do.

-# <@189568236201705472> <@216702440140046336>

“BYYYYYE ATTIEBUNBUNS!” Atyiru shrieked from the floor. “BRING HER TO DINNER AT OURS NEXT TIME!”

Reiden watched Rue and shrugged, mostly to himself. There was no harm in another one. He took the offered hand again, resuming their dance. He was glad that the new song was a bit more of a slow pace, hopefully letting Rue catch a slight break after all the dancing around he had done.

“Permission to-” She stopped herself short. Zig understands what? She had not said much of anything. Esen glanced to the glass, and the words started to sink in. She carefully and shakily took the glass. She took a small sip, letting the cold liquid run down her throat and cool her from the inside out.

“ah- er. Thank you.” She took another small sip. Taking a moment to breathe, cooling down her heated skin.

“Zig, I am sorry.” She said just above a whisper.

“Thank you for this. It- helps.” A sigh.

“I-I didn’t mean to take you from your duties.” A small, genuine smile plastered on her face, before taking another sip. She really had missed her.

Furious giggles were buried in Socorra’s bossom and shoulder, and the telepathic tease returned, The discussion: ‘so what’s her number?’

<@189568236201705472>

That sassy mirth from her husband aside, Atyiru slowly moved one hand off of the Socorran in order to cover hers on her belly. A gentle brush, warm and confirming, as she pressed Sock’s palm flatter, as if to feel a heartbeat.

“Beautiful,” Atyiru returned, murmuring back to her dear friend, briefly once-wife. To her, in her dress and plaits and entire person; to what they touched. Her next questions were between their minds only, and wordless, but a wave of curling emotion, asking silently: will you be able to…?

Be okay? Endure? Survive it, living with them and seeing Atyiru like this, by herself this time? Want more? Have more, on your own?

Any of them, none of them.

<@141239709291511808>

And if meanwhile her elfen ears flicked in Zig’s direction at mention of her name to Esen, well.

🩺 : Hey, I finished my work at the community center early, so I’ll be there soon. 🩺 : Enjoying yourself so far?

Tagrei tried not to look at his datapad again, reminding himself that if she’d replied, he would have heard the little notification chime. It was odd, though. She usually replied quickly so long as she wasn’t busy with research, and it’d been nearly an hour. What if something was wrong?

No. She was probably fine. And he shouldn’t be overthinking little details like that, anyway. With a sigh, he leaned his head back against the metal paneling of the public shuttle he’d taken. Although he knew that being back on the dating scene would take some adjusting, he had expected him to feel all the nervous infatuation of his younger years. But here he was.

Keep it cool, Sula.

<@267489687902486530>

–

Tagrei thanked the shuttle pilot again before turning to the looming edifice.

“Alright, here we go,” he said to himself before stepping through The Flitz’s automatic doors. As he entered, he ran his hands down his form-fitting black shirt to ensure it was properly tucked into his subtly striped, pearl white pants. A pair of hard-soled black shoes clicked against the floor as he approached the concierge desk, whose attendant he greeted with a smile and a nod. “How’s it going? Tagrei Sula checking in, please.”

<@189568236201705472>

A Human sauntered down from the landing ramp, his eyes flitting here or there with hesitant glances. He tugged at the dark scarf draping around his shoulders, bringing the lip of it higher over the bottom edge of his sharp jaw. It was almost like a shield. Folding his arms across his chest and rubbing at his elbows, Liran Vellis entered the lobby proper. The lights seemed to reflect in his rich, emerald eyes even as he shied away from the open spaces.

He managed to skirt the edges of the groups that had formed, a nervous energy exuding from him. The fact he managed to slip around as quietly as he did was probably a minor miracle, considering the life support systems and straps that still clung to him. His clothing was a mishmash of pilot’s gear and a practical (pockets!) jacket with pants. His helmet hung from a clip at his side and bounced with each step. Eventually, he found his way to the side of the room and leaned against a pillar. Liran continued to look around before bringing a hand up to his chin and seeming to zone out, slowly staring intently at a spot somewhere in front of him.

He probably needed to check in or something before seeing about getting some food, but that was a matter for later Liran to handle. Current Liran was building up the mental fortitude to “people” for a bit.

The hybrid’s dancing wasn’t quite a waltz or anything so particular to the ballroom, but it did seem more fit at least to a slower partnered pair than what he’d been doing fit for a crowd. He moved them in circles still, but with their joined hands and arms at length. Even as his breathing slowed, it was still quick in excitement, his lilac skin flush rose and goldenrod everywhere it was visible, hair shining, gaze bright. He smiled at Reiden sweetly, while also noticing Savi and her partner depart. Was the man her friend? A boy of the friend? Family? The Shani went and deposited something to the bard playing before turning away, and Rue waved at her with his tail, beckoning.

<@1056685516441006091>

[Meanwhile]

As his person stopped stomping, Alk eventually slowed too, catching on to the change of pace. His little ears flicked rapidly, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed, squinting to observe Rue and Reiden and Savi. Then he turned and trotty trotted back towards the entrance between the hall and the lobby, making a beeline for Kerboros and stepping over the women on the floor. As in stepping on them.

Snout to horn with the charhound, Alk lifted up on his hindquarters and then fell back down, a sort of half-hop, begging. He snorted and stomped, tossed his head at Kerboros, then looked back to the hall. This toss and look was repeated twice before he turned and lifted a foot, as if he was waiting for the hound to come with him.

Come play.

A dance partner was needed now, after all, and the gentlemott recognized as much as he asked the charhound along.

<@189568236201705472>

Having stuffed the janitor’s uniform into his Envoy messenger bag and changed into his usual attire. Korvyn washed his hands and fixed his hair in the mirror of the larger refresher room. Of course, he didn’t actually need to sneak into The Flitz, but he spent so much time behind a desk; this was a good opportunity to get a bit of practice in. Few people paid attention to the Janitor unless they needed something cleaned. It was one of the first lessons he learned all those years ago on Coruscant when he was a thief. It still rang true today.

Leaving the refresher, he found himself in the dining hall. He immediately spotted Reiden dancing with someone he didn’t know. That was definitely something to file away in his memory banks for later. He would have to keep an eye on this to see if it was just a polite dance or perhaps something more. He gave a cursory nod in the Palpatine’s direction, though he wasn’t sure if Reiden saw him.

Korvyn wanted to head to the bar area, but there were already several people standing up there. So instead, he opted for a table in the corner. It gave him a clear view of the entrance and most of the dining hall. After pulling out his data pad, he sent his contact the simple message alerting them to his location. The table had a new feature, a viewscreen for ordering food and drinks. A Rodian Splice would do nicely as he waited.

Nicfer would have questioned her dress attire compared to Xee, but then again it was Xee and they were going to be eccentric in dress and attitude.

“You sent me the text begging me to come out. That does make you desperate. And this is where you invited me, which makes you an extrovert.”

Nicfer could only keep her expression neutral for so long. A small crack of a smile formed.

“Always have to keep a diverse wardrobe if you are going to sneak into places in plain sight. Come to a nice place dress nice, but not too nice. Then no one looks twice.”

Nicfer looks Xee’s outfit up and down.

“It doesn’t look like you ‘borrowed’ a suit. It looks like you borrowed ten. Each owner unwilling to part with it before you took it them and combined it to make that. Certainly a statement piece.”

She looked around the lobby she had just entered as Xee whispered. She hadn’t be here before, and it was being to dawn on her that maybe she needed to explore more and not be the pouting and moody recruit that she had become.

“Yeah well,” She whispered, “beats busy work and being invited always feels better than just showing up alone. Soo… thanks.”

Not wanting to dwell on what she had just said, she cleared her throat.

“So, this just a nice meeting place, or is the actaully something to do around here?”

Snapping back into the here and now, Liran’s face lit up momentarily. He didn’t need to check in if he just acted like he belonged! That was the ticket. No awkward interactions involved and a hundred percent less anxiety.

Computers were so much easier to talk to. They made sense. Pure data in and data out. Unless, of course, too many processor cores got involved and then it was like arguing with a hydra, complete with multiple personalities.

Digressing complete, Liran kicked off the wall and just strode ahead. Eyes forward, but not too forward. Glance around a little. Friendly nod here and there. Don’t look like you’re avoiding it. You know…fly casual.

Aaaaaand touchdown! Liran made it to the bar. At least, he hoped it was the bar. He had followed his nose after all.

This time Dolot found himself laughing loudly. “I’ll try a bit harder then.” Pausing for a moment. Dang he wished he was better at conversation. “Ok. I’ll ask this instead. What was the stupid… est thing you ever saw on assignment?” “ I once saw a Mandalorian misjudge a distance. So when he jumped with his jetpack over a gap, he overshot and slamed his head in to the railing above. We agreed to never speak of it, but we did.” <@189568236201705472>

“Here for the event, sir,” Tagrei replied, his voice thick with an accent that, if Charon were familiar with such things, sounded very similar to typical accents of native Devaronese speakers; however, there were subtle differences. A dialect, maybe?

“Say …,” he squinted a bit to ensure he was reading his name tag right, “Mister Charon. You have any experience with dating? Meeting a lady here and quite frankly, I’m a bit out of practice. I just want to make a good impression, you know?”

“Thank you, I just might,” She took another sip.

“I’m so close to a breakthrough I can feel it, I’m just… not quite there yet.”

Esen gaze glanced over her shoulder to the scene unfolding, that Zig had pointed out. She giggled, ah Zig always up to shenanigans.

She spotted Tagrei at the entrance, her blush blooming all over again as she downed the rest of her water.

“Would you like to meet my… uh- …. Tagrei?”

She fixed her jacket, slicked back her hair, did a once over with her tongue raking it across her teeth.

She grabbed Zig’s wrist with her free hand, she wasn’t quite ready to let Zig go just yet.

“He’s nice. I-if you have other business to attend to that’s okay too.” Her face displayed a look of anxious anticipation.

<@1056685516441006091>

Esen peaked up, trying to contain her enthusiasm as she led them to the Concierge desk where Tagrei stood talking to Charron. She waited her turn, patiently, as she fiddled with the cufflinks on her blazer.

When they turned to look at her she gave a slight nod of respect to Charron, and a sincere close-lipped smile to Tagrei. She pulled him aside, just out of the way incase other patrons entered.

“Tagrei this is Zig. Zig is an old friend of mine. She’s great. Zig this is Tagrei. Uh- er, he’s a medic and researcher too,” She looked to the ground, with a small grin, the room lighting reflected off the apples of her cheeks, illuminating the red blush that remained there.

She started to slowly herd the group to the bar. He had mentioned at one point he enjoys a drink or two. It was probably about time to go apologize to Savi too, as Esen felt much better thanks to Zig’s quick thinking and reaction.

<@1056685516441006091>

“A Rodian Splice, with a double shot of espresso, please.” Korvyn figured the extra caf boost might be needed later in the day. At the very least it was something different and not as obvious as his usual whisky neat.

“The event mainly,” Korvyn wasn’t going to give up too much information. But there was no use in lying either. “Thought I might be able to develop a contact or two as well.”

“Always good to miss the boss,” Korvyn thought to himself as he too a sip of the Rodian Splice. It was very good obviously made with a very high quality caf mix. He laid some credits out on the bar that should have more than covered the drink.

These pay hat you want places always had him trying to figure out the best way to handle it. In the end he would just expense it anyway and it would be on the Clan’s credits. Might as well pay a little extra. He turned and went and found his table again.

Socorra didn’t move. She let her hand remain where Atyiru pressed it, the weight of that warmth burning straight through her skin and into perfect memory, sharp and unrelenting. Under her palm was life, not just the heartbeat, but the echo of her own, once. Her body remembered what it had carried. Her mind carried it still.

Timelines shimmered at the edges of her vision, futures branching and folding in silent, dizzying succession. Her head tilted slightly, tracking a thread only she could see. Her dark, angled brows drew together. Laughter lived in some paths. Screams in others. Some pulsed with a heartbeat that wasn’t there yet. She blinked and turned away. She didn’t follow the futures, not yet. She would cross that threshold when she was ready.

The woman’s fingers curled just slightly, enough to squeeze once. A nod followed, so small it was almost imperceptible.

I will do what I always do: find a way or make one.

She finally pulled her hand away and rose from the ground, dusting off her dress, then the Miraluka’s. The lobby floor was clean, but glitter was eternal.

Before leaving, Socorra leaned over to Atty, stared directly at Marick, and whispered just loud enough to be heard by the couple: “The sass is endearing.”

She spun on her heel, dress flaring as black and white tresses snapped behind her, and sashayed her own sass into the dining room.

Tagrei felthis breath catch in the back of his throat when he saw Esen approaching. A warm smile formed on his face to reflect her own, and as she guided him away from the concierge desk, he gave her arm an affectionate squeeze. His eyes never left her.

“So good to see you again,” he said, only to shift his attention to the zygerrian woman who accompanied her. He held out that same hand toward her for a handshake. “Nice to meet you, Zig. You’re a droid mechanic, then? Sounds like complicated work.”

<@267489687902486530> <@189568236201705472>

After finishing another round of dancing with their colorful companion, Savi plopped down on the nearest chair so she could take a breather. They smiled at Rue and Reiden, gesturing for them to join them.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” they asked with a smile, “Sometimes, you just have to let the music take you.”

<@232396983854301187> <@244244163002892288>

When another guest entered the room, Savi’s slitted amber eyes flicked up to the entrance and settled on them, watching and appraising intently. Although they’d let themselves relax far more than they typically did in public, their guard remained up. One could never be too careful, after all.

<@141239709291511808>

As Reiden danced with Rue a bit more, he caught sight of Korvyn entering and gave the man a nod of greeting. He noticed Savi’s invitation and went over to join them. He sat down, smiling.

“Yeah, that was good,” he agreed. “I haven’t done any dancing for a while now. Well, it wasn’t something I did often, but I learned a bit over the years, had some occasions where I wanted to, needed to, or where it would be expected of me. It was always more fun when it was my choice and for fun, rather than necessity or circumstance. Now, music on the other hand? I love that, whether listening on my own or going out to see it in person. I didn’t expect a performance here, though, let alone an impromptu one. That’s quite the voice you have.” <@244244163002892288>

The Miraluka didn’t smile and didn’t scoff; not even a sigh for the drama. She merely regarded him, or presumably did, as her face still aimed at the room in a facsimile of watching to those who looked and easily saw a visual cue.

“Recruitment is not my duty. If you pass entry, then training you and indeed breaking you may be,” replied the Guardswoman, finally giving any indication of her identity. If Forty-One had any information about the Guard, he might have then been able to put a visage to the name, Trill Treemo, one of the head trainers. “I have no interest in being right, only in results. Selectivity is only affordable in our duties when one has been assigned a specialty. Perhaps if you show a modicum of competence across all areas, we shall speak again.”

Rue lingered a moment longer on the “dance floor” as Reiden went to sit. He searched out Alk, seeing the Mott’s head droop and his footsteps trudge as he turned away from Kerboros in the lobby and plodded back to Rue’s side. The hybrid gave him a careful scratch to not disturb his top hat and then went and gathered his basket and padded over to the violist, shyly curtseying to her.

“Thank you very kindly for gifting this one with the music,” he mummured, still flushed, and selected a flower from his basket. He offered it to her. “It was the most beautiful sound this one has heard in its lifetime. You were amazing. Thank you.”

<@189568236201705472>

“I wasn’t gonna go if you weren’t. Or I’d just… y’know, invis the whole time. But I’m trying to make a,” she drew quotation marks in the air, “‘conscious effort’ or some kark at socializing. But you’re welcome, any time!”

“Come to a nice place dress nice, but not too nice. Then no one looks twice.”

She giggled at the rhyme and shimmied as if her suit were a dress. “I like it! Sounds spy.“

She leaned closer, almost conspiratorial. “As for things to do? That depends. You want danger, drama, or drinks? Umm I don’t know where I was going with that. I know kark all about this place. But it’s a hotel, I’m sure there’s something.”

Xee looked over at the concierge desk, recognizing the occupants. "Have you met Marick and Atyiru? They’re nice, I haven’t met them. The one walking away is Socorra. She’s nice-ish? All three are mega-old members with a million titles. Scary sounding ones too, like Emeritus-something. No one uses them. Let’s go social!”

She looped her arm around Nicfer’s and skipped both neon-red and blue-haired Zeltrons over to the desk.

<@163419371568365568> <@189568236201705472> <@244244163002892288>

Forty One gave a sharp nod, not as a salute, but as acknowledgment.

“Understood, ma'am. I’m not here to impress you with speeches or play at rank. Just here to get the job done.”

His stance didn’t shift, boots planted, arms loose but ready - like a man always a second from action.

“You’ll get your results. Break me if you need to. Just be ready to see what’s left standing.”

Rue blushed all the deeper and gave an abashed, flattered mrrPp before he bowed one more time in retreat and then spun to scurry back to Savi and Reiden. If Savi was about to reply to Reiden’s compliments, they didn’t have all the time in the world to do so freely before Rue was on them, all but throwing himself at the Shani as he wrapped arm and half arm around her where they reclined in their seat.

“Savi!”

<@1056685516441006091> <@232396983854301187>

As time and conversation flowed, it felt as if he hadn’t even had the time to blink. Yet the volume of conversation, and the newer guest filling the room… “Time is relative.” He thought to himself.

He would likely find himself thinking about the simplest moments, days or even weeks later.

The way his drink burned in the way he liked. Six’ laugh, a pleasant contralto, when she would relax slightly. The way she kept tucking that one hair behind her ear…

Pausing mid thought. He realized he was thinking outside the confines of this conversation. Too many people here. Too small a room…

“Perhaps it is a bit selfish to keep this real estate at the bar to ourselves. Frankly I need to stretch my legs, and I hear great things about the gallery.” Dolot stood as he spoke. Feigning a stretch, as if this short a time sitting could affect him. Extending his hand for her to take.

“Care for a walk?”

Tagrei nodded farewell to Zig, then shifted his attention back to Esen. “Well, where to first?” he asked with a smile, holding his hand out in the hopes of Esen offering her own. “We could have a drink or two,” he said, “Or maybe order something to eat. Your preference, though. I’m fine with whatever.”

<@267489687902486530>

“I couldn’t tell. You danced well for being so out of practice.

"And thank you. Typically I never sing in public, but with the excellent performance put on by the two violinists, I quickly found myself swept up in the energy of the moment.”

Before they could say anything else, Savran found themselves on the receiving end of a hug from their colorful friend. “Hello, Rue,” they said while returning the hug, giving him a quick pat on the back, “I liked your dancing, too.”

<@244244163002892288>

“Savi!” Rue purred again, hard and loud. He rubbed his cheek on theirs and then pulled back just enough to place a kiss between their eyes, on their forehead. It seemed he wasn’t letting go just yet, lingering. “Thank you! Your singing is most beautiful. I am blessed to hear it so. Also, I missed you and I love you.”

“Oh, well, thank you,” Reiden replied, laughing. “I know what you mean. Sometimes the music just takes you, and often least when you expect it, I’ve noticed. Those musicians were amazing,they played beautifully. I was surprised when the second one came in, but it made for a good accompaniment.”

Treemo didn’t reach for the obvious joke that could have been made about her blindness and seeing. She barely smiled politely as she inclined her head to him in acknowledgement of his statements.

“Take your drive to the application process with recruiting. We will see what comes.”

Nicfer relaxed a bit hearing about how someone else was told to ‘play nice’. As much as she glares and mocks people, she found it comforting that she wasn’t the only odd one.

“Conscious effort sounds like what I’ve been told to do as well. So, glad to be here in similar company.”

Nucfer was getting ready to say that some social lubricant sounded good, but she found herself cut off by Xee and being dragged towards people that were described as old, important, and scary. People Nicfer would prefer NOT know she existed. She had already been assigned terrible posts cause of her attitude, she didn’t want a repeat. As she was dragged by the arm, she looked for a distraction.

Oh there was Zig! Wait why didn’t she look… oh right. Maintenance detail. Crap…. um. Think… Think… THINK!

Ash Zig stopped them, Nicfer switched her expression from mild amusement to feigned annoyance.

“Hi, Zig. Maintenance duty? I mean I was, but Steve Jerryson was nice enough to cover my shift. He was thrilled to take me shift. I’m sure Xee found someone to cover their shift.”

<@189568236201705472> <@141239709291511808>

“How about some food first?” She flushed, she definitely didn’t need a drink so soon.

She nodded her farewells to Zig. A small wave at her side, before steering the two of them to a seat.

Eyes the color of liquid gold widened just a hair when Rue planted a kiss between them in the midst of their embrace. Though not entirely unwelcome, it was a gesture that left the shani at a momentary loss for words. Letting their eyes drift to the floor, they shook their head while one corner of their mouth pulled into a grin; then, they lifted a hand between them to gently press against the hybrid’s shoulder, as if to politely signal that the time for physical touch had come to a close. Another curiosity was the ease with which he’d mentioned his love for them. Had he said it before? They couldn’t recall.

Part of Savi felt joy from hearing it uttered freely and in unconditional earnest, not like the countless sycophants and utterly forgettable paramours who’d stated those three words in the hopes of currying more of their favor; however, hearing it also made the tiny, nigh imperceptible feathers on the back of their arms stand. They’d come a long way in the last two years, letting more people into their lives than they had in the previous two decades at least, yet this genuine expression of admiration – the degree of trust that, while unspoken was no less palpable – had Savi subtly checking the room’s exits. They didn’t acknowledge it directly nor did they dare say it back. How could they, when their last memory of them and the power they held died when Nurysa Jal drew her last breath nearly three centuries prior?

“You certainly are affectionate today,” said Savi coolly, “Your presence was also missed, Rue.”

Shifting their attention to the other man sitting across from them, Savi rested their chin on a pair of tattooed knuckles while watching him closely, their gaze deathly still like a serpent stalking prey through the brush. “I’ve seen you somewhere before … refresh my memory.”

<@232396983854301187>

“That works for me,” Tagrei said with a nod, trying not to sound too excited. He took a moment to scan the room for an empty table and, after spotting a two-person table to their right, he gestured toward it. “How about that?” he asked her, waiting for a visual or verbal confirmation before he started walking over.

When they made it to the table, he pulled her seat out for her and waited for her to sit, then took his seat across from her. “This is fancy. Beats the mess halls back at Fort Blindshot, that’s for sure.”

The small push-pat and Savran’s cool tone had the hybrid retreating abruptly, folding his arm behind his back and dropping immediately into a bow. His braids flopped over his shoulders, the ends dragging across the impeccable marbled tile.

“Apologies, Miss, this one grew overly excited,” he supplicated to their feet. “It is sorry for being too affectionate, but glad to be missed.” His eyes peeked up a few long seconds later, gauging forgiveness, and seeing the Shani looking at Reiden. He offered, in a clumsy attempt at helpfulness to redeem himself, “That is Reiden. He was at one of the festivals of the Arx. I had Lektra with me, so Miss could not take me to the drinking, and instead we learned of card games.”

<@232396983854301187>

Alk, meanwhile, was back at it, snuffling around any available hands Reiden or Savi would offer him for more pets or compliments to his headwear.

Nicfer had just grabbed a name and forgot that people actually knew that hack of a pilot. Nicfer forced herself to smile.

“Yeeess… He owed me for… Flying lessons. So he showed up to cover for me when I asked.”

It was weak, but Zig seemed satisfied and was moving on to Xee. Nicfer found herself looking to Xee as well to see how she was going to cover.

Cole was on to keep an eye on the room. The exits, possible weak points, good defensive positions. It was a habit built in that he struggled to resist.

Another entered the room, nodding to people who barely glanced at him. Something was off, but nothing much.

Cole realised he was bored.

Where was Evelyn?

Glass empty, Cole opted to get up for a third drink. The stranger had made it to the bar as well, and he ended up beside the white haired man who was properly present and yet not.

He nodded, when their eyes met for a brief glance, and then waited for the droid-bartender to make its way over.

Liran was looking over the menu when he caught the motion near him. Raising an eyebrow, he cast the other man a quick glance then looked back to the menu. A glance. Back. Finally, their eye’s met and the man nodded.

Shit.

The pilot offered a nod back, his shifting emerald eyes catching the empty glass. A few silent, exceedingly awkward moments passed before Liran finally ran his fingers through his messy, white-red hair. Might as well try talking. That was a good trick.

“Know what’s good?” Liran asked the other man, gesturing towards the glass and menu.

Cole had switched to observing the vast collection of bottled displayed on the counter behind the bar. He glanced down at the menu, catching the gesture towards it in the side of his vision. Well. This was awkward and weird.

“I typically get the Whyren’s reserve.” Cole started, looking at the man again before down at the menu. Thanks to Sofila, hed tried most of them at this point. “Depends what you like.”

-# how the kark did Zuza do this all the time

Reiden had noticed the Shani’s watchful gaze. It wasn’t necessarily unsettling, but something struck him as different about it. Something almost predatory, perhaps? That didn’t seem too unusual for such a species. Still, his eyebrows rose ever so slightly in curiosity. Then a smile at Rue’s explanation.

“That’s right, it was a festival last year. I had business nearby and decided to check things out. That was a fun day.” He spotted Alk trot over and reached down to pat his back. <@1056685516441006091>

“No need to apologize, Rue,” she replied, offering a reassuring smile; the hybrid had a tendency to second guess himself. Upon hearing his explanation, though, Savi snapped her fingers in realization. “That’s right. Good to see you again, Reiden. I didn’t realize you had business with the Envoy Corps.”

<@232396983854301187>

So forgiven, Rue scrambled, somehow both daintily and oddly, up onto the seat next to Savi. He perched there as best his long skirt allowed, the fabric riding up to show thin, willowy legs and the larger florets of saffron scales on his thighs. He peered all up and down the bar, curious, and then around the room, spying Esen and some others, before refocusing on Reiden and Savran’s chatter.

“ZIGGY!” Xee shrieked mid-skip, twisting to launch herself at the woman with arms outstretched like claws.

Then suddenly froze mid-air, balanced only by the very tip-toe of one foot, the other leg cocked back.

“…Maintenance?” She paused, thinking. “Ummm.. Oh! I swapped shifts. Mine had the coolant leak that smelled like hot bantha socks and the other involved open flame protocols, so… obviously a better fit!”

She tilted her head, thoughtful, still hovering in the air.

“I think it was Vell I traded with. Or maybe he just nodded. It was loud. But I’m sure that counts.”

She smiled like she’d just recited actual policy, remaining poised for pounce until the maintenance-all-clear.

<@189568236201705472> <@163419371568365568>

“It’s good to see you again, as well, Savi,” he replied, smiling. He thought for a moment before continuing. “I try to keep up on different things. You never know when the right information might come in handy. I’ve mainly been involved with the Inquisitorius and Scholae Palatinae’s intelligence service - although primarily field work for them. And, well, given my past, the Shroud Syndicate has come into play a few times. The Envoy Corps is somewhat new, but it’s a worthy cause and allows me to continue to put my skills to use.”

Socorra continued through the lobby into the dining room, her stilettos clicking in a slow, steady cadence. Though well-practiced in stealth, she was making far more noise than usual, but this was a different kind of mission. Besides, she had just been lovingly pounced on and tossed to the floor, so it was a little late for a quiet elegant entrance. Marick had kept a straight face, and being married to chaos incarnate, he was used to his wife’s antics, but she would have enjoyed seeing Charron’s polished poise shift. Or at least, seeing what was under it in that moment.

She glanced around the room without needing to, as her senses reached outward and catalogued: who looked up, who turned away, every twitch of body language, every half-hidden gesture. Weapons, tells, emotions hidden under etiquette. The Socorran woman marked everything in a single take.

The Arconan Savran looked her way, all smiles for their companions. The look they gave her, however, was less smile, more fang- part assessment, part curiosity, and just enough threat to be interesting. Savran’s dossier read predator. Shani were reptilian, after all.

Socorra met them with her one pale arctic eye, matching the intensity exactly. I see you.

When she reached the bar, she placed one burn-scarred hand lightly on the counter and waited for the bartender. She turned to the other patrons, giving them a longer glance than the first.

<@189568236201705472> <@1056685516441006091>

Spying Socorra, Rue waved brightly, though he stayed in his seat. Alk was already making rounds down the bar for other people to pet him be greeted diplomottically.

Savran’s eyes lingered on the woman seated some ways away at the bar. A quick perusal of their memory’s extensive cache of faces they’d seen yielded no results; her Force signature, which left the taste of soot and iron flakes on the shani’s split tongue – the taste of the Dark Side. Its presence was so ubiquitous amongst the Brotherhood’s members and affiliates that it rarely captured her interest, these days. Yet, the way this woman’s aura swelled as they made eye contact did catch Savi’s attention. Was she challenging her? Or perhaps a proposition?

Reiden’s mention of his past and his connection to the Shroud Syndicate pulled them back to the present conversation, “Oh? Rubbing elbows with the criminals, are you?” they said with a playful, yet curious tone in their voice.

“I’ve heard Rue here has been busy with his own missions as well,” they said, giving the hybrid a look, “Envoy Corps, huh? It suits you. Helping people.”

<@141239709291511808> <@244244163002892288> <@232396983854301187>

Reiden followed Savi’s gaze to the bar for a moment, seeing that Socorra had made it in. He idly wondered if they’d ever formally meet or just keep showing up to the same events. Then Savi’s voice drew him back and he was unable to suppress a grin. His past and connections weren’t things he tried to hide, nor were they often openly broadcast. He did notice, however, that it sometimes came as a surprise to people.

“Not as often now, but yes. I spent some time on Nar Shaddaa when I was younger, worked for and with some people there. And I maintain those connections now, work the odd job every now and then, especially when a favor is called in.” He paused for a moment before musing aloud, “I’ve met a wide range of people in my life.”

He turned to Rue and smiled. “That seems like the perfect job for you, Rue. And I’m sure Alk is a good help with that as well.” <@244244163002892288>

Between, “have any experience with dating… meeting a lady here…” and the abruptly cut off, “meet my– Tagrei,” Atyiru was more than locked on target. Especially when she’d already been told to wait patiently on Lulaire and Thane today. Ziggy’s excellent plan was in motion, yes, but that didn’t mean another couple wouldn’t make a fine pair!

The Miraluka giggled to herself as she was returned to her feet and Socorra swept away. While her husband greeted and chatted with Korvy and a few more guests like Niccy and Xee-Xee arrived, Atty was Plotting™. She even eyed – metaphorically – the way Kerberos turned down a slow dance with the Mott fellow. Hum.

“Charrie-berrie, dear heart, I’ll be just back,” she informed the man, and teleported off.

Glitter fell in her wake.

-

Over at the bar, Rue blushed deeply and radiantly once more, so much so that his lavender skin seemed closer to solid, glimmering gold in patches around his cheeks, throat, and ears. He gnawed on one knuckle, ducking his head and lowering lashes at the praises from his friends.

“This one has been trying to help, yes, and made some lovely new friends while doing so. And yes! Alk is truly the amazing one. He is a diplomat and ambassadors now,” the hybrid enthused, redirecting. “He– oh!”

A sudden sepia hand reached out over the bar top, not the droid tender, but a Miraluka woman in a kaleidoscopic gown. She plucked some flowers out of Rue’s basket with a brilliant smile.

“Pardon me, sweet graviolens, I just need to borrow these! Or steal them. I don’t know if the bride and groom are going to want to give them back. We’ll see! Okay, bye!”

Then she flounced off down the bar, snatching a bottle of champagne and disappearing around the turn of the corner.

Rue blinked twice, and then pointed after her in realization.

“Oh! That is the person! Who married this one and Gand!” He turned back to Savi and Reiden, saying, “One of the friends I met on an Envoy mission is called Gand. He is also now this one’s husband. It happened quite quickly. Oh! And! Sulla has now graduated the Third Of Grades. I have holos from the ceremony…did you see them when I sent them to you?” This was directed to the Shani before a more general, “How have Savi and Reiden been?”

<@232396983854301187>

She scanned the room as she entered looking for Dolot to see if he was alright in her slight absence.

“That works. Hope your travel was good?” She scurried into the booth, and looked at the menu like she hadn’t already known what she wanted. She rubbed her arm, which rested in her lap.

She turned her attention to the server droid,

“Roasted Endorian Chicken Salad and a water. Please and thank you.” She went silent for a moment as the droid left before piping up.

“Oh I forgot to respond to you! I am so sorry, I’ve been so hectic getting ready, and chatting with lovely folks here.” Her cheeks flushed as the thoughts of the embarrassment moments before arose. She shook her head clearing them away, grateful that he wasn’t here during that.

Savi produced her handheld datapad and slid it across the table to Reiden. “Put your info in my datapad. Maybe I’ll reach out to you should I have need of your skills.”

Turning to Rue, now, Savi nodded. Although she didn’t particularly care for children, she was more than happy to indulge her friend in his love for them. How could she not, when she saw how much joy it brought him? “Yes, I saw the holos,” she said warmly, “It was a beautiful ceremony, and I’m sure Sulla made you and everyone else proud.

"I’ve been good, lately. A bit busy as I explore new business ventures, but that’s to be expected.”

Her eyes drifted back to Reiden, waiting for his reply to herself and Rue.

<@244244163002892288>

“Public transports have their … challenges, but it’s at least a smoother ride than a troop transport. Smells worse, though,” he laughed softly. When the server droid shifted its photoreceptors to him, Tagrei quickly looked over the menu. “Let’s see … I’ll have the orbak steak, rare. With a side of roasted potatoes and a water, please.”

After the droid departed, he placed the menu to the side. “No worries. There’s a lot going on here, it seems.

"Hey, I started that holo-show you recommended. The one with the two brothers who learn they’ve been dating the same clawdite? It’s … messy. But I love it.”

Once more, Reiden’s eyebrows rose a touch. But he entered his information into the datapad and slid it back with a smile. He liked being able to help and keeping busy, and having another potential ally never hurt, either. “Always happy to help where I can whenever possible.”

He leaned back into his seat a bit and turned to Rue, then paused, quiet for a moment. The passing woman’s voice stuck in his mind. There was a nagging feeling like he had heard it before somewhere. The sound and cadence to her words was familiar. He glanced down in thought and his gaze landed on his wrist. He recalled a past trip to the Shame Corner and the wristbands that a young boy had been giving out. Then the glitter exploding everywhere, and the revelation that the wristbands were boobytrapped to go off with more glitter if forcefully removed. He had been able to get it off safely with some help after making it back home, but it felt like he was still finding glitter on his clothes now, despite multiple washes.

That trickster, he thought to himself. What could she be up to now?

Rue’s words brought him back to the moment. He turned his gaze up, surprised at the mention of marriage. His first reaction was worry that the hybrid had been taken advantage of or tricked. But he seemed in genuine good spirits. So instead he was glad to hear that his friend was doing well. “Oh, I didn’t know you had been seeing anyone. Congratulations, Rue.”

He took a breath, smiling again. “Things have been good on my end. Like Savi, I’ve been keeping busy. But I’ve also been making some time for my nephews when I can. I recently spent some time with the youngest while his father and brothers had a camping trip. I enjoy my time with them, but there’s something special about that one-on-one time, especially since I feel like I missed so much after he was born before they moved back to Seraph. I think he had a lot of fun.” <@244244163002892288>

Rue tilted his head with one of his questioning mrrws?

“This one sees many people. Its vision is acute.”

“He means romantically, Rue,” Savi explained, a kind of casual aloofness present in her voice that likely raised its own questions about why she didn’t seem surprised about the marriage news.

“Oh!” exclaimed Rue, who blushed slightly, but shook his head. “Of the dating. No, this one is not seeing anyone that way. Gand and I were simply married by that woman as she ran by at the spaceport. And thank you!” this was enthused to Reiden while the bartender droid left them some drinks.

The seeming lack of a prior relationship raised a red flag in his mind. Of course, such a thing wasn’t unheard of, but it usually involved very impulsive people, poor decision making, and intoxicants of various sorts. At least, most times. None of which he would think to attribute to Rue. But again, the hybrid seemed to be fine, so he decided not to question it, for now anyway.

He took a sip of the drink the droid had brought over, trying to let go of the feeling of unease. This was a networking event, meant to be a good time and for people to make connections. That’s where his focus should be. Anything else, well, he could look into that later, if need be.

“She just … marries people?” asked Savi with a quizzical expression, briefly glancing in the miralukan woman’s direction quick enough to catch a glimpse of her before she disappeared off into another room. Something about her was familiar but she couldn’t quite place it.

Her eyes flicked backed to Reiden as he took a sip of his drink. “What are you having?” she asked.

<@232396983854301187>

“This one supposed so,” Rue replied, shrugging. “She did to us, so she must certainly have the authority. Also, there are many possible resolutions: annulment, divorce…Gand and this one decided to simply maintain it for now. He is ‘thinking about it.’”

The hybrid similarly took a sip of his drink, mirroring the others. He gave a surprised sound, and smiled.

“It is like hot chocolate! Savi! But not hot. And also, with more pain in the esophagus. This one did not like the other alcohol it tried drinking, but I think this is not so bad.”

It seemed the staff had remembered his love of chocolate.

Reiden pondered a moment before addressing Rue, still trying to be understanding of it all despite any reservations he had. “It feels strange that someone could just go around and legally marry people without their consent. But as long as you’re okay with it and are aware of the options available to you, I guess that’s not as bad as it could have been.”

He turned to Savi next. “Some whiskey. Corellian, I believe,” he replied, a small smile forming. “I had considered asking for some mezcal if I were to order anything since I’ve been wanting to try more for a while now. But this has always been a good stand-by for me.” <@244244163002892288>

Savi smiled. “I’m glad you like it, Rue. But don’t drink too fast. Or do. You’re an adult. But you may not enjoy the sensation of being inebriated.”

“The Corellians do make good whiskey,” they said, “I knew a couple who owned the cutest little cantina on Corellia … oh, must have been nearly a century, now. Haven’t had a better whiskey since.”

<@232396983854301187>

“This one has a robust tolerance to toxins, including those of with hydroxyl functional groups.” He wiggled the glass a bit, peering into it and sniffing curiously, trying to divine its yummy contents. “I suspect it would take a large volume to achieve the inebriation. Hunyi said to only drink if I was safe. As I am with Savi, it is presently so.” A quick look of horror flashed across his face, and Rue immediately turned to the Shani and made a supplicating gesture. “Oh, but this is not an obligation! Please do not think so, Miss, this one would not burden you.”

Reiden was a bit stunned for a moment. He knew that Shani had long lifespans, but knowing it and experiencing it were two very different things. It was surprising to hear someone speak so easily of a century ago, as if it were just a week, or a month. He couldn’t help but imagine the things that Savi had seen during their time. Of course, there were both highs and lows in life, and each was multiplied when one lived for so long. A flash of sadness crossed his eyes, there and gone in a blink.

He smiled warmly. “That sounds like the perfect place to find a quality product. I love little spots like that. They always put their all into what they make, and it shows.” Turning to Rue, he laughed softly. “You’re always safe with friends.” <@244244163002892288>

She chuckled at his initial comment. She knew troop transport all too well and he hit the nail on the head with that one.

She rubbed her arm again, as she looked down at the table. She definitely needed to apologize to Savi before she left.

She perked up at the mention of The Force Trials. Her and her soaps.

“Oh just wait. It gets better.” An evil smirk lined her features, as she chuckled.

“Have you made any progress with your research?” She picked at the napkin in front of her. “I do hope it’s going well. I’ll have to send you my notes when I get back to the lab.” …. And compile them.

“Stop worrying so much,” replied Savi, waving their hand at him, as if she were waving away his concerns, “I don’t mind looking after you while you indulge a bit. Enjoy yourself. Besides, I’m curious how much you can drink before you start to feel it.” What was a bit of morbid curiosity between friends?

Looking back to Reiden, Savi decided to ask him more about himself. What better time to learn more about him than at a social, after all?

“So, are you an actual Brotherhood member, or merely one of the myriad, mostly unaffiliated people that contract with them?”

<@232396983854301187>

“Oh, it does? I can’t wait to watch the next episode, then,” he beamed, “Maybe after we visit your lab one day, you can come over and we can watch it. Order carryout, have some drinks. You know, make a date of it. If we can find the time …

"Research is research. Slow, meticulous work. Can’t always expect to have major breakthroughs, you know? It can be frustrating, but I’m learning to just trust the process and enjoy the journey.”

Between Reiden and Savi’s assurances, and moreover, Savi’s orderinstruction*curiosity* to perform an experiment, Rue bowed his head in acquiescence, then pondered the assignment at hand.

What were the parameters. What should the control be? Should he try multiple types of alcohols, or one at a time? Was consumption to be rapid or slow?

The amount of possibilities was dizzying and the hypothesis unclear. If this was the Masters, they would dictate the experiment. But now there was no one…though Savi had issued the test.

“…this one does not know how or where to start getting of the drunk. Can you two help?”

<@232396983854301187>

Rue’s smile was dangerous. Dangerous because it was contagious. Though gangly, he was grace. Pretty skirts, quiet, and beautiful. Fragile and innocent. They were opposites. Socorra wished he had more spine - not physically, he was already very bony - just more confidence in…everything. But it made him someone to protect, and she would. He received a small smile in return to his wave, and the hint of a return wave with her fingers. Not half-hearted gestures, just difficult ones.

She did not know Reiden well at all, yet he seemed to be everywhere she was for a long time, every time, as if he were an Imperial spy, currently fraternizing with Arconans. She would have to test this theory.

Miho sat alone at a table, but relaxed in ways Socorra envied. A soft presence, warm, inviting. She was clearly enjoying herself. She imagined the Keibatsu relished in the music that had been heard from the lobby.

Korvyn stood waiting at the bar like a proper, sophisticated gentleman with steel beneath the mask. He hadn’t fallen for any of her deceptive tricks last time, which was both frustrating and thrilling; it wasn’t often the woman found someone who could go toe to toe with her. But this was completely neutral territory.

Her pale eye remained on Savran and held the Shani’s stare as she slowly sashayed to stand at the bar next to Korvyn, her stilettos fiercely striking the floor with intent to be heard. Socorra raised her burn-scarred hand for the bartender, making her presence very known to the close patrons.

“Bottle of Raava, and one whatever he having.” Her desert planet accent was thick as her pointed finger encroached on the Proconsul’s space.

<@244244163002892288> <@1056685516441006091> <@232396983854301187> <@583854106599489557>

Reiden took another sip from his drink and set it down. In any other setting, he would have been unsure of what he should reveal, whether details in general or amount of information. But seeing as this was the Flitz, it seemed like a relatively safe space.

“I am,” he replied. “I’m with Scholae Palatinae. Although I still do outside contract work or help out when a friend or contact calls in a favor. And then there’s things like the Envoys that I’m also involved with from time to time. The Brotherhood gave me a home when I needed one, when I didn’t really have one. It allowed me to further my training and helped give me a sense of purpose, in a way.” He smiled, genuine and warm. “I’ve been lucky to make a few good friends and find some allies along the way. My nephews and I aren’t related by blood. Their mother, one of my close friends, wanted me to meet them before she brought them to a clan memorial. She and her husband, who had recently passed, had kept their existence secret. But that was just how she introduced me to them as babies, and it stuck. You meet so many people in life, but there’s no way if knowing how long they’ll be in it, so you have to treasure moments while you can.”

He laughed quietly at Rue’s question, pointing to the glass in front of the hybrid. “It all starts with one drink. If you like it, have it. If not, you can order something else. And when you finish, you can either have the same thing again or try something different. Repeat as needed.” <@244244163002892288>

Savran had seen that look before, that expression of clinical inquisitiveness that Rue made when he was thinking about something deeply. They didn’t even have to read his mind to know that he was about to approach this entirely the wrong way. “Let me stop you there, bud,” they said, raising a hand to emphasize her words, “This isn’t a science experiment. You just … take it easy, have a drink or twelve, and the alcohol will do the rest for you. We’re going to start you off slow, though. Wouldn’t want your first real drinking experience to be like mine was.” They shuddered.

Savi raised their glass to a passing server, and promptly ordered four more of the mezcal they’d ordered earlier. If Rue liked chocolate flavored drinks, then he’d get a kick out of this one. Hopefully, he’d handle it better than Esen had. Poor girl. They’d have to check on her later.

Upon catching the woman staring again, Savi decided to say something, though her lips didn’t move. The Force would deliver the message for them, projecting it directly into the woman’s mind, “Were you going to say something, or merely peacock for the rest of the evening?”

<@141239709291511808>

To Reiden, Savi nodded as they listened. So, the Brotherhood had served a similar role for him that the Jedi had for them when they were a child all those years ago. “It’s good that you were able to find a home and purpose. Many people go their entire lives without ever really experiencing that …,” their eyes trailed off as they felt something twist and knot deep within them, “and many more lose it.”

The shani’s lip twitched, their face briefly scrunching first in hurt, then in frustration. “Yeah. Right. The morrow is promised to no one, especially in this frakking galaxy. One minute, everything is fine, and in the next your whole world is turned upside down.”

It wasn’t until they caught both of their tablemates’ eyes drifting down did Savi notice they had started to dig their tapered nails into the table’s surface; it might as well have been made of styrofoam with how easily they’d dug into it – four fresh wounds to keep their lot company. Savi pretended not to notice the eyes on her, and mentally thanked the server when they brought the drinks over. The first of their two mezcals disappeared behind pursed lips apace.

<@232396983854301187>

Reiden watched Savi closely. They gave Rue sound advice, catching details that he hadn’t quite picked up on, likely from a lack of experience with such things, similar people.

Then with their next words, he felt the emotion from them without even trying. Not that he needed to, not really. It was etched on their features. Their words were drenched in it.

He offered the Shani a small, sad smile, nodding his head. He could have said something, explained that he, too, had experienced such moments as those. But instead he said nothing. Sometimes it simply wasn’t needed. Besides, they had almost certainly had much more and would be well aware. It was just a part of life, unfortunate as it was. On the other hand, it wasn’t necessarily the end. Sometimes the Force could grant a gift, allowing a visit from them, or perhaps a vision. Or was it a dream instead? And in the end, did the distinction even matter? Then there were always the memories.

“We carry them with us, always,” he said softly.

Rue, who had swiftly turned to gulping his drink before Savi slowed him down, licked chocolate and cream liquor off his lips before he spoke. He leaned over to look at both his friends, and his expression was soft and kind and old. Old like Savran, but not haunted, not digging holes into wounds.

Just peaceful. Adoring. Sad.

“Every one I have ever loved has died,” he murmured gently. “But I love them still. And their being, knowing them, is a greater joy than the pain of their loss. It is…worthwhile of it, this one believes, is the terminology?”

He reached over with his one hand and put it flat on the bar next to Savi’s own claw marks, not touching them, but offering to the Shani.

“This one is grateful, to be a part of Savi’s life, and would be a home with you, if you wished it.”

The clicking of stiletto’s on marble had been an announcement of her presence that Korvyn didn’t even need the force to decern. Socorra was a force to be reckoned with when she needed to be but hopefully it would just be drinking he had to match her on. “Another, Rodian Splice please, same as the last one.”

He was becoming fond of these. Just the right touch of alcohol balanced with the espresso and cream. Sweet on the tongue and bitter on the back end. If he thought he could hire this bartender away he just might do it.

“A pleasure to see you again Socorra.”

<@141239709291511808>

If she could’ve put that little effort into her excuse, Nicfer wouldn’t have pulled a name from the deep recess of her mind to have tried to lie. She would’ve given a vague description and let Zig fill it in. No matter, her lie would be found out when she got back, so might as well enjoy now. Otherwise what was the point.

“Gallery or VIP? I’m thinking VIP.” Nicfer was looking between Zig and Xee, but mostly looking to Xee reaction to her suggestion. “Gallery is only fun when you are there for work. But I have a feeling even a mock theft would be frowned upon.”

Savi placed one hand atop the other to knead her thumb into the skin.

“Yes … we do.”

That was the only comfort, really. The memories she had of her family, of her master and friends at the Jedi temple, would never leave her. She’d even stored them in a personal holocron to ensure those details didn’t change with the passage of time.

“You’re right, Rue. As painful as the experience of loss is, I’ve learned that, in our attempt to forget what hurts us, we run the risk of losing details worth remembering.”

Her eyes widened a bit when she heard his offer. “I …,” she paused, searching for the words, but none came. Part of her wanted that for herself, that it’d be good for her, but that was a lot to ask of her. A lot to ask of someone who’d was already. After what felt like ages, she finally forced herself to say something, “I’ll uh. I’ll think about it.”

Then, she knocked back her second drink.

<@244244163002892288>

Xee tapped her paint-chipped finger to her lips once. Twice. Her eyes narrowed dramatically, scanning the ceiling like it might help.

“Hmmm. Maybe, maybe it’s a shooting gallery? And art is the target??”

She snapped her fingers, spun on the ball of her foot and raised her arms, ready to cartwheel the whole way if she really wanted to (but didn’t…yet).

“VIP lounge! That’s the play. The nerds gonna class it up!”

<@163419371568365568>

Rue’s words made him smile. He knew the hybrid was right. Having connections, feeling all of the emotions that come with that, made life truly feel like it was being lived. He had enjoyed his time with the people he’d known and grown close to, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything. He’d take the good with the bad. He’d make that choice every time. He’d always have his memories and would even sometimes hear their words echoing in his mind from time to time.

He took hold of his glass and paused for a moment to mentally thank the ones he’d lost for their time and what he’d learned from them, the things that they’d shared. Then he lifted it and drained its contents.

“Okay,” Rue replied brightly, kindly, unbothered by the idea of thinking about it or Savi’s hesitation. After all, Gand was still thinking about their spontaneous legal spousehood. He followed suit with the others and gulped down the rest of his drink, then the second one, then looked about for another.

Waving to the droid, he smiled at it when it came over. He bowed in his seat and said, “Hello, thank you, may this one have all of the drinks, but one at a time? Perhaps we can start with, um. That.”

He pointed at Savi’s glass.

<@232396983854301187>

The voice in her mind came first - uninvited, confident, taunting. Hunting. She compartmentalized it.

Socorra glanced at her burn-scarred hands, a flicker of thought slithering through. The Slice would not be sufficient. She wanted fire first.

Her fingers drummed the bar with two knuckles. A single finger flicked toward the shelf for neat house whiskey. Nothing fancy, not shared, not sweet. Of course, the bartender was more than welcome to pour top shelf instead.

“Korvyn,” she replied. The R rolled like a trill, nearly intimate on her desert tongue. “Pleasure to see you as well.”

She watched the Slice being made, but the whiskey landed first as intended. Her fingertip traced the rim.

The Sith didn’t bother looking. Her mind answered Savi: Peacocking? No. Gauging if you bite harder t'an you stare.

She tipped the base of the whiskey glass once, sharp, against the bar. A nod to the fallen - a hope killed and burned in cleansing fire. This one was just for her.

“What is dead may never die,” Socorra murmured.

She knocked it back and set the glass down, final. Then the cocktail glass lifted, a toast with the Proconsul this time, not at the ghosts.

In Savi’s head, a telepathic dare: You want something? Come. Prove it.

<@1056685516441006091>

“I’ll try not to set everything on fire then. This is gonna be so fun. Race you there!”

Now the cartwheel. In a direction, a random direction, actually she had no idea where the VIP lounge was. But Xee was committed to the cart and wheel now and she was going places.

<@163419371568365568>

“I mean, you can race there but it will be a race of one. Im not in the shoes or outfit for racing.”

She actually was. Being quick on your feet and able to maneuver was key. So her shoes were sensible and she had extra bits of fabric sewn in with break away thread so she could quickly get full mobility. Switching off was just not an option for her yet. Too on edge still from the most recent transfer.

While she had said she wasn’t racing, she had picked up the pace from a walk to the most dignified hurried shuffle she could do.

“You going to take up the challenge Zig?”

Reiden idly touched his left shoulder, glad to have the reminder now of his friends and allies, all they had been through. Not that he needed it; those memories would always be with him. But he thought it was nice to commemorate it all.

He raised a hand to the droid. “I’d like to have one of those as well, please.”

“Careful, dear. These have a kick to them,” they said, though the aloofness of their tone suggested the warning perhaps wasn’t very serious. If Esen’s reaction had been any indicator, though, drinking the mezcal was no different than placing an entire lava pepper onto one’s tongue. The poor woman didn’t handle spice well, it seemed.

Since both Rue and Reiden were having another one of the mezcals, Savi ordered another one for themselves. It wasn’t long until the attendant droid brought their drinks over. “This is my favorite drinks,” they mused, “They just don’t make them like this anymore. Though, I suppose if anyone did, it would be Erinyes … perhaps I’ll ask her about that, later.”

<@232396983854301187>

Some time passed before Savi replied to the woman’s psionic message. They sat, running their finger along the brim of the glass resting in front of them. Elongated incisors, thin and curving like a serpent’s fangs, peeked out from her upper lip as the corners of her mouth pulled into a grin. They had convinced themselves to come to this little soirée in the hopes of expanding their business; while that was still technically on the table, the shani was perfectly fine with this being a night to indulge themselves, instead.

“Not now,” they replied coolly, “Enjoying my time with friends. But stick around after and I’ll give you a personal tour of my suite.”

Rue looked over the glass for feet or legs, but seeing none, assumed Savi meant the drink to have some quality. He sipped it before downing it too, and made a sort of crackling mrmtrtr while his eyes squinched and his tail went stiff.

“This one is glad to know more of Savi’s favorites,” he said once his lips unpuckered.

The band struck up a slower song as Socorra downed her first shot. Korvyn took a sip of his Slice as well and sat it back down on the bar. “Perhaps, a dance would allow us the freedom to talk about business without interference.”

The pair walked to the dance floor and struck into a classic waltz stance. Still at arms length from one another but close enough to converse. Korvyn hadn’t danced in quite some time but the moves came back to him as he led Socorra around the dance floor.

Socorra finished the Slice and let Korvyn lead; surprising, but earned.

Thank the Maker for those lessons in diplomacy and etiquette.

Her hand settled at his shoulder, the other warm in his, fingertips steady as the gemsilk of her dress brushed the floor around them. Savran stayed boxed up at the back of her mind for now. She was busy mixing business and pleasure.

Kind of.

A slow turn brought her close enough to catch his brown eyes. When Korvyn guided her through the tighter step, his hand shifted naturally at her side, finding the subtle hardness of the hidden blades along her ribs.

Surprise, her sudden smirk seemed to say. Socorra briefly withdrew her hand from his shoulder to brush a lock of fallen unnaturally silvery-white hair behind her ear, feigning innocence for all of two seconds.

“Shame Kamila spoiled yacht soirée. It was staged so perfect.”

A glint of mischief sparked in the woman’s pale eye. The smirk widened, upturning the corner of her ruby lips.

Diplomacy training screamed: don’t say it don’t say it don’t say-

“…You had even polished all the chains.”

She blushed like a fool and looked down at the table.

“That sounds real nice. We will have to find some time. You bring the snacks this time!”

She took a sip of her water, and picked at her food that the service droid graciously placed in front of them, as she listened to him tell her about his research.

The struggles and the slow work he was describing hit a little too close to home. She was so close on a breakthrough, yet not close enough.

“That’s always the worst part,” she said in between each bites of food.

“Hey if you ever need a fresh set of eyes, let me know. Always happy to help…. Which reminds me, you need to swing by my lab sometime to see the new and improved beta drug I told you about.”

She blinked, and with a slight sigh

“It’s…. Also in the frustrating stage.” She giggled.

CT-4147 stood with arms crossed near one of the side walls, his eyes sweeping the room beneath a furrowed brow. The lights played tricks on the polished floor, but his focus didn’t waver.

He clocked the Proconsul stepping onto the dance floor with an unfamiliar partner. Formal waltz. Controlled steps. Casual enough for diplomacy - close enough for subtext.

“Interesting choice,” Forty-One muttered under his breath, mostly to himself. “No intel on that one.”

He didn’t move, just adjusted his stance slightly, keeping both exits and the dancers in view.

“Most people make their own chains.” Korvyn replied as he spun the Arconan around causing her dress flare out just bit. Bringing her back to their normal stance. “I just make sure they don’t see them.”

It was true, in a way. Seraph had transformed itself from a brutal military dictatorship to a more capitalist society. The Emprie brought in wealth, power, and hope and that was it’s own chain. The fear of losing a persons money or power was the single most binding chain he knew. The poor hoping to achieve what the rich had held them in check. Korvyn just made sure people didn’t think of it as a chain, but as freedom.

She let the spin pull her out, slightly unsteady as the whiskey caught up.

The retired Herald’s distaste for Imperials was obvious in her quip. But that she said it directly to the Proconsul’s face was, in her odd way, a form of…something. And maybe the dance.

Maybe.

“Chains people forge themselves,” she echoed, soft but skeptical.

“To mafia, loan shark, maybe. Do slave put on t’eir own ball and chain for you? Entire species just subjugate t’emself?”

Her eye was fixed to Korvyn’s, reading and sensing as if testing him.

An old freighter landed into the docking bay of the upper-scale hotel. A female Zeltron with pale pink hair rested in the passenger seat, with a small bundle carried in her arms, and a lounging tusk-cat curled below her feet. Syrena reached down, giving the tusk-cat a few soft pets on the head to awaken her. Tala stood sleepily to her paws, extending them in a stretch with the lash of her tail, as she moved to follow Syrena.

The small bundle in Syrena’s arms began to stir in a series of high pitched chirps. Suddenly, in a flurry of squawks, a beady eyed porg leapt to his feet, in a clear show of dominance over the tusk cat.

“Baron Bibblewhisk, mind your manners! Tala has never done anything to you, and besides, she doesn’t even like eating porgs,” Syrena gently scolded. Having responded on her datapad to a show request for the hotel only days prior, that was the only information Syrena had been provided. But she figured the venue of a hotel would be as good as any to test out a few experimental techniques for performance improvements.

“Okay guys, we’re going to transform, just like we practiced,” She said as she took a deep breath. Syrena began to envision the graceful white feathered plyat birds with harmonious songs that were favored by high society, the premise of what they were to become, until a loud squawk shattered her focus. Syrena whirled around, only to see Baron Bibblewhisk furiously slapping Tala with his tiny wings.

Her concentration now suddenly placed elsewhere mid-transformation, with a pale glow of silvery energy, Syrena shifted into an avian form, alongside Tala. But instead of an elegant plyat bird… All she saw was another porg.

“Oh no…. No, no… This can’t be right,” Syrena began to mutter to herself, her words coming out as a series of frantic porg chirps. She waddled over to a mirror within the ship, inspecting her reflection, only to see a wide eyed pink porg starting back at her.

“Guess we’ll make the best of it, I suppose! Okay guys, let’s get going,” Syrena finally concluded with a look of sheer determination lighting in her wide porg eyes. The trio of porgs began to waddle into the hotel, keeping close to the sidelines as they made their way towards the dining room.

“Baron Bibblewhisk, I was told you are the third of your family line, and a highly intelligent porg at that,” She began to communicate in porg chirps, to the other fellow porg.

“Yes, I am smart porg. I do not like tusk cat. Tusk cat is now porg. Problem solved,” Baron Bibblewhisk began to squawk with the tiny flap of his wings and a pointed stare at Tala, who merely waddled forwards in response.

The three porgs emerged onto a small stage, the spotlight illuminating their feathers with shimmers of gold. Syrena fluttered her wings furiously, stumbling up to a small stool seated before the center mic, to perch herself there. She let out a soft chirp and lifted her wing in a friendly wave to the audience, along with the most elegant bow that she could manage. And with that, it was time for the performance to begin.

“Skreee– boo, bip bap… Skree, ba ba ba…”

Her voice fluttered in a series of melodic chips, as she tilted her tiny porg head towards the audience, projecting her voice as much as she could despite her small stature. The two porgs behind her followed along, providing soft background twittering, as they tapped their webbed feet to the rhythm and swayed.

“Doo–wop, wop, skree–bop, ba ba…!”

Syrena continued with a leap, fluttering her tiny pink feathered wings in a dramatic flourish as she sang, moving to the beat of the cantina blues style song. The two porgs behind her mirrored her movements in a choreographed dance, the three of them performing in unison.

Their webbed feet moved faster across the stage, as they extended their wings, spinning one another around in swift movements. The rounded heads of the porgs each bobbed to the beat, as they chirped melodically together to create a soulful melody. Finally, they formed a kick–line, throwing their stubby webbed feet high up into the air in unison before ending in one final twirl. The porgs stared at the audience through wide eyes, and linked wings, taking a bow together from where they perched on the stage.

Five drinks down and seemingly feeling almost nothing, Rue looked over at all the chirping and flapping in a lull of conversation with his friends. He gasped at the display, and a brilliant smile lit up his whole him again as he laughed and his only hand flapped at the air, half arm lifting in mimic motion, as if his body still remembered clapping in excitement even when he could no longer. He bounded off of his stool and scrambled over to the stage, braids whapping and skirts fluttering. Alk ran after him, catching on to the excitement.

“Oh! Oh this is wonderful!” he exclaimed in glee, cheering for the porg trio. He was bouncing on his toes, bowing back to their bowing, giddy. “Oh! Could this one– join you?”

Whether or not it was exactly permission when the pink one chirped harmoniously at him was anyone’s guess, but a moment later in a burst of misty light, where Rue once stood was a red, gold, and purple porg. The feathers were oddly long, making him look fluffy, if not fuzzy, and small horns jutted from its head. It chirped happily, flapping one tiny wing in a lopsided but joyful dance.

Alk, for his part, didn’t seem stunned. He just started bounding around, once more ready for a game of ✨ stompies.✨ The gentlemott joined in, his monocle and top hat nearly falling off.

A look of delight shimmered in Syrena’s eyes, still their usual icy silver color even in Porg form, as she watched Rue step forward and colorfully transform into one as well. Letting out a few happy chirps, she fluttered her pastel pink feathered wings gleefully.

Baron Bibblewhisk joyfully flapped his wings as well, his fat Porg self waddling on over to join in the greeting. Tala, though mildly confused most likely as to why she was still a Porg, chirped out a greeting nonetheless.

“Rue! I thought I spotted you somewhere. Haven’t seen you since the… Was it the Autumn festival? That feels like ages ago now,” She said, with the Porg equivalent of a smile lit across her rounded face.

“You know, for such small creatures, Porgs seem to have rather good vision… Quite a surprise, really! Not too good for flying though…” She began to remark in thought, rapidly fluttering her wings in a series of short gliding motions, the extent of what her small Porg form would allow for flight.

“But… We can do this!” She chirped happily, dancing alongside the other colorful Porg in a series of happy webbed feet taps.

“Mistress Syrena!” gasped porgRue in squawky surprise. “It is you! Hullo! Oh, hullo again!” He wobbled in place, never having been a porg before, and attempted to pirouette like she did. “It is actually quite common for avian species to have exceedingly sharp eyesight…they must find prey this way. Alk, though, for instance, has poorer vision but a magnificent sense of smell. If there is something he wants to eat within a half kilometer radius, he will try. He will try very hard.”

All this while attempting to copy the Baron and Tala’s choreography, to very little success but much joy.

Savi’s words pulled Reiden back to the moment. He raised the glass and took a sip of the liquor. The smoke wasn’t too overpowering and the notes in the background were somewhat familiar to him. It was an overall pleasant combination.

“That seems to be the case with a lot of things these days, unfortunately. But if you do some searching, you can find some standouts.” He smiled, “Erinyes does seem to have a good handle on producing quality spirits, so I think you might be right. I’d be curious to try the result of any attempt she makes.”

He turned to watch the new performance, raising his eyebrows at the trio of porgs. It was certainly a unique way of doing things. It was different, but entertaining. He found himself wondering where the trainer was and how long it had taken to teach the birds that routine. He saw Rue get up and the happiness on his face, which made his own smile grow. Then his expression turned to surprise when he watched the hybrid take on the form of a porg himself.

“Okay, looks like no one is going to be racing except Xee. Feel like that happens a lot.”

Feeling Zig link arms with her, the Zeltron gave her a sideways glance but does nothing else other than the stern look. She’d allow it for now. She even relaxed a bit to look like she was only mildly annoyed to be her. The equivalent to normal people looking happy to be somewhere.

“A ball and chains doesn’t work.” he replied. “Those can be broken out of easily. But give someone money or a small bit of power, they will take those chains on willingly. Then most won’t give it up even when they know it’s a ball and chain. But in truth we are slaves to something.”

The pair exchanged their conversation as they glided over the dance floor. The conversation was nice as the dance was. Korvyn liked talking to someone who didn’t quite trust him. Most on Seraph refused to speak openly to him afraid of his reputation as head of the Imperial Security Bureau. The fact Socorra wasn’t afraid to question him was a relief in a world of half truths and diplomacy.

He spun the woman around again, as he reached behind his back. He pulled out a small data disk. As he brought Socorra around to end the spin he pressed it into her hand.

“Two Collective operatives, their dossiers are on the disk. I have reason to believe they may be operating in Arcona territory. As I can’t handle the issue myself for… diplomatic reasons I trust you will get this to the right people.”

Alk seemed content to stompy about with the porgs even if he could not flap his feet like they flapped their wings. And even if he did not have a dance partner in Kerberos. He twisted and tossed, shimmying gladly, at intervals nudging Rue for a nuzzle. PorgRue chirped adoringly back, all porg smiles.

The two additional porgs behind where they stood threw up their wings and twirled. Syrena let out a happy chirp, as she preformed the same choreographed dance alongside Rue, in a grand finale.

After the performance came to an end, the porgs waddled off the stage. A soft glow of silver energy surrounded both Tala and Syrena, and they shifted back into their original forms.

Now wearing a short dress of shimmering pale pink sparkles and a fringe of feathers, similar to her Porg form, Syrena happily scooped up Baron Bibblewhisk and gazed at him proudly.

“You did so well, little one! Here you go,” She beamed and offered him a small treat, which he happily gobbled up. She turned to Tala, who was now a large tusk-cat, sitting calmly beside her. Syrena made sure to give her a treat as well, and a small pat on the head. “You too! Excellent performance you both.”

Pausing to next fetch herself a drink, Syrena happily rose a glass towards Rue, “Now that was certainly fun!”

Socorra turned his disk slowly in her palm, her thumb brushing his.

“Oh,” she said with dry mirth. “A gift! Should not have. You so good to me.”

The small smile that followed was a little crooked with half performance, half genuine.

“So then,” she mused, mock-deliberate, “by accepting t’is gift, am I chaining myself to you, Korvyn?”

Mischief sparked in her pale, arctic blue eye. Then, a sudden stumble, dramatic and exaggerated, perhaps from the stilettos or whiskey. Her burn-scarred hand dropped to catch herself, dipping fluidly into a hidden seam at her hip. When she reached for him again, her fingers slid into his under the guise of finding balance.

“Oh noes, t’e huge mantatee,” she muttered with a perfectly deadpan tone, her accent thickening just for show. “I so clumsy.”

With that, she slipped a datacard of her own into his palm.

The motion brought her close, close enough for him to catch her scent: desert spice, cherrywood smoke, and a sultry amber. The perfume didn’t scream, but it was meant to linger and be remembered.

The woman’s voice was quieter now, lower as she leaned in to his ear.

“If there are chains,” she whispered, “I expect matching keys, Proconsul.”