Session export: [VOICE] Social: Starfights and Socialites

The doors slid open and casual, confident strides carried the ancient Mandalorian into the room. He was clad in a black velvet tunic with silver brocade work and a deep V-cut to just above the navel, worn over a pair of dark olive green canvas jodhpurs. Perched atop his nose were a pair of pince-nez glasses, the deeply tinted golden lenses hiding his green eyes from view. Trailing several feet behind him, both attendant to the needs of his principal as well as carrying the end of the nearly 8-foot long velvet cape Alex was wearing, Steven’s impassive voice carried a tone of slight annoyance - an impressive feat for a droid of his training and pedigree.

“No, Master Alex, I don’t believe that they will let you ‘pop outside for a second and see if you can snatch a stray head’ no matter how insistently you may ask.”

“Well what the hell kind of party is this, then?!” Alex unclasped the brass fastener at his collarbone, loosing the cloak so that his butler droid companion could gather it up. “I cannot fathom what the fascination would be with watching a variety of heated space battles unless either 1) you yourself were involved in said battles or 2) you at least get to snag a souvenir! Oo, are those canapés?”

And just like that, Alex had strode deeper into the festivities, availing himself of the providing snacks.

Tra'an Reith listened to the yacht, its noises muted to raise the perceived level of luxury. He followed quietly behind swaggering royal-esque warrior, his eyes always moving as the cold air from the vents washed over his scales.

Eschewing the food for the moment, the telltale flashes of a handheld holo caught his eye. Slowly meandering to the conversation pit, he peaked over the backing and caught the encrypted language pattern that was on the screen, and smiled.

“Think of it as limerick or a rhyme. Look for the couplets or repeated groupings like this one and that one”, he said to the Pantoran, gesturing with his claws.

Amara jumped just a touch, before her reflexes kicked in and steadied her nerves at the unexpected interruption.

“Older languages often preserved their voice in written form, making it just possible to hear them if you listen closely enough”, he suggested.

“Is it a fragment?” he asked politely, his common steady enough after years of practice.

Gracefully moving across the doors and into the room, the azure sith-tattooed Twi’lek glided towards one of the bots serving drinks. She wore a low-cut purple dress with a slit on the left side, revealing part of her left thigh. She wore dark maroon lipstick and purple platform heels. Smiling confidently, the Sith searched for a place to sit down.

“Not every day we get invited to a rather fancy yacht to enjoy some space dogfighting. Sounded like fun. Isn’t that right, Vance?”

The magenta Sephi hybrid rolled his violet eyes as he followed behind her. He was wearing a sparkling blue leather jacket and pants with matching short boots. His long maroon hair cascaded behind him as he strode out to look around.

“Meh, I rather strongly dislike fancy parties, to be honest, Tasha’Vel. Reminds me a bit of Kervach’s whole entertainment parties. Course he made me the main show, but that is long behind me now. If you don’t mind, I am just gonna hang around and perhaps meet some others around here. Have fun.”

He then walked towards a corner of the room to see who was about.

Bril Teg Erinos was dressed in a sleek navy blue kaftan flowing loosely over a pair of black, slim-fitting pants. The hard soles of his brown slip-ons clicked softly against the floor as he trailed behind his fellow Mandalorian.

“Quite the bold fashion statement, friend,” he said in Mando'a, “but I like it!”

The Umbaran didn’t have a commanding presence but he held himself high. He did look good. The ribbed vest slimmed his already slim build even more. His hair was gelled to keep it tame rather than the “stylishly disheveled” look it normally has. He kept his posture square and lithe hands intertwined behind his back as his slow, rhythmic, near-silent steps made their way to the bar. He wore a pristine eyepatch over his left eye, matching the same deep blue as his vest.

He left Iden Sult, the Majordomo, in charge of the Godless Matron so Vigo could go enjoy some well needed time off.

He ordered a whiskey on the rocks before plopping himself loosely in a corner sitting on a spare bit of counter, propping his knee up, as he leaned back using the wall as support. He held his glass losely as his dark gaze watched people pass through the room. Occasionally lost in thought, reminiscing, how he changed his drink of choice from wine to whiskey because the last time he was poisoned. He took another sip at the thought, and swirled the glass loosely, as his left arm propped itself along his knee.

Masahiro waded through the gathering crowd, the gentle rap of his cane the only indicator of his movement through the viewing deck of the yacht. A flute of wine in hand, the Sephi-Arkanian stared off into the void where his planned entertainment should have begun by now. Condemned criminals given a slim chance at freedom if they could provide an entertaining show against the Combat Master’s rather zealous protection detail.

The Combat Master may have been told his job was on the line if the yacht the Voice’s daughter was on took so much as a scratch.

Silver-green eyes turned down from the viewports to see the gathered crowd. Amara had already struck up conversation among them. Though she didn’t consider herself a socialite, she certainly had a knack for gatherings. As the Voice mused on the matter, a thin smile crept over his face.

A tall, pale Kessurian hybrid made his way into the main Gala room. His snow-white hair was pulled back in it’s normal style— half up, half down, with intermittent braiding throughout. The braids were decorated with a variety of accessories, from pale gold rings to clasps of the same color and pearls.

His outfit itself was a masterful combination of casual and high fashion. The cream fabric loosely wrapped his torso and left his chest exposed showing a myriad of fine scars and chiseled muscle. Over his shoulders was a thick shawl of the same color, boasting pale gold filagree and lilies carved from pearl. Even more pearls decorated his neck and ears. His feet were covered in a pair of color-coordinated shin length boots with gold accents.

He drifted through the crowd with his hands in his pocket, his shoulders back, and his head held high. Confident, assured, at ease. His ice-blue eyes were surrounded in opalescent eyeliner which matched the color of the scales leading to his montral.

Parties were his scene, even when they were stuffy like this one. He recognized a few faces here which was not always the case. Masahiro was one. The hybrid’s eyes squinted for just a moment as he caught a glimpse of the man across the room. His last interaction with him at a similar Gala had been.. interesting. He gave the Sephi a wide berth, circling quietly around him to make his way to the bar.

He happened to end up next to a male draped in all dark colors like he was attending a funeral and not a party. Interesting. This was a face he didn’t know, a very handsome one. He pulled out a hand, covered in rings, and waved over the bartender. After putting in his order with a smooth, thick, ambiguous accent he turned to Vigo.

“You look like you want to melt into the wall there, friend.”

“It is a skill I have.” The sentence was heavily laced with an accent, before he turned his gaze in the direction of the Kessurian hybrid he couldn’t help but notice a few moments prior with the prominent and elaborate attire.

“Sit, if you wish, people watching is always fun, especially by the bar.” He cocked his head to the side, an unspoken gesture to remaining space on the counter he was currently using as a seat. He took another sip from his whiskey, flashing his elongated cuspids with a click of his teeth as the liquid coated his throat.

His gaze caught hold on a Pantoran who clearly had too much to drink already stumble their way to the bar, where bartender proceeded to cut them off. A low chuckle rolled from his chest in amusement.

Severin stared at Vigo for a moment, seeming to weigh his options, before shrugging and effortlessly hauling himself up beside the Umbaran man.

“Sounds like a useful skill, melting into walls.”

The Bartender handed him his drink, a dark liquor with a dried orange garnish, with something like a look of distain that two people had their behinds planted on his bartop before ultimately deciding it wasn’t worth it.

“So people watching… Is it like bird watching? Do we “ooo” and “aah” at the pretty plumage or laugh at the funny little dances?” His tone was laced with humor as he took a sip from his drink

Tra'an reached slowly for the Datapad, careful not to scratch it as he typed out a message;

We can do this, or if you have better Telepathy than I do, we can speak mind to mind. What say you?

He smiled without revealing his teeth, the gesture not quite right on his saurian face. as he turned the Datapad back to her.

A flash of light outside the yacht as one of the starfighters tested their weapons announced that the entertainment was in fact beginning in due course.

This face felt weird. It had been ages since she last used some kind of disguise kit, and she had forgotten how odd it felt.

Nildea made her way through the party, making her way to the bar. Behind her transparent golden gossamer fabric flowed like water. The dress itself was simple, it was made from golden thread and draped on her body like it had been poured there. Her sleeves, made of that ethereal golden fabric, where actually one uninterrupted piece that formed a half-circle behind her. Her hair was adorned with golden chains and pearl, and it was done up in a complicated, twisting braid. Her makeup was simple, but accented the features of her fake face.

It had more pronounced cheekbones than she did, sported full brunette brows, and even fuller lips. She kept her body the same, no need for anything fake there. She knew what she was packing and new how it would fit this dress.

The former Orator for the Acolytes of Urr settled herself at the bar and ordered an entire bottle of Merenzane Gold and six shot glasses, freshly cleaned. While she waited she tapped the bartop with gold-claw tipped fingers, watching as one of her old subordinates made a fool of himself at the bar. She had never much cared for Severin, especially after the terrible job he did flirting with her upon his arrival to Kiast. She rolled golden eyes that were not her own and scanned the party. So many people from the Brotherhood in attendance, to watch the horrid spectacle of death or make baby noises at the corpses of a bygone culture’s prized pieces.

She wrinkled her nose, poured, and knocked back the first of many shots.

Nildea was here for three things. To try and gain some information about what the hell happened while she was in a coma, to get drunk off her kist on free booze, and to see how Masahiro was doing in her absence. She watched him idly mill throughout the party, an odd emotion settling in her chest.

Looked like he was doing just fine. Of course he was.

Deeper within the yacht, a female silhouette lingered in the vessel’s shadowed underbelly. A pristine gold placard gleamed against the wall, engraved with the words, Exhibit Courtesy of Amara Eira Haku. Beyond it, several holoshielded display cases stood in orderly rows, each containing various relics presented beneath warm hued lighting. Her crimson eyes fixed upon the name, regarding it with mild curiosity as she snaked through the exhibit.

A long, semi sheer lace cape trailed from her shoulders, each panel carefully crafted into the likeness of two chirodactyl wings. The rest of her dress flowed around her form like liquid shadow and lace, with a plunging neckline that did little to conceal the ample curves of her chest. The dark black material stood in stark contrast against her unusually pale complexion, which now held an almost luminous glow from her most recent indulgences of harvested life essence. Velira had, at the very least, applied a light coat of pale pink blush… If only to maintain the illusion that she possessed a beating heart. The gilded, razor sharp nails of her gloves lightly tapped against the base of one of the displays in thought, as Velira found herself coming to a pause.

Before her stood a rather large bronzium statue of a male with long hair and finely chiseled features, lounging upon a throne adorned with various spikes. An ornate diadem of various interlocking patterns encircled his head as a crown. Velira lingered before the antique statue, the very one she had stood before nearly three hundred years prior, in the shadowed halls of a palace. Black lipstick coated her full lips, now pursed into a momentary frown, as she found herself staring into the face of her grandfather.

The Reaver relaxed just a touch, as Amara’s mind bridge to his, making communication not merely possible, but pleasant even.

“The cipher you are working on. I had asked if it was a fragment of a larger piece. Older languages often preserved their voice in written form, making it just possible to hear them if you listen closely enough, though I suppose listening while unable to hear well does you no good.” He frowned as he thought of a better way to convey his meaning from earlier, a sense of frustration at finding difficulty expressing himself.

“Are you familiar with the rhythm of limericks or rhymes? I am not certain how to explain to someone who does not hear well, but I suggest looking for the couplets or repeated groupings like,” he motioned to the pad, and accepted it as she handed it back to him with the text on display again, double tapping to select the text in question. “These ones here”, he thought to the Pantoran, gesturing with his claws and sending across the sense of motion of the sounds he was thinking of.

“Sometimes I will tap out rhythms while ciphering, to see if something fits, even if perhaps just to find my own state of clarity while I work, if that makes sense.” he finished, handing the pad back to her with another toothless smile and a sense of wry mirth sent out across the bridge between them.

After a moment, looking at various people walking by, Tasha’Vel wasn’t sure why she had come in the first place; worst of all, she had dragged Vance to this. Her conscience was eating at her, and she felt out of place again. People she didn’t recognize- newer faces and it just wasn’t quite the same to her. She felt oddly alone now. She decided to forgo a drink, walked to the window, and glanced out at the stars. She remembered how her mother always tried to get her to go to things like these, and for what? Usually it was a reputation thing. But this wasn’t her mother’s gala stuff. The Azure, Lekku in Blue Minor stood there now, pondering how this night would go.

Vance wasn’t feeling it; he was tired and just didn’t have it in him to be social, plus with his wound from war still healing up, pain sucked. He spotted Tasha by the window and came over.

“Listen, Tasha, I am not feeling really well still and think I need to hightail it out tonight. You enjoy the party. I am gonna go home, take some pain pills, and crash. Have a good evening, and I will catch you around, Lady boss.” He waved and was gone like a ghost in the wind.

Vigo noted Sev’s actions, paying almost too much attention to them. His paranoia getting the better of him.

He wasn’t sure if the hybrid actually thought he would melt into walls, but Vigo’s face remained firm. The muscle in his jaw ticked, but a faint hint of amusement shined in his uncovered eye.

“That is an interesting way to ask if we watch people make fools of themselves. The answer being yes.” A small smirk made its way across his lips. He took another sip of his whiskey, finishing the remainder in his glass, before adjusting his position. He slid his foot down, now sitting more normally, he extended his metal prosthetic arm to shake.

“Vigo Zakriov,” he looked down at his glass, “and I need another drink.”

“I do what I can,” a wry smile split across Alex’s face, “or at least the extremely high-quality tailor droid aboard the Herald does.” The crisp cadence with which his words came in Mando'a was a stark difference to his usual casual drawl when speaking in Basic. It was often easy to forget that the goofy, ostentatious weirdo that paraded around in fancy clothes had been born and raised a soldier, but there are some traits that never leave you no matter how long you may live. “I have to go make the rounds and show my presence here and there. If things end up too boring, I imagine I will shortly find myself parked at the bar to observe the carnage.” He gestured vaguely toward the viewing windows around before putting one fist to his chest and then pulling it away toward his fellow Mando’ade in a gesture of salute.

Steven, long cloak still folded neatly and held over one arm, approached and offered a fine crystal glass filled to just below the brim with a shiny amber liquid. Alex nodded to the droid and took it, at which point the flat faceplate of the droid turned slightly in a quiet indication of interest. The Mandalorian, long used to the subtle guidance of his valet, glanced along the line until he recognized what he was meant to see.

“Hello, boss.” The hand motions he made were not smooth, slight halts here and there and the crinkle of his nose in concentration making it clear he was thinking hard through it. “This is a fine festival you have balloon - wait, sorry, - hosted this evening.” It was clear he was piecing together a faculty in an unfamiliar language through memories of what he had read and watched, but not had opportunity to truly learn. He bowed gracefully toward Amara, his low-cut top somehow managing to stay well-fitted to his form even in the face of gravity’s opposition. Behind him, the KX droid also inclined his head downward toward the Pantoran woman. He shifted the cloak in his arm to free up both hands.

“Greetings, Lady Amara,” Steven’s hands were far more fluid than those of the man he followed, “I hope you are doing well. Might there be a coat room where I can deposit Master Alex’s cloak? It is rather burdensome, even for me, and I would prefer not to have to carry it all night.”

<@216702440140046336>

The former Questor kept his expression neutral at the interruption, not understanding the hand gestures being used beyond knowing it was a language in its own right. As the Pantoran provided some context, he nodded when she was looking at him, and waited for the hand signs to conclude before responding.

“I am Tra'an Reith di Plagia. And I must equally apologize, for I too forgot to inquire of your name, focused as I was on the fragment you were wrestling with,” he gave in equal measure. “I find that it is a common failing of mine to focus sometimes, too narrowly, on what interests me. Something others often mistake rudeness rather than intensity, and I am grateful that you have not.” Glancing once again at the ageless being opposite them, his eyes narrowed briefly at him? and the former Obelisk wondered, ‘The Fragment; is it work or pleasure?’ as he awaited to see if the interruption would continue.

“Come on, lighten up buddy, we’re here to do some shopping for a new fighter or 12 for the flotilla.” Kalen walked into the large forward lounge of the yacht with his friend and business partner Colonel Treel, the unflappable Ugnaught.

“We’re here because YOU crashed your new fighter into a huge asteroid last week.” Treel said flatly.

“I didn’t crash it, I was legitimately shot down by those Eternal Order rats! Rats that you hadn’t cleared from my 6 like you said you would.”

“You’re right, I shall restate my assertion, you were shot AT by those rats, and then crashed your new fighter into the asteroid.” Treel raised his open palm to his buddy the Jedi-wannabe.

Kalen assumed a mocking tone and wiggled his head at the little Commando who was dressed in his standard uniform complete with blue and pink cape, “I know, ‘you have spoken’. Ugh, I need a drink.”

“Hey isn’t that one of our clan elders over there?” Treel said as he grabbed a handful of Vorlakian Walnuts from a table full of appetizers.

“What, you mean a di Plagia? Where? Are they looking this way? How do I look?” Kalen at once felt both over and underdressed in his chromed out Jedi armour and armour cloak.

“Why are you nervous? You’re the Aedile of your House. Be a leader. ” Treel rolled his eyes and raised his palm.

Kalen got a stern look on his face and pointed an index finger towards Treel with some vicious intentions. He growled in a low hush through gritted his teeth. “Hey, I’m starting to get sick of that hand buddy.”

Treel just shook his head and continued towards the bar.

Confident that his employer wouldn’t see the signs, nor understand them even if he could, Steven responded.

“I won’t wear it, madam, because my programming makes me possessed of good taste.”

And with a bow the lanky KX-droid, wearing his beautifully-made yet simple emerald green tailcoat, turned to follow the indicated directions and deposit the garment. Steven’s gentleman, for his part, was delightedly sipping at his drink while glancing about the room.

He had heard the Tribune was setting up some fancy event and had invited the entire brotherhood. Jelc smiled. He wore a white tunic with a teal and gold embroidered vest, along with his wrap-around matching teal halfcoat that flowed behind him like a cape. Along with black pants, matching teal gold embroidered belt, matching boots and long leather gloves. His black hair was styled back and his curved black horns polished nicely. As he walked into the place, his violet eyes scanned for familiar faces.

He spots Bril making his way to the relic exhibit and quickly starts trying to catch up to him without moving too fast.

Meanwhile Tasha’vel moves from the window herself and begins to look around, perhaps she can meet someone and strike up a conversation. <@216702440140046336> <@1056685516441006091>

Once he and Alex split up, Bril wandered for a bit. Not quite ready to converse with the other guests just yet, he instead decided to indulge the sensation prickling at the back of his mind. It was the Force calling him to something. He was learning to heed its calls more, even if it didn’t immediately seem important.

Long strides carried him toward the waiting room that had been repurposed as the stage for an exhibit. One of the staffers had mentioned it during his arrival, but had neglected to mention the exact origin of the artifacts or the means by which they came into the Brotherhood’s position. No matter. He had ways of uncovering such things.

As he walked, the appearance of a familiar presence within the Living Force prompted him to turn. “Jelc,” he said with a smile. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Are the others here as well?”

He kept walking as they spoke. Once he passed through the threshold separating the relic gallery from the rest of the venue, he was met with a presence that felt like a cloud of smog in the Force. The absence of light similar in strength to his own but with opposite alignment to his own. His eyes fell upon the woman staring at the bronze statue. He picked up on a brief hint of displeasure, as well, but it faded quickly once she became aware of the presence of two others.

“Impressive craftsmanship,” he commented, “It appears to be in great condition despite its age, which I suspect is a few centuries at least.”

<@1385116824814878940>

Zhaolin stood stiffly by the entrance, his spear in hand, the point angled toward the ceiling. The space was far more gaudy and busy than he was accustomed to. Each socialite that entered was wreathed in fine attire of bespoke styles and fabrics. Silver-blue eyes watched with sharp attention. He took this post seriously–as he did with all of the odd jobs he’d worked to make ends meet. This would be no different.

Occasionally someone would make eye contact with him, offering a polite smile or incline of their head in greeting. His one regret was the clear line of sight to the heavily laden buffet table. Zhaolin could practically hear it groaning with the weight of delicacies that seemed to call his name. A loud grumble from his stomach brought a slight flush to his cheeks, his Firrerreo heritage betraying his embarrassment with the soft gold hue of a blush.

Tasha'vel’s emerald eyes settled on the new guard at the door, who seemed to be eyeing the buffet cart. She had never met this curious one before.

Then she saw his face, a small flash of embarrassment flickering across his features. Chuckling softly, she had a new mission. Taking a plate, she gathered various treats from the buffet and filled it then with a small wave of her fingers brought the silverware to the plate and then made her way to him. Her emerald eyes met his blue grey.

“Did you need a slight break?” She then handed him the plate, smiling gently.

“I used to be a guardsman, sometimes it’s hard to focus properly if you don’t have nourishment once in a while. You won’t be in trouble for taking a brief break. I can guard the entrance while you take a few.”

A sapphire hued Twi’lek approached and Zhaolin straightened to full attention. His gaze dropped to the plate in her hand however, and the faintest smile curving the corners of his mouth. It was a thoughtful gesture and though he hesitated to agree, he did appreciate the fact that she’d gone out of her way to bring him refreshments. Many guests often overlooked the long hours that he stood guard at functions such as this one.

“Many thanks,” his voice was a bit gruff from disuse but quickly found its usual even timbre, “Though I suspect it might be frowned upon to let a guest stand guard.”

There was a shimmer of delight in his silver-blue eyes and Zhaolin shifted just a single step from his post. Letting his spear rest in the crook of his arm, he sheepishly reached for the plate.

“Not that I’m going to decline such a kind gesture. Thank you…?”

He trailed off, realizing he’d not caught her name nor introduced himself.

“My apologies, I should at least give you my name. I’m Qi Zhaolin–please call me Zhaolin.”

Her emerald eyes immediately focused, taking in the surrounding room, where every guest was seated, standing, or lurking within her sight and around her as her natural guarding instincts took over. In that moment, Zhaolin could feel her strong presence radiating outward, a warning to some not to cause trouble.

Already now, she had mapped everyone in the immediate area.

“Enjoy your five minutes while I enjoy being a guard again.” Her voice was commanding, but soft with a gentleness to it.

“I used to guard the Dark Council back in my younger days, and in fact the current Deputy Grandmaster was one I had protected during his tenure as Voice.” Her voice then dropped to a quieter tone so only he could hear. “Now as a lesson for you, always be on your guard, and be very careful who you trust. Granted, I am with the brotherhood like many here, you never know sometimes. The fact you trusted me so easily because of hunger is a little concerning as I would question if the person handing me the food poisoned it.”

She raised her eyebrow before she smirked as he halted his current bite.

“Don’t worry I did not poison it, Zhaolin. Just wanted to give you some pointers and advice for the future when I am not here. Cause I kind of like your guarding style. Spear is a great choice for chasing off riff raff and I want to see you become a really good guard for others. That said, you are all right and it is a pleasure to meet you. If you would like some guard training later, I am happy to assist if you would like later.”

Meanwhile Jelc grinned. “Well I dunno, I don’t think I spotted anyone else, yet. You are like the first one I saw and wow, that is some statue.” He replied looking at it, before taking a peek at the lady standing there. He gave a wave. “Well hello there.” <@1056685516441006091> <@270420040493432833>

Propped against the wall Khro slouched with his right hand on his hip. His left was behind him resting in the small of his back. Everyone in the room appeared to be dressed up like they were attending a wedding or a diplomatic event, maybe in a way this was the latter. The smell of fancy perfumes and colognes filled the air.

Unlike the rest of them, his singed coat smelled slightly of starship fuel and his patched trousers still had smudges on them like he had crawled through a maintenance hatch to gain entry. Probably because he had done just that emerging in a cleaning droid closet before waltzing in like he had once owned the place. He wasn’t the type to get invited to these types of social engagements. But the idea of starships exploding in space was simply too much for him to pass up.

He wanted explosions and gasps from the crowd. Hopefully it would at least be entertaining. Maybe debris from an exploding ship would crash into them. If not he could always make his own amusement. Though he had to be careful. Even he was not willing to invite the wrath of the Grand Master. There would be other opportunities for mayhem. The Brotherhood was never short of opportunities.

After several seconds of trying to non-chalantly peer around the room and spot the di Plagia that Treel had mentioned, he went and joined his diminutive companion at the bar.

“A Sullustan Sunrise please.” The Jedi said to the bartender and he walked up to the Colonel.

Treel was standing on the seat of one of the barstools, leaning his elbow against the bartop as he waited for his own ale.

The bartender returned with their two drinks and refused payment when Kalen pulled out his credit chit.

“So where is this di Plagia?” Kalen asked still trying to casually glanced about.

Again Treel rolled his eyes,“He’s literally right there. Can’t you see the emblem on the hilt of his weapon?”

Treel pointed at a Saurian man who was no more then 4 metres away wearing equite robes and a grey scale cloak.

“Hmmm, don’t recognize him.”

Treel took a big swig of his large pint of ale, two handed, sippy cup style and turned back to Kalen with a beer foam moustache and said, “In your records he is referred to as Reaver Tra'an Reith. I have spoken.”

Treel thought to himself, “It’s no wonder he couldn’t cut it as a Bounty Hunter. He’s as thick as Byssian Brick.”

Tra'an chuckled, the sound like a low rumble. “It is truly the curse of the craft. That which is interesting can cease to be work, and become pleasure when the mood strikes. If you enjoy it after all, are you really working?” He raised an eyebrow, a gesture he had learned from associating with Ronovi Tavisean over her many years of friendship.

“Meeting new people is not something I relish either. As we all have our own agendas, it can be difficult to find something to connect over that is not, **business, render social interactions callous, crass, and banal. After all, it’s easier to spend forever alone in a room working on something interesting, than suffering the maybes of others,” he returned while watching her facial features for a reaction.

A part of him twinged, and the sense of the familiar sat at the bar. From the corner of his eye, the Reaver spied an Ugnaught, feeling as if he had seen the man before. ‘Colonel something or other, if I recall…’, his attention wandering away from Amara for a moment before snapping back to her as his senses classified and shelved the feeling as not a threat.

The entrance whooshed open and in walked an IG-series assassin droid carrying what appeared to be some kind of trumpet. The droid raised the trumpet to his “mouth”, but then slowly pulled it away and looked back outside of the open door. With a somewhat nervous look about him, the droid spoke.

“Sir, I don’t think this plan was well thought through. I do not have lips, nor can I breathe… this instrument is-”

“SHUT UP AND INTRODUCE ME, FRANK!!” came an angry voice from the other side of the open door.

“Right away, sir!” the assassin droid that seemed to act more like a protocol droid said. “Ladies and gentlemen, introducing to you the man who made tonight’s events possible. He is my favorite Combat Master and yours; VINCENT BRUJAH!”

The Sith walked into the room with his arms raised to his side, ready to take in the applause and praise of his peers, but instead all he received were awkward glances and perhaps the odd cringe. Vincent’s eyes snapped to Frank, the IG-series droid. The man sneered.

“You messed it up, Frank!”

“My most sincere apologies, sir! I did exactly as you aske-”

“Shut up, Frank! Get me a drink… actually, get me two. A whiskey and an ale, then meet me over in the viewing area.”

The dejected droid hung his head and began walking towards the bar. Vincent made his way to the front row of the area viewing the battle and took a seat. He tried not to show it, but he was a bit nervous about how this all may play out. Masahiro had been very clear about what would happen if this ship took any damage… but then again, maybe he’d just kill Masahiro if things went awry.

”Karking Jedi…” he thought to himself.

Treel was playing coy with his business partner amd friend, just as always. He knew exactly who Reaver Reath was, and his mercenary commando out had even performed some contracts for the the Plagueian in years gone by. He would be sure to catch up with him later.

“So what type of ships are you thinking of procuring for us?” Treel asked the Jedi.

Kalen finished sipping his drink, “I dunno, I was looking at specs for the ARC-200s last night, they’re nice, a bit expensive though. But I do still like your idea about buying a little squadron of B-4RBs too.”

“The Haunter is a good craft, but the V-92 you crashed is a superior vessel to either of the one you mentioned”

Kalen turned back to find grinning Ugnaught already holding up his open palm.

“I didn’t crash it. I, was, shot, down.” Kalen was getting visibly annoyed by his friends constant ribbing.

Treel took another two-handed sip from his ale, “V-92s are faster and better armed. But an ARC-200 is set to take part in the next match, let us go, be entertained, and do…shopping.”

The Ugnaught hopped down from the chair and awkward reached up to retrieve his beverage before marching over to the large bay window and found a pair of open seats next to a middle aged human man with a silver streak in his hair.

“Are these taken?” The ugnaught asked Brujah.

<@466040899970007041>

Marzalyn Watson entered the event with little fanfare. Her arm was interlocked with her husband’s, his overcoat over her shoulders. She released Avery’s arm with a peck on his cheek “Go get us some drinks,” she said before she made her way towards the windows. In her past, Matcha has been a fighter pilot, something she both missed and was glad she didn’t do anymore. She much preferred spending time with her daughter and her son in safety.

Liran sighed, leaning as back as he could in the seat of his starfighter. His legs crossed over each other and his arms, likewise, fell over his chest. A single finger tapped rhythmically upon his elbow.

He wanted to fight. The pew pew. To get into that zone of pure instinct and just enter the flow state.

But noooooo. He had to watch. Well, watching was getting boring. And he needed a drink…

And a refresher.

He was starting to smell a little…fresh…you know? Had been in the cockpit for a big longer than reasonable. But he just had to listen to that song one more time! His most recent hyper-fixation. Could happen to anyone. Anyone.

Another sigh.

Finally, Liran received docking permission. Great! Unfurling himself, he comfortably manned the controls and ignored the trilling from his astromech droid. Why? Because of course Liran knew he was executing a dangerous maneuver that was against regulations when in proximity of other ships.

He knew that. Also disregarded it.

That’s why he ignored it the trill.

His x-wing flared and slid into a backflip, cutting past other ships in flight and half the proverbial “line”. Then, with a quick kick of the rudder and careful throttle control, he slid into docking position and came to a satisfying rest.

Except now he had to climb.

Stupid airlock umbilicals.

He tried to ignore the atmospheric hiss while climbing up the handrails, focused more on the destination than the journey. In no time at all, or far too much perspective depending, Liran was aboard. He clipped his helmet to his belt, as one does, and worked his gloves free of their clasps while scanning with his gaze for the nearest refresher.

Vincent felt like he had just sat down and gotten comfortable and calmed from his less than stellar entrance with the help of the thought of casually murdering a member of the Council. Then he heard a voice to his side. Half annoyed but half curious, he turned and raised an eyebrow at the Ugnaught.

The Sith still wasn’t quite used to people approaching him casually. He had spent most of his life building the reputation that generally preceded him. Hell, the entire Caperion System knew exactly who Vincent Brujah was and that if you were in his company, it generally meant that you or someone nearby was in for a particularly gruesome death.

Now, as Combat Master, that had changed at times. His audience had grown and he had to remind himself that his name, face, and stories hadn’t reached the entire Galaxy; at least not yet. Much to his chagrin, there was a lot more to being the Combat Master than just killing things. Tonight was one such occasion. So he did what he had been teaching himself to do more easily. He put on a fake smile and acted courteous for a moment.

“These seats are open. Please, have a seat. Enjoy the show.” the Sith said, allowing the smile to fade off of his face as he turned to check on Frank and his drinks.

The wariness didn’t go unnoticed, and the Kessurian hybrid couldn’t decide if it made him like Vigo more or less. Sev waved over the bartender for Vigo and paid for his next drink before taking the man’s hand and shaking it firmly.

“Severin Xand, biologist. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Typically mention of his field of study got people to relax around him, assessing him as not a threat despite his build, but he felt like Vigo would take more work. It felt like when he was trying to get a creature out in the wild to trust him– that anticipation, that thrill of the chase. Severin smirked a little bit and took a sip of his drink.

He let out a snort from his nose at Vincent’s entrance. He loved this part about the Brotherhood; all of the differing personalities and their idiosyncrasies. Each person was a new puzzle to figure out, with it’s own beautiful and terrible secrets. Some of the attendees were dressed extravagant, some were dressed plain, some of them looked like they had just stepped out of a firefight. The battle outside of the yacht had started and several of the party goers had been drawn to the window to watch.

“What is your favorite part of people watching, Vigo?”

Velira’s dark crimson gaze remained upon the bronze statue for a moment longer, her expression composed into a mask of stillness beneath the warm hue of the gallery lights. “Age does not always reveal itself through decay,” she said at last, her voice smooth with each word. “I find that some things endure rather… beautifully, provided they are tended to with enough care… or kept far enough from the hands of those who would diminish them.”

Only then did her crimson eyes shift toward where the male stood. There was the faintest suggestion of amusement in Velira’s pale features now, subtle enough that it might have been mistaken for warmth. “Ah, yes, a few centuries…” Velira continued softly. “Perhaps. An astute observation indeed.” A faint smile touched her lips, though it did not quite reach her eyes.

She gazed back to the statue, to the depiction of the throne carved within it. “Whoever commissioned this piece certainly seemed to understand the purpose of a monument… Not to preserve truth, necessarily, but to choose which version of it survives.” At this, she paused for a moment before quickly dismissing the thought.

“But, I have certainly said quite enough about bygone eras and relics.” Velira’s attention instead shifted toward him quietly. “It is the tales of the living that I find to be… far more compelling, and so, I must ask… What is one of yours?”

Jelc smiled at Bril as he was busy chatting to the mysterious dark lady, and chuckled as he made his way back towards the main room. There, looking out towards the windows, was one of the prettiest emerald-skinned ladies he had ever seen. His violet eyes were mesmerized by her lovely earthen brown dress that hugged her figure. He was taken aback slightly, but composed himself again as he walked up to her and gave Matcha a very dashing, debonair smirk.

“My, my, what a lovely outfit you are wearing tonight. That earthy shade really brings out those beautiful oceanic eyes that anyone, if not careful, could downright drown in them.” He took a very polite bow. “Name’s Jelc Rovint, and what is yours, my angelic emerald beauty?”

Masahiro turned on his heel and headed back into the crowd toward the bar, his eyes scanning each face as he weaved his way through the gathering bodies. With a gentle rap of his cane he would nudge one of the slower partygoers from his path before he alighted at the bar next to an unfamiliar woman. Her eyes had lingered on him just a little too long as he stood apart from the others at the front of the viewing gallery.

Merenzane Gold, the whole bottle and six shot glasses. Some habits never changed. A wry smile crept over the Voice’s features and his ears twitched back as he looked at the Orator. He had to collect himself, news of her poisoning had reached him on Arx and it took everything for him not to round some the Inquisition to hunt down her brother while he fled to her side.

Sonyo had tempered against it while Nildea still recovered.

“Merenzane Gold. That was the last thing I sent you, Nildea.” He whispered as he stared at her from beneath his brows.

“Sonyo hadn’t informed me you were conscious yet. How long have you been awake?”

Nildea swore loudly in her head, bending it down to tap lightly against the shot glass held between her claw-tipped fingers. Karking bastard….

“Can you not use my kriffing name in broad daylight when my brother’s informants could be anywhere?” She hissed before she slammed back what was now her fourth shot. Sonyo had had some kind of twisted prohibition on her during her recovery. The Consular was more strict than any of the Jedi instructors she had in the Order.

The Sephi woman took a deep breath through her nose and then turned to look at the Voice of the Brotherhood for a few moments, searching his face, trying to discern if he had come over out of obligation or worry before turning away and pouring her fifth shot. When she spoke again, it was quiet.

“Two weeks. Sonyo doesn’t know I left my safe house. She said I wasn’t ready yet, whatever the frak that means.” Her eyes flicked to him for a moment, but her body was still tense, still alert. Her gaze covertly swept the room around them, trying to spot anyone paying too much attention.

“I didn’t want her to tell you. Couldn’t risk it getting through to Vesril before I figured out to get the news to you, personally, in a safe way. Which was going to be tonight, by the way, don’t give me that look, Masa.”

With a small smirk on his face Khro began wandering aimlessly through the party. Admiring people’s outfits and the decor. It was nice as these things went. Some art had been placed around for the party goers to admire. He nodded politely to several guests as he passed. Some nodded back in acknowledgement, others quickly turned their gaze. He was used to it, and found it almost exhilarating.

He snaked through the crowded room with ease and even grabbed a drink off a waiter’s tray. The waiter looked perplexed as it was obviously not the person who ordered it. The waiter just turned around to go get another one. Khro took a sip and then sat it down on a table where some women were chatting. He didn’t break his stride though and continued his general path to the viewport of the dogfights

Avery walked with his wife, her arm in his— a familiar, warm grip. It wasn’t something he spent much time thinking about, but when he did, he was grateful. Marzy was now a cornerstone of his life, and the mundane was something he deeply cherished. 

The man leaned down a little as she leaned in to kiss his cheek. He returned it with ease, her perfume filling his nose. 

When she released his arm, he scanned her outfit, admiration filling his gaze. She wore an overcoat. His overcoat. She certainly adorned it better than he did. 

Then the simple order came, the man lifting a brow with a slight smirk. 

“Of course, Mrs. Watson,” he said with a soft, amused chuckle. It wasn’t a tall ask. He knew what she liked. He was all too happy to do anything she asked.

Then, Marzalyn walked away. 

Avery watched. His gaze stayed on her until she disappeared by the windows. Only when she vanished from view did he realize how long he had been staring. He had nearly forgotten his task. 

Right. Drinks. 

Avery made his way to the cocktail bar swiftly, offering polite nods and smiles to the strangers of the event. He could talk later, but for now, he had his better half to get back to.

Kalen walked up and vaguely remember Vincent from some banquet or conference or other on Arx several months prior.

A sneering Rodian woman got up and stormed off muttering something about ‘bad taste’ under her breath.

Kalen just smiled and waved as he had gotten used to the reaction. He hadn’t yet clued into the fact that wearing old Jedi Generals armour with an armourweave cape that had the Plagueis logo emblazoned all over the back of it, was seen as ‘bad form’ to say the least. He was still new the galaxy and all.

The Tyranus Aedile nodded at Brujah and took a seat next to Treel who had climbed up on the sofa and made himself comfortable, placing his comparatively large pint of ale inbetween his legs.

They watched as a B-Wing and an up-gunned Firespray had been pitted against eachother on the test range out in front of them.

“What about buying a flight of B-Wings to accompany us? The Bright Light already has A-Wings. Do they make a good mix?”

Treel shrugged, “Actually yes, the two types complement eachother well. A-wing have speed and ability, and thr B-Wingd have the armour and firepower.”

“So how much would 4 B-Wings cost me? All-in?” Kalen tried to sound financially hip like all the other business people he had been dealing with through the laundry and cider brewing industries.

Treel replied, “1.1 million credits for the space framed another 100k to fit ‘em out with ordinance.”

Kalen almost choked on his drink, cough a few times and exclaimed, “What?”

“Yep, and them probably another thousand credits for every flight hour.”

“What!?” Kalen was in shock.

“A thousand, per spaceframe.” The little Ugnaught said as if it was the most boring conversation he’d ever been a part of.

Kalen let out a lip sputtering sound and waved at the pair of fighters that danced around in space through the reinforced bay window.

“Fark that idea then. We could field a a full squadron of 12 V-92s or B-4RBs for a third the cost!”

Treel turned to Brujah and rolled his eyes as if to say ‘the kid just doesn’t get it’.

Bril nodded along while listening to the woman’s words. “A steady, compassionate hand can make a world of difference,” he said. That had been his guiding principle during his stint in leadership, and his continued approach to navigating the complexities of politics in the Dajorran Confederacy and the Brotherhood. His advisor, A'veena, had warned him to temper his idealistic tendencies lest they be used as a noose by his more cutthroat political adversaries, but he trusted his wits and the Force to keep him out of harm’s way.

His mind returned to the present when the woman began to inquire about him. The corner of his mouth twitched with contained amusement at the irony of her question in light of her comments on the statue before them. “I’m afraid I don’t have many to share,” he began, joining his hands behind his back. “It’s only just starting, really.” A partial truth. He was young both in terms of physical age and in the Brotherhood, but the last three years felt like ten with all that had happened since his recruitment by Tahiri. But the stories weren’t ones he intended to give away freely.

“I can say that so far, it has been a tale of … discovery,” He paused to gesture with his hands to the their surroundings, toward the buzz of distant conversation. “Discovering more about this strange world of ours, and finding my place within it.”

Alex’s attention had drifted for a bit, though to what he could not rightly say. Perhaps the artifacts on display - some which he himself had been involved in the retrieval of - had caught his eye. Or maybe it was one of the other attendees of the event? Perhaps even the ostentatious arrival display of the Combat Master which had landed with a wet thud. Whatever it had been, it slipped his mind the moment he refocused on the conversation and companions at hand.

“I did not program Steven at all,” the words were spoken as well as slowly motioned out, as he had read that it could help with understanding dependent upon how a person parsed language. “All of him is either purchased packages or custom programming I have hired people to make. I am not exactly talented at that sort of thing.” His natural urge to emphasize his speech with vaguely dismissive hand waves briefly interrupted the flow of his already-halting sign language.

“As for the outfits themselves, while Steven does occasionally help me get dressed in them if they are particularly complex, the actual designs and craft of the clothing are the results of Jimothy, my tailoring droid.” There was an amount of pride in his tone and bearing as he spoke, clearly putting quite a lot of weight into the results. “He is an absolute genius at what he does, and it ensures that I never have to wear the same outfit twice to an event like this.”

“That being said…I am always slightly more comfortable in my armor on some backwater jungle planet hunting for some lost ruin than I am at…” Another wave in the general direction of everything. “All of this puffery.”

“No, Amara. The Ugnaught, I know him. Before I left on my Fool’s Errand of the last nine years, I had worked with him on deployments. He’s a Colonel in the Plagueis military, though I don’t recognize the nervous one he arrived with.”

Tra'an produced a flask from inside his robes and unscrewed the cap, taking a small sip of the Whyrens Reserve within.

“I carry my own alcohol with me, as I learned a long time ago not to trust what I didn’t bring with me. You never know who’s got unusual ideas about guest rights, hospitality, and the art of selling someone down the river for a bit of coin.”

He turned his eyes back to the gem-toned Pantoran, thoughts slowly returning from a time long since past, and wounds that never quite healed.

“Might I offer you a sip of Whyren’s Reserve?” He held out the flask, his four crimson fingers shining in the ambient light, scattering a reflection on the ceiling above them, as his nose twitched from the waft of scent that was around Alex. It seemed like the interruption of their conversation was not yet over.

Another get together. Did she care about dog fights? Not really. But, there was supposed to be dinner along with the show. Dinner and drinks and perhaps even good company. It would be worth it in the long run.

Walking through the corridors of the yacht, Miho looked around at the flat, plain durasteel walls with a sigh. The small Human never really liked empty space on the walls. Her own Chevlex was papered from nose to tail on the inside with notes, wall hangings, weapons, anything to break up the monotony of ship design.

The small droid picked up on his owner’s mood and trilled softly. <You’re brooding again.>

“I am not. You’re brooding.” Was the unpleasant retort.

<It is impossible for me to brood.>

“Little bastard.” She shook her head quickly, replacing the scowl with her usual pleasant smile. “Which was to the lounge with food?”

Pips made a sound that could only be translated as a sigh and pulled up the schematics for similar vessels. <That way. Have more food than drink this time.>

Miho waved her hand dismissively and headed off in the indicated direction whistling to herself.

Zhaolin seemed to waffle between gratitude and embarrassment as she spoke. It was true that he’d trusted the food she’d brought simply because she’d seemed nice enough. A lifetime of fighting in the Pit only made him good with weapons. It did not make him good with people, politics, or scheming. Mentally noting her advice, he fully intended to utilize it to improve himself and would not soon be letting the gentle lesson be forgotten.

“I do enjoy being a guard at such events.” Zhaolin spoke between bites, careful not to get anything on his crisp black robes, “Though I confess I took the job for the credits…we were short of funds—I have someone I am responsible for protecting and providing for.”

He ate efficiently, years of scarfing gruel in the small, shared chamber below the Pit flashing through his mind. It was in odd moments like this that he missed Meili. A wave of melancholia washed over him so quickly, so unexpectedly it nearly overtook him. Clearing his throat, Zhaolin did his best to shift his thoughts to something else entirely.

“Any advice and training would be most welcomed and appreciated. Being a guard requires skills I was not afforded the opportunity to learn where I come from.”

As she listened to Zhaolin, the Twi’lek seemed to soften slightly. “You are trying to protect those you care about and survive. You have a warrior’s heart in you Zhaolin.”

She reached in her purse and pulled out a credit chip worth 70k and handed it to him. “I also protect those I choose and I choose to protect a fellow warrior. So use that money to support and provide for the one you care about. As for training, I train specific force skills as well as lightsaber and mind training. I can certainly assist you. As for other things.” She lowers her voice to a whisper.

“ If you ever need a place to disappear from prying eyes, then come to my estate. I have ways of making people very hard to find.” She smiled. “I think it was the perfect time for me to come today.”

He looked at the credit chip with a stunned expression on his face. On Rattatak kindness and sympathy were seen as weakness–something to be stomped out at all costs. Something uncomfortable and intense welled up in his chest, and it took Zhaolin a several heartbeats to realize it was raw gratitude and relief exploding inside him. Sure, the credits offered to stand guard at this ritzy soiree was considerably more than what was typically earned for temporary guard postings. But this? It was a boon he could scarcely believe.

“I…I shouldn’t take it.” He swallowed the lump rising in his throat as his fingers closed around the credits, “It would take me a very long time to repay this kindness.”

It would mean stability for Nyssa. She wouldn’t have to take so many healer’s contracts, wouldn’t have to burn herself out or struggle so much. Blinking rapidly, Zhaolin set the small plate down and turned to face Tasha fully. He bowed as deeply as he could, spear caught in his elbow as he cupped his right hand over his fisted left; a sign of deep gratitude and respect among the gladiators of the Pit.

“I cannot thank you enough–but I will repay this debt. I swear it.”

Her offer of safe harbor brought another thought to the forefront. Another face from what seemed like a lifetime ago. Straightening up and biting his lip, he considered asking her. She seemed extremely well connected and well funded considering their current location and the large sum of credits she’d just handed him so easily. It was worth chasing any possible leads he decided.

“Would you have ways of finding someone?” Zhaolin tried not to sound too hopeful.

“They’re not hiding. I’m just…unaccustomed to free–”

Zhaolin cut himself off abruptly, the words dying on his lips. Doubt crept up his spine, unsure if anyone in this room would drag him back to Rattatak if they learned that he had not earned the freedom of a blooded warrior. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but he chose to simply let the sentence die uncomfortably rather than craft some lie to feed his new benefactor.

Tasha’vel raised an eyebrow as she smiled and whispered. “Yes, finding people, amongst other things, is part of what I can do. If you need me to find someone for you, I can certainly do my best. As for your repayment of debt, training with me is grueling; I am not easy, and you will probably be sore many nights as you learn and strengthen, but afterwards.” Her emerald eyes sparkled. “You will be stronger, smarter, and learn how to take more precise strikes to take down an opponent. I can teach you the ways of a marauder as well.” She smiled. “And while this is all going on, you are welcome to be with the one you are protecting in your own place on my estate. I have rooms available, and you are free to come and go as you like. I will never ask where you go or what you do, just to make sure you show up for training.”

The smile widened on her face. “My grandfather was always a firm believer in protecting others and helping them get on their feet. I always preferred to follow his path rather than my diplomatic parents. And so this offer stays. You are welcome to use the amenities I have on my estate as well, such as the botanical and exotic gardens, the lounge, dining hall, game room, library, and, of course, the training room.”

Her eyes then turn this intense green like a passionate wildfire briefly. “While there, you are also considered under my protection and, as such, should you need me to take care of anyone who may bother you or the person you guard, I will see to it personally that they never bother you again. What do you say Zhaolin?”

“Vesril’s informants? On a ship manned by Inquisitorius and Collegium staff? With my daughter and the Brotherhood’s Combat Master both believing their jobs are on the line somewhere? Your brother would either have to finally hire someone outside of his own species, or actually be good enough at intrigue to hire someone who can delegate and hire enough to obfuscate our vigorous background searches.” The Voice chuckled at Nildea’s brother’s xenophobia and incompetence as he took a shot of the Merenzane gold from her and downed it.

“He got lucky that you were emotional and didn’t throw that bottle at the wall. He got lucky that I’m your weakspot. And he’s lucky that he’s deep enough in hiding somewhere in Kiast that I can’t reach him with the ongoing conflict Odan-Urr has entrenched themselves in with the Empress. I don’t like poison, I’m a little more, direct.” The former High Councilor of the Acolytes of Urr seethed as he slammed the shot glass down.

“And you, ma'am, are lucky, that the perky little Pantoran hasn’t found you yet. Once she does, you’ll be in some serious trouble, so will anyone who has facilitated your escape. I do appreciate your plan to tell me, though, you’re a little obvious in your alcohol preferences.” A chuckle escaped him, and he shifted in his chair.

“At least there’s a show on.”

“Obligation, mostly.” Alex followed Amara toward the bar, though his current drink was still about halfway full. “There are certain expectations and requirements that people of my position and standing are expected to maintain when attending social functions. And while there may be merit in bucking expectations,” he paused for a brief moment to drain the remainder of his glass, “there is just as much merit in looking like an overstuffed piñata while being as dangerous as a pissed off pit viper.”

A cheeky grin plastered itself to his face, the corners of his eyes just visible past the pince-nez sunglasses crinkling in humor and delight as he slipped behind the bar and started reaching for glasses, a couple bottles, and some various bartending accoutrement. He glanced toward the Pantoran and the Kaleesh - who as far as Alex could tell had just been standing around silently near he and Amara for the past while - as he began to pour a golden-amber liquid into an iced glass floating a slice of some sort of blue fruit as it filled. “So then, what can I pour for ya?”

<@575757697572536323>

His words struck something within Velira. For a moment, she said nothing, though something quieter moved beneath the expression held across the pale features of her flawless face. Compassion. The word settled somewhere deep within the hollow space of her chest, upon something she did not often allow herself to examine too closely… Velira had not chosen to become a medic out of pure goodness, at least not at first. It had been a practical decision, a method to blend into societies, to gain the trust of others and avoid suspicion. And yet, as the time had passed, her sentiments towards the work itself had begun to grow… In the simple acts of saving those who still could be delivered from death’s grasp, and easing the passing of those who could not be.

“You speak of compassion,” Velira began at last, her smooth voice softened with thought. “I currently work as a medic… In many places, I suppose. Amongst the Shroud Syndicate, the Jedi, and even aboard a pirate ship… Wherever it is that my work is most required,” She continued, with a fleeting smile crossing her lips at the notion of the pirate ship, better known as the Kraken. “My work does not always come with ease…” Velira finally admitted. “And yet, there is a part of me, I suppose… That wants to try.”

The dark haired female spoke nothing more on the matter, intentionally so. Instead, she had listened to each of Bril’s words with careful attention. When he spoke of discovery, an almost knowing look crossed her pale features. “I can understand that sentiment…” she said slowly. “In my own way.”

Her crimson eyes lowered briefly in thought. “I have traveled many places in the galaxy, seen many planets, some dark and dreary, and others that are filled with… Life,” She continued, now meeting his gaze once again. “And yet, I have only just now begun to understand where I truly belong. Or at least…” Her red lips curved faintly, though the expression carried more uncertainty beneath. “Where it is that I want to belong.”

Velira shook her head softly to herself, as though aware she had said more than intended. Then, in one fluid movement, she turned toward the small makeshift bar set near the edge of the relic displays, where a bottle of wine rested. Velira withdrew a dagger that had once been strapped to her thigh and opened the bottle in one swift movement, the blade glinting briefly beneath the gallery lights.

She poured two glasses of the crimson liquid, then gave the slight wave of her hand. One glass lifted smoothly from the bar and drifted towards him, carried by an invisible thread of telekinetic control. Velira picked up the other glass in her free hand, and raised it in a half toast. “To discovery.”

Vala glanced around, her two toned eyes hidden just a bit by her pale green bangs. She pulled her dark purple shawl a little closer to her as she scooted to the side to avoid a droid serving drinks. She had not thought the dress code through and was simply wearing what she had laying around. A simple dark green knee-length skirt, a matching top, a pair of purple leather boots. Feeling very out of place at this party Vala looked about trying to see where artifacts that she had come to see were.

However, it was difficult to see past all the people milling about. Resigning herself to having to wade through the crowds Vala let out a deep breath. That didn’t do anything to steel herself, she had simply realized she had been holding in a breath in an attempt to not be noticed. ‘I guess there’s no helpin’ it.‘ she thought taking a half step foreword before pivoting on the spot ’I’ll just walk around everyone.‘ dejectedly walking along the edge of the room, very close to the wall.

Nildea glared at Masahiro as he talked, her eyes only golden slivers in the light of the room. She snatched her shot glass back from the spot he put it on the table and began to protest.

“Shutta—“

The former Orator blinked, her fussing stopping suddenly as the words he said began to run through her mind. It was like watching a droid process in real time.

“Wait… Daughter? You have a daughter?” Her voice had become softer, surprised, and almost concerned. The Sephi woman’s eyes cast downwards as the gears spun, putting together bits and pieces of information. Moments and mentions that hadn’t made sense before, but did now. Messages she had seen, trips he had taken…

Kark, she was as stupid as her siblings. Her eyes snapped up and she scanned the room, holding a hand up to halt whatever explanation Masahiro was going to try to give her while she searched. It took a while, but she found it. Her eyes settled on Amara with a finality. She had heard rumors… seen the resemblance…. She seemed to deflate, her expression going from surprised to grim. Her shoulders slumped, minutely, but she knew Masahiro would notice.

Her endangering him wasn’t endangering just him anymore. It was endangering his legacy, a legacy worth protecting. Her eyes drifted back to another face that resembled his in the crowd, to Severin, and that sinking feeling got even worse.

The force trickled along her skin, a shutter, confirming what she suspected through its silent whispers.

She slumped back in her seat and closed her eyes, willing for apathy to return. Her family knew of him, they would know of them soon, too. She would have to prove to all of them that she didn’t care just to keep them safe. To keep the kids safe. They didn’t deserve to be dragged into her species’ convoluted bantha kist.

“You have children.” She repeated softly, her expression unreadable now, the wall up.

Seeing that the pretty lady was busy looking out the window and wasn’t really paying attention to him, He resigned himself glanced around the room. He then spotted an individual very clearly trying to avoid the crowds, scooting herself up against the wall, obscuring her face with a rather nice purple shawl. He could tell she seemed to be very out of her element; perhaps he could help.

Chuckling softly, the Crimson-skinned Devaronian with violet eyes, two black curved horns, and medium-length black hair styled behind him strode towards the individual. As he got closer, he tried to make sure not to frighten her as he spoke in a soft lower tenor voice. “Hello there.”

Keeping her head down, Vala thought she was doing pretty good avoiding people. No one seemed to be noticing her at the very least. Feeling a little more at least she let her shawl down just a bit. Revealing her pale pink and purple horns poking through pale green bangs. For a moment she almost didn’t notice the Devaronian walk up to her. She glanced up at him with her two toned eyes, one a pale pink, the other a muted green.

She blinked once. Looked to her sides to see who he could be talking to. A slight blush creeped up her face as she realized she was the only one he was talking to. “O-Oh!” She squeaked out in slight shock. Looking a little flustered that someone had actually seen her Vala muttered out a greeting. “H-hello.” Now that there was someone here though perhaps he could help her. “Um…I’m sorry could you point to where the artifacts are?” She asked.

A soft smile graced the Devaronian’s face as he bowed politely to her. “I could point to it, yes, or, my fair lady, if you like, I could escort you personally to the artifacts.” He gave her a wink. “I know these kinds of parties are a bit much for a pilot like me, so sometimes I like to stay close to someone I either know or at least make friends with someone. I get a little shy myself.”

Cassandra, mysteriously there, blamed that damn Ewok. He had dragged her to Regent-aligned places and events, even Prism (though her lack of clearance pretty much limited her to the shuttle bays on arrival..) from time to time, and now that he was the Praetor to the Voice; she was yet dragged here too.

He annoyed her. But, at least he did get her out and about from time to time. Especially with what she had found out about her infection.

One benefit of this place though…open bar. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Amara. This surprised her. Though…now not being on a mission…

…she seemed kind of…

…cute.

She took a drink and stood up, deciding to make her way over because, well…why not. Take a chance to get to know her finally, since she learned she was from Thanadris.

<@216702440140046336>

Vala shifted just a hair from the gentlemen as he gave her a bow. She frowned slightly at his offer, looking towards the crowd of people again. Obviously it would be best to just walk through the horde and find what she wanted on her own. But that was definitely out of the question now. With the artifacts calling for her Vala gathered up a bit of courage and gave small bow back. “If you wouldn’t mind.” Accepting his kind offer.

“Oh, I know someone here. I just don’t see where they are.” Vala said looking about to see if her companion was within eye sight, but not seeing him right off the bat she turned back to her new found friend with a bit of a pout. “I-I’m not shy. I just don’t like crowds.” She said a little defensively. However, not one to forget her manners she smiled and introduced herself. “My name is Vala. It’s nice to meet you…mister….?”

Jelc smiled as he gave her a wink and another bow, his right hand extended. “Jelc Rovint, just a humble pilot. Ah, crowds, huh? Well, not to worry, I can help navigate you around them.” He pointed over towards the path to the artifacts. “If you want, I am more than happy to help you find the person you are looking for; I do not mind in the slightest.”

Vigo nodded and took the drink from Sev.

“I’ll owe you one.” He said flashing his pointed canines in a honed grin.

“I am uh- First Mate above the Godless Matron.” His heavy accent rolling. That is his position, but he does many other things. That position sits nicer with the general public. He took a sip of his drink, being quite too sober.

“Sitting and watching Karaoke is quite fun.” He paused mulling over his words. “Drunk people tend to be tone deaf, it is quite amusing. If you have any other idea, I am all eh- ears. I’m here solo for tonight.”

Cassandra blinked and sat there neutral. There wasn’t an ounce of intimidation, just shear…surprise. Amara, on a bar, right in front of her. Some people there were cheering, not aware there was a mental exchange going on. Others were confused, while one patron directly next to her raised his beer.

“Y'know, not even those holonet love dramas could have prepared me to see the real thing someday. I’m jealous.”

Her eyes shot over to him. “Love drama?” she asked, now a little surprised. She looked back at Amara, then the man, and back at Amara. Now there visibly wasn’t any sign of intimidation, just confusion.

“What is my fault?”

The ship buzzed with the emotional chatter of its patrons. Feelings arose and fell within the Force constantly, offering him glimpses into the mental landscape of those around him with no conscious effort on his part. When he was younger, he’d viewed this potent connection with the Living Force as a burden, a curse. But with time came the ability to control it, and the understanding that it was an ability to be cherished rather than scorned. Whether through careful practice or a quirk of her biology, the woman standing beside him possessed a notably subdued emotional resonance within the Force.

Some might have found the silence between their replies uncomfortable, but he appreciated that she took the time to consider her response. It was a reminder to himself to practice thoughtfulness, as well, and to avoid speaking merely to fill space.

“A medic, hm? An admirable profession,” he said. Perhaps that was why she felt the way she did. Siva had always told him that medics had to remain calm under pressure, especially when operating in the field. And he’d seen her demonstrate that on more missions than he could count. A second or two passed before Bril realized a sad smile had crept onto his face while reminiscing about his found-sister. Returning his attention to his interlocutor and said, “You won’t always succeed, but trying to do the right thing is what matters most.”

He returned to silence once more when she shared her own journey of discovery, nodding along in quiet recognition. When the glasses drifted over to them, he reached out to take one. “My people have a saying, that ‘home isn’t a point on a map, but a condition of the heart.’”

Then, he lifted the glass in a toast. “To discovery.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Vala gave a nervous smile as Jelc bowed again. “I’m a historian. I just came to see the artifacts on display.” Though she kind of doubted her particular interests were on display here, Vala was not picky when it came to history. Her gaze followed to where he was pointing. Her eyes lit up a bit with excitement. She almost missed him offering to help find who she was here to look for as well. “Ah, well…” her shoulders sagged a little, discontent evident on her face.

It probably made more sense to meet up with her companion before loosing herself to the artifacts. At least to say hello. “Maybe I should find them first.” She pulled out a holoprojector that was tucked into her belt. “His name is Masashiro Haku. Have you seen him around?” pressing the button a small image of the person in question appeared in her hand. She held up a bit so Jelc could see better. “I was supposed to meet him here, but I’m not sure where he is.”

Jelc took a good long look at the image, committing it to memory as he tried to remember where he had last seen a man like that. He put a hand under his chin as he pondered; he did remember walking by someone like that, but where and which direction was he walking…He paced for a moment. “Hmm, let’s see, I had last seen him just as I was walking up and saw a very pretty lady. He was…” He thought a bit more, then it hit him. “Bar, that’s right!” His violet eyes sparkled as he spoke. “I saw someone like that walking towards the bar. Let’s go look there.”

“Yes, though none of which I’ve really been much of a father figure to, with the exception of Amara, perhaps. When you left me alone in the temple and decided that there wasn’t anything to pursue with a noble like me, whether I was in the temple or not, I threw myself headlong at any pretty face for a while. It wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism, but, it was better than anger.” The Voice sighed and shifted uneasily in his seat.

“I ended up the father to a few more children than I knew. Honestly, I’m scared I still don’t know all of them. Amara and her sister were the first two I knew. I made sure Amara and Amarinthe got a proper education, they’re good kids. That one—” He pointed toward Amara. “Works through everything thrown at her and has a knack for languages. I’d suggest keeping a datapad on hand if you need her for something though, unless you’re real comfortable using telepathy, she’s as deaf as a landcrawler mechanic on Tatooine.”

“Then there’s the boy,” Masahiro sighed and turned his gaze toward Severin and Vigo, “He’s the oldest of my children, him and Couer. The Kessurian, not the waifish poet, he doesn’t realize, or just doesn’t believe it. Couer, does though, she’s sharp. I’m currently content to let him live out his delusions. He’s done well for himself. Got a sponsored Collegium education, has a patron, got out of slavery. If I had known… If I had known about them, I would have intervened sooner. No child should live through slavery.” He sighed.

“To be honest, I’ve wanted a family of my own. Temple life has been… You experienced it Nil, you know how hollow it was. Even though we’re allowed tepid bonds, the constant vigilance, the surveillance? Those who remember the old days are scared of what strong emotion can bring, still, they’ve never learned from what happened—” The Sephi stopped himself.

“Hmm, Merenzane is a bit stronger than my usual, apologies, Nildea.” A soft chuckle escaped his thin lips as his thoughts drifted to the past.

Nildea fought to keep her indifference, keep her walls, but Masahiro had always been her weakness. His commentary about her departure from the Jedi causing him to find comfort elsewhere cut deep. Her jaw set a little harder and she opened her eyes to watch him as he spoke. In the end, her care for him won over and she reached out and gently laid a hand on his bicep.

“I know you do, Masa…” She said softly, noting in her head that it was one of the many reasons why they would never and could never work out. “And you’ve done the best you can. You were young and foolish, we all are at that age. You are a good man, Masa.”

The touch was enough, she was already endangering him and his kids. Hesitantly, she removed her hand from his arm and went back to pouring another shot.

“I’m glad you have them. I’m glad family is still important to you and that it’s something you can enjoy.”

She knew why he had never told her about them, and she didn’t blame him. The children she did raise became vicious, glutenous beasts who would stomp over their fellows with hardly a change in expression as long as it got them what they wanted.

Family would never mean anything more than betrayal and lies to her. Her heart cracked, knowing she could never give him that, that she would tear what little bit of family he had carved out for himself apart if she tried. It’s why she had removed herself from the equation, why she had stopped whatever this was between them. She knocked back yet another shot, the substance finally starting to have effect. Warmth filled her frigid veins and the ever present pit in her mind got slightly more shallow.

The unfamiliar voice pulled Matcha from the window. Her icy gaze landed on the stranger, a silver brow lifting. She studied his features in silence. The Devorian was charming in his own way, with strong features and polite manners.

“Thank you, Jelc,” she said, offering him a warm smile, her lower lip slipping between her teeth. Though she knew he was flattering her, compliments were always something that grabbed her attention. “I’m Marzalyn. What brings you to a place like this?”

There was a beat and then…

“…Am I interrupting something?” Avery said from behind them, his voice tight.

Marzy turned to her husband, and his face gave him away immediately. She recognized that look after a long day at the hospital or a serious conversation.

“Not at all, love, I was just making a friend…” She lifted her hand to gesture to Jelc, but the Devorian was already gone.

Marzy sighed.

“Friend? Is that right?” The man was stiff, both drinks gripped so tightly she thought he might break the glasses. His eyes never met hers as he scanned the crowd for the missing Devorian.

“Avery,” she said, placing a hand on his chest, gently taking one of the drinks from his hand. “Now isn’t the time.”

At her touch, the man exhaled, his features softening as his gaze finally met hers. “You’re right. I’m… sorry.”

“Let’s enjoy ourselves, please?”

He smiled, the ease from before returning to his face. “Of course.”

That was the whole reason they came: to unwind, to escape the monotony, and enjoy fun.

Avery took her free hand and lifted her knuckles to his lips for a kiss. His lips brushed the emerald skin before he lowered her hand.

“Would you like to introduce me to your friend?”

Matcha laughed, rolled her eyes, and sipped her drink. “I couldn’t tell you where he went. But sure, Avery.”

“Nothing like the present to start looking.”

And so the couple ventured into the crowd, searching for the Devorian. <@301514304845381632>

The Reaver projected a chuckle into Amara’s mind. “Obligations may be dumb, tempestuous one, but they are the reason the stars turn in the black of space.” Amara’s face twitched in response, her gaze firmly focused on Cassandra across the bar, who was visibly confused at the all out assault of sound both physical and mental.

“I assume you have history with the other, person, to be causing such a display? One that you intend to end in violence? Or are you showcasing yourself for the sheer joy of the spectacle? What happened to the quiet, mild mannered researcher I first met?” The amusement in the statements was palpable, almost as if it could be touched.

Turning his gaze to Alex, Tra'an tilted his head. “Or is it something the insufferably old one has said with his hand speak? One would think that given his age, his mind would be more prepared for speech with one as gifted as yourself.”

Alex, having not been included in the conversation ongoing between the Kaleesh and the Pantoran, seemed to finally sense what he had missed at first. The Force whispered to him of a connection between the Saurian and the hybrid woman he conversed with by hand, and that it was active and complex with emotion. At last, his green eyes seemed to squint just a little, and shift into annoyance, at realizing that he had been purposefully ignored the entire time by the black cloaked individual.

Watching Alex’s face, the former Obelisk’s grin that showed his teeth remained hidden behind his mask, even as his amusement broadened and rolled off him in waves.

<@102435651189743616> <@216702440140046336>

Alex shook his head, the brief annoyance passing. To someone observing from the outside, unfamiliar with the elder Mandalorian, it could easily have appeared that the squint was directed toward the Kaleesh. He reached around to another section of the bar, carefully avoiding his Pantoran associate who was preparing to do an impromptu wrestling move from the bartop.

“Can you believe that they didn’t stock a decent abrax for this? How am I supposed to work under these conditions?!”

<@216702440140046336>

Vala couldn’t help but hold her breath while Jelc worked out where he might have seen Masahiro if at all. She didn’t think the prospect of meeting the man would cause her to be a little nervous. After all she had never met the man face to face. The holoprojector was the only thing she had to identify him. As Jelc sorted through his thoughts Vala turned the holoprojector off. Not putting it away quite yet.

‘A pretty lady?’ Vala tilted her head in confusion before almost coming out of her skin. Jelc had indeed remembered where he had last seen the Sephi man. “The b-bar?!” she squeaked, the sparkle in Jelc’s eyes was almost to much to look at directly. “O-okay? Let’s go?” she looked down at her own hands, fidgeting with the holoprojector, to avoid meeting the sparkly eyed Devaronian. She did take a half step closer to him so she wouldn’t lose in the crowd however.

Jelc stopped a moment, looking at the crowdshy Vala, seeing her step a bit closer. He did not want her to get lost or feel as nervous getting to the bar. Very politely, he held out his right arm. “Here, take my arm. I can escort you personally to the bar and get us past this crowd. As a gentleman here, it is my duty and honor to protect and see you safely to your friend.” He gave her a soft, gentle smile. “I promise, we can do this together, Vala.”

As the young Pantoran hurled herself from the bar top, Steven finally returned from the coat check. A tilt of his expressionless head toward Alex communicated all it needed to.

“I honestly do not know either, my good man. We were coming over here for drinks, then all of a sudden she climbed up on the bar, stood there for a minute, then hurled herself at the other lady.” Alex passed a bar towel to his droid valet. “See if you can buff out the boot prints from the bar, I guess? Meanwhile,” at this Alex pointed toward Tra'an, “this guy has been just sorta hanging around like a bump on a log and not saying or doing much of anything. Has not even had the common courtesy to tell me what he wants to drink!”

The ancient Mandalorian picked up the glass container full of ice and alcohol, stirring with a long spoon for a few seconds before pouring its contents through a strainer into a coupe glass which began to frost up as the cold liquid hit it. He wiped a bit of overspill from the rim of the glass and then slid it along the bar top before looking across it to Cassandra.

“Do me a favor and whenever she is done with,” Alex gestured to the situation the two women found themselves in, “whatever this is, let her know I’ve made her an orange martini.”

<@575757697572536323> <@61385159655559168>

“Me? A good man!? Hah. I’m barely a passable Jedi according to the Council of Urr,” he protested, as the consideration of another shot crossed his mind.

He held off, this time.

“You were the better of us, Nildea. You had limits. You knew them. When you ran against them, if they didn’t flex, you backed up and walked away. I should have learned that from you.” His shoulders stiffened as he tried to stretch back, slender fingers clasping the bartop to find purchase.

“My hubris started a war. Noble birth, noble blood, ‘High Councilor’, none of it mattered when the chips hit the table and my gambits failed. None of it mattered when Kaltani ordered that idiot to murder another system’s Prime Minister. Even less when someone decided to put a hit out on me,” He reached out for another one of the woman’s shot glasses and downed it before she could protest, “You though? Born without a title, helped your family build their empire, raised some of the most vicious little shits this side of Galactic Core, though I remember when they were still innocent and somewhat cute. If you’d been in my shoes, Kiast might still be in one piece.”

Masahiro’s chest heaved as a heavy sigh escaped him. Silver-green eyes scanned the room and caught sight of Amara clambering over… Cassandra? The child took more after her mother than she realized.

“I don’t have a family of my own. I won’t have a family of my own. I’ll have scraps of a normal life so long as I live by the tenets of this—” He paused.

The word had danced on the tip of his tongue for years. The thought, the concerns. Still he became a High Councilor in spite of the building turmoil within. He didn’t agree with the temple’s teachings.

Perhaps he never had…

Gods he was a whiny drunk. Always was. The former orator rolled her eyes and looked down the bar at his daughter who had just thrown herself at someone probably twice her height. What was it with the Brotherhood and things getting quickly out of hand? Could no one just sit and talk like normal, sane people? Though she guessed, with a mental sigh, that no one in the Brotherhood could claim sanity.

Before the Voice could start prostrating himself more, she patted him lightly on the shoulder.

“You led Odan-Urr down the right path. It was a hard path, but the correct one. I would have stayed by Kaltani because it was the easier path. Even if the Odanites rallied against me, even if the civilians in Kaal began throwing thermal charges into our keep. Because staying is safe, and fiscally responsible. I am not a leader, and I’m barely a decent businesswoman. The Gilded Goblet only survives because it is a good tax write off for my family.”

“And about knowing my limits? My therapist, who I’ve definitely paid enough credits to raise him to minor nobility, would probably argue with you about me knowing when to stop. You and me are the perfect example of me not knowing how to stop, even when I should. Even when it would be better for everyone. I keep crawling back, because safety and comfort is easier than what is right.”

Well kist, maybe she was drunk too. The Sephi woman slid herself from her bar stool– she should have never came. He would still be milling about his people if she had just stayed away.

“You should probably go talk to your daughter, my dearest friend, before she starts some kind of diplomatic incident.” She hesitated for a moment, quiet, thinking. “I could get involved but I don’t want her associated with me. Word travels at hyperspeed.”

“It’s just Cassandra. She’ll be alright.”

For a moment, just a brief little moment, Vala couldn’t help but stare at the gloved hand that was offered to her like it was some kind of a precious jewel. It had reminded her of a moment out of her favorite book. She opened her mouth as if to say something out of excitement, but just as quickly shut it out of self preservation. It would’ve been way to embarrassing to mention the resemblance Jelc had to her book right to his face. ‘No, no! Focus Vala!’ shaking her head in order to clear it and focus on the task at hand. ‘Find father! Gotta find father!’

Quickly she tucked her holoprojector back into her belt before shyly taking Jelc’s hand with her own. She couldn’t stop the light blush that creeped across her face at his promise. “Thank you Mr. Rovint. And I’m sorry if I’m being a pest.” giving a shy smile in return while apologizing for taking up his time. Surely helping her wasn’t what he exactly wanted to be doing at the moment. Not at such a lively party this one seemed to be judging by the sounds of it. She nodded and looked at the crowd standing a little straighter than before, ready to weave their through now.

“I shouldn’t be here.”

Yagon kept his eyes glued to the floor as he walked, counting the steps. Each step brought him closer to ruin. How else could it end? Although he couldn’t recall what exactly he’d been made for, or born for or whatever, the thought that this was his calling strained his credulity. Beasts had no place amongst people of stature and import.

“Shouldn’t be here.”

Tension formed in his throat. He swallowed once, then a second time, but neither accomplished anything beyond earning a look from the man who strolled down the entrance hall with a practiced swagger. That gaze could cut durasteel slabs.

“Look forward when you walk,” he said with a sharp, admonishing tone, “and what are you muttering about? Actually … don’t tell me. I’m going to go make the rounds, and rub elbows with the Brotherhood elite. Don’t do anything to draw undue attention to yourself, but stay close.”

Yagon nodded. “Of course, Mr. Sanol.”

When the stepped into the room where the majority of the patrons had gathered to converse and converse with one another, Yagon found an empty spot on the wall adjacent to the cocktail bar. He kept his hands crossed in front of him in a half-hearted attempt to look professional, only to abandon the stance moments later. Nothing felt right – more signs that this wasn’t where he belonged. But he needed the money, so he’d have to suck it up and endure for now.

He just had to get through the night.

As she took his hand, a memory flashed through his mind of his daughter holding his hand for the last time while they walked to the transport gate. And that last soft hug. “I love you, Dad. See you on the other side soon!” But he never got to see her on the other side; life cut short by…by that damn Trandoshan pirate.

A small tear had fallen from Jelc’s face, but he wiped his eyes with a kerchief from his free hand and put it back in his pocket. Composing himself, the Pilot delicately held her hand as if it were a lifeline. “Vala, you were never a pest to me at all; in fact, you have been such lovely company. I am honored to even walk in such graceful, angelic company. You remind me a lot of someone I had known.” He then looked at the crowd before turning and smiling at her.

“All right, let’s get to that bar and your friend.” Like a protective prince from her book, Jelc moved swiftly and gracefully with her, weaving through the crowd like a flowing river until finally arriving at the bar.

He immediately spotted Masahiro speaking to Nildea at the bar.

“And look at that, we have made it here safely, and I do believe, my fair lady, that is the one right there.” He pointed with his left hand at Masahiro. “Is that who you were looking for?”

He considered the years spent on Rattatak, in the Blood Furnace - how cruelly one treated another in such a place. It was a far cry from the crystalline flutes of expensive drink and perfectly presented platters of delicacies in this room. Neither world seemed to claim him or call itself his home, but one was clearly better than the other. And the pure kindest in this person before him? Was she like his dearly departed best friend, who always looked for ways to show mercy and compassion? Or was she like his traitorous first love, who had hidden the insidious darkness within him under a beautiful veil?

Swallowing thickly, Zhaolin bowed once more before straightening, “I’ve spent many years training for combat. Anything you can teach me—as a warrior or otherwise—would be most appreciated.”

Zhaolin scanned the room, noting the new faces that had entered and the general placement of bodies throughout the space. Then he turned his gaze back to Tasha.

“Truth all told, I have heard of a group called the Envoy Corps—I first heard about them on Nar Shaddaa not too long ago. Do you know anything about them? Nyssa, my c-companion, and I thought we might join them.”

His voice dipped lower and once more silver-blue eyes flickered around the immediate area, “I am…not a free man in the eyes of the Blood Furnace—on Rattatak. We weren’t sure if the Envoy Corps would try to force us back if we were discovered.”

“Ah,” She lowered her voice to match, her emerald eyes gleamed brighter. “The Envoy Corps are a group led in particular by Marick; he tends to find willing participants from all clans to assist with missions for the brotherhood. He is someone I do know quite well. Joining them would give you missions and thus an income. And no, as far as I understand, the envoy corps are more concerned with things dealing with the brotherhood as a whole, and thus anything related to outside of that is your own personal business. They would not just send you back, and if they did, I would have quite a bit to say to Marick about why he would ever consider just giving up a very talented guard to the likes of brutes. Knowing him, he more than likely would fight off anyone who tried to take you from the Envoy Corps. So I would say joining them would be a great idea. Now I don’t know if they would offer up housing or the like, but again, not to worry, I am more than happy to help accommodate you and your companion as you transition and get on your feet. If you like, I can also put in a good word to Marick about getting you set up with them. As for those who would try to seek you out, they will never get a chance to find you. And if they did, I am not about to let them ever touch you or your companion. On my honor as Matriarch of the Versea family and as a fellow Warrior Zhaolin, I will strike down anyone who dares to ever lay a finger on both of you.”

The hybrid shook his head, pearl earrings twinkling.

“No, this is good.” Sev downed the rest of his drink and ordered another. “Godless Matron…. Ah, so you work under the Herald, then. I haven’t met Morgan personally, but her reputation spreads pretty far.”

Vigo noted the new drink ordered by Sev, and nodding to the bartender he ordered “make that two drinks for each.” It was his turn to pay back for the proffered drink.

“We offer each other different strengths. She allows me more freedom and being in charge with only one above me is… liberating. She hardly cares, she knows it’s in the proper care.” He flashed his canines, realizing he spoke too much.

“Eh-“ he said swirling his drink, “tell me about you biology? Any new studies or breakthroughs?”

Severin watched Vigo intently as he spoke, a soft smile on his features, as if admitting every word into his memory. It could be valuable later.

“Ah, my studies are sometimes boring. I was supposed to spend some time in the mountains of Solyiat cataloguing the wildlife there but we were unfortunately pulled back.” He sighed and crossed his arms, his eyes drifting closed.

Kiastian space was a mess, and Odan-Urr found itself plunged into civil war with the Vatali. He had a feeling that the area wouldn’t be safe for him to conduct his research in for quite some time.

“I spend most of my time on distant planets, studying species we haven’t discovered yet. My thesis for the Collegium was about a subspecies of Purrgil that preferred liquid Coax over Clouzon.”

He didn’t even attempt to understand the last bit, blaming it on his delayed education, most of which consisted on honing his Force abilities and rigorous training exercises.

“Solyiat…” he nodded, “I have been there before. I tried a beta drug, one by a Ms. Esen Dulle?” He rubbed his chin with his metal prosthetic right arm. “At Haevan Research center. Perhaps they could help you?”

A movement at the bar caught Khro’s eye as a small woman jumped onto the top of the bar. She stared at a giantess of another woman with a strange expression on her face. It was obvious the two had some sort of history, though Khro knew none of these people. Then the smaller Pantoran with red hair leapt onto the larger woman like a Kowakian monkey-lizard, grabbing her collar and staring at her.

Khro blinked, then tilted his head slightly to the left. He had absolutely no clue what was going on, and he really didn’t care. This was the best thing that had happened at this party so far, and he was loving it. People in the crowd were either staring along with him at the scene or trying desperately to ignore the interruption to their civilized party.

Khro’s smirk slowly returned as he pushed himself away from the viewport. He began casually wandering closer, weaving through the crowd with his hands in his coat pockets. He stopped a few meters away and watched the two women with open curiosity.

“…Huh.”

His eyes flicked between them.

“This is new. My money’s on the little one.”

Velira’s gaze lingered upon him over the rim of her glass. For a moment, she did not drink. The words he offered had settled somewhere within her mind, as she found herself considering the sentiment. “A condition of the heart,” Velira repeated softly, as though testing the phrase for herself with a fleeting smile. “That is… rather lovely.”

And yet, there was a sort of curiosity that began to shimmer in the depths of her crimson eyes, in contemplation of the very the notion of having a heart. Of what it meant to be truly alive, to carry warmth, to possess an intricate thing that nestled beneath bone, and beat with each intake of air. “One of the reasons I became a medic, I suppose, was because of that very thing. Circulatory systems. Such intricate mechanisms….” Her gloved fingers shifted lightly around the stem of her glass. “I have always been… fascinated by such things. Chambers, arteries, veins, the fragile balance within one single organ…”

Velira’s gaze remained lowered to the wine for a moment longer, the expression of her face shifting a softer one beneath the dim lighting of the room. “Your words ring true… Indeed, I have not always been successful…” She admitted quietly. “There have been countless times when I have been forced to render judgment, to decide who could still be saved… and who could only be offered an easier passing. And yet, in war, in the aftermath of other people’s ambitions… It would seem that such choices become inevitable,” Velira continued before pausing for a long moment.

"But the lives of younglings…” Her voice softened further. “Those, I have always valued most. Whatever choices I have made, whatever whispers may follow my name if any at all… I have always sought to protect them above all else.” A faint, somber smile touched her lips as Velira half glanced away, finally voicing aloud what she had always known to be true.

Kalen had returned to the bar to retrieve another round before the interceptor class of fighters began their mock dogfights. While he was there he overheard the tail end of conversatipn his acquaintance Tasha'vel was having with a pale Fierriore hybrid.

Kalen stop there after receiving his drinks reached out with the force, sensing a devotion to the light side, but a burning conflict or anxiety within them.

After hearing the references to the Envoy Corps Kalen smiled and nodded at Tasha'vel, “Nice to see you again. If your friend here is looking for training and work in the Envoy Corps you should get him in touch with Karracca. He said he started taking on students again, and apparently he’s some big time Special Mission Planner on Maricks staff now. He always making trips back and forth to Arx.”

“The names Kalen.” The decedent of long marooned Republic Jedi extended a gauntleted and gloved hand towards Zhaolin.

<@270420040493432833>

Once more Zhaolin was a bit unsure of how to react, though he took the hand offered in greeting. Unaccustomed to polite small talk, he used the opportunity to memorize the name and face of the man who had joined them.

“My name is Qi Zhaolin. You may call me Zhaolin.” He bowed politely before straightening and turning to face Kalen fully, “I am indeed interested in the Envoy Corps—as my companion would be as well. She did not come with me tonight, but I’m certain she would be pleased to meet you both.”

Zhaolin paused to let his silver-blue eyes scan the room again, lest he forget why he was here in the first place. Once he was satisfied that nothing seemed too raucous or out of hand, his attention returned to the conversation.

“I confess I do not know much—we first heard of the Corps while on Nar Shaddaa and I have hope that it might offer a path…and perhaps a bit of purpose for us. I am always interested in improving skills and learning new ones.”

<@1178915035049902120> <@1385116824814878940>

Surprised momentarily at the interruption she turned to the Jedi and smiled. “Ah yes, Kalen nice to see you. I think I am going to let you talk to him more about the Envoy Corps while I go see about meeting other folks.” She bowed. “Thank you for the lovely conversation and time Zhaolin, whatever you choose to and decisions are yours to make.” Before she left she handed him a small card. On it was her number. “If you ever need some practice with those skills, a place or need some help with a problem, feel free to drop me a line.” She then started to make her way towards the bar. <@270420040493432833> <@1178915035049902120>

She didn’t miss him wiping away at his face for some reason, but felt best not to pry. Vala couldn’t stop the chuckle from escaping her mouth. “I don’t know if those words are best for me.” Graceful and angelic? Certainly not. And graceful wasn’t it either. All she had was the basic manners her mother drilled into her. It was a small miracle she hadn’t made a fool of herself somehow. Just standing next to how polished Jelc dressed, Vala was pretty sure she looked like a grubby gizka. All the grace was Jelc’s as he lead them through the crowd without much trouble.

With Jelc leading the way, Vala didn’t have trouble dodging people. It didn’t take them long to reach the bar. It was almost kind of funny. His face was one that Vala had committed to memory. The first thing that ran through her mind was that Masahiro was much taller than her holoprojector led her to believe.

Unconsciously her grip on Jelc’s arm tightened just a smidge as her two toned eyes finally saw the person she was looking for. It wasn’t out of nerves or anything like that. Vala was simply excited to finally find the person she was looking for. She grinned happily at Jelc. Her two toned eyes seemed to sparkle “Yes that’s him!” Without really thinking Vala pointed to Masahiro enthusiastically. “I’ve been looking all over him. That’s my dad!”

<@236356564125089792>

Ominous, Kalen thought.

“You okay, not in any trouble are you?” The Jedi General armour-clad Aedile asked as he slid into the space at the bar Tasha'vel had just vacated.

<@270420040493432833>

Tra'an sighed in response to Alex’s observation. As much as it pained him to be aware of it, the bartender was correct.

“I’ve been speaking with her via Telepathy,” he responded. “When I first approached her and she couldn’t hear me, we used her tablet briefly, and migrated to mindspeak after,” he finished. Moving close to the bar as the confrontation continued, the Reaver’s eyes roamed the bar before his eyes alighted on a cerulean bottle that seemed to be waiting for something.

“How about a Cometduster?” he asked Alex, pointing at the bottle. “You’ve got the molecule exciter I hope. That bottle is rare these days,” he followed up, as Alex’s head turned to see where the Sauropod was pointing.

“Of course,” Alex replied. “What kind of Bartender Extraordinaire would I be if I couldn’t make such a majestic beverage?”

With a reach, the bottle came free and Alex put on a show, resulting in small arcing currents within the azure beverage, looking for all the world like a storm in motion.

“Need any help?” the di Plagia sent to Amara via their link while he sipped the beverage.

“Bartender Extraordinaire indeed!” he complimented Alex.

<@216702440140046336>

Zhaolin blinked owlishly, refusing to lie yet unwilling to discuss his history at length. Leaning some of his weight onto his spear, he watched the other man seat himself at the bar from his guard’s position.

“I have a past not of my own choosing, as many do.”

It was the most he was willing to give considering the time and place. A flicker of grief passed over his features as the last day he’d spent on Rattatak entered his mind again. This time he cleared the memories deftly, keeping his features schooled and his stance alert.

Cassandra blinked, all confused as the girl had wrapped herself around her. This was…interesting.

“I changed everything?” she mentally told Amara, pushing through the pain involved in using the force, remembering a quite different chain of events. “Your elders approached me after watching me for months living on my own as a hermit, away from Taldryan’s eyes. It was their desire to learn more about current events, the fate of the Republic, as well as re-connect with the Jedi at large; not realizing at first that the Order had fallen.”

She sat back in her chair, letting her still be wrapped around her not minding at all. Her strength level and body build compared to Amara’s strength capabilities, there was no hinderance or bother at all by letting her do so. It was like a nice bear hug. “As for the ruins…it was a personal request of your Elder to restore access to them. When the last of the old members had died, they lost access and were cut off from it’s interior.”

“And Ostara…well…”

That was quite a story to tell, but she could tell why Amara was connecting it to this. She had not known what had occurred earlier in the system. With where Interitus Cairn sat in relation, they would have seen the effects of the Caelus star as just a starburst of light and auroras; with the bulk of it striking the oceans.

She calmly explained what had happened, the stress of doing so already causing her significant pain as she sent even mental images of what she had personally seen, the Cloudhaven station and it’s artificial intelligence, the device that controlled the heart of the Caelus star that actually turned out to be an artificial construct from millennia ago, and the battle deep within Kasiya’s crust. How their actions managed to save the star from going supernova, but it still had ambient effects with the corona explosion…Ostara being right in it’s path. Cassandra herself was trapped there in her early years, with no way to depart the surface until someone had managed to chart their way through the powerful ion storms that held them trapped there.

In current time, Ostara was already recovering and the storms weakening significantly where traveling on the planet’s surface was possible now; as well as departing into space. It would be maybe another decade for sunlight itself to finally start breaking through.

A sweatbead ran down her head as she started to get dizzy. At this point, she would keep communication simple, and focus on keeping her mental faculties intact. Last thing she wanted was to pass out again and fall, with Amara in tow.

Melinoë Tesalun hadn’t been to a formal event since she was a child. The memories were vague and faded but one thing she clearly remembered was her mother’s face when she and her sister managed to knock a whole platter of food onto the ground.

Now, though, she was not accompanied by family. What was left of it was elsewhere in the ship, but Melinoë was hungry and tired of waiting around. She did her best to be silent when she entered, barely keeping herself upright as she walked along towards the buffet. The Firalan muttered complaints under her breath about the heels and dress she had been convinced into. Appearing proper was supposedly important, especially in front of her sister’s coworkers. Melinoë was grateful that she was at the very least able to wear one of her gauntlets, allowing herself a sense of safety.

Masahiro mulled over the disguised orator’s words for a moment; ‘It was a hard path, but the correct one.’ A belief he questioned every damned day since the first assassination. Actions he’d grown to resent ever since the day he had been shot. When Nildea disparaged herself and her victories with the Gilded Goblet, the half-Arkanian shot her an all-too-familiar glare, the kind they’d exchanged since childhood when either of them doubted their capabilities, despite their excellence.

“It’s just Cassandra, she’ll be alright,” he reaffirmed as the two women began airing their dispute before everyone, “venting Temple business.”

“You know, we always say we’re going to quit one another, Nildea, then when the chips are on the table? When we need a friend, comfort, or just someone to talk to? Here we—” An excited voice in crowd caught his attention.

‘Yes, that’s him! I’ve been looking all over for him. That’s my dad!’ The Voice’s attention was pulled away from Nildea to a young, familiar, face and a Devaronian he somewhat recognized from intelligence files gathered on those who had boarded.

“Oh.” He gasped. -# <@90321678042685440> <@1385116824814878940>

Jelc looked over at the Voice of the Brotherhood, having known a little about the newest Dark Council selection because Tasha’vel kept him informed of the general news about the Brotherhood. He then looked at Vala, raising his left eyebrow. “So the newest Voice of the Brotherhood is your Father; well, what a small galaxy we live in sometimes.” He still held her hand as he stepped forward with Jala and moved closer. He gave a small wave with his free hand and a polite smile. “Greetings, I am Jelc Rovint, and your daughter Vala here has been looking all over for you. I happened to be walking about and saw her searching, so I offered to help.” As he glanced out and just past Masahiro, he caught sight of Tasha’Vel making her way to the bar. Oh, nine hells could this get any worse? He thought. <@90321678042685440> <@236356564125089792>

Teebu the Ewok, formerly known as the Regent’s Magistrate, still currently serving as the Research Director for the Arx Capital Exchange, Rear Admiral of the Iron Navy and Taldryan Republic, and now…Praetor to the Voice, or as the Voice Masahiro loved to call him, the Little Hand of the Voice.

The golden lapel on his military uniform was the normal size as the one Masahiro would give to his second, standing out quite well on the smaller stature white colored military regalia, insignias, silver metal epaulettes, and rank plaque. He sat there, watching the people around as he brought a beer up to his mouth and took a drink.

There was one thing he had to give the Voice, he had a damn good taste in alcohol. Far better than Thran, at least, who enjoyed just basic swill that tasted like bantha…well…just tasted like bantha. Not that he knew what that tasted like. But he could imagine, given the taste of that alcohol.

It was strange being in a social gathering with the socialites from across the Brotherhood. Often times, he was in meetings with dignitaries, other researchers, Proconsuls and Consuls, weapon and armorsmiths, and quartermasters about weapon and armor repairs, production, and maintenance. This style though? He stood out like a sore thumb, especially with his long beard and facial fur. The only part of him that remained out of regulation uniform were his goggles, which rested on his head, his signature piece that often defined him.

On her way to the buffet, Melinoë’s ankle rolled as she stepped wrong, her heel snapping as she toppled towards a stranger. An embarrassing squeak passed through her lips right before she was caught.

Her face was flushed as she looked to her savior, his eyes darting from her to Mr. San and then back. Immediately she went to stand but nearly tumbled again now that one of her heels was gone. <@1056685516441006091>

“Well like I was saying. If you want work, the Envoy Corps and Syndicate always have open contracts, bounties, and missions going on. My pal Karracca can help you out. I can arrange a meeting for you uo on Arx Minor when we get back tonight if you’d like.” Kalen grabbed a handful of mixed nuts from a bowl and began munching on them as Treel walked over and silently claimed his Ale without a word.

The Ugnaught had seen Kalen get sidetracked with a conversation and decided to retrieve the beverage while it remained cold.

Kalen noticed the Colonel after he was always walking back to his seat at the viewport, “Oh, Colonel, hey, come and meet ky new friend Zhaolin. He might be working with the big guy here in a bit.” The Jedi sipped his own drink.

Treel nodded politely and raised a palm, “Felications. I am Colonel Treel. I have known Karracca for many decades, he is a great and wise Jedi.”

She happily nodded at Jelc “Oh yes! Mama was really surprised to hear he was the Voice. We don’t get news often back home, so it took us awhile to hear about it.” she said as they approached the Voice. Vala waited patiently as Jelc introduced himself to Jedi. She took in how he looked as she waited. White hair, pale skin. A tall, athletic build. She could see some resemblance in their face, but she knew she mostly took after her mother. He looked exactly like how her mother described. If a little more surprised at any rate.

Fidgeting with her shawl with her free hand as she waited, looking down as she did so. Now that she was in front of him it was a bit nerve wracking. The whole situation hit like a ton of bricks all of a sudden. All of a sudden she felt like she didn’t know what to say or do with herself.

As Jelc spoke Vala’s eyes couldn’t help but wander over to the side for a moment. To the woman that Masahiro was standing beside and seemed to have been in a conversation with. She was in fact a pretty lady as Jelc described her. The flowy, golden dress she was wearing suited her perfectly. Vala held up both her hand and Jelcs’ as she spoke to shake off her own jitters. “M-Mr. Rovint has been really helpful. He guided me through the crowd. I was going to look at the artifacts, but I thought I’d come over and say hello first.” Vala didn’t know exactly what to do say. She simply blurted out the first thing on her mind.

<@1385116824814878940> <@236356564125089792>

Jelc couldn’t help but smile happily at how excited Vala was to see her father. He didn’t care if she was using his hand and hers to gesture emphatically. It had been a while since he met someone so sweetly animated like her.

“And I would be more than happy to do it again, Miss Vala. Also don’t mind escorting you over to the artifact’s either. Course I do kind of like the idea of having such a pretty princess like yourself taking my arm and leading the way.” His violet eyes sparkled as he genuinely laughed.

Bril

Bril cracked a grin, then nodded. “Isn’t it? We Iridonians do love poetic aphorisms.”

He listened to her briefly describe the heart in anatomical, then slightly more poetic terms. Fragile was right, but he never really bothered to think much on it. Perhaps that was because he possessed two of them?

Her description of her work in the field, of the decisions she was often forced to make, tugged at something deep within him that produced a silent ache. “So, we both know what’s it like to be responsible for the lives of others, then,” he said, staring into the deep red of the wine as he swirled it idly while speaking, “the burden of deciding who lives and who dies.”

His somber visage lingered for a moment, only to brighten when she mentioned her desire to protect the youth. Another thing the two of them shared. “Good. Keep that ideal in mind, and you’ll do just fine.”

Yagon

Yagon moved with a swiftness that surprised even him. He caught the woman with ease and helped her back to steady fight.

“Are you alright, miss?” he asked.

Melinoë steadied herself on one foot, her arms slightly outstretched to her sides to keep her balanced. “I’m alright,” she said quietly, looking down at her feet to see just what happened. Acantha would kill her if she ditched them but there was no way she could walk with just the one.

With a grumble, Mel kicked off her heels and picked them up. She’d just have to pray for mercy later.

“Are you?”

He blinked.

“No. No I’m not,” he said with a heavy sigh. Then, everything suddenly felt lighter as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders simply from acknowledging how he was feeling. “Sorry. I’m not used to people asking about how I feel, at least not in a way that seems genuine.”

“Social contract does say we should lie and say we are okay even when we aren’t,” Melinoë said, having been reminded that lesson earlier that week. “As long as we’re being honest… I’m also not okay,” She stated.

“To hell with social contract,” he said with a shrug, “I never signed the damned thing. Why are you not okay?”

Yagon’s words earned him a slight chuckle from the woman, her shoulders loosening only slightly. “That’s a good point,” she said, choosing to ignore the rest of the lesson.

Melinoë motioned to the room around her, indicating her plight. “I feel… Lost. Alone. Why are you not okay?”

Recognition flashed in his eyes as he nodded. “The same I guess,” he said, “All of this is new to me.”

And in more ways than one, too. Not just this kind of social gathering, but also this strange new galaxy he found himself in – one that he had been forced back into after so long.

“For me as well,” she replied, turning her gaze from the man and pointing it towards Yagon’s companion. “The man you came with seems used to all of this,” Melinoë commented, wondering just how similar their situations may be.

With a second new face appearing, Zhaolin took the time to greet Colonel Treel with a perfunctory bow. This guard job had quickly become a type of networking he’d never experienced before. It was somewhat overwhelming but Zhaolin kept his face passive and his posture open and alert.

“Well met, Colonel Treel. Please call me Zhaolin.” His smile was unpracticed, but genuine, “I was not expecting to speak with so many people when I took this job. It would seem some bit of luck has found its way to me.”

Having lived on Rattatak his entire life, he had not encountered Jedi until recently. Zhaolin himself had been taught how to use his connection to the Force, but the one who had instructed the warriors of the Pit was neither Light nor Dark inclined.

“Are there many Jedi that work with the Envoy Corps? I confess where I am from we did not see Jedi all that often.”

Kalen replied, “Oh Treels not a Jedi.”

“I am one with the Force, amd the Force is with me.” The little Ugnaught did a mock salute.

“But as to your question. Quite a few work with pr as Envoys depending on the situation. I think there is only a couple that are actually full time employees of the Corps though. Are you uh, a Jedi yourself?” Kalen sipped his drink again.

“I’m more surprised your mother didn’t discover me when I was in a more public government position. I served as the High Councilor of the Acolytes of Urr and Advisor to Empress Kaltani Anasaye of Kiast. Though, if your mother is who I believe, then it would make sense she still has some eyes within the Brotherhood.” The half-Sephi said, his voice trailing slightly as he turned his gaze toward Jelc.

“As for you, Mr. Rovint. I’d like to express my appreciation for aiding my daughter through the furor that is this gathering. I have little on hand, though, I would invite you to my offices on Arx to meet with my assistant Celeste once we’ve made port. She’d be delighted to learn how we can help you, for helping us.” With a soft smile he turned back to his daughter.

“Vala, dear, how long have you been out searching for me, and how is your mother?” -# <@1385116824814878940> <@216702440140046336>

“Aiding your daughter is more than enough payment, I do not need anything in return.” He bowed politely. “To me, it was an honor to assist her, I also happen to be a bodyguard of sorts. So if Vala or yourself are needing a bodyguard, I could offer my services and even if not, I also wouldn’t mind giving Vala my number if she wanted to call me later after this gathering.” He grinned. “She is very delightful to converse topics with and quite a joy to be around, I might add. Her sweet presence tonight has been quite the highlight of my time here.”

A soft chime was heard signifying the final ‘dogfight’ was about to begin, a mass engagement with 3 different groups of fighters all representing different ‘factions’.

“This will be interesting. We should what.” Treel said to Kalen.

“Oh the one with the Pre- Imperial era ships vs the Imperial and New Republic lineages.”

“Indeed, smart money is on the New Republic group, they are the newer more capable craft.” Treel placed his Lil hands behind his back and turned to look out the large viewport.

“Don’t count out the old Republics ruggedly built ships.”

“Care to wager?” Treel asked.

The Nagai had been content to watch the confrontation at the bar, but even the guy next to him didn’t seem like he wanted to take the bet. It had just become background noise. After a couple minutes his attention became distracted by something more interesting, a small panel tucked discreetly into the wall with a label above it.

FIRE SUPPRESSION SYSTEM

He stared at it for a moment before walking the few steps over to the panel. A small red panel with a pull switch. Then he looked back toward the party. Khro looked at the panel again. A slow smirk crept across his face as his compulsion took over. He reached up quickly and pulled the lever.

A moment later, there was a faint click, as he immediately turned and began wandering back toward the party as though nothing had happened, and for several seconds, nothing did. Then the fire suppression system activated. Water began raining from the ceiling. A grin spread across his face. Around him, the party dissolved into confusion. Some ran for cover trying to hide from the spray of water, others began looking around for the fire.

Khro simply stood there, water soaking his hair, face and jacket. He looked around at the chaos he had created and reveled in it.
He raised his hands slightly, as the guards came rushing him. Of course the camera’s picked up his actions but he didn’t really care. The rush of excitement was simply to much for him to resist. He raised his hands slightly as he was surrounded.

“Oops.”

Jelc immediately. as soon as the fire suppression systems turned on, pulled out his double cloak that was folded and hidden away in his belt pouch and threw it over Vala to keep her from getting wet as he guided her to a dryer safer spot until they were turned off. “Don’t worry Vala, I won’t let this rain spoil your pretty dress.” He smiled to her. Meanwhile Tasha just smirked knowingly that it was just probably someone bored and sat down to wait.

Cassandra let out a sigh. She needed to talk to Amara, hear her side…or, well, more like listen to her side of things. Was there something more occuring on Ostara that she was unaware of, that Amara was somehow attuned to?

She stood up slowly after finishing her drink, largely soaked now, before turning to try and follow her.

This…anger, was going to end.

Nildea used Masahiro’s predicament to slip from her chair and slip into the crowd, leaving some credits on the counter to cover her drink. The bottle of liquor also stayed at the bar where she was sitting.

As she slithered her way through the crowd, the disguise on her face became more and more suffocating. His daughter was so pure, so sweet. How long could she keep doing this? How long could she keep putting innocent lives in danger for what? Her own comfort? To stop the bleeding at the core of her very being when she was away from perhaps her only true friend?

She tore the disguise from her face the second she made it to a shaded corner, gasping in a few much needed breaths. It was only when she could control her breathing that she raised her crystalline eyes to look across the venue.

Her eyes burned and her throat constricted as she watched Masahiro with Vala. She burned the sight into her memory, for the nights when she craved another body in her bed or her heart fell when no one quipped at her jokes like Masahiro did.

This was worth it. The pain was worth it, if she could protect them. The Sephi woman looked skyward, willing tears to not fall, before she slipped into the hallway leading to the landing pads that was teaming with guests.

She could never be what he wanted her to be, never give him what he deserved, but she could do this.